#no. 8

[zegalba]

Breathtic: No.8 (1974)

#Breathtic #no. 8 #nobuyoshi araki #photography #photo book #japan #1974

[strawberrylabs]

Whumptober day 8 with Abyss!Aether!

Prompt: "it's all for nothing"

Whumptober Masterlist

Summary: For all the Abyss prince's work, he still lost everything. Including his sister, and most of all, including you.

Warnings: death, blood, war, inaccurate depictios of the inner abyss due to lack of canon depictions available

"I'm sorry Aether... I didn't want it to come to this!"

Lumine stood above her brother, the Abyss crumbling around them.

Creatures of the abyss lay dead, the structures surrounding them crumbling.

Lumine show one last look at her brother- for she knew she would not ever see him again- and left the collapsing domain.

She had done it. She stopped the Abyss and found her brother.

It's just a shame that over her journey, her loyalty towards teyvat outweighed her loyalty to her kin.

Maybe if it weren't so, Aether wouldn't be laying on the ground with his sister's elemental infused sword stuck through his chest.

Aether stared at the sealing of the Abyss

"So.... It's all for nothing."

Aether thought back on the 500 years of work he put into crushing the archons... the work he put into making them pay

Only to have it all blown back in his face.

Aether refused to cry in his final moments, but he could already feel the semblence of hot tears in the corners of his eyes.

It was all... for nothing!

The experiments, the traps, the years of watching the Khaenri'ahns turn into monsters, yearss of watching the final descendants go mad!

For nothing!

Years of careful planning to persuade his sister to see the right path and join him, only for his plan to be thrown by a stupid talkative little fairy and the archons- again!

Aether could no longer fight the sobs.

He not only lost his hard work, he lost his people, his followers, his nation, his sister!

And he lost...

You-!

Where were you?!

Aether groaned as he pulled out his sisters' sword, blood pooling on the ground.

He knew he would die quicker this way, but he had to find you.

All his hard work was gone, but maybe you weren't.

You, who stood by the prince during all his hard moments, you who reasured him that Lumine would see the truth eventually- although it seems this "eventually" you spoke of came too late.

You who last he remembers-

Was... fighting off Lumine at the entrence of the Abyss.

Aether was so caught up in his engagment with his sister that he didn't stop to think

If Lumine made it to the throne room where Aether was

What happened to you..?

Aether dragged himself in the direction of the domain's entry.

His vision was fading, his chest ached with the pain of despair, betrayal and impending death.

No!

He had to find you! He had to know you were ok! He had to-

...

It was all for nothing.

Aether saw your body slumped on the ground.

Blood pooling from a gash on your head and a grisly cut on your neck.

Aether hurried his crawl, coughing blood in his panic and disarray.

He huffed in exhaustion, vision continuing to swirl as he pulled your limp head into his lap.

He wish he could say you looked peaceful

Your face was contorted in pain- not physical, but emotional.

Your lips are pulled in a frown, and tear stains line your cheek.

Aether hates to think that your final moments were spent blaming yourself for the fall of the Abyss.

Aether cries as he gently cradles your face.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry.."

He really has lost everything.

Lowering himself beside you, gritting his teeth as his movements jostle his wound, he pulls you into him.

He can only pray to whatever forsaken power of the damned world will hear him, that your spirit can feel his love in whatever afterlife you've gone to.

It was all for nothing.

The last Prince of the Abyss died on that cold floor of the shadowed domain, reeking of despair.

His once powerful, strong willed kingdom was reduced to corpses, tears and blood by the hands of the one he once trusted more than his own sense.

His hard work, his people, his followers, his nation, his sister, his life.

His love.

He lost it all.

And no one will remain to remember.

@rainswept here you are pookie

this- isn't what was originally planned but ya know slay ig

#whumptober2023 #no. 8 #abyss!aether x reader #aether x reader #abyss prince aether #aether x reader angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact #death tw #blood tw

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 8 - It’s all for nothing

Warnings: grieving. funeral in a sense.

Word Count: 1.9k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha provides Clint with options and everyone does what they can to support him.

A/N: this part ends on a happy note, I swear.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

2013

NEW YORK

The bartender had left them alone at Barney’s final resting place, a small plot in the Witchita Falls cemetery.

Natasha hadn’t known what to do, and had left him sitting by his brothers grave.

She’d wandered off, then came back with some wildflowers, placing them on the top of the headstone, before sitting next to him.

“He’s dead, Nat,” Clint had whispered.

She didn’t know what to say.

Often so awkward in her own grief, she never knew what to do with Clint’s.

“I’m sorry,” she’d whispered back redundantly.

They’d stayed until night fell, ignored their phones and just sat.

Clint told some stories he remembered of his brother, and became quiet.

His sadness engulfing them both as neither really knew what to do next.

Natasha had expected a mission, a chase, something that involved action to find Clint’s brother. It felt strange that it was this… normalcy.

He came to a place; made a home, lived and died.

Coming out of New York that was so affected by aliens and strange happenings, the quiet town of Witchita Falls was peaceful.

She almost wanted a goose chase, something to put off this grief that she knew he was feeling.

“Do you think he was happy here?” she asks tentatively, not really knowing what to say.

“I don’t know,” he answers.

“Maybe? I think he probably knew he needed something, maybe stability, a home where he…”

Clint’s voice breaks and he covers his face.

She moves closer to him.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, “I had hoped…”

And that was the thing, they both had allowed themselves to hope that he was alive and okay.

“I had hoped he’d be here,” she finishes.

Clint takes a deep breath.

It prompts her to do the same.

“Confronting the past comes with a price, doesn’t it?” he comments, leaning forward to trace the letters on the headstone.

“Yeah,” Natasha replies, watching him closely.

He shivers.

“We should go,” he tells her, looking at her closely.

His voice makes it clear that he doesn’t want to.

“No, not yet,” she nods.

“Yeah, okay, not yet,” he says slowly.

.

Clint decides not to go back to the tower. He can’t face Tony and uttering the words that it was all for nothing.

The hope he had, gone.

He doesn’t want anyone’s pity and he regrets asking for help. The vulnerability of it all making him feel exposed.

Finally alone, he lets angry tears fall.

Natasha returning the plane, he was thankful for her but all he wanted was to throw and shout and yell at the unfairness of it all. He didn’t want her to see that side of him.

He kicks off his shoes, enjoying the way they fly across the room.

Next his shirt, he throws into the wall.

Grunting, he hits the bench, his hand hurting but makes him feel marginally better.

He turns the shower on as hot as it go, and steps into the steam.

No matter how many times he turns it over in his mind, he can’t seem to believe it.

Barney is dead.

His brother, who gave him candy, stood in front of father to protect him, who took beatings for him; dead.

Clint can’t seem to comprehend it.

He doesn’t understand how.

Maybe it had been the reason why Tony hadn’t been able to find anything.

Maybe it was true.

He just… didn’t want to believe it; but… he did.

He thinks that if Barney was alive, he would have found him after the events in New York, he would have known Clint needed him.

But, his death. He’s dead and Clint didn’t even get to say goodbye.

What ifs play in his mind.

What if he went looking? Would they be friends? Would they have fought again?

The shower beats down and lets it’s flow over him, let’s it mask his tears and grief.

Barney is dead.

And he didn’t even get to say goodbye.

.

Natasha stops at the store, readying herself for the heaviness that’s bound itself to Clint.

She finds the candy he was talking about, though the story broke her heart, she recognises the ties to each other.

Wandering around, she lets herself grieve for the what ifs, of having her sister and his brother in the same room, of a wedding that likely won’t eventuate now the parameters can’t be met.

Pepper was right in saying that she’d set an impossible task.

Natasha breathes in, and out and lets the fantasy go.

She wasn’t even sure she wanted it anyway.

Maybe this is for the best.

Ringing and ordering Clint’s favourite pizza, she focuses on the next couple of days.

They used to hold little funerals for the girls that died in the red room.

It helped, she thinks, even if they were the ones doing to killing. A little tea candle that they used to steal, flowers they used to smuggle and someone would say something nice about the girl that had passed. They’d then put a drop of blood on the flowers, passing a knife around. She’s not sure who started the funerals, only that they’d continued on, helped as a way to mark the grief and the end of a life.

Maybe it’s what Clint needs.

On a whim, she picks up candles and flowers and then heads to the pizza shop.

.

“How does this work?” Clint looks at Natasha.

He’d said yes.

She’d told him a story of little widows grieving their friends and how a funeral for his brother might help.

In his sadness, he’d said yes.

Any way of saying goodbye was better than nothing.

Clint takes a breath.

Since finding out Barney was dead, he had not been a good friend or partner, off the back of aliens, life had just felt a bit too much.

Wallowing felt easier, letting grief engulf him whole.

He didn’t even realise that the month had passed.

Almost two.

Natasha’s suggestion, he’d hoped would help him, to be better; feel better.

Provide some closure.

Tony stands back with Pepper and Maria either side.

Steve already sitting on the chairs.

Natasha lights the candles.

The rooftop of the Avengers Tower lit by fairy lights, giving it a childlike glow.

“Sit,” she offers, “I don’t think this needs to be formal.”

“We used to have funerals for those that were gone, no longer of the world,” she starts, “and I think, everyone has different traditions, all over the world but perhaps the essence is the same.”

Clint nods at her as she looks over.

They’d talked about it, of course, what he wanted to say, disclose and share amongst his friends.

He hands a shot to everyone, filled with Barney’s favourite drink when he was younger.

“Barney was my older brother,” he pauses, swallowing, watching his friends as they watch him carefully.

“It realise I say this amongst a group of people, one of whom has a sibling,” he laughs.

“But having a sibling is like having someone who knows you and knows everything about you when you’re little, maybe when you’re older too.”

Clint doesn’t really know where he’s going with this, but he wants to try and explain to them how Barney was the best thing and the worst thing.

“You’re responsible for them, and tied to them, and, and this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

He takes a moment to compose himself, and raises the glass.

“Barney would think this is stupid, that he’s already in the ground, it’s nonsense to grieve. He’d probably wonder why would people who have never met him, want to come and grieve.”

Clint smiles.

“He was a bit clueless, my brother.”

Steve smiles back at that.

“He made my childhood bearable, and I will always carry the guilt that I couldn’t return the favour, then or now.”

Trying to smile, he looks to Natasha.

He feels tears well, unable to continue.

She smiles for him and nods.

“To Barney?” she offers.

Clint nods, and everyone responds in unison.

“To Barney.”

.

Natasha is glad it’s night, because conversation continues easily. The bonfire in the middle crackles and she leans back listening.

Steve and Clint exchange stories of childhood, Steve’s stories of his friend Bucky and Clint’s of Barney.

It’s the first time she’s seen him smile easily since they found out.

Maria nods and offers her a drink.

She shakes her head and holds up the lemonade she’d been holding.

“How’s he been?” she asks, sitting on the edge of the chair.

Natasha looks at Clint, his wrinkles alighting as he gestures emphatically about a story.

“I think this week he’s been trying, to be better, to be part of life. He was actually looking forward to this, I think. Maybe looking for a way to honor his brother.”

Maria looks at her.

“Any news on Yelena?”

Natasha looks at her feet.

“Uh, yeah actually. Tony’s been helping me find some solid leads and we think we’ve found a way to contact another Widow.”

Maria’s eyebrows furrow, “that’s good? Why do you look like that’s not good news?”

Natasha takes a deep breath.

“I was waiting, I want him with me, but..”

“You don’t want to rub in the fact that your sister is still alive when his brother is dead?” Maria finishes.

“Maybe,” Natasha mumbles.

“You know you have to tell him?”

“I know, but after this, yeah? Tonight is his.”

Maria takes a drink.

“How are you?”

Natasha’s question takes her off guard.

“I’m good,” she smiles, “feels like a while since we’ve caught up.”

Natasha nods.

“Maybe next weekend, if I’m still here?”

Maria smiles.

“I’d like that.”

.

Clint clasps Tony on the back.

“Thanks man,” he says sincerely, “I don’t know if I can’t ever thank you for finding him, but I’m glad I know. I wasn’t, but… I think I am. I had to know or I was left in limbo and the what ifs would have been worse.”

The words come out in a tumble.

Tony steps back from the bar, offering him another drink.

Clint shakes his head, holding up his beer.

“I found someone else,” Tony confesses.

Clint frowns, not sure he’s ready for any other blows.

“Gus?”

He leans over the bar and pulls out a photo.

“He owns a pub in Omaha.”

Clint smiles.

“He’s still alive?”

Tony dips his head, “yeah, he’s still alive.”

“How’d you know?”

Tony shrugs, “I found the police reports, who came to pick you up from the hospital after…”

Clint’s heart stutters.

“After their death?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought, maybe it could help to talk to someone else who knew Barney, maybe share some stories,” Tony finishes.

Clint is touched.

“Thanks Tony.”

He touches the picture.

“Thanks.”

.

Slightly drunk, they take residence in their room in the tower.

Clint strips, and Natasha changes into his shorts and T-shirt, as he climbs into bed, eyes closing.

“Nat?” he mumbles.

She turns off the light and turns into him, hugging him tight.

“Yeah?”

“Love you,” he finishes.

“Love you too,” she whispers, kissing the nape of his neck.

“Nat?” he says again.

She looks up, and he half smiles.

“We’re still getting married right? Even though he can’t be there?”

She smiles bigger.

“Yeah Clint, we can still get married.”

.

#whumptober2023 #no. 8 #it’s all for nothing #natasha romanoff #clintasha #black widow #clint barton #my fic #hawkeye #natasha romanoff fic #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #marvel fic #avengers fic #clint barton x natasha romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x Clint barton #whump fic #black widow fic #shield fic #Maria hill #Tony stark #Steve rogers #Yelena belova #Barney barton #clintasha fic #red room

[oneweirdbookaddict]

Whumptober day eight!

Time has timeline angst and Wars is an older brother despite being younger.

872 words.

No warnings. Let me know if there should be.

He’s up early, as usual. 

He blames the strict military routine. He can’t seem to shake it, even if he’d like to sleep in for once in his life. 

But he sighs, rubbing his eyes, sitting up and pulling his overtunic on. Glances around at his sleeping teammates, carefully navigating around them as he walks to the fire. 

“Morning.” 

Time looks up at him, giving a nod. “Good morning, captain.” 

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, sitting next to the leader. 

“Ah, bad night, I guess.” Time admits, to his surprise. 

Time… never admitted that. 

The man had tried to walk off a stab wound, for the love of Hylia. 

Something’s up. 

He waits, seeing if Time will offer more. 

The leader does not. 

“Is it about… the sailor’s little revelation?” He asks finally. 

Time takes a long moment to respond. Then- “I split the timeline. His world suffered because of me. Not just once, there’s another. There must be. It’s the only way that makes sense.” 

“It’s not because of you, Time-” 

“Maybe not directly, but you can’t tell me I didn’t cause that.” “You didn’t know.” “I didn’t know a lot of things. You all- you all were just as inexperienced as I was, some of you even younger, and none of you managed to-” 

“None of us where in the position you were in, Time.” 

Silence. 

“I can’t imagine how disheartening it was to hear that,” He says gently. “But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know that was going to happen. No one did.” 

Time sighs. “It feels like it was all for nothing. Everything… and people still suffered.” 

“You didn’t go through all of that for nothing.” He says quietly, looking Time in the eye.

Time gives a rueful smile. Raises an eyebrow at him. 

“How can you say that? Everything you’ve done… all the people you’ve saved… they’d disagree. You saved them. You saved them all. It was for nothing? Not for them.” He shakes his head. He understands the feeling, but… no matter how hard you try, you can’t save everyone. “And look at Wind. Legend.” Time says quietly. “My failures… ask the people from their timelines how much it was worth. The timeline where I left? Or the one where I failed? Th-” 

“Time, if anything, it shows how much more it meant-” 

“It doesn’t!” Time snaps, hand raking through his hair. “It shows how pointless it was- all the people I saved, yes, but what about the ones I could do nothing for? The countless people that died because of me, because of my failures-” 

“Time, you had no idea until three days ago that happened.” 

“That doesn’t change anything.” Time says quietly. 

“And neither will feeling guilty about it.” 

Time falters at that, looking up at him. 

“You really think you’re the only one that’s failed? Goddess, Old Man, I thought you were smarter than that. You didn’t even fail in this timeline and you’re feeling bad about it. Look at Wild. Hylia above, Time, look at me. You know all the ways I screwed up. Yes, I have my regrets, but at the end of the day? You’ve got to move past it. You succeeded in the end, didn’t you? Ganon’s gone. Hyrule’s safe again. That’s what matters. That’s what everything was for, wasn’t it? Don’t say it was all for nothing- that’s horseshit and we both know it.” 

Time opens his mouth, but he keeps talking. 

“Wild died. He straight up died. All his friends are dead, his Hyrule is empty, and none of us think that kid any less of a hero because of that. He still defeated Ganon. His Hyrule is thriving. No one thinks he should’ve… I don’t know. No one thinks anything less of Wild. All the ways I messed up? I lost battle after battle after batte- thousands of men died because of me. Even in battles we won. You think any less of me because of that? Or Twi? Or Leg?” 

Time looks away. “Of course not.” The old man says quietly. 

“Exactly. They’re still heroes of courage, same as you. None of us have flawless stories- we all made stupid mistakes we can’t take back. And yet we’re all still heroes of courage. Wear that title with pride, Old Man. You risked everything for your country- for the sake of good. No one cares that you accidentally split the timeline or whatever you did. And you’re not any less of a hero because of it.” 

It’s quiet for a long while.

Time watches the fire, but he looks much more… contemplative. Not weighed down anymore. 

“Thank you.” Time says quietly after a while. 

He has to smile. “Anytime, Old Man. Happy to help.” 

A small nod. 

He slowly drapes the end of his scarf over Time’s shoulders, hand lingering on the leader’s shoulder. Time’s shoulders slump a little bit in a rare moment of vulnerability. 

“You can get some rest. The others won’t be up for a while yet.” He says, and Time nods. 

Slowly stands, sighing slightly and moving over to where his bedroll is still set up. 

“Sleep well.” He says when Time glances back at him, and gets a smile in return.

~~~~

#whumptober2023 #no. 8 #it's all for nothing #linked universe #fic #time lu #lu time #time linked universe #linked universe time #lu wars #wars lu #lu warriors #warriors lu #linked universe wars #wars linked universe #warriors linked universe #linked universe warriors

[sowhumpful]

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

#Whumptober2023 #No. 8 #Outnumbered #GIF #Captain America #Captain America Winter Soldier #Chris Evans #Kneeling #Hands in the air

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Won't You Go My Way?

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | 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!

#whumptober #whumptober 2023 #no. 7 #“can you hear me?” #no. 8 #“It's all for nothing.” #no. 9 #“You're a liar.” #whump #siren whump #monster whump #monster whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #captivity #magical whump #branding #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #reluctant whumper #magical world #fantasy whump #fantasy world #original writing #tattoo whump #sadistic whumper #woooooo Gilly bought to get even worse guys #ENJOY THIS GIFT FOR YOU #nonsexual nudity #derogatory language #dehumanizing language

[utaicon]

Hey, Mother, why would you love such a man?

Nemesis Sudou icons; raffle prize 1 for @lazui-l・★

Enjoy! Lmk if you'd like any changes・★

Please don't use unless requester・★

#links: lyric/image credit ☆ #nemesis sudou #no. 8 #evillious chronicles #gumi megpoid #gumi #megpoid gumi #gumi vocaloid #sudou nemesis #themis 8 #master of the hellish yard #levia #elluka #the muzzle of nemesis #mothy #akuno p

[one-piece-aus]

WAAAH !! I'M SO HAPPY TO NOT HAVE MISSED YOUR WHUMPTOBER REQUEST !!

Can I ask if possible to do one prompt with Brook ? If you have an idea of which one would be the best, please choose it but if not, could you do N.8 ? thanks !

(also, i love your writings <33, especially Whumptober)

Hororororo, I'm happy you got to request and enjoy my writing ^-^ Brook is one of my favourite characters, and I love writing for him whenever I can, I do hope you enjoy

Whumptober Day 8

Brook x Reader

Warning: Death mentioned & implied, blood mentioned, torture mentioned, loss of sibling/family

"[Y/n], calm down." Brook placed a hand on your shoulder as he walked to your side. "I know you're upset but-"

"Upset!?" You turned to face him, smacking his boney hand off your shoulder. "Oh yeah, I'm upset alright. I signed up to fight in a war just so my little brother didn't have to, got blood on my hands, let myself be a pawn, witnessed death, endured torture- I can't even sleep with both eyes anymore- but I dealt with because I was doing this for my brother but now-..."

You squeezed your eyes shut and let your chin fall, your hands bawling into fists. The words almost slipped out of your mouth, those damn words that were a curse to you. You held your tongue until the words no longer lingered in your anger. Your eyes opened to a glare at the rubble ground.

"It's all for nothing..."

"I know how you feel-"

"No, you don't!" Your glare went to Brook. "Don't say that. You don't anything about how I feel."

"I may not know your experience, but I too know the pain of losing someone," Brook said.

"Yeah, I'm sure you did, but you're a pirate, you had the choice of being one and fighting for your life at sea. Every family in my kingdom was forced to send someone to the war and fight for this stupid country, we didn't choose to be a soldier."

"Well neither did we!"

"What?"

"My home... I was forced to serve in the royal army on my home island."

Your anger ceased, staring at Brook. Looking into your eyes, he saw them fill with inquiries. He sighed, taking a seat on a large, gesturing for you to join him.

"Our island had been once a great nation with music revolution, everyone had musical talent in their bones, even mine, yohoho..."

You smiled at the skull joke.

"But our rivalling island also had music prodigies, though the reason why a war started is now hazy, I remember fighting in some of the battles. However, when my comrades and I lost our families and houses, our eyes began to open and we saw the destruction this war had caused. Many children cried in the streets, homeless, orphaned, and hungry. Instead of fighting, we began to play music to try and bring some joy back into their lives, and the irony was, the enemy joined us in song. Of course, our commanders weren't too happy, so we left together and thus the Rumbar pirates were born."

Brook looked toward you, and even though he had no facile muscles, you could see his sincere expression.

"There is loss from the battle, and the pain we feel from that is real, but there is still joy in life to be found and shared, there is hope and things to live for."

Tag: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

#whumptober2023 #no. 8 #“I've got soul but I'm not a soldier.” #“It's all for nothing.” #one piece #whump fanfiction #whump writing #whump fic #death #blood #loss of a loved one #torture #tw #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #one piece brook #soul king brook #brook x reader #brook one piece #brook #rumbar pirates #no 8 #requested #anon request

[darkkitty1208]

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

[musewrangler]

“Tell me what to DO!” she nearly screamed at the haggard looking medic.

“You can’t!” he snapped back. “There’s such a thing as triage and I don’t have time… !”

“I do!” she snarled, fear making her vicious. “I do! I will do it! Give me anything to instruct me.”

Between them her husband lay getting progressively greyer as he bled out upon the table, her hands, the floor.

#whumptober 2023 #no. 8 #no. 16 #overcrowded er #I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier #flatline #don’t go where i can’t follow #Star wars #star wars original trilogy #fan fic #maximilian veers #zevulon veers #Myra veers #firmus piett #general veers #admiral piett #hurt/comfort #Bleeding out #family #friendship #courage

[jaybeeart-vardathebeloved]

Happy Little D Day with Little D No. 8! (Elle's counterpart)

#obey me #little D #no. 8 #fanart

[faithfulcat111]

Stonathan Sunday

What's this? Posting the Stonathan Sunday before the Six Sentence Sunday portion? Yeah, I am, what of it? Also, be impressed with how many prompt fills I managed to fit into this one fic:

Stonathan Sundays prompt: "Everyone's staring at us."

Whumptober prompt fill: Alt prompt - Shaking

Slumber Party Bingo: Would you rather... Have a partner who's shy OR who makes you feel shy @slumberpartybingo

Halloween Horror Bingo: Skipping Meals

Fall Flash Slumber Party Bingo: Autumn Aesthetic: Leaves dancing in the breeze ; Would you rather... A cozy sweater OR an oversized flannel

Fandom: Stranger Things

Ship: Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington

"Everyone's staring at us."

Steve lifted his head to look around the courtyard outside the high school. Very few people still ate outside, it was late enough in the season that most people seemed to value staying warm over the privacy being outside the cafeteria provided. Seeing as Steve no longer went to school, he had been very excited at first that his boyfriend was easily meetable at their lunch breaks, school for him and Family Video for Steve. But as the season stretched on and the last of the leaves danced away in the breeze, Steve was realizing that it would take a considerable amount of effort to convince Jonathan to even think of eating inside.

"No, I don't see anyone staring," Steve responded, glancing over at Jonathan, whose eyes were trained downwards on the sandwich he was picking apart. He looked like he was practically drowning in his oversized sweater, but he was shaking. From cold or panic, Steve couldn't quite tell yet. 

"You sure?" Jonathan was biting at the insides of his cheeks now. Steve longed to lean over and hold both of Jonathan's hands closely, kiss them and his forehead slowly as his cheeks turned red and he ducked his head away with a smile rather than the brimming anxiety that was causing it now. 

But they were still out in public. "I'm sure," Steve forced more confidence into his voice. He was never quite sure how much of his bravado Jonathan could see through and how much he chose to believe for his own mind's sake. He pushed more of the weird onion chips that he always grabbed from their snack bar specifically for Jonathan towards him, "Eat." There was that slight quirk of a smile as Jonathan finally abandoned his sandwich in favour of the chips. 

He looked back up at Jonathan, whose anxiety was finally ebbing slightly causing the shaking to back down to a minimum. Steve couldn't in good conscious make him start taking lunch inside. This was one of the only times he could remind him to eat. Jonathan was usually really good about breakfast. The mundane task of getting food ready for himself and the twins keeping him on task. But the rest of the day is where the struggle came in. Robin and Nancy helped where they could, but there was only so much they could do when Jonathan turned away nearly everything offered. And even Jonathan forcing it made it worse. And with it having been early November, Steve knew there had been more and more meals that just flew by without even an attempt.

But they had past the worst of it and he could see the little bit more Jonathan was managing. And as they finished eating and Steve waved him goodbye, watching as Jonathan slowly made his way back into the high school, he found himself wondering if maybe he could convince Jonathan to teach him how to make something simple tonight. After all, he did have to learn how to cook at some point and the few things he's tried to make have always turned out that much better with his boyfriend there to help him and share it. 

#whumptober 2023 #halloween horror bingo 2023 #hhbingo2023 #slumber party bingo #fallflashspb #no. 8 #shaking #stranger things #fic #eating disorder #unspecified eating disorder #anxiety #faith writes #stonathan sunday #stonathan

[cephalog0d]

Batfic - "Picking Up Pieces" (Whumptober Day 8)

Rating: Teen and Up Category: Gen Characters/Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, other Batfam mentioned Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Reverse Robins, Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Hospitals, Cuddling & Snuggling Words: 4,036

Summary:

“Bruce!” Steph called as she approached, weaving between people. His head snapped towards her, and the stark relief in his expression almost stopped her in her tracks. That was just...wrong. Bruce wasn’t supposed to be relieved to see her. He was supposed to be annoyed or resignedly amused, not looking at her like a life raft in the ocean. Midnight visits to the ER as a civilian were not exactly what Stephanie Brown thought she was signing up for when she joined the Bat team, but that doesn't mean she's not going to be the best backup she can be. Whumptober No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.” Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

((Ages: Steph - 18, Dick - 9))

Hospitals in Gotham were always a bit of a mess, but add in a weekend evening and an attack of the “costumed bullshit” variety and it became an absolute nightmare. Steph would honestly rather be out in her own costume helping with clean up, but Bruce needed backup here before he went full Batman in the middle of the ER, and Steph was the best option.

That didn’t mean it was fun walking into the kicked ant hill that was Gotham General’s emergency room. She shifted the duffle bag slung over her shoulder to try and keep it close and out of the way as she wove through the packed waiting room trying to spot Bruce. The ambulance would have beaten both of them, but Tim’s projected ETA for them had been similar. Steph spun in a full circle, gaze skipping past shocked and bloodied patients waiting to be seen and extremely harried people in scrubs moving around at something just shy of a run without spotting any familiar faces.

Crap. If he had beaten her and was already back in the hospital proper that was going to be a whole headache, and with Tim busy coordinating clean-up she didn’t really have a good way to find out.

She was just debating if she could successfully persuade one of the staff to actually tell her (if she could even catch someone who wasn’t doing something much more important) when the door opened loudly behind her and she spun to see Bruce all but storming into the waiting room.

He looked, frankly, like shit. Not that Steph blamed him. The lead she had been running down had turned out to be a dead end, so she hadn’t actually seen how bad things were, but she’d threatened to superglue all of Tim’s computer ports shut if he muted her comms and cut her out of the loop so she had heard everything from when Damian and Cass had found the boys onward, and just from that…

Well, there was a reason she’d been willing to leave the clean up to everyone else and haul ass down to the hospital.

“Bruce!” she called as she approached, weaving between people. His head snapped towards her, and the stark relief in his expression almost stopped her in her tracks. That was just...wrong. Bruce wasn’t supposed to be relieved to see her. He was supposed to be annoyed or resignedly amused, not looking at her like a life raft in the ocean.

“Stephanie-” he started, but she cut him off.

“Duke is with Damian and Cass is helping Tim, I’m here for backup and I’ll handle updates so don’t worry about that part,” she rattled off quickly. Bruce looked a little stunned, but nodded. “Where-”

“Mr. Wayne?” someone interrupted, polite but extremely urgent. One of the hospital staff.

“Yes,” Bruce said sharply, attention snapping to her. “My son-”

“Jason has already been admitted and the doctors would like to speak with you as soon as possible,” she said in the same carefully balanced tone, gesturing Bruce forward. Steph swallowed hard and consciously regulated her breathing. Being at the front of the line for the ER was never good. As close as she was standing, Steph could hear the way Bruce’s breath hitched a little as he went even more tense than he already had been, hands clenching into fists at his side.

“What about Dick?” Steph prompted since Bruce was clearly distracted trying to control himself. (And wasn’t that a hell of a thing. Batman was distracted. It definitely did not help with the world-shattering feeling of things, but Steph was here to be backup, so she needed to stay calm and stay focused for him.)

(Cont. on AO3)

#whumptober2023 #no. 8 #overcrowded er #Batfam #fic #blood #hospitals #(liberties taken with hospital logistics shh just go with it) #ceph writes things #reverse robins #steph to the rescue #steph: bet you appreciate me now you don't you #(every one of these i write gets longer and longer lol whoops) #stephanie brown #dick grayson #bruce wayne

[whumpacabra]

Day 8 - Outnumbered

Captured by the enemy, military setting, claustrophobic environment, difficulty breathing, broken ribs, broken bones, firearm use, mouth trauma, blood, dizziness, auditory hallucination, concussion

[Directly follows Comms-Off Job]

Three. Three sets of footsteps on the sand and gravel to his right. He could take three well armed US soldiers in a fight. If he wasn’t pinned down under rubble. If his limbs hadn’t long since turned numb with static from the pressure. If he could just fucking breathe -

“Got him - heartbeat’s here. Let’s get this fucker.”

Wolf purposefully slowed his panting gasps for breath, willing himself to stay conscious even as his vision turned fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. Even if he could take three well armed US soldiers in a fight, he felt better having the element of surprise.

Slowly - with agonizing tedium - the pressure that pinned him down was relieved. That first full breath in so long (minutes? surely not hours?) was full of smoke and fumes and the nauseating stench of burned flesh. He couldn’t stop the coughs that wracked his aching ribs, but his facade of semiconsciousness held up.

The soldier to his right got closer. Close enough to inspect him for any serious head wounds. Too close for his own safety.

Wolf was acutely aware of the fact that their weapons were holstered.

The gun pinned under his chest was released when he reeled upright, head spinning as once stagnant blood traveled to half numbed limbs. The muzzle of the weapon found purchase under the jaw of the man reaching out to him (the man trying to save his life, to make that life hell for however long he let Wolf live - )

And a second set of hands yanked his shoulder back in time for the bullet to merely carve a chip of flesh from the man’s chin. Wolf felt a snarl on his face, still smeared with the coagulated blood of the corpse he had been stuck lying beside.

The soldiers were unholstering their weapons. So much for surprise.

Wolf leaned into his momentum as the soldier pulling him back shouted something into the night air. The toe of his boot caught the underside of the first soldier’s jaw, a satisfying crunch and gurgle of pain from the man as he fell back into the still smoldering debris.

It wouldn’t keep him down for long. Wolf needed to make quick work of the other two before -

His vision blanked, stars and shadows dancing in front of his eyes as he tried to will strength into his wobbly legs.

How long had he been stuck down there?

A second set of hands had his left shoulder in their gloved grip. Fear was starting to sink deeper than the cold, calculating logic now obscured by exhaustion and adrenaline.

The gun in his hand recoiled painfully from the angle to aim at the soldier on his left, the bullet skipping off the his helmet just a few centimeters shy of hitting its target.

‘The difference between surviving a job and dying badly is measured in millimeters. Again.’ Ghost’s voice echoed in a distant memory - but in his panicked fog, Wolf could have sworn that voice rumbled from his radio.

The soldier he had kicked seemed to materialize from the smoke and shadows eating at Wolf’s blurred vision, broken jaw and split lip baring broken teeth.

Wolf howled in pain as his wrist was snapped, pistol wrenched from his desperate grip. Where was Ghost? Why couldn’t he think straight? Why couldn’t he take down three idiots when he wasn’t even - was he injured? Everything hurt but nothing was broken (besides his wrist), he was fine so why why why -

When had he laid down? Why couldn’t he move?

Wolf was dimly aware he was on a stretcher, raised and shunted onto the bed of a truck. The straps that braced him were intended to protect against agitating spinal injury. Not that it did any good for his splitting headache as the engine roared to life.

He winced, teeth aching at the sound of two solid thumps on the vehicle’s chassis.

“All set back here, James.” The truck bed beneath him lurched, sparks dancing behind his eyelids.

“Fuckin’ - I’m missing a tooth Anders.”

“He got’chu good there Smith. Look on the bright side - could get something fancy to replace it, like gold.”

“Oh, I’m looking on the bright side, Anders.” The soldier chuckled darkly, spitting blood on Wolf’s face. “Looking forward to medical clearing this son of a bitch so we can…get better acquainted.”

[Directly before Cry Quiet]

(Part of my Freelancers: Swansong series)

#whump #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #no. 8 #outnumbered #oc #whump writing #manhandling #overpowered #military #capture #difficulty breathing #broken bones #broken ribs #concussion #firearms #mouth trauma #blood #freelancers #wolf: I am fine I can take these guys. his concussion: lol. lmao even.

[mystorystar]

Whumptober 2023 Day 5

Whumptober day 5: (alt prompt no. 8) "hunting"

Fandom: Adventure Time

Characters: Simon Petrikov (Ice King)

Sumamry: Simon did something regrettable. He shakes it off faster than any sane person should.

#whumptober #whumptober 2023 #day 5 #alt prompt #no. 8 #hunting #fanfiction #writing #adventure time #simon petrikov #ice king #agnst #whump #dark

[rpf-bat]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 8

Pairing: Johnny Cruz x Middy Cruz

Prompt: “It’s all for nothing.”

Word Count: 678

Summary: While sitting in the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, Middy wonders aloud, if everything he sacrificed for the good of Santa Cruz, was pointless in the end.

#whumptober2023 #no. 8 #‘it’s all for nothing’ #santa cruz rpf #johnny cruz x middy cruz