#no. 7 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quietlyimplode · 7 months

Text

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: day 7 - Radio Silence

Warnings: character death

Word Count: 1.9k (gif not mine)

Summary: Tony can find anyone, unless they really don’t want to be found, or they can’t be.

A/N: (character death pertains to none of the core team or associated, but to me feels just as tragic. There was no other way this could go.)

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

2013

NEW YORK

Tony sits staring at the computer. There’s a video recording of his friend in police interrogation, being accused of killing a man.

He watches closely and still can’t work out how he gets out of hand cuffs, but the most interesting part of the interrogation is when Agent Coulson arrives.

Tony watches in interest as Clint all but ignores the offer to join Shield and stalks off.

He’s so young.

Not that Clint is an old man now, but he just looks so small as a teenager, maybe early twenties. Likely by the stamp date he should know how old.

The video recording stops, and Tony turns to the next one.

Clint is older. It’s obvious by his demeanor and posture.

More like a military man.

Tony doesn’t like it.

He seems sadder, more serious and adult even though there’s only a year between videos.

He wonders what happened after that first one, because clearly something did.

Turning them off, he returns to the picture of Barney.

Steve had done a good job, given Clint’s description, and the picture had bounced across databases.

There had been exactly three hits.

One police record.

One military record.

And one picture he found out in Wichita Falls with a man matching his description as a drivers license.

It meant one of two things.

Barney was dead.

Or…

Barney really didn’t want to be found.

Natasha finds Pepper sitting at the window.

The expanse of it, makes it ones of Natasha’s favourite places.

She knows it’s one of Pepper’s as well.

They’d had many conversations at it, and she almost walks away as she sees Pepper reading.

Sometimes peace is hard won, especially for Pepper who seems to always be pulled in a thousand directions.

“Hey,” Pepper greets her and Natasha nods in responses

Apart from Maria, Pepper lends herself to be one of Natasha’s closest friends, even though she’s sure the red head does not feel the same.

It’s okay though, Natasha never feels like she expects the relationships to be equal.

“You look deep in thought,” Pepper comments, moving over and placing her book away.

Natasha sits as offered; and thinks for a moment.

She sought her out, and now… she wasn’t sure.

But who else to have this conversation with?

“I. Clint and I,” she starts, “we want to get married.”

Peppers face morphs into one of sheer delight and happiness, and she hugs her spontaneously.

“Nat! That’s great news. Seriously? And you said yes? And he asked?”

Pepper smiles, the words tumbling out of her mouth.

Natasha sits, just far enough away, so that she doesn’t get another hug.

“Yeah, he asked, and I said yes, but we have to do some things before we can, you know.”

“Tie the knot?” Pepper supplies.

Natasha cocks her head.

“What?”

Pepper laughs.

“Sorry, euphemism for getting married. Continue, forget I said anything.”

Natasha nods.

“What’s the conditions?”

“Family,” Natasha says quietly.

“I have a sister, and Clint has a brother,” she confesses.

“Oh, I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“We want to see if we can find them,” she says quietly, “maybe they can come.”

Pepper seems to understand, her quietness gentle as Natasha looks up.

“Where are they?”

Shrugging again, Natasha finds herself wanting to talk about Yelena. It seems safe here, and she rarely allows herself the luxury.

“Do you think people can be forgiven?”

The question is cryptic, deliberately so.

Pepper doesn’t answer.

“Do you think that there are things that are unforgivable?”

Unsure how to answer, she waits for Natasha to elaborate.

It’s a safe bet.

In the silence, Natasha tells her a story; a story of two girls in a strange land, learning how to be Americans. That she, in all her grief had made herself forget, forget the time they spent with each other, to make it through, lest it be held against her.

Pepper is sure she’s leaving out details.

But when she takes her hand and assures her that survival demands something else of people, Natasha looks grateful for the words.

“She’s alive,” Natasha says as though it’s the first time she’s allowed herself to say the words out loud.

“I just want to help her,” she whispers.

Pepper’s eyes well at the confession.

“Do you know where she is?”

Natasha shakes her head, hands in her lap.

“She’s alive though.”

“What about Clint’s brother?”

“We don’t know.”

Pepper frowns and bites her lip.

“Nat, you do realise you’ve set yourself an impossible task, or set of tasks?”

“Why?”

“You don’t know if they’re alive, let alone how to find them, and well, what if you can’t? Does that mean you can’t follow your own path? Get married?”

Natasha doesn’t answer.

“Tony’s looking for them, if he can’t find them, we’ll make a different plan,” she pauses.

“It is my path though, to find her, and for Clint to find him. Now anyway; and after the last year, there’s no time like the present, and if they can be; I want them to be there.”

She looks to Pepper.

“And you too, if you’ll come.”

Pepper grins and nods.

“I’ll be there, and I’ll help too, in anyway I can.”

They both look out the window, Natasha unsure what to say. They both know though, that if Tony can’t find them; no one can.

Tony finds him in the gym, he watches as he punches the speed ball, his agility his friend displays is mesmerizing.

The rattatatta of the bag is repetitive and Tony tries to wait with the information he’s holding.

“Clint?” he calls.

Nothing.

“Clint? Can you hear me?”

The speed ball stops and Clint turns around.

An easy smile greets him.

“News?” he asks, grabbing a water bottle.

There’s blood on his hand wraps.

Tony wonders just how long Clint has been punching the bag for.

He holds up the folder.

“Depending on how you look at it.”

Clint sits and opens the file.

Disappointment passes over his face, hope fading, as there’s no clear location.

“You couldn’t find him?”

Tony knows when to admit defeat. There was no leads no matter how much he searched over the last four days.

“I can’t find him, but I have a last known location, somewhere I think he was.”

Clint doesn’t say anything.

“Clint?”

Tony feels he knows. He’d had hope and now it was fading.

“Where is it?”

Clint asks.

“Wichita Falls,” Tony laughs. “A town that has many people and none at all.”

Clint nods, “yeah he would go there, he’d be invisible but there’s enough space for him to do his own thing.”

Tony points to the picture he found, and Steve’s sketch.

Clint is silent, deep in thought.

“Are you going to go?” Tony asks.

“How can I not?” Clint replies.

“The world almost ends, and I don’t know if my brother is dead or alive. Maybe it’s about time I go see if I can find him.”

Tony sees the serious soldier, and it’s at odds of his friend the joking archer.

Whatever this is for Clint, it changes him.

“I can go with you?”

Tony offers it, trying to add conviction. He knows it’s not his place.

Clint looks through the pages again, almost desperate. Tony wishes there were more.

“No, I think, it’ll be okay, Nat will be there, we can.. We got this,” Clint replies, scattered as he gathers the pages.

He looks up, face serious and guarded.

“Thanks Tony, for all of this.”

He stands.

“Any news on Yelena?”

Tony shakes his head.

“That’s going to take me a bit longer I think, there’s a server that keeps making the information bounce. I’ll catch it though, and maybe when you’re back, I’ll have more information.”

Clint nods.

“Our plane is fueled up and ready to go, you can fly right?”

The generosity isn’t lost on Clint, and he stares at his friend, he’s lent him a plane and called it “ours”.

“Why?”

Tony shrugs.

“It’s what I’d want someone to do for me, I guess.”

Clint holds his hand out to shake Tony’s and when Tony clasps it, he pulls him into a hug.

“Thanks, man,” he whispers.

It takes Tony a second, but he hugs him back

“Uh, no problem.”

2013

WICHITA FALLS

Clint sits pilot seat, staring as the plane is moved into the hanger.

Natasha hands him a water and they sit in a comfortable silence.

“Do we have somewhere to stay?” she asks finally.

Clint takes a second.

“Barney used to sneak candy into the house to give to me when I couldn’t stop crying. He’d tell me to suck on it because it would stop my sobbing.”

He pauses.

“My sobbing would aggravate my father to follow me and tell me he’d give me something to cry about. I grew up with Barney, and loved him, and then we just… never saw each other again.”

He stares, and bites hard on his lip.

Natasha watches, as she’s so good at doing.

“What if his radio silence was better for the both of us? Together we were chaos. Alone; maybe we had more of a chance. Do you think he knew that?”

He doesn’t wait for Natasha to answer rhetorical questions.

“Maybe that’s why he didn’t come back for me.”

Natasha feels the stab.

“Maybe he just couldn’t,” she responds, slightly defensive.

He softens, feeling the blow he’s landed on her.

“Yeah, maybe he just couldn’t.”

There’s a small pub out on the edge of town.

It turns out they knew Barney.

The bartender is an older, wisened man whose beard is as long as his arms.

Natasha stands back, as Clint asks the question, and they both hold their breath.

“Why do you want to know about Barney?” the man asks, suspiciously.

Clint swallows.

“He’s my brother,” he responds.

The man softens.

“Oh.”

He stops wiping the bar.

“You’re Clint?”

The man talks of Barney as a friend, and throws the keys to a woman, Natasha assumes to be his wife.

“I’ll be back,” he tells her.

He takes them on a walk to a small apartment on the outskirts of town, he has sadness in his eyes, and he tells him Barney was here. That this, the little apartment on the first floor, was where he lived.

“We served together,” the man tells him, “I convinced him to come here… some difficulties with memory, some impulse issues… he needed someone to watch his back, until… you know.”

Up until his death.

A quiet death, and a loud life.

He tells them stories of Barney’s ability to drink anyone under the table, and laughs as he reminisces on how they stayed up one night and just threw darts.

“I lost so much money that night, did you know he had good aim?”

Clint swallows and nods, trying to take on the information.

His brother.

He wasn’t a good man, but he wasn’t a bad one.

Bachelor for life and a contradiction at that - someone who spent all his time gambling and smoking; but also taught basic martial arts to kids at the local YMCA.

No children. No partner.

But a legacy all the same.

There are no words for panic and grief Clint feels.

His brother.

His protector.

It’s too late.

He’s gone.

46 notes · View notes

strawberrylabs · 7 months

Text

Whumptober day 7 with Kokomi!

Prompt: "can you hear me?"

Whumptober masterlist

Summary: Even a master strategist fails sometimes. What a pity that this time her failure cost more than usual.

Warnings: war, corpses, death, injury, blood, drowning

The strategy was flawless.

Gorou was leading the Vanguard, while you lead the second force around the island the day before the battle to cut off the enemy supplies.

It was a great plan, as expected of the high priestess of Sangonomiya.

It was noon the day before the battle, and it was time for your team to leave so you'd get to the beach in time.

"Good luck. Please be safe my pearl." Kokomi held your face as she looked into your eyes.

You smiled at her, before leaning in to give her a gentle kiss.

"Everything will be fine. It is your plan after all!"

You waved her off as your team moved out of the camp.

Kokomi was always worried whe you went off into battle.

As the strategist, she was never present during battles, she simply saw the outcome.

You often likened her to a chess player.

Watching over her pieces on the board, but never actually being the one in the battle.

She had joked that you meant she would sacrifice people for the greater good.

You corrected her by saying

"Actually, you more remind me of a kid who started learning chess and still gets upset when losing pieces, even if there was no way around it."

You had meant it in a teasing way, but it meant more to her than it should have.

It meant you knew she would always try to save everyone with her strategies. Including this one.

The strategy was flawless.

Gorou was leading the Vanguard, while you lead the second force around the island the day before the battle to cut off the enemy supplies.

It was a great plan, as expected of the high priestess of Sangonomiya.

So then why

Why was Kokomi standing on the beach that served as a battlefield, mere hours after the Resistance's devasting loss, looking at her fallen comrades.

The plan ended up a disaster. The enemy managed to get reinforcements and supplies through their line- something your team was supposed to stop.

Which begs the question...

...what happened to your team?

As much as Kokomi wanted to run to your supposed location, she had duties here-

"Go. I can handle this." Gorou looked at Kokomi with sympathy and understanding.

"I..." Kokomi looked around at her comrades. So much blood. So much death. So many corpses. She knew she had to be here.

And yet...

"Thank you"

She ran.

Many had not seen the Divine Priestess run, and those who had would say she ran as gracefully as her title suggested.

If people were to compare her every movement as being as graceful as water, then her movements now were a storm.

Tripping over bodies in a morose display of failure.

She would not cry. Crying was as good as admitting you were dead.

But Kokomi was smart

She knew the odds were stacked against her, as if the archon's themselves had turned their backs on her.

She made it where your squad should be.

Another sea of corpses awaited her. Enemies and friends alike skewed across the sand, as if someone had dug out graveyard.

Your team was overwhelmed. By the looks of it, the enemy predicted what Kokomi planned, and had set a trap for you.

Kokomi began to slowly wander around the lifeless mounds of flesh, praying to whatever god, archon or even curse was listening.

She called you name

"Can you hear me?"

She almost felt tendrils of hope wrap themselves around her heart

Until the claws of despair sink themselves in instead.

She sees you, face down in the shallow water of the shore.

If it weren't for the multiple arrows in your back, she would have worried about you drowning.

Kokomi fell to her knees

The blood of her friends, enemies, and most of all her lover mixed sickeningly in the water beneath her, staining her robs and skin.

She knows that she'll never be able to wash the feeling of the viscous solution off her skin.

She pulls you into her lap.

"I'm sorry.."

"Everything will be fine. It is your plan after all!"

"I'm so sorry..."

In the solitude of the seaside execution sight

The Divine Priestess of Watatsumi island allowed herself to weep.

#whumptober2023 #no. 7 #kokomi x reader #death tw #war tw #blood tw #drowning tw #kokomi x reader angst #genshin impact

40 notes · View notes

ajpendragon · 7 months

Text

I know it's the 5th, and not the 7th, but these turned themselves into a story along with number 14, and the two are in the wrong order. So have a little emotional whump to brighten your day.

Radio Silence

Radio Silence. Any rescue coordinator’s worst nightmare. At best, it simply meant your operative was ignoring you. Over the years, John had dealt with enough annoying younger brothers (and occasionally older ones) who were either mad at him, or simply too distracted to answer. Sometimes, it was simply a comm malfunction, which, although stressful, was easily fixed back at home. But today…

Today was the worst-case scenario.

It shouldn’t have been a hard rescue. As far as disasters went, this one was relatively minor. The collapsing building was the first in the new development, so there was nothing else nearby it could bring down with it, and it was still under construction, so it was relatively empty.

Virgil and Gordon had been tag-teaming it, alternating getting people out and shoring up the weakest points. The building was going to come down, there was no question about that, but they could delay it until everyone was out.

“You’re doing great, guys.” John encouraged, eyes darting between life signs, weak points, and his brothers’ vitals. “There’s one more life sign in the southeast corner of the building. Looks like ground level or lower.”

He could see the weight lifting off their shoulders as they wiped dust and sweat from the foreheads. They were both flagging, he could tell, but they would finish the job. Gordon grinned brightly. “I got this, Virgil. Keep my exit open until I come back.” He dashed out of view, his hologram flickering out.

Virgil sighed heavily. “He’s doing too much, John. He’s going to burn himself out.”

“I know, Virgil. After this, he’s on mandatory downtime for the next week. You both are.”

Virgil shook his head, moving to secure a crumbling beam. “I can keep going.”

“Funny. That’s exactly what Gordon would say. You’re both grounded. You’re way over your flight hours.”

Later, John would blame his lack of focus on bickering with Virgil. Whatever it was, he missed the yellow blip on his screen indicating a major weak point until it turned blaring red.

“The building’s coming down now!” He shouted. “Get out of there.”

Virgil responded immediately, getting clear fast enough to avoid the debris, but Gordon must have been underground, for all they could hear from his comm was static.

“Gordon? Gordon!?!” John and Virgil both shouted simultaneously. John’s hands were flying, pulling up images of the building and Gordon’s last known location, as well as any other information he had. “EOS! Get me Gordon’s suit readouts, now!”

“I cannot. Gordon’s suit appears to be malfunctioning or damaged. There is no data transmitting.”

Just then, the rubble shifted, a few last pieces of debris settling down, and the garbled static from Gordon’s comm cut off, leaving something worse…

Silence

#whumptober 2023 #no. 7 #radio silence #thunderbirds are go #john tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #presumed dead #thunderbirds fanfiction

40 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 7 months

Text

Won't You Go My Way?

CW: Drugged whumpee, nonhuman whumpee/monster whump with dehumanizing language, magical branding, creepy whumper, nonsexual nudity (although gilly gets a lil gross about it), magical whump, captivity

Atabei knelt beside the siren on the cool stone floor of Guilford’s bedroom, carefully moving the poor creature into position.

They’d dragged him from the bathroom laid out on top of a blanket, a sort of makeshift sled that left him thumping over the bumps where the doorways were inlaid imperfectly into the floor, groaning but unable to react in any other way. The drugged fish had done its work, and if he could have any idea that he were no longer bound and gagged, well, he didn’t show it.

He lay limp even now, jaw slack after so many days forced open. His eyelids were cracked just a little, showing a glimmer of pupil and iris, each dark enough to be interchangeable. He turned to look in her direction, but she thought he didn't see her at all - or if he did, he was so far gone he couldn't begin to understand just what he was looking at anyway. The curls of his lovely black hair had dried and gone from stuck against his skin with damp to a salt-crusted, springy bounce she could wrap around one finger and watch it snap back when she let go. Little flakes of sea salt found their way onto the floor when she did.

"Can you hear me?" She asked in a soft voice, snapping her fingers just before his face, close enough to nearly graze the tip of his slightly aquiline nose.

He didn't even blink, or twitch. Just moaned, low and miserable, mouth opening just enough to show a hint of a slightly-rough tongue.

She smiled, a gentle expression at odds with what she soon would do. “Good,” She whispered. “Feel as little as possible before the worst begins, you poor dear. This will hurt you so very, very much."

He whimpered, and she wondered if it was only because he hated the dizzy lull of the poison in his veins, or because he understood her.

She patted his shoulder as if in comfort, then looked back over her shoulder to where Guilford was pacing nervously in what passed for his kitchen. His hands worried at each other in front of him. He’d taken off his shirt, baring a chest and back marked with the occasional scarring from life at sea, shoulders hunched, his nose scrunched up to show his nerves in an expression she knew as well as her own face in the mirror.

It had been sweet, when he was a little boy. It just looked silly on a grown man.

He looked like a man with a wife bearing a child who was scared of the birth. In truth, what he wanted borne to him would be far more than a son or a legacy, but power. She could give it to him, and she would, but she thought one day he would regret it.

"He is ready to be placed," She called, voice low. "And painted. Bring me my supplies."

Guilford stopped. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he nodded, grabbing the large black bag off the kitchen table. He moved into the dim, windowless bedroom, closing the door behind him and even blocking the space between the bottom and the floor with a rolled-up towel. They were left only with the light from the candles set on every available surface. It flickered along the walls like a fire in some ancient cave.

It felt… right, to do magic here, in a space like this, even if she did not like the magic she was about to do. She had learned the darker work, but rarely performed it. Eliza's husband's lungs had been her only casualty since girlhood. But this...

This was to put something old and awe-inspiring in chains that the siren could never, ever break. Still... Guilford had asked, and it was just the same as if her own blood-brother had needed her. Not that she had a brother. Even if she had, she would probably have loved Guilford better.

She leaned forward in a rustle of skirt and petticoat, moving the siren's left wrist above his head, the blue tint of veins just visible beneath the thinnest skin marred by raw wounds rubbed by wet rope until they bled, again and again. Now swollen and inflamed as his body fought oncoming infection. His right wrist was the same. Placed next to each other with palms facing the ceiling, the backs of his knuckles just brushed each other just above his saltwater-crusted curls, a sort of makeshift halo.

His arms were strong, but the muscle was lean, barely visible until he was stretched like this. Sirens were rare - they bred so little no one had ever seen their young, and male sirens were even less common. She and Guilford, Atabei thought, were likely one of less than a thousand humans who had ever seen a siren without dying shortly after.

She let her own forefinger gently graze the line of his jaw, softened in this artificial sleep. She could see the edges of his perfect straight white teeth. The corners of his mouth were raw, too, looking almost as if his mouth had been cut wider but then healed. A terrible rictus smile that would make, indeed. At least when this was done, Guilford would have no further need to gag him.

Purple bruises on one cheekbone and smears of darkness beneath his eyes, the ring of finger-shaped marks around his neck and welts layered in red across his chest… it all told quite a vicious story of Guilford’s awful cruel impatience with him.

"When we were children," Atabei said slowly, finger drawing nonsense shapes on the siren's neck as she followed the story of his wounds, watching the creature shift just slightly under her touch with a plaintive whine, “You found once a little burrow of quenk babies. Do you remember this? The little piglets all alone while the herd's sows had gone off to forage? We watched them for what felt like hours…”

"Hm? No, I don't remember that." Guilford crouched on the other side of the siren, helping Atabei to spread the creature’s long legs apart as well, with the feet turned out to show the inner ankle, the back of the knee, the insides of his thighs. If Guilford's gaze and hands lingered too long and with intention where those thighs met hips and an anatomy Atabei had no interest in herself, Atabei chose not to see it.

Maybe he was simply jealous of the creature's endowment.

Maybe that was all.

"Your father wanted to kill them all,” She whispered, tracing little circles around the creature’s stomach, realizing he had no true navel, only the faintest indentation where an umbilical cord would have connected him to his mother. Did sirens even have umbilical cords? How did they grow their young? She’d never even considered the answer to such a question. “He wanted to smoke the babies from their burrow, drown them in a sack, and then have you pick the sows off one by one when they returned to the burrow. He wanted to teach you to shoot that way. You cried and begged him not to, you wept for them. You don't remember this?"

"Sorry, Beibei, I don't." Guilford frowned, thoughtful, as if wracking his mind for an event that he simply hadn't found remarkable. "Did it work?"

"I suppose it did. You were so noisy that the piglets fled deeper into the burrow, and the sows came back for their squealing piglets and chased you away." Atabei pressed two fingers under the siren's jaw. His pulse beat, steady and strong.

Good.

He would need his strength to survive the spell.

"Your father could not make you fire on the defenseless and frightened, then. And you did not let him kill what had done him no harm." She felt herself smile at the memory of her friend as a child with his permanent squint and muddied hands and knees, the absolute grief he caused the servants tasked with keeping him clean. Before, of course, there had been no more servants. Before there had been no more money.

Before Guilford’s father had lost it all, and his lordship besides.

"I'll bet he was furious. He always called me soft." Guilford sat back on his heels, watching the siren's chest rise and fall with deep, even breathing. "What made you think of that?"

"You would not do harm to the helpless, then." Atabei sighed and stood, moving to open her bag of supplies on a side table. “I suppose I only wonder what changed.”

Each of her twelve brushes she laid on a small towel carefully by order of their use, from the thinnest with only a few hairs for fine line work, each brush slightly larger than the last. The wooden handles were intricately carved, and their notches and swirls warmed to her fingers, recognizing their master. Then the tiny ceramic pigment bowls. Each of them appeared to have black pigment within, but Atabei’s experienced eye knew their differences, and which she needed most right now.

She chose one, which hummed a little when her fingers lingered on it, and moved it to one side, mixing it with a little water from a pitcher.

Finally, she set out a squat-bottomed bottle of shimmery black setting powder. It looked like mica that had been crushed finer than sand. It came only from beaches near certain volcanoes able to birth whole islands each year. Magic, like the seeds of certain trees, could only be brought to life through heat and flame.

“I don’t think all that much changed,” Guilford said, a little defensively. “I still wouldn’t hurt quenk piglets off in a burrow minding their own business, and I’d still happily tell my father to go to hell. My mother, too, if you’d like.”

“Your father is already there,” Atabei murmured, and smiled at Guilford’s laughter behind her. “And I imagine your mother is not far behind, if this works.”

“My mother,” Guilford said with perfect innocence, “will almost certainly bash her way into heaven simply to get as far away from my father as possible. And I imagine she will die, quite tragically, of... let's say tuberculosis. If you're amenable, of course."

"Guilord!" That made Atabei laugh, too, shaking her head as she finished mixing the first paint and picked up one of the finer brushes, moving back to the poor unconscious siren, kneeling down. She could feel the magic pulling towards the creature as she looked him over, deciding where to begin.

Finally, she shifted close to his right shoulder, looking over the mottled bruising on the side of his neck. “He must be still,” She said, voice low. “If he so much as twitches, if the brushstroke is pulled the wrong way or breaks the line, the magic will run wild and it may turn on us, or it may simply not work at all and this will be all for nothing. He must be still. Are you quite certain the poison you put in the fish will keep him that way?”

“I am,” Guilford said, but his voice wavered a little. He knew well enough to respect magic - they had still lived near to each other when she had begun taking lessons as a child, and he’d seen some of her early spellwork attempts go wrong. There was a dead tree likely still standing in the backyard of her old home to prove it, and the bones of a creature she had tried to create all by herself and failed spectacularly at. “He’ll be still, Beibei. I promise. I-I mean, it will be still.”

Atabei’s eyebrow raised, just a little, but she let it go. Guilford was insistent on pretending he was not asking her to mark a different kind of humanlike man, as though that would somehow deny the evil of this.

She dipped her brush into the paint and felt, more than heard, the way the two created a sort of harmony when they met, certain in their purpose.

“Last chance to stop,” She whispered. “Magic has a price, Guilford. It will cost you a man’s lifetime and force on you a siren’s. He isn’t very old - it could be a thousand years for you or more.“

"I don’t care,” Guilford whispered. His eyes were avid, overbright. “I want it.”

“You don’t… I promise you that you don’t.”

“I do!”

Atabei nodded. “So be it. You cannot abandon him once you have what you want. He will be always with you, and you will be always responsible for his life in order to keep your own. You will not be able to set him aside. Ever. The cost is high, Guilford. Just tell me not to do this and I will put my things away.”

She raised her eyes without raising her chin, looking at his face from beneath her eyelashes. He stared back at her, solid and unmoving, then looked down at the finely formed, handsome face of the siren, that slack mouth with red at the edges and the creature’s long lashes laying now against his cheeks.

“I want it. I want you to do this,” Guilford said, nodding to himself. She could see him pushing past his own doubts. “I need this power, it’s going to fix everything, give me everything I deserve, everything I should have had… I’ll be like a king… no, better, I’ll be a god.”

“Maybe aim lower than divinity,” Atabei murmured.

She carefully pulled the paint out, working with an aching slowness to draw the first symbols. Her brush buzzed against her fingertips as it began to do its work. The magic moved into her hand, up her arm, took hold of her mind and heart. The shimmer of candlelight all around them became a hazy, distorted nothingness. She was no longer aware of the bed in the corner, the side table, the washbasin or even the mirror hung over it.

Atabei was the magic, and it was her, working through her, working Guilford’s will into the skin of the siren he had stolen from the feral power of the ocean.

The first symbol had to be set against a place where the siren’s heartbeat or pulse could be felt, to make it strong. It bound their lives together, Guilford and his captive, and gave the magic the foundation of control she needed to do the rest. It was a kind of brand. Once the paint was set, the siren would be possessed, wholly, all that it was would belong to Guilford Wentworth, for as long as they lived.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, barely moving her lips and not even breathing real sound. Guilford was distracted watching and didn't hear her.

She worked the outline of the symbols, leaving the centers for the larger brushes she would use later on. For now, the outline was enough to get her started, and filling the magic in too heavily too soon risked her letting it escape her grasp, and who knew what wild magic could do when connected to a wild man?

Time passed in a fog, a haze. Her hand ached and she switched to the other one, thankful that the difference between the two had never meant much to her. Symbols moved down his neck and along his shoulder, down his right arm all the way to the inside of his wrist, where she set the first symbol again, cementing it, going back to fill in the interiors. It must have taken hours.

Guilford came and went - he must have gone to eat, or to relieve himself - but she didn’t notice. The magic ensured her body had no such needs until the work was done. And what work it was - the beauty of it, the intricacy, the incredible cruelty of each symbol’s meaning.

Belonging. Possession. Obedience. Submission.

Fear.

Magic did not dry like normal paint, and so the liquid stayed fresh and shimmered like new no matter how long it took her to work. Only the siren’s fingers ever twitched in reaction when she took her paint to his palm - otherwise, he stayed so perfectly still he might have been dead or carved from stone. His throat moved when he swallowed, his chest shifted when breath hitched into a whine or a pathetic whimper.

He must feel the magic, and know he should fight it and yet... and yet he could do nothing.

She could have done anything.

She took a breath, stretching her back, and then moved down to his right foot and began again. The outlines she painted from heel up to toe, over the top of his foot and along his ankle, up his calf and to the back of one knee and then over the front, up his thighs where the muscle shifted minutely beneath, along hip and pelvis, would ensure he could go in no ocean - no water - without his master’s command and consent. The siren’s own home would be barred to him forever, unless Guilford allowed it.

And only for as long as Guilford allowed it.

Guilt prickled at Atabei’s conscience, but she simply set it aside. Guilford meant far more to her than any magical being could, and this was what he wanted.

She paused to wipe away from sweat and felt a hand on her arm.

She jerked backwards in surprise as she was thrown out of her haze and back into reality, blinking rapidly as Gulford leaned in close. “Guilford William Wentworth, are you mad?! I told you not to interrupt me! What if I’ve-” She looked down, and let out a gasp of relief. “Oh, thank the gods, I was not touching him still.”

“I-I know,” Guildford said, but he looked a little ashamed of himself, which was gratifying. “I waited until you were done with that bit there. I wanted to-… to ask…” He trailed off. His face was red, and she blinked, her vision wavering as she tried to focus on him and discern why.

“What? What did you want to ask?”

Guilford’s mouth opened and closed a few times, rather like a fish out of water, and Atabei had to fight back a slight smile at how utterly ridiculous he looked doing it. There was a pause, and then he leaned over, just like when they told each other secrets as children they didn’t want the adults to hear. “Are you going to mark up its, ah…” He reddened even further, blotchy all the way to his neck and shoulders. “Its… reproductive…” He trailed off, and finally just… pointed.

Atabei followed his eyes, and then rolled her own, sitting back over the creature’s prone form. “His manhood? You want me to spell his manhood? To do what, exactly?”

Guilford swallowed, hard. He was sweating, his face shiny and hair sticking to his neck and forehead. “… anything I want.”

For the first time in their lives together as friends closer than brother and sister, Atabei felt... disgusted by him. "Guilford…”

“I won’t,” He said rapidly. "It's so it can happen with others, not me."

She knew the look she had seen on his face. She knew it for what it was. Her stomach turned. “You lie, Guilford. You are a liar, to me. To my face!"

“No! No, no, I’m being honest as the grave! I promise, Beibei, I am. But just… you know, if it helps me get what I want in the future, I need to control everything, right?”

She hesitated. “You tell me he is not a man, and in the next breath you ask me to make it so he can be made to bed you-"

“No,” He interrupted. “Not me. But I just, in case I need it to seduce someone else, is what I mean. I want to be able to command it to do so, right? That’s all. That’s all I want, nothing any more untoward than that, Beibei, I swear. I swear. You don’t think I would really… do that with some sort of monster?”

Yes, she thought. I begin to understand that you will, if that monster cannot fight you. That what you want is the need to fight without the ability to, that is where your excitement lies.

She swallowed back the words before they could be spoken and picked up the finest of her brushes, with its few bristles, and dipped it into the pot of paint. The creature’s skin was soft, with the unique texture this place had on human men, too. She tried to touch it as little as she could. Its whines took in a higher pitch, then, and she shook her head, murmuring apologies she dared not speak aloud.

She had to work more slowly than ever to keep from making a mistake. Over the soft length of it, down to mark even the bollocks beneath - she made a face, wondering how men managed with those clumsy things always in the way between their legs - and finally she connected the pattern to the marks that already climbed his leg and over his hips.

The creature shuddered when the connection was made, a sign that he had felt the power settle into place, too.

Once he was fully marked - his right arm and leg coated in the spellwork, as well as all of his chest, his manhood, his stomach, and hips - she stood to get the small bottle of setting powder.

“Get behind me and prepare yourself,” She said, voice low. She kept thinking about the strange greed in Guilford's face, the thick note to his pleading that made the hairs on her arms stand up, as if feeling the eyes of a mountain lion watching her move through the dark. She was giving him far more than a simple siren’s song to get some money, she understood that now.

For the first time, she wondered just what damage he could do with the power he was about to hold in his hands, because of her help. But it was too late to stop, or to turn back.

She had to seal the magic, or all three of them would die when it broke the barrier and turned on them all.

“Prepare myself for... what?” Guilford was back to looking like his normal self, curious and hopeful. The strange blend of greed and some kind of soul-deep need had gone, and she could almost forget she had ever even seen it. He moved around and crouched behind her.

She poured a handful of the setting powder into the palm of her hand, watching it sparkle and shine in the movement of the candlelight. “For the way he is about to wake,” She said, voice low, and then leaned over, spreading the setting powder from his foot all the way up to the mark on his neck, from pulse point to the tips of his toes, up and down again, three times. "It will not be... pleasant."

There is always an added power in threes, and she needed all the power she could draw from the great well of it she had been granted the slightest sliver of access to.

His toe twitched, first.

She held her breath, watching, tensed.

This was the moment they would learn if it had worked, if she had truly made each mark perfect. If there were any mistakes, the whole spell would be broken, and the poor captive creature would make short work of murdering them both before the magic murdered him as well.

They would probably deserve it.

Those dark eyes flew open, so wide the whites showed all around them, nearly bulging from his face as the siren hitched in a gasping breath. The powder seemed to sink into the markings, adding a new shimmer to them as well, and then the creature shook violently. His back arched, every muscle so tense he shook, a hair breadth from snapping his own bones beneath his skin.

Then, his head tipped back, his hands slapping down against the floor, and he began to scream.

It was a deafening shriek, something far beyond a human's agony, and it seemed to hang in the air as if it would never, ever end.

Atabei clapped her hands over her ears, closing her eyes tightly as if that would somehow help her drown out the roar of the siren’s unimaginable pain. The simple paint turned to buried ink, painting becoming a sort of permanent tattoo.

Deeper than could be seen, it settled into the siren’s blood and bones. His very nerve endings were reworked, the siren’s marrow hollowed out and reformed in a burst that had him writhing, screaming, clawing at himself until there were deep gouges on his arms bubbling up blood - and yet the marks were unmarred beneath. The spellwork, once set with the powder, could no longer be broken. The creature dragged nails over its neck where the symbol branded him as Guilford's, wailing, shaking its head violently and then rolling onto its side.

It was shrieking a word, over and over, but there was so much pain she couldn't even begin to understand what the word was. She had to guess, from the terror and edge of his voice, that he was saying no.

A word he could say all he wanted, but it meant nothing, now, to his body.

The siren curled up into a ball, desperately trying to escape pain that came from within, not without. His very body was his cage. He rolled onto his hands and knees, pushing himself up with difficulty, and the first tears finally fell, dripping onto the floor. A terrible wracking sob came from him, a sound that nearly set Atabei to weeping with him. He went to kneeling, clawing at his own stomach now as if he could rip out his own organs, whimpering in helpless fear and confusion. He kept repeating that strange word, a sound that rang oddly in Atabei's own ears.

Then he raised his eyes to see Atabei and Guilford staring at him.

She watched him see the brush in her hand, the little tub of her paint, and even if he didn’t know how she had done it… he knew it was her, that she had done this to him - she and the man who hurt him, over and over again, and kept him here on dry land where he didn’t belong.

The illusion of humanity dropped all at once, and she saw the sacred monster beneath.

He bared his teeth in a terrible snarl, and what had been flat and white, she saw now was row upon row of yellowed razor-sharp fangs designed to rip and tear apart his victims after their ships were broken apart on the rocks. That mouth opened too wide, too large. His previously perfectly normal human hands were tipped in deadly claws, marked already with his own blood. He was webbed between his fingers and toes.

He seemed, only then, to realize that he did not have a gag. That he was not bound, that he could raise those claws and swipe, open that jaw and end the lives of his captors at once. He jerked forward, reaching for her-

And stopped.

His claws were six inches away from her - if even that. She barely dared to breathe. “Guilford,” Atabei whispered. “Tell him you are his master, and say his name.”

Guilford was breathing just as rapidly behind her, one hand clenched so tightly on her arm that it hurt, not that she could feel much with her ears still ringing with the creature’s musical cries. He had a knife in the other - had he had one tucked in his boot the whole time? - and held it out, brandishing the only weapon they had between them, ready to pull Atabei back and protect her. He swallowed, and nodded, whispering, “C-Creature, I… I am your… master. Your n-name is… Areyto. Beibei, did it work?”

“I don’t know. If it did-”

The siren lunged towards them again, and Atabei flinched, eyes closed, absolutely certain she had messed up her spellwork for the first time since she was fourteen years old, and her life would be forfeit to some tiny mistake.

Guilford yelled, “Stop that at once, Areyto! Stay there!”

There was silence.

Nothing tore her apart.

But the siren made a sound of horrified confusion.

Atabei cracked her eyes open and discovered the siren had frozen on the spot. His eyes were no longer wide with the rage of a freed wild thing, but with the fear of one who had only just seen the bars of his cage and begun to know how small it really was. His mouth opened, air forced out with an audible hiss, but without any other sound. He tried again and again.

Nothing happened.

Atabei allowed herself to relax. “It worked. He's trying to sing and he can't. It-... it worked. You are his master now, and he can’t work their power on you.”

“What about you?” Guilford asked, with real worry, although he let go of her arm now and looked the siren over, walking slowly around him while the creature watched him, frightened and confused by how he was both unbound and yet utterly unable to act. The siren's hands trembled with the urge to attack, his knees shook. “Can it hurt you?”

“Only if you command him to. Which I certainly hope you will not do.”

“God forbid! You’re the only person on God’s green earth I’d never harm a single hair on!”

She believed him. Gods help her… she believed him. Or… hoped she did, anyway.

Atabei nodded, slowly easing back and away from the siren, but every single sign she could see suggested the spell had taken hold. “He can use his song only when and how you tell him to. He’ll learn our tongue more rapidly now, and with time forget his own. He cannot harm you or anyone you care for the safety of. He can and will harm anyone he is told to harm… by you only. His very nerves are yours to command. You may cause him pain with a word, or pleasure. Congratulations, Guilford.” She swallowed, and found herself unwilling to look the siren in the eyes any longer. “You have for yourself the full breadth of a siren’s power and lifespan, and it is yours to use as you see fit.”

Guilford nodded, but where her expression had gone grave and serious, his own was brightening into a pleased, proud smile. “Beibei, thank you. Thank you. You’ve no idea how grateful I am, I can’t even begin to express-”

“I know. I know. I know you are. Now…” Atabei sighed. She felt a strange unease, something that touched the edges of self-hatred but didn’t quite cross into it. She had ruined a beautiful wild ocean thing, but the look on Guilford’s face… “The work is half done. Command him to lay still on his belly, bare his back, and not move at all.”

“What?” Guilford looked like his ears might be ringing still. He stuck a finger in one and rubbed, then blinked at her, leaning close. “Lay down on his back?”

“No, no. Lay on his stomach. Set him up just how we began, but the other side, so his back faces us.” Atabei looked at the tears running from the corners of the siren’s eyes, how he was still frozen from Guilford’s command, his claws twitching constantly as he fought against the compulsion to obey. He looked at her with a pleading terror, and she turned her gaze away.

“Fine." Guilford licked his lips, as if savoring a delicious meal. "Areyto, lie down.”

The siren bared his teeth again - but then looked down at himself in surprise as he discovered himself already obeying the command. He made sounds of alarm, speaking rapidly in a language only he knew here, but his body no longer listened to him… it listened to Guilford.

Entirely.

Utterly.

The siren laid down on his belly on the ground, panting with fear. His eyes met hers, fearful and pleading. “No,” Atabei whispered. “You will have no help from me.”

When Guilford moved the siren’s hands above his head, the creature whined and spoke more, words that Atabei didn’t know but a tone she absolutely did. Stop. Please. Don’t do this. Why is this happening to me?

Once the siren was back in position, legs spread wide and the backs of his hands facing the ceiling, Guilford nodded. “Good,” He whispered, and Atabei shuddered at the tone of his voice, slightly thickened, oddly heavy. His eyes lit up as he began to truly enjoy and understand the way the siren would do whatever he told it to do. She had given him too much power over another being, but it was too late for regrets. “Now you may breathe, but stay still. Don’t move any other muscle.”

Guilford took his time tracing fingertips along the bottom of the siren’s left foot, unmarked as it was, watching the creature’s toes twitch. The poor thing couldn’t even begin to do anything about the unwanted touch, as it slid up his ankle, tickled the back of one knee. The siren wept against the ground, back shaking minutely with sobs that couldn’t be entirely repressed even by a magical command to stillness. Guilford, thankfully, lifted his hand before it went any higher. “Beibei…”

“What?” She cracked her knuckles, stretched her back and legs, shook the hours upon hours of stillness out of her body. For a horrified moment, she wondered if he would ask her to leave the room right here and now.

But he only gave her a look of slightly embarrassed, good-natured puzzlement she had seen on him a thousand times before. “Um. Why did we roll him over, exactly?”

“Oh. I told you already.” She settled back on her knees, and set the paintbrush back into the little dish, wetting the bristles. “You don’t know why?”

“Well, I just… oh. I guess I”ve been… distracted, haven’t I?”

When she looked up at him, his face shone with excitement, and it made something in her stomach flip in uncertain, hesitant disgust - a feeling she refused to name. A promise of torment the siren would experience that she would not let herself admit to. “Yes. You have been.”

“Apologies. It’s just… is it because we have to do the back, too?”

“Yes.” She laid the first stroke of the paint, starting at the siren’s nape, a long curving line down. “Yes, Guilford. This will need redone every ten years for the spell to hold, and it must be on both sides for the control you have to be truly complete. Once we finish this… you will have your tool to gain riches and power. You will have your false divinity."

If he heard the condemnation in her tone, he didn't show it. His smile was wide and adoring, and gods help her, she adored him in return. She would have worked this evil for no one else.

He clasped her free hand in his, clammy and sweaty, and she pulled herself free so it wouldn't mar her work. His voice was low and soft but sincere and earnest. “Beibei, again, I just, thank you so much for doing this for me. I am grateful, I will repay you a thousand times over for what you’ve done, you'll be so rich you can't even imagine the wealth, the influence, just… thank you.”

The haze of magic began to settle over her once more, but she kept herself together long enough to say what was on her mind, halting and slow. “I have done this for you, Guildford, and not for wealth or influence. You asked, and I gave. What we do here may before our deaths cost you your soul and me my peace.”

She listened to the siren’s pitiful weeping and laid a hand in his hair as some thin comfort as her other hand worked the spell. Soon enough, the poor thing would be screaming again.

She set her jaw against the racing of her own heart, and added, “Just… please, my friend… please don’t thank me for what I have done."

Taglist: @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10

Look at me keeping up with including @whumptober prompts!

47 notes · View notes

bearsinpotatosacks · 7 months

Text

I'll Haunt This Ship (To My Last Breath) - Whumptober2023

But now the room is spinning while I'm trying to fill in all the gaps - I paced for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds

Scotty gets electrocuted on the job. It's lucky Bones is good at his job.

For day 1 & 7 of @whumptober . Also on AO3.

Words: 710

Bones tapped his foot as the turbolift landed in the engineering decks. As soon as the doors open, med kit in hand, he bolted off toward where the crowd of people had formed around Scotty. He pushed them out of the way, there were way too many people here, and saw where he lay, not breathing, on the floor.

“Move back, all of you,” he said, kneeling to the floor and feeling for a pulse.

There was none.

“Has anyone done anything?”

The crowd shook their heads. Amateurs. You’d think a group working in one of the most dangerous parts of the ship would know at least some first aid. Even the security officers knew how to see to a phaser wound.

He moved his head over his face to feel him breathing and felt nothing again. “How long has he been down?”

“Two minutes,” said an Ensign.

He rolled up his sleeves. Despite all their medical advancements, CPR was still the only way to revive someone who’s heart had stopped. Apart from concoctions made from a mad mans blood, but resurrecting Jim was a one time thing, at least he hoped.

“Right, Scotty, I’m sorry about the ribs.”

He placed his hands on the breastbone, the heels over where his heart was and began to press down hard. The crowd flinched when the ribs began to crack and splinter. He didn’t flinch. The only way CPR properly worked was if you broke a few ribs, it meant you were getting through to the heart properly.

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”

He focused on his head. Tilting it back, he pinched his nose and gave one deep breath, waiting to see if his chest moved, and it did. He did one more breath but didn’t see any signs of life.

“Can you hear me?” He said as he carried on with compressions. “Scotty, can you hear me?”

No answer. He carried on with the compressions, starting to appreciate all the times Jim made him go to the gym, because without those horrible arm workouts, he probably wouldn’t have the strength to do CPR for too long.

With Scotty still not responding, he lent his head back and did two more breaths. His chest rose but didn’t carry on. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Don’t give up on me Scotty,” he said between compressions. “I think the Enterprise would stop working if you died, or you’d start haunting it, one of the two, and I don’t like the thought of either.”

As if the thought of anything happening to the Enterprise had pulled him from the brink, he jolted upright, eyes wide open and heaving in deep breaths. He lay a hand on Bones’ shoulder as he guided him on breathing easier.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Bones asked him, waving his hand in front of his face.

“Three?”

Bones nodded. Scotty moved his hand to his chest as he tried to get up.

“Why do my ribs hurt?”

Bones looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll explain later.” He said. “Now to sickbay, come one.”

He put his arm around him as they headed back to sickbay. Scotty limped, still holding his ribs as he did. The doors opened with a swoosh, some of the ensigns shouted good luck and gave him thumbs up, it was nice to know Scotty was more well liked with his staff than he was.

“Do I have to go to sickbay?” Scotty asked as the turbolift shifted upwards.

Bones rolled his eyes, “You literally died.”

“I’ll be fine!”

“No, you’re at least getting a check up, if not a full night in sickbay, and tomorrow off.”

“But-”

“No buts, now come on.”

The turbolift dinged as they reached sickbay. Scotty sighed as he walked him in and placed him on the bed. A nurse came over and began doing some tests as Bones took some readings.

“At least I can get caught up on my engineering journals.”

Bones just nodded and added a tourniquet to his arm. Tapping the IV bag, he made sure there were no bubbles in the bag or the tube, before pushing the needle into the vein and shutting him up.

“Anything to get you sitting still, Scotty.”

Can you tell I've started watching ER? One of my main gripes with that show is how light their CPR is? In one episode they feel bad for breaking ribs when I swear that's the point. Also don't take any of this as medical advice, I have no first aid training apart from ER. I have learnt how they put IV's in, also from Wikihow. But between getting into Top Gun and 2023 whumptober, I've kind of forgotten what equipment is canon in Star Trek and what's made up in my mind, lol. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

23 notes · View notes

darkkitty1208 · 7 months

Link

Entry for day 7 of Whumptober 2023, prompt no. 7: Alleyway | "Can you hear me?" combined with prompt no. 8: Outnumbered, and @badthingshappenbingo square: Kick Them While They Are Down.

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Doctor Strange (Movies), Iron Man (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Characters: Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Wong (Marvel), The Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Original Characters Additional Tags: Author does not know what they're doing, Hurt Stephen Strange, Hurt Tony Stark, Whump, Whumptober 2023, Vomiting, Headaches & Migraines, Magical Exhaustion, Blood and Violence, gratuitous whump, Stephen Strange Whump, i didnt know that was a tag!, Nausea, the vomiting bit is quite descriptive, Kidnapped Stephen Strange, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Kidnapping, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Series: Part 8 of Whumptober 2022 Summary:

It doesn't matter how many sorcerers they knock down. More and more seem to appear, and before he knows it, he's on the ground, letting out a pained groan.

#whumptober2023 #no. 7 #no. 8 #alleyway #can you hear me?#outnumbered #vomiting tw #marvel cinematic universe #doctor strange #iron man #fic #fanfic #stephen strange #tony stark #ironstrange #my writing

17 notes · View notes

yarn-dragon · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 7! It's a quiet evening in the Spire by Fire when Orym realizes Dorian is missing

#whumptober 2023 #no. 7 #alleyway #critical role #fic #panic attack tw #critical role fic #bells hells #campaign 3 #orym of the air ashari #dorian storm #flashbacks #enjoy!

17 notes · View notes

medusapelagia · 7 months

Text

Eddie's Month Day 7 + Whumptober Day 7

written for @eddiemonth and @whumptober-archive

Prompts: Eddie’s month: Wayne | The Seeker - The Who | Warm

Whumptober: “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.” - Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

Rating: Mature Relationship: Wayne Munson - Eddie Munson WT: major character death, grief, Vampire Eddie Munson, implied reference to depression WC: 1451

Eddie was always loud.

Since the first day he entered Wayne's life like a little hurricane, he was always surrounded by sounds of any kind.

He used to bang the doors, he always listened to his music, which was a mix of screaming and noises in Wayne’s opinion, at the highest volume. He did the same in his van, and the few times Wayne took Eddie’s van he almost got a heart attack every time he turned the van on and the music blasted from the radio.

Eddie was noisy. He was life. He was everything that Wayne missed without even knowing it.

Now that he was resting his eyes on a cot in the high school’s gym, even surrounded by thousands of people, everything felt too silent.

Every day Wayne wakes up, takes a cup of coffee from the hand of a smiling woman, and goes to the plant.

The only good thing in Wayne’s life is that the plant is still open so he can forget about the living hell his life is and lose himself in the monotone routine of the plant.

No one of his coworkers talks to him. They don’t know what to say. They know he lost a son in the earthquake but they also know that he was a murder suspect.

Innocent until proven guilty, that’s what the law says, but in everyone’s mind, Eddie killed that sweet girl.

So Wayne works alone, he eats alone, he goes back to the high school gym to sleep a few hours and then everything starts again. Every day is the same.

He keeps changing the missing person flyers because someone makes some stupid drawings on Eddie’s face when he is at work.

Wayne knows his kid, he knows he is too sensible to kill a fly… he is… he was… god.

His kid.

The boy he did his best to keep on the right track.

The boy he brought to live with him even if he didn’t know a single thing about kids.

The boy… his boy… his kid.

He wipes away a single tear and gets back to the gym, ready to eat some pj sandwiches and lie on the cot.

“Mr. Munson?” A kid calls him, and when he turns the kid has something in his hand. Something that Wayne knows too well.

Eddie’s guitar pick.

Wayne knows what it means. He has taken many dogtags from the bodies of his comrades during the war in Vietnam to bring them back to their families and give them some consolation. But consolation is not what he is feeling right now. He feels despair, anger, and pain.

But all these emotions have no words even if they scream loudly inside him.

He sits on his cot, the guitar picks in his fist, and for the first time in days, he lets the tears fall free.

Men don’t cry, that’s what his old man taught him, but he can’t really stop the overwhelming feelings that are too big to be contained in his body. So he cries. He doesn’t care if everyone is seeing him. He doesn’t care that there is a kid at his side and he should comfort him.

He cries.

Quietly as he has lived all his life.

***

After that day, every day becomes even longer.

The military comes and they give him a room in a seedy motel.

No more coffee poured by pretty housewives, no more murmurs in the night.

Radio silence.

That’s what they called it during the war.

That moment in which everything went quiet and all you had to do was wait.

And Wayne waits.

He waits for the federals to question him.

He waits for the journalist.

He waits for a call from the state’s prison.

He waits for a funeral, knowing he will be the only one attending.

He waits.

And waits.

Until one night something happens.

And it’s not one of the things he was waiting for.

***

He is walking through the woods, as he used to do when he was a kid.

There is a strange kind of blue snow falling to the ground, but Wayne is not worried.

There aren’t many things he is worried about right now.

He doesn’t care about expired bills, or money, or whatever.

He just keeps going because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Wayne?” A voice calls him and Wayne freezes.

That voice is familiar. Too familiar.

“Eddie?”

Wayne sighs, he definitely lost it.

He is surprised that it took so long, but now he is officially as crazy as his mother.

At least he is not talking with plants.

“Wayne!” The voice calls again and then he hears something growling behind him. It sounds like a dog but not really.

“Wayne!”

A black shadow pushes him to the ground and then hisses at the dog.

Wayne looks at the person over him which… doesn’t really look like a person but looks a lot like… “Eddie?”

His skin is white, almost deathly pale, with big black veins.

“Wayne.”

He is his boy.

He doesn’t look like it but he definitely is his boy.

He hugs him tight. The boy is cold as marble but sturdy.

“You are alive! You are alive!” Wayne keeps murmuring, still lying on the ground.

Eddie nuzzles at him like an animal and keeps repeating “Wayne.”

“I thought I lost you. I really did. And I missed you so fucking much! I even missed your awful music!”

It doesn’t matter if Eddie looks different. The only thing that matters is that he is there.

“I missed you too, Wayne.” he replies, looking at him with eyes too dark.

“Let’s go home kid. I have a room in a motel. It’s not big but we could stay for a couple of days and then we will leave this horrible town behind us. I’ll drive you everywhere you want! Just… let me take you home, warm you up a little, and then we will leave, I promise you.”

Eddie sighs, getting up and helping Wayne get up too.

“Wayne… something happened and…”

“We will fix it! I know you didn’t kill the girl! You could have never…!”

“That’s not it.” He replies helping Wayne get up and he seems so much stronger than he was.

“Lifting amps really made you strong.”

“Yeah, that… and being a vampire.”

Wayne freezes. Ok. Maybe he is crazy like his mother after all.

“Wayne. Can you hear me?” Eddie asks, moving a hand in front of Wayne’s face.

“What… what did you say?”

Eddie sighs.

“Something happened. I… sort of… died?”

Wayne widens his eyes.

This can’t be happening.

He is dreaming. He must be still at his motel and all of this is just a strange dream, maybe a nightmare.

“I know it’s not easy to understand. But there is a war, between our dimension and this other dimension which is full of monsters and…”

“Are you… are you a monster?”

Eddie shrugs “In some ways. But I don’t kill people! I swear. I have eaten only rabbits. And a deer. Once. They are not easy to catch.”

“You eat them like… like you cooked them, right?”

“Wayne…”

Wayne knows nothing about monsters, dragons, and parallel dimensions. But even he knows that “Did you drink their blood?”

“That’s my thing now, I suppose. But, hey, look at the bright side, you will not have to scold me anymore because I drink only Mountain Drew and eat too many chips!”

That’s the bright side, uh?

Eddie gets closer to him “There are monsters in these woods, Wayne, you can’t stay here. You are too exposed.” he turns toward something Wayne can’t hear “Go to the Harringtons. The kids are there. They are making a new plan. They will explain everything to you.”

Wayne trembles, closing his hands in a fist to fight the desire to grab Eddie and hold him to his chest.

“You… you are dead. I didn’t… I didn’t protect you…I should have been there… I failed you. I failed you, Eddie.”

“Hey, hey, hey! You didn’t fail me, Wayne! My parents failed me, the school failed me, and even the fucking government failed me. Not you. Never.” Eddie smiles at him, putting a freezing arm on Wayne’s shoulder “Come on. I’ll come with you. These woods are not the ones you knew.” he says, then he adds “And we need to catch up, right?”

***

When they finally get to the Harrington house Wayne knows everything about evil creatures and scientific experiments and when his eyes meet Steve Harrington’s the boy extends his hand and says to him “Welcome to the resistance.”

#whumptober2023 #no. 7 #Radio Silence #Can you hear me?#stranger things #fic #major character death #grief #Vampire Eddie Munson #implied reference to depression #stranger things fanfic #my fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #eddiemonth #eddiemonth day 7 #medusapelagia #medusapelagia fanfic

18 notes · View notes

ssa-atlas-alvez · 2 years

Text

Whumptober Day 7

No. 7 THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER

Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack

Warnings: panic attacks, nerves surrounding coming out, mostly emotional whump

Word count: 524

You couldn’t seem to stop your hands from shaking, it had been hours and still here you were, shaking. You were on the way back, the jet not far from landing. You had tried everything, you had eaten, had something to drink, had a quick nap, you even tried doing some star jumps. Nothing seemed to be helping. You knew what it was. It was the anticipation. You had planned on coming clean, on telling them everything and you were anxious. Scratch that, you were shitting bricks. You had never been more terrified to tell the team something then you were right now. But you had promised yourself that on the way back to Quantico, you would tell them. And you weren’t about to let yourself down, not today.

Sighing, you shifted in your seat, debating trying to get everyone’s attention. You noticed your heart beating rapidly in your chest, the occasional flutter, and you’re sweating. Standing up as casually as possible, you head to the toilet. You spend maybe two minutes there, splashing water on your face, trying your best to calm down.

It wasn’t even that big of a deal, you didn’t know why you were so anxious over it. You just had to go up to them and say ‘hey, so I wanted to talk to you’ they’d ask what was wrong, and then you’d just say ‘well, I’m transgender and I left like it was time to finally tell you’ and then they’d say ‘hey no worries, thanks for telling us’ and that would be that. You knew that logically, it was all going to be okay. And yet, here you are, having a panic attack in the bathroom of the jet.

A soft knock on the door drew you out of your thoughts. “(Y/N)? It’s Hotch, is everything okay?” He asked softly, “You’ve been in there a while.”

“I’m fine-” You winced as your voice cracked at the end of the sentence.

“(Y/N)-”

“I’ll be out in just a moment,” You said, Hotch sighed from the other side of the door, mumbling an okay before he walked away. You sighed. Now you really had to tell them.

You spent the next minute making sure you didn’t look like you had been having a panic attack. You took a deep breath. Okay, you could do this. You could do this. You unlocked the door, sitting in your seat (ignoring the concerned gazes) before turning to everyone. The whole gang were there for this case, Garcia included. Which meant that you could come out to everyone all at once, which was both a blessing and a curse. “I need to tell you all something.”

“Is something wrong?” You turn to Hotch, noticing his eyebrows furrowed in concern and shake your head. ‘Not unless this goes terribly’ you think to yourself.

“I’m transgender, a transman,” You say, watching everyone’s expression.

“Is that what you were worried about?” You nod and Penelope walks over, enveloping you in a hug. “Sweetie, we don’t care about that! We love you, no matter what!” You break out in a grin.

“Love you guys too,”

126 notes · View notes

one-piece-aus · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 7

Uta

"Uta." Luffy popped his head in the treehouse, smiling when he saw his friend there sitting against the bark. "Uta!" He climbed onto the platform, going over to her. "You won't believe the treasure we got today-" Luffy paused, seeing the girl has made no reaction. He pouted and began poking her cheek. "Uta... Uta... Can you hear me?"

"What are you whining about now, crybaby?" Ace grunted as he climbed into the treehouse, followed by Sabo.

"Uta sleeping so I can't tell her about the treasure we got," Luffy huffed, sitting in front of her with his arms and legs crossed.

"Just wake her up dumbie."

"I can't, she's a heavy sleeper."

"Eh? Seriously?" Sabo looked surprised. "But she always wakes up if we move too much in our sleep." He scratched his head looking at their sister.

"That's different," Luffy stated.

"How?" Sabo asked, only to receive a shrug from Luffy in response. Sabo deadpanned.

"Just yell in her ear like we do to each other." Ace went over to Uta.

"Wait, Ace don't-" Luffy tried to warn Ace but he already moved Uta's headphones.

"AHH!" Uta jumped awake, fearful eyes darting everywhere.

"Uta, Uta, calm down, you're just with us." Luffy reassured her while Ace rubbed his ears.

"Luffy?" The girl focused her gaze on him, slowly her heart rate return to a regular pace. She placed her hands over her ears, frowning when nothing were covering them. "Who took my headphones." All eyes fell on Ace who is currently finding that catapiller climbing the wall to be very interesting.

"Ace..." Sabo's tone hinted that the ravenette should probably apologize.

"Okay, I did it." Ace held out the headphones. "I didn't think anything bad would happen."

He took a step forward, creaking a floorboard. Instantly, Uta hissed in pain as a thousand needles stung her ears. Using one hand to snatch the headphones as the other attempted to ease her ears, she hastily snapped the device back over her ears, sighing in relief.

"Don't do that again," Uta said, glaring at Ace.

"Why are they so important anyways?" Ace asked.

"Her ears hurt from all the noises everywhere if she's not wearing them," Luffy bluntly states pointing at her. Uta was about to protest but shut her mouth when Luffy technically explained it. The strawhat boy then turned the singer. "Can I tell you about the treasure we snagged today now?"

Uta nodded and Luffy cheered, leaving the other two brothers with more inquiries about their sister.

Tag: @roseoftrafalgar @bookandyarndragon

43 notes · View notes

spritehouse · 7 months

Text

The End is Near pt. 1

I’m Not Afraid to Disappear

read on ao3 | part 2 coming soon

Prompts: Pinned Down (no. 5) & Radio Silence (no. 7) | @whumptober-archive (both prompts are mostly implied)

⚠️Content Warnings: talk of suicide/suicidal idealization/not wanting to be alive, drugs/thoughts of drug use and cravings, unhealthy or disordered eating, implications of self-harm please read responsibly!

Pairing: Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid

Summary: The hunger helps with the cravings, keeping the itch, the burning buzz of need under his skin at bay, while a small glass vial of temptation sits closer than his next meal, waiting on his bedside table for the grieving genius to give in. He doesn’t want to be alive. It’s not the first time he’s thought about it, or maybe it is, considering the thoughts never stopped, suicidal idealization burning in the back of his mind since he could understand the desire to die, life fanning small sparks into roaring flames like bonfires, heat consuming every other ache in his body until only ashes remain. Spencer is tired. He doesn’t want to be alive.

- or, spencer is struggling after emily's death and his boyfriend, luke, comes to help

Notes: currently fucking around w putting my fics here. lmk what you think

His ceiling is white.

Or an off-white from time passing, wearing away color like life slowly weathering away rocks, mountains of genius eroded into piles of sand, the still color swimming, swirling in Spencer’s vision.

He’s tired but still so achingly awake, staring at one discolored spot on the ceiling, resonating with it; he doesn’t belong here either, sticking out like a sore thumb, too dull, too vibrant, too loud, too soft, too fucked up to save. He has never found where he fits, floating between nothingness and everything, all at once, distance silencing his suffering screams.

And he’s tired.

Exhaustion hangs off his limbs like chains, tethering his body to reality, pain pinning him down while his consciousness drifts, thoughts floating aimlessly through his empty apartment.

His stomach has since stopped aching over the blending days, giving up on reminding its host that, despite everything, he’s still human and requires food because it doesn’t matter if he’s alive anymore; he doesn’t want to be.

The hunger helps with the cravings, keeping the itch, the burning buzz of need under his skin at bay, while a small glass vial of temptation sits closer than his next meal, waiting on his bedside table for the grieving genius to give in.

He doesn’t want to be alive.

It’s not the first time he’s thought about it, or maybe it is, considering the thoughts never stopped, suicidal idealization burning in the back of his mind since he could understand the desire to die, life fanning small sparks into roaring flames like bonfires, flames consuming every other ache in his body until only ashes remain.

Spencer is tired. He doesn’t want to be alive.

“Spencer?”

He hardly hears his door open, staring at the ceiling as soft footsteps sound through the stillness, trudging through the thick layer of grief that has settled over Spencer’s apartment.

“Spence?”

Dim light streams through the open door, illuminating Spencer in a soft glow of grief as Luke studies the scene before him.

“Oh, cariño...”

His eyes leave the ceiling, lazily tracking Luke through his bedroom, watching his boyfriend stop at his bedside table, shanking hand hovering over the vial.

“Can I touch you, Spence?”

He doesn’t move, grief and now, shame sitting on his chest, pinning him in place, heart and eyes aching, burning, chest longing for his boyfriend’s touch.

“Okay, I’ve got you.”

Tears well like springs under his eyes when Luke understands—he always understands—what his partner needs, sometimes better than Spencer, without words, gentle hands holding him against his chest.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Part of him wants to protest, reassure Luke that he shouldn’t have to spend every second wondering, waiting for his partner to fall apart the second something bad happens, and apologize. The other part wants to scream, not at Luke, never at Luke, but just scream, finally feeling every emotion, every ounce of anger, regret, sadness, everything he’s spent his life locking away.

“It’s okay, cariño. It’ll be okay.”

He can’t do either; he can’t even cry.

“Alright, Spence,” Luke sighs after a few minutes, pulling back and leaning his boyfriend against the headboard. “Here’s what we’re going to do–”

He almost starts sobbing right there, relief lightening the load weighing him down, so thankful Luke understands that sometimes he just needs someone to take charge and tell him what to do, laying everything out and giving him a chance to turn his brain off for a bit.

“–we’re gonna go to the bathroom and get rid of this–“ He picks up the vial, slipping it into his pocket. “–and anything else you might have, and then I’ll run you a bath. We’ll wash your hair—and anything else if it seems manageable—and then change into your softest pajamas. Sound good so far?”

Spencer nods slowly, hanging onto every word from Luke’s lips like a lifeline.

“Alright. After that, we’ll take a break, if you need it, then order some groceries and get something to eat, anything you want, and relax. Okay?”

He nods again, opening his hand for his boyfriend’s touch.

“Can you walk?” The question is genuine, not laced with judgment like Spencer has gotten so used to, Luke’s hand gently taking his.

The younger brunette leans forward, gauging his body’s reaction to the simple movement—his head spins, splashes of color swirling across his vision, heartbeat roaring in his ears–

“Can I carry you, cariño?” Luke, like always, can read his response, waiting for his partner to recover enough to nod before scooping him up and carrying him into the bathroom.

“Okay,” He sets Spencer on the toilet seat, crouching in front of him until they’re eye to eye. “I need you to be honest with me, Spencer. Is there anything else in the apartment?”

He nods, dropping his gaze, eyes burning with shame.

“Can you tell me where?”

Spencer nods to the cabinet under his skin, heart racing, half of him wanting to take it back, tell Luke he’s lying, that he’s okay, even though he knows his boyfriend won’t believe him because knowing relief, whether temporary or permanent, is so close has been the only thing keeping him going for so long–

“Thank you, cariño,” Luke says, finding the small case in his first aid kit and dropping it on the counter. “Can I take these too?” He holds up an unopened package of blades, making Spencer swallow desperately around the lump in his throat, choking on his humiliation before nodding.

“I love you, Spencer,” Luke kisses his forehead, cupping his partner’s face when he doesn’t pull away, gently wiping away silent tears. “I’m so proud of you. Do you hear me?”

He nods, leaning into Luke’s hand.

“Good, because it’s true. I’m proud of you.” Spencer hums, closing his eyes against Luke’s skin for a second. “Okay. You said we’re supposed to tape this closed, right?”

He nods again, picking up a roll of medical tape from the first aid kit before taking one of the vials in trembling hands, taping the top before dropping it into the sharps container sitting on the counter.

“Hot bath?” Luke confirms as he stands, despite knowing his partner only tolerates baths and showers when the water could almost burn his skin.

Spencer nods, chest swelling with pride as the older brunette steps out of the room, trusting him enough to leave him alone with his vices.

“Okay, cariño, one burning-hot bath coming up.”

They sit in comfortable silence, Spencer taking off his clothes while Luke makes sure the water is the right temperature before adding his partner’s bath salts.

“All ready for you.”

The younger brunette sighs as he steps into the hot water, fingers intertwining with his boyfriend’s as Luke sits on the edge of the bathtub, tugging his hand gently.

“Spence, I don’t think we��ll both fit–”

He sighs, conceding almost immediately to his partner’s wide, pleading eyes, stripping off his clothes before settling behind his, gently working the knots out of Spencer’s shoulders as he melts into the older brunette’s chest, eyes fluttering closed with a content sigh.

“I love you, cariño,” Luke murmurs, massaging shampoo into his hair, partner practically purring under the touch. “I absolutely adore you.”

#whumptober 2023 #no. 5 #no. 7 #pinned down #radio silence #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #luke alvez #shortmc #luke alvez fanfiction #ralvez #ralvez fanfiction #spencer reid fic #luke alvez fic #ralvez fic

12 notes · View notes