#“You're still alive in my head”

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumptober 4: “you’re still alive in my head” + 21: spirit possession

CW: Captivity, ghost caretaker

“We need to get out. This is going to kill you.”

Like it killed me went unsaid. They both knew it was true, but there was no point in reliving that right now.

“But…” Whumpee hesitated. However afraid they were of staying here, they held a greater fear for how Whumper would respond to an escape attempt.

“I’ve been watching for an opportunity, remember? This is our best one yet.”

“Okay,” Whumpee said decisively, steeling their nerves. “You’ll come with me right?”

“Of course. I’m always with you,” Caretaker promised.

“Good. I…really don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m already dead, Whumpee.”

Whumpee flinched at the blunt reminder. “You’re still alive in my head,” they whispered, quickly checking for any signs of Whumper before moving into the hallway. “Or something close enough, at least. Still here. Still conscious.”

“I guess that’s true,” Caretaker answered.

For a few moments, neither spoke. The only sound was Whumpee’s heartbeat pulsing in their ears, loud and fast with fear.

“What are we going to do after this, Whumpee? I can’t go back to my life without a body, and you’ll look insane if you keep talking to a voice in your head.”

“Let’s worry about actually getting out first.”

“Fair enough.”

They rounded the last corner. No Whumper.

Freedom was within reach.

[asocial-lobster]

Fever Dreams

Sky gently carded through Legend's hair and tried not to mind how sweaty it was. The younger hero shifted in his hold and whimpered, blindly reaching for something. He settled for Sky's sailcloth, cradling it in his hands like his life depended on it.

"Hold on, Legend," Sky said, though he knew the other wasn't awake to hear it. "Four will be back with help any minute now."

Sky hoped so, at least. The smithy had left hours ago in search of medicine and help, splitting into the Colors to cover more ground. They hadn't seen the rest of the Chain since a portal split them up more than a day ago. Back then, Legend's illness had been little more than a common cold, but it had progressed with a frightening speed during the night. It was risky to split their group even further, especially when Legend was incapacitated, but Four and Sky had agreed it was worth it. They couldn't afford to let Legend's condition get any worse.

Legend let out a high-pitched whine, and Sky stroked his hair again, wishing he could do more to help. It was agonizing to see his brother like this, and he knew Legend would hate being this vulnerable if he was awake. Unconscious, he had no control over it, and it made Sky's heart ache to see him so agonized.

Legend's eyelids fluttered, and Sky bent forward, trying to get a good look at him. His brother hadn't been awake at all since before Four left, and even then, he'd barely been aware of his surroundings.

"Legend?" Sky asked gently. Legend groaned and turned away from the sound, burrowing his head in the sailcloth.

"Legend, it would be really good if you could wake up for a little. You need to drink some water."

"Don' wanna."

The words were muffles by the cloth and more fit for a grumpy kid than an adult, but they put a smile to Sky's face anyway. It was beyond relieving to hear Legend's voice.

"C'mon. It'll be good for you," Sky insisted.

"I don' wanna wake up," Legend pouted. "I wanna keep dreamin'."

He turned his head to look up at Sky. His eyes were bloodshot and cloudy, and his cheeks were flushed with heat. Still, there was an intensity to his stare that Sky couldn't explain.

"Why d'you wanna wake up so badly? Being a seagull can't be that great anyways."

Sky found himself at a loss for words, his worry spiking as he realized Legend was significantly worse than last time he'd woken up.

"You can go back to sleep as soon as you've had some water," Sky said.

Legend mumbled something incoherent, and Sky decided to take matters into his own hands. Gently, he raised his sick brother into a sitting position and found his waterskin. He tapped Legend's cheek. It was way hotter than it had any right to be.

"Link, I need you to drink something."

Legend opened his eyes again, looking confusedly at the waterskin right in front of him. Sky brought it to his mouth and slowly poured a little, careful to make sure he didn't choke on it. When Legend had drunk a few mouthfuls, he lowered him back to the ground. That would have to do for now. Hylia, he hoped Four would be back soon.

"Sing for me?"

Sky looked at Legend in surprise. He knew the veteran owned a bunch of instruments himself, but he rarely played them. Sky had no idea he was an enjoyer of music, in fact. 

Sky pulled his harp out of his bag and started playing, accompanying the music with his voice. He was only a few beats into a popular hymn from Skyloft when Legend interrupted him.

"No, the one you usually sing," he requested. He croaked out a series of notes from a song Sky hadn't heard before.

Sky experimented with the notes for a few minutes before he managed to get it right. When he did, the music filled their little camp, melancholic notes fluttering through the air like birds on a summer's morning. It was an intriguing melody, one which spoke of wispy clouds on a blue sky and brilliant sunlight which cast deep and ominous shadows. 

Legend hummed along, his raspy voice breaking at the high notes. He opened his eyes when Sky briefly stopped to catch his breath.

"This is a nice dream," he said. "I wish it didn't have to end."

He fell asleep shortly after, looking almost peaceful. The notes of the music wove into the afternoon like the gentle brush of waves.

[brucewaynehater101]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPT #4

Hallucinations, sensory deprivation, "you're still alive in my head"

TW: blood, main character death, self-inflicted injuries, suicidal ideology

CW: hurt no comfort

Brief synopsis: Jason has a reoccurring visitor he wishes would just leave him alone

@bowlofworms helped me with this!!! I forgot to add the tag ^^ Thank you!

“Why can't you just leave me alone?” 

Hood's tone is defeated as his eyes remain trained on the crumbling wall in front of him. There's some mystery stain where the ceiling meets the wall, but that's not what's catching his attention. Rather, he's trying his damned hardest not to glance at the figure inspecting his new safehouse.

There’s a disinterested and placating hum from the teen as he pursues the assortment of weapons Hood has lying about. The steady drip, drip, drip would drive Jason mad if the man wasn't convinced he already was. 

“You really shouldn't leave your equipment out like this. It's a safety and security issue.” 

The teen, like always, is a cheeky brat.

Jason closes his eyes and tips his head to lean on the back of the couch. He would beg any god for reprieve, but he knows this is his penance. He can't rid himself of the other's presence.

The drip, drip, drip continues. Jason refuses to look. He can't hear any shuffling or footsteps from the other. He doesn't even hear the creak of floorboards in the dilapidated apartment. There's just the constant dripping and occasional verbal noise.

A sigh.

The wet plopping grows closer. 

Jason's face scrunches.

“You can’t even look at me, eh?”

Like a possum, Jason plays dead. He’s had enough experience with death that he should be able to pull it off.

The teen grumbles and heaves. “It's only going to get worse if you don't.”

The man doesn’t respond.

Another sigh.

The dripping stops.

It takes a long time for Jason to peel his eyes open and confirm that his safehouse is empty.

It's been a while since the teen started visiting Jason. Months of snarky comments, demands to face his demons, and that gods awful drip.

Jason is tired, but this is no less than what he deserves after all he's done. He will never be able to correct it. Some actions are too permanent.

It's why he throws himself into protecting Crime Alley and drags his brutalized body out onto the streets again and again. Perhaps the pain of never healed injuries will be punishment enough that the teen will finally leave him alone. Maybe Red Hood’s skull will greet a bullet. Or, at the very least, Jason can hope to become so exhausted that his sleep is dreamless. It's a useless endeavor, but it's all he can do.

He'll fight until he drops, one way or the other. 

Nightmares plague him regardless if he's awake or asleep.

It's this practically suicidal work ethic that leaves him vulnerable to being caught. It's what gets him chucked into a sensory deprivation cell.

For the first few hours, with only his own moving and breathing being audible, Jason tries to escape. He devises, tries, and then discards numerous plans.

Not much has changed, but the walls feel impossibly close and nonexistent. He can hardly tell what's right side up.

His fingers ache with the effort of trying to rip the walls apart in hopes of at least hearing something. Anything but his own fucking panting.

He'd get on his knees and forgive Bruce if it meant he'd get some sort of stimulation. Anything at all to tell him that he's alive and not slowly melting into the nothingness. He'd dig himself out of his fucking grave again. He needs something. Anything.

Then he hears that fucking drip.

The wet plopping over and over and over and over and over again.

And Jason screams. He howls and he rages and he throws himself at the walls. He cries and pleads and begs. He pounds until he feels warm liquid painfully smear on the surface.

When that doesn't stop that fucking dripping, he talks. He talks about anything until his voice becomes sore. Until it becomes so sore he can't talk.

He starts up the pounding again.

He does all that he can just to drown out that damn. Fucking. Dripping.

He can't fucking take it. He won't. He'd rather rip his own fucking ears off than face that damn tap, tap, tap.

He was wrong before. He'd rather go fucking mad in the silence than face the wet plopping behind him. The teen he will not face.

But there's nothing left. His voice is gone. His hands are a mangled mess. His harsh breathing doesn't drown it out. And he's exhausted. 

There's no escape from the drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.

His hands slip down the wall as he falls to his knees. The rest above his bowed head as his tears plop onto the ground. He can't see it, but he knows he left two bloody trails down the wall. 

As he sits back onto his feet, his head remains bowed as if he were in prayer. It won't save him from his torment. The god his parents worshiped won't free him from retribution. It's useless to ask, but it brings him enough peace to turn around.

Jason can't even see his own hands but the kid is fully visible. He's decked in a torn red, yellow, and green. Bruises cover his face, his arms, and the patches of skin visible beneath the rips in his uniform. Blood is caked onto his head and clothes. Arctic eyes peer at Jason through the cracks in the mask’s lenses. There's a steady stream of blood from the gash on the left side of his neck. It trails over to his shoulder and down his arm.

His hand is by his side, but little red droplets drip, drip, drip from his fingertips.

Tim's smile is bitter as he regards the man trembling before him. “Now you'll look at me?”

Jason tries to press his wobbling lips together. The involuntary whimper scraps at the man's raw throat.

The smile drops from Robin's face as he sighs. He glances away with gritted teeth before focusing on Jason again.

He steps forward and crouches before the kneeling man. His face has fallen back to pity as he tilts his head. “I don't know why you're upset. This entire mess is your fault.”

Bloody fingers point at the Red Hood without touching him. The drip, drip is closer.

Jason can't peel his eyes away even as he shakes and cries.

The teen sighs. “You're the one hallucinating me. You're the one trying to keep your murder victim alive through self-inflicted torture.”

Jason shakes his head without looking away.

“I'm dead, Jason. I'm not here. I'm not alive. You made sure of that.”

[artfulbok]

WHUMPTOBER No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS  

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

“Hey guys. Is everyone else all right?”

“Don’t tell me. I already know.”

There’s a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, an achingly familiar chirp. He doesn’t turn his head.

It’s never the right bird.

Hunter’s been seeing them so often, since Halloween. Every time he sees that colour, hears a bird, his heart soars, daring to hope. It’s no use, of course. Flap’s never coming back. He knows it deep down, feels it in somewhere in his mind, where the remaining fragments of the bird rest.

[alicewritingstories]

Whumptober 2024 Fills Part 2: Meeting and Memory

AO3

Fandom: Linked Universe

Central Character(s): Legend, Wild, and Sidon

No.2: TRUST ISSUES | Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No.4: HALLUCINATIONS | Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No.15 Alt21: Survivor's Guilt

No.17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO | Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No.22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES | Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No.25: SURGERY | Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No.28: DENIAL | CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No.30: RECOVERY | Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

Warnings: Blood, injury, near-death, survivor's guilt, brief mention of suicide (confirming a character is not suicidal), past canonical character death.

---

Legend cut down the last of the attacking lizalfos and hurried over to the wounded hylian he'd just rescued, dismissing the magical shield he'd thrown up in front of the young man - boy, really; he barely looked older than Hyrule.

"Easy," he said. "I'll get you down. What's your name?"

The boy looked up from where he was clutching at the spear pinning him to a tree. He opened his mouth to reply, but all that made it out was a nasty wet cough and a gout of blood. His tunic was more purple than blue and a mixture of black and red blood was matted in his long fair hair.

Legend knew that if someone was impaled it was dangerous to remove the thing impaling them, but he couldn't leave the kid like that. He was already clearly slipping into shock, the color gone from his face, his eyes drifting out of focus. If he passed out and sagged against the spear, it would get much worse.

Legend let out a huff of breath and snatched up one of the lizalfos' jagged blades.

"Hold it as steady as you can," he told the kid, then sawed through the shaft of the spear in a few quick strokes. That would make things a little easier, at least.

The boy whimpered softly, another mouthful of blood spilling from his lips.

"OK, I'm going to cut the shaft behind you." Legend caught the boy's chin and looked him in the eye. "This will hurt. Stay with me, OK? You're going to be fine."

"Get it… out?" the boy pleaded.

"I can't. It'll do more damage coming out than it did going in. One of my friends can heal you, but we need to get you to him first and I can't get the spear out completely until then."

The boy whimpered again, turquoise eyes falling closed, but he didn't protest.

Legend took a deep breath, then slipped a hand down the boy's back, giving himself a bit of space between him and the tree. He winced as the boy whimpered, but moved as quickly as he could to cut the spear shaft and catch him as he collapsed, lowering him carefully to the ground.

"Still with me, Kid?" he asked.

"Still… still here." It was little more than a groan, but audible.

Legend snatched some bandages from his bag and started padding around the remains of the spear shaft, wincing as blood started to seep through the bandages almost at once.

"Stay with me," he kept saying. "You're going to be OK. You did great against those monsters; just stay with me."

The boy nodded, coughing up more blood.

How am I going to get him back to camp? I can't carry him, not with that pole in his guts…

"What's your name?"

"Link."

Legend froze for a moment, wondering if he'd heard correctly, his eyes flying back to his companion's face.

His new brother's face.

"Well…" he said with a laugh that sounded a little hysterical in his own ears. "How about that? My friends and I have been looking all over for you."

Link's eyes had focussed and he was frowning, but then he forced a smile. "How come?" he asked, his voice a little high. "Looking for your bananas back?"

Legend went back to bandaging, his heart beating a little faster. If Link was already getting delirious, he must have lost even more blood than Legend had thought. Perhaps he was bleeding internally too.

Link squirmed slightly with a moan and Legend quickly moved to hold him down.

"Keep still!" he said, trying not to snap and not quite succeeding. "Moving around might cause more damage."

Link looked at him, eyes wide and dark with pain and fear.

"You're going to be OK," said Legend, starting to wonder which of them he was trying to reassure. Maybe a good, loud blast on an ocarina would serve as a signal whistle. "You're going to be OK. I'm going to get you to my friend and he'll heal you. Just stay with me."

Link laughed: a shrill, deranged sound. "No chance!" he said.

With another groan of pain, he snatched a small glowing block of carved stone from a holster on his belt, tapped it twice, and dissolved right under Legend's hands into tendrils of blue light.

Legend stared at the bloody grass where he'd lain for a moment, then buried his face in his hands with a stream of curses. All he could hope was that Link had at least teleported to somewhere someone could help him.

~~~

The shrine jump deposited Link gently on his feet, but as soon as he had fully materialized he collapsed to his knees, clutching at the spear shaft still running through his body.

"Help!" he cried as loudly as he could. "Someone, help!"

Here in Zora's Domain, he knew he was as safe as he could be anywhere. They had the best healers and this was the home of one of his closest friends. He was just grateful he'd been able to get his Slate into his hand before the yiga had realized what he was doing; it would have been easy to restrain him. Holding him down had clearly taken no effort at all. It didn't make sense that someone who wanted him dead had defended him from the lizalfos and saved his life, but he didn't want to find out why the assassin might have wanted to bring him in alive.

Suddenly he was lying on the ground, unsure how he got there. Maybe he'd blacked out for a moment. "Help!" he cried again before breaking down into another coughing fit, trying not to panic at the thick, metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

Finally, he heard running footsteps, the splash of someone wading through the pool that surrounded the shrine.

"Link!" cried a familiar voice. "What happened? Someone go and get Prince Sidon!"

"Bazz…" Link reached out vaguely and one of the Zora guard's large hands closed around his.

"It's going to be OK. We'll have you healed in no time."

Link nodded with a sigh. At least here he was safe.

After that, things were a blur for a while. He was aware of being lifted and carried, a vague impression of Sidon frantically calling his name, the bitter taste of a hearty elixir being forced down his throat, the cool touch of healing magic.

"Mipha?" he called softly before he was even aware he was doing it, pulled back for a moment to those mercifully-few times during his quest when he once more died on the battlefield and Mipha's Grace had brought him back to life. "Mipha?"

He knew she was gone. He knew he didn't really remember her as anything but a gentle presence dragging him back from the edge. But the feeling of dying and her magic washing through him was so familiar he couldn't fully believe it. She was still here. Surely, she hadn't abandoned him entirely.

Another blur. Voices, hands turning him this way and that, bandages wound tight around his body.

Finally, it all settled. He was wrapped in blankets, lying on a soft waterbed, and when he opened his eyes he was surrounded by the soft glow of Zora's Domain.

"Link!" Sidon lunged into his field of vision. "Are you awake? What happened?"

"I'm awake." Link sighed and started trying to shove himself upright. Sidon slipped a large hand behind his back to support him.

"Be careful. You're healed, but only just and the healers said you were to rest at least another day. You lost a lot of blood."

Link nodded, settling back as Sidon arranged his pillows to support him. He examined the Zora's face as he sat back. Zora couldn't cry the way hylians did, but Sidon's usual huge grin was nowhere to be seen and the muscles around his eyes and mouth were tense. That was as much an indication of his feelings as tear tracks would have been.

"I'm sorry," said Link, not sure what else to say. "I didn't know where else to go."

Sidon shook his head. "Link, I told you you would always be welcome. I'm honored you came to us for help."

Link smiled, relaxing his head back against the pillows. "I knew I was safe here," he said with a sigh. After a moment, he explained, "I had another close call with the yiga clan."

Sidon let out a little huff of breath. "A close call? You had a spear shaft through your whole body," he said, his voice raw. "The healers said that with the force it must have taken to drive it through like that you must have been pinned to something. I'm… just glad you were able to get free. And I'm glad you managed to do some bandaging. You'd bled right through, but it bought you a little bit of time. Even so… I think they were worried you wouldn't survive the surgery to remove it… What… To impale you like that… I didn't think that's what they did."

Link shook his head a little. "It's even stranger than that. The spear was from a lizalfos. The yiga could have just left me to the monsters or taken my Slate so I couldn't escape and then stood and watched me bleed out. He killed them, then he got me down and he was the one who started bandaging the wounds." He shivered.

Sidon's expression hardened. "Why change now?" he asked. "They've never tried to take you alive before."

"I don't know. That's what worries me." Link sighed. "He never dropped his disguise, either. He took care of me and insisted that he could get me to a healer. I suppose he hoped that would mean I wouldn't put up a fight, but it was so strange… I might have been convinced if he hadn't slipped for a moment when he found out who I am." He didn't like the thought that the yiga clan's acting was improving and he couldn't shake the memory of the concern in his would-be kidnapper's eyes. It had all seemed so genuine. He had wanted to trust him and accept his help. "I… suppose Zelda and I will have to be even more careful." Much more careful and they wouldn't talk to anyone they didn't already know. He bit his lip, feeling trapped. He loved Zora's Domain, but he didn't want to live a life in which there really was nowhere else he could go to truly be safe and comfortable.

The defeat of Calamity Ganon had been supposed to bring him some peace.

"We'll get word to Zelda. In the meantime, don't worry too much," said Sidon, patting Link's shoulder. "You're safe here for as long as you need."

Link smiled. "Thank you," he said fervently.

Sidon squeezed his shoulder, then let go and sat back in his chair with a sigh, looking up at the ceiling. Link couldn't help noticing that he still looked tired and stressed.

"Is anything else wrong?" he asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

Sidon winced, rubbing his eyes. "It's just… You called for Mipha while we were healing you. It… made me think of her, that's all."

Link looked at his hands. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"No, no, you have nothing to be sorry for," said Sidon quickly, lunging forward to enfold both of Link's hands in one of his. "I… I'm sure she'd be happy to know… that you got some comfort from thinking of her."

Link sighed. From what he'd been told and the few scraps he had for himself, that was probably true.

"I barely remember her, Sidon," he said sadly. "I want to. And for a while, during my quest… she was there. Her spirit was with me. She saved me… so many times. But now she's at rest and… I'm still here." He looked down at the large red hand wrapped around his. "It… seems so unfair that I'm still here and she's not."

Sidon squeezed his hand. "Link?"

He looked up. His friend's expression was stricken.

"You don't… want to die, do you?"

Link shook his head. "No, no, not at all. No, I just… I'm not even sure what I mean. I just feel it sometimes: that she was there so many times to save me but when it mattered… I wasn't there for her. I lived and she died and even after she died she kept bringing me back to life. It… feels wrong."

Sidon looked down for a moment, then said quietly, "I barely remember her either. I was so young when she died. But I remember her patience and her kindness and… I think she'd have been happy at least one of the other Champions lived. And I think she'd want you to keep living. Really living."

Link sighed. "I know. I know it doesn't make sense. It's just… while she was here as a spirit… she was still alive in some way. Even if just in me. And now she's gone. It's just… that's why I was calling for her, I suppose. I miss her. Even though I hardly know her. And I wish… I wish I did. She seems like someone I… would like to know."

Maybe even someone I would fall in love with.

"Maybe there's some part of you that does remember," said Sidon with a small, sad smile. He squeezed Link's hands, as if to reassure them both.

Link smiled back. "Maybe." He relaxed back against his pillows, looking up at the ceiling. Maybe he did remember the woman he might have been planning to marry. Maybe that's where this feeling of longing and loss came from.

He wasn't sure about that, but the idea was something.

"Thank you, Sidon. For everything."

Sidon chuckled, not quite his usual laugh but close. "No, Link, thank you." He moved to pat Link's shoulder again.

"You want a hug, don't you?" asked Link, glancing at him.

Sidon didn't reply out loud, but the way his smile broadened slightly told Link what he needed to know and, with a smile of his own, he held out his arms. Sidon grabbed him and squeezed him hard enough to make him yelp out a laugh.

"When I heard the alarm and saw them carrying you up from the shrine, I feared the worst," said Sidon in his ear, his voice rough.

Link sighed. "I'm fine, thanks to you all."

"Good. And if I have any say in it, you'll stay that way. Don't worry about the yiga. You have plenty of friends to keep you and Zelda safe."

Link smiled, relaxing his head against his friend's shoulder. "Thank you."

[polizwrites]

Having the Last Word

This is a fill for today’s  @flashfictionfridayofficial  prompt [#FFF 273 Invisible Guest] along with today’s @whumptober  prompts  Hallucinations and “You’re still alive in my head”.

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Rating: General Pairing:  Tony Stark  & Obadiah Stane Tags: Iron Man 2 canon-compatible, Hallucinations, Guilt, Rationalization.  Summary:  Tony finds himself arguing with an (imaginary) dead man.   Word Count: 310

“Just because you’re still alive in my head,”  he told the shadowy shape slowly strobing in and out of view, “it doesn’t mean you’re actually here.”      Apparently, Tony reflected,  palladium poisoning  comes with a side dish of guilt-induced hallucinations.  

The figure tilted its head; he could almost hear that familiar, throaty chuckle.  “Tony, my boy, you should have known you couldn’t get rid of me that easily.”  The words echoed in Tony’s head, just as heart-stopping as the ones the same man had whispered into his ear outside the gala.

“I’ve been a part of your life ever since you can remember, haven’t I?” the voice continued.  “Your father’s right hand man who you in turn adopted as a father figure.” 

“Which made your betrayal even worse.”   

“Betrayal is such an ugly word, Tony,” the voice chastised him.  “I simply needed you out of the way for a while. The company would have paid your ransom eventually, albeit through discreet back channels. For what it’s worth, I didn’t intend for you to be so badly injured.”

Tony snorted. “Or for Raza to put me to work building him a weapon?”   

The figure shrugged.  “I can hardly blame him for taking that initiative.  Besides, you took full advantage of the situation to facilitate your own escape and then get your revenge, didn’t you?” 

“I took out the trash,” Tony shot back.  He knew objectively that he was simply arguing with himself; trying to justify the actions he’d taken in the face of his own impending death.  But there was something oddly satisfying about it all the same. “And that includes you, Obadiah,” he added. “Now get the hell out of here.”

To Tony’s relief, his harsh words seemed to break the spell; the shadowy figure disappeared.  But Tony suspected it would be back sooner or later, perhaps in some other guise.   

[everythingandthekitchensink]

The Joker stretches his red lips across his face. “Oh, Junior,” he cackles. “Aren’t you just a sadistic little thing. You take after your old man!”

Tim swallows down the bile in his throat. It’s a hallucination. It’s not real. He doesn’t allow his mind to be compromised by hallucinations.

I’m nothing like you, he mouths. It tastes like the worst kind of lie.

[christmassavestheyear]

forest that once was green, colored black by killing machines a fic by @thefootnotes for @whumptober

But when Eddie turned up, when they first became close, it woke Buck up a little. He educated himself; on the troops in Afghanistan, on the tumultuous violence and the horrific sights, on the experiences of incomparable emotional and physical agony. There was more than one night, after that first shift with Eddie, where Buck would spend hours twisted in his bedsheets thinking over the pages and pages of military history and soldier accounts and articles from Texan newspapers about Eddie’s medal. He was determined, really, to understand what the man had been through; that was the only way he knew how to help, was to understand, was to learn.

Or the one where Eddie’s past won’t leave him be, Buck doesn’t know how to help, and the military took more than anyone’s inclined to admit.

T | eddie diaz & tommy kinard & evan buckley | 1.5k whumptober day 4 - hallucinations: hypnosis, sensory deprivation, "you're still alive in my head"

read on ao3.

[lettersfromaplatypus]

Whumptober Day 4. I was half asleep writing this one so... oh boy XD

Rating: general audiences

Archive warnings: none apply

Category: gen

Fandom: Percy Jackson (and HoO, ToA, you know the drill)

Relationships: Nico/Will, Nico and Hazel, Bianca, and Hades

Summary: After his loved ones voice concern over his growing insomnia, Nico visits the Hypnos cabin to see if they can get him to sleep. But magically induced slumber tends to have some lingering weird effects.

[alyrewrites]

trying to hide (what’s inside underground)

Bruce keeps expecting to see Jason around the manor, even a week after the funeral. Even as he attempts to scrub the blood from the torn and battered Robin uniform

For Whumptober Day 4: “You’re still alive in my head” and Angstober Day 4: Blood

Bruce scrubbed at the uniform. It wasn’t uncommon for Bruce to do so. When either his suit or Robin’s suit was excessively dirty, they would have to get the worst of the stains out before Alfred could work his magic. Normally, it was stuff like sewage, mud, and ketchup or mustard. Sometimes, Bruce would have to scrub blood out of his suit after a severe injury, but he’d never had to scrub the blood out of Robin’s suit. He’d been lucky enough to have always been able to shield Dick and then Jason from serious injury. Until now.

He’d been scrubbing at the blood for so long that his fingers felt as raw as the rest of him and there was still more. There was so much of it, far too much of it to be staining his son’s suit. It felt like this suit was too small to even hold half of the blood he had washed out (god it was so small, Jason had only been 15-years old) and yet there was still more.

He half expected Jason to come up behind him and make fun of him for being “richer than god” with a “fancy washing machine” and still have to wash clothes by hand. He’d been entertained by the fact that Bruce had no idea how to even operate the laundry machine despite the fact that Bruce could probably take it apart and put it back together without any issue. Bruce’s incompetence regarding simple, everyday tasks was a source of endless amusement for Jason.

The everpresent lump in his throat tightened as he once again realized that he would never again experience Jason’s teasing, he would never again hear his laughter, he would never again see the smile that brightened up any room he was in. And it was all Bruce’s fault. A choked sob broke its way through Bruce’s normally tight self-control, though no tears gathered in his eyes. He’d run out days ago.

It had been nearly a week since Jason’s death. Every day, Bruce still woke up with the expectation that he would see his son and, every day, Bruce was hit again with the realization that his son was dead, buried in the ground and it was his fault. If he had been a better father, Jason wouldn’t have felt the need to run off looking for his biological mother. If he hadn’t let Jason accompany him at night as Robin, Joker wouldn’t have had any reason to target him. If he had been smarter and faster, he could have realized what was going on sooner and arrived at the warehouse in time to save Jason and his mother.

Bruce knew he was torturing himself, but he thought it was well deserved. Even though nothing he did could ever be penance enough for letting his son die. He had hoped that at least he could make sure that the Joker never hurt anyone again, that his son would be the end of the misery, but he couldn’t even give Jason that much. The only penance left to Bruce was the endless streams of if only’s and the destruction of his body in his efforts to make sure no one else gets hurt from his weakness.

But even the physical pain could not distract the phantom feeling of Jason’s body in his arms, too light and too heavy at the same time. It was worse now, so much easier for the scene to overtake him with Jason’s uniform in his hands and the blood dripping from it onto his hands. The smell of explosives, hot sand, and burning flesh assaulted his senses. All he could feel was the lack in the body that he held in his arms; the lack of heat, the lack of movement, the lack of life. He was looking at Jason, at his son, but it wasn’t him, it was missing what made Jason who he was.

“Master Bruce.”

Alfred’s voice and the accompanying hand on his shoulder broke the illusion. He looked back down at the uniform he had been washing. It was mostly clean now, the worst of the blood had been removed. The rest of the sand and smoke and dust could be removed by a cycle in the wash. But that wasn’t what Bruce was fixated on. It was his hands, stained dark red against Robin’s bright colors that held his attention. It wasn’t the first time blood had covered his hands, but it felt like a condemnation, now more than ever.

Overwhelmed suddenly by the grief, Bruce collapsed into himself, dropping his head into his hands. For the second time in his life, he was stuck trying to figure out how to move on when it felt impossible; when going on felt like torture worse than anything he faced in his years-long crusade.

“Alfred…” His voice broke. He couldn’t organize his thoughts. He couldn’t speak any of what he was feeling out loud. Words were just…inadequate.

He felt Alfred’s gentle hands wrap around his head and shoulders, pulling Bruce’s hunched form to him.

“I know, my boy. I know.”

[rahwriteswhump]

blood & earth: (whumptober 2024, day four)

prompts: hallucinations, "you're still alive in my head."

fandom: the hunger games

trigger warnings: parental death, blood, slight gore

ship: none

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The tracker-jacker hive fell onto Katniss.

Instantly, pain bloomed throughout her body. The incessant, loud buzzing made her put her hands over her ears, as the firelike burning of the stings spread through every inch of her skin. She felt blood run down her back, and then she screamed.

Screamed so, so loudly.

"Katniss?"

She looked up. The voice sounded so familiar.

"Dad?"

Between the flakes of skin on the red-stained ground, and the painful sting marks on her hands, her father seemed blurry, but it was definitely him on the ground. She could see the outline of his thick black hair, and gray clouds in the place of eyes.

Her body felt numb now, even though pools of blood were spreading out from under her. But how was this possible?

"Dad. How-" She tried to touch his hand. This couldn't be real, but she had some sort of unreasonable, illogical hope in her mind.

But all that met Katniss' hand was wet earth, coating it with dirt. And the image of her father faded just as it had come, in a dreamlike way.

This was no dream. The only thing that she knew was real was the unpleasantly warm floor, covered in dirt and dried blood.

Katniss closed her eyes.

I'll see him again, I know was her last thought.

[emerald-hobbit]

Well, Wells. We're Wellses.

Summary:

This really was adding insult to injury, wasn’t it? Not only had he caused the destruction of the multiverse, killing infinite lives, now he was stuck with the multiversal remnants of every other Harrison Wells in his head? Permanently.

Nash had thought he was finally cracking from all the guilt when he first started seeing and hearing them. It wasn’t a constant chatter in his head or a barrage of hallucination, just every so often he’d get a thought that wasn’t his or see a copy of himself.

--

Or Nash coming to terms with the Wellses in his mind.

Whumptober Day 4: "You're still alive in my head."

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

You're Still Alive (Inside my Head)

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

For Whumptober Day Four. Title from More by Billy Locket.

Renata is gone, but not dead. That is the hope that Malik clings to.

Contains: Minor character death, some gore, grief/mourning, vampires, angst, complicated feelings

---

Dr. Blackwood didn’t cry at the funeral.

No tears fell from her eyes as the pallbearers carried two caskets into the graveyard behind the cathedral. Her face remained impassive as the priest gave his last rites. The only indication that she felt anything at all was when she closed her eyes as her daughter’s empty casket and her husband’s mangled corpse were lowered into the ground.

Malik wondered how she could remain so stoic.

The sight of Augustus’s study was still burned into his mind’s eye. Blood had covered his desk and floor and shelves, had splattered all the way up to the ceilings, the smell of it hanging in the air like a dark miasma. Augustus’s throat had been torn out in deep gashes down to his stomach, as though a wild animal had set upon him. His body had lain against his desk, a mockery of a tired professor having fallen asleep writing in his journal.

A scrap of Renata’s blouse, the white cloth stained red, had been left behind. There was no other sign of her.

Malik couldn’t believe it at first. Even as he called for the guards, rushed forward to try to wake Augustus up, he couldn’t believe that something like this could happen. That his friend and professor could just be gone. They had all had dinner together earlier. They had plans to go to the lake later that month.

But now, as he watched the gravetender throw dirt over Renata’s casket, it was more than grief that had him trembling. Who could do something like this? Because as violent and senseless as it was, there was no way it wasn’t planned and purposeful. Not with Augustus’s office being the only one to see any blood. Not with the books carefully taken from his shelf. Someone did this, someone took people that he cared about away. His one friend, gone, and he didn’t know why, but he intended to find out.

And, given that they never found Renata’s body… did he dare hope that she was still out there somewhere?

---

The first sign was a bloody handprint on the wall. Then, the almost-silent sound of footsteps against the stonework. When he turned the corner, there was a cloak-shrouded figure, ever-so-slightly hunched over, back towards him and a hand braced against the wall.

“Hello?” He was careful to keep his voice friendly, even as his hand hovered near his sword. “Are you hurt, stranger? I can take you to the university if you need healing.”

The figure went still, almost unnaturally so. Malik couldn’t see if they were bleeding, but their cloak was too dark for him to really be sure. But they didn’t turn towards him, didn’t even seem to breathe.

“It’s okay,” he said, softer. “I won’t hurt you. If you’re in danger—“

“I’m fine,” they said, sharp and scared, and it was Malik’s turn to stop cold. The voice was familiar, even after all these years, even after time and change and who knew what else. “I’m fine, you can- you can go—“

His hand fell limp at his side. Unthinkingly, he took another hopeful step forward. “Renata?”

She didn’t turn. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t even pause. Just took off, down the alleyway and away into the evening.

“Wait!”

He didn’t hesitate to follow her, heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t let her get away, not when he just found her. But though he knew these streets like the back of his hand, barely a minute passed before she was gone entirely. As though she had never even been there.

Coming to a stop, Malik heaved a deep sigh. His heart ached. He wondered what he did wrong. Wondered what she was so afraid of. Wondered if it had even been Renata at all.

---

There was a vampire sitting on the edge of the lake.

His old friend was sitting on the edge of the lake.

The vampire and his friend were the same person.

Malik had been sent to kill the vampire, or, failing that, bring her in to be dealt with by the Church. She was a danger to the city. She couldn’t be allowed to walk free.

But Malik couldn’t hurt his friend. He just couldn’t.

He just watched her as she stared out at the sun disappearing beneath the lake.

She looked small.

Could it really be her? It seemed impossible. But there was no mistaking it.

“I know you’re there, Malik,” she called, her voice carrying easily across the open air.

He wanted to get closer, but he was afraid that she would run away again. So he stayed where he was. Held his ground. “I’m not going to hurt you, Renata.”

“Aren’t you?”

He winced a bit at that. Sighed. “I don’t want to. I won’t.”

“Yeah?” She didn’t turn to face him. She sounded tired.

He didn’t understand how she could sound tired. He was here to kill her. Nervous energy was skittering under his skin like electricity; it took a matter of will to stay still.

“What happened, Renata? Why—“

“Don’t.” Her voice was flat, but strained with just enough tension to give Malik pause. “Please.”

“Okay.” His mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do, but she spoke up again before he could come to any sort of conclusion.

“I just wanted to see the lake again. That’s all. I wasn’t going to stay any longer. You can tell your captain that I’m gone.”

“They want you dead.”

She turned to look at him. Her face looked younger than it should, and yet so, so much older. Her jaw was set; there was no affection in her gaze. “I already am, Malik.”

He watched her stand, and walk away into the forest. He didn’t stop her, or follow her. Just watched her go.

Renata was a vampire. But it was still her. She was still out there.

And maybe there was still something in her that could be saved.

[sorakh28]

Whumptober 2024- Draconic Widow

[drunkbreadstick]

Secret Life, Only Mine, Mirrors and Ghost

“Why am I here?” Regina asked again, her eyes staring right into Janis’s soul.

“I want you here.”

-

Whumptober Day 04: “You’re Still Alive In My Head”