#story snippet

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hellooo may I request an MLM fairy tale-esque story of a knight trying to save a prince from a sorcerer's spell, but the cunning sorcerer tries to enthrall him as well? ✨️✨️

"Why did you come?"

"Where is he?"

"Duty?" the sorcerer offered.

"Where. Is. He?"

"I hope it was not love," the sorcerer said. His head tilted. "You once vowed you'd never fall in love with someone like him. A parasite of royal blood."

He's different. But there was no good way to say that, not to them.

The knight came to a stop before the twisted imitation of the throne. It was closer to smoke and dreams than the gold plated seat in the grand hall that he knew so well these days, but the sorcerer lounged upon it as if it were all the same. Just as real.

"It doesn't matter why I'm here." The knight drew his blade, heart hammering. "I'm here. I'll cut you through to get to him, if that is what it takes."

The sorcerer's lip curled. "Spoken like a true knight."

"Well, you steal princes like a true evil sorcerer, so I suppose we both know our roles these days."

"You have either forgotten yourself or betrayed yourself," the sorcerer said, "and I'm truly not sure which possibility is worth."

It stung. Maybe it was even true.

"The kingdom needs him. Let him go."

"You are enthralled in the services of a man who loves you like a tic loves blood." The sorcerer's gaze drilled into the knight. "How else could he or any of them ask you to fight me for them? To die for him?"

The knight took a step closer, then another, and it felt too easy to press the silver shine of the blade against the sorcerer's throat. "Let. Him. Go."

The sorcerer smiled. "Why did you come?"

"You know why." The knight's voice cracked.

The sorcerer was quiet for a moment, before they offered more of their throat to the blade. "Then spill my blood across the floor and claim your prize, knight. You know how to break an enchantment, don't you?"

The knight's eyes narrowed. The sorcerer's gleamed in the moonlight, haunted and haunting, enchanted and enchanting - nothing like the world beyond the castle, where day still shone and princes were missing.

They were still, despite everything, not something that the knight wanted to kill.

"Go on." The sorcerer's voice lilted through him, sweet and cruel as a childhood memory. "Do your duty. You know it, don't you? Why cling to this small fragment of who you used to be, to me? You are his now."

His. For him.

The knight's head felt misty, like the fog of magic, of the whole cursed place, was seeping into them like damp.

He slit the sorcerer's throat.

Then, in an instant, it was not the sorcerer in front of him at all. It was the prince, his prince. An illusion shattered, blood-choked, familiar eyes filling with colour as the thrall of enchantment cleared from them.

"No!" The knight lunged for him, to catch him, to somehow reverse what he had unknowingly done. He peppered kisses to the prince's sweaty hair, exposing himself utterly, as his love and his duty looked at him with the sort of pleading that could have been it's okay or I forgive you but was ultimately far more terrible than how could you. "No," the knight said. "No, please. I'm sorry - I didn't - I thought -"

The sorcerer laughed. They appeared from behind the throne, winding out of the mist like a serpent. The magic changed the palace to an altar, as shadowy as the last setting had been but for the stained glass vibrant and bloody behind them.

The prince whimpered and crumpled on nothing, on air, landing on his knees. He clutched at the knight's hands. He squeezed, some morse code that wouldn't make it past his cleanly ruined throat.

"Now," the sorcerer murmured, "tell me what you would do, my knight, to save him?"

The trap was clear enough, but still the knight said it. "Anything."

"You would give yourself to me instead?"

"Anything. Just let them go, unharmed."

"I would enthrall you. Turn you inside out until I can see all the stitches of you and rework them in my image."

The prince shook his head against the knight's neck. He wheezed. His weak grip flexed and tightened.

"I said anything," the knight spat.

"Then everything," the sorcerer said, "I will have."

As the magic slid over them all, the knight had just enough in them to register one final command, to feel their true surroundings come into focus beneath the spell of it all.

"Put our prince in the tower, my knight," the sorcerer said. "I'll let him go, unharmed....eventually."

The knight did as he was told.

He did his duty.

[ishipgenfics]

Outsider POV on Somewhere Else Jonathan Sims must be just. so much.

Like imagine. You're part of a support group, and a new guy decides to join. You ask him his name and he says, "Jonathan," and then after a long pause, "Blackwood. Jonathan Blackwood. But call me Jon."

He doesn't like tape recorders. You only know this because the person who hosts the support group is into retro things, and tries to keep a couple around. She turned one on once when someone asked about it, and you noticed Jon clutching his nails into his hands so tight he's nearly breaking the skin. You lean over and whisper, "Do you want me to ask her to stop?" He says, "It's fine," and you nod, but you still try and change the subject whenever people bring up tape recorders from that point on.

He full-body flinches one day when someone says Hello, Jon. Nearly slams into a wall and everything. He tries to play it off, but after that people say Hi Jon, or Nice to see you, or things like that. Anything but Hello.

He says he used to work at a 'non-profit for studying the supernatural'. Someone asks where it was and he says London. You tell your wife about it, and two days later she emails you an article. Magnus Institute Burns Down In 1999. It was in Manchester. You tell her not to bring it up again.

The guy is snarky and blunt and downright rude at times, but when a woman comes in and tells them about being trapped in a empty warehouse for a week, he comforts her in a way none of the rest of them know how. "I believe you," he says, repeats it like a mantra, like a prayer. "I believe you." He says 'I'm sorry' less like he's sorry this happened to her, and more like he's taking the blame onto himself.

He talks about Martin, sometimes. His reason, he calls him. Normally you'd point out that while it's of course good to love your partner, you should have other reasons to live, but you stay quiet. This guy needs all the happiness he can get.

You leave a little late that day, and when you do you hear him on the phone talking to someone. "She'd been touched by the Lonely, Martin!" he says. "Which is bad, of course, but--" he seems to choke up, "Martin, I didn't feel any compulsion for a Statement. A-at all. I think it's really gone."

You just walk by.

You don't know what's going on with Jon, but it really isn't any of your business. You're an anxious queer lesbian and he's a traumatized ace guy, and you aren't going to make his life any harder than you have to.

Just. Jonathan Sims in a support group.

[avvail]

truth potion/serum 😌

“What’s that?” The hero murmurs uneasily under their breath, watching as the villain carefully inserts the needle into the soft flesh of their forearm, making them wince slightly. They watch it plunge into their vein, only daring to tug against the restraints once the needle is out of their skin.

The villain merely sends them a smile. “Nothing that’ll kill you.”

“Let me guess,” the hero growls. “A fate worse than death? Are you really trying this bullshit with me after all this time?”

“You don’t think our dynamic is a conventional one?”

The hero shuts their mouth, contemplating what the villain’s game was. If it was a sedative, it was a slow acting one, since they couldn’t feel any symptoms creeping up on them just yet. It was peculiar - they felt just fine.

“Let’s be honest,” the hero sniffs, and they don’t miss the way the villain almost laughs in amusement. They don’t know why that’s funny. “If our relationship was a conventional one, you would have killed me the moment you kidnapped me.”

The villain hums, their eyes roaming from their face languidly, kissing their teeth. The hero watches with a stubborn frown as they begin to circle around them, ever so slowly, and it makes them nervous.

They try not to shift.

“You’re right,” the villain sighs from behind them, and they want nothing more than to crane around to keep their eyes on them, but they can’t. Their heart races relentlessly in their chest, clenching their jaw. “Would you rather we adhere to the stereotypes?”

They roll their eyes. “If it means getting killed, then why would I?”

“You’re self righteous and selfless, aren’t you?” The villain teases. “Doesn’t that come with your job?”

“It doesn’t mean I’m eager to die. Dying means defeat, and I wouldn’t ever let you defeat me. You and I both know that.”

The villain stops beside them, a smile on their face that the hero doesn’t like. They send them a sharp glare for good measure, just because they can.

“So, is that a no?”

The hero wants to know where this is headed.

“No,” they confirmed. The villain stepped closer to them, their thumb gently brushing over a tender bruise on their temple. The finishing blow that had rendered them unconscious, making it easy for the villain to drag them here into their clutches. The hero forces back a wince, their eyes hard and determined. The villain loves that look.

“But you’re like that with others,” the villain comments, still stroking their temple. “Other villains, I mean. Especially Supervillain - the typical good versus bad. You know they’d kill you if they could. Stereotypes, after all.”

To hero resists the urge to lean keenly into that touch. “Because I know Supervillain is dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Their eyes gleam mischievously. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”

They shift. No dizziness yet, and their vision is completely clear, along with their mind. It’s not a sedative. What are they planning?

“No,” they respond after a moment, and the villain’s jaw ticks. It’s the only sign of irritation they’ve seen from them, but their tongue blurts more before they can stop themselves. “You’re dangerous in different ways.”

The irritation disappears, and the thumb slips down their cheek.

“Dangerous in different ways,” they muse, as if chewing the words that came out of their mouth. The hero’s heart is pounding against their ribcage, and they’re not quite sure why. The villain is incredibly close, feeling pinned down by their cold gaze alone.

“You’re easier to be around,” the hero speaks, trying not to stammer over their words. “I...” I hate you, don’t get me wrong. That’s what they want to say, but their throat closes up before they can. The villain’s thumb strokes the bottom of their jaw, and they shiver, as if encouraging them.

“Because I know you won’t kill me. When given the chance, you go easy on me.”

“You think I go easy on you?”

The hero gives them a disgruntled look. “You never torture me. Last time you kidnapped me, I slept in one of your guest rooms.”

“You were still a prisoner, or did you forget?” The villain scoffs. Of course they had been. The hero had spent all night trying to pick the lock, to smash the windows, but there was no point. They were a prisoner, but it never felt like they were in danger. Not in the same sense they felt when the supervillain almost incapacitated them. It was different.

“That’s not the point,” the hero snaps, unaware of their own rising irritation. They jerk their head away from the touch, feeling as though it was distracting them. The villain has this arrogant smirk on their lips, as if they know exactly what they’re doing. “If I ever kidnapped you, I wouldn’t stick you in a luxurious room. I wouldn’t let you sleep on a bed, I wouldn’t have you here and not torture you.”

The villain hums, their voice dropping low. “You like it when I treat you good?”

“Yes.” No. “I do.” It’s weird.

It takes a single, heart stopping beat for the hero to realise what they’d just said, their brows furrowing in confusion. They open their mouth to say something else, before their eyes flick down to the red pinprick from the needle in their skin. They release a shuddering breath.

“A truth serum,” they breathe. “That’s what you injected me with.”

The villain lets out a dark, amused chuckle. “I was waiting for you to figure it out.”

They lean back, creating a rift of air between them where the hero can still feel their warmth. It still feels hard to breathe, their wrists flexing under the restraints, and they grind their teeth hard together. This is dangerous. This was exactly what they were talking about.

“Are you tired, Hero?” The villain’s soft voice questions, enough to make the hero swallow uneasily. Their heart is racing now, so fast they feel like they’re going to throw up. They screw their eyes shut.

“Yes,” they say, feeling fingers under their jaw, tipping their head back. Their eyes open instinctively. The villain almost coos.

“And you love how easy it is with me,” the villain murmurs, admiring the embarrassed, shunted look in those cute eyes of theirs. “Love how I treat you.”

The hero’s fists clench. They desperately try to say no. “Yes.”

“And,” the villain purrs, their thumb brushing along their bottom lip with precious ease,” it’s dangerous because it’s so easy to shut your brain off. So dangerous to let your guard down around me. Easy to manipulate, as much as you wish that wasn’t true.”

The hero almost whines. “Yes.”

“Do you think I’m manipulating you?” They ask, their voice a hushed whisper, like a soft lull in their brain. The hero squirms, but they still can’t look away, not even daring to swallow. The villain leans in closer, their lips so close to theirs, and their voice turns dark. “Do you think it’s working?”

Who knew the hero’s weakness was simple acts of kindness. The villain had never thought going so easy on them would make them putty in their hands. But it did.

The hero bites down on the inside of their cheek, straining not to answer. The villain’s fingers curl around a lock of their hair, tucking it behind their ear tenderly. Too tenderly - the hero loves it.

“Better not fight it,” they hum. “It’ll hurt.”

“Yes,” the hero finally gasps, the throbbing pain in their head easing. They almost feel out of breath, trembling under each of their cunning touches.

The villain’s eyes gleam, leaning forward to kiss them. The hero had been so adamant they could never defeat them, and it almost makes them crackle. Maybe never in the stereotypical sense, but they had proved this was not a stereotypical rivalry; what was true defeat if they didn’t conquer them, after all?

@badthingshappenbingo

[thatbugkidd]

Cyn and Uzi have a particularly.. interesting relationship in this AU

Their dynamic is a tedious journey of manipulation, mistrust, and gradual vulnerability with one another!! In the beginning their relationship is definitely very tense, with Uzi suspicious of any of Abso's subordinates and Cyn very manipulative and demeaning. Despite this, they do have a deep rooted respect for each other, not that either of them would admit it. It is a bit overshadowed by Cyn's manipulative tendencies and uzi's defensive hostility. Its.. not super healthy. But they still have an undeniable attraction to each other. Cyn admires Uzi's bite, and willingness to talk back to her, something few others do.

And Uzi might oddly admire Cyn's confidence, her ability to turn any situation to her advantage. She's quick on her feet and has wits, Uzi can respect that.

Uzumi, more generally known as Uzi, is quietly renowned for her innovation and knack for building weapons, which catches the attention of the head crime lord, Abso. Cyn is tasked with keeping an eye on Uzi to make sure she doesn't become a threat and is kept underway. here's a little snippet i planned for their first meeting hehe

Cyn enters the tattered workshop uninvited, leaning casually against the doorframe, smirking as she takes in the scattered tools and half-finished contraptions.

"So this is where the magic happens. I expected something... less chaotic. But then again, chaos has its charm."

Uzi, without looking up, coldly responds "If you’re here to buy, I don’t sell to Abso’s lackeys."

A harsh scoff was heard, Cyn exaggerating faux offense, "Lackey? Ouch. I like to think of myself as... freelance talent. Though, I do have a certain reputation to uphold."

Finally looking at her, unimpressed, Uzi snarls her nose "Yeah, I’ve heard. ‘Queen of Cyn.’ What, did you come up with that yourself, or was that Abso’s idea?”

Cyn chuckles, moving closer to inspect one of Uzi’s gadgets.

"You’ve got a sharp tongue, I’ll give you that. But I’m not here to pick a fight. I’m here to talk business. You and I—we’re not so different, you know." She trailed off, tracing the rough metal of the gadget, "we're both just trying to get by."

Uzi snatched the gadget out of Cyn’s hands, glaring at her, "We’re nothing alike. Now, leave before I show you how fast this thing can melt through steel."

Cyn grinned, leaning in closer "Oh, I like you."

The arcane au has been a lot of fun so far, I'm enjoying giving it its own story. >:3

Unfortunately small little update!! My mental health has been taking quite a dip and with holidays coming round, I'm just really stressed out as of late so activity may drop for a bit while I focus on myself. I got some art backed up that I'll try to be posting :3 but I'm gonna spend a couple weeks taking it slow and doing some art studies, games, etc bc my art has just been frustrating me so much!! If it had a physical vessel I'd beat the shit out of it rn tbh BUT just wanted to give a little heads up

[frickityfrackityfuckingshit]

Listen I LOVE the humans are space orcs thing, but imagine.

Humans are space crabs.

Like sure, there’s some really different looking aliens out there, with different ways of communicating and reproducing and stuff. But like. Being a human is just generally a good way to become the intelligent species on a planet. There are just human-like things everywhere.

“Our ship has 3 humans and 5 kraleex” Hendt reminded the human, Jane.

“What? No the ship has 2 humans, 2 splaids, 3 kraleex, and a loktad.”

“Agh, you all seem to tell each other apart but you look the same to me.”

“Kristopher is literally ORANGE AND 7 FEET TALL.”

“You’re beige. And Lance is uhhh.” He paused as he rooted around for the human sweet in his head. “Caramel. That’s practically orange.”

“Seriously humanity had some fucked up shit going on, you’ll probably offend Kristopher if you call him a human to his face.”

“Didn’t you convergently evolve?”

Jane sighed.

“Yeah but like- humans are pretty naturally aggressive. Loktads are quite peaceful, that’s why they took so much less time than us to advance. He’ll see it as an insult.”

Handt shifted uncomfortably.

“Humans are very useful in difficult situations. Despite your size and lacking in physical strength many of you have great problem solving skills. Your roots are nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah because compared to other pentadactyly we were very distrustful of our own species and formed smaller groups. We had to be stronger as individuals.” Jane was starting to get a bit frustrated about giving this history lesson. Handt should have been given a briefing on human-like species, but the Strokt were know for their ability to pick up on skills, not knowledge.

Thankfully, they nodded slowly.

“I will refrain from calling Kristopher a human. I can see how this may hurt him.”

Jane let out a breathe of relief when he retreated. She couldn’t even remember the original argument. But at least Handt would now be less likely to offend one of their crew mates.

[cimarraskylark]

Tonight is a night for some of my favorite feels. 😭💕

“I know you will long outlive me... But, even so—” “Aymeric.” She took his face gently but firmly into her hands, lifting his distressed gaze to meet hers. “No matter when or how, my place will be beside you. Your time may come first, but when mine comes, I will lie at your side. For there is nowhere else I wish to be.”

[dandylion240]

Future story snippet, tagged by @bool-prop

Bobby’s eyes narrowed “I found the empath. She’s mine…”

“We didn’t touch your precious little empath,” his mother retorted.

“Just the older one,” his father added “and he was hardly a snack.”

“You were only supposed to take what you absolutely needed,” Bobby stomped his feet. 

“We were hungry,” his mother chuckled.

“You ruined everything,” Bobby persisted, “she’s suspicious and her father knows what I am.”

“Fix it,” his father said.

“I can’t fix it,” Bobby said, almost jumping up and down “she doesn’t trust me.”

“Calm down,” his father demanded, “your mother knows a spell that will wipe the events of tonight from their minds.”

“That’s not going to work,” Bobby said “these empaths have powerful friends. A reaper and a dragon god. They’ll be suspicious.” He hissed in pain as his father’s hand collided with this face leaving pins and needles in its wake.

“Don’t question us boy,” his father grumbled. “We can’t afford to give up on these Empaths. They’re rarer and rarer to find and two in the same house is a goldmine. Your mother will fix this.”

“All you’ll need to do is apologize and get the necklace back in her possession and all that will be left from tonight’s events will be a vague feeling of unease.”

Rubbing his cheek Bobby nodded. His parents weren’t about to move on until they had drained the empaths of their power and only their pitiful carcases were left. “Fine but you can’t dine like you did tonight. The older empath must live so the girl can grow strong. Their bond is too strong to cut her off from him.”

“We’ll do as we see fit,” his father said “now give your mother the necklace so she can make the modifications.”

I'll tag: @lynzishell @perolesims @justanothersimsblog @theosconfessions and @wolkentage

[mircsy]

Shame on me, I got frightened. Valhalla’s drums left my ears long ago, they didn’t want me anymore. And I didn’t want to go to Hel. In my town even the strongest warriors would have tottered from a hit like this, but him... I wilted, I’m done for.

…

I dashed towards the door. My imagination was flushed with the cold blade, piercing my stomach from behind. However, I didn’t get metal but a forceful kick in the middle on my back and, again, I fell. Panting, I tried to hop to my feet but the commander stepped and let his whole weight on me, pushing all air out of me.

‘Ungrateful worm,’ he growled, ‘Have you forgotten who to thank you are still in this life?’ He pointed the tip of his sword to my head. When did I become the coward I am now?

———

Tiny snippet from my original story for this drawing🙂‍↕️ Two versions because I couldn’t decide which one I like more

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

pogtopia-era crimeboys make my brain go brrrr

The arrow has embedded itself in a tree behind the scarecrow and to the right. 

Tommy groans. “Come on! I was focusing so hard! You- Wilbur, you saw me, right? You saw how hard I was focusing? I was like an elephant on steroids. I was focusing so dang hard, my goodness. Wilbur, sometimes I can’t believe myself. I can’t believe the things I say. Wow, am I awesome. Like… wow.”

Tommy turns to Wilbur with a little smile on his face, but Wilbur isn’t smiling—or, maybe he is, but if he is smiling, it’s the littlest smile ever and it kind of sucks. Barely even noticeable. Idiot. 

But Tommy kind of thinks that Wilbur might be smiling, right at the corners of his lips. They’re lifted up ever so slightly, in a smiley sort of way. But not really.

“Tommy, go and get the arrow.” Wilbur slowly puts his hands into the pocket of his coat, standing in one spot. His coat blows out a little in front of him, from the wind. 

“Aw, but why?”

The little sucky smile again. “Because you missed, and because we’re using the arrow.”

“Hey, I’m the one using it. All you’re doing is just standing there with your hands in your pockets.”

Wilbur’s mouth twitches. “Go on.”

Tommy groans loudly, but he walks over and gets it anyway. There’s some thorns right by the tree, and the back of Tommy’s hand is poked by one of them, and now there’s a red dot on his skin, and well, that sucks. 

“Wilbur.” Tommy walks back to where he’d been standing, holding the bow in one hand and the arrow in the other. “You’ve maimed me.”

Wilbur’s brow furrows slightly. “What?”

“Look.” Tommy moves the arrow to his other hand and lifts it up, back first so Wilbur can see the wound very clearly. “I’ve been scarred. Look at me, Wil. My hand has been ruined by you.”

Wilbur blinks. “I don’t see anything.”

“Oh for heavens- look!” Tommy stomps closer, flinging his hand all up in Wilbur’s face. Wilbur leans his head back, eyes wide. “There’s blood on me! My hand has been ruined and it’s really all your fault.”

“Tommy-” Wilbur sighs, bringing up his own hand and brushing away Tommy’s. “That’s a little prick. You’re fine.”

“You’re a little prick,” Tommy mutters.

Wilbur’s eyes narrow. 

“But Wil, I’m bleeding! I require medical attention!”

“You’re fine. Get back in position. Let’s start again.”

“But I’m tired!” Tommy cries. “I’ve been doing this for hours on end-”

“It’s been forty-five minutes.”

“-and I haven’t eaten anything-”

“You literally ate some strawberries earlier.”

“-and now I’m injured and I really would just like to be done.” Tommy sniffs, standing up as straight as he can. “I am asserting my bodily autonomy right now. You can’t stop human rights.”

Wilbur just looks at him.

Tommy mumbles out curse words, stomping back to where he’d been standing earlier. 

“Alright,” Wilbur begins. He keeps his hands in his pockets. “Now what you’ll do is-”

“You’re just making me use the bow because you like it,” Tommy interjects, standing stubbornly in one spot. “You like the bow and so you want me to like the bow, but I don’t. I like swords.”

There’s a beat. “I know you like swords, Tommy. That’s why we’re practicing with the bow.”

Tommy’s brow furrows. “That does not make any sense.”

Wilbur sighs. “You like swords?”

“Yes. A whole lot. They’re like pockets to me.”

“And you’re good at using them?”

Tommy smirks. “Wil, you are asking me a quite stupid question.”

“Tommy.”

“Yes, I’m good at swords. You’ve seen me use them.”

Something in Wilbur’s eyes flashes, but before Tommy can think about it Wilbur’s eyes are normal again. “Right. You like using swords, and you’re good at using swords. That’s a good thing. But—”

Wilbur begins to move, walking with slow, long steps in a slow, long circle, around Tommy. “Are you good with a bow?”

Tommy frowns, glancing down at the weapon. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You’re not.”

“Hey!”

“You just shot a tree instead of the target, Tommy!” Wilbur’s voice turns sharp like saltwater, and Tommy shuts his mouth. 

Wilbur takes a deep breath through his nose—it’s loud, and that’s how Tommy can tell it’s from his nose and not from his mouth—and comes to a stop. He’s right in front of Tommy, several feet away, and the wind is blowing at his coat and making his hair dance a little bit, across his forehead. “You’re not good with a bow. That’s the simple truth, Tommy. You’re not.”

Wilbur’s voice isn’t saltwater anymore; it’s back to being river water, all smooth and cold and filled with weird things like wet leaves and mud. Tommy prefers this to the saltwater, but he thinks that Wilbur’s voice used to be different, still. Maybe not like water at all. Maybe just like Wilbur, and nothing else. 

Tommy realizes he’s been standing still for several seconds, so he shifts his feet, sniffing. “Well. What do you want me to do about it?”

[avvail-whumps]

ok so i just saw the prompt that you reblogged on your other account and.. i was wondering if you ever had the time would you write something about a hypnotized whumpee?

content warnings: intimate whumper, hypnosis, conditioned whumpee, non-con touching (not explicit), mentioned non-con (not explicit)

“Aren’t they just so pretty?”

The caretaker says nothings. It’s obvious by the grim expression on their face that they don’t particularly want to encourage the whumper’s behaviour.

The last time they had seen the whumpee, they had been kicking and screaming. Putting up a fuss any chance they got, making life as difficult as they could for their captor. They had this fire in their eyes that didn’t seem to be dying out any time soon.

But now?

They’d almost been surprised by the quietness of the house. The whumper would usually have them restrained in some way, and they’d be writhing and kicking up a fuss, making lots of angry noises.

Instead, they observed their quiet, stiff form on the sofa. There was something eerie about their eyes; blank, unfocused, hardly even blinking. Even when the whumper carded a hand through their head, there wasn’t even a flicker of emotion on their face.

The caretaker was in awe at how complacent they were being.

“What did you do?” They find themselves asking absentmindedly, unable to tear their eyes away. Because they are genuinely shocked.

The whumper hums softly under their breath, scraping the hair away from the whumpee’s forehead. They’re devoid of usual cuts and bruises - the caretaker wonders how long they’ve been like this.

“I tried a new method,” the whumper answers vaguely, steely eyes staring into theirs. “This way, I can’t get bored.”

The caretaker doesn’t realise their confusion flickers in their expression, but the whumper notices it, as observant as they are. They gently run a finger under the whumpee’s chin, who still has that blank, half lidded gaze. Like a China doll.

“If I want them to be an eager little thing that serves to please me, then I can make it happen with just one word,” they hum, snapping their fingers in front of the whumpee’s face, as if to prove a point. They don’t even blink. “I like it when they put a fight, too, but too much noise, and I can simply admire them like this.”

They tilt the whumpee’s head back, just enough to admire their slack expression. “Isn’t it perfect?”

The caretaker’s mind swims. “So, you hypnotized them?”

A cruel smile appears on their face, squeezing the whumpee’s shoulders.

“Yes,” they answer. “Yes, I did.”

They slowly nod. That explained the sudden change, but seeing the whumpee like this, so dazed and so relaxed, they can’t help but shudder. There’s something really eerie about it. That the whumper holds their mind in their palm of their hand, triggered only by simple words.

“Was it hard?” They find themselves asking. The whumper smiles.

“They’re a stubborn thing,” they chuckle, tilting their head. “You know that. But I can programme them to do whatever you or I want.” Their voice drops dangerously. “You can take them to the spare room, if you really want.”

The caretaker immediately cringes, and they shake their head. They feel more disgust towards the whumper than ever before, and they don’t want to imagine what the poor whumpee’s been through already. If they remember it...

“No, thank you,” they grumble. The blank stare is unnerving them. “I’ll pass.”

The whumper chuckles, still running their fingers through the whumpee’s hair. They stop to observe their face, before a crooked smirk spreads across their lips. They tap their nose gently, cupping their cheeks as though they would with a lover. The whumpee does nothing back.

“Your loss.”

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello! Big fan of your writing. Would you like to write a snippet about an evil vampire who is only soft to their human even though they swear that the human is nothing to them more than a convenient source of food .

"You are bleeding."

"I'm sorry. I've not-" The human gestured vaguely at the bowl. "I've not wasted any. I swear."

The vampire appeared at their side in a flash, and that would have been absolutely terrifying if the human wasn't so used to it. Well. It was still a little terrifying. Everything about them was always a little terrifying.

The vampire's cold gaze roamed between the large gash on the human's hand to the elegant mixing bowl tinged bloody, then to the knife left clattered on the counter. The remnants of dinner prep.

Their eyes went pinprick scarlet. That, and the slight inhale of a breath, was the only sign of the uncontrollable and insatiable thirst that so drove their species.

"Stupid accident," the human said. They felt a little woozy. "Sorry. I know it's not as good when it's not fresh but I- um." Well. The generous description was that they panicked.

They had no idea what the vampire would do if they wasted blood, even by accident.

"Hm." The vampire picked up the sharp kitchen knife, licking the wasted droplets from its wicked edge. "Have you considered trying to stem the bleeding?"

It took the human a second to process, to wrench themselves away from staring.

"Didn't get that far. I just sort of thought, 'shit, blood'. Catch it!"

"How considerate."

"You know me," the human tried for a laugh, "I aim to please and not die."

"Indeed."

The laugh had come out a bit strangled. The human cleared their throat. "Speaking of catching blood...would you like to be my receptacle instead of the mixing bowl, seeing as you're here now anyway? Hungry?"

Though that raised the question of why exactly their vampire had appeared. The forces of darkness and evil did not usually make themselves known before sundown, even if the manor was all tinted and sun-blocked windows. The smell of fresh blood must have woken them.

The vampire responded by reaching down and ripping a length off their no doubt expensive and very fine linen night shirt.

The human's eyes widened. "Uh..."

"Hand."

The human obediently surrendered their hand. They watched in mild astonishment as the vampire made quick work of cleaning and bandaging their hand, using their ruined clothes like an old-fashioned tourniquet.

"Didn't know you knew how to do that," the human mumbled. "You know we have a first aid kit in the bathroom upstairs?"

"A what?"

"A first aid kit. Medicine kit. With bandages and plasters and stuff."

"And yet you were bleeding into your mixing bowl."

"Well, the bathroom's a long way to go dripping blood on your floors."

"Hm."

"I'm sorry I woke you. It's - I'm okay. I really didn't waste any."

"Good. Your blood is precious. How is your hand? Does it hurt?"

"It's okay. I'm okay."

"You need to be more careful."

"I'm sorry."

"You're a fragile thing, you could have taken a finger off."

"Sorry. It won't happen again. I promise."

"Hm." The vampire's sharp gaze flicked over them again.

The human realised, belatedly, that the vampire was still cradling their hand. They flushed. The vampire let go.

"Sit," the vampire ordered. "What are you making? Tell me what to do."

"What?" They were sure they'd only cut their hand, not suffered some form of brain damage that caused hallucinations.

The vampire's eyes narrowed; ever disinclined to repeating themselves.

"Uh..." The human swallowed. "Chop the veg. Put veg in frying pan."

They watched the vampire get to work. It was bizarre. They'd never seen the vampire do anything around the house. Their immortality was a thing of hedonistic cruelties, tempered only by the fact that it was easier to pay someone to take the role of blood bag in the modern age than kidnap them.

"You really don't have to do that for me," they said.

"Are you suggesting that somewhere in the last thousand years I became incapable of chopping vegetables?"

"No. No, of course not."

"Then hold your tongue. I don't pay you to question me or for your opinions. You're a walking blood bag."

"Right. Right, yeah. Sorry."

The vampire made them dinner, following instructions in a way that the human truly had thought them too proud for, as the sun sank slow and pretty beyond the window.

"Thank you," the human said, nonplussed, when the vampire eventually loaded a full dinner plate. They were more nonplussed when the vampire didn't hand it over, though, simply holding a fork up to the human's mouth. "Er...my hand is okay. I can hold cutlery. I know I don't heal vampire fast but..."

"You're questioning me again."

"Right. Sorry." The human accepted the mouthful of food, then another. Their stomach did something weird and flipping beneath the vampire's strange care, their intent focus.

"Good," the vampire murmured.

In the aftermath of dinner, the night black and endless beyond the windows, they stared at each other.

The human's heart pounded. They were all too aware of the fact that the vampire could hear it. All of their normal, comfortable routines felt disrupted somehow.

They wet their abruptly dry lips.

"Don't hurt yourself again, pet," the vampire said abruptly. "That's my job."

Then they were gone.

[serickswrites]

Whumpmas in July '24 Day 25

Share a sneak peek of something you're working on

So this idea has been floating around in my head for a week and some change (yes, I know I have so many pieces I need to finish, but I have to start ideas when I get them!)

It's under the working title (that I think will stick) called 'Lonely Place of Longing'

“Are you afraid of me?” Whumpee asked quietly. They hadn’t moved. Hadn’t attempted to get closer to Caretaker. Hadn’t tried to run out the door behind Team Leader.

Caretaker licked their suddenly dry lips. “Yes.”

Whumpee nodded. “Good. You should be.” They crossed the room and flopped onto their stomach on the bed. Caretaker could see a long, still bleeding cut, running the length of the weapon’s back from their left shoulder to their right hip.

The weapon propped their head up on their arms. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you unless Team Leader tells me to.”

“Do you always do as Team Leader asks?”

The weapon lay their cheek on their arm. “Yes. I am to always listen to Team Leader.” The weapon sighed. “The last one didn’t last long. There’s no shame in quitting. I won’t blame you.”

“What?”

“My last keeper. They quit after three days. It’s ok if you are too scared. You can quit. Everyone does eventually.” The weapon seemed to say the last more to themself than Caretaker.

[avvail]

(enemy turned caretaker)

During a fight, Villain accidentally ends up triggering Hero's trauma but Hero keeps it together until they find an alley to have a silent panic attack in.

(love the Bingo idea btw!)

The hero couldn’t breathe.

They had barely managed to slip away from the battle undetected, terrified of what might have happened if they’d been unable to. They can feel their sharp nails digging into their neck, as if trying to remind themselves that the villain’s hands aren’t crushing their windpipe, but it’s too late.

They’re spiralling ridiculously bad, and they can hardly suck in a sufficient amount of air.

Their head is so loud. Even when they’re leaning against the wall of the alleyway, it’s so overwhelming that they feel as though they’re going to fall. Even when something grips their shoulder hard, the hero can barely feel it, like they’re somewhere else completely and everyone else is as invisible as the air they can’t even breathe.

“Hero,” the villain says curtly, trying to get their attention. The hero’s eyes are wide, unfocused, and they don’t miss the pale sheen from the lack of oxygen. They frown, tugging their hand away from their neck. It’s purpled with the villain’s handprint, and their brow twitches.

“Stop that,” they snap, gripping their wrist tightly. “You’re bleeding.”

They tug the hero down to the ground, their lips pressed into a thin line when their jerky movements make them feel almost bad, knowing they were the cause of this panic attack. They press their hand hard against their mouth, forcing them to meet their eyes.

The hero squeals, cutting off their breath. They try to pull away, but the villain keeps them pressed to the wall, unmoving.

“Snap out of it,” they snap, their voice low, intent on trapping the hero’s attention so they can’t think of anything else. “Just look at me.”

The hero barely does that, the terror evident in their watery eyes. They squirm and wriggle, their fists pounding against the villain’s chest, but their hand doesn’t budge, and neither do they.

“Keep looking at me,” the villain growls, and the hero does. For a long few seconds, their shaking hands stutter to a stop, and there’s a flash of lucidity in those wide eyes. Only when they start to pale from the lack of air does the villain finally release them.

They suck in a sharp breath, forcing themselves to take long, deep inhales of air for at least a minute or two. The villain watches intently, just to make sure they don’t spiral again, and the hero swallows uneasily, wincing.

The bruises around their neck suddenly make the villain feel a twitch of remorse again. They supposed that was off limits from now on, not if it made the hero feel like this.

“Tell me five things you can—”

“I’m not doing that,” the hero rasps, their face contorted in discomfort as they focus on getting the air back into their lungs. The villain raises a brow, but they don’t say anything.

“Indulge me,” the villain hums.

They shoot them a glare, but regardless, they comply. Silently. They don’t speak, but they can see the hero’s eyes flicking around, and their mind ticking away as they process everything around them. Finally, they look back at the villain.

“Good,” they sigh, rising to their feet. They hold out a hand for the hero to take, but they ignore it, remaining on the floor. Stubborn, the villain comments in their own mind. “Is that something that happens often?”

The hero quicky looks away again, rubbing their arm. “Not really.”

Not unless they strangle them again, the villain mused internally. They make a mild note that although victory was what they were aiming for, they weren’t going to play dirty. But they didn’t have any intention to stick around.

“Let’s postpone this for another day,” the villain says dismissively, waving a hand. “This was a mood killer.”

They bristle defensively. “Sorry, I can’t control it, asshole.”

The villain shrugs. “I’m not talking about the panic attack. I’m talking about helping you.”

The hero goes quiet.

“This won’t happen again,” the villain continues, an edge to their tone. They were enemies - any normal villain would have taken advantage of that panic attack, or even the discovery of a weakness of theirs. Taken advantage of it; they hate how they don’t want to.

“Are my morals rubbing off on you?” The hero sneers, and the villain is somewhat pleased there’s a flicker of that fire again.

“Let’s be clear, sweetheart,” the villain scoffs. “We’re enemies. That’s not going to change.”

@badthingshappenbingo

[lavender-long-stories]

Spoilers for Death Wishes | Rated T

The rain beat against her umbrella as she walked. The rhythmic patter drowned out her steps through the puddles on the street. If it got any colder, she would be walking in the snow, not rain. She only glanced up at the passing shop window a moment to realize she wasn’t alone.

But it wasn’t Itachi or his friend. This shadow felt sinister. Hinata lowered her umbrella to hide her reaction, a shiver went up her spine, and it didn’t feel like the cold. Maybe if she ignored it, it would just pass by.

Hinata sped up and turned the corner, checking the window again. She saw nothing, but she could still feel the sickly air that was left behind. She tucked the umbrella in her arm and pulled off her mother's ring, but it only damped the horrible feeling. She dropped the ring in her pocket and hurried home. She kept her eyes off the windows. Eventually, she left the feeling behind, but the pit in her stomach stayed.

What was that?

Death Wishes Pairing: Itachi x Hinata Rating: T Status: Complete Tags: Romance  |   Fluff and Angst  |  Hurt/Comfort  |  Happy Ending  |  Supernatural Elements  |  Modern AU  |  Ghosts  |  Grim Reapers

Hinata finds herself the center of a mysterious being's attention, but what is she hiding that makes it so comforting to be not alone?

[cimarraskylark]

Home

All he could do was clasp that ring in his hands, close his eyes, and pray. The wait was agony. Then, for a heart-stopping moment, he felt warmth emanating from it. It seemed like his heart restarted as familiar arms wrapped around him from behind. “I’m home.”

[callalillywrites]

WIP Wednesday - Sneak Peek

I'm enjoying this new piece for Bucky's Birthday Bingo that I can't help wanting to share a little bit of what's turning into a long one-shot.

This is for the Love Confession square I have on my bingo card.

What better way for a love confession to happen than have all of Bucky's friends around to meet his girlfriend for the first time, right?

We're definitely going to have a full house, or rather apartment, but I can't wait to play with a few more dynamics within this group before we get to the actual love confession.

After all, Bucky's girlfriend has to make sure she fits in with the group. She will. Plus, they need to make sure Bucky is dating someone worthy of him. He is.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little snippet. It's not edited, but I'm pretty happy with it overall.