#altno. 1

[set-phasers-to-whump]

ringing ears

prompt: ringing ears (alt no.1)

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hope you enjoy!!

There is almost no warning before the explosion hits. Illya hears a quiet noise, like something slotting into place, and he hits the ground immediately. A second later, the loudest noise he’s ever heard is roaring through his ears and everything is hot and smoky and pieces of debris are flying everywhere. 

Illya has been in plenty of explosions before. None of them have hit like this. This is something different, something new. He lies flat on the floor as debris rains down on top of him. His eyes burn. Everything smells like smoke. It burns his nose. He can taste it at the back of his throat. His ears are ringing horribly. His body aches from the harsh impact with the ground. 

He stays down until he is sure that nothing else is going to happen. Eventually, he stands up, nearly losing his balance in the process. He blinks in the smoky air and looks at his surroundings. He’d been in a room before. There had been a ceiling above him and walls around him. Now there is just sky. It seems as though everything in the whole building has been knocked flat to the ground.

He needs to get out of here. There is no telling who else had lived through the explosion, who might be coming to see what’s happened. This is an enemy compound. Anyone he runs into is likely to try to kill him. 

He starts moving. His center of gravity has been horribly thrown off and his ears are still ringing and his eyes are still burning. All of this makes it quite difficult to orient himself and navigate his way out. 

He manages eventually, though. He stumbles his way over crumbled walls and pushes through a mangled bit of fence and just like that he’s outside of the ruined compound. 

He turns back briefly and looks at it. Smoke pours up into the sky from a huge mound of rubble. Almost nothing has been left standing. Illya wonders how he had managed to survive when the building itself had not survived. He supposes he must have been lucky. This is what Solo would say, anyway. 

He turns away from the wreckage and makes his way into the woods behind the compound. They are not deep, and on the other side is a small town with a bus station. The bus will take him to Vienna. In Vienna he will go to the hotel room he is sharing with Gaby. There he can wash off the smoky smell and sleep. And then he can debrief with Waverly. At least he’d managed to get the photos he’d gone to the compound for, he thinks, touching his jacket to confirm that they’re still tucked safely inside his pocket. 

The walk through the woods is eerie. The ringing in his ears has become more faint but he still can’t hear anything. It’s disorienting and disconcerting. If he can’t even hear his own footsteps, how is he supposed to hear if someone is coming up from behind him?

Fortunately, no one does come up behind him. He makes it through the woods without incident and by the time he emerges into the town he is no longer stumbling, though he still can’t hear. 

The bus arrives very shortly after Illya does. There are a few other people waiting at the station. They all look at him. He doesn’t wonder why. They’d certainly heard the explosion, and his clothes are covered in dust and various pieces of debris, not to mention the fact that he smells very strongly of smoke. 

No one pays too much attention to him, though. After the initial staring, most of the other bus passengers pay him no mind. One woman tries to speak to him, but he can’t hear her. She gestures to his ears. He shakes his head, gestures back. She does not really seem to understand, but she nods and turns away anyway. 

The ride to Vienna is not long, but the road is bumpy and the scenery changes rapidly. The whole time, Illya can focus on little else besides the overpowering smell of smoke. He wants nothing so much as to wash it away. 

He gets off of the bus and finds himself on a bustling street in the heart of the capital. The movement around him is overwhelming and dizzying, a hectic silent dance of thousands of people. He takes a deep breath, inhales more of that terrible smoky smell. Everything will be fine, he tells himself. He will wash off the smoke and lie down and his hearing will return. 

The hotel he and Gaby are staying at is not far from the bus stop. Illya enters through a side door - it’s a nice hotel, and he doesn’t want to attract the attention of anyone if he can avoid it. He goes up a set of service stairs, making the long journey up to the eighth floor without running into anyone else. 

At long last, he reaches their room. He knocks on the door in the way they’d agreed upon earlier. He only knows that he’s knocked because he feels the impact of his knuckles with the wood. 

The door opens. Gaby stands before him. She’s smiling, but once she looks at him the smile falls away. She looks startled. Worried. 

“I am fine,” he says to her. He can feel the vibrations of the words in his throat, so he knows he has spoken, but he has no idea how loudly. Gaby looks at him. She says something. He can’t hear it, of course, and he cannot read her lips. 

“I can’t hear,” he says, gesturing to his ears. Gaby’s eyes widen, but she nods and then grabs his wrist, pulling him all the way inside the room. She closes the door behind him and then reaches up a hand to touch the side of his head. 

She grabs his wrist again and tugs him along, this time into the bathroom. Illya stares at his reflection in the mirror. 

He had known, of course, that his clothes are coated in dust and debris and torn in places. His hair is also dusty and there are pieces of debris stuck to it. Here and there on his exposed skin there is a scrape or a scratch. There is blood coming from his ears, dried now and beginning to flake off of his skin. 

“I will clean up,” Illya says. He does not think he has ever wanted to take a shower quite so badly. 

Gaby catches his eye and nods very deliberately. She reaches out and briefly squeezes his hand, and then tugs the bathroom door shut behind her. 

Illya takes one of the longest showers of his life. It turns out that the pieces of building debris don’t want to wash out of his hair very easily. Plus, he can’t stop smelling that awful smoke, even when he’s washed his whole body twice. 

Eventually, though, he is satisfied. He turns off the water and towels himself off. He is a bit startled to find a stack of clean clothes on the counter - the shower curtain had prevented him from seeing Gaby come in, and he obviously hadn’t heard her either. 

He gets dressed and then makes his way into the living room, which consists of a couch and a table and nothing else. Gaby is sitting on the couch with a book in her hand and her feet up on the table. She stands up when she sees him, asking a question that he still can’t hear. 

He shakes his head. “Can’t hear.”

Gaby nods, holds up a finger. She pulls open the drawer in the table and produces a pen and a pad of paper. 

What happened?

“Explosion.”

Are you hurt?

He shakes his head. 

Are you sure?

“Only sore.”

But you can’t hear.

“It was a big explosion. Biggest I have ever been in. Very loud.”

Gaby nods. I see. Can I do anything to help?

He doesn’t know what. He does not think there is anything to do except wait for his ears to recover. And besides, all he really wants to do is sleep. He hopes that when he wakes up he will have all of his senses again. He hates the imbalance and anxiety of not being able to hear anything. 

“I only want to sleep.”

Gaby nods again. She sets the pad and pen aside and then quite unexpectedly throws her arms around him and pulls him close. 

He is only startled for a second, and then he finds himself relaxing into her embrace. He doesn’t need to be able to hear to understand the words he feels her speak against the side of his head.

I’m glad you’re okay. 

thanks for reading! this was not the best but i am stressed a bit (my own fault bc i am completely incapable of properly managing my time lmao) so this is what i've got. hope you have a good night or whatever time of day it is!

#whumptober2022 #altno.1 #ringing ears #the man from uncle #fic #illya kuryakin #caught in an explosion #i originally wanted to have him lie down w his head on gaby's lap but i think this would be uncomfortable #given illya's size relative to the average couch. but yeah. feel free to add that mental image :) #night!

[sociallyawkwardfoxwriter]

Whumptober Day 26 - Losing Control

“Hey, Leon.”

As he finished the cherry tomato he popped in his mouth, Leon turned away from the salad he was making to give Piers his full attention. “What's up, baby sniper?”

“I'm not that much younger than you.”

“Young enough. Did you need something?”

“I, uh, wanted to talk to you about something. They're both distracted with grilling, so I thought now would be a good time if that works for you.”

“Why do you sound so nervous? I don't think I've heard you talk to me like this since you got over the whole agent married to your captain thing.”

“It's... personal. I'll understand if you don't want to talk about it, but I just need to talk to someone that understands.”

“Understands what?”

“What it's like to be infected. I've talked to my therapist about it, but they can't understand like you can. The feeling of it. I dream about it all the time. I wake up Jake all the time with my night terrors. He asks if I want to talk about it, and I do. It's just... I don't think he'll really understand, not like you. That's what I need. Someone else that's been through it.”

“I've talked to Chris about it before.” His fingers anxiously fiddled with the salad tossers that were still within reach. “He's been part of this since the beginning. The things he's seen these viruses do... But you're right. He's never been infected. He doesn't have that experience. It's not the same.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“Poorly.”

“You're dealing with it better than I am.”

“That doesn't mean I'm handling it well. You have a therapist. I've never had a therapist, unless you count the government assigned ones that they only provide to clear me for duty, which I don't. In my mind, you're dealing with it better than me. I've just been forced to deal with it long enough that I function.”

“Do you still have nightmares about it?”

With a heavy sigh, Leon turned away from Piers to finish making the salad while they spoke. “I have nightmares about a lot of things. Racoon City, losing Chris, being stuck doing this the rest of my life. That is a nightmare in a pile of nightmares that never seem to end. I don't think it will ever go away, or any of the others.”

“Has it gotten easier?”

“There are days that are easier than others, but there's always something new. There's always a nightmare, and the missions don't help. Chris has a close call with an infection, and he just brushes it off. It's happened a million times before. What's one more?”

“And you?”

“Last week, I woke up screaming every night.” His fingers tightened on salad tossers as his vision tunneled and blurred. “It's not the pain of being infected that sticks with you. It's losing control. I've spent so much time training my body to maintain control in all the shit we get thrown into. Being infected takes all of that away. It turns your body against you. Turns your mind against you. It takes everything from you.”

“Leon?”

The gentle press of fingers against his hands slowly pried away the salad tossers and set them in the bowl. He felt the sensation of his body being led away from the counter, then the unexpected feeling of a cool breeze blowing. It took a few blinks for his vision to return to normal and to regain control of his body. With a heavy sigh, he leaned into Piers's warmth as he focused on calming down.

When he felt stable enough to stand without support, he straightened up from leaning against Piers. “Did that help answer your questions?”

“I understand why Jake gets so worried now.”

“Do that often?”

“He found me standing at the stove staring at a pot that was boiling over.” Piers released a low, hollow laugh that sounded all too familiar to Leon's ears. “He thought he was going to have to rush me to the hospital. He was sure I got burned. We've agreed that I don't cook without someone there.”

“Smart. The last thing you need are third degree burns from making mac and cheese.”

“Why would I be making mac and cheese?”

“Why not? It's quick and easy and it tastes good. I can make you some.”

“There's no need for that. Are you okay?”

“This isn't my first rodeo.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

The firm expression on Piers's face reminded him so much of Chris that he couldn't stop the fond smile that tugged the corner of his lips up. “I'm fine. If it was bad, you would know. It just throws me off for a bit. Nothing I can't handle.”

“Did they used to be worse?”

“Yes, and no. Even now, I get some that it takes Chris hours to help me out of, or I'll wake up in the middle of the night and lie there like that for hours until I come back. But, it's not all of them. Some pass quickly.”

“How do you get out of it?” There was more than curiosity in Piers's eyes as he spoke-it was almost desperation. “It's like you said. The worst thing about getting infected was losing control. When the memories cause that to happen, it's like I'm losing control all over again and there's nothing I can do about it.”

“I don't know what will help you. For me, it was having Chris around. He would just talk and hold me and make sure I knew he was there. Overtime, it got easier for me to focus on that. It's like he anchors me when I start to lose control.”

“Jake tries. He always tries, but it just... I want to. I want to talk to him. I want him to make me feel better like he normally does. It's like I'm a stranger in my own body. I can't do anything.”

He placed a comforting hand on Piers's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “It takes time. There's nothing you can do to force it. You'll get there. I'm sure you'll get there faster than me.”

“If... if it happens, can I call you?”

“Of course. You've got my number and Chris's. I'll answer if I can.”

“Thanks, Leon.”

“You're welcome. Now, back to the kitchen, baby sniper. We still have sides to finish.”

“Ten years.”

“Baby sniper.”

#whumptober2021 #altno. 1 #losing control #resident evil #fanfic #panic attacks #dissociation #chreon #piers/jake #leon s kennedy #piers nivans #emotional hurt/comfort

[theundercovermarvelfan]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 19

Whumtober Challenge @whumptober2020

Day 19  Alternate Prompt #1 Punctured

“Clint, report! Are you okay?!” There was a note of panic in Steve’s tone over the comm. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Clint gasped.  “Not the first time I’ve been thrown through a window. Just give me a minute.”

“You know that you don’t build up an immunity the more you get thrown through windows, right Barton?” Tony asked dryly.

Clint snorted, but didn’t bother answering. He lay his head back carefully and took several deep breaths. His whole body hurt and he glanced down at a few shallow cuts from the broken glass, but they weren’t too severe. He had managed to protect his head, so though the wind was knocked out of him he seemed to have avoided a concussion. All in all, it looked like he had gotten lucky when that hostile had thrown him through that window. 

He placed one hand on the ground and went to push himself back up into a sitting position… and a raw cry of agony tore it’s way up this throat. It happened so suddenly that it took Clint’s brain a long moment to really comprehend what was happening, the pain actually hitting him a moment after the involuntary scream. 

“Clint?” Natasha demanded. 

“On second thought…” Clint ground out as he twisted to look down at his side. His stomach clenched as he spotted the jagged piece of glass roughly the width of his hand buried who knew how deep into his side just above his hip. “Maybe I could… use some help…” 

“I’m on my way,” Natasha said immediately. 

Clint swallowed thickly as he rode out the waves of pain that were now ripping through him. He sucked in air, but it seemed like it was never enough and soon he was panting and sweating as his vision swam around him. 

Was this what dying felt like? 

“Clint!” Natasha gasped as she finally appeared in his field of vision, dropping carefully to her knees next to him as her gaze swept over him, looking desperately for what was wrong. 

“My side,” Clint murmured, his hand going to where the shard of glass was sticking out of his body.

Natasha visibly paled at the sight. That wasn’t comforting. Natasha had a strong stomach and wasn’t easily scared. But for just a moment before she seemed to remember herself and blank her features… she looked absolutely terrified. 

“We need med evac, right now,” Natasha said tensely into her comm., her hands hovering unsurely over the wound. “Bruce, can you pinpoint our position and bring the Quinjet around?” 

“Um, Natasha, flying this thing is not my strong suit…” Bruce pointed out slowly. 

“I can fly Legolas to the jet,” Tony pointed out.

“No!” Natasha snapped. As Clint looked at her, he wondered why her hair looked so much brighter all of a sudden. And her face kept blurring in and out of focus. “We need to move him as little as possible.”

“I’ll get to the jet and fly it over,” Steve said. “How bad is it?”

Natasha’s eyes shifted up to Clint’s face. He was sucking in labored breaths, but he suddenly felt so tired. He blinked heavily as a shiver ran through his body. Why was it so cold? And why was it getting so dark?

He was fading away. It felt like he was floating outside of his body, leaving the pain and panic behind. Just before he lost all consciousness though, he heard Natasha’s voice floating to him as if from a great distance. 

“It’s bad.”

XxXxX

The first thing he was aware of was the annoying beeping of a heart monitor. He winced as the noise seemed to drill into his skull. 

“You with us, Clint?”

Clint squinted his eyes open, grimacing at the painfully bright light of the hospital room. He glanced around. The entire team was packed into the small room, all staring down at him. It felt a bit strange, but also comforting to have his team here with him. 

“Wha’ ‘appened?” Clint rasped through an oxygen mask. 

“You scared the shit out of us, that’s what happened,” Natasha said with a small, strained laugh from where she sat perched on his bedside. 

“My bad,” Clint murmured with a light laugh, his eyes already feeling heavy again. 

“Get some rest, Clint.” He wasn’t completely sure who said it as he was fading away again. 

They would never admit to him how close he had come to dying that day. They would never tell him about the desperate favors that Tony had called in, about the dangerously experimental procedures they had performed in order to bring him back from the brink. They would never tell him that under normal circumstances there was no way that he would have survived. 

But the Avengers would never let him go that easily. 

#whumptober2020 #altno. 1 #punctured #Avengers #MCU #fic #blood tw #stabbed tw #near death tw #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #Black Widow #tony stark #Iron Man #Steve Rogers #captain america #bruce banner #hulk #fanfiction #whump

[newbie-whumping]

Whumptober Alternative 1

Prompt: punctured

The second the pellets surround him, he knows he's doomed. Asgore is much too injured to survive even the smallest of attacks. The child in front of him looks shocked as the pellets swiftly close in, cutting through him like paper.

#whumptober2020 #altno. 1 #punctured #Asgore #undertale #fic #drabble #tw: death #whump #whumptober #whump prompts #whumptober prompts #whump responses #whumptober responses #whumptober alternative 1 #whumptober alternative one #timeline: unaffiliated

[xionthedragonart]

Day 1 of Whumptober: Shaky Hands (and the alternative prompt “Wake up” cause it fits)

I just had to start the month off with a bang, and I’ve been told that this is a very sad comic. So that’s pretty good in my book. It’s up to you if you think Mic lived or not after the events of this. 

I’m going to try to do all of Whumptober this month, so we’ll see where that takes me. 

#whumptober2019 #no. 1 #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #present mic #eraserhead #erasermic #bnha #altno. 1 #blood

[slashyrogue]

Whumptober Day 30: "Wake Up!”

The glass missed him by an inch when it was thrown and Hannibal heard it shatter against the refridgerator door. 

“Are you through?” 

Will’s hands were covered in blood as he let out short breaths that seemed to echo in the room around them. “No.” 

Hannibal didn’t move. “We have plenty of glasses, or even a vase.” 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” 

He steeled himself for Will’s anger. Perhaps this time he’d stab him succesfully, or even grab a fork. The scar from the last attack was still fresh on his skin. 

“No, I do not. I am running out of patience for your petulant outbusts. If you wish to tell me what you’re feeling do not hesitate.” 

“This is a joke,” Will laughed, “This whole thing is a joke. You’ve got me locked in this fantasy house that looks WAY too much like your old one. You bought me clothes, pretend I’m going to magically become your fantasy murder husband and yet all I want is to get away.” 

“If that is what you want then why have you done nothing but attack me instead of the windows?” 

Will glared at him. “WE WERE SUPPOSED TO DIE!” 

Hannibal stepped forward slowly, careful in case Will threw something else, and stopped just inches from him. He admired the way Will’s eyes seemed to shine in the sunlight as it streamed from the windows. 

“And yet we did not. I spent weeks taking care of you at your bedside. I wished for you to wake and was more than happy when I saw your eyes open again. But instead of gratitude you have been nothing but a child. Go, Will. Go home to your wife, tell her you murdered a man and loved every minute of it. Tell her how much you want to feel it again. Tell her....” 

Will grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed him against the kitchen counter. The blood that dripped from his hands was coming too fast and Hannibal knew he was at risk but did nothing. 

“Wake up!,” Will hissed, his eyes shining with tears, “I’m not yours.” 

Hannibal smiled. “Keep telling yourself that, Will. I’m sure it makes you sleep better at night.” 

They stared at each other for what felt like ages before Will let him go. Hannibal saw all the fight go out of him and led them to the bathroom where he patched up the cuts on Will’s hands. He wrapped them both slowly in gauze and looked up into his eyes. 

“I love you still,” he whispered, “Despite your denial. I look forward to the day you finally give in. My bed is cold without you.” 

He left Will alone in the bathroom to ponder his words. 

It would be soon, he knew. 

But the wait would be worth the pain they both had to go through in the meantime. 

#whumptober2019 #altno. 1 #wake up #hannigram #season four

[splat-dragon]

@whumptober2019​ @badthingshappenbingo​

Whumptober 2019, Alternate Prompt #1: "Wake Up!" Bad Things Happen Bingo: "Fighting From The Inside"

Micah had practically delivered Morgan into their hands, had all-but delivered him to them on a silver platter, and they had still managed to mess up. Had managed to let him escape, get away, get back to camp.

But he was sick. Helpless. Weak.

And you know what they say. 'If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.'

Micah couldn’t believe it.

He’d practically delivered Morgan into those O’Driscoll’s hands, and still, they hadn’t managed to kill him!

It had taken some work, too. Getting Pearson to go into town when he knew those O’Driscoll boys would be there. But the man was a damn fool, and in the end it had all worked perfectly. Morgan had gone up on that cliff, where that carcass was, scaring away the vulture and signalling to the O’Driscolls that he was there.

And they’d gotten him, too. That’s what got Micah.

If they hadn’t been able to capture him, he’d have been angry, sure. But it was understandable. He was a strong man, Micah couldn’t deny it. And when cornered, as he would have been, he could fight as good as any wildcat.

But they had captured him, taking him back to one of their camps. Had even shot him, managed to keep him captive for days. When he’d come back, he’d been messed up to all hell, starved and beaten and septic, but they hadn’t been able to kill him, had even failed to keep him captive!

If you want something done right, he decided, you have to do it yourself.

When Arthur had failed to wake up after the first night, his fever spiking despite Hosea and Grimshaw and Reverend and Strauss’ best efforts, they’d taken up a vigil. No one wanted to leave him alone in case he took a turn for a worse, and would spend their turn on the rotation laying wet rags on his forehead and coaxing water down his throat to try and replace what he sweated out.

It was pathetic, if you asked Micah. Morgan was a burden, and should be cut loose. Left to suffer alone, or die. If you needed someone else to take care of you, then you were too weak to run with his gang.

But it wasn’t his gang yet, it was Van Der Linde’s, and so he had to obey, had to pretend to be concerned over Morgan (but not too concerned, of course, if he acted too concerned they’d be alarmed by his change in personality), as he bided his time.

And his time came.

He’d been sitting by the fire, keeping an eye on Morgan’s tent. It had been three days since he’d staggered in and, while he wasn’t doing much better, he hadn’t gotten worse. He’d woken up, once or twice, slurring nonsense, shaking and trembling and trying to get away from whoever was sitting by his tent, only settled when Reverend pumped another dose of morphine in his arm to sedate him.

It was MacGuire’s turn on the rotation, and while he and Morgan were pretty close, Micah knew that MacGuire was an awful guard. He couldn’t sit still to save his life, couldn’t read to pass the time, would be bored to near tears without someone to talk to.

So it was only a matter of time until he cracked, walked out to ‘piss’ and take a long, long breather.

And by the time MacGuire would come back, Micah would be back by the campfire as though he’d never left. 

And he was right. MacGuire had only been on shift for an hour (and he’d seen him walk off to piss before going inside), excusing himself to take a piss. Micah had waited a few minutes, until MacGuire should have been back, and then some, before standing from the fire, looking around to make sure no one was watching him.

They weren’t—it was late at night, so only a handful were awake. Dutch, probably planning in his tent (and some part of Micah stung that he hadn’t been summoned for it, although it did work for his own plans), Smith off on guard, Macguire somewhere in the woods, or maybe snuck off to his tent.

So, stepping lightly, he approached Morgan’s tent. The flaps had been closed towards the campfire, left open towards the lake to let in the cool breeze that came off the water into his tent, hoping that it would help lower his fever. He slipped inside, eyes already adjusted to the dark, taking a look around and nodding when he saw that no one would be able to make out his shadow inside the tent, the only source of light a lamp that flickered, given so little fuel that it threatened to go out.

The air reeked of sickness, of rot and disease, and it would have made a weaker man’s stomach churn. Morgan’s wheezing breath filled the air, the sound incredibly satisfying, and the faint light from the lantern illuminated the pained lines on his face.

There was a pillow near the chair, left there for Matthews when he sat vigil, worrying over his ‘son’ (he curled his lip at the thought), and he picked it up, tossing it from hand to hand. Yes, this would work. And no one would be able to tell, would think he’d just stopped breathing.

He approached Morgan, unable to help but to grin at the sight of him. Oh, even in sleep he looked in pain. His brow was furrowed, hair matted with sweat and dirt and who-knew-what-else, Grimshaw and Matthews had tried to wash it as best they could but there was still blood in it, face flushed with his nasty fever and mouth hanging open slightly, panting for breath.

‘Well,’ Bell thought, ‘he won’t have to fight much longer.’

He brought the pillow up, bringing it up to Morgan’s face, only to pause.

Oh, he wanted to look him in his eyes as he died, watch the light fade from those horrid blue eyes. Morgan, out of all of them, deserved to die suffering. Not in his sleep, fading away as his heart stopped.

Bringing his hand up to hover it over his mouth in case he yelled, though he doubted he could with how weak he was, he set the pillow down beside Morgan and slammed the heel of his palm down on his bandaged shoulder as hard as he could. “Wake up, Morgan!”

The reaction was immediate.

Morgan’s eyes snapped open, glazed with pain or fever or morphine or some mix of the three, arching up—or, at least, trying to, only managing to barely twitch. He cried out in pain as best he could, but Micah didn’t even have to cover his mouth, the sound barely even a wheeze, a frog’s croak from low, low in his chest.

“Wakey wakey Morgan,” Micah grinned, taking in the alarm on Morgan’s face as he saw him looming over him, cloaked in shadows and haloed by the slight amount of light given off by the lantern. His face had crumpled with pain, no longer numbed by sleep, crashing over him in waves of agony, and he croaked as he tried to speak, to demand of Micah what he wanted.

Micah didn’t stop, didn’t wait for any pretty words, instead pressed slowly down on his shoulder, watching him gasp, squirming weakly like a fish on a hook, helpless to do anything but struggle, before pressing the pillow down on his lower face, making sure to cover his mouth and nose, leaving his eyes bare so he could see them.

They were clearing, still hazy with pain but his pupils were no longer blown wide, instead shrunken into tiny pin-pricks by pain. His arms twitched—no, arm, the one with the worst of the infection was limp, useless—as he desperately fought against his own body, weak from illness, starvation and dehydration, to grasp the pillow and shove it away, to turn his head to the side and catch a breath he so desperately needed, but Micah had him thoroughly pinned, and he was so weak, all he could do was twitch, adrenaline thrumming through his veins, heart thrumming in his ears.

Micah grinned, pressing harder, shoving down and hearing his nose break, the man grunting, right hand clenching in the sheets. Oh, seeing Morgan so weak, at his mercy beneath him… if only it were Van Der Linde.

There would be time for that later, though, so he hummed, watching Morgan twitch beneath him, wild-eyed as he desperately tried to breathe, the rough fabric of the pillow scratching his face, smearing blood that Micah realized he’d have to wipe up before walking out, and the sound of shattered cartilage moving around was loud in his ears. Morgan’s breathing was rasping against the pillow, and he pressed down harder, making sure he wasn’t getting any air, that his desperate attempts to breathe were just that: attempts.

The power he had over this strong, monster of a man, the Van Der Linde Gang’s infamous enforcer, the workhorse, the muscle, had excitement racing in his veins, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a nasty grin, and Arthur was sure he’d never be able to unsee it for as long as he lived, however long that may be.

Morgan’s struggles, as weak as they were, were weakening, the lack of oxygen going to his brain. The veins in his eyes were bursting, going bloodshot, and despite his best attempts to look Micah in the eye they were beginning to drift shut, black gathering at the corners of his vision, warping and fading, Bell’s face turning into something truly inhuman as his vision faded out, twisted in an expression of excitement and hatred.

Where… where was everyone? He hadn’t been too lucid in… how long had it been since he’d escaped? He didn’t know, but he knew it had been some time, from the few seconds he would wake up, be aware of his surroundings, of someone sitting nearby him, or coaxing him to drink water, laying a wet rag on his head.

Where… where were they?

He tried to call out, in the end, he did. But he didn’t have the air, or the energy, and the pillow was covering his mouth and muffling the grunts and wheezes he managed to make. Even if he had had all the air in the world, wasn’t being smothered under a pillow, he wouldn’t have been able to, was too weak to speak in anything more than a whisper. ‘Hosea… Dutch… Charles… Javier… Susan… please help me!’

Morgan went limp beneath him, but Micah knew not to let up, that the man was only unconscious, as his eyes went shut and stayed that way. He held the pillow over his face still, much easier now that Morgan wasn’t trying to turn his head, bracing himself on the one hand, reaching over with his other to press his fingers against his pulse point, feeling his heartbeat flutter like a butterfly trapped in his hand, leaning the majority of his weight down on the pillow, counting off one minute, two, as the pulse weakened and slowed until, finally, it stuttered to a stop.

He counted off, again, one minute, then two, before slowly pulling the pillow off. Micah pressed, feeling for Morgan’s pulse, before looking to his chest, making sure it wasn’t moving. He spat on his fingers before holding them under his nose, counting off another minute before pulling them away when he didn’t feel any air cool them.

Arthur Morgan, he grinned, was dead.

Now, though, he had to clean up the scene. Make sure it looked like he had finally perished from the infection, stopped breathing in his sleep.

So he cleaned the blood from his face as best he could with a dry handkerchief, knowing better than to wet it, knowing that it would speed up the decomposition. Pried his fingers from where they were twisted in the blanket, laid them out at his sides, stepping back to make sure it didn’t look like there’d been any sort of struggle.

Forgetting about the blood on the underside of the pillow, he set it back where he found it, before sticking his head out from the tent, looking around before slinking back to the campfire, grabbing a beer as he went and humming cheerfully.

Sean MacGuire returned to the tent just before his shift ended, flopping down on the chair just before Hosea stepped inside to sit by his son’s bedside. They had started the rotations so Hosea would get some rest, but by the black bags under his eyes and the paper-like color of his skin, it was clear they hadn’t been successful. He nodded his head at Sean, who vacated the seat so Hosea could take his turn, grabbing the pillow off the floor and tossing it onto the chair before slumping down onto it, dropping his head into his hands, sighing wearily.

How had this happened? How had things gone so wrong? How could they have let their boy get so hurt, have to rescue himself?

...why was it so quiet?

Hosea jolted upright, face blanching as he stared at the man lying still—too still—on the cot, eyes locked on his chest as though he could will it back into motion.

#whumptober2019 #altno.1 #altno. 1 #wake up! #bad things happen bingo #badthingshappenbingo #fighting from the inside #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #Red Dead Redemption Spoilers #red dead spoilers #red dead redemption 2 spoilers #arthur #arthur morgan #arthur whump #micah #micah bell #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #cw: suffocation #cw: smothering #cw: graphic depictions of illness #cw: graphic depictions of smothering

[the-ship-sails-itself]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Charmed (TV 2018) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn Characters: Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood, Mel Vera Additional Tags: graphic depictions of injuries, whumptober 2019, Prompt: Wake Up, whumptober 2019 wake up Series: Part 4 of Charmed Reboot Whumptober 2019 Summary:

Whumptober 2019: Day 5 - "Wake up."

🎃🤕😈 HAPPY WHUMPTOBER!!😈🤕🎃

#whumptober2019 #altno. 1 #wake up #hacy #charmed 2018 #charmed reboot

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #769

(In the lead up to whumptober I will be drawing from the alternatives list.)

Losing Control

“Oh god, get away from me!” A, the superpowered character cries. They can feel the power bubbling beneath their skin, threatening to burst forth to endanger those around them. 

After learning some horrible news, A’s emotions are running high, and the nature of their power draws from their own internal fears and anxieties. 

“I- I can’t stop it, please just back off!” Towards the end their voice turns demonic as they cannot stop the energy bursting from their mind. Thei hands are trembling, and so is the ground around them. The light flickers and those in the room evacuate... except B who confidently stands their ground. 

“A, it’s gonna be okay. I’m going to come closer, alright?”

“Back off! I’ll only hurt you!” A screams, “Please, please don’t come any closer - I’m a monster - I’ll only end up killing you and everyone else and- and I can’t stop it- please I'm so scared, just leave-” 

A’s voice catches in their throat as B envelops them in a hug. For the first time, their mind quietens. 

#whump #whumptober2021 #whumptober alternative #ideas #writing #prompts #losing control #angst #emotional whump #fear #worry #superpowers #altno.1

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 21: That's where the blood is supposed to be

Alt Prompt 1 - Losing Control

1865 Words; Naga AU, Tournament of Elements

TW for blood and dehumanization

Skylor waited nervously as the prisoners were brought in.

On a nearby dais Chen’s new pet—the Earth Master, Skylor remembered—shifted slightly, snoozing quietly despite all the noise caused by the cultists.

Skylor wished she could be so detached from the world around her. It must be nice, being a mindless pet.

But she was Chen’s daughter, standing at attention as the prisoners were led in, gut twisting in on itself when she saw Kai in the group.

She glanced away.

“Go ahead and look away,” Kai whispered, “but you know as well as I do after he takes our powers he’s still gonna need yours.”

Skylor tensed. “You don’t understand. My father gets everything he wants.” Boats, cars, food, exotic pets—if Chen wanted it, Chen got it. “I had no choice.”

“Just tell me one thing,” Kai frowned, “Was it his idea to make me fall for you, or yours?” His expression softened. “Because it worked.”

Skylor inhaled sharply.

Oh.

“All rise for Master Chen!” The room came alive with an excited clamor, snapping Skylor back into the here and now.

Right. Her father was going to get his way again.

Amidst all the chaos of Chen’s entrance, no one noticed Cole’s eye open slightly, tracking the man’s movements.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole coiled up under one of the ledges in his terrarium.

He didn’t see why Chen had felt the need to drag him out when all that was happening was Chen getting more power.

Cole huffed. He hadn’t even managed to pick up on anything useful for him. Just Kai being a sap over Chen’s daughter (and oh, if Cole wasn’t going to tease him about that until the end of time—

Well, once Chen was defeated.

If Chen was defeated.)

So Cole coiled up under the ledge where no cameras could see him, thinking over what he had learned.

Kai had an in with Skylor. That was good.

It didn’t help Cole, exactly, but it was still a mark against Chen.

Well, assuming Chen didn’t manipulate Kai into joining his side, which, knowing Kai, was a definite risk—

But Cole would trust Kai. He’d still plot around the possibility of Kai joining Chen’s side, but it was easier to have faith in Kai.

For now, though, plotting was all Cole could do. Plotting and waiting.

He was very good at waiting.

+=+=+=+=+

Kai watched as Lloyd was led down the steps, stumbling every so often as the cultists holding his arms pulled harshly.

Skylor glanced at her father for the umpteenth time, still not convinced that he didn’t somehow already know about her and Kai’s plan to steal the staff.

The cultists were in full revelry, excited for the success of their leader.

Clouse stood placidly to the side, ready to intervene as necessary.

And in the chaos of it all, Cole watched the events of the ceremony disinterestedly, appearing for all the world as though he were asleep on his dais.

Good.

Cole shifted slightly, adjusting his position.

It looked like Kai had shifted to Chen’s side. That, or he was trying to earn Chen’s trust.

Cole would treat it as though Kai was a traitor, then, so as not to blow any potential cover.

Chen took Skylor’s power, first, once again spouting off his “only one can remain” bullshit. Cole resisted the urge to hiss—not because it would be impolite, but because it would give him away.

Chen finished off with his daughter and moved onto Lloyd.

Cole began to feel that focus settling in, that familiar feeling of knowing that the time to strike was soon.

He tensed up, ready to lunge at a moment’s notice.

Chen stole Lloyd’s power, raising the staff in triumph. The cultists began chanting in earnest as Chen turned around to address them, Clouse starting the incantation.

Skylor moved to stand beside her father—

Now!

Cole lunged.

+=+=+=+=+

Kai had been on pins and needles waiting for the right moment to move, every bone in his body itching to grab the staff.

What he hadn’t expected, however, was the sudden movement from Cole’s dais just as Skylor moved to stand next to Chen. Faster than the eye could blink, Cole slammed into Chen, tail lashing out wildly.

Kai slammed into the ground, knocked over by Cole’s tail, and took a moment to get back up.

When he saw what had knocked him down, he gasped.

+=+=+=+=+

Skylor thumped to the ground in front of the platform, wind knocked out of her as several thousand pounds of scale and muscle moving at speed shoulder-checked her to the side.

The unexpected assault meant the wind was knocked clean out of her. Thus, it took Skylor a few moments to get back up.

She wasn’t expecting what she saw.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole lunged, fast as a whip, right at Chen. The chain connecting his collar to the dais snapped immediately, doing absolutely nothing to slow Cole down. He made sure to sweep Kai’s legs and shove Skylor to the side as he went, relying on the surprise of his sudden burst into motion to protect him from retaliation.

He didn’t have much of a plan beyond “get the staff”, so that was exactly what he did as he slammed Chen to the ground, ripping the staff from the man’s grip before twisting away, off the platform.

Clouse was the first to react, Cole’s charge only forcing him to stumble back before he recovered himself. Immediately the magic in his hands changed track.

But Cole was just as fast. Whipping around, he gripped the staff and fired the first element that came to mind at the sorcerer, freezing Clouse solid and knocking him off the platform.

The cultists recovered from their shock, then, moving to try and rush Cole.

So Cole shocked them, the lightning zapping through the entire crowd.

Holding the staff, Cole reared up to his full height, tail coiling around himself in case he needed to launch somewhere.

For a moment, nobody moved.

And then Kai gasped, standing up. He moved to go to Cole—

Cole brandished the staff at him. “Free Lloyd.” He demanded, glad when Kai complied.

“Cole!” Lloyd stood the moment the chains were off, “Destroy the staff! It’ll return everyone’s powers!”

“Now now,” Chen crooned, standing between Cole and Lloyd, “We wouldn’t want to do that, would we?” He extended a hand towards Cole.

Cole hissed, brandishing the staff towards Chen.

“Give me back my staff, pet.” Chen demanded, taking a step forward.

Cole tensed, gripping the staff tighter to hide the way his hands trembled.

“Come now,” Chen hissed, voice dropping into an authoritative tone, “Powerful staffs are not meant to be wielded by pets.” He took another cautious step forwards, noting with satisfaction how Cole moved just the slightest bit backwards. “And that’s what you are, aren’t you?”

Cole hissed. “Shut up.”

His voice sounded awfully small.

Skylor stood up and moved to where Kai and Lloyd were standing.

“That’s all you’ll ever be,” Chen snarled, “A pretty, exotic bauble for the more powerful to show off.” He scoffed. “That staff is meant to be in more deserving hands.” He stepped forwards, reaching for said staff, “You’re not even a person!”

Chen’s face softened again, insincere sweetness in his voice, “So give me back my staff, Pet.” He crooned, “Give back Master’s staff.”

“Shut up!” Cole slammed the butt of the staff on the ground, a fierce ring of fire flaring in a circle around him.

His shoulders heaved. His hands trembled.

Slowly, much more shakily than before, Cole pointed the staff towards Chen. “I am not my grandfather.” he hissed, “And I am not your pet.”

+=+=+=+=+

Kai winced, the urge to punch Chen growing with every vile word that bastard spat at Cole.

But where Chen’s words were making Kai bristle with anger and Lloyd shake with fury, they were having a much different effect on Cole.

Cole had shrunk down, now, shoulders hunched. His eyes darted around the room wildly, his grip on the staff too tight.

Skylor got up from where she’d been knocked down and moved to stand next to Kai.

Kai turned to her, question in his eyes—

She nodded.

“Hey fuckface!”

Chen turned around, but Kai was already in motion, smacking into the old man.

But Cole had noticed something the group on the platform hadn’t, and reacted. “Look out!”

The earth of the platform shifted violently, knocking Lloyd and Skylor and Kai and Chen to the side.

Just in time, too, as the wall above burst, the giant snake head crashing down onto the platform, a… roto jet bursting into the room.

The chamber quickly devolved into chaos after that.

+=+=+=+=+

Kai grumbled as he stood, not entirely sure why Cole had felt the need to knock him over like that.

A roto jet passed overhead, drawing Kai’s attention to the giant stone snake head where he had been only moments before.

Ah. That would explain it.

With a yell, Kai moved to join the fray, Chen forgotten.

+=+=+=+=+

Chen didn’t have the staff anymore.

But he did have knives.

Cole’s distraction in saving the others was enough. It had knocked Ray’s brat off of him, freeing Chen to act.

His hand flicked out, sending one of his lovely little hidden blades flying towards his very pretty—but very naughty—pet.

The blade hit true, the sudden knife in Cole’s side forcing him to drop the staff as he cried out.

Chen hated to damage his pet, but sometimes sacrifices were necessary. And it wasn’t like Chen had used his poisoned blades! The mild paralytic would only leave his pet immobilized for a bit, no real harm done once the medics got involved.

Chen threw another knife towards Cole’s tail to keep him occupied and moved to grab the staff back.

Cole saw the movement and thrashed, knocking the staff away from Chen. The movement agitated his wounds, however, resulting in him falling to the floor as blood dripped from around the blades.

Chen ran for the staff, forgetting the naga on the floor and tripping over Cole’s tail.

Cole rolled, movement slowed by the pain of his wounds. Expecting that he’d be moving quite a bit, Cole yanked the knives out and threw them to the side, not caring where they landed.

Chen was stumbling back to his feet.

Cole twisted harshly, wounded side protesting, the movement knocking Chen back down.

With a hiss of pain, Cole pushed himself up.

He needed to get that staff.

But Chen was also standing, or at least trying to, and Cole was finding it harder to move.

But while Chen and Cole had been struggling, Lloyd had spotted the staff.

With a yell, Lloyd grabbed the staff, picking it up and shattering it against the ground instantly.

Power flowed back into the elemental masters, the tide of the already lopsided battle turning further in their favor.

Power also flowed back into Cole, but it did nothing to stop the numbing agent in his system from immobilizing him.

He collapsed to the floor with a soft thump.

Chen grabbed Cole’s arm, squeezing it harshly.

“Come along pet,” he crooned.

“Let’s get you away from this mess.”

#whumptober2021 #altno.1 #losing control #ninjago #lego ninjago #zaz writes #blood #dehumanizing language #cole ninjago #master chen #skylor chen #kai ninjago #lloyd garmadon #naga au #there's not enough cole whump in this sad sad world #cole has spent a good chunk of time being dehumanized up to this point #so chen's words are hitting a sore spot #cole normally wouldn't fall apart but again #✨trauma✨ #also damn chen really out here kidnapping cole instead of skylor #tbf cole is easy pickings right now #yeah he's heavy and long but like #chen has a sorcerer #also having that be the ending felt fitting #cole took control of the situation #only for it to end with him being dragged away against his will

[mshermia]

The Family Business (part VII): No. 12 - It'll be fun they said

summary: Tony is trying to come to terms with the fact that his son is Spider-Man.

Or: In part VII, Spiderson Peter is not healing as well and as fast as he wants to.

Whumptober No. 12 - It'll be fun they said

torture | made to watch | begging

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI

read on AO3

###

"Just take a breath, will you?" Natasha had her hands up like it was supposed to calm him down.

"Don't fucking tell me to fucking breathe," Tony hissed through his teeth. "Did you know?"

"Tony..."

"Don't fucking 'Tony' me right now, Natasha. Did you fucking know that... that my kid... that he..."

He couldn't say it. The words refused to roll off his tongue.

"No!" She groaned like he was being unreasonable. Like he didn't have every right to demand answers. "The possibility might have crossed my mind before, judging by his movements, his posture and—"

"Are you trying to tell me that it seemed likely to you that my 14-year-old son was risking his neck without any protection, any back up? That he was out there fucking... swinging through the city after criminals and you didn't say anything?"

"Alright, stop..." Steve's hands were on both of his shoulders, turning him away from Natasha. "Just take a breath, Tony."

But his heart was beating in his throat. It felt like the very next breath was going to choke him.

The common room was empty save for them. The others had retired to their rooms or were still in the city, who knew. It wasn't something he had any energy to inquire about right now.

Steve squeezed his shoulders, looking to meet Tony's eyes. "I know you're scared for Peter. We all know that and we all understand."

With a huff, Tony pushed off his hands. "If you all understand, then why did she never tell me about this, huh?"

"Tony, I didn't know." Natasha's shoulders slackened as she blew out a long breath. "It seemed very unlikely that it could be Peter. The possibility was just so minimal—"

"But you suspected that my kid is a vigilante and didn't say a fucking thing to me?"

"It was just a hunch. I didn't know. I didn't think it—"

"No, you didn't think, did you," he hissed. One hand pulling at his hair, almost like the pain could distract him from the nightmare he had slithered into, Tony turned away from her, from both of them.

With a deep sigh, Steve stayed next to him. "We'll figure this out."

Figure it out. How? What was there to figure out? His little boy had... whatever had happened to him, it had been something dramatic. Something crazy and insane and Tony hadn't had a clue.

How was this happening to them?

"It'll be fine, Tony." The softness in her voice just riled him up more. "He'll be okay."

"You don't know that..." He rubbed at his eyes but they were burning all the same.

"Well, we'll make sure he is." Steve was hovering next to him. "We'll find out what happened. And... and when, I guess."

When... How hadn't he even thought about this? How long had Peter had these... abilities? Spider-Man - and he shuddered at the thought that they were one and the same - had been out there for over 6 months. How long had his son been hiding something this crucial from him?

"I know this all seems insane..." Steve's hand had pulled him back, turned him back around so they were facing one another. "...but if anyone can figure this out it's us, okay? Peter has the very best support system anyone could ask for."

The best he could ask for. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But Peter’d had months and not once he had come to Tony, to any of them if they were indeed telling the truth. Not once.

His eyes burned as he looked up at Steve. "What good is a support system to someone who doesn't want any help?"

"Boss, Doctor Cho is going to do a check up on Peter any moment now. Miss Potts has asked me to inform you in case you would want to be in the room for it."  

He pulled himself away from them. What was the point? What was the point in any of this?

His steps echoed off the walls. Only his steps, neither of them was trying to follow him. Thank god for small mercies.

The need to see Peter was burning under his skin, boiling hot. His pulse was still rushing in his ears as he pushed into the room. Pepper was sitting in the chair right next to Peter's bed, her hands clutching one of Peter's, Rhodey stood right behind her. He had his arms crossed, his face solemn. While Pepper never took her eyes off Peter, Rhodey did turn towards him, the ghost of a tense smile on his lips as Tony rushed into the room.

On the other side of the bed, Helen had pulled back the covers enough to expose Peter's torso. The button-up shirt was open, the skin underneath pasty white hardly distinguishable from the bandage that was wrapped around his abdomen.

Peter was lying back, his eyes on the ceiling. He hadn't even looked up as Tony had come into the room or as the door had fallen shut behind him. Only the way his chin was wobbling with suppressed emotions laid bare that he knew that it had to be Tony who had waltzed into the room.

What was it that he had done? When had he lost his kid's confidence?

Pepper scooched a little closer, the worry on her face just as deep as it had been when she had first arrived. Helen too leaned forward, a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"It's alright, sweetie. You don't have to be scared."

With a few fast steps, Tony was by Pepper's side. Rhodey had brushed past him to make space, keeping to the back of the room. One hand on the small of Pepper's back, Tony's other twitched towards his son but he hesitated. Peter's chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths, fast breaths too.

"Alright, alright..." Helen looked up from Peter to Tony and back as she patted Peter's shoulder. She seemed calm, collected. At least it was an improvement to the vibe in the operating room at the Tower. "We'll just have a quick look underneath the dressing and then do an ultrasound. Nothing to worry about at all. Your mom and your dad are here for you, okay?"

Tony swallowed hard. Pepper was clasping Peter's hand so he squeezed his lower arm instead. With a light shudder, Peter's head shot up, wet eyes right on him.

"It's alright, buddy..." His skin felt cold underneath Tony's fingers. The color of his face looked a little greyish. "Kid..." Tony shook his head, placing his other hand on Peter's forehead. He wasn't hot, not running a fever. It was cold sweat. "What's wrong?"

"You don't have to be nervous, buddy." Rhodey's voice was soft, normal really. Like this was the most normal thing in the world. It was supposed to be soothing, probably, but it only drove Tony's nerves up the wall.

"Pete, hey..." Tony's hand slid down to his cheek, trying to make sure that Peter wouldn't look away even though he hadn't tried to. Not this time. "Do you feel sick? Are you..." With a heavy breath, he looked over at Helen instead. "What's happening?"

Helen's eyebrows were furrowed. "Just breathe, Peter..." Her hand was still on his shoulder as she turned towards the monitors next to Peter's bed. "I know you're nervous, but you have to tell us if something feels off, okay?"

"'m fine..." The words were quiet, mumbled. The most telling sign was that he looked away before he said it.

"Kid..." Tony pushed out a sigh. His teeth bit down hard on the inside of his cheeks. When had his kid become this comfortable lying to him?

"I'm..." His head firmly in Tony's grasp, he couldn't turn away but his eyes glanced towards Pepper before they blinked down. "It's nothing..."

"Hey, look at me." It was a struggle to keep own tone soft. "It's not nothing. You're not fine, bud. You're not. Tell me what's wrong."

There were teardrops on his lashes, his chin trembling. His left hand, the one Pepper wasn't holding, was buried in the sheets, grasping them tightly. His whole body seemed strained, tense. He wasn't okay.

Realization came to Tony too quickly.

"You're in pain, aren't you?" Tony's thumb rubbed across his temple.

With an almost inaudible whine, Peter's eyes fluttered shut, tears dropping to his cheeks. "It's... it's fine. I can... I can deal with it."

"Absolutely not," Tony grunted through gritted teeth. "Helen?"

Right away, Pepper leaned closer, the emotion in her voice thick. "Sweetheart, why didn't you say so?" Her breath was trembling. "We're here to help, honey. We're right here."

It took only moments for Helen to retrieve the pain meds from the nearby tray.

"Dad... Daddy... please..." Peter had pulled his left arm close, away from Helen, grabbing onto Tony's sleeve instead. "Please, I don't want it."

The words hit him like daggers. Why? Why would he choose to stay in pain? Why wouldn't he take his help, even now?

"Shh, it's okay." It took all of Tony's energy to keep a lid on his over-boiling agitation. "You don't want to be in pain. This will help."

"Please... Dad, please, I don't want it..." Peter's eyes shifted to the side, eyeing Helen with dread. "It... it's weird. It... I'll heal... I'll heal so fast, I promise... I don't... I don't want it..."

"Buddy..."

Words failed Tony as his emotions were spiraling. Pepper was muffling the quiet sobs spilling from her lips with one hand, the other one was still clasping Peter's. With another quick motion, Helen didn't hesitate and put the syringe down on the table next to Peter's bed.

"Okay, let's all calm down, hm?" The smile on her face seemed practiced but not misplaced. "Peter, can you look at me?"

Tony's hand slid off his face. He placed it on Pepper's back instead. His other hand was on Peter's shoulder. The thought of letting go of him made his stomach turn. Patiently, Helen waited until Peter had turned just enough to truly look at her. The smile was still on her lips, balanced with the thoughtful frown on her forehead.

"Peter, your injuries were quite severe. You know that, right? You remember what happened?"

His chin was still trembling but he nodded.

"Alright." Helen nodded at him. "Can you tell me what you remember?"

In an instant, Peter's face fell. His eyes shifted back to Pepper and Tony if only for a short moment before he lowered them down to his sheets.

With a sense of patience Tony was miles away from, Helen continued. "I need to know that you understand the severity of the situation, Peter. I understand that you want to refuse treatment at this point. If you..." She sighed but her eyes never left Peter's face. "If you want to talk about it without anyone else in the room, your parents could—"

"No!" The words had rolled off his tongue before he could stop himself. Loud. Sharp. Desperation swinging in every syllable. But truth be told, no... he wouldn't have stopped his tongue even if he'd had that kind of control over his instincts.

All eyes were on him, all except Peter's.

"No," he repeated, a little bit calmer, feigning collectedness. "We're not leaving."

"Tony..." Rhodey's arm was on his shoulder, trying to pull him back gently. Did they in all seriousness think he'd leave Peter's side now?

"You heard what I said." His voice came out quieter than he felt. Something at least. They'd blame hysteria or some bullshit if he wouldn't be able to keep it together.

"Tony..." Rhodey's voice was low, quiet, the sounds almost hissed under his breath through his teeth. "I know you're scared and freaked out and—"

"Stop." Thankfully, his voice didn't shake at all. They had no idea what he was feeling. How his heart was racing, aching in his chest. What this was like.

"It's... it's fine, I... I don't... don't want them to... to leave."

For a moment, Tony thought he had hallucinated, but no. Peter.

"It's... It's fine..." His head was bowed low, his chest rising and falling with a shudder at every breath. "I do. I do remember what... what happened. I... I know it was... bad. But I... I heal fast. I promise, I do..." His eyes flickered up at last, red-rimmed as he squinted at Tony. "I promise. It's... it's fine, Dad. I don't need it."

Tony was at a loss for words. How could he choose to be in pain?

"Peter..." Helen crouched down next to the bed, her head now level with Peter's. "I do need to know what you remember, okay? Can you tell me what happened out there?"

With a series of short nods, Peter's eyes shifted to the back of the room. To Rhodey first, then to the wall.

"I was with Ned when... when I heard. It... there was something on twitter so... so I went because... because I knew that..." He swallowed hard. "It looked like it would be big. It... it felt like it would be and... and so I went out."

Tony's eyes were pressed shut. He tried not to think of that call. How he had told Peter to stay safe. Tried not to think of every clue he had missed, every opportunity he had botched to stop this.

"I... er... I was close to the park and... and on the rooftop of... of one of those buildings... there were two of them and I... I should have had them. It shouldn't have been hard. I just... I messed up and..."

Tony's eyes shot open but Peter wasn't looking at him. He had also completely left out the part of how it had been Tony who had sent him after these two creatures. Who had sent his own son into the situation that had left him injured. That had almost cost him his life.

Peter was just staring ahead into space, his pupil flickering from left to right like he was seeing the scene play out in front of him.

"I managed to push down one of them but then the other one... it shot at me... with its weapon. I just... everything went blurry and I tried to push it away, I did but it just... it got to me first and I fell back and... and then... and then..." He sucked in a shuddering breath, his jaw shaking with emotion. "I don't... I don't really know how it happened, I just... I couldn't move and..."

His voice was heavy with tears. He didn't sound anything like himself, so lost, so scared still. Tony's hand was still on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly but Peter didn't act like he was feeling any of it. Next to him, Pepper had hidden her face against Tony's side, stifling her own tears.

"I was just stuck and then Dad..." He sucked in a shaky breath, blinking rapidly. His eyes cleared a little, like he was coming back to the present. They shifted to his right to Pepper first, then up at Tony before he quickly looked away. "Dad was there and... and I just... I tried to move but... but I was stuck and... and I couldn't... I couldn't..."

Without taking a second to think, Tony pushed forward. "Shh, it's okay, baby." His arms pulled Peter close. Every muscle on him seemed to shiver, his wet sobs muffled by Tony's clothes. "It's all okay. I'm right here. We're right here for you."

Tony whispered it into his hair again and again, his eyes closed as his little boy clung to him. It was a relief to feel him crave the comfort Tony was so willing to give. A relief, yes. And a horrible thing to think about his own son. He was hurting, physically, emotionally. Tony's own frail ego was hardly a matter of concern right now.

Pepper was hovering close to him, a hand between Tony's shoulders, the other surely reassuring Peter as well. There was an uncomfortable pull on his spine the way he was bent over the bed, his thighs were shaking from holding him up in that weird angle, after the day's exhaustion, too, but none of it really mattered while Peter was still shivering in his arms.

"Helen's going to help, buddy, okay? You'll feel so much better. So much better when—"

"Please... please don't make me..." Peter's fingers dug into his upper arms where he was holding on for dear life. "Daddy, please... I don't want it..."

Tony's patience was hanging by a thin thread. "You're in pain, bud..." His voice was low, crackling with emotion. "We're just trying to help. Everyone is just trying to help..."

With a grunt, Peter let go of him. It felt like someone had pulled out the rug underneath Tony's feet. "You don't... you don't understand... just... just trust me... please, I—"

"Trust you?" The words had slipped out before he could stop himself. Tony's eyes were burning. The bitterness in his tone tasted foul.

"Alright, let's all take a breath..." Rhodey sounded so collected, almost calm. With two long steps, he was right next to him, a hand on his shoulder. "You don't want to do this now, Tony. Now's not the time."

Tony's pulse was throbbing in his throat, threatening to choke him. He let go of Peter, let himself be pulled back a step, then two by Rhodey who put himself between Tony and the bed.

"Look at me," he hissed through his teeth, quietly but clear. "Now's not the time for this."

With a shaky nod, Tony turned around, his eyes on the naked wall. How was he supposed to stomach all this? With a low grunt, he spun back around. Rhodey was right. This wasn't the time to feel... whatever all that was that was compressing his chest. Peter was still in pain. Everything else didn't matter right now.

Helen had stepped closer again, a hand on Peter's arm like it would keep him from shivering. She cleared her throat, her tone almost sunny in comparison. "The railing you fell on, it hurt you right here." Helen was lightly tapping the bandage. "Do you remember how you got back to the Tower?"

He nodded, teeth gnawing on his lip, avoiding Tony's eyes. "Dad, he... he carried me."

Tony could still feel his weight in his arms, how much he had been shaking even then as the pain set in.

"Do you remember what happened in the operating room?"

"I..." Peter swallowed hard. "The anesthesia. It didn't work."

"No, it didn't." Helen frowned, studying Peter closely. "I gave you some of Captain Rogers' meds instead."

"Please..." Peter whispered. "Please, I... I don't want it. It's... It feels... It feels bad."

"It dampens your senses, doesn't it?"

"I just... please... I need them..."

His senses? Tony shook his head. "What do you mean, his senses?"

"It's something Captain Rogers tends to experience. His senses were elevated by the serum and the medication doesn't just dampen the pain but those as well." With a sigh, Helen squeezed his arm. "There is nothing to be afraid of right now, Peter. You're safe here."

"But... but what if... what if..." He pressed his eyes shut.

"They are all gone." She crouched down, her face once again on the same level with his. "Your dad and Sam brought their ship down. Sank it in the ocean."

At that, his eyes shot open. He stared at her for a moment before he looked back up, right at Tony, his eyes wide. "You... you did?"

It took all the energy he had left to keep his face soft. "Where do you think I've been, bud? Had to make sure none of them would touch you again."

Peter's chin was wobbling, his eyes dropping.

"Peter?" Helen pulled his attention back to her. "How about we start with half a dose, hm? It took two to put you under. Maybe half a dose will help with the pain."

His gaze was somewhere in the space next to her, eyes unfocused.

"Peter...." She held onto his arm a little tighter. "When you're in pain, your body tenses up, tries to find relief by putting less pressure on the injury, straining your body and it makes it more difficult to heal."

He blinked slowly, then turned back towards her, a deep frown on her face. "But... but I was always fine."

She tilted her head. "But you're not fine now, are you? You're in pain."

Lip caught between his teeth, he kept his head bowed low then at last, Peter nodded softly.

"You're not healing well. The healing factor..." She sighed and gave her head a little shake. "We don't know a lot about it. We don't know if yours works the same as Captain Rogers', but one thing seems to be the same: it's affected by your mental state. Your physical state, too. Nutrition. Energy. You lost a lot of blood, Peter. It takes a lot of energy and right now, you need all the energy you can spare to recover from the procedure in the cradle."

Peter wasn't looking at either one of them. At some point, he had grabbed his own hands, ringing them slowly like it would hide how much he was still shaking. Pain? Nerves? Who even knew at this point. Likely Peter wouldn't be able to tell himself. Pepper was still sitting in the chair next to his bed, her own hand clinging to the arms of the chair, knuckles white. She never took her eyes off Peter.

As the tension only grew, Helen slowly rose to her feet. "Let me set up the ultrasound for now, okay? Let's see how things are going."

Tony held his breath as she cut the bandage around Peter's stomach. He had braced himself, expecting the remnants of the ghastly wound underneath it that he hadn’t been able to look away from on the rooftop. But there was only unblemished skin where the metal rod had pierced Peter’s body. With a strangled sigh, Pepper turned just enough to look up at Tony at last, her lashes wet with tears like she too had expected worse. It was only Cho’s magic though. Without hesitation, Tony stepped up next to Pepper, a hand on her back that moved up into her hair as she pressed her face against his side.

"I made sure to seal the wound with the cradle. It might look all heal up like this, but trust me, the tissue underneath still has some way to go." Helen's fingers lightly rubbed over the skin. "Do you feel a difference when I do this?" Her fingers moved further to the side, back and forth, until Peter shook his head.

"It's... It's... a bit... numb..."

Helen hummed and reached for the ultrasound behind her. "We patched it up with synthetic tissue but it will take a bit of time till the nerve fibers reconnect. And there's steps we can take if it shouldn't fix itself."

Step by step, she guided them through the ultrasound. Pepper had grabbed Tony's hand tightly, staring at the monitor, while Tony's eyes were still on Peter's face. He didn't look up. Not at Tony. Not at the projection of his kidney, where the metal rod had stabbed him.

"As you can see, the internal tissue damage will take a little bit longer to heal. I would recommend waiting though. Peter's energy levels are relatively low and it seems like his body is entirely focused on mending the wound itself. I'm not sure how he would react to another session in the cradle with all the energy it has taken out of him, plus the blood loss he suffered from the injury."

"Can we just... give him a transfusion?" Tony's throat was dry. "Or is it... did his blood type change? Can we not—"

Helen held up both hands to stop him. "Those are all questions we need to figure out. I do think a transfusion will be helpful."

"Okay." Tony had pushed up the sleeve of his shirt before she had been done talking. "Where do you want me? Right here, or—"

"Tony..." Once again, Rhodey's hand was on his arm. He shook his head. "You can't donate blood right now."

"What? Why the hell not?"

Helen cleared her throat. "James is right. You've been injured and spent all day fighting. It will likely knock you out."

"So?" It came out as a hiss. "I don't give a fuck! If he needs blood then—"

"Tony." Rhodey tugged on his arm, turned him just enough to face him once more. "Get it together. Nobody is helped by any of this."

Before Tony could argue, Helen spoke up again. "Captain Rogers' blood type will be a good fit, Tony."

"What, because he didn't fight all day," Tony growled. "He didn't get knocked around?"

"It's not the same," Rhodey mumbled. "You know that."

Pepper had gone quiet, she wasn't even looking up at him now. No, she wouldn't take his side in this, who was he kidding? Peter... Peter didn't look at anyone at all, was just staring down at his hands like he was fine with this. Fine with taking Rogers' help when he wouldn’t take his own father’s.

With a grunt, Tony pulled his arm out of Rhodey's grip. "I want him home. After the transfusion. If he just needs to rest, I want him home."

"Of course," Helen nodded, like it was a given that they'd do whatever he'd ask of them. "And about the pain meds?"

For another moment, Tony's eyes were on Peter's face but he didn't make a sound, no indication that he'd take them willingly.

"Let's not pretend like my opinion matters in it."

Peter twitched, but he didn't look up. With a shake of his head, Tony huffed out a breath and pushed past Rhodey towards the door.

"Let me know when you're done here."

He had a jet to organize and a pillow to scream into.

###

Next Chapter: Whumptober alternative No. 1 - Losing Control

#whumptober2021 #altno.1 #begging #irondad #iron dad fic #spiderson #spider-man #spiderman fanfiction #bio!dad tony stark #identity reveal #peterparker

[xviruserrorx]

Whumptober Day 1 & Flufftober Day 6

@flufftober2021

Prompt(s): Alternate No.1 Losing control

"Fireman's Carry" (but altered slightly to) "carrying someone"

Fandom- BBC Merlin

Pairing(s)- Arthur & Mordred (platonic), Arthur & Merlin

Title- "You Were Right, I Was Wrong"

"Are we just people," he scoffed, "not even people, things you should fear?" Merlin looked on the verge of tears. He was hurt and frustrated at the moment he had waited to come for so long, only to be so disappointed by its outcome.

"Tell me that at least Arthur, do you fear us?" 

Arthur shook his head, "Merlin, please-" 

"And you know why he used his magic, Arthur?" Merlin interrupted. "To protect you." 

"We may kill and hurt with our magic, but it's no different than your sword."

Continue reading below or here on AO3

"I don't need you to babysit me, Merlin," Arthur argued. As he tried to step around the warlock who was blocking him from leaving the camp.

Merlin scoffed. "No, I do enough of that on the daily already." He moved the same way Arthur did, not giving him a chance to escape past him.

"This is just your normal recklessness that's bound to happen." Merlin mirrored Arthur's steps again, leaving the King growing more and more agitated by the second.

"What's bound to happen, Merlin, is us not having firewood if you don't let me pass."

"No, what's bound to happen, Arthur, is you," Merlin pointed at Arthur, "doing something stupid and getting yourself killed."

Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I'm not gonna die, Merlin."

"Well, you seem to do it quite a lot."

"Well I wouldn't be standing here If I had, would I?" Arthur threw out his arms as if stating a point.

"You know how many times I've revived you from the dead?"

"What?!" Arthur's eyes widened.

"One too many times to be normal in fact."

"What's normal?" Daegal asked Mordred next to him. All of them tried to block out the bickering duo as they continued to set up camp.

Mordred shrugged his shoulders before he ruffled Daegal's hair and got back to the task at hand. Far too used to ignoring the back and forth arguing between Arthur and Merlin. In fact, everyone was far too used to it. Even the queen who was sitting, humming and trying to strike up a conversation with Freya.

"Remember that arrow?"

"I died?!" The king exclaimed.

Merlin froze as if thinking for a second before he answered unsurely, "Sorta?"

"And you're just telling me this now!?"

"Well!" Merlin waved his arms as if addressing the elephant in the room. Or that was previously in the room and now was out in the open. As magic had been used to save the once young prince's life.

"I knew I had an arrow in my back!"

Merlin scoffed, "kinda hard to miss a big protruding arrow, you prat."

"Oh, You little-"

"How about I go?" Mordred quickly stood up and interrupted before the two killed each other.

"Sword—magic," he gestures before letting his arms fall to his sides, "it'll take ten minutes at most. We'll scout out, get the firewood, and come back." He proposed. Merlin crossed his arms not looking convinced while Arthur, who looked still reluctant, was finer with Mordred tagging along than others.

Mordred sighed and rolled his eyes when Merlin didn't let up his gaze. "Either me or it looks like Arthur's going alone."

Merlin all but rolled his eyes before he threw up his arms, "Fine!"

"See now you have my seventeen-year-old knight babysitting me."

"Wouldn't have to if that seventeen-year-old knight wasn't smarter than you," Merlin mumbled under his breath.

"I beg your pardon-"

"It's getting dark Arthur," Mordred quickly put himself between the two men, "we need to go."

Arthur let up, quickly turning and marching away from the scene, sword drawn. All while Mordred let out a relieved breath from preventing another hour-long argument between the two men.

"Mordred," Merlin called his name, grabbing his attention as he spun back around.

"Keep him safe."

Mordred looked over his shoulder and grimaced, "He makes it quite hard."

"He's a stubborn prat, you know that."

"Mordred!"

He chuckled while Merlin rolled his eyes. "Go," Merlin gestured in the direction Arthur had gone, "and be careful."

"Always am." Mordred teased as he followed the path Arthur had taken and caught up to him. Merlin sighed as he watched the boy run off, hoping his words carried the smallest sliver of truth.

"What was that with Merlin?" Mordred asked while picking up some twigs as Arthur scouted the area some ways from the camp.

"What with Merlin?"

Mordred shrugged his shoulders, "dunno, you two always fight like a married couple-"

"We don't-"

Mordred gave him a pointed look. Arthur quickly stood down from his statement he couldn't defend as the boy was right.

"I just mean, it's been different between you two."

"I'm still me and Merlin is still Merlin as far as I'm concerned, Mordred." He poked at the greenery with his sword as Mordred picked up another couple of sticks.

"No, it's been like this since…" The event Arthur knew he was talking about hung heavy in the air. The night he found out the unimaginable of his best friend and many other people.

Arthur softened his voice, "I meant what I said, Mordred. Magic or what you believe doesn't make me care about any of you any less."

Mordred lowered his gaze and kicked at a rock, "doesn't change how you've been with Merlin."

Arthur sighed, "Mordred I-"

His voice paused as he heard a twig snap. Knowing it wasn't Mordred as the young man was still in one place, he turned towards the sound.

"What?"

He brought his finger to his lips, shushing him before gesturing in the direction of the sound. Mordred bent down and dropped the collected twigs before moving his hand to the hilt of his sword.

Another crack made them both dart around. Mordred drew his blade as he moved closer to Arthur. Both of them were now aware of the heavy presence that was all around them.

"Sire?" Mordred's voice barely made noise coming out of his mouth.

"We're surrounded," Arthur answered.

Another crack was all he needed before he placed his hand on Mordred's back. "Go." As soon as Mordred stepped back a step, rustling fallen leaves under his feet. All the hidden surrounding faces revealed themselves, charging at them.

"Run!"

Mordred ran in the first direction his body took him. Arthur a step behind him before they were both cut off by more bandits. His eyes landed on an open space that led deeper into the forest.

Arthur's hand quickly found Mordred again pushing him in front of him, "that way!"

The greenery guided them as his sword was raised to block the oncoming blades. Giving them both time to disappear behind rustling leaves and to jump over catching vines and fallen trees. His eyes glued to Mordred's back while simultaneously searching the oncoming sites for a place they could call safety for a minute.

His feet came to a halt, seeing an overgrowth big enough to hide behind for the two of them. Mordred caught on as he followed his gaze and then his steps before they were both had their backs pressed up a wall of nature.

He felt his hand tighten around the hilt of his sword. The many and hurried footsteps were almost frantic like a line of ants as they came in their deafening herd before disappearing. The silence was bliss to Arthur's ears as all he could hear was Mordred's and his own relieved exhale.

Arthur scoffed, "Well, this is going fantastic." Sarcasm etched his words as his grip loosened ever so slightly from his sword.

Mordred's own huff of breath accompanied with a small smile answered his words. What was supposed to be a quick trip of scouting and collecting firewood turned all more problematic than Arthur had expected. Though perhaps it was already that way before he had even left the camp...

"We should get back to the others." Mordred peaked around the overgrowth, making sure the faded footsteps were right rather than a trick.

Arthur nodded and sheathed his blade. "We'll go a different way back. We don't need these bandits following us."

"Are we gonna tell Merlin?" Mordred quickly sheathed his own blade while Arthur looked for the higher path that led just the same way.

"Tell Merlin what?" Arthur grabbed the above ledge, hoisting himself up.

Mordred shrugged his shoulders, "that he was right." He took a few steps back, before jumping up, Arthur grabbed his other hand to help him up.

Arthur scoffed, "I feel like his ego is already too big with the whole Emrys thing."

"For you to talk of Merlin and ego," Mordred muttered under his breath.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Mordred's gaze met his only for it to quickly flicker down to his shoes. A sheepish look painted itself across his face.

Arthur moved to open his mouth, but the rustling caught his attention once again. He cursed under his breath before he reached for the hilt of his sword.

Time was not on their side as a bandit leapt from the foliage. Giving Arthur little open chance to unsheathed his sword and Mordred equally so as well.

"Mordred!" He could only watch as the sword was raised above the Druid, before it came down onto his shoulder, knocking Mordred off-balance to fall down from the ledge.

Arthur took the opportunity and pulled out his sword. With the bandit still recovering from the momentum into the ground, Arthur pinned it further into the ground and drove his sword through the man.

He yanked his sword free as the man tumbled to the ground, lifeless. Arthur immediately sheathed his sword as he jumped off the ledge to find Mordred who was leaned up against a tree. His face twisted in pain and his hand clamped over his shoulder where a bit of blood was seeping through.

There were hundreds of rapid footsteps and shouting in the distance that was closing in. Arthur didn't have time to dress his wound there.

"Can you stand?"

Arthur barely waited for an answer before he pulled Mordred to his feet. A yelp of pain surprised him as the Druid took his weight off of one of his legs.

"My ankle."

The nearing sound of the stampede of feet only grew louder, and his heart only beat faster with every second that passed.

"Come on." Arthur took most of Mordred's weight onto him as he tried to help him and find another way to get out of their situation.

"Over there." Mordred pointed into nothing lush greenery making Arthur think maybe he had hit his head as well on the fall down. "Behind the vines and everything, there's an entrance to a cave."

Arthur didn't have time with the impending footsteps to check for a head injury on the Druid, so he took his word for it. He made his way over and hesitantly pushed the branches and vines aside in one quick swipe. And much to his surprise found exactly what Mordred had said.

He helped Mordred through and into the tunnel more so to say than a cave till they reached the wall at the back. The quiet hum of everything, bliss to his ears as he helped Mordred sit and knelt next to him.

"How did you know this place?"

Mordred lips curled up into a small smile, "I used to live at a camp as a child around these areas, we would come to play in here."

Arthur's thoughts were interrupted before he even had a chance to voice them by shouting commands and the drudged footsteps. The oncoming march of death or war, loud pounding steps as an announcement of what was to come.

He met Mordred's gaze as a distant in here was shouted.

"Stay down."

He stood up in front of Mordred and drew his sword once again. The motion was almost like Deja Vu, only Mordred had been much smaller and they knew help was coming. This time more than twenty men were running towards them and no one knew they were in trouble.

Mordred knew even Arthur couldn't handle that many men. He would be overwhelmed very quickly and they would kill him because they wanted them dead. If his shoulder was anything to tell by their wanted actions.

"Arthur?"

"Just stay down, Mordred." Arthur's words tried to provide comfort even though it wasn't okay. There were only two of them and Mordred was hurt, against more than twenty men.

Arthur's hand loosened and tightened around the hilt of his blade as he saw them finally appear as well as the bandits finally seeing them. The steps that were a paced walk quickly picked up into a sprint.

Mordred felt his breaths catch in his throat and become rapid and heavy all at once. Arthur would die. There was no doing anything to prevent it.

He could only watch as the bandits grew near and raised their weapons to strike. As if everything came to a pause for a brief second before the strike. Arthur's own blade raised from his side ready for a pointless notion.

Mordred couldn't watch. His hands flew to his ears as his eyes screwed shut.

"No!"

Arthur's blade sliced through the air as every person raging towards them was thrown back against the tunnel walls. All of them laid flaccid on the floor like discarded play dolls.

He froze for a second before he realized what had actually happened. His sword clanged to the floor as he turned around to face Mordred. Who was worse off than him, with nothing but panic in his eyes and struggling to calm his breathing.

"Hey," he got down to Mordred's side, "you're okay, we're both okay, alright?"

Mordred's eyes flickered to the damage done to the tossed bodies across the floor of the cave. "I'm sorry."

"No, hey You kept us safe, " He grabbed Mordred's attention to him. "That's what you always say your magic is for right?"

Mordred nodded his head but his facade was anything but calm or collected. Still shaken up with breaths coming quickly.

Arthur managed a sympathetic smile. "Come here, Mordred." He pulled him into his embrace, Mordred accepted the gesture as arms quickly wrapped around Arthur's neck.

They both stayed like that for a few seconds before Mordred pulled back with soft-spoken words on his tongue.

"Are they dead?" There wasn't hope in his voice for the words spoken but fear.

"Let me check."

Arthur got up and walked over to the nearest person among the many thrown people. Limbs frivolously placed where they had landed on impact.

But Arthur could hardly believe that with just a simple scared screamed word, Mordred was able to do all that. With intention or without, Arthur didn't know, usually leaving the magical business to Morgana and Merlin. Yet the warning of Mordred's magic to him still looped in his head of Merlin's words.

He bent down, placing his fingers to the pulse point of one man. The drumming pulse was there, they were still alive, just knocked unconscious.

Arthur hated the surprise he felt at the realisation of life rather than Death. He expected death because magic was at use.

Did he associate everything with magic to death? Good and bad all the same, when in a contradicted regard, he was the bad of it. For death had always been caused by his and his father's hand when it came to magic, not the magic users themselves.

Magic itself was never good or bad, no such thing existed. For even if there was no beating pulse beneath the pads of his fingers, to call Mordred bad for being scared and protecting himself. It would have once been many years ago, but not now.

Even at the sight as he looked back over to the boy, hurt and still shaken up huddled in the corner of the cave. He should be scared of Mordred, his magic, told to Arthur of its strengths that even Merlin and the Druids who raised Mordred were unsure of.

To be scared of a boy who was more scared than him made Arthur sick. His own fathers fear led to countless and hypocritical deaths of the innocent.

Arthur swallowed hard before he nodded his head towards Mordred. He saw as the relief washed over him, death never once being Mordred's intention.

"We should move from here soon." Arthur got up, and made his way back over to Mordred, "I don't know how long they'll stay out for."

Mordred's hand was still covering his bleeding shoulder that Arthur had yet to see the taken damage. "Let me see." He grimaced when Mordred flinched at his poking and prodding to the wound.

He reached down to his tunic, tearing off a section before he wrapped and tied it off to stop some of the bleeding. Merlin would be mad at him later for that...

"Come on, let's try getting you up."

Mordred nodded before Arthur grabbed his non-injured arm and helped get him to his feet. Only to quickly catch him again, as a sharp inhale escaped his mouth followed by a suppressed gasp of pain.

"I got you."

Mordred shook his head, "I'm okay." He pushed himself away from Arthur only to almost collapse again.

Arthur grabbed him, not wanting to put up with Mordred pretending he wasn't in serious pain, he quickly guided him back to the floor.

Arthur sighed, "Not fooling me, Kid."

Mordred let out an airy laugh before grimacing in pain again. His hand came back up to his shoulder that was jolted from him laughing.

"It'll be okay." Arthur let his hand rest lightly on Mordred's leg.

Though he hardly believed his own words because all in reality, nothing of anything was anywhere near okay...

~*~

Merlin and Freya's laughtered filled the air as they both helped prepare supper. All the others all spread out doing the same around the camp to help out.

"Oh, your mother's lovely." Freya said as she caught her breath, nothing but adoration in her voice. "She even gets the King of Camelot to help out."

Merlin chuckled, "Arthur isn't scared of many things but apparently my mother is one of those few things."

He collected all the cleaned picked ingredients into the bowl, grabbing the ones from Will and Freya as well before he walked over to the others. Handing the bowl off to Guinevere and Morgana who were doing the actual cooking.

He stole a couple berries from the younger ones who were separating those from their stems as he passed by. Earning playful glares and eye rolls before he ruffled Daegal's hair and made his way back over to the other two.

Well at least he tried to make his way back over to them. The sudden dizzying and dooming feeling hit him as everything pulsated for a split second.

He staggered forward and grabbed onto the nearest tree for support. The all too familiar feel of Mordred's magic and the sound of a scared yell pounded in his head.

He took his hand to his head as Freya came to his side concerned, "Are you okay?"

"Merlin?" Will's voice followed. The lively ness of the camp slowly faded out to his ears, each voice dropped one by one and was replaced with concerned silence.

"Arthur and Mordred." Merlin quickly got out. Swallowing as his mouth had gone dry, and his heart sped up upon the realization what those two things usually meant when he heard them.

"They're still not back." Sefa provided to his evident worry.

He shook his head harshly,"I think Mordred's hurt." He pushed past everyone and collected his bag. "We need to find them."

Worried glances passed from person to person. Gilli and Morgana both stood up, the same as Kara rushed to his possible notion.

"What do you mean, hurt?" Kara demanded. Merlin, hardly given room to argue with the rather intimidating young girl, didn't immediately answer. All while Daegal, Eoghan, Sefa, Lamia Drea, and Gilli all waited in equal request for his answer.

He sighed, "I don't know, I felt his magic."

"He could've just used it for something?" Daegal half asked and stated.

Merlin shook his head. "This was different. I need to hurry."

"I'm coming." Gilli stepped forward.

"No," Merlin immediately shot down his request, "you're staying here."

"Merlin!"

"We don't need anyone else hurt."

"Gilli." Will quickly called the boy before he moved to argue with Merlin some more.

"Then I'm coming with." Morgana grabbed her sword from where it had been plunged into the ground.

Merlin sighed only because he knew he couldn't argue with Morgana, "Fine."

"Will-"

Will waved his hand, brushing him off, "Keep everyone safe, yeah I know."

All while his other hand was clasped on Gilli's shoulder, keeping the boy next to him and not from running off somewhere into danger. "Now go save your King and the kid."

Merlin nodded before looking to Morgana who was already off to find the two Merlin hopped hadn't gotten themselves into too much trouble.

~*~

Arthur sighed, "You know I'm never gonna hear the end of this from, Merlin." He said to the boy he was currently giving a piggyback ride to. Mordred was in too much pain and Arthur equally felt guilty and didn't want him to walk on the injured foot, so the next option, it was.

"Good."

"Not helping, Mordred." He adjusted his hands under Mordred's legs. He was light enough to carry for Arthur, even less with the absence of his chainmail and armour. Arthur almost was worried how thin the boy was as with chainmail he could easily lift Mordred as well.

"Merlin isn't his ego, he leads with his heart. All he wants is to keep you safe."

"He worries." Arthur felt the back of his neck get tickled by Mordred's hair as he laid his head down on him.

"Well, I'm very capable of keeping myself safe. Arthur heard and felt the forced huff of breath from Mordred on the back of his neck.

"With the occasional help."

Mordred scoffed, "He knows that. Just the same as you now know Merlin is more than capable of keeping himself safe."

Arthur grimaced. If only things had been different and Merlin had shown his magic earlier, he wouldn't have been hurt or beaten on. Magic was his weapon and the only weapon he had, but because of things. He couldn't use it to keep himself safe.

"Yet you still push him behind you, out of danger; You still search for him at any given moment during a battle; Your first action is to put yourself in front of him even though he's the one with immortality." Mordred continued.

"It's chivalry, code of a knight," Arthur stated. More so an excuse for his actions.

Mordred lightly shook his head, "It's called caring. But you're afraid to admit it. You think it makes people weak."

"Emotions," Arthur carefully stepped over a rocky path, "cloud judgement."

"No, they just mean you have a heart and a good sense of judgement. If emotions are such pitiful things, what right do they have to persecute judgement?"

Mordred's arms lightly tightened around Arthur's neck as his foot slipped off of a rock. A small whimper escaped his mouth from the strain on his shoulder.

"And is that the same reason why you're carrying me right now?"

Arthur stopped and sighed. The path was too rocky and slippery with mud from the days previous of fallen rain. Every jolt and slip of his step hurt Mordred, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Let's take a break." He announced. He found a clear spot and set down Mordred before he sat down at his side facing him.

Arthur took a breath and started with his voice soft and low, "Mordred-"

"Forgive me," Mordred quickly apologized, "I'm out of line." He held Arthur's gaze as he said his words before quickly dropping it to his hands in his lap.

Arthur shook his head, "No, you're right… as always." It seemed more frequently Arthur began to realise he was more in the wrong than the people who were actually right all along.

"I do care about you, Mordred."

A soft smile appeared on Mordred's lips, "I know."

Arthur lightly shook his head, "More than you could know."

"And the thing with Merlin," he continued, "I-"

"Mordred! Arthur!"

Both of their heads shot up as Merlin's and Morgana's voices echoed through the space around them. Their names were called out in the faint distance, but close enough that they could hear.

Arthur ruffled Mordred's hair before he got up and called as loud as he could, "We're here!"

Soon enough both sorcerers were visible in the distance as they neared and picked up their pace. Both of them were filled with worry as they only saw Arthur at first before quickly seeing Mordred sitting on the ground behind him.

"Are you both okay?"

Merlin immediately pulled Mordred into his embrace, startling the boy. Morgana did the same thing as Merlin pulled away both of them acting in fear of what they thought of the worse and fretting over the boy.

"Oh, Everything's fine and dandy, Merlin." Arthur started, "Just my normal daily attempted assassination."

"I wish you were wrong." He mumbled under his breath.

Arthur's eyes widened before he shook his head, Mordred being hurt his priority right now rather than another assassination story that would surely end in Merlin saving his neck.

"Mordred, his ankle." He pointed before he dropped his head into his hand and took a deep breath.

"How did you hurt your ankle?" Morgana still was fretting over him while Merlin started to check the condition of his ankle.

"When we were running," Mordred answered.

"Running?" Morgana questioned.

Arthur sighed, "Long story…."

"You've been gone all but thirty minutes!" Merlin exclaimed.

"A lot happened in those thirty minutes, okay?"

Mordred stifled a chuckle at the three arguing. As if Merlin and Arthur weren't bad already but throwing Morgana in was like fanning the flame.

Merlin sighed, "it doesn't seem broken, so that's good."

"Can you stand?"

They saw the look that was exchanged between Arthur and Mordred. Mordred almost going to say yeah to brush off the injury again but Arthur quickly gave him a stern look of don't even try.

Merlin chuckled, "I'll take that as a no."

"I'm fine." Mordred tried to argue.

"No, you're not Mordred." Morgana agreed with Arthur's glare that said it all.

Arthur sighed, "Can't you just magically heal it?" He waved his hands aimlessly at the topic

"When we get back to the camp." Merlin said, "There may be more bandits coming."

Arthur caught his gaze. Merlin had seen the cave of discarded, knocked out men. He knew they had gotten themselves into trouble and could have possibly died.

Arthur quickly looked away from Merlin's glare. Something akin to guilt pounding on his chest of everything that had been done and said that very eventful day. He tried to ignore it as he made his way to pick Mordred back up so they could make their way back to the camp. "Come on, kid."

"Oh, you would carry Mordred so gently." Morgana teased as he got him settled and they began to walk.

"What are you on about?"

"When you had slung me over your shoulder when I had hurt my ankle." Morgana reminded him.

"That's because you're annoying."

"Oh, I'm the annoying one?"

"Yes, you are," Arthur confirmed. "Have been since you were five."

Morgana scoffed, "You didn't know me at five!"

"Exactly, I just know."

They both looked back at Mordred when a small airy laugh came from his way. The Druid ducked his head and laid it down on Arthur. The King, about to say something when he saw Morgana's amused and fond smile but ultimately decided not to.

"You don't have anything to say, Merlin?" Morgana asked the warlock who had been more silent than usual the whole time.

He shrugged his shoulders in his usual manner of having a lot to say but not saying it.

"Come on, spit it out."

"Don't worry Merlin, I'm not gonna die, I don't need a babysitter, Merlin. Stop over exaggerating Merlin." Merlin mocked. His tone growing harsher as he continued.

"Well, I didn't die."

He regretted his words immediately as Merlin stopped and turned around. A hurt look of disbelief stared right at Arthur, telling him he had messed up.

Merlin scoffed and shook his head, "Whatever, Arthur." He quickly walked ahead at a faster pace.

Arthur groaned as he received that all-knowing look from Morgana. The same look that he would get from across halls in heated arguments with his father or when he would become out of line with other nobles. He hated that look and Morgana knew it too.

She gave a gesture of her head towards the direction Merlin took off in before she sped up in pace too.

"I think you're in trouble." He heard Mordred's soft voice.

It was teasing all without being teasing as Mordred did indeed know Arthur was in trouble with Merlin. But he'd rather entertain the idea of letting Arthur come to that conclusion himself. Being around both men enough to know when they were ready to cut each other's heads off or explode on one another.

He understood the situations and how to make them better. Arthur and Merlin unfortunately both knew this. Groaning when Mordred just shrugged his shoulders at their demands. Instead, he taunted them with his vague words and guiding questions.

Arthur sighed, "I think I am too, Mordred."

~*~

Fretting from everybody was hard to avoid, especially as Arthur tried to reassure Gwen everything was fine. Then the worrying expressions that were on Mordred as the Druid tried to bring relief to those as well.

Though earlier conversations still played on Arthur's mind, especially after what happened on the trip back to camp.

He took his courage to approach Merlin from where the man was sitting and staring at the campfire. Both of them had not even shared a gaze or a single word since they made it back.

"Hey." Merlin's attention shot to him as he sat down beside him.

"Is he okay?" He gestured over to where Mordred was sitting and laughing with Kara, Sefa and all of them

"Yeah," Merlin quickly dismissed it, "something a little magic can't fix."

He nodded his head in acknowledgement, though Merlin's gaze was on the fire and anywhere but him. Arthur swallowed as he looked around before getting the courage to speak.

"Merlin I-"

"Don't." Merlin cut him off. His voice was short, not wanting to hear anything Arthur had to say.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

Merlin shook his head, "I'm not upset."

"Then what's wrong?" Arthur exclaimed. "I'm still trying to get used to this magic thing."

Merlin scoffed, "That's the understatement of the decade."

"Merlin," Arthur's tone begged at his words, "this is all new to me." Merlin's eyes flickered to him before back to fire as he tossed another stick in.

"Even back there," he continued, "Mordred he-"

"Can kill hundreds of people with as little as a blink of an eye?" Merlin questioned, with faux innocence and mirth in his voice.

"Not one of those men was dead, Arthur."

Having stumbled upon that place first, he put two and two together. The use of Mordred's magic he felt, combined with the many unconscious bandits all added up.

"Unconscious and injured maybe but not dead."

"I know-"

"But do you, Arthur!?" Merlin snapped. He grimaced as he turned and saw some of the others who looked their way.

Arthur didn't reply, only waited as Merlin took a deep breath before he carried on.

"Is everything you see bad or wrong when you look at any one of us? When you look at Mordred?" He gestures over to the boy who was laughing at something said. While Merlin was all but begging to know all of what Arthur thought and felt.

"And today," he continued, "what you saw today was just a small scratch on the surface of his magic."

"Are we just people," he scoffed, "not even people, things you should fear?" Merlin looked on the verge of tears. He was hurt and frustrated at the moment he had waited to come for so long, only to be so disappointed by its outcome.

"Tell me that at least Arthur, do you fear us?"

Arthur shook his head, "Merlin, please-"

"And you know why he used his magic, Arthur?" Merlin interrupted. "To protect you."

Arthur almost tried not to believe it but he knew it was the truth. Mordred no doubt, having even put his own life on the line for Arthur's would do something as just use what he was born with.

"We may kill and hurt with our magic, but it's no different than your sword."

Merlin took in a deep breath, trying to catch it back from anger while Arthur took every word said to him. He fought between leaving the man beside him and staying, a choice that would decide so much to come.

But he stayed. Allowing both of them to wallow in silence with their thoughts and feelings of everything but in the company of each other. For their external quarrel might have been with each other, but the buried truth was now lying on the surface, waiting to be snatched away.

"Merlin," he started after enough time had passed that he regained his voice, "I'm trying." He pleaded, though known not much of a kingly action as to plead to a servant. But Merlin wasn't a servant, he was magic and more importantly his friend.

"I know," came the weak reply. "I am too."

Arthur sighed, "I'm sorry, Merlin."

Merlin's head whipped towards him, shock written over every inch of his face. His eyes dancing back and forth frantic across Arthur's own expression trying to find a hint of something—anything that wasn't the remorse the King held.

"I'm truly sorry." He continued.

"I have to accept your apology then," Merlin said, a hint of his own sarcasm and jesting returning to his words.

Arthur lightly scoffed, "You don't have to." He shook his head.

"You're allowed to be frustrated, angry, annoyed even with me."

Merlin pushed out a breath. "Glad that's settled then."

At the realization of what Merlin meant by his words Arthur chuckled, "suppose I deserve that."

Merlin managed a small smile. Annoyed was one word he could use to describe how he felt towards Arthur sometimes.

Arthur smiled at seeing a grin on Merlin's face for the first time that day. Even if anger or frustration had to come first and had been aimed towards him. Now, keeping his normal smile upon its place was all that mattered.

"You're my friend, Merlin," Arthur stated. "Last thing I want is to hurt you."

Merlin seemed at a loss for words. His mouth opened and closed before he finally just nodded his head. He looked down

Arthur nudged him."Not gonna start crying on me are you?" He teased.

Merlin gave an airy laugh, "No."

Though in the short time that followed, a sniffle was heard. Followed by another and Merlin wiping his nose.

"Something in the air." Merlin tried to excuse his sniffling and glossed over eyes. Something Arthur wasn't buying one bit but let it slip.

"Of course," He replied. Pretending not to hear the sniffling and Merlin clear his throat after.

Though Merlin said nothing as Arthur reached over and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Neither did Arthur, hardly acknowledging the action himself. Only looking back towards Merlin when he slightly ducked his head.

In turn, Arthur caught the smile Mordred was looking over at them both with. Merlin, too busy pretending to not be crying to notice. But Arthur returned the smile and nodded his head. Telling Mordred that everything was okay once again, even if another argument was had and another set of apologies was to be said in the future. At that moment everything was once again okay.

"Well come on." Arthur pulled back his hand and leaned back against the tree behind them.

"Tell me about it."

"It?" Merlin questioned.

"Magic. You apparently."

Merlin scoffed, "Not much greatness as everyone makes it out to be."

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "I've heard differently."

"You already know me," Merlin said as if there wasn't so much Arthur still didn't know about him. As the part that made Merlin him, was kept from him out of understandable fear for many years.

"I do know my bumbling, clumsy, buffoon of a manservant." He playfully pushed Merlin lightly to let him know he was joking around.

"But," he continued, "I also know a kind, caring, wise, and brave man."

"Who also happens to be magic himself," Arthur said all in one breath making Merlin laugh.

"So?" Arthur questioned.

Merlin hesitated. Grabbing his bottom lip between his teeth before it slipped as his facade broke out into a smile. Arthur, of all people, was asking about his magic; and not just his magic but him.

"Well…" Merlin started. Beaming as he got into the stories he started to tell Arthur from small little mishaps to things unimaginable.

While Arthur listened all while not listening. Too busy seeing the excitement that Merlin held for such topics even if he didn't understand one shred of it. But he entertained the topics when Merlin looked over at him with a wide smile and a hidden request for confirmation.

Even if words and actions were still second-guessed. He knew the people all there he cared for. The man beside him, his wife and sister, and the many other people he met along the way thanks to Merlin. He had grown to care for them all. Even if it had been destiny's evil plan or just the opposite of it. In the end, everything turned out just okay.

#whumptober #whumptober2021 #day 1 #altno.1 #losing control #flufftober2021 #day 6 #carrying #bbc merlin #mordred #sir mordred #arthur pendragon #merlin #yes this is very late for whumptober I know #lets just say their was an incident #so i'm barely getting around to posting and formatting all my writings... sorry bout that #fanfic #virusfanfic

[set-phasers-to-whump]

losing control

prompt: losing control (alt no.1)

whumpee: kurt wallander

fandom: young wallander

hi! here is a pretty fast and loose interpretation of this prompt...i had a lot of fun with it, hope you enjoy!!!

Kurt is driving down a back road, on his way to investigate an abandoned storage facility (without the knowledge or consent of anyone but himself, naturally). It’s pouring rain and he’s driving a little bit faster than is probably wise, but there isn’t anyone else out and he’d like to think he’s a good driver, so it’s fine.

Until it isn’t. His headlights illuminate a tree that has fallen across the road in the storm and he hits the brakes but his car starts to skid and he tries to turn the wheel, maybe go around the tree instead, but one wheel hits the edge of the road and he loses all control of the car. 

It goes sliding, tumbling down the steep hill at the side of the road, and everything is jumbled and messy and disorienting and loud. Kurt can’t really process what’s happening in the moment, everything is moving so fast and just a second ago he’d been fine, and now - 

Now the car has stopped moving, settled back on its wheels with a terrible screech of metal. For several seconds Kurt just sits there as his brain catches up to what’s happened. His head is spinning from the fall and he’s pretty sure also because he’s hit it, because there’s something wet and sticky on his forehead that wasn’t there before. The airbags have gone off and one has hit him in the chest and there’s glass from a broken window scattered all over and the rain is pouring in and his whole body hurts, like he’s been thrown into a washing machine on its highest setting. 

The most important thing, he decides, trying to ignore the ringing in his ears and the shaking of his hands and the all-encompassing pain, is to get out of here. He tries the door and finds it won’t budge. The passenger door tells a similar story and he can’t twist his body enough to get into the backseat and try the doors there. 

But his window is broken. He can get out that way. He has to free himself from his seatbelt first, though, which has pressed itself hard into his skin. It hurts to move it away, and it leaves a visible imprint on the fabric of his shirt, which has certainly transferred to his skin as well.

Getting out through the window is torture. He realizes quickly that he’s going to need to go head-first, because there is little hope of being able to bend his legs enough to get them out first. Pieces of Plexiglass dig into his palms as he carefully pushes his torso out the window. He carefully wriggles himself forward, and suddenly slips against the wet metal, hands reaching out to grab hold of nothingness as he falls.

He hits the ground, and it’s a short fall but it hurts, knocks the wind out of him so he can’t scream in pain. He whimpers instead, a sound he’d never consciously let himself make in the presence of another human being, and spends several seconds just lying on the muddy, cold ground, willing himself to stand up. 

Eventually, he manages to get to his feet, just as a clap of thunder rolls across the sky. The noise startles him into action, and before he can really even think about it he’s moving.

He stumbles back up the muddy slope, and it hurts hurts hurts but he needs to get up higher. An irrational part of him insists that he needs to get away from the source of his pain, while a more logical voice says that he needs to get closer to the road, so that when help comes they won’t have to look very far to find him. 

On the way up, he slips twice, stumbles once, and by the time he finally reaches the top of the hill he’s absolutely covered in mud and he’s drenched and shivering and almost certainly still bleeding and his ears haven’t stopped ringing and his head is still spinning and there isn’t a single part of his body that doesn’t hurt. It’s overwhelming but he pushes past it because he’s set himself the goal of the top of the hill.

Of course, as soon as that goal is met and he’s back on flat ground, it’s like all of the energy in his body evaporates at once. He can’t walk anymore, can’t even stand. He sinks to his knees beside the deserted road, exhales slowly (which hurts, god, what doesn’t?), then lets out a sort of choked half-sob as reality truly begins to set in. He is alone and hurting and freezing and fuck, if he doesn’t just want someone to be here, to distract him from the pain, to warm him up, to tell him that it’s okay. But it’s just him and his shaking fingers extracting his broken but mercifully still functional phone from his pocket, just him dialling 112 and hoping fervently for there to be service out here.

The operator answers, thankfully, and takes his stuttered information, telling him help will arrive in approximately fifteen minutes. Kurt carefully draws his aching knees to his chest, wraps his arms around himself, and settles in to wait.

thanks for reading!!!! i hope you enjoyed :)

#whumptober2021 #altno.1 #losing control #fic #young wallander #fandom #kurt wallander #car accident #my writing #i say things #also yeah maybe he should have stayed in the car and called for help from there but it's a stressful situation yknow? #that is my excuse anyway lmao

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whumptober #31

Alt. No. 1 – Losing Control

No. 31 - Hurt & Comfort (disaster zone | trauma | prisoner)

CW: transformation, death, fear, blood

The guard lay motionless in a pool of blood and pale sunlight, face turned upward. Glazed, bloodshot eyes. Mottled skin, discolored and swollen from venom, veins branching dark across his cheeks and forehead. Hideous in death. The princess couldn’t tear her eyes away. The man was dead, dead in a prison meant to stop its only occupant from destroying anyone else.

The princess got to her feet. Dread weighed her limbs down, made her body feel as if she was moving through water. The truth uncoiled in the back of her mind, slithering out into the light where it reared its ugly head, taunting her. It was her fault. She had killed him, bitten him with her serpent fangs. She had lost control and reverted to her cursed form and killed someone else.

So. This prison couldn’t keep the world safe from her after all. Her dress swept the guard’s feet as she stepped toward the window, numb with horror and grief. Hero was out there somewhere, desperately searching for a cure, something, anything to rescue her from this terrible enchantment. What if he was her next victim? She was dangerous, too dangerous to be kept imprisoned as if she was just a human. Too dangerous not to be physically restrained—

Footsteps outside the door. Three quick knocks. The guard’s signal. Someone else had come, most likely to investigate the first guard’s disappearance. Her eyes flicked from the dead man to the closed door, fear and panic swelling in her throat. Three more knocks, sharp and insistent.

She took a deep breath, twisting her hands in her dress as she answered.

“Please go away! I’m not safe…I could hurt you…” But the transformation was already beginning again. A burning tingle rose from her feet, taking hold of her legs and arms, spreading to the nape of her neck, her mouth, her eyes.

Please go away…I’m dangerous…I will kill you.

As the guard entered, braced and ready for combat, a giant serpent reared before him, fangs slick and monstrous eyes slitted with malice.

No, please…I don’t want to hurt you…you have to run…

It struck before the guard had a chance, before he could defend himself.

You have to…you have to die.

#whumptober #whumptober 2021 #whumptober2021 #no. 31 #prisoner #altno.1 #losing control #writing #original characters #transformation #fear #blood #death #whump drabble #whump writing #psychological whump #emotional whump #princess #blackroseswrites #gotta catch up now #need to fill the rest of the prompts

[susiequaz12]

Whumptober 7- Helpless

Here is part 11 to my superhero/sidekick story. Part 10. Masterlist. We get a little perspective from the Sidekick’s point of view. I combined this prompt with an alternate one for today. Prompts: Helplessness, losing control.  

CW: Attempted non-con, implied beating, blood mention.

- - -

He hadn’t eaten in days. His stomach ached and groaned, his muscles growing weak and tired. He wasn’t sleeping either. Maybe an hour or two here or there when he’d pass out, but he couldn’t stay sleep for long.

She had just- disappeared.

Left him with nothing- with no clues, no tracks. She was just gone. 

Teddy had still been receiving calls. He had to work, even though the hero was gone, her sidekick still had to pick up the slack.

He still had to fight, had to protect, despite his one sole motivation and reason being taken away from him.

He was lashing out. 

There was a call the other night. They had this hotline number that linked directly to them, so anyone could call in an emergency. Most of the time they could defer it to the police, but if they weren’t busy, they’d pick it up and take care of it themselves.

Well this night, the police were busy. He had just caught a car theft, when the police realized it was a group, so they were in an active chase. The call paged in, he saw the location, and rushed over.

As he approached the location, he saw one girl immediately rush over to him, panic in her voice and tears down her face. She was wearing a short dress, a leather jacket, and had a small handbag on her shoulder.

“My- my friend!” She was shouting as she dragged him along. “They followed us- but I- help, please!”

He turned the corner of the building and saw another girl, huddled in the corner. About four or five guys were gathered in the area. One was climbing on top of her as the others stood about.

“No. Not happening.” Ted stated. He marched through the group of boys to the corner and grabbed him by the back of his shirt. With a strong arm he threw him against the wall.

The girl rushed to her friend, she was shaken up and a little bruised, but nothing had gotten too far.

The boy that was thrown slumped to the ground, but quickly scrambled to his feet as Ted began to approach him again.

“What do you think you were trying to do?!” He shouted. He grabbed him by the collar, pinning him against the wall.

One of the boys behind him piped up. 

“Hey, come on. They were asking for it.”

Teddy threw the boy back to the ground and turned to face the other four.

“Asking for it? I guess you guys were just asking for a beating then, weren’t you?”

 - - -

Teddy ran his fist under some cool water in his bathroom.

He had lost control. 

That hadn’t happened in years, since one of his first fights underground- but as soon as she came around, he was able to control his anger a lot more. He didn’t lash out as much, or lose control in a fight. And besides, she did most of the hand-to-hand combat anyways.

The blood washed down the sink as he grabbed a roll of bandages for his knuckles.

The guys would be fine. 

Did they deserve it? Yeah.

But should he have beaten them all as hard as he did?

Probably not.

She would have calmed him down. Gotten the girls to safety, kept the boys secure until someone arrived, or at least gotten info so the girls could’ve pressed charges. Not beaten them all black and blue and fled the scene after calling an ambulance. 

What was the press going to say?

News of her disappearance had already spread around the city, and chaos was rising fast. Everywhere he turned, or went to help someone would pester him with questions, but he was as clueless as they were.

 He couldn’t keep doing this on his own. How long until he severely hurt someone? Or hurt himself?

He really felt helpless without her here.

#whumptober2021 #no.7 #helplessness #altno.1 #losing control #attempted non con #referenced injuries #SuperHero and Sidekick #ocs #my ocs #whump #whump writing

[jaysworlds]

Whumptober 2021 Day Eight

Alexei’s slipping again. He can feel it in the way the world starts to slip around him when he isn’t focusing, the way his head gets fuzzy when he focuses too much.

He doesn’t know what to do about it. He doesn’t know what he can do about it.

He hasn’t told the others, and nor does he intend to. They’ll only hover, ask awkward questions and try to help, and it will only make it worse. Alexei would rather just deal with it on his own.

Not that he’s dealing with it very well. He keeps losing time, closing his eyes for a moment and waking up hours later. The others don’t seem to have noticed, which is the only relief he has. He can’t let them know this is happening to him.

Freddie seems to know something’s wrong. He would, of course, because he sees Alexei so much. They spend most of their days together, and if anyone noticed it would be him.

It scares Alexei. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, only that if it keeps happening he doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to stop himself from hurting someone, and he’s so, so afraid that it’s going to be Freddie.

Freddie doesn’t deserve that. Freddie deserves so much better than this, than him. He deserves someone who isn’t slowly losing control over his own mind.

Alexei doesn’t know how to tell him. Doesn’t think he can tell him, really. He needs Freddie, far more than he’d ever wanted to need anyone. Losing him would break him.

He tells Var. She’s noticed something’s off, and when he blacks out he often wakes up to her curling sadly around his legs. He’s not sure how she knows, but she does.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he whispers to her, when Freddie’s asleep and it’s just him and her awake, lulled by the gentle back and forth of the ship. “I can’t control it.”

Var chirps quietly and licks his nose. He gives her a tiny smile, wrapping his arms around her neck. She can’t understand, but it helps that she’s here.

Freddie stirs behind him and Alexei rolls over to face him, watching him as he sleeps.

Var shifts so her head is on Alexei’s stomach, and he absently scratches her behind the jaw, eyes still on Freddie.

He exhales slowly in his sleep, shifts a little towards Alexei. It’s dark, just the moonlight coming in through the tiny window illuminating his face.

Alexei could reach out and touch him. He doesn’t, but he thinks about it. Thinks about brushing the hair from his face, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. Thinks about snuggling closer, burying himself against Freddie’s chest and hoping that the closeness drives away the fog and the darkness hiding in the corners of his mind.

But he doesn’t. Just watches as Freddie shifts around in his sleep.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep like that, but he does, and when he wakes up he’s standing on the deck, staring out at the black sea. It’s still, like glass, and he can barely feel the motion of the ship.

There’s no one around. No stars in the sky, no moons. Just endless darkness.

Maybe this is a dream. Maybe it isn’t. Alexei isn’t sure.

He stares out at the ocean, and sees things moving beneath the surface. Huge things, creatures he doesn’t even want to imagine.

It feels like a dream. A nightmare, maybe.

He doesn’t know if he’s alone. He doesn’t feel alone, really, but when he looks behind him there’s no one there. The ship is deserted.

He doesn’t know what he’d find if he explored. Maybe the others are here, maybe they aren’t. It doesn’t really matter, not right now.

He looks back at the sea, the still, glassy surface. He can feel it calling to him, but he’s afraid to reach out, afraid of what he’ll find.

Try it.

He doesn’t know who spoke. He’s alone here, but he knows they’re speaking to him.

“I don’t want to,” he says, but his body moves against his will, reaching a hand out over the ocean, bending it to his will.

It’s remarkably easy. He can feel it coursing through him and into the waves. The sea begins to churn, and he knows if he wanted to he could drag this whole ship down into the depths.

He feels … powerful.

It feels good.

Alexei drops his arm, lets the sea go back to being still and glassy. “Let me go.”

He doesn’t know who he’s speaking to. He doesn’t know if he’s speaking to anyone.

Don’t you want it? That power?

“Let me go.”

The voice laughs, echoing in his head and off the surface of the ocean.

You will.

Alexei clenches his fist, and the ocean begins to boil again. “Let me go!”

The voice laughs, and laughs, and laughs, but the dream begins to fade.

When he wakes he finds himself up on the deck of the real ship, with no recollection of how he got there.

It scares him.

#whumptober2021 #altno.1 #losing control #oc #fic #nightmares #unreality #this should probably have more tags but I Dont Know What #anyway enjoy this little chunk of alexei losing his mind #i would love to say it all works out fine but like #it doesnt </3 #also alexei's var is freddies kai just if thats confusing #oc:alexei #oc:freddie #oc:kai #oc:trix #(because he IS there) #otp:frelexei #wip:8gp #writing #my writing #writeblr