#hunk whump

[onlythegoodpretzels]

The bounty hunter knew: The Galra's headprice was far beyond anything they'd ever seen from the miserly imperium. Their prize shook off the stun blast faster than a creature his size should have. He wanted to struggle but chose against it quickly, so hanging by his arms, prosthetic inactive, must hurt effectively.

He watched. Even though the struts immobilized his head. They said he was vicious, and that he could wait so calm was unnerving. He must know where he was headed. Where had all that fight gone?

The bounty hunter didn't know: Shiro didn't need to move, or speak, or even breathe to speak to Black. So they were already hotly pursued by four furious Voltron lions. Soon they'd see for themselves.

__________________________________________________________

I've been so inspired by Linecrosser's whump art recently, the greyscale stuff they do looks SOOOO GOOOD. I wanted to try some of that kind of color work too.

For @amonthofwhump's trope-a-thon day 5: Kidnapped

[icypantherwrites]

Fic Update: Reaching For Your Hand, Chapter Three

Chapter Snippet:

“Oh G-God,” Hunk’s whimper sounded from up above and Shiro jerked his head up to see Hunk — his rope cutting off a few feet above Shiro — staring down with tears starting to form in already red-rimmed eyes. “L-Lance.”

Lance didn’t react. 

The cavern did though.

Another groan reverberated through it and there was the skittering sound indicating loose shale that always preceded a larger piece of rock breaking off.

But the worst of the sound was across the cavern.

This time.

The entire cave still shook as the rock smashed through the intertwined path, dust and smaller rocks breaking off around them and a few pinging off of Lance who still didn’t react and Shiro was starting to fear he wouldn’t.

He shoved the thought away.

Lance was right there. 

Despite the odds, literally at the end of their rope, they’d found him. 

That had to mean something.

The universe couldn’t be that cruel.

Read it here

(not currently posted on AO3)

[hood-ex]

I'm so sorry people keep spoiling VLD for you lol.

It's alright 👌🏻. There are only some shows I get into where I'm serious about spoilers. Otherwise, I don't mind getting small spoilers here and there.

I just started Season 2 today, so soon people won't even be able to spoil it for me because I'll have watched everything 😆.

[whumpsoda]

12

12 - Stranger

Masterlist

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, brainwashed/conditioned whumpee, memory loss/amnesia, captivity

——————

Sprawled over the middle of the bed, clawing at the duvet, Prince clenched his fists around a hunk of the fabric, staring, and staring, and staring at the sinister white ceiling. The sheets were all messed up from his time - his hours upon hours - of rolling around in them, something he would have to fix before his sir arrived back home from work, but he had time.

Time was all he had.

And sometimes, on the very rare occasion he felt risky, when he was all alone and drowning in the white walls of his sir’s bedroom, after running out of anything else to wonder about, Prince wanted to think.

To think about what he had been like.

Who he used to be, before his sir, before his training, before the facility, before he signed away himself.

He was fully and terrifyingly aware he wasn’t allowed to, and he never really thought too hard about it because then it would hurt and it would hurt bad, and he wasn’t allowed to, but he still thought. The fact he wasn’t allowed sometimes made him want to more, the pure thrill of disobeying that pushed him further, even if the prospect of doing so still rocked him to his core.

But he knew what he was doing.

Did he?

Prince sat up from the mattress, blowing with warm breath hair out from the way of his eyes, stepping up on wobbly feet to stand before his sir’s mirror, lengthy and tall. His feet were flooded with the chill of the tile flooring as they touched, flicking him awake from the drowsiness of laying around all day.

Prince studied every little scribble of his features, following along with his smooth, slender hands, caressing over each place. 

The curving, nearly black waterfall of his locks were first, trailing down from his scalp and carving around his long, angular face, swooping into perfect little curls at the end of each piece. He needed a haircut, he thought, twirling a section of his longer than needed bang over and around his finger. One of the maids would notice soon, and surely they would give him a trim before his sir even realized.

Then were his eyes, deep and dark pools of brown shaped by long, fluttering lashes. He wanted to dip into them, to see everything he’d ever seen with them. All he could really do was watch himself blink, a few times.

What followed was his nose, perfectly hooked yet still obviously crooked when you really looked at it, a piece of him that had always irritated his sir - but he was sorry, he was sorry, he didn’t know why, it was always like that - shadowing right over his pair of plush lips that concealed his just average set of teeth. He counted his moles, tiny little marks that scattered his skin, the spots his master liked to kiss most. 

They’re just so cute, he always said, perfect for a cutie like you, right before he would cup Prince’s chin, planting a soft and moist peck to the mark. 

He knew well how he looked. With nothing much else to do but look, he’d spent so much time, too much time, committing every little detail of his appearance to memory. There wasn’t much to hold there, anyway.

What stranger had owned this face before him?

Did he always keep his hair so perfect? Or did it get oily and messy sometimes, unbrushed and uncared for? Did he allow it to reign free somedays, instead of waking up early every morning to ensure perfection?

Stinging, a slight burn in the back of his mind.

Did he always have a crooked nose? Or did it somehow get knocked out of place one day, forever marked by some event he would never again remember?

A throbbing buzz in his brain, sending him just a smidge swaying.

Did someone else hold his face as he held theirs, placing their lips over each of the few spots splattered around his skin like paint? Was it only his sir who found his moles so endearing?

He bit his lip, dug his nails into the flesh of his palms. It hurt, he shouldn’t have kept going, kept thinking-

For a moment, at the clench of his fist, he saw her instead of the mirror. A face that looked just like his but softer, older, more feminine. She held his cheeks gently, brushing hair from out of the way as she knelt before him. C’mere little man, let me see your face, she had said, so gentle and so very calming, and she’s-

A stranger.

White. A rush of burning hot and blinding, stabbing knives of brightness in his brain. He yelped, loud and squealing, his knees thumping to the tile. He couldn’t breath.

Those long lashes of his fluttered open only a moment later, finding himself on the floor, head pounding with dirty affliction. He hoped nothing bruised or bumped, because, oh, he was so bad.

Thinking was bad.

Prince was so stupid. He always was.

He wasn’t going to do it again.

——————

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[localfanbaselurker]

I’m watching Voltron: Legendary Defender for the first time and here is what I have had to say per each season (this is 1-2) (3-4) (5-6) (7) (8)

Pre-Watch Knowledge

->big transformers type robot

->pretty alien girl that looks like princess yue from A:tLA

->they are the epitome of color-coded characters

->space??

->there was crazy people in the fanbase that sent cupcakes laced with something to the creators

->queer baiting (this one in particular got me)

->klance.

->^honestly I only knew that because people were comparing it to zukka and I wanted to check it out

->my friend really likes it

Post S1 thoughts-

->that cliffhanger was crazy imagine they weren’t renewed for a s2

-> i went on tumblr after and youre telling me they made that show IN TWO YEARS?? EIGHT SEASONS. IN TWO MF YEARS?? that is insane. props to the writers bro they fr must of known what they were doing.

->all of these characters already scream “doomed by the narrative”

->my fav characters are pidge and lance

->I definitely did NOT expect yue Allura to be British

->bonding moment.

->^like yeah okay i get it now

-> the healing pods are a very interesting concept. Like, what if you get some ailment that it doesn’t recognize?? Do you just die??

-> genuinely felt so bad for Not Yue. Allura. Allura when they had to remove her father’s memory thing. Like yeah I know the castle was corrupted or wtv but bro imagine. Your entire race is dead. your mom, who you previously knew alive is now most likely dead. You already had to go through losing your father once, and now you have to lose him again. Any sliver of hope you had of staying connected with him is gone, because the entirety of his essence is now gone. She’s stronger than me, I would have never given him up so easily. I admire that about her.

->I also made the horrible mistake of going on ao3 after

yk for gits and shiggles… and when I go to a new fandom I always search by hits to see the classics first yk

…

WHY are you guys so 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂… I genuinely shed a tear what. I was flabbergasted to say the least.

On that note the top 23 were about redguy/blueguy getting smoochy-smoochy with each other so I guess that should be a hint as to what you guys like

->the description of the show says the robot (voltron) is operated by “five teenagers” but that shiro guy has to be AT LEAST 25. He is pushing 30 you can’t convince me otherwise.

->for now it’s kinda giving atla except the war is intergalactic and lasted 10,000 years instead of 100.

->all the other characters seem to have a pretty clear background, but we haven’t yet heard about Keith’s backstory, so I want to know (I know now, this was my initial thought)

->shiros backstory/ptsd is very interesting, lots of angst possibilities i see

-> I had an inkling that pidge was…genderly different. (At first I thought she was transmasc)

Post S2

-> WHERE is my man. Where did he go.

-> Pookie please come back. Now. It’s not a suggestion.

->KEITH BACKSTORY I PREDICTED THEY WERE GONNA SHOW US YAY I LOVE BEING RIGHT

-> he’s galra! Soooo much whump opportunity

-> the whole “Allura doesn’t hate you she’s just a little upset to find out ur part of the race that killed off her entire peoples and family and okay maybe she does hate you” scene with keith and hunk is really giving that scene in atla: the southern raiders where zuko thinks katara hates him and sokka reassures him (badly) while he was just trying to get laid w suki.

->^ that’s gay

-> the aliens they met are going to be very important, aren’t they?

->^ oohhh so this is where the “langst” stuff comes from? he’s just kinda insecure i think, but it can’t possibly just be this episode that has that tag so high, unless flanderization is just really popular with you guys, but already suspect that unfortunately

->^Allura high key ate with this

->the “Blade of Marmora” people are definitely gonna be important later

-> the mall episode was soooo fun! fav s2 episode for sure!

->^gay. It’s literally giving “two bros chillin in a hot tub. five feet apart cus they’re not gay”

-> I know of 2 ships now. klance and allurance. I only see the former though, the latter seems more like a running gag/unrequited crush thing (for now i suppose)

-> Coran is an icon. I love that whimsical man. he’s beekeeping age per say.

-> I need pidge to find her brother and father man I feel so bad for her PLEASE DOBT TELL ME THEYRE DEAD ILL LITERALLY DIE.

-> pidge is sooooo cool i love her so much she’s literally the pookiest of the pookies

-> Who tf is gonna be the black paladin now. Keith sure as hell isn’t ready for that. maybe Allura?? Cus yk she kinda already leads them a little bit

These are thoughts I had compiled over a while now. I am on S5E3 as of now (07/03/24) but I wanted to document my thoughts either way. I will post on the tag “laura’s first vld”

[harukamitsuki]

Ur soooo right abt Lance I think he just became the fandom’s darling because people saw inklings of insecurity and home sickness and zeroed in. He’s whump bait, but like without the more complicated issues tied into Shiro, Allura, and Keith’s problems. Prime projection material.

He has potential and I appreciate fandom’s ability to see that in him, but you’re so right that people have completely forgotten who he is in canon. He *could* have been better, but he wasn’t and it’s frustrating that people have lost sight of that because I think it would genuinely produce more interesting takes on his character and role in the story. As someone who genuinely wants him to be a better character it makes me want to eat dry wall.

Lance, first and foremost, is the everyday man. That's why he's so popular. He is far from a piloting prodigy, flirts with every pretty girl, funny and exaggerative, has a generic weapon like a rifle, is the first paladin to find his Lion, and has the most basic interal conflict there can be. Which is why everyone loves him.

Shiro? Shiro is confirmed gay, was hailed as the most promising pilot pre-canon, was officially the youngest man sent into space, but also had an illness for canon forgot about it, had major PTSD that left him unable to move in most cases, considered himself broken if his hallucinations said anything, and literally died. He's good leader matieral, able to handle a group of four wildly differing teenagers and only really let his emotions plan his course of action once (when Allura was kidnapped). This man is insanely skilled but also insanely traumatised.

Keith? Keith beat all of the records Shiro set and was known as a genius in the field, only held back by his defense mechanisms and rushing on ahead. He was abandoned by his mother when he was a toddle, then his father died implicitly before his eyes, he was then an orphan where he was probably passed around from family to family, ot feeding into his adandonment issues. He gained a friend in Shiro, the first person to reach out to him, and then lost him a few years later. He finally gets Shiro back, only for more shit to happen. He finds out his mom was Galra, and becomes sorry that he even existed because of this. Nobody on Voltron actually felt like his friend with Pidge constantly calling him a loner right after he lost Shiro, Hunk poking fun at his Galra genes, and Lance playing up this one-sidedly rivalry and taking everything he does as an attack on his person. He loses Shiro again and has to constantly give him up for the sake of Voltron and the universe. The only time he can focus on himself is when Shiro is back and he distants himself for the team's sake and they just let him go. He's so affected by grief before the story starts and it doesn't give him a break. Even so, he's so kind and genuine about everything. He becomes the Black Paladin, not because he had no choice. Maybe at first, but he grows into that role and becomes a great leader.

Pidge? Pidge is a prodigy and a genius, able to hack firm and software from alien planets. She can fly a jet just from reading instruction manuels and have little to no trouble. At the same time, lost her brother and father all at once. When she finally got some clue as to what happened to them, she was kicked out and banned from the Garrison. She disguised as a boy and snuck in, abandoning her dream of becoming a fighter pilot because navigation would teach her more about scanning space for extraterrestrial communication and lifeforms. When she finally has the chance to find her family, she has to constantly give them and clues she may find up because Volton and the universe come first.

Hunk? Hunk is just as much of a genius as Pidge, even if the writers forget, with him able to spot foul play on an alien ship easily. He's so kind and loving yet fierce with his protection and so strong when defending his friends. He keeps spirits high with his warming attitude, even if he's the most home sick of them all. He acts the most realistically to become a child soldier. Still, even when he's terrified, he pushes on so that people like Shay can find out what freedom is. Feel it for themselves. When they go back to Earth, Hunk is the only one who has to fight to get his parents back and earn his happy ending. He suffers throughout the series, but he's always looking at the greener side.

Allura and Coran? They lost their families and thejr entire species before canon ever began. They lost so much and have nothing but revenge fueling them. They have to deal with the fact that they slept through the massacre of the Altean species and woke up far too late. They have to deal with inexperienced humans who have no real attachment to the war. They have to deal with the fact that they are the last of the Alteans. And when it's finally revealed that there are more survivors, they have to deal with the fact that they're being farmed by Lotor/Honerva for their quintessence. Allura was so depressed in season eight after falling for Lotor then being used so thoroughly by him. Coran never got to say goodbye to Allura before she died. Despite this, they still fight with all they have, making sure nobody has to face the loss they've felt.

Lance? Um. He's insecure about his place in the team? I guess Veronica nearly died but she didn't so whatever... He did spend a lot of his time in the Garrison being compared to Keith... But he also spent time he could've used to better his skills to sneak out and flirt with girls or hit the arcade. Um... I guess...

Um. Yeah.

See, I always wonder how people see such angst potential in Lance, or even see him as an angsty character in general. They act as though he's suffered the most in canon when, in reality, he hasn't. He has the most generic troubles and, I guess, it's more relatable that way? People don't have to struggle to relate to PTSD or abandonment issues or identity issues or child soldiers or losing your entire species.

Insecurity? That's easy because everyone feels insecure.

Which is why Lance is so popular.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this isn't valid. It sucks to feel insecure and doubt your every move. The only difference is how common Lance's issues are compared to everyone else. Because Lance is generic as hell, people love to vent through him.

Lance has a stable friendship group, is constantly given everything he wants, and even manages to destroy what has been the canon ship over decades (Kallura). He invented a rivalry with Keith, who didn't even know who he was when they met. Because of that, people either ship them for the 'rivals to lovers' trope or hate Keith and act as though Keith was bullying him. Shiro doesn't take Lance's side often because Lance's ideas are dangerous or reckless. He still tries to let him down gently, making logical arguments (see: Shiro explaining that Red is fire-resistant so Keith has to go to the BOM HQ). Oh, but he's not on Lance's side so the fandom decides he's an awful leader. As if they know what a good leader is. They think a good leader is someone who gets distracted by a pretty girl and blames everyone but himself.

The only thing not given to Lance on a silver platter is Black. Thank God. But because he wasn't given Black when he was given everything else, fandom decides that DreamWorks hates Lance and decides to argue that Lance was always destined to be the Black Paladin. Ignoring how Black's colour scheme was LITERALLY ON KEITH'S CLOTHES.

So. Yeah. He definitely has potential before DreamWorks just started rewarding him for breathing. The insecurity he has could have been a good way to develop his character. He could have become someone outside of Keith or Shiro's shadow. He didn't need a love interest to prosper, as proven by the fact that he never prospered in canon.

His potential was there, just ignored because the writers were allergic to complex characters, even to the smallest degree.

(They should have gotten the writers for Race to the Edge to do Voltron ugh)

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

Welcome to Pixie!

My BG3 obsession has birthed several fan stories and inspired the art above. I very much like Durge and their story, my favorite companion is Halsin, and favorite NPCs are Gortash, Raphael and Rugan. Feel free to check out my stuff:

Kill me like a lover

explicit » F/M (m/f/m) » Gortash, custom f!Durge, Halsin » CW: poly, whump, violence, blood, PiV, cunnilingus, rough sex, fluffy sex, graphic threats of violence, light breeding kink, creampie, pain kink, knifeplay, blood, toxic relationship traits, dubious consent, resisting Durge, fluff, angst, trauma on top of trauma on top of trauma

Read on Tumblr / AO3:

(prelude 7k words) * I don't like you * tumblr » / AO3 »

(main 13k words) * Kill me like a lover * tumblr » / AO3 »

Read on Wattpad:

(whole fic) * Kill me like a lover * Wattpad »

Plan: 1) Halsin only fic (fluff, angst, smut), 2) coronation ball (bloody, possibly smutty), 3) Bhaal temple (extra bloody, full-on angst and trauma), 4) Gort fight (diverging from canon)

Can't promise I will fulfill the plan, but that's what I'm thinking of. Will appreciate any love, especially reblogs and comments. Would kill to have someone to discuss this with, too >;)

Lil Halsin one-shots on AO3

What if I just kiss you? - Halsin x reader, teen+, a 'forceful' kiss prompt, a little irrational argument with Halsin resulting in a kiss, flashfic (905 words)

Wildshaped therapist - Halsin x reader, mature (alcohol), cat Halsin, depression, angsty pining, fluff, cat therapy, spooning a large hunk of elf, 2k words

[Interlude] Love, Halsin - Halsin/custom f!Durge, an in-between fic of my Durgetash/Halsin story (above) where I focus solely on Halsin and his Trauma™, mature, angst, hurt/comfort, crying man, fluff, 3k words

(To hug a bear - unfinished Halsin x OC with a spot of Astarion, mature (didn't get to smut), 4.7k words)

[i-eat-worlds]

Starcross Part 5

Flashback! This is shorter, sorry, I was going to work on lengthening it but Clonebang happened.

Content: explicit murder and violence, space imperialism, capital punishment, death, nationalism, conditioned whumpee

KM-4862 ran behind one of the simulated combat center’s many moveable hunks of cover, crouching down by the large block of white metal. The knife’s pulse blade was activated, energy radiating all the way up into the handle. It was thrilling.

Around the corner, it could hear footsteps. They were quiet, more so than would’ve been natural, but not quiet enough. Not like one of its compatriots would’ve been. That was the sound of prey.

A traitor to Yera, who had been sentenced to execution. Well, technically, it was a ght for their life. But they would lose. The weapon would make sure of that. Traitors to Yera deserved nothing but a slow, agonizing death.

It smiled as they rounded the corner, rolling the knife in its hands. Show time. They stepped out from around the box, and it pounced. Body slammed into body as it tackled the traitor to the ground. They screamed, pinned under the weapon’s legs, crying out for some deity it didn’t know in a language it didn’t speak. Nothing would save them, though.

Mercilessly, the weapon sank its knife into their chest. It slid between their ribs like they were made of butter, drawing another scream from their already wide open mouth. They bucked wildly, kicking their legs and scratching at it in an effort to get free, but it was all in vain.

It twisted the knife in their chest, wrenching it inwards towards their sternum. The traitor went silent, eyes shimmering as tears started to flow. They mouthed something that the weapon didn’t understand over and over again.

Every detail of their face was cast in agony. Eyes wide, mouth gaping open, trying to scream but unable too. Not a single speck of the horror on display escaped being burned into KM-4862’s mind. For a brief moment, a microsecond, it felt a tinge of guilt.

Maybe it didn’t want this.

There was no room here for “want.”

The weapon ripped the knife out, blood splattering over everything around it, and over its entire frontside. It rose, knife gripped tightly in its hand, ready for its next target.

Taglist: @whump-snob @whump-kia @itsoundslikeafury @blackberry-bloody @snakebites-and-ink

@whumpacabra @cepheusgalaxy @softvampirewhump @my-little-versaille @pigeonwhumps

@whumped-by-glitter @snaillamp @rainydaywhump @platysaurus @whumpy-daydreams

@whiskygoldwings @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @rainbowsandwhumperflies @risk606 @starfields08000

[onlythegoodpretzels]

"We'll get it out."

Followup to this sketch!

Been coloring this for a while! So many people to shade. But I finished it in time for @augustofwhump's Day 7 prompt: Promise.

Snippet of WIP fic for it under the cut, ft. more promises and Shiro flashbacks.

***

“Ok. Ok, let’s get this off.” Hunk balked for a second, but he managed to reach for the muzzle. Ulas winced but held rigidly still as Hunk ran his fingers tentatively over the surface.

“This isn’t what muzzles are for,” Hunk said into the quiet. “On dogs, I mean. They don’t keep their mouth closed, its only to keep them from biting. They need to be able to pant. This…this is just…cruel. What’s it even for?”

Shiro forced himself to see the mechanism rather than just blur over it. He might know. He might know, and he didn’t want to know, but he might. “Most Galra don’t pant like dogs do.” He shivered. “And they are cruel.”

Curved bars matched the shape of Ulas’ head and neck tightly, holding the heavy cage in place. Tightened automatically, too seamless to pry under. The muzzle’s central panels were dark and opaque, emblazoned with the imperial sigil over where they sealed the wearer’s mouth. The only holes for air were two narrow slits in front of Ulas’ ears, whistling softly as he breathed.

The higher bar, the one that curved under Ulas’ eyes and across the back of his head, was a disturbingly familiar, magenta-ish metallic color.

Dizzy something ached in the back of Shiro’s head, where the crescent scar jagged across his neck. “There’s two components here.” He tried not to wince, and moved slowly as he pointed. “This section, is a prisoner head collar. Across the skull under the eyes.” Hunk froze, fingers shaking on the bridge, but Shiro made himself keep going. “The muzzle was anchored to it. Maybe activated from it.”

They were looking at him, both of them. Katie’s face was torn between furious curiosity and blazing anger. Hunk looked sad and scared and like he knew ---

Shiro couldn’t not blink. He couldn’t not lose the thread, suddenly blotted out by phantom ---

Pain dug into his neck, the sound of his own muffled cries in his ears, hard edge biting into his hair.

Galra words. Over him. “Face down, and it stops.”

He hadn’t. He’d snarled and fought, scrabbling against hard metal, dragging against the awful snap of the shortening chain wrenching on his head. He’d kept his knees under him, his chest off the ground.

“Prove you know the word, olka. Or do you want me to make this worse?”

VRRRR

Pressure crushed suddenly into his jaw, the panels of the muzzle grinding into him from all sides. Pain jagged and sudden, shallow spikes extruding into his cheeks and under his chin.

He screamed.

“Coryx! Enough! You already confirmed ---.” 

“If I wanted your opinion, Ulas ---

“Shiro!”

Shiro blinked, torn suddenly in between. He was down on his knees and he was standing with his arms curled over his face. He was howling into a gag and he was heaving gasping, whimpering breaths in empty air. It was dark, purple, and it was bright, blue.

Ulas the Galra pushed another dark form over him, armored, unbattered,, and Hunk his friend stared up at him, hands out, pale with worry. There were Galra yellow eyes behind Hunk.

He couldn’t keep Hunk safe here! He had to get him out!

“It’s ok. Shiro? It’s ok.” Hunk’s eyes shimmered, like he’d been crying. “I promise. It’s not on you. It’s not going to hurt you again.”

The panic tilted, unbalanced, as the reluctantly focused. Hunk didn’t sound scared. What was going on? At first Shiro only saw the damn head collar, muzzle extended. Not --- not on him. He could see it and all its awful crosses. 

The strap dug wrong into fur, biting into Ulas’s face. The same face. Ulas sat curled in on the table, face narrowed, eyes sharp. He swiveled his ears forward and Shiro realized with a start they were even rounder now. “Shhhhr,” Ulas wheezed, face drawn with pain from trying to talk. “Mkkkkkr.”

The memory had a tail, a faint echo that barely clung on now. Hands on him, holding him pinned. Unhooking the tension dragging him down. Makur, stop. You’re exhausted.

Ulas’ voice. Shiro knew without even having heard it.

He shuddered, lowering his hands. He didn’t want to know anything else right now. He nodded shakily to Hunk. “S-sorry. I’m ok. Let’s just…get this over with.”

Katie watched him, her face clouded with things she wasn’t saying. Like a trap he might fall into someday. But instead she said, “Yeah, now that you pointed it out, I can trace the interface signals between those two pieces.” She waved a small detector wand near Ulas’ jaw. “They are real chatty.”

A small panel lay on the table next to her, with bent metal and detritus next to them. It looked like while Shiro was freaking out they’d made some progress. He cursed being so easy to make useless.

Hunk hesitated, but when Shiro came back, he followed. Ulas didn’t turn his head, jarringly pliant as Hunk reached into a small opening in the neck loop of the muzzle. “There’s lots of conduits in here. And I still have no idea what energy source they use.”

He should stay quiet. He should focus and do what he had to and not jab at any of the rest. But Shiro watched Ulas shudder, and couldn’t. “Tell us if it hurts you,” he ordered quietly in Galran, confused again with how steady his voice came out. “I want to know.”

Ulas twitched, blinking rapidly. Then, as Hunk worked, he began to make small, soft sounds, back of the throat, no attempt to make them into words.

Not very bad then. Despite himself, relief chilled up Shiro’s shoulders. He knew Galra could shriek if they were in pain.

Hunk paused, looking queasy at the sudden feedback from his work. “Is he…um…ok?”

Shiro nodded, swallowing hard. “Quintessence can be intense if it touches skin. Be careful if something splashes.” Tingles across his tongue were something he needed to not think about right now.

Hunk’s eyes widened. “You know what this is? What state of matter is it? Does it sublimate?” He bit his lip. “Wait, I think…”

Before Shiro could answer, the muzzle lit up, awful purple lights. The snap smell of sweet and glass itched along Shiro’s mouth. Ulas flinched, sitting suddenly straight, hoof cloves lurching sharply apart. “Whoa!” Hunk wrenched back, hands fluttering in the air like he wanted to help but was too scattered to know where. “Well it’s on, but it’s expecting some kind of cue? Like a key?”

But something jarred in Shiro’s head. He’d tried to remember this, over and over and over again. “Wait, Hunk, keep it…Ulas, grax.” He caught Ulas’ arm with one hand, curbing and steadying him at once, and reached for his head with the other. Ulas yelped, dragging away from Shiro’s hand for a second. Then he seemed to catch himself, and, slowly, painfully, he come back.

The muzzle’s awful edge loomed centimeters in front of Shiro’s fingers. Some part of his brain was trapped in a screaming circle, convinced if he touched it somehow it would crawl up him and find his scar, bite into it again.

Shiro tapped the muzzle in sequence, thumb and forefinger. He tried to be gentle, and he heard how each key hurt in Ulas’ faint, louder sounds. Jaw. Side. Center. Jaw. Jaw. He let himself slide between which finger and which place quickly, without thinking, just where they ought to go.

Neck.

Neck was last.

Vrrrrrr.

Shiro froze, still touching the back of Ulas’ neck, his entire body locking rigid. The sound made him want to swing at something --- anything --- make it go away. Force it farther from the parts of him it wanted to capture. Hunk startled, pulling out of the guts of the collar as the contraption clacked and shifted. The tight bars glinted hungrily, shimmering as they woke up.

“Hell yeah!” Katie swarmed forward triumphantly, suddenly too close. “Shiro, you’re a genius! I need you to write that down later!”

Ulas reached up as the muzzle began to fall, but stopped as Katie caught it. It kept whirring and unknitting, bright lights glaring like eyes.

It was unlocked. He’d unlocked it. Something about that shook Shiro so hard it was hard to see the parts reconfigure. But he shuddered --- why weren’t the muzzle panels dematerializing?

But he saw Ulas’ face crumple in pain when Katie pulled to ease it off his head. “Wait!” Shiro caught the crest just as Ulas whimpered, ducking to follow the pull. The jarring urgency cluttered so far into him it felt like he needed to run somewhere. Spikes. Were there spikes?

Hunk and Katie stared at the two of them. Katie let Shiro brace the muzzle, eyes wide, and Shiro realized he’d spoken in Galran again.

“Wait. Something’s wrong.” Shiro blinked hard, trying to stay present.

It’s ok. Faelbar’s voice filled up his entire body. We are not hurt.

Shiro wanted to tell him, yes, he knew that, but for some reason it helped anyway. It helped him keep his voice steady, keep the panic roiling somewhere in his fingers from shuddering out into Ulas when he asked, “What? Where?”

Ulas blinked hard, clawing the air between them in small, reflexive motions. This close, Shiro felt a faint double-shudder in his breaths, like something was garbling up his throat. How long had it been on him? Katie hadn’t said how she’d found him, only that it had been bad.

“Show me.” They needed to know. He needed to know.

Slow, tentative, Ulas caught the edge of the muzzle near Shiro’s hand. His fingers were jarringly, confusingly big. He nudged against the edge, angling his head slightly back and forth, figuring out the right way to move with whatever was hurting him. Then, with a wet, ragged pant, he pulled back, the straps scraping deep furrows in his fur as they dragged by.

For a moment Shiro saw his face, so familiar it made him freeze. Long, shallow, inhuman snout, bony, wide forehead, light shimmering off the strange flat span between his eyes and nose. Shallow gouges scraped and scabbed across jutting cheekbones which were incongruous with the hollow cheeks and narrow chin under them.

But Ulas held his mouth open, and then Shiro wasn’t seeing anything else, because a narrow chain snaked between his teeth. As he moved, Shiro felt rattling in the muzzle. It was attached.

Tense, unsettled feeling tingled up Shiro’s fingers. He didn’t recognize this. He didn’t know if it had ever…

Ulas reached some sort of end on the chain. He paused again, orienting, and then leaned away, extending a tapered orange tongue. His hand tremored next to Shiro’s.

No wonder. The chain anchored to a dark eye bolt connector pierced six centimeters from the tip of Ulas’ tongue. Yellow winked around the studs where it had tugged against him. 

Shiro tasted bile. Shit. He’d sounded muffled and pained even when the muzzle let him speak, before the druids changed whatever stopped him short. It must have been there, punishing him for every word. And now it sat tethered so close to the muzzle he couldn’t speak at all.

“Fuck no wonder you couldn’t talk.” Katie’s entire body tremored with fury.

“Wait, that --- that’s what it’s for? That’s awful!” Hunk covered his mouth with his hands, clearly vividly imagining the sensation. “What is wrong with these people?”

Galra who speak against the empire don’t exist. You won’t ever find one.

Shiro wasn’t sure who he remembered saying that. He didn’t want to know. He held still in a way he didn’t recognize, sweat pricking on his neck that he was holding the other end of something that painful. Ulas mumbled wordlessly, falling back forward, trembling from the effort of holding the chain weight.

Damn it. Shiro didn’t think he had piercing scars on his tongue. But now he’d have to check.

“Katie, bring one of those casings.” Shiro was startled by how calm he sounded. The palpable panic in the other two made him very still inside, like if he touched it it would explode. “Hunk, what do you have to cut this?”

Thankfully, having something to do was right for both of them. Katie snatched the nearest capsule of Altean medical something with its square edges. Hunk balked a step away, but he leaned forward, peering at the inside of the muzzle. Shiro didn’t dare glance down himself, keeping all of his attention on Ulas.

“Here.” Katie held the tin out to Shiro.

“It’s for him. Hold it horizontal.” Shiro blinked, forcing himself to meet Ulas’ eyes. He didn’t want to. Something about the tether in his tongue, and how Shiro could feel it dragging even right now, and how clearly trapped it meant he’d been when Katie found him.

He was the one Shiro was supposed to meet. Supposed to find. The voice shouting to him to run in his night terrors.

But he hadn’t been looking. Hadn’t be sure he would. If Katie hadn’t found him… “Bite down on this. We’ll get it out.”

Ulas slowly lifted his ears. This time when he tried to answer it was visible, his tongue bending but then snapped down by the chain. “Uhhzzz.” He winced, and stopped, instead parting his teeth and tilting carefully so Katie could slide the metal jam into the crook of his jaw. She stared, mouthing numbers quietly to herself. Shiro had no idea what for, he just had to assume it would come up if it were important. 

“Shiro?” Hunk grit his teeth, hand fluttering forward but stopping short of touching the metal rim. “I…none of my repair kit tools will be small enough for this.” Instead of looking just upset, he looked…angry? “Maybe the Alteans have something. I’ll find Coran, and --- “

“No.” Shiro blinked, momentarily dizzy, as repercussions and tradeoffs cluttered off his head. Where had that come from? Had he always been thinking like that? “I don’t want them seeing this.”

He kept his worries to himself, that Allura might decide she liked this safeguard, that he would have to explain to an alien sovereign about what humans would and would not do. But not well enough, probably, judging by the sharp, suspicious look Katie shot at him.

Hunk frowned. “They wouldn’t,” he said softly. But he crossed his arms nervously and didn’t keep heading toward the door.

Maybe. Shiro wasn’t sure what he thought was likely anymore. He shrugged. “I can do it.” He flexed his hand, the mechanisms whirring softly.

Hunk swallowed. But he didn’t argue. “Do you have that kind of dexterity with that thing?”

“You can melt metal?” Katie grinned wildly at him, before she caught up with what she said and frowned just a intensely. “That doesn’t sound safe like this.”

“Cut.” Shiro pressed his fingers together, forcing himself to consider. The Alteans felt dangerous. But so was he. It was sort of refreshing to get direct blunt questions like that instead of people being careful. Usually Hunk tried to tiptoe around it. “Yes. I do.” Shiro paused, expecting more from the certainty, some memory, some data. But, no. Nothing. He just knew.

He glanced at Hunk. That was a lot to trust someone’s tongue to. But, then, it was also the least massive responsibility they’d been handed recently.

Hunk set his shoulders. “What can I do?”

Hell he deserved to be so far away from anything like this. Shiro swallowed down the guilt. Two jobs, only one of which he thought Hunk could manage. “Help him hold still.” As Hunk crossed cautiously to Ulas’ other side, Shiro caught Katie’s eye. “Hold this steady?”

She grit her teeth and barked, “Yes.” Her hands were small and she perched on the edge of the table, both of which helped her be stabler than either of them. Katie looked very pale. “It’s ok,” she told Ulas firmly as she took control of the chain.

He didn’t shiver this time when Hunk reached around him. His entire frame sagged minutely, like the support reached much deeper than just bracing his neck and shoulders.

Shiro looked from one grim face to the next. “Ready?”

Hunk and Katie nodded.

Ulas pinned his ears back and let his tongue droop loose. His yellow eyes tracked Shiro’s face, not his hand.

Eerie. Shiro wasn’t sure how he knew where eyes with no pupils were looking. But he did. He lit his arm, the cold rushing through his shoulder like a warning. It lurched him viciously, suddenly alert, ready to fight. 

Reaching between the muzzle and Ulas’ pinned tongue splashed awful light across the gashes in his face. This close Shiro could almost smell them. It glimmered on his tongue, and edged the scabbing there. Shiro caught the chain, feeling desperate puffs of air on his fingertips.

He had to do this exactly right. A mistake would burn, he thought, best case, or cut, worst.

But the chain was slippery, trailing yellow and clear rivulets from Ulas’ mouth. And the links were small with complex jagged edges. Reaching for it, Shiro felt the barbs, the twists. It was designed to hurt even without pulling. It spun between his fingers before he could get a good grip, shrieking at the heat.

Ulas’ eyes lurched too orange, too dark, and he keened. Involuntary motion dragged his tongue back. The piercing clacked when it brought him up short.

No! They didn’t get to make this worse. THis was something he got to do with the arm that helped.

Shiro snarled and crushed down hard, the kind of hard that made his brain balk, ready to feel pain from the metal. But he wasn’t soft like that, not anymore. The chain sliced cleanly off the muzzle.

For a moment, Shiro was too stuck to see anything other than the chain, the muzzle, and how blood beaded up on Ulas’ tongue as he flinched back. Shiro’s fingers ground into the face plate almost of their own accord, while pain screamed out of his jaw and nose. Memory or not, he could barely tell.

Someone. Someone made him want to destroy this thing. Right now SHiro couldn’t quite put a finger on a face or a voice or anything like that. Just the fierce, burning hatred loose in his head.

Ulas shuddered, hand coming up to catch the links trailing down from his mouth. It looked like a snake trying to twist into him, and he made a faint, pitched pain sound that jittered all the way up Shiro’s spine.

Give it to me, Faelbar hissed. I’ll crush it. Shiro had the echoing, massive feeling that the lion knew what the pain felt like, because Shiro had. That he wanted nothing more than to wipe the horrible thing off the face of the universe.

That helped. At least he could make this one let go.

[icypantherwrites]

Fic Update: Here, Chapter Six

“Allura, it’s not real,” Shiro’s hands were tight on Allura’s shoulders as she shook in his hold, tears streaming down her face that had crumpled in despair as she stared at the monitor.  “It’s not real.”

God, please don’t let it be real.

If, if Coran had just…

God.

It had been so fast.

Shiro had known to expect speed on Lance’s end but that…

That had been…

He still wasn’t even sure what weapon Lance had found to use, but…

But Coran…

Allura’s scream had echoed on the bridge as Lance had drawn it across Coran’s throat, blood flinging itself into the air.

It was fake, Shiro chanted to himself.

It was a trick.

Coran had said he could shift, he could protect himself.

It was a trick.

“He, he promised,” Allura gasped, overbright eyes lifting to meet Shiro’s. “He pr-promised.”

Shiro shifted his arms from her shoulders to wrap around her back, drawing her in close and shielding her from the grisly sight on the camera as Lance pilfered Coran’s pocket for the remote.

He was glad the others were in position and hadn’t seen.

Fake or not…

That had been…

“He promised,” Shiro said quietly, squeezing her tight and trying not to wince as Allura returned the embrace with more force than his ribs could take. 

Read it here

(not yet posted on AO3)

Summary: [Third and final part to the Sniper trilogy] Voltron has rescued Lance but the person with them now is not the same boy they once knew. Even outside the Galrans’ influence Lance believes himself to be Sniper, an assassin to the Galra Empire with his final mission to eliminate Voltron. It’s going to be a long, difficult journey that they know won’t end even when Lance does remember them as then he’ll also remember all of the horrors he committed as Sniper and have to come to terms with what he did. But they do know they’ll be there for him every step of the way because Lance was gone, he’s been found and now he’s here, with his space family, to stay.

[staydandy]

Oh No! Here Comes Trouble (2023) - 不良執念清除師 - Whump List

List by StayDandy Synopsis : Pu Yi Yong is a typical high school student. When he unexpectedly gains supernatural powers after waking up from a car accident, his previously uneventful life is suddenly not so ordinary anymore. (MDL)

Whumpee : Pu Yi Yong played by Tseng Jing Hua (center) • Cao Guang Yan played by Peng Cian You (left)

Country : 🇹🇼 Taiwan

Notes : This is a Full Whump List • I want another season of this so badly! It was well done ... written, acted, cgi ... loved it! • Most of the whump is comedic (until the very end), but it's still a really good show!

Episodes on List : 11 Total Episodes : 12

*Spoilers below*

01 : Cao Guang Yan falls down some steps, sprains his foot … [flashback] hit in the head with a sport-ball (3 separate times! - comedic) … [present] Pu Yi Yong is in a major bus accident, trapped under a large hunk of metal, wakes briefly before passing out again … wakes in a hospital, oxygen mask, was in a coma … (@ 31:56 you go Mama!!) … hospitalized, physical therapy, walking with crutches

02 : Faints several times in a row (comedic) … (@ 16:00 my god, personal space ma dude!) … [flashback] found under the metal at the accident site, piece of metal speared in his side, heart stopped, CPR administered … [present] put in an arm lock (comedic)

03 : (at end) Guang Yan is punched

04 : … continued from previous ep. ... (replay) Punched & knocked out (by Yi Yong), Yi Yong is punched & knocked out (by his mother 😂) … trips & falls … put in an arm lock (comedic)

05 : Hit with the butt of a metal bat … bruised, handcuffed … trips & falls … Guang Yan has a headache … Yi Yong trips & falls … legs & hands skinned up from tripping & falling several times

06 : (near end) Guang Yan is nauseous an amusement ride

07 : Yi Yong trips & falls, Guang Yan trips & falls (comedic) … Yi Yong is slapped (comedic) … (@ 29:33 Guang Yan knows all of Yi Yong's food prefs.. yeah, totally not a couple 😏) … in shock, almost punches Guang Yan without realizing … slapped (comedic) (Guang Yan has great reflexes 😂) … nightmare

08 : Slapped (comedic) (he's gonna get a concussion if this keeps up 😂)

10 : Tackled to the ground, wrist & arm scratched

11 : Falls to the ground in shock

12 : Knocked out … hands zip-tied, dragged, throws up … hit in the head with a hammer, knocked out … wakes, head pain, bleeding … in a fight … tossed over a railing, clings to the edge, falls 2-3 stories, bleeding heavily, CPR administered, coughs blood … comatose … (that ending scene legit made me cry 😭)

[whumping-valentine]

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 11 🦌

"Fear and Fangs"

Content: Rival Cults, Vampires, Blood Rivers

2,000 words

Hey it's time for part 11! So sorry this took 10,000 years 😭 I hate writing. I don't think this is my best work, but I say that about literally everything I ever write, ever, so it doesn't really mean much. It's admittedly choppy and fast paced but I'll be honest I don't care lol.

This is where the plot really starts kicking off and it turns from just another whump story into something that actually has direction.

But yeah, hope you guys like it, you're all awesome!! 😁

       “Where the Hell are you taking me?” Fawn demanded, glaring at Hunter in discontent as they pulled them through the woods.

       “Can’t you go just one moment without the attitude? You can at least pretend to like me, you know.”

       “Absolutely fucking not. I’m not insane, unlike you.”

       Hunter rolled their eyes, “Well, for your information, I want to go and check something out, and you’re coming with me.”

       “Oh, whoopee.” Fawn cheered, tone dead and monotone. “Sounds so fun.”

       "Just shhh." Hunter shushed.

       "Well maybe I don't wanna shhhhh. I want to know where the Hell we're going! What's so important you're dragging me along to come see?"

       "I was kidnapped by a cult last week and I wanna know what's going on."

       Fawn stopped in their tracks, bewildered, "You were fucking what?!"

       "You heard me."

       "Oh, no, no, no. I wanna know! How did that happen? And why the hell are we trying to go and find a kidnapping cult? And how did you get out? What happened?"

        "I told you to shush. You ask too many questions."

        "Uh, I think asking questions is perfectly acceptable in this scenario! Hey!”

       Hunter ignored Fawn as they kept walking, picking up the pace as Fawn kept trying to get their attention, stumbling through the snow behind them. They made it to a small unkempt road, but you couldn’t tell through all the white layers that coated the ground, as well as the vehicle that was left there.

       Hunter opened the passenger door, making a simple command, "Get in the truck."

       "Wha— where the hell did you get a truck?"

       "Stop asking questions and get inside."

       “Oh, yeah, sure. Nothing more trustful and less suspicious than when your captor tells you to get inside a fucking car.” Fawn said, though still obliged, folding their arms in the passenger seat. “Especially when they’re apparently on the search for some fucking cult. Am I some sacrificial lamb, huh? Is that what this is? You made a deal with them to let you go and that’s why you’re being all secretive. Oh, I’ve got you down to a T!”

       Hunter rolled their eyes, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Yeah, definitely. A sacrificial fawn to appease the gods, or whatever.”

       “Sounds so fun. I bet they’re a bunch of cannibals too, they’ll eat my innards and wear my bones like jewelry.”

       “You have such a morbid mind.” Hunter started the truck.

       “Says the murderer. Jesus, this thing is loud, good luck sneaking up on people with this hunk of junk. I know you don’t want me to ask questions but I just gotta know where you found this.”

       “I found it near a road when I ran away from the cult. I would’ve froze to death without it.”

       “Darn, what a shame.”

       “You say that until you’re left stranded in the middle of the woods. You couldn’t survive without me, don’t deny that.”

       “I ain’t. I’ll give you that one.”

       Hunter slowly drove down the snow-covered back roads, bumping up and down, sliding, and finding it difficult to control.

       “You drive like fucking shit.” Fawn said.

       “I never got my license.”

       “That sounds like a you problem.”

       Hunter sped up, then slammed on the breaks, causing Fawn to fling forward. “Oh wow, looks like you weren’t wearing a seatbelt! Sounds like a you problem, doesn’t it?”

       “Ow! Fuck, okay, fine, I’ll take the fucking point.” They grumbled, sitting back in their seat, buckling, “I’ll shut up.”

       “Took you long enough.” Hunter continued driving. Fawn bit their lip and kept their gaze out the window, folding their arms again. “Besides, the road isn’t in good condition. It’s not my fault.”

       After a few silent minutes, Hunter stopped the truck, and turned it off. The roaring engine quieted, and they were left in silence. “Time to get out.”

       “What? You want to leave the car? The one thing shielding us from danger and cold? You want to leave it?”

       “You said it yourself, it’s too loud to sneak around. We have to go on foot. This was the general area I found them in if I remember correctly. Let’s go.”

       Fawn hopped out of the truck and followed behind Hunter as they stalked off into the woods.

       “You know, I can’t believe you’ve survived so long in the woods on your own.” Fawn whispered, “Sneaking through the woods in the middle of winter, looking for a whole cult with nothing but a shotgun? You’re genuinely insane.”

       “Wow, took you this long to figure that out, did it?”

       “No, you just find new ways to impress me in the worst ways possible.”

       "I'll take that as a compliment."

      "Of course, I'd expect nothing less." They rolled their eyes. Though now that the conversation stopped, they were forced to confront their anxiety.

       Fawn tried their best to stay composed and act nonchalant, but it was hard when they were so jittery. This was crazy, and Hunter was crazy, and everything wasn't right and they just wanted to go home to their own bed and sleep and never leave the house again.

       They were incredibly alert and on edge, so they were easily the one to spot something unusual.

       “There!” Fawn suddenly exclaimed in a whisper, grabbing onto the sleeve of Hunter’s coat as they pointed, huddling to hide behind them. Hunter pulled them both behind a tree, staring off into the distance. Among the white of snow, figures moved in the distance, walking across the horizon.

       Hunter narrowed their eyes, "No, those guys are different."

       "What do you mean? They're clearly a fucking cult. I didn't think they'd look so spot on. That's every single stereotypical movie cult I've ever seen."

       "Yeah, but it's not the same one I saw last week. The one I saw last week wore wolf masks. These guys are plague doctors."

       "Are you suggesting there's some kind of rival cult thing going on?"

       "No, but you are."

       “Well that’s the only thing that makes sense if you insist they’re different. Either they’re the same, or there’s two of them. What other answer is there?”

       "Would you please stop asking me questions that I don't know the fucking answer to? God, I'm just as clueless as you are. I don't fucking know. Let's keep looking." They said, and began to walk the direction they were coming from.

       Hunter's eyes were fixated on the horizon, making sure they were staying out of sight, hidden. Fawn, while following, ventured slightly off the path in the other direction. Hunter didn't notice they left until they frantically tugged on their coat.

       "Shit, Fawn." They were startled, "What is it?"

       "Dude. There's a fucking blood river." Fawn said, voice incredulous.

       "A blood river? And you're calling me insane?"

       "Come look at this. Right now. I'm serious."

       Hunter could hear the fear and amazement in their voice. Fawn grabbed the sleeve of their coat and pulled them off through the trees. “Look!” They said, pointing to the river.

       It wasn’t a small creek, though also not too big. It ran along the outskirts of the woods and an open clearing. The water ws indeed dark red. The two crouched down in the snow next to it.

       “Well, it certainly looks like blood.” Hunter said. Fawn reached out to touch it, before Hunter quickly reached out and grabbed their wrist, “Don’t! You don’t know what this shit is or why it’s red.”

       Fawn twisted their wrist from their grip, “I’m not a fucking child, I can make my own decisions.” Fawn again reached down towards the still river, dripping the tips of their fingers into it. The top layer was thick, and despite the cold of winter, it was warm.

       Fawn pulled their fingers from the river, eyes wide, “Hunter, it’s warm.”

       “What? Don’t fuck with me.”

       “I’m not!”

       Hunter, now immensely curious and fearful themself, reluctantly stuck their fingers into the river, only to immediately pull out at the warm feeling, hand shaking. They wiped their fingers in the snow before standing up, slowly backing away. “That’s fucked.”

       "Yeah, I told you!"

       "Fawn, I— I have a confession to make. You remember when I took you out hunting, and it was all foggy?"

       "Uh, yeah?"

       "Well, I don't know if I was crazy or what, but— but I saw a massive deer skeleton. And I'm talking huge. I'd— I'd never seen anything like it, that's why I was so shaken up. I'm really starting to think it was real. I— I thought it was some kind of statue."

       "So… what? You're saying something paranormal is going on here?"

       "Well it certainly isn't fucking normal, I'll tell you that."

       "Yeah, obviously. Some giant skeleton, two cults in the woods, a fucking blood river and your stupid haunted house. That's not just another Tuesday. Are— are you sure this isn't something we're reading too much into?"

       "There's a fucking blood river, Rudolph, of course I'm fucking sure!"

       "Yeah, yeah, okay. And don't call me that."

       "You used to be so mad at the nickname, is there anything that'll make you happy?"

       "I'd be very happy if you weren't some creepy bitch who kidnapped me."

       "I didn't kidnap you, I just took you into my home and didn't let you leave. It's called being held captive, not kidnapping."

       "Oh, that's such a big difference. Please, enlighten me with more of your knowledge."

       Hunter was about to bite back, when an unexpected voice caused the both of them to jump.

       "What's going on here?" A feminine voice asked. One of the masked plague doctors stood behind them, her arms crossed. Hunter instinctively pointed their gun at her.

       “Woah there, mate, put the gun dow— wait—” She peeked under the mask, "Rudy?"

       "Anaira?" Fawn was incredulous.

       Anaira fully removed her mask, “What— I—" She looked at Hunter and pointed, “I saw you at work last week!”

       "Oh, yeah, I found ‘em!" Hunter said, putting an arm around their shoulders.

       "They didn't find me, they're the one who kidnapped me!" Fawn shoved them off.

       "Held you captive." Hunter corrected. Fawn kicked them in the shin, then ran to hug Anaira.

       "Oh, thank fuck! Get me away from this psychopath!"

       "Oh, okay, so you'll trust the cult lady with the plague doctor mask over me." Hunter said, and asked Anaira. "What the hell is with that, by the way?"

       "Why do I need to answer? You're the one who's apparently been holding Rudy captive."

       Fawn looked up at Anira, and it was the first time they had seen her without a facemask on. They took notice of one tiny detail, “Wait, do you have fangs?”

       She ignored them, “Look, both of you follow me, and I’ll explain everything.”

      She didn't give either of them any time to respond as she quickly took off, forcing them to either stay behind or follow.

       She led them through the snowy woods, though it felt like a race to keep up with her. Her cloak blew through the wind as she effortlessly climbed up icy hills, darted through the trees, and jumped through the snow.

       "Can you please tell us what the hell is going on?" Fawn asked as they tried to keep up, “Why are you out in the middle of the woods wearing plague costumes?”

       "It's not easy out here for anyone, Rudolph." She said, "Not humans, not us. I'm trying to get us out of wolf territory. It wouldn't be good to get caught on their turf, especially not by—"

       "Well, well, well, look who decided to come crawlin' in the wrong neck of the woods." A new voice entered the room, the tone and cadence of an older woman.

       Anaira finished her sentence, "—Ethel."

       Ethel chuckled, “Long time no see, Anaira.”

Taglist: @parasitebunny @whumpy-wyrms @fruitypinapple00 @otterfrost

Fawn and Hunter's bickering this chapter reminds me so much of me and my little brother lol. I'm Hunter and he is Fawn. He won't go a single day without insulting me lol

Sorry about the pacing this part.

Lmk in the comments if you want added or removed !

Thanks for reading !! 💕🦌

[whumpster-dumpster]

big whumpees. lumberjack whumpees. 6 foot brick shithouse hunk whumpees. whumpees who would tower over whumper if they werent always on their knees. whumpees who are all muscle. whumpees who were caught when they let their guard down and if given the chance, could kick whumpers ass into next tuesday. whumpees who can bench a hundred ten pounds when they arent being tortured

my current whumpee is 5'10 and can lift 75 kgs and still gets beat by a shock collar. the only person who could maybe possibly lift him is 6'3 wall of a man caretaker

please.....consider..... bigger whumpees......no more twinks in 2023

Hey, twinks have their rights to suffer haha but you've got a point, I've had my eye on a few of the six footers before. Equal whump rights for big bois 2023

[actress4him]

For bthb, could you do Keith with seizures? The cause could be something to with him being half Galra? Maybe it happens in the atlas (season 8?) completely optional suggestion I’d love it if you only do the first part (first time suggesting something so sorry if this is worded weirdly)

It’s been ages, and whoever you are, dear anon, I have no idea whether you’ll ever actually see this, but I hope you do and I hope you enjoy.

@badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Prompt: Seizures

Contains: dude whump, sensory overload, self-deprecating thoughts, seizure, references to past questionable foster care

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Voltron had saved another planet. That meant yet another celebration to thank them, something that the team always had mixed feelings about. Lance and Allura and Coran loved them, always ready for a chance to mingle and socialize (and in Lance’s case, flirt), while Pidge and Keith were less than thrilled, both of them preferring to stay away from social situations whenever possible. Shiro and Hunk seemed to fall somewhere in the middle, only really complaining if they were especially tired, but enjoying themselves most of the time once they were there. 

He didn’t know about the others, but Keith also struggled with seeing the necessity of these events. Sure, he knew that the planet’s people were thankful for their help, but did it really require a party every time? Didn’t they have better things they could be doing, like, you know, saving more planets? This was a war. Allura was always preaching the importance of diplomacy, but he had a hard time believing that it should take precedence over battles.

Plus, they never really knew what they were getting themselves into when landing on an alien planet. Of all the members of Voltron, Keith really should have been the best at getting thrown into new, unknown situations. After all, that’s how he’d spent his entire childhood. But those families had all been human, at least, and therefore mostly predictable. Alien planets were anything but.

For instance, on most planets the celebrations had been rather formal affairs, some even with dancing like a ball straight out of a movie. Others had been more casual, and many focused on food (those were Hunk’s favorites, of course). 

On this particular planet, though, as soon as the president announced that the festivities would begin, the ballroom-like space turned instantly into a club. The main lights switched off, but were replaced by multi-colored beams that spun wildly around the room. Speakers hidden somewhere in the ceiling and walls began blasting what apparently passed as music on this planet, complete with a drumbeat that vibrated the floor.

Keith, taken completely off guard, couldn’t stop his violent flinch. He did, however, just barely catch himself before his hands clapped over his ears. Sucking in a deep breath, he forced his arms back down by his sides. Loud sounds had always been miserable for him. He’d had to learn a long time ago that it wasn’t always appropriate to indulge himself and try to block them out, though. Some people didn’t take very kindly to that, and the last thing he wanted was to insult anyone here. Allura would have his head. 

The lights were awful, too, and he blinked several times in a row before settling on just squinting at everything. Every time one flashed directly across his face he winced, trying not to squeeze his eyes shut and leave them that way. Not that it mattered much if he did, he could still see the colors behind his eyelids.

“Woo!” Lance yelled, immediately getting into the spirit and waving his arms over his head. “Heck yeah, this is what I call a party!” And he was off, sliding and bopping through the crowd, getting everyone around him excited and dancing.

Why can’t you be more like him? that ugly voice in Keith’s head sneered. Everybody loves Lance, no matter where we go. Really, why can’t you be more like any of them?

The rest of the team were all looking far more comfortable in this environment than he ever could. Some were dancing, others eating and chatting. Even Pidge had found someone to talk technology or math with, judging by the passion in her expression. Meanwhile, he just stood there awkwardly, fighting against the strong urge in every inch of his body to flee the room and find somewhere dark and quiet to hide. 

Pretty recently he’d finally realized that his sensitive eyes and ears probably came from his Galra side, thanks to getting to know the Blades and his mom and finding out more about their physiology. That didn’t make him feel any better about it. Sure, he was getting more and more used to the whole half-Galra thing, and getting closer to actually, fully accepting it. But this was just another case of being Galra making him different. More accurately, weird. Another reason why he’d never fit in anywhere he went.

And that’s why I can’t be like them. Because I’m not like them, and I never will be. 

Weaving slowly through the crowd of aliens, Keith made his way toward the wall closest to the entrance. He tried his best not to bump into anyone, despite the fact that half of them were in the middle of flailing - ahem, dancing. Still, hands and sleeves brushed against his arms and shoulders. Somehow they felt like pins pricking his skin, even through his jacket. He hurried past, wrapping his arms around himself tightly and tucking himself up against the wall. But the wall was vibrating, like the floor. It shot up his spine into his head, making him clench his teeth even harder, and he quickly stood up straight again. 

He thought he was going to be sick. Which was stupid, it was just lights and music. But it was crawling underneath his skin, pounding into his temples, clogging up his throat.

He wanted to go home.

“Hey, man! You okay over here?” Hunk appeared next to him, shouting to be heard over the chaos of music and conversations. “You look kinda pale.”

The added noise stabbed through Keith’s skull, and he tried his hardest not to show it. “‘m fine.”

Finishing chewing whatever he’d just popped into his mouth, Hunk frowned and stepped a little closer. “You sure? I mean, I know you don’t like parties, but…this seems a bit worse than normal.”

Keith looked over at him. He seemed entirely genuine, as Hunk usually was. “The lights and music are just…” This time he failed to keep from flinching when one of the beams crossed his face. “A lot. It’s no big deal, though.”

“Ohhh.” Hunk’s expression morphed from concern to something that was probably pity, which is not what he was hoping for. “Yeah, Shiro said at some point that you have like, sensitive eyes and stuff, right? I’m sorry, man. You could go back to the Castle, you know. You don’t have to stay if you’re miserable.” 

He shook his head. “No, it’s…it’s fine.” He wasn’t going to disappear and risk it causing any number of problems - alien presidents getting offended, Allura deciding she needed them all to line up and have some sort of ceremony, some kind of further attack occurring. Call him paranoid, but all of the above had happened before. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay.” 

He really needed this conversation to end now, though. Having to talk and focus on what Hunk was saying, and also smelling the food he was holding on top of the smell of a bunch of alien sweat and perfumes was making things even worse. It felt like his head was going to explode with all of the sensations it was trying to process. 

In fact, maybe it was already exploding. Maybe it was slowly frying, at least, because there were stars appearing around him that he was pretty sure weren’t part of the party’s special effects. Hunk was saying something else next to him, but Keith couldn’t process it, staring up at the blinking stars. Everything in the room seemed to be moving in slow motion all of a sudden. Then there was an especially bright burst of light, and he vaguely felt himself falling.

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“I’ll be okay,” he said. “Don’t worry,” he said. But then Hunk was watching Keith stare off into space at nothing before starting to shake and dropping abruptly to the floor. 

“Whoa! Keith!” He dove onto his knees, torn between watching Keith’s whole body twitch and jerk uncontrollably and looking around frantically for someone to help him. Everyone’s attention was on the festivities, though, not down on the floor, and the music was way too loud to call out to anyone. Hunk was the only one who knew something was wrong.

And he was…not really equipped to handle something like this. He’d had some first aid classes, though, so he could…he could do this, right? It wasn’t like there was another choice. Keith needed him. 

This was definitely a seizure. And it was horrifying. But he had to ignore that and focus on what he could do. He knew he wasn’t supposed to hold onto him, couldn’t stop the terrible shaking that had taken over his body, but he was pretty sure it was a good idea to try and cushion his head. So he scooted over, reaching out tentatively and very, very carefully lifting Keith’s head with both hands until he could set it into his lap. 

The Red Paladin’s eyes were open, but only white was showing. Hunk’s heart was in his throat watching him. Vaguely he thought he remembered something about counting when someone was having a seizure, but he had no idea why or how much time had passed already so he didn’t try to start. All he could do at that point was watch and wait and hope that it would be over soon.

And eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, it was. Keith’s body relaxed as quickly as it had begun seizing, going limp on the floor. He looked…dead. Which completely freaked Hunk out for a moment, almost more than the seizure had to start with, until he saw his chest rise and fall once, then twice. Okay. Okay, so he wasn’t dead. He was…not okay, but he wasn’t seizing and he wasn’t dead. Now he just needed to get someone’s attention, and since the shaking was past he was able to scoop him up in his arms and stand. 

It didn’t take long after that for someone to notice them then. One paladin draped across another’s arms was kind of concerning, apparently, and pretty soon they had a swarm of aliens and the other paladins around them, ready to help.

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After the stars and the falling, Keith didn’t remember much besides a buzzing sensation, like electricity had taken over his limbs. The next thing he was fully aware of was opening his eyes to blissful darkness and quiet. The only sound was a whispered conversation in an unseen corner of the room, which quickly came to a halt when he shifted. 

“Keith? You with us, bud?”

“Y-yeah.” He stretched out his legs, trying to figure out what he was lying on and why it felt like someone had beaten him with a stick. Every single muscle in his body was sore, even ones he didn’t realize he had. “What, uh…what happened?”

Hunk scooted out to the edge of the chair across from him, catching his attention. “You, um…had a seizure. It was super scary, man. I’d be really okay if that never happened again, but I mean of course I don’t like, blame you for it, I highly doubt you did it on purpose.”

“I wasn’t actually there for the seizure part, but seeing you passed out wasn’t exactly reassuring, either,” Lance piped in, appearing to perch on the arm of Hunk’s chair. “I just thought you were pale before, that was like, ghost quality.”

Keith was still trying to wrap his mind around the concept of having a seizure, but he was surprised to see them both there, especially Lance. “You should still be at the party, not worrying over me. I didn’t mean to interrupt everything.”

“You think I was gonna keep dancing with the ladies while my teammate was in here dying?” Lance scoffed, sounding offended. “The ladies will just have to do without me for a little while.”

“The ladies are probably all waiting to thank Keith for distracting you for a few minutes,” Pidge quipped drily. She draped herself over the back of the couch that Keith was apparently lying on. “And he’s not dying, anyway. He’s fine.” Her eyes cut over to Keith’s face, and he could see concern trying not to show itself. “Right?”

“Um. Yeah. I…think.” He started to push himself up, grimacing a little at the pull on his muscles, but Pidge placed the heel of her hand on his forehead and shoved him back down.

“Cool it, cowboy, you need to rest.”

“I’m fine, really. I don’t know what happened, but…I’m okay now.” He was pretty sure, anyway. He felt relatively normal, other than the soreness, but not knowing what had brought on the seizure and whether or not it would happen again was a bit concerning, to say the least. “It isn’t the first time I’ve had one, anyway. Happened once when I was a kid, too. And I was fine then,” he added quickly.

“Was there a lot of sensory input happening then, too?” Shiro crossed the room, tucking a datapad into his pocket. “Hunk said you were complaining about the lights and music.”

Keith thought back to the first incident, at a foster brother’s birthday party in an arcade. “Yeah. There was.” The foster parents had sent him away after that, claiming they were unprepared to deal with major medical issues. Never mind that it hadn’t happened again for almost a decade, and not until he was all the way in outer space.

Shiro nodded. “I was just talking to the Blade’s medic. Apparently it isn’t a common thing for Galra to experience, but he has seen it before in mixed species. The Galra sensory issues combined with…something that certain other races have, it was a bit over my head. But he’d like to run some tests next time he sees you, just to be sure.”

Keith groaned and shook his head. Just what he needed, more tests by the Blade trying to figure out how exactly his body worked. 

“I appreciate you guys, um…being there for me. Helping me out. Especially, um, you, Hunk. I hate that I caused a scene, though. You all should get back before you’re missed too much.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Hunk waved a hand dismissively. “Allura and Coran are still holding down the fort out there, though we should definitely let them know soon that you’re awake and okay. They were worried about you.”

“We’d all much rather be in here making sure you’re okay, Mullet.”

It never failed to surprise him, hearing the rest of the team express any kind of care and concern for him. A warm feeling invaded his chest and eased some of the tension in his body.

“And Keith? If this ever happens again, will you please let us know so we can help before your body freaks out?” Pidge poked him in the stomach to emphasize her words.

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I can do that, I guess.” Part of him still wanted to protest about diplomacy and not angering aliens and such, but he knew he’d just get shut down. Instead he glanced around at the team and smiled a little. “Thanks.”

————————————————

Bingo requests are open, but only for my OCs at this time, and with no guarantee of how long it will take me to fulfill them!

[whump-me]

Martyr, Chapter 20: Taxonomy of Love

Chapter 20 of Martyr, a novel-length sci-fi whump story about a captured Martian rebel with a secret and the renowned interrogator who has waited a decade for the chance to break him. This series is best read in order. Masterpost here.

Contains: multiple defiant whumpees, cold whumper, restraints, interrogation, blood, imagined death, verbal sparring, forced to watch

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Wraith

Isadora carefully set the knife down on the table in front of her. She rested her elbows on the table and clasped her hands. She leaned in toward him, the ice in her eyes sharpening to spikes that seemed to pierce through to his very soul.

“Because you love him,” she said, as if the words were in a foreign language—and he figured they might as well have been, for her. “What do you mean by that? Are you talking about friendship? Romantic love—and if so, was it reciprocated? Or is this more like the love a priest might feel for his god?”

Wraith snorted at the thought of him bowing his head to any god—although if he did, Gabriel just might be the one he chose. “Why? How does this help you? Is it just some kind of ghoulish fascination on your part? If you want to understand love, good luck with that. I could sit here all night and try to explain it to you, but that wouldn’t do a thing about that frozen hunk of rock you’ve got in your chest where your heart should be.”

Isadora traced her fingers over the knife as she stared into Wraith’s eyes—a silent warning.

Wraith sighed. “Here’s your first lesson, then. Sometimes—most times—you can’t box love into some neat category and have that be the end of it. There’s no taxonomy of love. Was it friendship? Of course. Romance? It could have been, if he’d wanted it that way. As it is, I’ll take what he gives me, and I’ll be happy with it.”

“Then you admit he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Your devotion, the devotion that led you to this room, was not reciprocated.”

Wraith shook his head. “I told you, it’s not that simple. Love is never that simple.”

He fell silent. Isadora took hold of the knife. She let it drift slowly, almost lazily, toward the prisoner. The prisoner’s words of defiance seemed to have died with the first stab of the blade. He watched her, only his eyes moving. His jaw was clenched. He didn’t speak.

“What do you want from me?” Wraith asked, as a sudden weariness made him sag back in his chair. “I told you why I did it. I love him. It’s that simple.”

“You also said love is never simple,” Isadora pointed out. “You say he loves you, but you describe yourself as subsisting on the few scraps he would let fall from his heart to yours. Explain this to me.”

“I never said—”

“Then explain what you meant to say,” he said, “or watch this man suffer. It seems a simple choice to me.” She gave a tiny shrug.

Wraith opened his mouth, then closed it again. He couldn’t start with the story of their friendship, because those details could lead Isadora to Gabriel. All it would take was a trip back through the factory records to see who Wraith had worked with when the Earth soldiers had come. He would just have to give her something satisfying enough that she would be too distracted to notice his lie of omission.

Not that he knew what would satisfy her at this point.

“He loves everyone in the rebellion,” said Wraith. “Hell, he loves everyone on this rock. Sometimes I think he even loves you people. It’s always been his weakness. And most of all, he loves his cause. He cares too much about freedom and justice and all that to get distracted by the way the light shines off someone’s hair, or…” He shook his head hard. “You know what I mean. That’s what I mean when I say he’s a better man than me. It’s not just that I can make the hard calls easier than he can. Or that he can forgive anyone—even you, probably—and I’d rather carve out your heart with a rusty spoon. When it comes down to it, I’m a selfish bastard. There are plenty of people I care about—plenty I’d kill for, maybe even die for. But there’s only one person I love.”

His breath came in tight gasps, like she was breaking his fingers all over again. He didn’t talk like this to anyone. Not even Gabriel. Especially not Gabriel. He could see her drinking in his confessions hungrily, and it made him sick. She looked like some kind of icy vampire, feasting on his soul.

But if it kept her from doing to this new prisoner what she had done to the last one, he would give her every drop. So long as she didn’t go near Gabriel.

But that was what was coming next, right? It had to be. The question was inevitable—Where is he now? She wanted Gabriel. Wraith knew how to find him. There was only one way this conversation could end.

It would end with the prisoner dying in front of him, because he would sacrifice anything—anyone—to keep Gabriel safe.

When he thought about it that way, he might as well have refused to tell her anything from the start.

Isadora opened her mouth, and Wraith braced himself for the question he knew was coming. But what she said was, “Tell me about the day you volunteered to die in his place. If that’s really how it happened.”

Wraith watched the hand with the knife. “Of course it’s how it happened.”

“Then tell me.”

She was watching him too intently, leaning forward, her knuckles white as she tightened her grip around the knife hilt. Wraith didn’t understand why she wanted this—why she cared about sitting around discussing the intricacies of his relationship with Gabriel. Why wasn’t she threatening to cut the prisoner’s fingers off one by one unless Wraith told her where Gabriel was? That was the obvious move. But no, she wanted to sit here and talk about their last conversation. As if this really was about the two of them getting to know one another. As if they had all the time in the world.

He had a feeling Isadora didn’t do anything without a reason. But he didn’t see the reason, and it worried him.

“Well? I’m waiting.” Isadora edged the knife ever so slightly closer to the prisoner. The prisoner flinched, and tried to hide it by baring his teeth.

“I’m not going to give you anything that will help you find him, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Wraith warned. “That’s what you want, right? Are you hoping I’ll let slip with some careless detail? You might as well save us both some time and get straight to the point.”

Isadora shook her head, a hint of impatience crossing her impassive face. “When I want the location of your leader, I will ask you for the location,” she said. “I told you upon our first meeting that I saw little point in hiding my motives. Right now, I want to hear about the day you chose to die for him. And you will tell me, because I’m sure you understand the consequences of refusal by now.” The knife crept another inch toward the prisoner.

Wraith still didn’t understand the game. But he understood the threat. If the choices were to give her what she wanted, without knowing why she wanted, or stay quiet and know what would happen next… well, both options were dangerous, but one came with a definite result. The devil he knew didn’t seem like the right choice here.

“He knew how close you were getting,” said Wraith. “He’d known for weeks. We keep a close eye on your communications—I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now. He didn’t want me to know what was wrong. I was out of the loop—tracking what you people are chatting about isn’t normally my responsibility. I handle things that require a more direct approach.”

Isadora watched him with an empty expression—all but her eyes, which were as hungry as they were cold. She wanted something from this conversation, wanted it as much as he knew she must want Gabriel’s location. He had a bad feeling he would give it to her without knowing it. But a glance at the silent prisoner, who was radiating as much fear as anger now, kept him talking.

“I knew something was up, though,” he continued. “He had these awful bags under his eyes. Worse than usual, I mean. I don’t think he’s gotten a good night’s sleep in ten years—have any of us?—but this was different. He was starting to forget words. Sometimes I’d come in late at night and see him sitting at his desk, eyes open but not looking at anything. When I’d make a sound, he’d give little start, like he’d been asleep—although of course he denied it afterwards.”

“Then the two of you were close,” said Isadora, “for you to have that kind of access to him.”

Wraith tensed. “I handled a lot for him. Things he couldn’t trust anyone else with. He usually wanted me to report back to him personally. So yeah, that meant we see a lot of each other.”

“Earlier you said you were friends.”

“As much as he’s friends with anyone, I guess.”

Isadora’s knife crept forward.

Wraith sighed. “Okay, yeah, you could call us friends. When you work that closely with someone, you have to trust each other, and in our world, trust is rare—when you find it, you don’t let it go. So sure. We were friends.” He pressed his lips together before speaking again. “But if you’re hoping to root out all the dark secrets he confided in me, you’re out of luck. Not just because there’s nothing you can do that would make me betray him, but because he doesn’t have any dark secrets. He’s not like you. Hell, he’s not even like me.”

“I’m not looking for his secrets,” said Isadora. “I asked you for one thing: a description of the conversation in which you agreed to sacrifice yourself for him. Volunteered to sacrifice yourself for him, if you insist on framing it that way. And we’re getting off track.” She ran a finger along the knife.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk about friendship.”

Isadora narrowed her eyes at him. The knife crept closer to the prisoner. “Let’s return to the subject at hand.”

“Fine. I asked him about it one day—how distracted he was, how he wasn’t sleeping. Of course, he didn’t want to tell me anything. But it’s like I said—for people like him, it’s rare to find someone you can talk to. And no one can keep everything inside forever. So he told me. He said he’d been hearing some things, and it was probably a matter of weeks before you people got hold of him. He was trying to figure out how to protect everyone else once he was gone, he said. In case… you know, in case you got him to talk. I said that would never happen—I couldn’t think of anything that would make him betray what he believed in. But he wasn’t so optimistic. Has a lot of respect for the effectiveness of your methods. I guess you should be flattered.”

“And that’s when you presented him with your plan?” Isadora’s eyes glittered under her lashes, alight with an anticipation Wraith didn’t understand. It scared him more than her coldness did.

“Not yet. We argued first—a stupid argument, really. I spent too much time trying to convince him he wouldn’t break. He kept telling me it wasn’t about his commitment to the rebellion, or even the strength of his will—holding up under interrogation just wasn’t in his skill set. It was stupid because he was right, and I knew it from the beginning. He’s not a fighter. Never has been. He does his best work from behind a desk.”

“I thought so,” Isadora murmured.

“That’s not a bad thing—like I said, he’s ten times the man I’ll ever be. But in a place like this?” Wraith shrugged, as best he could with his hands cuffed to the chair. “He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes.”

Isadora didn’t respond again. She watched him, waiting for the rest.

“That wasn’t the only reason it was a stupid argument,” Wraith went on. It turned out that talking about this kind of thing—talking about Gabriel, about the sharp and tangled pain of their last argument—was dangerous. It was as dangerous as opening up a good bottle of wine, the really good stuff, the kind you don’t drink just to get drunk. It was dangerous because before you take the first sip, you don’t know how much you want it, or how good it’s going to be. But once you take that sip, you know how much you’ll enjoy the second. And once your first glass is done, all you want is another, no matter what you might have told yourself about moderation before you started.

Trust was in short supply, for him as well as for Gabriel. And Wraith wasn’t the bare-your-soul type to begin with. He’d never had anyone to talk to—really talk to—besides Gabriel. And that meant there were some things he could never tell a soul. Like how it had felt to see the sorrow in Gabriel’s eyes—deeper than he had ever seen it, deep enough to drown the man from the inside—as he had tried to convince them both this didn’t mean the end of the rebellion.

That didn’t mean that he was going to forget himself and treat Isadora Pope, of all people, as his confessor. But damn if it wasn’t tempting.

“Go on,” Isadora prompted, and he realized he had left his thought unfinished.

“It was a stupid argument,” said Wraith, “because it didn’t matter if he broke. I mean, from my perspective, of course it did. Because if he gave you everything—and he would have, no matter what I wanted to believe—you would have gotten hold of everyone else, and I know what you do to the people who fall into your hands.” At that, he looked down at his own hands.

“But he was thinking about his cause,” he continued. “The survival of the rebellion. And from that perspective, it wouldn’t matter if he refused to give you anything right up until you put a bullet in his head.” Bad choice of words, because as soon as he said, he imagined a gun to Gabriel’s temple, a deafening shot, Gabriel’s blood and brains splattered across the wall… he swallowed. That wasn’t going to happen. “And because none of what he built could survive without him. He’s the only reason it lasted this long. As much as I hate to give you credit for anything, you were right. He’s got a rare gift. He knows how to make people believe in what he’s fighting for—or maybe just believe in him. Without him, all that would be gone.”

“I really should punish you for that,” said Isadora, eyeing the prisoner next to her like a butcher sizing up the best cuts of meat.

Wraith tensed against his cuffs. “What are you talking about? You think I’m lying about that, of all things? You’re the one who said it!”

“Not about that,” said Isadora. “About your leader. You’ve contradicted yourself. One of your statements is a lie—I’m just not certain of which one.” The corners of her mouth curved in a private smile.

“I never—”

“If you’ll recall, you painted a quite unflattering comparison between us,” Isadora said. “Something about how I see everyone as a resource, whereas he cares—even to a fault—about the lives of everyone under his command.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And yet a moment ago, you told me you were the one concerned about all those lives, while he was only preoccupied with the survival of the rebellion as a whole. Which is it?” Her tight smile grew. “If you tell me which is the lie and which is the truth, I’ll let this one slide, so we can get back to our conversation.”

“Neither one is a lie. He cares about his people, and he cares about his cause. Why do you think it has to be one or the other?”

“Because there always comes a moment when someone has to choose. No one can care about both equally.”

“He does.” It was the reason all that sorrow in Gabriel’s eyes kept coming perilously close to drowning him. It was the reason Wraith worried that one of these days, he was going to slip under, and Wraith wouldn’t be able to save him.

“I warned you.” Isadora’s knife slashed forward.

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