#false bthb

[renecdote]

give some tree the gift of green again

Summary: 

Buck doesn’t make a habit of it.

Really, he doesn’t. If he adds up all the times he’s had stitches in his life, it’s not even two full hands of fingers. And the ones for the surgeries on his leg? He’s pretty sure those don’t count.

So the way Bobby sighs and says, “oh, kid,” when the doctor leaves the curtained off cubicle of the ER to get a suture kit is completely uncalled for, in his humble opinion.

For BTHB: stitches

[Read on AO3]

Buck was seven the first time he got stitches. He remembers being scared, holding Maddie’s hand tightly, his father a stoic presence in the corner of the room. He remembers ice cream afterwards, and takeaway Chinese, and not seeing his mother all night.

A few days into healing, the stitches started itching like crazy and he woke up one morning covered in blood because he accidentally tore them open scratching during the night. It’s something he’ll never forget: waking up to his mother’s shriek when she came in to get him up for school. Her hysteria turning quickly to snappish anger, his father brusque as he told Buck to get in the shower, Maddie gentle as she towelled his wet hair dry.

“I didn’t mean to,” he told her, chin wobbling.

“I know,” she soothed, her gentle smile reassuring. “You’re not in trouble, Evan, mom was just—surprised.”

It’s funny, the way you remember things that happened when you were a child, all blurred edges and bittersweet reflection. Hey remember that time you woke me up for school and thought I was dead— is the start to a childhood story that might be laughed about in other families, or at least talked about, passed around at family holidays and pulled out for embarrassment at birthday parties. But Buck can’t even remember having a birthday party past four years old—if that one isn’t just a false memory anyway—and the Buckleys definitely never shared family stories.

(They never really did family at all.)

There used to be a scar on his arm where those first stitches were, but it was already faded by the time he inked over it with a tattoo at twenty-one. A few years after that, it was gone completely, just one more invisible scar, but Buck’s fingers still know where to trace to find that invisible line. He thinks they probably always will.

***

The first time he needs stitches as a firefighter, Hen takes him to the ER. She’s calm and professional and Buck misses Maddie so much he wants to cry. Thinks he might cry, actually, eyes stinging and lip bitten so hard to hold back tears that he splits it open and tastes blood when he licks them.

“Cap’s going to send you home,” Hen says when they’re back in the battalion truck, three new stitches above Buck’s eyebrow, her eyes focused on the road. “I’m telling you so you don’t think it’s anything personal.“ Because I know what you’re like, she doesn’t add. “You’re hurt, he’s going to send you home.”

“I’m fine,” Buck says, but it’s a flat protest. He winces at every flash of the streetlights as they pass.

Abby has been gone for two months, hasn’t replied to his messages in two weeks, and he has started dreading going back to his—her—empty apartment after every shift. He’s supposed to be working two extra twenty-fours covering for C shift this week, but there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that says Bobby is going to spontaneously find someone else who needs the extra work more.

Hen’s right: Bobby sends him home.

Buck only sulks about it the whole drive back to the apartment, then for a few more hours after that, then again when he wakes up late the next morning with a vice-like headache and finds that he still hates the whole situation.

There’s a part of him that wants to call Maddie, to say “I’m okay but I got hurt at work,” and let her make him feel better. He wants to say, “I miss you,” and hear that she misses him too. He wants to hug her, wants her to cup his cheek the way she always used to when she was reassuring him. He wants, and wants, and wants.

“How’s your head?” Hen asks when he walks in for their next shift.

The headache is lingering, but Buck smiles, all bravado. “Never better.”

Chimney snorts where he’s buttoning up his shirt.

“Did you actually rest like you were supposed to?” he asks, and it’s something more than skeptical. Something almost… brotherly.

“I rested,” Buck replies, rolling his eyes. He hides a wince in the shirt he’s pulling over his head, careful to lift the neckline so it doesn’t drag over his stitches. When he gets it off, Hen and Chimney are both looking at him, matching expressions on their faces. Buck frowns. “What?”

Chimney raises his hands innocently.

Hen says, “You look tired, Buck. Are you sleeping alright?”

Not really. Buck bites his cheek, rummaging through his bag for his LAFD t-shirt.

“I sleep fine,” he answers, and his smile doesn’t wobble. “Is Cap cooking breakfast?”

They let it drop.

***

It’s Chimney who finds him in the bunk room later, quiet in the way he opens the door and slips inside, finding his way through the room without turning on the lights.

“Here,” he says quietly, and the ice pack he settles over Buck’s head is almost instant relief.

Buck sighs, shaky, and keeps his eyes closed in the darkness.

Chimney lingers, uncertain, then sits down on the edge of the bunk, his boots scuffing against the thinning carpet.

“I know we’re all shit at asking for help,” he says, and it’s hard to tell in the darkness, with his eyes closed under the ice pack, but Buck doesn’t think Chimney is looking at him. “But you know you can, right? Ask us?”

Buck’s chest feels uncomfortably tight. He sat beside Chimney’s hospital bed and held his hand, once, and until this moment, he’s not sure he really believed that Chimney would do the same for him. He’s not sure what to do with it, knowing that he would.

“It’s just a few stitches, Chim.”

The quietest of sighs.

“Right. Just a few stitches.”

Cold slides down his neck and Buck shivers, hands curling in the blanket. Chimney shifts, the faintest impression of warmth that might be a hand, and Buck thinks, for a moment—but no, Chimney is just standing up.

“Cap says you can stay behind next call,” he offers, and unlike yesterday it does sound like a suggestion, not an order. “You can start dinner prep if you’re up to it.”

His footsteps retreat, as quiet as they came, and the door is closing before Buck remembers to say, “Thanks.”

He’s not sure if Chimney hears him.

***

Eddie is the one who takes him to the hospital the next time he needs stitches. He drives faster than he should, and sticks close by Buck’s side, a hand on his back as he says magic words like “laceration” and “blood thinners” that get them through the ER doors with hardly any wait.

In hindsight, it all feels a little dramatic.

At the time? It feels a little like Eddie saves his life.

(He googles it, the way he googles everything: how long does it take to bleed out from a cut on your calf?

Answer: hard to say, but blood thinners definitely speed the process up.)

Afterwards, Eddie takes him home again—to his own house, that feels more like home than any place Buck has ever lived in—and he sits on the Diaz couch, sunk low into a borrowed hoodie, watching Tarzan swing through the jungle.

“You can watch something else, you know,” Eddie says when he sits down beside him, pressing a warm mug into Buck’s hands. “Chris isn’t here, it doesn’t even have to be PG.”

Buck blinks at the rippling surface of his tea.

“You don’t like Tarzan?”

Eddie’s face does something that means no, he doesn’t like Tarzan, but he’s not sure if he’s going to offend Buck by saying so.

“I was more of a Little Mermaid guy,” he shrugs, sipping his own tea.

“Huh.” Buck imagines a little Eddie Diaz singing along to Under the Sea and can’t help grinning. “My favourite was Mulan.”

Eddie nods, like this makes sense. Maybe it does.

“Maddie took me to see it when it came out,” Buck tells him. “We went after school one day and I remember I ate so much popcorn it made me sick, and mom and dad were mad that I’d ruined my appetite with junk food before dinner, but Maddie sat with me until I felt better and sung the songs she could remember from the movie.”

He thinks that’s how it happened, at least. He remembers being sick, and his parents arguing with Maddie, and her singing True To Your Heart, but the memory pieces are broken, jagged where his mind has fit them together. Maybe they don’t go together at all.

“Maddie always took care of you, huh?”

Eddie is smiling at him, but there’s something a little sad under the softness, a little I see you, I see what you’re not saying. Buck shifts, uncomfortable, trying not to grimace at the pull of the stitches in his leg.

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “I mean, you took care of your sisters, right?”

Eddie hums. “Never had to drive them to the hospital, though.”

He reaches out and taps Buck’s knee, just above the neat row of stitches.

“Still not sure why you wouldn’t let me call her today,” he adds. “You know she’s going to find out when you call out of work tomorrow anyway.”

Buck huffs. “That was a suggestion—”

“Which you’re going to follow.” Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you?”

Buck huffs again, sinking lower, chin disappearing into his hoodie.

“That’s what I thought.”

Eddie is smiling when he reaches out to tousle Buck’s hair.

Or. Buck’s thinks that’s what he means to do, but his fingers just push back through the mess of curls, too gentle to do any damage. Then he tugs up the sweatshirt’s hood, pulling it low over Buck’s face, so that he can barely see to blink up at Eddie, hardly daring to breathe. It feels like a second, a minute, an eternity; one breath, then the next, then the next.

“Long day,” Eddie says, something low and fuzzy in his voice now, everything soft and muffled past the curtain he has pulled over Buck’s head. “You wanna nap?”

Buck wrinkles his nose. “Are you treating me like your child? I think even Christopher is too old for nap time, Eds.”

He can’t see Eddie’s smile anymore, but he can hear it.

“Suit yourself, I’m going to nap.”

And he stands then, holding out a hand. Buck sees it floating at the bottom of his obscured hoodie vision and frowns. He hands over his tea, automatic, and Eddie takes it, then holds out his other hand, fingers wriggling when Buck still doesn’t move.

“You coming?” he asks.

“You just don’t want to watch Tarzan,” Buck replies, but he takes Eddie’s hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. Lets himself hold on a bit longer, too, because… he wants to. And Eddie’s right, it has been a long day, he can blame it on the ordeal if Eddie tries to pull away.

But Eddie doesn’t pull away. He just squeezes Buck’s hand, so close and yet so far from the way he squeezed his shoulder in the hospital waiting room, and waits until Buck is ready to take another step.

***

Buck doesn’t make a habit of it.

Really, he doesn’t. If he adds up all the times he’s had stitches in his life, it’s not even two full hands of fingers. And the ones for the surgeries on his leg? He’s pretty sure those don’t count.

So the way Bobby sighs and says, “oh, kid,” when the doctor leaves the curtained off cubicle of the ER to get a suture kit is completely uncalled for, in his humble opinion.

“Wasn’t my fault,” Buck mumbles, thick and bloody through the gauze held against his lip.

“I know.” Bobby squeezes his leg. “Do you want me to call Eddie?”

Buck makes a face, then winces at the way it tugs at all his cuts and bruises. He hasn’t got a good look at himself in a mirror yet, but he knows it’s not going to be pretty. It’s a miracle his jaw isn’t broken, but his nose definitely is.

(The real miracle, Buck didn’t tell the doctor, is that he somehow hasn’t broken his nose already.)

“I’m not going to be able to kiss him, Bobby,” he groans.

Bobby looks like he can’t decide whether he should be amused or sympathetic, his face caught somewhere between both. “Your face will heal, Buck,” he says, patient. “I’m sure you’ll cope.”

He might not. Tomorrow is supposed to be date night, and they had plans for all the things they were going to do without Chris for an evening. Plans.

“Tell you what,” Bobby says, as the doctor comes back in. “I’m going to step outside and call Eddie, then check in with the rest of the team. You’ll be okay here?”

Buck would smile if it didn’t hurt so much. “It’s just a little needle, Bobby. It’s not even you it’s going in.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. “Smartass.”’

He does make a quick retreat though, the curtain swishing shut behind him.

“Right,” the doctor catches Buck’s attention, smiling kindly. “You ready for this?”

No, Buck thinks, but he just closes his eyes and waits for the first stitch to go in.

When it’s done, there really aren’t that many of them: two in his lip, three more in his cheek. Safety glasses saved his eyes, at least, and other than the broken nose, most of the damage is superficial. Really, it could have been worse.

He’s had worse.

Buck is still dreading the recovery though.

“Eddie is coming,” Bobby tells him, reappearing after the doctor has left again, leaning over Buck while he lies on the bed and tries not to move his face.

Buck just hums; he never doubted Eddie would come.

“You don’t have to wait,” he tells Bobby, but Bobby is already sitting down on the stool the doctor left beside the bed, making himself comfortable.

“Hen and Chimney have things handled at the station,” he replies. “I’ve got time.”

Buck’s dad stayed that first time he got stitches, but he wasn’t really there, not the way Bobby is now. The way Bobby has always been.

Speaking hurts, but Buck pushes through it to say, “Thank you.”

Bobby shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me, Buck.”

He does. Not just for staying, or for pulling him out of that building—for everything else, too. For being so much more than a Captain. For that first time, even, when he sent Buck home but told him to call if he needed anything and he meant it.

Bobby must catch something on his face because he leans forward to squeeze Buck’s hand.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he says again, firmer.

And these days, Buck can almost believe it.

***

By the time Eddie arrives, the hospital is ready to discharge him. Buck is out of the gown and back in his dusty LAFD shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed while he tries to decide whether bending to put his boots on is going to hurt. Answer: probably, but surely not more than anything else does at the moment.

“Hi, honey,” Eddie murmurs, fingers gentle carding through Buck’s hair before settling at the back of his neck, thumb at the corner of his jaw as he takes in his face. “This looks like it hurts.”

Buck shrugs, one shouldered. Painkillers have taken the edge off now, but everything still feels tight and achy, like one wrong muscle twitch is going to crack his whole head open.

Eddie kisses his forehead, soft and lingering. It’s a tiny thing, it shouldn’t even help, really, but it does.

“Ready to get out of here?”

“Desperately,” Buck answers, and it’s a hissing, lisping mess of a word through his swollen, stitched together lip, but Eddie doesn’t laugh at him. He just kisses his head again—a quick, almost absent thing this time—then bends to help him into his boots.

“I texted Chris,” he says on the way out. “Gave him a heads up that you’re hurt. I think ice cream and feel better movies are in your future.”

It hurts, but Buck can’t help smiling.

“Tarzan?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I think we can skip Tarzan this time.”

Buck kind of loves him a stupid amount—incorrect Tarzan opinions and all.

“I want to kiss you,” he sighs in the car, watching the sunlight turn Eddie’s lashes golden, a little concentrated wrinkle between his brow as he checks the traffic before turning onto their street.

Eddie glances at him, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “You want to kiss me?”

“Shut up,” Buck complains, biting his cheek to stop his own smile from pulling at his stitches. “I mean it.”

He meant it the first time too: sitting in his Jeep in Eddie’s driveway, turned sideways to watch his best friend’s eyes flutter closed as he clutched the coffee Buck handed to him, their shift bags slung into the backseat, side-by-side like they belonged there together.

“I want to kiss you,” he said then, without really meaning to.

And then he’d said it again, when Eddie had frowned, still half asleep, sunrise painting his face in yellow and pink: “I want to kiss you.”

And Eddie had nodded, put down his coffee, and said: “Okay.”

Then he’d kissed him.

Buck wishes it could be that simple now.

Eddie parks in their driveway, then picks up Buck’s hand and lifts it to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

“I wish I could kiss you too,” he says, squeezing Buck’s hand. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

You won’t, Buck wants to say, but right now he knows it’s not true. He twists their grip, lifting Eddie’s hand in turn, and ghosts his lips over his boyfriend’s knuckles, more intention than touch. Eddie smiles.

“We survived five years without kissing each other,” he points out. “I think we’ll last one week.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right. But that doesn’t mean Buck has to like it.

“I’m never getting stitches again,” he swears. “Never.”

Eddie just shakes his head, fond. “Okay, baby.”

(And when Buck does, inevitably, need stitches again, he kindly doesn’t point out the fact that with all his bad Buckley luck, a resolution like that never really stood a chance.)

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

BTHB: Interrogation

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Minh and Ivetta have a brief conversation.

Contains: Manhandling, minor choking

~~~

A knock at the door caused Minh to look up from her reading. She frowned; they weren’t expecting anyone, and Olivia shouldn’t be back from the market yet. The town was quiet too, and while the knock wasn’t urgent and she thought she would have heard shouts if anything had happened, that wasn’t guaranteed. Hoping it was just something minor, she closed her book and rose to see who it was.

Her uncertain curiosity was replaced with dread the moment she opened the door. Instead of her wife or any of her neighbors, she was greeted with the sight of Ivetta Vernier, Lord Denholm’s brutally efficient second in command. Ivetta didn’t say anything, instead shouldering her way inside and roughly closing the door inside her. 

“Wha— Hey!”

“Minh Le,” Ivetta said curtly, as though she hadn’t just barged into Minh’s home. The behavior was typical of the kind of entitlement shown by Lord Denholm and his retainer. She quickly glanced around the small cottage. “Is your wife home?”

“No,” Minh said, ignoring the way her heart still fluttered at hearing Olivia be called her wife. "Why are you here, Vernier?”

“Hm. Where is she?”

“Shopping.”

“I see.” Ivetta took a step forwards, more firmly into Minh’s space. Minh stood her ground, staring up at the other woman. “You two are out and about far more often than you should have any need to. What are you doing? ‘Shopping?’”

It took a great deal of willpower not to visibly react. How did she know? Was she watching them, or was someone giving her information on them? It had to be the former; no one in the village would sell them out, would they? She shrugged lightly. “Visiting friends, helping neighbors.”

One thing that the resistance efforts had learned long ago was to avoid telling outright lies whenever possible. They were too hard to keep track of, too easy to prove false, and though no one could confirm it, old man Zachariah swore that Lord Denholm could sense falsehoods. Generally, just giving minimal information was best.

That evidently wasn’t enough for Ivetta today, though. The other woman grabbed the front of her shirt and roughly shoved her into the wall. Minh grunted at the impact. “I’m not in the mood for games,” she said coldly. “You two are sowing seeds of insurrection. You’d best tell me who you’re colluding with and what you’re planning.”

Panic would have been easy, but Minh didn’t panic. She couldn’t afford to. “I told you, I was just visiting friends. I can’t help you with anything else. Unless I missed a decree that we’re not allowed to have social lives anymore?”

The jab was a gamble; either it would serve to redirect Ivetta’s attention, even slightly, or it would only escalate the situation more. But even Minh couldn’t help her pettiness sometimes.

Ivetta shifted, pressing Minh further into the wall and bringing her forearm up to put pressure on Minh’s throat. “Something like that could be arranged. Or you could tell me what I want to know, and I can let you off easy.”

Minh held back a laugh. “There is no easy here,” she said past the weight on her throat.

At that moment, the door opened. Minh saw her wife out of the corner of her eye, looking fretful.

“Minh!” Olivia stomped forward, recklessly placing a hand on Ivetta’s shoulder and attempting to wrench her away. Surprisingly, Ivetta went easily, and Minh eased off the wall. “What’s going on here?”

“Olivia Kesby. I was just asking your wife about your frequent excursions. Is there anything you’d like to say on the matter?”

There was fire in Olivia’s eyes, but her voice was flat when she said, “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Hm.” The sudden shift between aggressive and calm was still disorienting, even after witnessing it so many times. “You know there will be consequences if we find out you’ve been hiding something.”

“Of course,” Minh said, matching Ivetta’s sudden calm. Olivia reached out to take her hand. “Is that all?”

There was a pregnant pause. “One more thing. You two invited the sorcerers to your wedding. What can you tell me about them?”

Minh frowned. She had gotten the impression that Lord Denholm had known more about them than she and Olivia did. “There’s not much to tell. They were in the area, so we invited them. They seemed pleasant enough.”

“And did either of them cast anything for you?”

“Plenty, when they were fighting you and Lord Denholm,” Olivia said shortly. 

“I see.” Ivetta’s expression was as blank and unreadable as ever. “I will be taking my leave, then. Farewell.”

They watched her leave. Minh closed the door behind her, then rested her forehead against the wood and took a moment to breathe in relief. That could have gone so much worse.

“Minh, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. She didn’t hurt me. Just wanted to scare me, I think.” Minh turned back to look at Olivia. “You’re home early. And… did you actually do any shopping?”

Olivia blushed a bit, looking to the side. “I, uh, got a bad feeling, so I came home. I thought I was just being paranoid, but I guess not.”

Minh smiled softly. “Well, I’m glad you did. Just be careful. Putting hands on Ivetta like that could end really badly.”

“She put hands on you first.”

“Yeah.” It could have gone so much worse. “She suspects us. We’ll probably be under surveillance, if we’re not already. We’ll have to be careful.”

“Asshole,” Olivia muttered. “Things were already hard enough. Can’t have shit in the valley.”

That made Minh laugh. Olivia cracked a smile in response; her wife had been trying to make her feel better. Well, it worked. “Hopefully not forever. Right?”

“Right. Now, can you come with me to actually get the shopping done? I, uh—”

Olivia didn’t want Minh to be alone again, did she? Sweetheart. “Of course. Let’s go.”

[mellaithwen]

WIP game

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs

Thank you for the tags @shortsighted-owl and @rewritetheending <33 I tried to only include works that have over 1k words attached to them already.... help

the 5x06 AU

the tsunami!horror fic

the buck gets a dog fic

the falsely accused fic

the star wars buddie au

pennsylvania in the snow fic

basement storm fic

May-rried (wedding) fic for Buck and Eddie

5 times Eddie almost told Buck about the will (and the one time he did)

BTHB "Hypothermia" (aka Ciara's v.late bday fic)

BTHB "Shaking and Shivering" (aka Ren's v.late bday fic)

BTHB "Bound and Gagged" (aka @princessfbi ‘s v.late bday fic)

......I see a pattern emerging......

Tagging: @homerforsure @littlespoonevan @renecdote @fcntasmas @henswilsons @hopeintheashes @tripleaxeldiaz @buttercupbuck @capseycartwright @hattalove @nymika-arts and @lovebuck :)

[spritehouse]

prompt: damaged wings

a wip for my bthb square damaged wings since bc i haven't been writing recently

⚠️Content Warnings: kidnapping, starvation/dehydration/general mistreatment⚠️

Spencer Reid dreams of being free.

He dreams of open-air so blue he could drown in it, swimming in the sky until the sun sinks, painting the horizon shades of pink.

He dreams of sitting on clouds—his brain has given up on reminding him they’re merely water vapor, gas, not solid or soft long ago—sleeping on the comfortable cushion of condensation instead of concrete.

Spencer dreams of the stars.

He dreams of gliding, wind in his hair, the moon illuminating his path as he connects the hole to heaven—pin-prick pokes in the atmosphere—floating in a sea of freedom.

He doesn’t wake, never fully, opening his eyes to the nightmare he escapes for a few hours every night, the cold darkness seeping back into his lungs after his imaginary breaths of fresh air, false hope only adding to the burning ache in his chest.

His back aches, the area where pale skin meets neglected brown, down feathers, burning and bloody from abuse, once brilliant wings hanging lamely from his shoulder blades.

Chains rattle when he moves, manacled ankles and wrists bruised from the constant weight of their restraints, heavy metal tethering the brunette to the floor of his cage.

Time passes—Spencer had stopped counting the seconds long ago, hours and days bleeding together, losing all meaning within the walls of his captivity—when the door on the opposite end of the dark room opens, sharp and painful white, clinical light streaming into the overcrowded space.

A few mutters drift through the stale air, new captives whose hope remains intact, dreams waiting for hands to break with skin and bones, sparks yet to be snuffed out, though most of the captured creatures remain silent; their kidnappers prefer those who can hold their tongues, punishing those who do not learn this quick enough.

Hands—calloused, worn, some bloody, though everyone knows it isn’t human blood staining pristine skin—reach out, claws extending towards bars, refilling bone-dry water dishes and barren food bowls, a few fingers straying to stoke wings and pet tails, touch lingering like a blade over the recipient’s head, a threat.

They have caught their attention; they will be gone, presumably dead, or worse, but gone nonetheless.

The newcomers devour the food, gulp the water, and lick everything dry, but Spencer and those in the back know better. Their food is sparse—only what they need to survive—they must ration it; those who do not learn this fast enough will starve.

Even caged, they are fighting; some creatures, beings, a population less than human fight to survive, outlasting the others in vain hopes of rescue while others, the hopeless, those in the back where the light barely reaches, battle instinct—parched throats and empty stomachs, beating wings, restless tails, twitching whiskers—fighting the remnants of fight or flight responses, waiting for the day their bodies give out, releasing them from their confines.

Spencer stares at his bowl when the hands reach through the bars, hard pellets, like kibble, clinking against metal, unmoving; his stomach has long since stopped aching for sustenance, hunger pangs fading to white noise.

The hands retract, then return, filling the second bowl with water.

His body relaxes as much as it can, shoulders slumping when the dirty hands retract again, shadowed body walking around his cage, moving on, heavy footsteps echoing through the air of held breaths as they leave his sight.

And then the touch comes.

It fills his senses, consuming his thoughts—seconds of physical contact after torturous deprivation—cold fingers stroking his wings, the unwanted touch invading his senses and consuming his thoughts until every nerve ending is yelling run.

And Spencer screams.

[sapphire11]

From either fic, for the WiP word ask: beautiful; high: imagine; entertain(ment); write; read.

Jen!! I see what you did there 😍💛

Beautiful

“You’re beautiful Carlos, even your broken pieces are beautiful.”

High

“I couldn't even let go and enjoy being high, because all I could think about was you. ...

Imagine

He imagines Carlos taking in the scene in the living room.

Entertain

 “I won’t stand for one more moment allowing you to entertain thoughts like those.”

Write (I don't have write anywhere. I do have written though)

“I can’t even imagine this being all that’s been written for our story.”

Read

TK knows his husband well enough to read through the false cheerfulness and hear the tension underneath.

Bold = AU Italics = BTHB

WIP Game: Come say hi!

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written)

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

I’ve been picking at this particular request since early December as the person who requested it had a lot of details they wanted put in making the writing process a bit more challenging. As a disclaimer, note that the chapter is split between present time and the past; with Logan recalling things in his past in an attempt to make the details requested for the story flow better. I received this request from AO3.

General taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck

Experimental Socialization

Summary: Logan was raised by the government to be nothing more than an experiment and a weapon, utilizing his unique abilities as a mutant. When he finally escapes things are much different than he imagined they’d be but thankfully finds others like him willing to help guide him right where he needs to be.(Happy Ending)

Warnings: allusions to abuse, physical punishment and human experimentation, tw for weapons and fire, panic attack. If there are more please let me know

Prompt; Not Used To Freedom (requested by AngstyEmoGal on AO3)

Ships: Intrulogical, Logan x Remus

WC: 3432

“You just gotta breathe, Logan. In four, hold seven, out eight remember? You’re doing great, just keep going.”

Logan felt himself slowly coming back to reality as his breathing evening out, the raw panic that had gripped his chest easing slightly as Virgili continued coaxing him through the exercise. He felt the other slowly rub up and down his arm in a slow, steady beat that helped ground him further in reality and he smiled up at his friend gratefully and nodded to let xem know he was okay. Gripping his knees as Virgil’s voice trailed off he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and let out one last calming breath.

“Thank you, Virgil. I-” He struggled to find words, gesturing flippantly in the air making Virgil grin.

“It’s okay. Take your time, L.”

Logan puffed his cheeks out in frustration, thoughts swirling too quickly for him to comprehend anything but the apprehensive fear he held for the plans Remus had made for them later that evening. “I am- not used to being outside. Given my history and the threat I pose as a potential compromise to our place of hiding I fail to understand Remus’ reasoning for going out when we could just as easily celebrate our relationship here.”

“Hm.” Virgil leaned back on xyr hands and looked up at the low ceiling of their underground paradise. “Can’t really see the stars from here, no matter how many stickers Princey finds and puts up it can't really be compared to the real thing.”

Logan had made the mistake of going on a tirade of space facts a few months into his stay in the hideout, Remus patiently listening to the extensive infodump of constellation facts and space physics and planetary rotation. Having a limited amount of books to entertain oneself with for extended periods of time meant memorizing entire books on one subject, which Logan had used all too happily as a figurative escape from his situation in the past until he had actually managed to escape when he was 16. Hearing Logan speak so passionately about the subject had apparently made his mind up that he was taking Logan outside for their first “official” date to view the stars, which had then landed Logan in his current state of panic as he realized that date was today and he was decidedly not ready for what might lay in store outside of safety of the hideout.

“I can stay close by if you want. I won’t spy or anything and Remus won’t have to know.” Logan looked over as his thoughts were interrupted by the offer, Virgil turning invisible and reappearing a couple seconds later to emphasize xyr point. Smiling Logan shook his head, knowing the other derived as much joy from going outside as Logan felt about going himself.

“Thank you for the offer though, you’re very kind.” Letting his thoughts drift again he idly wondered when Virgil had discovered xe could disappear and reappear at will and if xyr parents had tried to hide it before the government had found out. His own parents-

-----

“Logan?” A very small Logan turned at his mother’s voice, losing his concentration which made the hidden jar of Crofters fall from its suspended place in the air and smash to the floor. His parents hadn’t known he possessed any sort of powers, and even as small as he was he still understood the position he’d put them in if they ever found out. Fearfully his hands dropped to his sides as his mother covered her mouth in shock, tears rolling down her cheeks as she took a step back.

Men in suits and long coats were there just a few hours later, speaking in hushed voices while both of his parents cried and he was ushered out the door and into an unmarked car, quiet as he understood yelling and crying would do him no good now. What’s done was done, all he could do was be compliant and hope to be treated gently.

-----

The room suddenly brightening with a flickering light brought him back out of his thoughts, Roman entering with his signature bright flame held proudly in his hand. The image of him in his rather scrapped together Princely outfit posing subconsciously in the doorway was almost enough to make Logan roll his eyes but he didn’t want Virgil to think it was because of xem so he managed to restrain himself.

“My dearest brother has been pacing in the same spot for two hours now and I haven't been able to calm him down soooo I thought to check on our resident nerd.” Roman declared with his usual flare. Logan actually did roll his eyes this time but Virgil did as well so he figured it was fine.

“The ‘resident nerd’ is doing fine, Roman. Though it's concerning to hear Remus is nervous as well considering he’s the one who suggested the date.”

Roman waved his hand at Logan dismissively. “He’s just a sap- moreso than me surprisingly. He doesn’t want to do anything to put you in danger but he wants to do something nice, so he’s worried that’s all. Remus is an idiot but I trust him with my life; believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about except his terrible sense of humor.”

Logan merely hummed in response, staring at the way the flame moved around as Roman gestured with his words.

-----

He panted as he rolled out of the way of another flamethrower, singeing the tips of his hair in the process but he couldn’t afford to slow down enough to worry about that. Years of training with different fighting styles had earned him incredibly fast reflexes but a good portion of his accuracy in knowing where to step and when was owed to him working even harder to focus his powers. Thoughts from others constantly surrounded him on a regular basis, getting more and more prevalent the older he grew. Learning to block out the constant string of stimuli was a useful skill to keep him sane but learning to hone in on specific thoughts to predict actions was what had kept him alive.

He ducked below another bullet and brought up his leg in the same motion, kicking a throwing knife to the side and sending it to clatter harmlessly between one of his assailants feet. A twirl to the side and a tilt of the head let another bought of flame boil the air beside him while another knife just barely brushed his ear. The constant bang of bullets and roar of flames and whistling of knives was overwhelming and made the air so thick he could barely draw a breath and it was becoming a struggle to concentrate the way he needed to and-

A high pitched alarm sounded one, twice, three times- a blaring flash accompanying it that left him blinking painfully. His shoulders slumped as the barrage finally ended, another successful training day completed. He watched as everyone began putting their weapons away, laughing and congratulating each other, clapping themselves on the back and discussing whatever they had planned after this. No one even spared the thing they had been firing at seconds before a spare glance, save for the director of the branch, who took long steps forward to stand in front of him only to snap his fingers and motion forward no doubt to see him back to his room until dinner. Absorbing the sounds around him he drank in as much praise as he could that wasn’t his and would never be for him; people rarely congratulated weapons after all.

-----

“Is this where we all decided to hide today?” Logan looked up to see Patton sitting cross legged on one one of the beams in the ceiling, grinning happily down at them even as their fluffy ears twitched nervously and even fluffier tail whipped back and forth in agitation. They must have come back from trying to calm Remus as well, Logan mused; Patton had never done well being in the same room as Remus who tended to voice his thoughts abruptly and without much care to how they might sound to others which always managed to set Patton on edge no matter how hard they tried not to show it.

Patton was a rare mutant in that as opposed to being born with abnormal traits or abilities they had been a science experiment from the start- an effort to create super soldiers rather than stealing them away from families and training them. Even rarer was the fact that the DNA splicing had taken extraordinarily well by pure chance as Patton was born with a mutation that left their DNA incredibly malleable- a mutation that never would have been discovered had cellular manipulation not been the reason for them being in the experimental branch that they were. They had tried cloning Patton at first to see if their power could be duplicated but when that failed to work they began trying to combine them with different animals to see if desirable traits would come forward. By manipulating them on a physical and anatomical level they were able to change some parts of them to be more cat like, intending, Patton had guessed, to turn them into a kind of stealth soldier but they got away before they completed it, leaving them with heightened agility and surgically coaxed cat ears and a tail. They were only a child when the lab had done this but somehow they were never bitter, simply preferring to leave their past alone and embrace whatever future they could make- a trait Logan greatly admired them for even if their unending optimism could be somewhat grating at times.

“Did Janus brush your tail out Pat? It looks fluffier today.” Patton preened at Virgil's compliment, their tail beginning to wave in a more relaxed manner as their mind was distracted from whatever it was Remus had been ranting about.

“He did! He found a cat brush and got it for me so I could finally get the undercoat out!” Jumping down and landing lightly on their feet they posed a little and flashed another wide grin.

“Beautiful as always, Patton.” Roman said genuinely as he lowered his hand into a barrel to light up the paper scraps and wood in it for the night, the dim sunlight that had filtered through the grated having long since died. The home was a modified branch of a sewer system, thankfully the part most removed from the city where it flowed without the stench and was sealed off inconspicuously enough that in the ten years Janus and Remus had been using it no worker had ever found it.

-----

It had been Janus and Remus who had found him, beaten and bloody from an escape attempt he had made just days before his real one. He had made a weak attempt to coax the scientists into a false sense of security, holding back the full scoop of his powers during training for a year in anticipation for his final escape. He had punished severely but had simply thrown him in his regular cell, assuming he wasn’t strong enough to do any more damage than they had seen him do already and trusting that they had beaten him down enough that it would be a while before he tried again- if he ever did. Not six days later the mangled metal of the front of his cell was tossed into a group of guards, walls torn apart in a straight line to the exit and the huge buzzing gates leading to the outside world thrown open wide and stuck there with varying amounts of heavy debris.

The outside world, as it turns out, was a lot bigger and louder and downright terrifying when you weren’t being sent out as a personal assassin or field missions or training sessions- all controlled on some level to keep him from being killed and compromised. Without the begrudged protection from the labs and moreover having to hide from said lab was another story entirely. The times they searched for him and how closely they came to his spots were random and made it incredibly hard for him to pick out their thoughts from anyone else’s in the city and figure out how close they were. On more than one occasion they passed right by him crouched under piles of garbage or laying low under a hedge, his breath held as he tried desperately to keep himself as still and quiet as possible, thoughts of what they would to him once they found him pounding against his head and making him squeeze his eyes shut to keep his terrified tears from falling.

That was how Remus had found him. It had been dark and hours had passed since the searchers had left that park he had been hiding in. He had still been hiccuping down his sobs as he rolled out from under the hedge that he hadn’t bothered to scope the area for anyone’s close by thoughts, having shut out as much as he could after they had left to try and block out any other hate fueled thoughts that may send him spiraling again. His heart had leapt in his throat so high his breath caught painfully, immediately shifting to offense as he tensed, ready to fight as long and hard as he could. He couldn’t go back- he wouldn’t. No matter what they did or promised him or punished him with; he’d go down fighting or not at all.

But Remus had only raised his hands in the air in a motion of peace, eyes widening as he locked onto the government issued bracelet that marked him as an experimental mutant. He had grinned impossibly wide then Logan remembered, briefly disappearing from his sight and reappearing a moment later, setting him even more on edge but curious nonetheless.

“I’m like you.” Remus had said quietly. “Basically I run real fast and the government hasn’t figured out how to get me yet.”

Logan had watched as he jiggled his wrists a bit for emphasis, bare save for colored chords that he assumed didn’t associate him with any government branch since they didn’t look official.

“Are you okay?” Remus had asked next and mutely Logan nodded, unsure of how to react to this fellow mutant who had never been caught by any sort of lab, apparently living as free as one could when you were as different as they were. He stepped back as another man appeared behind him, Janus he later learned.

“Liar.” Janus had hissed, making Remus reach around and smack the back of his head.

“It was a polite thing to ask that he tried to dismiss Jan. Let the adults speak for a second.”

Logan had noted the faint pout on Janus’ face though he was still trying very hard to look intimidating. And then all at once his eyes had turned cold as his attention was once again focused on Logan, glaring menacingly from beneath a black bowler hat. “I’m younger than you and yet I’m the one that has to put my foot down. He’s being chased clearly; we are not bringing him back with us.”

Remus has turned, Logan seemingly forgotten for the moment. “That’s not how it works! He needs help and we’re not leaving him to starve or be found in the middle of a park! What would Patton say?”

“Patton is a soft fool who needs to figure out where their morals stand. I myself am choosing not to compromise our place of hiding and three other people that you know those power hungry idiots would love nothing more than to get their hands on!”

Remus rolled his eyes so hard his head had lolled with it, face going pale as he watched something in the sky. It was then that Logan heard the telling sound of a helicopter flying low and getting closer but he had barely tensed before he found himself gripped around the middle and held vertically with the ground flying underneath him. They stopped abruptly and he was set down, blinking in rapid confusion as Remus grinned sheepishly at him.

“Welcome to the hideout?”

Logan’s eyes had widened and his breath had caught yet again, chest tightening as he shook his head vehemently. “You can’t- I need to go back! They’ll do anything to get me back-!”

He was stopped from going forward with a finger to his chest, his blue eyes locking with beautiful brown as Remus held his gaze. “And we will do everything to keep you safe.”

Safe. With that one word Logan was his. He hadn’t known why and he still didn’t quite understand it but he had trusted Remus with everything he had- and he still did. Even as Janus had stalked off grumbling and Virgil and Roman had kept their distance at first Remus had kept him close and showed him how much better his life could be, even if they were living in a modified sewer system.

Back in the present he looked up as a hand was thrust under his chin, smiling softly as he took Remus’ hand and let himself be led away from the others’ idle chatter. He counted himself extremely lucky in the end that Janus had eventually come around to him, seeing how happy he made Remus and how Remus made Logan feel it had been him to finally talk to Logan about it and get the two to officially talk about how they felt, going on about the being “hopeless gay idiots” when they had finally started to date officially. Logan wasn’t sure what he’d do without Remus at this point, just a year later and he was so attached to their small group of hideaways he wouldn’t trade for the world.

They approached the exit to the sewers, Remus swinging their hands between them. Logan held his breath right before they crossed the threshold, closing his eyes and letting it out slowly as his feet met grass and he opened his eyes to the darkened field. There were a few tunnels that lead out to different places depending on where they needed to go and this, Remus had told him, was his favorite because of how empty it was. The city lay far in the distance so there was almost no light pollution to block out the sky. Soft grass and flowers brushed his ankles as he scanned the area carefully, seeing nothing but trees lining the far end of the field with a road so far away he could barely, make it out in the darkness. Remus tugged his hand softly to get his attention, searching his eyes for any hint of discomfort.

“Is this okay?’

Logan took another breath and let it out, the last of his nerves fading away as he took in the quiet. “It’s perfect Remus.”

The other grinned and tugged a little harder this time, walking fast to the middle of the field where he stopped suddenly and raised Logan’s arm up to lead him into an impromptu twirl. Logan laughed quietly and then louder as he was dipped, secure in Remus’ strong hold as he reached up to grip the back of his neck. He was safe. He was free and safe and happy finally with someone who truly loved and cared for him. His breath caught in his throat again but this time in awe, Remus chuckling as he was laid down carefully tucked into his side, till with his arms around his neck.

The stars shone bright and winked lazily while swirls of color dusted faintly behind them. The moon was waning, a barely there light that let the beauty behind it show fully as the wind whisked away any clouds that dared to try and cover it. It was everything Logan had ever hoped it would be and more, excitement thrumming through him as he squeezed Remus tightly in an attempt to convey it. He felt Remus grin against his scalp where his face was buried in his hair.

“It’s beautiful isn't it?”

Logan looked back at him, light from the stars reflected in his eyes and wild brown hair framing his face. He leaned up slightly and kissed him, a faint brush of their lips that left them both grinning like the idiots they were. Placing a hand on Remus’ cheek Logan smiled at him, thumb brushing over his cheek in adoration.

“Absolutely stunning.”

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[derryqueenx]

For the “hurt caretaker” bthb prompt maybe Vince starts to be bitter and angry and hurt that howard hasnt found him and lyle supports him and reassures him that /he's/ here for Vince now (aka emotionally manipulates and gaslights him😂) and Vince starts to maybe think that he's right....

Hurt Caretaker.

Word Count: 1737 (I know, a lil short one.)

TW: nothing really… just a lot of feels.

Everything had been going well, actually.

Vince and Lyle were good – they ate breakfast together every morning, they spent as much time as they could together until Lyle had to go for work, and even more miraculous, Lyle trusted Vince enough now to let him wander the house freely when he was gone. Of course, the barrier was still up from his Shaman, but Vince no longer had the same desire to escape like he once had.

Where would he go anyway?

He had everything he needed right here. Someone to take care of him, someone to feed him and love him, someone to keep him company and appreciate him.

Someone that wouldn’t abandon him.

Someone that wouldn’t give up on him..

Someone not like Howard.

Vince saw it now. Saw how pathetic he was to be longing after Howard so desperately when he first arrived here, how much he cried for Howard, begged for Howard, screamed for Howard, and for what? Nothing.

Howard never came. They were supposed to be together forever – inseparable, and yet, Howard let them be separated. He didn’t come barging in to the rescue when Vince was drugged at the night club, he didn’t come swooping in to bring him home when he woke up in Lyle’s house, he wasn’t even the one trying to talk to him – Naboo was!

And speaking of his own shaman friend, Vince hadn’t heard from Naboo since his escape attempt with Quinton. Now, that could very well be Lyle’s doing, but even if it was, surely it couldn’t be that hard to try a different method to get through to Vince again, right? Vince knew what Naboo was capable of. Knew what he could do. And speaking into someone’s mind seemed easy enough.

It was almost as if he just didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to come get Vince.

And neither did Howard.

Vince knew that now. Lyle had tried to tell him, tried to show him since the beginning but Vince refused to listen. He didn’t want it to be true. But it was.

Howard didn’t care about him anymore. Howard was probably already redecorating their room and getting rid of all Vince’s things, happy he didn’t have to deal with him anymore.

So where would Vince go if he did try to run away?

No one wanted him.

No one except Lyle.

Lyle wanted him. Lyle fought for him. Lyle tried everything he could to get Vince to see the truth, to not be blinded by passion and false hopes, to open his eyes and see the people around him for who they really were. Frauds. Everyone except Lyle.

Lyle cared about him. Lyle wouldn’t abandon him. Lyle wouldn’t give up on him.

So no, Lyle didn’t have to worry about Vince running away because he didn’t plan to. He planned to stay exactly where he was.

“What are you thinking about, pet?” Lyle cooed from the couch, softly petting Vince’s hair from where he sat on the floor leaning against it, never allowed on the couch because that wasn’t his place, but Vince didn’t mind. From down here it meant he got to feel Lyle’s soft fingers running through his hair, comforting him. “You seem distant.”

Vince shook his head apologetically. “Sorry... I didn’t mean to.” He turned to give Lyle a reassuring smile, one that Lyle saw right through.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Again, Vince shook his head, this time dismissively. “It’s stupid, I don’t want you to worry about it.”

Lyle gave Vince a more stern expression this time. “Vince, I told you to tell me.” It was said in a warning tone, insisting to Vince to not disobey, and Vince never wanted to do that.

With a sigh, Vince relaxed. “I was just thinking about...” He hesitated, worried about Lyle would react to his next word. “Howard.”

He could see Lyle tense, lips thinning together as his eyes narrowed cautiously. “I thought I told you-“ He started, but Vince cut him off.

“Not like that. I was actually thinking about how much happier I am with you. How stupid I was to think that Howard would ever be apart of my life, when clearly it was always meant to be you. You were always the one that was meant to find me.” Vince smiled at him sincerely, hoping his eyes said enough to express how genuine he was, hoping Lyle knew how much he was appreciated.

Vince saw Lyle relax again, any tension leaving the air as he too met Vince smile with his own, his hand moving from Vince’s hair to his cheek, this thumb caressing the jawline soothingly and lovingly, causing Vince to melt into the touch. “Oh, pet.” He breathed out with admiration. “I’m so glad you feel that way. I only ever want what’s best for you.”

“I know.” Vince re-assured, nestling up against Lyle’s touch like a puppy desperate for approval. “Im sorry I was such a pain to deal with at first. I see now that you were only trying to help me.”

Lyle nodded in agreement. “Those 2 never appreciated you. They would never be able to love you like I do.”

A red tint covered Vince’s cheeks as he looked up at Lyle with wide, wholesome eyes. “You- love?” He clarified, needing to know he didn’t mishear him, that he wasn’t imagining things.

Lyle merely chuckled lightly. “Of course. Did you ever doubt me?”

It was like a breathe of fresh air. He was still loveable… someone still loved him. And it was the most important person in his world, too. The only person that mattered anymore. “I love you too.”

-

“Howard, you need to eat.”

“No.”

Naboo looked on the kitchen table, spotting the sandwich he’d made 3 days ago still sitting there, untouched. “When was the last time you had something?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. You need to eat.” Naboo repeated, a bit more firm this time.

“No. What I need is to find my goddamn boyfriend, okay? And since no one else is doing anything about it, it’s up to me!”

It hurt, Naboo won’t lie. To know that Howard thought he wasn’t doing anything to help find Vince. No matter how many times Naboo told him that the other shaman had blocked him from Vince’s mind, Howard didn’t believe him. He always said there had to be something else – some other way. But there wasn’t. At least not one that Naboo had found.

Howard didn’t know about the countless late and sleepless nights Naboo spent in his room, scouring every book and object he knew about, travelling to distant lands and planets in search of an answer to where Vince was, speaking to everyone he came across in hopes that someone knew something.

He didn’t tell Howard about these visits, because he didn’t want to get the other man’s hopes up. It was just easier for Howard to think he’d given up, or at least wasn’t trying as hard as he once was. That way there was no reason to disappoint.

And so far Naboo had come back with nothing but disappointment.

“You’re going to be no use to him if you wear yourself out like this.” He tried again, earning a groan of frustration in response.

“I’m no use to him in general! It’s been nearly 4 months, Naboo! 4 months! I was supposed to protect him! I was supposed to be by his side forever and now what? Where is he, huh? I don’t even know if he’s-“ Howard stopped himself, biting back the word in his throat that had definitely crossed both of their minds. The last interaction they had with Vince was when he tried to escape, and then Naboo got cut off. They don’t know what happened to Vince after that. What sort of punishment he got… how severe it was. But they couldn’t allow themselves to think like that. If they thought for even a second that Vince wasn’t-….

They just couldn’t think like that. It would destroy them.

Howard took in a deep breath. “I need to find him. And I won’t stop until I do.”

“Well your body is going to make you stop if it doesn’t get fuel, Howard. And then what? Then who’s going to look for Vince? He’ll have no one. Then he’ll be all on his own.”

Howard didn’t look up at Naboo, but he did pause, shoulders rising and falling with each breathe as he contemplated Naboo’s warning, taking it in and realising despite his best efforts that his friend was right. Vince needed him, and Howard needed to be capable enough to find him. “Fine.” He mumbled out, storming past Naboo without another word into the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out the loaf of bread, taking a single plain slice and shoving it into his mouth. “Happy?” He questioned, mouth full of food as he closed the fridge back again, taking the loaf with him back to where he standing in the living room previously.

“Sure.” Was all Naboo said sadly.

Howard was broken. Anyone with eyes could see that.

He wasn’t eating. He wasn’t sleeping. He was barely showering, and he hadn’t dared to sleep in his own room since Vince went missing. Naboo figured it was because he didn’t want to mess anything up of Vince’s, wanting to leave it exactly how it was for when, if, Vince came home.

If they never found Vince, Howard wouldn’t cope. It wouldn’t be long until he would become just a shell of the man he was, hardly even Howard anymore.

There was no Howard Moon without Vince Noir. There never was. It just didn’t make sense.

Naboo needed to find Vince. Not just for Vince’s sake, but for Howard’s as well.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He said after a few seconds of awkward silence, not really sure what ‘it’ was that Howard was even doing, but figured it didn’t matter. As long as Howard felt like he was doing something and helping in some way, it would keep him distracted whilst Naboo kept on his own mission.

Someone knew something. Someone had to know something.

And Naboo would find them.

There was no other option.

He had to bring Vince home before it was too late.

He just hoped it already wasn’t too late… -

AHHHHH THEY SAID THE ‘L’ WORD!!

Vince. No. Stop it. *sprays with water* Bad Vince. (I’m kidding he doesn’t know any better my precious 🥺🥺🥺)

And hey Howard! Haven’t seen you in a while. I see you’re not doing well…. Uh… sorry bout that.

[delimeful]

taking the fall (1)

BTHB: Framed

decided to return to my borrower roots for this BTHB prompt! it was fun to work in a 'verse like this again.

warnings: snakes, injury, captivity, janus being a little bit of a prick, using 'it' for a person

-

Virgil should have known something was up from the moment Roman wasn’t there to greet him at their normal rendezvous point.

It was a little alcove between the roots of a sapling on the border between the oversized apartment building and the small forest Virgil called home. The perfect compromise for soft insiders that were terrified of local wildlife and outies like him that wouldn’t be caught dead in a human building.

He’d waited there for about two marks after their normal arranged meeting time, and when someone had finally arrived, he’d been on the brink of irritability. It hadn’t lasted long, not in the face of the other borrower’s clear panic and weariness.

“What’s going on?” he’d asked, and was then treated to a rambling, half-incoherent explanation about how Roman was desperately sick and hurt, and they couldn’t find any human medicine but they knew he had to have something up his sleeve, right?

He’d tried to ask for symptoms, make it clear that he would have to figure out exactly how sick Roman was before finding the necessary herbs to treat it, but the other borrower-- what was her name? Elli? Ari?-- was persistent and desperate, and hurried him into the apartment despite his protests. He’d even had to leave his spear behind to fit in the walls properly.

Despite his complaints, he wouldn’t leave a friend in need just because they were stuck in a bean’s walls. So he went, and he was so intent on mentally taking stock of his current medicine supply that he only barely noticed when the insider-- Mari? That sounded closer.-- led him to a crack in the wallpaper that led directly into one of the human’s homes.

He’d dug in his heels there, but only for as long as it took her to weave a story about Roman being stuck under a television stand and too weak to be towed back to the nearest exit. Like an idiot, he’d believed it, too consumed with worry to question her further. If Roman, master of putting up a facade of bravado, had admitted he didn’t think he could make it to an exit, things were worse than he thought.

He’d swallowed down his nerves about being so out of his comfort zone in the name of helping Roman and maybe even doing something that would make the insiders stop looking at him like something scraped off a human’s shoe. Relatively speaking, he’d felt pretty good about it even.

Then, as they sidestepped past the faucet in the kitchen, a pair of hands firmly shoved against his back, hard enough that he didn’t have a chance to recover.

And now he was here, in the bottom of a human’s shiny, slick-sided sink, leg throbbing, looking up at the insider who’d put him there.

“Sorry,” she had the gall to say, “but I don’t have any other choice.”

Virgil may have been gritting his teeth against the pain, but he always had time to snark. “Really? You hate me so much that you had to do all this?” Insiders. Couldn’t even get their own hands dirty.

“What? No.” The borrower’s expression was hard to make out from all the way up on the counter, but her tone was incredulous. “No, I just needed-- I was seen. You get it?”

“I get that you’re out of your mind,” he bit back. “Don’t you people have a rule for that? I thought you were supposed to move out, not push someone into a sink!”

“It’s hardly even spring, and we don’t have enough supplies to make it!” the backstabber protested. “We’re not outies, and if this human doesn’t get what he wants, he could call pest control on all of us, not just me. He threatened it, even.”

“So that makes it okay to offer me up like some sacrificial lamb?” Virgil rolled onto hands and knees, and then bit back a whimper as he hurriedly kept all pressure off his left leg. Standing was out of the question.  

“It’s for the good of all of us. And if you ever cared about Roman even a little bit, you’ll follow our rules for once and keep your mouth shut when he finds you.”

Virgil went still. “Was he in on this? Roman?”

Mari’s voice turned sorrowful. “Roman’s already gone. He was the first one to vanish, probably to this very human and his wretched snakes.”

“Snakes?” Virgil asked, his voice pitching embarrassingly high. And then, as his heart dropped, “Roman’s gone?”

Mari continued on, half to herself. “If he were still here, though, he’d be on my side. I don't know what he was thinking, cavorting around with you, but he knows that I’m just doing what’s best for the colony. We have children to look after.”

She took a step forward as she spoke, and then another, and Virgil felt his heart jump into his throat. “Don’t leave!”

He bristled helplessly at the pity-filled look she gave him, not halting her slow progression back across the counter ledge. “Like I said, it’s for the best. You’re not getting out of this, and me staying here would just give you false hope. I’m sure the human will be home soon, so just… try and come to terms with things.”

“Come to terms with things?!” Virgil howled as she finally vanished from sight. “You’re literally leaving me here to certain death for your own selfish ends! I could… I could help you move. I know how to travel safely, find food, for thunder’s sake don’t just leave me here!”

There was no response to his pleas, not even the sound of her footsteps across the counter. Roman wore soft cloth coverings to muffle his footsteps, Virgil remembered somewhat hysterically. He couldn't remember how far the exit was. How reassuring that even if he managed to get out of the sink, he wouldn’t know the first thing about surviving in a human house.

He was so fucked.

---

Janus sighed as he shoved his apartment door up slightly, twisting the knob and pushing it open so that the hinges didn’t make a sound. His footsteps were immediately muffled by the rug he’d placed at the door.

Just a few of the… security measures he’d come up with.

Really, if the little thieves living in the walls had any brains at all, they should’ve long ago memorized his schedule. Seeing as they avoided his traps so effectively, he didn’t have much hope of randomly catching one unawares.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t try. If he was lucky, he would at least unsettle them with how stealthy he could be.

Four steps into the living room, he heard it. A tiny clink, just barely audible past the fan lazily rotating overhead. It was coming from the kitchen.

He set his bag down, a disbelieving smile flitting over his face. Were they really that stupid, to steal food from his apartment when there were safer targets in practically any of the other units?

All the better for him, he supposed.

Carefully, slowly, he approached the other room, pausing to listen in the doorway. He didn’t see any movement on the counters, but…

Miracle of miracles, the noise came again. Janus recognized it this time— the sound of glass on metal. It was a dish being moved in the sink. He wondered for a moment if maybe it was just a small animal that had snuck in. Why would one of them be in the sink, after all?

He crept closer, and peered over the edge of the counter. Despite his doubts, it was a tiny person, slowly pushing one of the crumb-covered dishes towards the other side of the sink, where a small tower of dishware was building up. Janus couldn’t see a hook. The little creature didn’t seem to have any supplies at all, actually.

“Stuck, are we?” he asked, finally breaking his silence.

The tiny person jumped like a startled cat, and in the next moment, they were already trying to scramble up the makeshift stairs to freedom. Janus reached out and grabbed one of the glasses in the sink, plonking it over the little creature. “Not so fast.”

He took a moment to lean against the counter and observe them closer as they backed up to the far edge of the cup. Clearly handmade clothing, dark hair and sun-tanned skin, a badly-hidden limp from some injury in their left leg.

“You're not the one from before,” he mused out loud. “I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to trap themselves like this.”

That tiny expression darkened for a moment, but still not a word. Janus sighed, and decided that this was going to require more preparation than a glass, unless he wanted to suffocate the tiny stranger. He straightened up and walked out of the kitchen without a word.

One closet-scouring later, he’d found his prize and set it up in his bedroom, with only a little extra decoration for mockery purposes.

When he returned, the tiny person was pretending not to have moved, though the glass had clearly been shifted perilously close to the edge of the plate. Janus wasted no time in picking up the plate, glass, and passenger.

The tiny stranger dropped to hands and knees to brace themself, and Janus did try to make sure his steps were smooth so as to not agitate their wound. He wasn’t a complete monster.

Once he reached his room, it was simple enough to transfer them from the glass to the old terrarium he’d prepared. They made a lunge for his sleeves, as though to latch on, but between their injured state and Janus’s experience with snakes, he was quick enough to avoid them.

He clicked his tongue, but the moment he’d removed himself from the terrarium, the tiny person had ceased to focus on him completely. They immediately hobbled to press their back against the glass, staring at the fake plastic plants inside as though… Hm.

Janus tapped the glass, eliciting a flinch-glare combination. “There’s nothing alive in there but you. Relax a little.”

If looks could kill, Janus would have been dead twice over. He ignored the glare. “I know you can talk, so let’s skip the part where you pretend to be mute, shall we? You’re a new face, but I’m assuming you know who I am.”

Still no response. Janus rolled his eyes. “I suppose I don’t need you to be talkative if I’m going to be using you as a hostage.”

—-

Virgil couldn’t help the harsh laugh that bubbled out of him, shaking his head sharply like that would reverse the sound. What a joke.

“Care to share?” That oil-slick voice again.

The human looming over him waited patiently for an explanation, and Virgil scowled. He couldn’t imagine that Roman had done well under such pressure. The guy loved the sound of his own voice.

The thought felt harsher, now that he knew Roman was… dead. He’d never hear him again.

He shuddered, glancing back over his shoulder at the fake greenery around him. If this wasn’t where the snakes were kept, then where were they?

It occurred to him that he could ask. What was stopping him? Loyalty to rules that had already been broken? To someone who had already been killed by this very human?  

“The snakes,” he said, voice barely there. He tried again. “Where are the snakes?”

“Oh? You know about them,” the human seemed pleased, sickeningly enough. “How about this, you answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

Virgil hesitated, but it wasn’t like the answer was giving all that much away. “You found me in a sink. No gear. Injured. You think the ones who put me there are going to give you anything? I’m not some valuable hostage. Just let me go.”

"I see." The human’s face had shifted somewhat, but it only assessed him for a moment longer before turning to the large, glass boxes nearby. It reached into one.

“They outgrew that old terrarium years ago, now I’ve got a much fancier set for them over here.”

The sentence seemed like nonsense, until the human returned with a snake wrapped around its wrist. Virgil froze, staring at the vibrant green coils as they shifted.

“This is Jekyll,” the human said, as though Virgil cared to be introduced to those beady yellow eyes. Though, it didn’t look large enough to eat an entire borrower. Virgil had faced larger garden snakes. “He’s the timid sort, no claim to the doctor title unfortunately.”

He watched the human rummage around in the other terrarium, and come back out with a much larger snake. He felt the blood drain from his face as the pale, patterned snake was brought closer.

“And this,” the human said, carefully running a finger along it's spine, “is Hyde. She’s a little moodier, as boas tend to be.”  

Virgil slowly shifted back, knowing logically that there was glass between him and the creature, but also that the human could change that at any time. Had changed it, in Roman’s case. It was only a matter of when.

The human tracked his motion, head tilted in an uncanny parody of his snakes.

“I don’t let them wander loose in the household,” it said, finally. “They won't hurt you, despite what your friends may have told you.”

I only had one friend, Virgil thought, not stopping until he’d found the back corner of the cage, and that’s exactly why I don’t believe you.

He drew his limbs up around himself, silent, and waited until the human finally left him alone to start tending his wounds.

The more advantages he had for his escape, the better.

[no-whump-on-main]

Apartment 307-8 (Grabbed by the hair)

Hi guys!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. School and work have been crazy but luckily I'm out of school next week so I'll have much more time and be posting more frequently! Apologies for the short chapter, I have no idea why but it just kicked my butt lol. I tried doing some cool multimedia stuff, I hope you enjoy! This is @sableflynn's BTHB request, grabbed by the hair.

TWs: Creepy, possessive whumper, mention of branding, also this chapter made me sad bc I love my mom and Elora's mom is sad so warning for that lmao

Elora was still lying there crying hours later. The tears had slowed from her initial keening sobs, but they still fell steadily down her face, accumulating in a small puddle on the tile by her head. She could see a bit of her reflection in the salty water; just her eyes, mostly. She saw green eyes that had once been so full of hope and life that were fading, the slow abandonment of hope almost making them gray out. She wanted to lie there forever, staring into her own eyes, until oblivion took her. If she cleared her head enough, she could pretend she was elsewhere, somewhere warm and loving; the blanket draped over her body did help with the fantasy, though she always knew somewhere in the back of her head that it was just that: a fantasy. She was still here. With him.

Clyde tried to give her time to recover, but his patience wore eventually. He began to get antsy after a few hours of watching her lie there, doing nothing but cry. Admittedly, he did enjoy it at first-seeing her so weak, so docile, because of him-but it eventually grew tiresome. Watching each tear drip down into the puddle became like watching paint dry.

He stood up abruptly. Elora was startled by the motion, flinching before stilling and watching him very carefully. What was he going to do?

“Get up,” he said simply.

Elora froze. She still felt sick, dizzy with pain and the lingering scent of her burning flesh in the bathroom. But why would he care about that? Why should she disobey him, when she knew what would happen?

Yet pride and pain got the better of her again.

“I can’t,” she whimpered. She felt weak. “I hurt. You hurt me.”

The piercing sound of a loud, sudden laugh began to echo through the bathroom. It reminded Elora of the laugh of a hyena. She winced.

“Darling, did you not think that was the point?”

Her expression hardened and her heart thumped in her chest. That was the point. She wanted to say something, but her mouth suddenly got dry.

The man simply grinned. “Get up,” he repeated, but she didn’t. She just laid there, dumbfounded.

He groaned angrily, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Be that way.”

He gathered up her hair in his hand, locked his fingers in a tight fist, and pulled up. Elora yelped and scrambled to get to her feet to relieve the pain, but he didn’t give her the chance; he carelessly dragged her off, out of the bathroom, through the hallway, and into the living room. She screamed and thrashed wildly, her hands desperately trying to push him away as her scalp burned like fire. Again and again, her feet scraped the ground to no avail, kicking and kicking but never able to gain enough traction to stand as she was mercilessly dragged. The man finally dropped her on the floor at the foot of a worn leather couch, releasing his death grip on her hair. Her hands immediately flew up to her head, applying gentle pressure to her scalp to try to ease the burning pain as she looked around the new room.

The living room was barren, like the man had half moved into it then given up. There was a dusty box in the corner, the couch, a worn coffee table, a small stand, and an old TV. Other than that, it was empty, in an eerie way. The aged carpet spanned the floor like an ocean.

The pressure didn’t do much and Elora dropped her hands, still wincing as the man plopped himself on the couch behind her, the leather making a loud crackling noise as he sat. She whipped her head around as her shoulders raised up to her ears instinctively. The man made a sour face, his features twisting into an ugly frown.

“Relax,” he commanded, forcefully pushing her shoulders down. At first, she tried to wiggle away, but that idea was abandoned when he tightened his grip, clearly as a warning. He grabbed the TV remote from the arm of the couch and turned it on. It started on some history channel documentary about cars, but Clyde quickly flipped through channels until he found the local news station.

A grin spread across his face as he read the blue banner spanning across the bottom of the screen. They were just in time.

UP NEXT: CAPE COD GIRL GOES MISSING; DESPERATE MOTHER PLEADS FOR HER RETURN

His hands wandered to Elora’s scalp and began to gently card through her hair. She inhaled sharply, and it took everything she had in her not to immediately shove him off. Somehow the gentleness felt worse than the pain; the false sense of care disgusted her. He was a maniac. He hurt her, he branded her, and now he was sitting on the couch petting her hair, pretending like none of it happened. It didn’t escape her attention how he set her on the floor instead of the couch, below him, like a dog.

The banner was bad enough, but she felt sick to her stomach when the station cut to a reporter sitting at a desk with a picture of her on half of the screen. It was the picture her mom took of her at the orchard last fall. It was candid; she remembered it. She was intently focused on a butterfly off on a tree, ignoring her mom as she snapped the photo. It was one of her favorite pictures of herself. And now, it was plastered all over the news.

The reporter on the TV began to speak. “Tonight, a desperate mother pleads for her missing daughter’s safe return. Elora Larkin, nineteen, of Barnstable county, Massachusetts has been missing since Friday night. She was last seen walking home from her job at Agathangelou’s bakery, wearing khakis, a black t-shirt, and black sneakers. The police have opened a tip line and are offering an unspecified reward for any information that leads to Miss Larkin.”

Elora felt a lurching sensation in her stomach, so visceral she wanted to throw up. That was her. On the news. Gone. Missing.

Behind her, the man chuckled.

“Look at that, baby. You’re all over New England.”

“I’m not your baby,” she snapped, turning around. But her head was spinning. All over New England? It wasn’t the Cape Cod news station on the TV. It wasn’t even a state news channel. It was entirely unfamiliar, the reporter’s face one she’d never seen.. So he’d taken her across state lines, making her chances of being found lower yet.

The man shushed her and put a finger up to her lips. “Watch.” She almost bit him, but decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable punishment that would follow. Besides, they might say something useful, something that could help her. She needed to pay attention.

The screen changed, and a missing persons poster popped up. Hers.

It was up for a minute before it faded away as the reporter came back on the screen.

“Such a sad story. Everyone in the studio is hoping and praying for her safe return. Unfortunately, vigilance is so important in this day and age. Up next, we have a recording of a press conference with the girl’s mother.

The girl’s mother. Her mother. Elora felt her heartbeat thumping in her chest.

And there she was. Jodie was standing at a podium in a building that had to be a police station. Demetrios was standing by her side, offering support by merely being present. While Elora hadn’t seen him cry even once in all the years she’d known him, he now looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Her mom started to speak. She looked so sad. Withered, like the life had been sucked out of her, from fear and overthinking and sleepless nights.

“My daughter-My daughter Elora has been missing since Friday night. She’s got-she’s got blonde hair, and green eyes, and she’s real tall. I’m sure pictures have gone around by now. She was walking home from work and-and then she disappeared. We were supposed to have dinner Sunday and she never came. It was supposed to be her weekend off. I- If someone has her, please, I’m begging you, let her go. Bring her home safe. She’s a good kid, she works hard, she rescues cats in her spare time...she doesn’t deserve this. And Elora, if you’re seeing this, I love you. I love you so much, honey. If you chose to leave, please just tell us you’re okay. It’s okay. You can go see the world, just tell us you’re okay. And if something-something bad happened, we’re gonna find you. I promise, baby, I love you and we’re gonna bring you home. Promise.”

At that point, she set the microphone down and began to cry, tears streaming down her face as she hurried off to an exit, the cameras following her for a few moments. Elora’s heart twisted in knots. Seeing her mom’s face brought her so much joy, yet knowing how worried she had to be made her feel sick with guilt.

But she promised. She promised she’d find her.

“That your mom?”

Elora stilled. He already knew the answer.

"She’s kinda pathetic. Could barely keep it together long enough to tell them about you.”

She went cold. “Stop,” she seethed. Her voice was eerily calm, given her anger.

"Or what?” he replied, twisting her hair up in his hand and giving it another tug.

Elora was silent. There was no or what. She knew that.

The reporter came back on the screen.

“Well, folks, that’s all we have on the case for tonight. Remember to be safe and vigilant. This has been Hannah Brown with News12.”

The man released her hair, picked up the remote, and turned off the T.V.

“Notice how they only talked about you, not me?”

Elora turned her head around. She was crying.

“What?”

He scoffed. “I said, notice how they only ran their mouths about you the whole time. Never said a word about me. You know what that means? They don’t know jack shit about me. They don’t know who you’re with or where you are. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we’re in Connecticut. We crossed state lines twice. They’re never going to find you, you know that?

She tried to hide it, but he could see her expression falling with every word he said, hope beginning to seep out of her. She shook her head vigorously, her bottom lip trembling.

“N-no! No, they will, you’re just crazy! You’re just fucking crazy!”

A scowl formed on his lips. “No, they won’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but in a split second, his hand was gripping tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. Her eyes went wide.

“No one is coming to save you.”

Elora swallowed, fear bright in her eyes. She tried to rip herself away, but the man raked his fingers across the fresh brand on her collarbone, sending her to the ground, keeling in pain.

“We could’ve had a nice evening if you behaved. Listened,” he grumbled, standing and once again grabbing her hair tightly before dragging her off towards the bathroom.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out @badthingshappenbingo

[silvercrystalwhump]

Cold Blooded Torture, for the BTHB please!

-🐉

Prompt: Cold-Blooded Torture

Story: Teeth and Secondhand Revenge

TW: torture, Abraham Denner, stabbing,

I read more of @ashintheairlikesnow ‘s Danny and then took a nap, woke up, and chose violence.

-

Celeste sits across her greenhouse quietly watering her plants. Poles of beans and clusters of strawberries grow across the planter boxes. Sunlight trickles in from the greenhouse walls and bathes the room in soft sunlight. It is a beautiful morning to enjoy the sunlight.

She watches the water pour across the plants. The droplets fall daintily over the leaves and land into the soil. Celeste smiles and leans down over the planters and pulls a small weed out of the dirt.

The sound of a muffled groan sound from under the floor, ripping her out of her gentle daydream. A coiling, malicious temptation bubbles to the surface of her mind. Celeste smiles and walks over to the shelf, placing the watering can on the shelf. Her fingers wrap around the red hand of her pruning shears.

Walking out of the greenhouse, she opens the stairwell to the garden cellar. Celeste, needing to dip her head down to not bang her head, trots down into a room smelling cold soil and drying herbs. Wild mint is on the rack today. Celeste wants to use the leaves and make homemade tea with them. The welcoming smells of mint and fresh strawberries are just barely enough to musk the sell of burnt flesh.

A second groan, this one angrier than the last, echoes from behind a wall of boxes. Celeste smiles and takes a key off of the counter. A graceful Titaness of a woman dances around the shelf and gazes upon her creation.

An iron maiden.

However, the difference between this implementation and the ones seen in media is that this one is historically accurate. Celeste has a grievance over the false narrative that was built around the device. Her masterpiece, made of silver, had no spikes and just tall enough for her guest.

Reaching up, her gloved finger wrap around a tiny door near the face. It opens with a squeal and she can see the pained, aggravated vampire inside.

“How do you taste?” she chuckles.

Abraham Denner hangs from the top of the silver maiden by his wrists, his toes could barely scrape the ground. Not that he wants to get down since the floor is pure silver. A cord gag sits behind his fangs and tied as tightly as Celeste could muster. Blood leaks from the cuts in his mouth. His shoulders are bent at a strange angle, dislocated most likely.

A low, enraged growl, coils behind the gag.

Celeste chuckles, “Angry hmm.” She leans over and grabs a spike off of her table, “Is it cozy in there?”

Furious eyes meet hers as she wrinkles her nose at the strung-up fiend.

She closes the hatch and opens one of the tiny holes in the side, “You knwo Nate and Danny right? Sweet boys they are. Such a loving couple too. They were so welcoming when Ethan and I moved in, made the best brownies I ever did taste.”

A mutter rings from the metal coffin.

Celeste, gently placing the iron spike into its hole, continues, “And when I got word that you escaped prison again, I was terrifed for them.”

With the strength of every fire that blazed through civilization, she slams the spike into the underside of Bram’s ribs.

A cry, Celeste’s gift from the void, sounds from the silver maiden. Pain and surprise rip from the undead bastard’s throat.

“The stories I heard,” Celeste sighs, “So cruel.”

She scoops up another spike, almost poetic wrath fueling her limbs. Celeste places the spike in a hole facing Bram’s upper back.

“And unlikely for you,” Celeste laughs dryly. The second spike rips into the vampire's flesh, piercing him between pointed pieces of steel. “I’m not as kind as our prisons.”

Finally, wrapping her fingers around another spike, Celeste chuckles. I’m going to love this.

[amethystpath-writes]

For BTHB, could you do cold blooded torture for Leera and Rennera? I absolutely love them!!

Hiya! I'm so glad you love my characters! It really means a lot to me :) Thank you for the request!!

Leera/Rennera Request Fill (out of the timeline)

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Cold-Blooded Torture

Fandom: Original Work

TWs: I think we can assume the lot of these given the prompt but----> torture, blood, restrained, captivity, whipped, scratched by nail, threats of worse treatment, blood, burned by hot metal (not branded), forced apology, mention of muscle damage

******

The queen's steps thudded against the floor like an unbearable drum. Only Leera's own harsh breathing could tune it out.

"Again," Rennera said and the assassin released a hearty cry as leather slapped against her back. Her elbows drove inwards, but to no avail could she stop the pain being caused. Her wrists were sore, tugging constantly, pathetically, at the chains bounding them.

Rennera tutted. "You would think that after all this time..." The queen stepped beside Leera's head, which was pressed firmly to the stone table she was restrained on. Rennera smiled at the sweat streaming from the assassin's hairline. "You would think," she repeated, and delicately dragged a nail down Leera's arm, causing a shudder, "you would just apologize."

An incoherent noise tumbled from the assassin's lips before Leera was able to mutter, "I have." Her voice was quiet, but gravely. Someone might have said her voice was tossed into a tumbler, then given back with missing slivers. Another symptom of brokenness, but the assassin would never accept that fact. She wasn't broken; she was still fighting. "I have apologized," Leera groaned again.

"And what has the problem been? What have I told you on every occasion?"

"It wasn't true."

"What wasn't?" The queen drew another line, this one less delicate than the first stroke, this one coming close to breaking the skin.

"The- the apology. It wasn't true." Leera grimaced at Rennera's nail touching her skin. She became very consciously aware of the scarred line on her face.

"And?" the queen asked.

"And if it's not true," she swallowed. "If it's not true then I'll- I'll never leave." But she had. Leera had escaped many times, only it never lasted. The assassin's face was posted everywhere, at all times. Paper over paper of her aging face was displayed on town square notice boards, on trees in every woods, even dyed on banners that hung from the palace itself. Leera was searched for even at times when the queen hadn't lost her.

A whine rose in the assassin's throat as she felt her skin split, felt a single bead of warm blood slide down the curve of her arm until it touched the table. "Good girl," the queen said in a high voice, as if she were speaking to a little girl. It was appropriate; Leera felt little. "Now, apologize again." Rennera stood, began walking circles around her revenge canvas once again.

"I-I can't. I can't. Please. Please, I can't do what you-"

"Again!" the queen yelled. At almost the same time, the man behind Leera cracked down on her back, earning a clipped scream from the assassin as her voice gave at the sudden outburst. "Apologize."

Leera couldn't speak and instead gagged on the pain streaking her back and shoulders.

The footsteps stopped once more. Rennera hummed. "Give me your dullest knife, servant." Leera could hear the torturer lay down his whip before shuffling through his various devices. "Yes, that one!"

The assassin's chest rose in quick gasps. It hurt too much for full breaths. It stretched the muscles too much. Leera felt she wasn't breathing enough, and a part of her thought not breathing at all would feel better. She needed a numb; she needed rest. Before she could close her eyes, something cold touched her back and she startled with a high-pitched scream. Leera swore she smelled metal, but is it the knife or my own blood? She physically shook away the thought, despite the miserable pain moving caused.

Queen Rennera sighed, twisting the knife in her hand, spinning the dull tip against an unscathed part of Leera's back. "I can't tell if I have actually broken you or if you are being stubborn as usual." The knife pressed harder, still twisting.

I'm not broken. I've never been and never will be. Not by you, or anyone. With those thoughts still came the inevitable, But I hurt. Gods, I hurt. I want to sleep. I want... Leera would run away soon. She would run again, even if it meant another night of furious torture. Leera just needed a break. When she was healed from this night, she would run again, she swore it.

With a newfound courage, Leera, still in immense pain from the whip, said, "You want," The assassin allowed herself one deep breath, face skewering as she focused on holding it in as her flesh tore with the action. When the burn subsided, she used that focused breath to finish saying, "You want something that I can't- I can't give y- agh!" The metal pushed against her spine, pinning her to a table she was already pinned on. Leera felt a block in her throat. It was out of place and her body wanted it out so it gagged again. Her stomach acted with the block, pushing an invisible barrier out. It churned and twisted along with the fires in her back. No matter how hard her body tried, Leera wasn't pushed to the point of throwing up yet.

"You need only apologize to him," the queen said, referring to the dead king as she always did. Her voice, though, was soft, falsely sympathetic. "And this will all be over, my dearest Leera." The assassin pushed her forehead harder onto the stone table, screaming at the top of her lungs with a plea as the queen pushed the dagger harder onto the spine, not enough to shatter it, but enough to send the nerves on a panicked spree. Rennera didn't even break the skin, hence a dull blade.

"I'm sorry!" Leera finally sputtered. "I'm sorry!" and her voice rose an octave. If she could have pounded a fist against the table, she would have.

"I would threaten to cut out your tongue if it meant you could speak without it," Rennera spat.

Click,click- clack. It was the knife, falling to the floor. Leera released a sigh of relief. Another warm tear followed the edge of her cheekbone.

The queen called her servant again, this time asking for a clamp.

"I'm sorry," Leera drawled with a whine. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She took shallow breaths again, listening as the queen neared once more. "And I mean it," she said truthfully. "I do. I'm sorry, my queen, for everything. I'm sorry." I'm not broken, but I'm in pain. I must stop this pain. She didn't lie. Leera felt badly for killing the king, but she felt no pity for him. It was the queen she felt badly for. Unfortunately, that wasn't what the queen wanted, and that's why Leera put off her apologies for as long as possible. Not saying one at all was better than giving one to the queen, who didn't want it for herself.

"Start me a fire." The assassin screamed her apologies louder, nearly losing her voice.

Each 'sorry' only earned her another punishment, for the queen was sick of being apologized to. Leera should be apologizing to the man she killed. Why didn't the assassin feel as bad as Rennera for the king's death? Why didn't she feel just as guilty? One day, the queen thought, one day she'll understand the pain she caused in her reputation if she only experiences it herself.

Red hot, the spiked clamp was brought back by the servant. Rennera urged him to hand her the device faster and the moment he did, she situated her fingers in the handles, before opening the closed tips and pressing it against the skin of the assassin's left arm. As Leera screamed, the queen said, perhaps not loudly enough to affect the assassin further, "Don't worry, dearest. I won't damage the muscles too awfully."

[etherithical]

Pidge Whump Scenarios (UPDATED: Seasons 1-4)

Please do not read this if you faint of heart. I do not want to ruin your life through my cursed Whump scenarios😅😈

Just some ideas if you have writer’s block or want to evolve some of these things for my (or your own/other peoples’) BTHB prompts! I kept them vague so you could add your own things. Most of them are AUs, are Pidge focused (y’all know me), and are placed in the order of the episodes.

Disclaimer: Many of these ideas are heavily inspired by some other amazing Pidge Whump writers out there. While I tried my hardest to keep ideas original and creative, be warned that some stray very close to what is already out there.

Whumpers: -Law Enforcement (considering the prior to Voltron prompt)

-School bullies, gangsters, blackmailers, pretty much any human that sucks and uses Pidge as their punching bag

-Commander Sendak

-Lieutenant Haxus

-Bounty Hunters, although who would want to injure their precious cargo? -Subcommander Ylvik (Note: Lead Galra on Shay’s Balmera. He is not seen on screen, but mentioned when Prorok states that he has command of said Galra’s fleets)

-Commander Prorok

-Macidus and those other Druid creeps

-Chief Information Officer Plytox (Not seen, mentioned)

-Zarkon? (Note: Considering he is more of the kill, no prisoners type of guy, you’ll have to tread carefully with this one. He should have a reason to keep her alive other than “Hey I like torturing young children cuz I’m a creeeeep!”

-Haggar (Note: Another one you should be careful with. While there are a TON of Whump fanfics with her, I don’t see her as really that sadistic. I mean, she interrogates prisoners, but that’s for the Empire’s villainous plans rather than her own personal enjoyment. Again, you’ll need a reason other than she wants to have fun.

-Commander Branko (Commander on Olkarion)

-Unilu traders?

-The Warden from Escape from Beta Traz

-Lotor

-Lotor’s Generals (I think it would be cool to see Narti as the Whumper. Kinda creepy since she can’t see or talks, so she’s just hurting Pidge and saying nothing the entire time)

-Commander Hira and the evil Alteans from the Alternate Universe

-Lambonite Scavengers (Seen in The Legend Begins)

-Evil Matt...? 😏

-Bounty Hunter from Reunion

-Evil AU version of Pidge, resentful of our beautiful girl’s happier life.

-Commander Throk

-General Raht

-Ladnok or Trugg (female Whumpers are 👌)

Scenarios/Prompts:

1. Pidge’s secret about being a girl comes forth before the Blue Lion is found. You can play this idea a bit: Maybe Pidge is arrested, or maybe Iverson doesn’t want to tell the truth about Kerberos, so he takes matters into his own hands? It’s up to you

2. Not a specific episode, but Pidge is made into a Robeast?

3. Fall of the Castle of Lions/Return to the Balmera. Pidge fails to save the Castle of Lions from Sendak. This one could go in several unique ways depending on personal choice. Here’s some ideas if you need some inspiration.

-Haxus defeats Pidge, but instead of killing her, he tortures or maims her.

-Keith and Allura are unable to get in on time, and Sendak has Pidge.

-Sendak convinces Pidge to turn herself into him.

4. Rolo, Nyma, and Beezer take a certain little Green Paladin with them instead of (or along with) the Blue Lion. Hunk is infuriated at the rest of the team for being too trusting, and by doing so letting the Bounty Hunters escape with their friend.

5. Pidge is caught in a rockfall in Return to the Balmera. (Note: Subcommander Ylvik is the name given of the lead Galra on the Balmera, though he is not seen on screen)

6. Pidge catches onto the infected Alfor’s plan. Unfortunately, he gets to her before she can tell the others…

7. Macidus finds Pidge, Lance, and Hunk and takes her with him to Central Command. Now we have both a Paladin and a princess captured! YAY!

8. Voltron is defeated in The Black Paladin and Pidge is the only Paladin left alive. Zarkon chooses to keep her alive (Why? As a pet? To entertain his soldiers? Because one of his subordinates insisted?). Maybe Thace could be the caretaker, sneaking in food and medicine when no one is looking?

9. An idea for Across the Universe: Pidge is injured on her landing on the trash nebula. Nevertheless, she must manage to build the satellite, with a little help from the Green Lion and the trash floofs, of course!

10. Greening the Cube. Pidge is captured during the mission and the Commander (no name given) either makes her his slave, or, due to her unbelievably strong connection to the world around her, experiments on her.

11. In Eye of the Storm, Pidge is hit by one of the lasers in the teludav. While she survives, the hit causes severe damage to her body that can’t be easily fixed, or not at all.

12. Pidge and the Green Lion fall into the acid in The Ark of Taujeer. This one is a good option for Plance, since Lance and Pidge were working together to sew together the planet’s crust.

13. Pidge is captured in Space Mall and sold as a slave by a group of Unilu.

14. There already are some Escape from Beta Traz whump scenarios out there, so this one was a bit of a challenge. One idea is that the Warden catches Pidge while she is hiding under his desk, and forces Lance and Shiro to face an ultimatum: leave Slav, a vital part of the plan to defeat Zarkon with him (and Laika, too!), or leave Pidge, their friend and the Green Paladin, at his mercy.

Another idea is that everyone gets caught. Because Pidge was pretty much the one conducting the mission from the Control Center (and through that, causing all the trouble), the Warden beats her up.

15. Not tied to an episode, but let’s imagine for a moment that for whatever reason, team Voltron believes that Pidge is half-Galra rather than Keith. Pidge, already reeling from the false disbelief, experiences Allura’s racism, which grows increasingly detrimental to her confidence. And, Keith, who knows he is Galra, is unsure whether to tell everyone. I don’t see him as the “I’m afraid she’ll act the same way toward me as she is with Pidge” kind of guy, so you’ll have to get a little creative. Either way, once the truth comes out, Allura is terribly guilty and Pidge is furious at Keith for not saying anything while she suffered in silence.

16.Pidge is hit by the laser-eyed monsters… well, um, lasers in Stayin’ Alive.

17. The plan in The Best Laid Plans and Blackout fails. This one is almost identical to the The Black Paladin idea, except later in the show. I like this one a bit better as the hatred for the Paladins is higher, seen as they managed to get as far as they did, with the downside of losing Thace as caretaker.

18. What if… In Red Paladin, Voltron for some reason was doubtful about the attack of Puig, so Pidge offered to go in by herself (since the Green Lion can turn invisible). While Lotor and the gang expected evidence that there ‘is no Voltron without the Black Lion,’ taking Pidge to interrogate her is an easy alternative. Or, if this one doesn’t excite you, he can capture her when Voltron was set up (since the other Lions and their lack of experience flying leaves for an easy capture on Lotor’s part).

19. Fairly similar to 18. Lotor’s plan in The Hunted to flush out the Lions and capture them one by one mostly or completely succeeds. Either way, Pidge and possibly a few more of the Paladins are captured.

20. In Hole in the Sky, The Alteans attach some sort of alternate version of the Hoktril to Pidge, one that leaves her with free will but the inability to do anything but what the Alteans want. Sort of as a punishment for trying to mess up their plans. This could be a part of a larger plot: Where Commander Hira manages to cross through the wormhole and begins to take over the universe. Maybe an enormous war between the alternate reality Alteans and the Galra Empire could start. Or else this could happen to Pidge when the others are trying to escape and she gets caught and left behind.

21. While The Legend Begins doesn’t give me an AU, an interesting idea came to mind. We know that the original Paladins of Voltron fought evil before the Galra took over the universe. At the beginning of the episode they are fighting Lambonite scavengers. What if 10,000 in the future, they or some other ancient menace came back to exact revenge on the Paladins. And while they can’t hurt dead people, torturing their successors is an easy second best.

22. Let me just spill my Reunion ideas here. For just some general angst, you could just have Matt be dead. Imagine Pidge has been gone for vargas, so the Paladins go and search for her, only to find her literally hugging onto a gravestone, her eyes wide, and when they try to move her she is reluctant to leave her brother’s side and unresponsive when they try to talk to her. She constantly holds on, it doesn’t seem like she recognizes (or cares about) her friends beside her, and Shiro has to drag her out so they can leave. Another option, a darker one, is that the Bounty Hunter wins and takes Pidge and Matt to the Galra. A fun idea to play with, if you ask me. And if you’re willing to go even darker, making Matt evil and having him actually hurt (or… torture) his sister is an idea I’ve played with for the longest time.

23. The Galra catch on to the Paladins’ in The Voltron Show and the ‘propaganda’ it’s spreading. Zarkon or some other Galran in power organizes an attack during one of the performances, when the Paladins are vulnerable. Most of the Paladins manage to escape but Pidge is captured. Or the performances from the Voltron Show create enemies… and people who should definitely be avoided for each Paladin. Pidge is captured off guard by a stalker who wants to make her ‘his dog.’ (If you write this I would rather it not be NSFW. You can be you but please use your own ideas for that)

24. Pidge and Hunk fail to disable the Communications Station in Begin the Blitz. Because of their failure, the Voltron Coalition takes serious losses, and Pidge is brutally beaten as punishment while Hunk is forced to watch. Another one is because they lost Lotor as a bargaining chip, Ezor, Zethrid, and Acxa capture Pidge in order to reenter the ranks of the Galra Empire.

25. Somehow, Pidge is the only survivor in the entire Coalition after the massive explosion in A New Defender. The Galra choose to keep her alive as a prisoner of war… and for some fun. And alternative to this is that Pidge survives and manages to escape the Galra, but is a fugitive of the Galra Empire and constantly in peril of being found… and paying the price

Feel free to use these or change these however you like! I honestly don’t care how you use them; the purpose of this is to inspire you, not hold you back! I’ll update it once I’ve finished rewatching seasons 5-6.

You can request me to do my own ideas for my BTHB card, although I would like to see some of your own personal improvements/additions as well!

[whumpqin]

BTHB: Dragging Themselves Along The Ground

Teeny drabble bc I was struck by inspiration!! Here’s a late night treat <3

(fresh blood = requested, dried blood - finished! Feel free to send a request <3)

Requested by the lovely @galaxywhump <3

Elisha / Caleb tag @faewhump​ @imagination1reality0​ galaxy whump (not tagging u twice lol) @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​ @insanitywishes​

CW: Pet whump, creepy/intimate whumper, broken bones, starvation used as a form of torture, conditioning, brainwashing, being mean to people with stutters, referenced past eye trauma/gore, referenced past abuse, begging

Word Count: 1,045

Everything was agony.

Elisha drug himself forward against the rough stone, feeling it scrape against his skin as his legs are dragged limply behind him. The very motion made him bite his lip so hard that he managed to draw blood as a way to keep from screaming, but he ultimately failed as a pained sob wracked his body once more. He always cried, now, even after he had shed all the tears that he was able to. His hands reached forward to a white plate that was set in front of him, fingers outstretched desperately to wrap around the edge and bring it closer.

A foot slid forward to cut him off, pushing the plate away just a few inches more. Wide and dull green eyes watched him carefully, taking in every moment that Elisha’s breath hitched as he collapsed to the ground again, sobbing dryly.

His legs hurt so bad, and he could barely tell where the plate was in the first place. Elisha forced his head back up, gritting his teeth through the pain as he tried to pull himself forward again, only managing a small keen from his nose before he rested his head against the ground.

“You’re taking quite a long time, Caleb. Are you sure you want the food?” Jeremiah asked him from above, scathing fake judgement leaking from his voice as he watched with poorly hidden pleasure.

“I, I am, Sir, pl-please…” he begged. It was all he could do. It’s all they wanted from him, now.

“Without stuttering, and I might not drag it away this time.” His cold gaze narrowed into a light glare.

It was always his fucking stutter. Elisha couldn’t get away from it.

Regardless, he mulled over the words, forming the words on his tongue before putting sound behind it, as if it would genuinely do anything.

“Please, Sir. I… want the, um… food.” Slow, deliberate words drawled out between hushed breaths, trying to gain back what he had lost in the bid against his pain. “Please.”

Jeremiah liked manners. Liked begging. It might have been humiliating to play into those two facts before, going so far as to beg on command for his captor, but now it was what he clung to in order to not be hurt any more than he had to be.

The looming figure clicked his tongue, and Elisha cringed away so violently one might mistake that he had been actually hit. He trembled against the ground just a moment, before he uncovered his one eye and saw Jeremiah flick his head towards the plate, as if telling him to go after it again.

Elisha shifted onto his elbows again after carefully unfolding himself, fingernails digging into the stone as he tried to drag himself forward without using his legs. It hurt less when they were limply dragged, instead of trying to use his knees and accidentally moving them the wrong way. He had to move quickly anyway, and the pain would only slow him down. He didn’t trust that Jeremiah wouldn’t pull it away even after he had it in his hands.

But until that happened, he was willing to beg for every bit of food that he could see.

Jeremiah slipped his foot forward and pushed the plate away again. Elisha whimpered in response, outstretched hand falling against the ground from the wasted effort.

“I said I might not drag it away again. I never said I wouldn’t, pet,” he explained, a warm smile creeping across his face.

Elisha fucking hated it when he smiled. It always meant that he was enjoying whatever he was looking at. And he always enjoyed his suffering.

Was it too much for just a little bit of food? His mind wondered as he drug himself forward. Elisha refused to let himself give up, and pulled himself forward along the ground even as Jeremiah pushed it away over and over. Soon enough he got close to reach out with his hands, fingers just barely able to scrape the edge of the plate-

His chain pulled taut finally, stopping his progress in its tracks.

This time, Elisha’s sob was filled with hopelessness and despair as he fell back to the ground, body shaking from each one. He ached from the feeling of being empty, of being in pain, of being here. He just wanted to go home.

And he had failed.

“You know… Aridai was right. This is fun to watch,” Jeremiah commented, walking around him to see his agony from all sides. “You’re lucky they didn’t do so much worse. I can think of more painful ways to punish you for escaping.”

He tugged on the chain in a useless attempt to get closer. So lucky. I feel so lucky right now.

“Please, Sir…” he whispered, single eye looking pitifully up at Jeremiah, combined with a deep frown that made him look like a wounded animal.

It hurt when he remembered that a wounded animal was exactly what he looked like right now.

Jeremiah’s falsely kind smile only seemed to get wider, like a disguised predator luring prey into its trap. Something glittered in his eye and it only made Elisha more horrified.

“Alright, I think that’s plenty for today. You need to eat before your muscles start deteriorating.” He stepped forward and slid the food in Elisha’s direction, and he quickly hooked his fingers onto the plate to pull it closer.

It was gone in mere seconds. He didn’t even take the time to register what it even was, however little was there.

In the short time it took for him to eat, Jeremiah walked around him and settled into a crouch by his legs. A hand glided lightly over his skin, and Elisha stiffened at the feeling, unable to turn his head back to see because he was on his bad side.

“Let’s see how much you’ve healed since I last checked,” he murmured, pressing into the skin. The broken bones underneath shifted all the wrong ways, and Elisha’s jaws parted in an agonized scream. Jeremiah’s cruel hands were unmerciful as he worked, wrenching everything out of its place to ruin the bone just a little more.

“We don’t want you running away again any time soon, after all.”