#No.23 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jasmines-library · 6 months

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Sweet Creature

WHUMPTOBER DAY 23. Prompt: Nightmares.

Fandom: Supernatural (Cas)

Summary: When Dean is a Demon, he does something unexpected to you. Since then, you have become withdrawn, refusing to sleep in fear of the images that plague your mind. When you eventually give in and suffer a nightmare, Cas is there to help.

Warnings: Demon Dean, nightmares, minor injuries.

Word count: 1.3k

Note: I thought Cas deserved some lovin

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You tossed and turned in your bed. The night had been restless ever since you laid your head down on the pillow. You hadn’t sleep well in a while; your sleep was plagued by nightmares every time your closed your eyes. Every time you blinked, you saw his face. The face of a man you thought would never hurt you. But you were wrong.

Dean hadn’t been himself lately. He was distant. And when he actually took the courtesy to speak to you, he was cruel and didn’t think twice about what he spat from his mouth. At first, you tried to dismiss it off as a side effect of becoming a demon, every time he spoke he would flash you those black eyes. You didn’t mind though; it was a reminder of the fact that Dean wasn’t Dean. But soon he realised that too, and he used it to his own twisted advantage. Slowly, he stopped trying to scare you with those dark orbs and instead resorted to looking at you with his green irises. That was what scared you the most.

As time passed, you often found yourself feeling guilty for wishing that Dean had never returned from his outings with Crowley. In a way it was worse having him settled into the bunker and having to anticipate his next move that worrying about where he was or if he was even alive. He was considerate of sorts, at first. He kept his distance. But then he grew bored and words became physical.

Dean had chased you down the hallway of the bunker as you and Sam slunk around, trying to put the place on lockdown. When the red light illuminated the hallways, Dean only grinned and adjusted his grip on the hammer. It wasn’t long after that that he found you trying to sneak back to the dungeon to meet Sam. He had taken you by surprise by grabbing your hair from behind and yanking you back. You had screamed, desperately to try and draw Sam’s attention, but he clamped his hand firmly over your mouth to silence you.

Your yells were muffled by his hand, so any hopes of calling Sam were useless. So you were left with the only other option: try to fight your way out. You reared your head back and slammed it into Deans. He faltered and loosened his grip allowing you to escape, but Dean was much bigger than you and fuelled up with his demonic abilities. He grabbed the hem of your flannel and slammed you into the wall. You cried out, blood trickling from a cut in your pounding head as he leaned his body weight against you, wrapping his hands tightly around your neck and cutting off your air supply. He smirked as your squirmed in his grip, body begging for air as black dots edged your vision. The air came rushing back to you when Cas arrived, countering his demonic strength with his angelic grace and ripping him off of you and holding him back.

Since then you had barely left you room. And it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the three boys who were so used to hearing the lilt of your voice ringing throughout the hall. It scared them that you were so withdrawn.

It shamed you that you couldn’t bare to look at Dean. You knew that really it wasn’t his fault, but every time you caught sight of him all you could feel were his hands wrapped tightly and squeezing around your neck. Hands that were usually so tender towards you.

You hardly slept because when you did you were plagued with nightmares. Your mind flooded with thoughts about Dean. What if you hadn’t found the cure? What if Sam and Cas hadn’t gotten to you in time? What is he had succeeded? What then?

You had tried to put off sleeping, but it had finally gotten to the point where you bags were so dark that they were the most prominent feature of your face and you were so tired that not even coffee would keep you awake. So, reluctantly you had clambered into the the soft mattress and tried to drift off to sleep. But, as expected you were met with the image of Dean prowling towards you.

When Cas pushed open the door to your room with a creak, you were tossing and turning. Your face was contorted with fear and a thin sheen of sweat had broken out across your forehead, sticking stands of your hair to your forehead. The angel had sensed your discomfort and could have sworn that he ever hear a strangled prayer of his name called out from somewhere in the haze of your sleep.

He reached towards you and laid a hand on your shoulder to shake you awake.

“Y/n?”

Dean was gaining on you. You had tried to out run him, twist down the corridors and dart into rooms but he knew the bunker like the back of hand and he was hot on your tail every time you thought you had snuck away.

You flung open the door and rushed inside searching for another way out, but you had hit a dead end. And then the door slammed shut behind you. Your breathing began to come in sporadic bursts as Dean prowled towards you, his eyes as black as a starless sky.

“Stay away from me.” You held your hands out in front of you as he crept forwards grinning manically from ear to ear.

Dean just laughed and stepped closer. When he was metres away, you surged forwards to try and get around him but he planted a hand firmly on your shoulder.

You screamed as you sat up abruptly, frantically trying to brush the hand away from you. Cas quickly removed it from your shoulder as if he had been burned. He had been startled by your sudden movement.

Your gaze darted frantically around the room as you hyperventilated, unable to separate the cruel creations of your mind from what was real.

“Shh.” Cas hushed, “you’re okay, y/n. It was just a dream.”

Cas’s voice seemed to ground you. Your breathing slowed and your body relaxed slightly into his arms as he massaged circled into your skin, but you never allowed your guard to drop fully.

“It’s okay y/n. You are here and Dean has been cured. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Cas…” your face was stained with sticky tears.

“I’m here y/n.”

You sniffled. “Sorry.”

He frowned. “Why are you sorry?”

“I’m being childish.”

Cas shook his head firmly, wiping away the hairs from your face and tucking them behind your ear. “Some of the things you’ve seen…I couldn’t begin to understand how those have affected you. You are so, so strong y/n.”

“It’s just…I feel so stupid.”

“Oh, Y/N…”

He brought you close to his chest, wrapping you up in his arms to soothe you. You’re listened to the way his heart thumped in his chest and felt the rhythm of his chest rise and fall. It scrubbed away at some of that nausea that had bubbled up in your stomach.

“Why don’t you try to get some more sleep?” He murmured into your hair. “You must be exhausted.”

You hesitated for a moment, reluctant to close your eyes again.

“Stay with me?”

“Of course.”

He swung his legs onto the bed before wrapping the two of you up in the sheets with your head still resting against his chest. He ran his hands through your hair as you curled up against him.

“Sweet dreams, y/n.”

As your eyes drifted closed to the steady thrum of Cas’ heartbeat your mind calmed and all lingering thoughts left your mind, and you fell into the first undisturbed sleep you had had in days.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 22 ⛤ DAY 24 ->

Taglist:

@deans-spinster-witch

@senjoritanana

@amaryllis23

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celtic-crossbow · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023

No. 14 Water inhalation | No. 20 Blanket | No. 23 Shaking

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (platonic to relationship)

Setting: Alexandria (pre-commonwealth)

Warnings: Injuries/Illness (temperature induced), CPR, Smut

One minute, he was there. The next, he was gone.

You and Daryl had been traipsing through the snow for hours. The storm was supposed to be days away, so when Eugene had evidence of a large storage facility up the mountain that could contain food and weapons for the remaining communities, of course Daryl volunteered to check it out. Which meant you were going by default.

Everything had been going well before the snow started to fall. Daryl had been nonplussed about it and refused to turn back. You had already been hiking for two days. When the white blanket was up to your shins, you could see the lines of worry etched on his face but he said nothing other than you were closer to the facility than to Hilltop. The two of you could take shelter there and wait it out.

That had been a few hours ago. Now, walkers were reaching out of the snow, tripping you up and snapping at your ankles. Some were beginning to freeze but still moving, albeit slowly. Your knife sank into another skull, the hold on your foot falling away. Daryl had trudged ahead to take care of the lone corpse still on its feet. The wind was too hard for his crossbow to be accurate. You couldn’t afford to waste the bolts.

You kicked the rotted hand away from your foot and looked up ahead of you, squinting to see through the near whiteout. “Daryl?” There was no sign of him or the walker. “Daryl!” You called a bit louder, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you over the howling gusts. ‘Where the hell did he go?’ A tendril of worry began to take root in your gut as you dragged your heavy legs toward where you had seen him heading. There was something on the ground and you wondered if he had dropped the walker and moved ahead to scout.

As you drew nearer, your heart stopped. What you were seeing was a hole in the snow…and Daryl’s crossbow teetering on the edge.

“No. No, no, no!” You began peeling off your pack and your weapons, dropping to your knees at the edge of the ice with caution. It hadn’t held Daryl’s weight when combined with that of a walker. Your gloved fingers collected his weapon and tossed it back toward where you left your own. “Daryl!” The water was black, unmoving. It felt like the mountain herself was telling you she had claimed your best friend, leaving you to stare into the void that had taken him from you.

The mountain didn’t seem to know you at all.

You grabbed the flashlight from the side pocket of your pack, holding it in your mouth while you stripped out of your jacket, gloves, and hat. Not giving yourself enough time to think twice, you dove in. The water was a shock to your system, so cold that it burned and you felt like your eyes would freeze in their sockets. But you couldn’t dwell, you couldn’t stop. The clock was ticking for you both.

You spotted the walker first. Daryl’s knife was still in its skull as it sank lower than the beam of your flashlight could reach. You spun in the water, feeling the fatigue and cold seep into your muscles. You couldn’t stay much longer and the knowledge made your chest hurt.

He wasn’t moving when you spotted him, sinking slowly just as the walker had been. Like a corpse. By the time you reached him, you weren’t sure you could still get you both out of the water. But that would never stop you from trying. You hooked an arm around his chest and began the ascent when you realized you couldn’t see the opening you had dove into!

Panic gripped you when your hand met ice. We’re both going to die down here. Thankfully, luck seemed to be on your side for this part at the very least. Just a few feet further, your hand pushed out of the water and into frigid air. You wasted no time in breaching the surface, Daryl’s name on your lips before you could even drag in your first breath. His wet hair was plastered to his face, but there was no time to assess him now. You needed to get you both out.

Getting the archer far enough out of the water to keep him from sliding back in while you climbed out yourself almost took what energy you had left. Somehow, you managed. Fear of the ice not holding the two of you was tingling at the edge of your thoughts but your number one priority laid unmoving beside you.

“Daryl?” You said his name with urgency, brushing away his hair to find his skin the palest you’ve ever seen, lips so blue that they appeared to be purple. “Fuck!” You weren’t that knowledgeable in CPR but you knew the basics and just had to pray it would be enough.

Tilting his head back, you pinched his nose and placed your mouth over his, forcing five rescue breaths into his frozen, starving lungs. Compressions came next, difficult to do adequately when you were shivering so hard that you thought your bones may rattle apart below your skin.

You couldn’t lose Daryl. You had figured that out long ago, back on the Greene farm. Something about his rough and jagged edges pulled you closer to him, not something he had been happy about, mind you. But as the months passed, you watched him soften. Not just toward you, but in general. He was your person, whether or not he ever returned those feelings. You wanted nothing but to see him happy, even if it wasn’t with you. Whatever it took to keep him in your life.

That same sentiment applied now.

“Come on, b-b-breathe for m-me!” Two more breaths and then back to compressions. You felt tears sting your eyes, knowing they would freeze on your face if they fell. “Please, Daryl.” Just as you pinched his nose and leaned in for the next breath, his back arched weakly and water gurgled within his throat.

You were quick to roll him to his side, not sure where you summoned the strength when you felt so incredibly tapped out. When water gushed out of his mouth and allowed for a series of gasping coughs, you let your head fall against his bicep, your free hand rubbing and patting his back.

“That’s it. That’s g-g-good. Just k-keep breathing.” You sat there for a few moments, both of you shaking hard enough to disturb the snow around you. You weren’t sure what to do next. You knew that removing your clothes had to wait since the layer of water in them would help insulate your bodies for at least a few minutes. You needed shelter. And fast. Or when they sent a team up the mountain, it would be to find you and Daryl and put you down instead of gathering supplies. “W-W-We’ve gotta m-move. Are y-y-you with me?”

“Mmmmm’h-h-h-here.”

You allowed yourself only a second to give thanks to whatever deity might exist that you were able to hear his voice. That you were able to bring him back to life. Now, you needed to keep him alive. God, you needed to keep both of you alive. You slipped on your jacket, hat, and gloves and grabbed everything, including the extra weight of his crossbow.

“W-W-We have to g-get out of the w-weather. B-B-Build a fire.” He didn’t answer but you didn’t have time to grow concerned. He rolled deeper onto his side to get his hands underneath himself and began to push himself up. You knew there was no way he could manage without you, so you didn’t even let him try. Every moment was a moment closer to death.

You slipped your hands under each of his arms and helped haul him upright. The archer swayed on his feet before curling inward with a miserable noise you could barely hear. With your small arms around him, you began trekking through the snow with careful steps. There was no way of knowing if you were on solid ground.

By your calculations, it had been about 45 minutes since Daryl had first fallen into the water. You knew nothing about hypothermia, but his skin was still dastardly pale, his lips alarmingly blue. He was shivering more violently than you and had begun to stumble more than he walked. Without the knowledge of proper care, you had no choice but to go by what you had seen in movies.

Shelter was first. You needed to get him out of the elements. He wasn’t much help in navigating, walking whichever way you steered him. If you didn’t find something soon, you yourself would start to deteriorate and you’d both be doomed.

“Y-Y-You awake over there? Got m-m-me hauling y-y-your heavy ass all b-by myself here!” You sighed in relief when you felt him shift to take some of his own weight. Daryl was a fighter, always had been, even before the turn. “Oh, h-h-hey there! I thought you may have been p-p-pussin’ out on m-m-me!”

“F-f-f-fuck y-y-y-you.”

“S-such a ch-ch-charmer, D-D-Dixon!” You goaded, squeezing him as tightly as you could.

You struggled another ten minutes or so before spotting the silhouette of a building. While the thought of being out of the frigid wind was nearly euphoric, there was still the matter of clearing it; making sure it was safe. Daryl was barely on his feet. A walker would kill him before the cold would. You had no choice but to leave him outside.

You directed him into a grove of trees at the corner of the building, trying to find a place where he could be shielded from the merciless gusts. Once you lowered him next to a tree, you took your first good look at this face. His hair was nearly frozen, even his goatee and there appeared to be some ice or snow in his eyelashes. His teeth chattered behind bloodless lips, eyelids drooping. Jesus, he was knocking on death’s door.

“G-G-Gonna ch-check the b-building. S-S-Stay put and D-D-Daryl?” Your fingers were stiff and tingling under your gloves when you grabbed his chin, shaking his head gently to persuade his eyes to focus on you. “S-S-Stay aw-wake.” His shoulders jerked in what you assumed was a grunt. With a tight smile, you placed his crossbow beside him and patted his knee before heading inside.

On the bright side, you had found the storage facility. There was no time to check it for supplies now, though. You turned the knob on the office door, finding it mercifully unlocked, and then pushed it inward. Without entering, you tapped the blade of your knife heavily against the metal frame and waited.

When the noise drew no walkers out of the shadows, you entered, your flashlight beam sputtering. You probably fucked it up in the water. Oh well. The office was small. An old desk, a small bathroom, and a filing cabinet with some boxes stacked in the corner. You could use the boxes to start a small fire and crack the window to help keep the area ventilated. A fire indoors without an actual fireplace was never ideal but you and Daryl need the warmth or the outcome would be much worse than some smoke inhalation.

Satisfied, you dragged your shivering, aching body back outside, pulling the door closed so a walker wouldn’t wander in while you grabbed the archer. He was right where you had left him but your pulse quickened at finding him slumped forward and unmoving.

“D-D-Daryl!” You fell to your knees beside him, foregoing the flashlight so you could grab his shoulders and shake him somewhat roughly. There was no way you could feel for a pulse. You were almost completely numb. Luckily, the condensation of each breath was visible. “W-wake up!” You shook him again and when his blue eyes peeled open to slowly blink at you, you could have cried. “C-C-Come on.” He didn’t argue when you grabbed beneath his arms and pulled. He had almost no strength to help but enough to get him on his feet. The first thing you noticed was his lack of shivering. You weren’t sure why but that didn’t seem like a good sign when you yourself were about to shake right out of your skin.

You grabbed the strap of his crossbow and slung it over your shoulder before starting toward the building. The journey wasn’t far, you stuttering praise and reassurance that you weren’t even sure he could hear. When you finally made it inside, you were able to move with more urgency. You lowered Daryl to sit against the desk. You dumped out one of the drawers of the file cabinet and placed it on the floor, tearing up papers and boxes. It wouldn’t be the most glorious fire and you’d have to almost continuously feed it to keep it going, but it would be warm.

You fished for the matches in your pack, knowing the water probably fucked up Daryl’s lighter. It was hard to find them in only the dying beam of your flashlight but you did nonetheless. It took a few tries to get the flame to catch but finally it started to burn. You reached above it and cracked the window open before adding more cardboard from the boxes. It would burn a little longer than the papers.

Your attention was then on Daryl. You pulled the blankets from your packs. They weren't very thick but they were dry. You spread the first on the floor and tossed the other at the bottom of it. Like you, his clothes were nearly frozen, crackling when you touched them. “Hey.” You said quietly, touching his freezing cheek. He didn’t respond. And he still wasn’t shivering. Your breathing became irregular and you could swear your frozen body began to heat up when you thought of what was coming next.

“Fuck.” You muttered. It felt wrong to not have his permission to remove his clothing, but it was a matter of life and death. You would just have to ask for forgiveness later. The archer was completely lax, making stripping him down quite the task. Your own body seemed to be starting to shut down by the time you dragged him over to the blanket and rolled him onto it. Closing your eyes for the sake of his modesty, you grabbed the waistband of his boxer-briefs and tugged them down his legs. With quick movements, you tossed the second blanket over him.

As an afterthought, you pushed the desk from the corner to both barricade the door and to hang the wet clothing across so it could all dry. Removing your own clothes was about the last thing you could handle, staggering as you draped them across the desk with Daryl’s before you found yourself staring down at the covered archer. His color was no better and from where you stood, you could hardly tell if he was breathing.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, pulling the blanket up just enough to slide under it with him. According to the movies, you needed to lie together to warm one another. Not just together but together. With a deep breath, you grabbed his shoulder and rolled him toward you, cradling his head just below your chin. Even with your own chilled skin, you found him to be absolutely freezing. You positioned one leg between his and the other over his hip, trying very hard to ignore certain parts that were touching. With a twist of your upper body, you were able to grab your pack to use as a pillow and then started to rub your hand up and down his arm. “Come on. You’re Daryl fucking Dixon. You kill zombies and ride a motorcycle. I refuse to tell people that some snow and ice took you down.”

The room gradually warmed and you thought just maybe you felt some warmth returning to Daryl’s body. Your own shivering was becoming less and less jarring. Your hand moved from his arm to his back, the flesh cold and slightly damp. When his breath went from shallow and quiet to ragged tremors and he began to violently shake, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had done it all wrong. Was he dying? Would you be the one holding him when he took his final breath? Would you be forced to drive the blade that kept him from turning?

“Please, don’t die, Daryl.” You sobbed, holding him tighter while your tears fell onto his wet hair. Your embarrassment at being butt-ass naked and pressed against your best friend was forgotten, every thought consumed by grief as if he were already gone. “There’s so much I need to tell you. You can’t die until I do.” Without thought, you pressed your lips to his forehead and pulled him close enough to feel his cool breath against your neck, your vision graying at the edges. “You can’t die.” You whispered, finally giving in to the pull of exhaustion.

The fire had long ago burned out, sunlight driving away the shadows behind your eyelids. When you blinked open your eyes, you could see the snow still lazily falling. You felt panic grip your heart. You propped yourself up on your forearm and peered down at Daryl, almost crying with relief. Some color had returned, his lips pale but no longer blue. His skin had pinkened, gradually returning to its natural tan. You dropped your forehead against his temple.

“Oh, thank god.” He was breathing deeply and evenly, his body free of tremors. Only resting. You felt the chill of the room sweep beneath the blanket from where you had moved, and your eyes widened. “Shit, the fire.” You made to get up but an arm snaked around your waist and held you. “Daryl?”

“Warm.” He murmured against your collarbone.

“I can get the fire going and we can get dressed. I had to get us warm. I had to get you warm. I’m so sor—”

Daryl hummed and only tightened his hold. “Warm now.”

Your heart pounded a tattoo into your ribs, your blood rushing so loudly in your ears that you wondered if he could hear it. Slowly, hesitantly, you rested your head back on your bag.

“Ya cold?”

You hadn’t even realized you were trembling but the answer to his question was a quiet “no, I’m okay.”

“Yer shakin’.”

“Yeah.” You watched as he tilted his head back to catch your gaze. He looked tired but otherwise, his color was steadily returning and his skin felt like fire against your own. Could it be a fever? “You…um… you’re really warm.”

He hummed, nuzzling his nose against your lower jaw. “What’d ya wanna tell me?” He rasped. You felt the tone of it straight down to the apex of your thighs. You tried to press them together, forgetting his leg was caught in between.

“Tell…,” you cleared your throat, “tell you?” You managed to squeak out. When you felt his lips press against your pulse, you stopped breathing, suddenly very aware of the lack of space between your naked bodies. And the press of his arousal against your stomach.

“Mmhmm. Las’ night. Y’said I couldn’ die ‘til ya told me.” He continued to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, slowly ensuring your ability to summon any coherent thought would be inaccessible.

“I…did.” You tilted your head back, granting him access to the full canvas of your throat. Daryl moved up onto his forearm, his other hand wrapping around the back of your neck.

“Well?”

You lowered your head, causing him to move back but not much. He kept his face centimeters from yours, your lips almost touching.

“Well what?” You kept your eyes on his mouth, your breath stuttering when he dragged his tongue over his lower lip. The hand on the back of your neck came around to grasp your chin, your eyes flickering up to find his already looking back. That mesmerizing blue was nearly lost to his dilated pupils. His gaze was so intense that you tried to look away but his gentle grip remained, keeping you there. His head tilted slightly, lips whispering against your own.

“I didn’ die.”

Your mouth crashed into his, teeth clicking and tongues dancing. It wasn’t at all what you imagined but you had both come so close to death only hours ago. All that pent up anxiety and fear boiling to the surface to present itself as desire and passion.

You gasped when he used his weight to push you onto your back, settling himself between your thighs with nothing between his cock and your needy pussy. If you could think straight, you’d be embarrassed of how wet you were.

When he pulled away to look down at you, you whined at the loss of him, chasing his lips but coming to a halt when he wrapped a large hand around your throat, effectively rendering you immobile.

“Tell me.”

“I…” You felt too open, too vulnerable. What if you spilled your heart, held it out to him, and he rejected you. A voice in your brain told you to consider that you were currently pinned under his naked body but your fear of losing him— of scaring him away— quickly silenced it. “Daryl—“

“Tell me this ain’t whatcha want n’ it stops.”

Gone was the lust driven archer, replaced by soft, kind eyes that were searching your own. You laid a hand over the one on your neck, then moved it to trace the line of his jaw.

“It’d be a lie.” You offered quietly. “I’ve wanted this since the farm. Since you called me a ‘oompa loompa with tits.’” The corner of his mouth ticked upward for the briefest of moments. “I’ve wanted you.” He kissed you again, slower this time, a slow dance of lips and tongues that left you breathless when he pulled away.

You felt the tip of him nudge against your entrance and pulled your legs up to anchor your thighs over his hips. Daryl pushed into you slowly, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth to keep from groaning. He wanted too badly to hear the sound you were making. Your small hands were on his back, fingernails dragging over soft flesh and raised scars to leave red marks in their wake.

By the time his hips pressed flat against you, his cock nestled inside your warmth, you were both panting. He started slow, a steady push and pull that had you arching into him, reveling in the feel of the movement inside you. It was all you thought it would be when you pictured this while alone with your thoughts of him. All that and more. He was gentle, attentive. He listened to the hitches in your breaths and the quiet moans, getting to know your body and what you liked.

Daryl placed a hand on either side of your head and pushed himself up, dipping his head to your chest to map the flesh with his lips. His facial hair rubbed against your skin with a delicious scrape, the minute pain just enough to cause your hips to buck underneath him. You felt him smile around the nipple between his teeth.

“Daryl.” You breathed his name while your petite fingers wrapped around his shoulders and held tight. There was a familiar burn in your lower stomach, the knot pulling tighter and tighter with each thrust. “You feel so good.” You whined, feeling your body begin to buzz as your orgasm crept closer. You wanted him closer, wanted to feel more of him. It would never be close enough. “Please. Please, please, please.” Tears gathered on your lashes, your head shaking.

“Sshh. I gotcha.” The archer grunted, moving faster to chase his own release. When you pulled at him, he was more than willing to comply, lowering to his forearms so you could catch his mouth. His hand inched down your body, wedging between to press his thumb against your swollen clit. You pulled your mouth away from his and arched into him. Two or three tight circles was all it took for you to fall apart.

“Daryl!” You cried, holding tightly to him as wave after wave crested, your body spasming. “I love you.” You whispered against his ear, your eyes closed and brain shrouded in a blissful fog. You felt his movements stutter before stopping completely, his warmth spilling into you. His hips rolled lazily a few more times before you felt more of his weight come down on you. It was a little hard to breathe but you’d be fuck if you’d complain.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Daryl pulled out of you slowly and rolled to your side, adjusting the blanket and pulling you into his arms. You were still processing how this all happened. Last night, you were both frozen and you were begging him not to die. Now, you were both sweaty and sticky and clinging to one another after doing something you never thought you’d get to do.

And that’s when doubt began to creep in. What did this mean? Did he just take an opening when he saw one? Did he actually want you? He hadn’t said much aside from what he needed to in order to get your permission. And then you had— ‘oh my god’ — you said you loved him.

“Yer thinkin’ real loud righ’ now.” His raspy voice startled you enough to flinch.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, not really knowing what else to say. You really had said enough, hadn’t you?

“Did ya mean it?” Daryl shifted to lie on his side, resting his head on one end of your pack while you did the same on the other end. It suddenly felt like there were miles between you.

“Yeah.” You whispered, keeping your eyes on where your hand lay in the space between your bodies. “Yeah, I did. I do.” With a deep breath, you continued, already resigned to the inevitable. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. This doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Ya think I don’ feel the same?”

When you lifted your eyes, the incredulous expression on his face perplexed the hell out of you. “Wait… do you?”

“Do ya even hafta ask?” He chuckled and pulled you close again, burying his face in your hair. “From the start, crazy girl.” You laughed, you weren’t sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do. Daryl was a man of action, never so much for words. And thinking about it now, he really had shown you over and over.

“What now then?” You absently traced shapes onto the left side of his chest, giggling when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Still snowin’. Guess I need ta make sure yer nice n’ warm ‘til we can make our way home.”

Laughter erupted out of you as the blanket was pulled over your heads and he rolled you onto your back again, kissing and nibbling at any piece of skin he could manage.

And you didn’t worry about the cold anymore.

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sugareey-makes-stuff · 6 months

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My first Sterek art piece for spooky season (and also something I can finally share with y'all)! This was definitely inspired by a lot of things, and heyyy, there's even a ficlet to go with it! For @sterekweek-2023's Day 6 theme: Myths & Legends, Fairytales & Folklore. Also incorporates @whumptober's theme No. 23 prompts "shadows" and "stalking" and @tw-anchor-down's 2023 Waning Crescent Round prompts "sacred" and "choose." It's always fun to explore myths and monsters in a story, so naturally I gave a nod to Supernatural's S1 Episode 16 Shadow, and thus pulled in some shadows (or demons of darkness, if you will). Title: Dancing Shadows From Behind (<- read on AO3) Rating: Teen WC: 500 Tags: Mythical Beings & Creatures, Urban Legends, Demons, Shadows, Daevas, Monster of the Week, Pack Alpha and Protective Derek Hale, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Stiles is Derek's Anchor, Derek is Stiles' Anchor, Anchors, Hugs, Hopeful Ending, Quintuple Drabble, Digital Art, Mixed Media, POV Derek Hale Summary: Derek pulls Stiles closer to his chest as more shadows appear. Stalking, taunting and dancing around them. Ready to strike again at any moment. [Or: Derek has no idea what to do when the Pack is trapped by daevas. But something ignites a Spark, and that's enough.]

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lost-shoe · 2 years

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Supernatural - Heartache (8.03)

Whumptober 2022

No. 23 “HOLD THEM DOWN”

#whumptober2022 #no.23 #hold them down #supernatural #gifs #blood #spnedit #deanedit #spndeanwinchester #dean love club #spndaily #spncreatorsdaily #dean winchester #jensen ackles #jensenedit #jacklesedit #jensenacklesedit #hurt!Dean

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omgiamwish · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 Day 23 - "Hold them down."

#whumptober2022 #no.23 #hold them down #rottmnt #art #injury #tmnt #tmnt 2018 #casey jones #casey jr #april o'neil #donatello #leonardo #fan art #artists on tumblr

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losthavenmine · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023 Day 23 || Stalking

Unhinged (2020)

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #stalking #unhinged #gifs #blood tw #russell crowe #filmedit #fyeahmovies #moviegifs #whumpedit #userfilm #cinemapix #cinematv

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what-the-whump · 6 months

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Whumptober 2023 | No.23

Shadows - Stalking - "Who's there?"

Charlie Davis in The Doctor Blake Mysteries - 5x08 - Hear the Angels Sing

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #Shadows #The Doctor Blake Mysteries #GIF #Charlie Davis #5x08 #knocked out #collapse #unconscious #blood #hurt

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whumpdoyoumean · 6 months

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Whumptober #23

This is a scene from a noir-inspired original work about a PI who's hired by a little girl to investigate the disappearance of her older brother. Enjoy!

xxx it’s gonna get me by the end of the night

He becomes aware of the tail somewhere on 9th, between the deli and the smoke shop--a tall man in a long brown coat, walking with his shoulders rounded forward as if that could somehow help him blend in (it doesn’t). His fedora is pulled down over his eyes, and though he keeps some distance between them it’s pretty obvious what he’s up to. Simon does his best to act like he hasn’t noticed the giant man following him, adjusting his route so that he makes his way out of the busier streets and to a quieter area. Then, when there aren’t many people around, he ducks into an alley and waits.

The man appears faster than he expected--must’ve sped up in case Simon made a break for it--but Simon is ready and leaps on the man as soon as he appears, grabbing the front of his coat and slamming him against the wall so hard that the man’s hat falls to the ground. The face underneath is angular and hard, the eyes cold and piercing, mouth drawn into a thin line, jaw twitching.

“You wanna tell me why you’re following me, friend?” Simon says.

“You’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Boss doesn’t like it.”

“And who’s your boss? He got something to do with the kid? That why he’s not happy?”

“He doesn’t know the kid. Never seen him, never heard of him. Doesn’t know him from a hole in the ground. But the kid is beside the point, Hornby. You’re starting to interfere with Roman’s business and he’s had enough.”

Simon’s stomach drops.

Shit.

Of all the people whose henchman this could be, why did it have to be Roman? He lets go of the man’s jacket and gives his shoulder an awkward pat, stepping back.

“Right. Right, well if he’s not involved then I’m sure I can turn my attention elsewhere. I’ve got plenty of other leads. Roman doesn’t need to worry about me.”

“You’ve said that before,” the big man growls.

“I mean it this time.”

“You’ve said that before, too. Boss wants to make sure this time.”

Before Simon has a chance to react, there’s a flash of metal--Big Man is fast--and an impact in Simon’s side that drives the wind out of him and doubles him over as he folds around the man’s fist. The hand withdraws, and with it a bloodied knife. Simon stares at it, then up at Big Man as he falls to his knees.

“You--I--”

“Boss says if you survive this, you better stop sniffing around or next time the knife goes in your heart. You understand?”

Simon is trying to catch his breath, trying to fight the sickening dizziness that’s washing over him. He nods twice, closing his eyes when the movement makes the world spin. A hand grabs his hair and he groans.

“Gotta hear you say it.”

“Ye-yes. I understand. I understand.”

“Good.”

The hand releases Simon’s hair and his head drops to his chest as Big Man disappears out of the alley, leaving Simon on the cold ground holding trembling hands against the hole in his gut in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. His mind is racing but he has to think, he needs to--he has to do something. He puts one hand against the wall. It takes him two tries to stand.

He’s got no change for a pay phone.

His apartment is too far.

Hospital’s too far.

Businesses are close by now...

There is one place he can think of, someplace close with a resident who will probably be awake, who may even be able to help.

Whether she actually will is another matter entirely.

But he’s got to try.

He takes a deep breath and pushes away from the wall, leaving behind a streaking red handprint, and starts to walk.

xxx

He knocks quietly. He doesn’t want to wake the neighbors, or the kid, and, if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t have the strength left for dramatic banging. Though he may need to summon it if she doesn’t come to the door soon. He’s feeling lightheaded--the blood loss, he expects. A wave of dizziness hits him and his vision goes fuzzy, ears ringing, and before he realizes he’s moving he’s leaning on his arm against the door.

“Who are you?” someone says behind him, and the steadiness of her voice, the challenge in her words, leave no doubt in Simon’s mind who the voice belongs to. “Turn around slowly.”

“You armed?”

“I might be. You wanna find out?”

He can’t stop the chuckle that rises in his throat as he straightens up.

“What are you laughing at? I’m not afraid of you. Turn around. Slowly.”

“No, no. I wouldn’t think so.” He turns, taking his time because she told him to and because he might fall over otherwise. The blood loss is making his tongue loose, and his mind dull, because he says, “Not with Ruth for a daughter.”

The woman, who had been eyeing him with suspicion, goes rigid, face darkening.

“Excuse me?”

Simon grimaces. “I’m--my name is Simon. I’m not--I’m a private investigator, that’s all. I promise, I haven’t done anything to hurt her, I just want to help, I’m looking for Noah. I swear. I’m only here because I need your help.”

She doesn’t look convinced, so he moves his hand away from the wound, showing his bloodied hand and side. Her eyes widen.

“You’re a nurse, right? I’m-I’m sorry, only the hospital was so far away, I-I didn’t know if I would make it.”

His knees finally give way and she lurches forward, catching him before he falls, letting out a small grunt at the sudden weight of him.

“Okay, let’s get you inside. Where did you walk from?”

“The alley behind Mozzie’s.”

She clicks her tongue as she helps him lean against the wall so she can fish her keys out of her purse. “That far?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You know who did this to you?”

“Best I keep that to myself. They won’t follow me here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She pauses with the key halfway turned in the lock to give him a look. “Well I wasn’t.”

She opens the door and he steps inside, with her close on his heels. She closes the door behind them before helping him to the couch. He barely manages to collapse onto it before he slips out of consciousness.

“Hey!” she says sharply, and he blinks blearily at her.

“Hm?”

“Stay awake.”

And then, from the other side of the room, a familiar, tiny, tired voice. “Mama?”

Even in his barely conscious state, he winces, grabbing a throw pillow and holding it in front of his blood stained shirt.

“Honeybee, dont’--”

She’s too late. Ruth’s excited voice cries, “Simon!”

“Hey, kiddo,” he says as she appears in front of him, hair wild, rubbing at her eyes in a pair of oversized pajamas.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ruth, I need you to listen to me,” the woman says. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, mama.”

“Go down to Ms. Bailey’s, tell her I sent you and tell her--tell her I need her to call for an ambulance. And then you stay with her until I come get you, you understand? You stay with her.”

Ruth’s brow furrows. “I don’t like Ms. Bailey’s.”

“Ruth Clementine, you do as I say. Go on!”

She doesn’t move, her frown deepening, lower lip protruding. “I’m afraid,” she says quietly.

Her mother’s face softens instantly. “I know, Honeybee. But it’s time to be brave. You’ve got a stinger, remember? Not just wings and pretty stripes.”

The familiar determination flashes across her little face and she nods.

“Good girl. Fast, now!”

Ruth nods again and takes off. The second the door closes, the woman’s face twists with rage and she snatches the pillow from Simon, then pulls the scarf from around her neck, balling it up in her fists as though it had somehow personally wronged her.

“This happen because of you chasing after my boy?”

He shakes his head and she presses the scarf to his wound. He lets out a cry that’s equal parts pain and surprise.

“Hush! And don’t lie to me. You may be a private eye, but I’m a nurse. You wanna try that again?”

“I…” She glares at him and he sighs. “Yes. And no. Looking for him led me down a line of inquiry that led to…this.”

She frowns, looking down at her hands. “No one asked you to do this.”

“Ruth did. She’s someone.”

She looks up at him sharply, and her eyes are watery but her expression is hard to read. They gaze at each other for what feels like a long time, and that’s when he realizes--

“I don’t know your name.”

She blinks, and he’s not sure she’s going to answer. And then she says, “Beth. Elizabeth.”

The world feels strange, and his body in it feels stranger--cold and light, weightless almost but not in a pleasant way. Still, he smiles. “Like the Bible.” He blinks heavily, and it’s hard to open his eyes again.

“Hey, Simon? Simon!” She squeezes his hand. “I know that look, and you’re not gonna do that to me, you hear me? You’re not! Keep your eyes open, Simon. Talk to me! That’s a nice suit, where’d you get it?”

“Looks nice,” he says, and his tongue is filling his mouth, the words thick as molasses. “But…it isn’t. Dirt--” He chuckles. “Dirt cheap, but I--I’m a good faker. Always have been. Well, no, that’s…That’s not quite true. Harry always knew. Harry…” He hasn’t talked about Harry in a long time, shouldn’t be talking about him but the blood loss is really getting to him.

He realizes with a sickening feeling that he’s dying.

“You…You should put on a sweater, Miss Beth. It’s cold in here.”

“Help will be here soon. Just keep talking, private eye. We don’t know each other nearly well enough for you to die on my couch.”

He’s not sure he has much choice in the matter. He doesn’ want her to see him when he goes.

“‘m alright. Just go…go get a sweater, please. I don’t…I don’t want you to be cold.”

“I’m not cold, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Simon hums in response. The pain seems distant now, and he doesn’t feel well and the world is spinning, spinning and his eyes are rolling--

And then they shut.

xxx

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #stalking #original content #fic #blood #stabbed #original character #whumptober #noir #private eye #my writing #whump

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evillittlebirdie · 6 months

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Salvation (Kar'niss/Tav)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight

Kar'niss still prayed to Lolth every day. He clamped his disfigured hands together and beseeched.

"Not to die, not to change. But please, please, I appeal to you, give me purpose."

Kar'niss was met with silence.

His family was gone. No doubt, all remembrance of the first son was stripped from the House. His sisters had no brother now. No kith, no kin, to call his own. Alone, miserably alone.

Kar'niss still prayed. But he found other reasons to speak. After hunting his raw meat and blood, Kar'niss talked to himself to fill the void. First, it was a recollection of his life. Then he recited all learned knowledge.

Imagine his relief when he spotted a humanoid. A lone scout. He hailed Lolth for the opportunity. Either the scout would kill him, or Kar'niss could have his conversation.

The scout wasn't of aristocratic blood but was female and deserved respect. Kar'niss allowed her the first blow before he subsequently subdued her. She was resistant to his requests for information. Firstly, Kar'niss wanted to know the date to calculate how long he had been exiled. And secondly, Kar'niss wished to learn of the status of his House.

The scout was "secure and protected" in a web in his cavern. She screamed insults at him. Aberration. Freak. Mistake.

As much as Kar'niss was tempted to silence the source of torment, Kar'niss allowed her to yell. He didn't know when he would hear another's voice again.

Kar'niss arrived at the cave after hunting one day. He was disappointed when the scout escaped from the web. But she left her backpack. Inside was a letter with a date. Kar'niss moaned after he read it. He had been crawling in the darkness for a year.

No doubt, the scout would arrive with reinforcements to kill the drider. Kar'niss debated whether to wait for his assassination or to leave.

"There's a reason why you're alive."

Kar'niss spun his head around, searching for the voice. It sounded like the scout, but he couldn't detect her scent. "Who's there?"

"Failure. Unfortunate beast. Live so you may suffer."

The scout was long gone. The voice Kar'niss heard was in his head, echoing the scout's sentiments.

Kar'niss sobbed as the voice berated him.

It would be the first of many.

***

Kar'niss hid in his cavity and watched from his nest as Tav entered the cave. She called his name, and he dared not emerge. He crouched as low as he could, concealing himself. He was ashamed of his actions. He would reveal himself to Tav once he proved his worthiness. Or, at the very least, he could establish that he was worth hiding in her shadow.

"Kar'niss," Tav called out again, stepping further into the cavern. He peaked above the rock and saw how carefully she paced between his webs. He observed her as she searched the cavern. She couldn't see the nook from where she was. A few minutes passed, and Tav finally turned to leave the cavern. He watched as she departed and sighed in relief.

"Your Majesty, please counsel me."

***

Kar'niss found Tav and her companions' camp not far from his cavern. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He was used to walking through the shadows with Her Majesty's lantern. But the dancing lights supplied by his necklace made him feel safe. His steps were light and quiet so as not to attract any attention. He hid behind a large tree and watched as the group retired for the night.

Tav looked ethereal in the glow of the nearby torches. She almost floated between her companions. She completed mundane tasks such as dispensing provisions and care.

"Your Majesty, why does your Chosen flit about like a housekeeper?" Kar'niss whispered. He didn't know why Her voice was distant to him now. He did not want to presume his goddess' motives, but he could only think that Her Chosen would speak for her. But out of habit, Kar'niss still talked to her. "Those following your Chosen have her fetching items, kindling the fire, filling water canteens, and sharpening knives. Menial work for servants and slaves." He tilted his head in curiosity as Tav completed these tasks with a smile and laughter in her eyes.

It wasn't right.

Kar'niss would corral the followers into proper worship if he were in the camp. The drider envisioned himself by Tav's side, always a step behind so he could respect her and keep a watchful eye over her. She deserved a place of honor as a leader. She should sit upon a throne while they flitted around her .

The pale elf reminded Kar'niss of the well-educated and charming sycophants in Menzoberranzan. Their type strutted like peacocks eager to win a wealthy wife or at least the stipend of a matriarch. Kar'niss always looked down on the men who honored themselves before their House and Lolth. 'Astarion,' as he was named, preened about vainly, and for some reason, Tav indulged him. He must worship in ways Kar'niss cannot plainly see.

"I honor you, Your Majesty, for attracting all to your side..." Kar'niss remarked as he took in the physical differences of Tav's companions. She promised him unity and equality. Her Chosen indeed acted as her avatar. She kept githyanki, tiefling, human, and elf by her side.

The night quickly settled as calls of 'goodnight' and 'sleep well' filled the air. Kar'niss watched as Tav lay down on a bedroll next to the fire. Kar'niss could not stop himself from envisioning himself walking to the bedroll. He would dig his claws into the ground, standing guard as her nocturnal guardian.

Perhaps Kar'niss was undeserving of being in such close proximity to her, but he could watch from the darkness.

For a moment, Kar'niss could pretend. "No harm...no harm," He soothed himself.

Kar'niss would be a vigilant warden standing by Tav as she slept. She would turn, slightly uneasy. She is struggling to rest. She has the world on her shoulders. Her Majesty asks so much of her. Kar'niss would offer his service. She would allow it as Kar'niss was the only one fit to please her. He would lower himself before her. Her eyes would close, and she would sigh, lifting her hips. His hand would reach her trousers, his tongue running along his lips...

"No, no," Kar'niss scolded himself, his clawed hands moving to his hair. He wrapped his fingers in his hair and pulled. He struck himself in the side of his head as punishment. He repeated the motion twice. "Sinful, vile," He hissed, screwing his eyes shut.

Self-hatred morphed his vision. Justifiably, Tav kicked Kar'niss in the face. He skittered rearward like the insect he was. "Repulsive," She snarled at him, waving him away. Dismissed, Kar'niss retreated into himself, backing into the shadows. It was his rightful place to stay and watch.

Astarion, with his cocky smile and piercing eyes, took the place Kar'niss would kill for. Astarion, who was whole and functional, would please Tav in ways Kar'niss could never replicate. Her Majesty's light shined upon them. Tav glowed as brightly as the lantern. Warmth and peace radiated from her.

Kar'niss didn't realize he was clawing his scalp until blood trickled down his ear. He pulled his hand away and saw the streaks on his skin.

"Fit punishment..." Kar'niss mumbled lightly. He stole one more glance at Tav. She was resting quietly on her bedroll. Despite himself, Kar'niss smiled.

#whumptober 2023 #no.23 #“It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”#shadows #stalking #Who's there #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #kar'niss/tav #kar'niss #bg3 fanfiction #angst #implied sex

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callaeidae3 · 6 months

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Whumptober2023 Day 23/24: "Who's there?" | Goodbye note

The human he helped is now on a safe shore, recovering. But it's not safe anymore.

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #who's there?#no.24 #goodbye note #OC #art #blood tw #bandages #non human whumpee #whump art #what is the danger? a sea creature? a ship full of bad people? angry fellow mermen?#at least the mer knows English #let's hope the human knows English too lol #based off my OCs #kyle kindall #yuuki takahashi #mer whump

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adrift-in-thyme · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 23: "It's gonna get me by the end of the night" + Shadows

Continuation of Day 22

Read it on Ao3

- Legend & Sky

- Summary: Held captive and helpless in the Shadow's grip, Legend and Sky try to find a way to escape

CW for blood and injury; broken bones; electrocution; torture; brief mentions of vomit, possession, and death; and captivity

---------------------------------------------------

“Vet. Vet! Wake up!”

Legend blinks his eyes open with a groan. His body protests its journey back into consciousness rather loudly and he can’t help but swat at the hand gently shaking his shoulder.

“‘M up, ‘m up,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand roughly over his face. By Hylia, why does he feel like he jumped into a lightning storm?

He blinks a few more times, trying to bring his blurry surroundings into focus. But his pounding head makes that rather difficult and it takes a couple of good, hard tries.

It’s dark in the room where he sits, slumped against Sky’s shoulder. Lanterns lend some light along the far wall, casting shadows everywhere else. They illuminate a deadly sheen of crimson splotched sporadically along the stone floors. A heavy door blocks the exit. No windows are anywhere Legend can see.

They’re all but locked in. A cell that was never truly meant to be.

“Where…” He swallows, grimacing at the harsh bite of it. “Where are we?”

Faint memories are stirring now as consciousness slowly regains a full grip on him. But they are still hazy at best. It’s hard to focus on anything with the phantom pain of electricity in his veins. And of course the telltale ache of using too much magic. Whatever happened, he had practically bled himself dry trying to stop it.

“You don’t remember?” Sky asks. Something in the way he says it makes Legend turn to look at him. The Skyloftian is unnaturally pale, even in the near darkness. Blood darkens his tunic in multiple spots and dribbles down from his nose and mouth. A gash runs along his forehead, dipping down to hide along his left eyebrow. And on his cheek there is a cluster of angry, red lines branching upward and out almost like…

Legend draws in a breath. It all comes rushing back now, bringing the incessant ache of his body and mind to a nauseating fever pitch. He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.

“No…no I remember,” he grits out. “Not-you lured me here and shot balls of electricity at my face.”

Sky chuckles, hoarse and breathless. “Yeah. That’s the…that’s the gist of it.”

Legend shifts and immediately regrets it. The room tilts and his stomach lurches as pain spikes up like shards of glass through his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting not to vomit.

“Are you alright, vet?”

He nods. “Yup. Great.”

Focus on breathing. In and out, in and out.

After a moment, he dares open his eyes again. This time, the room stays level and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Okay, so maybe no sudden movements for a bit.

“I’m guessing the Shadow isn’t here yet,” he says. “Otherwise this experience would probably be a whole lot worse.”

Sky is quiet for a moment. When he speaks his voice is even more hushed and broken than before.

“No, he hasn’t arrived yet, as far as I can tell. But that monster…it said it was going to bring the others here too.” Legend looks up at him, but Sky doesn’t meet his gaze. He is staring at the door as though through will alone he can move it. “If we don’t get out of here soon they’ll have to fight it same as we did.”

“And just like us they’ll likely lose,” Legend finishes, bitterly. “Yeah, okay, so we’ve got to figure out how to escape this place before the Shadow arrives, probably kill the monster that took us both out, plus whatever else has revived in the meantime…while wounded and weaponless. Should be a cinch.”

Sky opens his mouth to reply but before he can voices filter through the walls, harsh and echoing. Both heroes tense.

“Two. You caught two heroes out of the nine that I tasked you with bringing me. Tell me, what makes you think that that is a worthy haul to summon me to see?”

Legend swallows down his rising fear. The Shadow. The Shadow is right outside and they don’t even have some half-baked plan started yet.

“But Master, they aren’t just any two heroes.” It’s the blind now, sounding almost groveling in comparison to the Shadow’s sneering growl. “These ones wield the Master Sword. As you said, they are capable of…”

“Don’t!” The shout is sharp and commanding, like a slap across the face. Beside him, Sky flinches slightly. “Don’t speak the words. They will not defeat me, no matter the weapons they wield. I will make certain of that.”

The voice grows louder, closer. Legend tenses further, steeling himself for what is to come.

“You will remain here. I have work to do and have no wish for you to interfere.”

“What of the other heroes? Do you not want…”

“Leave them for now. These two will suffice.” Legend doesn’t need to see the Shadow’s face to know he is grinning. “Perhaps, once they see their mutilated corpses, the others will simply give themselves up.”

“You know magic, right?”

Legend startles slightly, glancing at Sky. The knight’s soft voice is so different from the domineering, sinister tones just outside.

“Yeah,” he says, slowly, muddled thoughts struggling to catch up with everything, “but I used it all up while trying to fight that stupid monster.”

Sky’s eyes narrow and he gnaws his lip. “Can you get it back?”

“I mean…it replenishes itself eventually.”

“How long does it take?”

Legend thinks for a moment. “Without the help of a potion? Ten minutes at the least.”

The darkness in the room begins to bend and twist, heralding the approach of their captor. Legend’s heart climbs into his throat.

“Okay,” Sky murmurs. When Legend spares him another glance he can see the fire burning in his eyes, determination in his stance. “I’ll buy you all the time you need.”

Legend’s mouth falls open, an indignant squawk escaping. “What? Sky…no!”

They both know what the Shadow wants, they both know what his entrance means. And ten minutes is more than enough time for him to accomplish his purpose here, even with his preferred method of a slow, agonizing demise.

But crimson eyes are gleaming in the shadows now and his chance to argue is gone. A wide mouth stretches into a grin, soft footsteps bring the monster closer. He is in his Hylian form this time and even with his charcoal flesh and demonic gaze, Legend is struck by how similar he looks to Time.

It’s strange staring into a twisted, mirrored image of his brother. Sickening.

“The Chosen Hero” – His eyes find Sky and hold there for a moment, then flit to Legend, pinning him like a bug on a stick – “and the Hero of Legend. How wonderful to have you both here.”

“Your accommodations are definitely not wonderful,” Legend snaps, ignoring the uncharacteristically sharp look Sky sends his way.

The Shadow merely chuckles. “Well, prisoners cannot afford to be picky, unfortunately. Not to worry, though. You won’t be here for too long.” His grin widens, teeth glinting stark white against a backdrop of gray and black. “I would say your prayers to that precious little goddess of yours. Otherwise, your future accommodations may not be too inviting either.”

“So, that’s what you’re here to do,” Sky says before Legend manages to spew another dry comment. “Kill us.”

The Shadow quirks an eyebrow. “You sound displeased with that. Would you rather that I did something else? Possessed you perhaps? Used your body as an unwilling puppet to torment your brothers with? Or perhaps merely toyed with you, causing immense pain but never enough to allow for sweet release? Would that please you more?”

Sky clenches his jaw, eyes flashing. But Legend doesn’t miss the way his face pales further.

“Do whatever you want,” he retorts, tone as sharp as the weapon he wields. “It won’t work. Light always triumphs, no matter how long it takes. Hylia ordained it so.”

“Hylia is dead.” The Shadow spits the word. Sky flinches, noticeably, garnering another harsh chuckle from the monster. “Whatever I inflict upon you, keep that knowledge in your mind. Your beloved goddess is gone. She is nothing more than a girl now, helpless and useless and utterly incapable of coming to your aid.”

Sky’s eyes suddenly blaze with a dangerous light. Legend has never seen that look on his face before. Honestly, it makes him a bit uneasy.

“How dare you!” He growls, leaning forward, heedless of his proximity to the monster. “You don’t know Zelda and you have no right to speak of her in such a way, you pathetic–”

Legend has a feeling the Skyloftian was about to rattle off enough insults to make even him impressed. But he never gets the chance. His words break off into an agonized scream instead, so sharp and terrible that the veteran jumps back from him, vision going spotty from the quick movement.

It only lasts a moment, but it’s long enough to ring in his ears and leave Sky breathless. The Skyflotian sags forward, blood dripping from his lips.

“What was it that you were saying, Chosen One?” the Shadow purrs. “That I shouldn’t insult your little Zelda so? That I was pathetic?”

Sky drags in a trembling breath and lifts his head. That fire is still there, turning the sky blue of his irises dark.

“That’s right,” he grits out, “you’re pathetic. If Zelda were here you would already be long gone.”

The Shadow’s eyes glint. “Is that so?”

He doesn’t move a muscle, not even a twitch of a fingertip. Yet, Sky reels back as though hit, back arching, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. He screams again and blindingly white lines begin to snake up his neck, crawling toward his face. Legend can see them beneath his tunic too, their unnatural light crackling and bending along his body. Heat emanates from him.

Legend’s eyes widen and his stomach drops. It’s…it’s almost like the Shadow is pouring lightning into his body.

Another moment and it’s over again. Sky slumps, coughing up more blood. His bent form trembles and twitches.

“If you recall, you sustained quite a few injuries while fighting for the girl you now so bravely defend.” The Shadow walks forward. With one, delicate finger he lifts Sky’s chin. “Do they still ache – these wounds Demise bestowed upon you? I am certain that they do now.”

Sky drags his gaze up to the Shadow’s. “You…you plan to kill me by reopening ol-old wounds? Get more creative.”

The Shadow smirks. “I underestimated you, Chosen One. No wonder you were the one who faced the Demon God himself. Your heart is strong.”

For a split second the very air reverberates with tension. Then, Sky’s eyes blow wide as his skin lights up again. His scream is more hoarse this time, cracking and broken. His body trembles and jerks of its own accord as though trying to escape the agony inside of it.

And it’s too much, too much.

Damn buying time. Damn his slowly rejuvenating magic. Legend can’t take this any more.

(He hates himself for enduring it this long. For allowing fear and pain to constrict his throat and paralyze his body while his brother suffers.)

“Stop!”

He scrambles between Sky and the Shadow as though that will do anything at all. Behind him Sky continues to cry out.

“Stop hurting him you sick bastard!”

“Do you wish to die first?” The Shadow asks, a bit of sadistic humor in his tone. “Because that can be arranged.”

“N-no!” Sky heaves a breath. He is shaking more than ever now from the effort it takes not to scream. “D-don’t you dare t-touch him!”

The Shadow looks between them both, a smirk playing upon his lips.

“I will do whatever I please. But since this is such a wonderful show, I will grant your wish just this once, Chosen One. You will have the privilege of dying first.”

Legend gasps. Tears are welling in his eyes now despite his efforts to hold them back. His hands fall, trembling onto his lap. Useless.

No.

He lunges, a cry on his lips, fist outstretched to collide with the Shadow’s face. Agony explodes in every part of him, taking his very breath away. But when his blow hits, he no longer cares. It’s worth it to see the Shadow’s head snap back, blood spurting from his nose.

Then, a smile stretches his lips. He catches Legend’s wrist as he tries for another punch and twists. A loud crack echoes through the room. Legend chokes on a cry.

“Though, I suppose that is a mercy, really,” he purrs, deadly and sweet. “You will be gone long before I begin torturing your little friend. The Hero of Legend, however, has no choice but to watch me tear you apart.”

His grin grows as blood dribbles down to his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he has a good seat.”

A blast of energy slams into Legend’s chest, sending him hurtling sideways. He hits the ground with a shout, pain exploding up his arm. Seconds later the floor itself lifts, wrapping around him and pinning him there. He thrashes, desperately, but the cold stone merely constricts further, snapping his bones like twigs. Blood fills his mouth and he gags on it.

Sky’s screams echo through the space once more, bouncing around in his aching skull. Laughter mingles with it. The air stinks of bile and blood and desperation. Dark magic blankets everything. The flickering lights of phantom lightning illuminate the room.

He is suffocating in it all. And still, his magic crawls upward, lazily filling his veins. He curses it for its slowness.

Horror and bitter regret creep into his chest as his ears ring with the sounds of his brother’s agony and blinding light blurs before his eyes.

Sky had never talked much about his adventure. They knew he hadn’t fought Ganondorf like the rest of them and they knew he had plummeted to the Surface to save Zelda. They knew he had known the spirit within the sword. But that was the extent of it.

Battling a Demon God with the power of lightning, gaining painful scars from it…Legend could never have guessed.

They all have their secrets – that is an accepted thing amongst them all. Some will never be told. But Legend had always thought Sky had held the least of all of them. Besides, Wind, that is. And now that that assumption is shattered, now that he is forced to watch the repercussions of the horrors his brother hadn’t seen fit to share…he feels an odd sort of remorse.

He should have done more. He should have at least asked.

To hold knowledge like that is torture in and of itself. He knows that more than anyone.

Well, it’s too late to change that now, he chastises himself, harshly. So, stop moping and figure out how to get the both of you out of here before it’s too late.

It’s nearly impossible to focus with the pain coursing through him and Sky’s yells still splitting his skull (though they are growing weaker now…dangerously so; in fact, he would say they’re more akin to whimpered sobs). Legend squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe past it all. He needs to think, he needs to clear his mind enough to do something, anything to make this all stop.

Sky’s cries may be dwindling, but they are still sounds. They are still evidence that the knight is fighting and alive.

Legend intends to keep it that way.

That cursed blind took his pouch and his sword and shield with it. Hylia only knows where they are now. He has other items at his disposal, however.

The medallions he obtained so long ago are stowed away in his pouch. But the spells that power them are safe in his mind. Using any of them is a gamble with his magic as low as it still is and at least four floors of stone above him…one he’s willing to take.

He has no other choice.

Legend takes a deep breath and begins to whisper the incantation.

Magic gathers at his fingertips, tearing at his body as it drags him to past the limit. Blood bubbles in his throat and his ears fill with an excruciating ring. Consciousness threatens to slip away but he grasps ahold of it, wrestles it down.

He can’t let go now. He refuses to.

The last words leave his lips on the tail end of a pained whine. There’s a second in which he is lost within the drifting waves of agony and exhaustion, unable to hear or feel or see anything. And then, the world explodes.

Crackling, white streaks of electricity zip across the room, bringing with them the sound of thunder and pouring rain. They charge toward their target and in an eruption of light and darkness, collide head-on. The Shadow lets out an agonized screech.

Legend’s own scream joins his as the spell drags the rest of the magic from his aching body, lighting his very veins on fire. His vision blacks out and the back of his neck prickles dangerously, body threatening to give up and drop into the oblivion it craves. But then he’s back, gasping like a fish on land as the spell sputters and dies out.

He can only lie there for a few moments after the room goes quiet, shuddering and trying to breathe through the pain. It takes all of his strength and then some to push himself upright. The room dips and dives beneath him as he crawls to where Sky lies. Every breath is gravelly and hoarse, every movement agony.

But he makes it. Somehow, miraculously, he makes it.

…and with a pitiful groan, collapses right beside the Skyloftian.

Sky’s hand finds his, still trembling and twitching slightly, but comforting and warm. Legend gives it a weak squeeze.

“Some…some escape plan, huh?” he slurs, blinking up at the ceiling. “We’re both…both over here half-dead.”

Sky huffs a shaky chuckle.

“He’s gone though,” he whispers, every word drenched in pain. “It…it worked well e-enough.”

Legend hums. He’s right. The Shadow is gone, likely fled to some far corner of the earth to escape injury, and the blind with him. So, though neither of them have the strength to drag themselves out of this place at least, for now, they are safe.

And…now that he listens a bit more carefully, Legend swears he can hear a wolf howl.

A small smile lifts his lips. Maybe, they’re even safer than he thought.

“Hey, Sky,” he manages, even as he begins to drift away to the sound of salvation.

Sky makes a small, tired sound. His breath hitches slightly and Legend tightens his hold on his hand.

“S-sacrifice yourself like that again and I-I’ll take out your kneecaps.”

Sky only laughs.

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