#No. 22

[lostwhump]

"Желание... Ржавый..."

@whumptober | Day #22: "Oh that's not good" Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 22- Bleeding Through Bandages | Reopening Wounds | "Oh, That's Not Good"

Hero put a hand up against the brick of the alleyway wall for balance, their other hand clutching their bleeding side. Their wound must have re-opened during the fight. They lifted their suit up, and sure enough, red seeped through hastily-applied bandages.

It would take them a while to get home and re-dress their injury. Hero was just about to turn and head that way when they felt a sharp prick in their neck. Instinctively, they reached up and felt around, pulling out a purple-banded dart.

“Oh, that's not good,” Hero mumbled.

They dropped straight to the ground with a thud, and then it was lights out.

…

Hero stirred to the distant sound of humming. They groaned and let their eyes flutter open. A dimly lit basement came into view. They felt a light pressure on their side. Hero looked down and saw-

“Vil’n?” Hero slurred.

“Mhm,” the criminal replied, then going back to their humming.

“What're you doing?”

“Putting my punching bag back together,” Villain answered, “because it obviously doesn’t know how wound tending works.”

As Villain spoke, they weaved surgical thread in and out of Hero's skin, pulling their injury shut. It had been cleaned, and they must have given Hero some sort of painkillers beforehand, because Hero could barely feel the needle sliding in and out, in and out.

“There,” Villain said, finishing.

Hero went to touch the spot, but their hand was stuck fast behind them. They went to move their other hand, but that one wouldn't budge either. In fact, now that they got a look at themselves, Hero realized they had been heavily tied to a chair.

“Didn’t want you squirming,” Villain explained, noting Hero's alarmed expression, “and I wouldn't be much of a villain if I didn’t take advantage of the situation a little bit.”

“So you’re not going to let me go after this?”

“Ha! Let you go? Hardly. You have no clue how to take care of yourself, I'm amazed you've lived this long. No, you'll be staying here until this heals. Properly.”

“You can’t just keep me in your basement for… how long do gashes take to heal?”

Villain gave them an incredulous look that screamed, “you're proving my point for me".

“For your information, I won't be keeping you in my basement for the duration of your stay. I've made arrangements for you in the guest bedroom. Try anything though, and these ropes will look like child's play compared to what I restrain you with.”

Hero gulped. They knew Villain meant it.

“But what about my job?” they asked timidly.

“Oh come now, Hero! The city isn’t going to fall to wrack and ruin just because you're not running around in costume for a little while!”

Villain produced a knife and began to cut Hero free. Once that was done, they escorted Hero upstairs to their guest bedroom. It would be a while before their wound healed completely, and Villain was prepared to do anything to keep Hero resting until then.

Patreon

Ko-Fi

Redbubble

Tags:

@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit

[katyawriteswhump]

omega found, omega lost #4

Chapter 1 on tumblr Chapter 2 on tumblr Chapter 3 on tumblr On AO3

Title: Omega found, Omega lost; Chapter: 4/5; WC: 2356; Rating: E; Tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, nightmares.

for whumptober prompts day 19: blood trail, abandoned cabin, one way out. day 20: emotional angst, and day 22: bleeding through bandages, day 26: nightmares, and day 27: voiceless (yes, whoops, that's a lot of whump!)

Chapter 4: "I have no mouth and I must scream"

Then came the shout: “Alpha—get away from the Omega. Come out now, and if he’s unharmed, we’ll spare you.”

Eddie jumped up, insides wrenching at the small distance between he and Steve, while Steve was so sick. He glanced around, loathing even to rip his eyes from the Omega.

Was there any other way out of the cabin? Could he somehow haul Steve over one shoulder and flee? He’d never wanted to be a clod-headed beefcake kind of Alpha. Right now, it could be helpful. If they could get out. He assessed only the one door and two windows, the closest of which was now shattered and letting in a sleety gale.

An impotent growl escaped him. He grabbed for his damp pants, hoiking them on. He might make it out alone, but he couldn’t leave Steve at the mercy of a baying pack. Even Steve’s own pack. Eddie trusted them less than ever. Was this it… was he gonna die?

All this streaked through his head in a few seconds. He’d not even started to properly lose his shit, before another shout boomed from outside:

“What the heck are you morons doing throwing rocks? What you gonna do next—burn the cabin down?”

Eddie recognised that rumbling voice. Jim Hopper, chief Alpha of the Hawkins pack. Yeah, Wayne always claimed he was a reasonable guy. The idea of handing over Steve to anyone, however trustworthy, gouged like a jackknife in Eddie’s gut. He dashed to the unbroken window, squatted down, and glanced out.

 A couple of Alphas—oh, yeah, and Steve’s Beta dad—prowled the thawing snow, carrying rifles and sticks.

Nope. No sneaking out that way.

“You gonna open this door, Alpha, or do I kick it down?” Hopper hammered on the flimsy wood.

“I’m coming.” No choice. No damn choice.

Eddie dragged his shirt on, slunk to the door, pulled the bolt aside. Hopper barged in, and Eddie stood his ground between the larger Alpha and Steve—shoulders squared, fists clenched, his lips peeling back from his gums and his incisor-fangs quickening. He expected the larger Alpha to grab him or go straight for Steve. He wasn’t sure how he was gonna defend the Omega, only that he must.

Should he really make a dash for that shard of glass and slash it at Hopper’s throat?

Hopper’s attention latched straight onto Steve, and he made no sudden move. He closed the door behind, before the rest of the pack could swarm in, which was unexpected: “Christ, tell me he’s alive, Munson.”

Eddie was stunned enough to let Hopper pass.

“Yeah, he’s… he’s alive, okay?” Eddie hurried back to Steve’s side. “I found him caught in a hunter’s trap, and he was bleeding and scared and really, really cold.” Christ, in the minute since he’d unwound his body from Steve’s, the Omega’s lips had turned a worrying shade of blue. “Look, you gotta get him to a hospital. The rest of your pack can…”

Eddie trailed off, mouth hanging open. Stop thinking like a knot-head Alpha and think like Eddie Munson.

He wasn’t gonna beg to be torn to pieces, especially for so little ends. That said, Hopper appeared to have no intention of chewing his head off, at least not literally. Eddie shoulders and spine sagged, and his head drooped: “How many of your goons are out there?”

“There’s a dozen Betas and three more Alphas, all howling for your blood.” Hopper huddled Steve in the blanket and scooped him up into his arms. Eddie bristled at his own helplessness and a tinge of jealousy. “We didn’t even need the blood trail to follow! He’s letting off scent like he’s gone into heat, and we scented you too. Did you knot him?”

“No! I swear on my life.” His sudden fear for Steve proved the most painful stab yet. “You can’t let them punish him, man.”

Hopper effortlessly jostled Steve up a little, so Steve's lolling head rested against his shoulder. “The Omega is the least of your problems, Alpha. If it wasn’t for your uncle, I’d rip your throat out myself, apart from… this is as much my damn fault as yours.” Huh? Eddie hadn’t been expecting that. Nor Hopper’s guilty glance down at Steve. “I should have kept him glued to my side last night. Look, you better get outta here pronto.”

“How?” Eddie flapped his arms around wildly, reverting to the feckless teen he’d been only a couple of years before. “There’s only one way out.”

Hopper chuckled dryly. “Your old man knew different when he hid out here. There’s a panel behind the stove.  Took me ages to figure how the crafty old dog gave me the slip. Go. Hide. I’ll draw them away. Make sure nobody torches the place.”

Eddie obeyed, hating it. What choice did he have? While he sensed Hopper had Steve’s best interests at heart, he churned with anger at the whole damn world, and at himself.

Fuck, he was such a terrible Alpha. This proved how unready he was for a soulmate, let alone fatherhood and shit.

He had to let Steve go. Others could take better care of him.

As he hauled aside the stove, he dared not glance over his shoulder, in case he shed an incriminatingly un-Alpha tear.

…

Steve had been sick and hurt. Of that part, he was sure. But he’d been okay.

Eddie’s warm scent and body had enveloped him. The brush of Eddie’s soft lips had comforted him. Then he’d been ripped from that safe cocoon and hurled straight into Hell.

Barbed fangs glinted in an inky blackness, and the beast pounced, fangs piercing deep into Steve’s leg. It lifted him in its jaws and shook him violently, before smashing him into the icy ground, a hunk of dying meat.

He couldn’t hear his own scream after scream after scream. The exposed nerves and tendons in his ankle screamed louder, mocking his silence. The stench of his blood clotted in his nose and clogged up his throat, already shredded by his useless cries and thickened by terror.

Can’t breathe… can’t… can’t…dying… dying… dead? Eddie… Alpha... Please help me… It hurts… Eddieeeeee!

A wall of darkness slammed down. He floated, lost, mercifully senseless. When the dreams kicked off again, they weren’t all so bad. He was in a dingy cellar, chained to a damp brick wall, and… Okay, this was exactly how Tommy H claimed he’d wind up, some rogue Alpha’s plaything.

Steve was fiiiine with it.

Eddie was there, his body slamming Steve’s flush to the bricks. He nuzzled Steve’s throat tenderly, dragging his tongue over Steve’s mating gland. Steve’s every sinew strained toward him, trying to purr and rub into him. He couldn’t glean Eddie’s delicious scent. Violent shudders dragged him back from the cusp of getting slick.

“Eddie?” he whimpered. “Eddie, please? Where are you?”

When Steve finally opened his eyes for real, he squeezed them tight again before daring to peep.

He was in a hospital room. He’d gotten an IV drip attached to his arm, and other scary wires had been attached to his chest, poking out of his hospital gown. His heart lurched, and a green line spiked on a bedside monitor.

How did he get here? Last thing he recalled was Eddie… the cabin… Oh, Christ, what was real and what wasn’t? His head throbbed so hard he feared his skull would crack, and his stomach felt like somebody had punched it.

“Eddie,” he croaked, though nobody was around to hear. “Eddie.”

The next time he stirred, daylight stung his eyes. His mom stood at the door, talking to a doctor, “Mom?” he whispered. She didn’t turn her head. “Mommy?” Okay, that was shameful. “Please… mom? Where’s Eddie?”

His voice couldn’t compete with the penetrating hum of the strip-light.

I’m an Omega, not a pushover.

Yeah. Right.

Holy crap, he couldn’t leave the house alone without screwing up, bigtime, and his voice was little better than that of a ghost’s. Tuning into the doctor’s conversation didn’t exactly help:

“Mrs Harrington, you must understand—your son bled through bundles of fresh bandages after we brought him in, which made little sense. When he was found, he was sick, but his injuries had started to heal. He was never hyperthermic, yet he GOT WORSE. The bleeding has finally stopped, but his vitals have never stabilised.”

“Could he be pregnant, Doctor? Should I book him into an Omega Clinic?”

“It’s hard to tell with Omegas. I wouldn’t want to subject him to any invasive examination, let alone have him moved while he’s so sick.”

“But…”

With pup?

Steve’s blood simmered beneath his clammy cheeks.

And now his mother talked of the Omega clinic. Would she really dump him in that horrible place again, though they’d had to drug him to the eyeballs to survive it? And why, oh why, must he picture Tommy H, cackling in his face?

Did my soulmate fuck me and ditch me? Or was the whole soulmates BS all in my ‘air-brain little head’? Did Eddie knot me and skip town?

Okay, he’d literally been asking for it. He’d begged Eddie for dick and opened his legs to him like a ‘wanton little hussy.’

Was Tommy right about him? Tommy was right! His mom, too?

“I’m no Omega specialist,” the doctor was saying. “However, at this stage, the best remedy may be to find this rogue Alpha your son has been crying out for.”

“Yes. Hunt down that lowlife dog and destroy him for ruining my son.”

Steve’s panic ripped through him like a floodtide. His shallow breaths refused to sooth his clenching lungs, and his skin broke out into a cold sweat. By the time the doctor’s attention slid his way, he was full-on flipping out.

The next few moments passed in a terrifying blur. He fought the suffocating blankets and yanked the wires from his arm and torso, before more than one set of strong hands pinned him down. A sharp prick on his arm was echoed by the cool glide of a needle into his skin. Cool air flowed from the mask placed over his face. He drifted into dreams and that murky basement, wandering it like a spirit.

“Eddie,” he murmured, “Where are you?”

…

Three days.

Three fucking days.

That was how long Eddie had skulked in this dingy brick basement—pacing to keep warm, punching the bricks, wringing his battered hands, and all but ripping his hair out. He’d passed hours squatting in a corner, holding his drooping head.

Christ, he should get the fuck out of Dodge.

Perhaps distance could kill this agony. This crushing misery at knowing Steve was dangerously ill and being unable to see him, let alone do anything about it.

Yet Eddie wasn’t going anywhere, which was lunacy. None of his designs for life included mating a high-class Omega who’d grown up, basically, in a palace. Oh, and Steve’s mom had put a price on his head.

Ten thousand dollars. Dead or Alive. Seriously, where was he living—the Old West? Medieval Europe?

“Why me?” Eddie was muttering, over and over. The soft tap on the basement door set him snarling.

Okay, it was his and Wayne’s secret knock, based on an old Def Leppard guitar riff. Damn, Eddie was skittish as a goddamn Omega. Wayne descended the rickety wooden stairs, and Eddie leaped up, sweeping his heavy unwashed hair from his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Had a visit from Hop and Steve’s dad.”

“Shit!” Eddie buried all eight fingers in his uncombed tresses. “Did they follow you here?”

“What sorta fool do you take me for, son?” Wayne chuckled, squeezing Eddie’s super-taut bicep. Eddie teetered suddenly on the brink of throwing his arms around his uncle and bawling his eyes out. Anything to release the tension thrumming through his every vein. “Wouldn’t have mattered if they did. Hop talks the talk about ripping your throat out, nothing more. I swear to God, he begged for your help.”

Eddie met Hopper around the back of the hospital, near a delivery entrance for the kitchens. On sighting him, Eddie stopped dead, smacked his boot heel loudly onto the ice-hardened asphalt.  

The older Alpha’s lips peeled back, hostile vibes billowing from him. Then Hopper pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned:

“Okay, Munson, stand down.” He hurled some scrubs at Eddie. “Gonna smuggle you in. Apparently, your Omega pepped up no end on learning we were trying to contact you on the sly. Even the docs are bleating on about the soulmate bond—it’s the worst case of rejection sickness in living memory. So, yeah, let’s move. We’ll deal with the nuclear fallout in the morning.”

Eddie pulled on the scrubs and tied back his hair, using a scrunchie he was pretty sure Hop had swiped off his daughter. He followed the Chief through the quiet corridors, struggling to get his head together.

Soulmate bond. Rejection sickness. Some doctor had more or less prescribed Eddie as a cure? He snatched a swift, fortifying breath.

You got this, Munson. Make your Omega well again, and everything else is gonna be child’s play…

…hahaha, seriously? You gonna rob a bank or something?

Screw it. Perhaps he would.

After they’d passed through the dark kitchens, Eddie sensed something off. He’d smelled Steve over a mile off in a snowy forest, and yet… Okay, maybe that was Steve’s musk he detected, heavily interwoven with others,’ and faint beneath the tang of chemicals.

It was way too faint and soured with a bitter tang that set Eddie’s guts flipping.

He shoved past Hopper and sprinted up the corridor. He followed his nose up several flights of stairs. Along a dark corridor, he almost collided with an angry nurse, then he rounded a corner and slammed into Steve’s dad. Eddie braced the Beta and shook him, taken aback by huge, scared hazel-brown eyes, startlingly like Steve’s: “What is it? Is Steve okay?”

“I-I don’t know. He’d been on the mend since I promised to find you. I came over to break the news you were on your way… and he’s gone and discharged himself.”

...

Chapter 5.1 (it's gonna be fine, okay!?!)

Please like and reblog if you’re feeling kind 🥰 it’s so very much appreciated ❤️

tags: @wheneverfeasible @mugloversonly @ellietheasexylibrarian

@strawberryyyenthusiast @stripey82

If anybody else fancies reading more, I would be happy to tag :) Or follow #katya's omega whump

My endless outpourings of Steve whump can be found on AO3 here :)

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 22

Rosinante x Reader

"You got the details?" Rosinante asked, lighting up a cigarette.

"We got an Italian don." You hand him the file when you stop at a red light.

Rosinante scanned through the information. "Big mob boss, always surrounded by family."

"This isn't going to be easy," you comment, driving when the lights turn green.

"That's why they hired us, darling," Rosinante reminded you with a sly smile, tapping the cigarette against the ashtray.

It's true. You and Rosinante were the best-hired hitmen for the company you worked for. Perhaps it was because you could shoot your target in a heartbeat or that no matter what the hit is, you'd still end their existence in cold blood. However, for this particular job, you two were hired because of your stealth and ability to handle the situation when your target is in a crowded area.

"It says here to be wary of his brother Bege. Guy's got an observant eye."

"He can't see what's not there." You smirk, holding up your hand. Slowly the upper half of your limb vanished before the naked eye.

"Hmph." Rosinante returned the smirk. "Might wanna keep both hands on the wheel."

If you didn't need to keep them on the road, your eyes would've rolled out of your head.

Driving through a few more lights, you parked your car two blocks away from your destination. You got out of the car, stepping onto the sidewalk in time to help Rosinante out of the vehicle, you found out the hard way what happens when you leave the blond man to do normal tasks. If he wasn't your partner in crime, you wouldn't have guessed he's a top-of-the-line hitman.

"M'lady." Rosinante brought your hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on the back as he light closed the door behind him.

You smile, your cold heart fluttering a warmth at his romantic gesture. When he freed your hand, you reached up to his tie, fixing it and adjusting his collar. His face hovered close to yours, eyes staring into the other.

"What am I going to do with you?" You hum, sliding your fingers down his tie.

"How 'bout I treat you to something special after this," Rosinante whispered, hot breath on your brushing your ear.

"I'd like that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rosinante placed his hand on top of your head. "Calm."

You smile up at him, his power now activated on you, though you snap your fingers to double-check. No sounds come from you. Rosinante moves his hand down, cupping your cheek. You kiss him and activate your powers, becoming crystal clear. You pull away, about to leave when you hear Rosinante.

"Be careful out there."

Those words warms you. Looking back, you see your partner enter the building. That makes you refocus on the task at hand and you begin scaling the building.

The plan was for Rosinante to walk among the rest of the mob, dressed as one of them, identify which one is your target and pull him out just enough so you'd have a clear shot. Once the target is down, you hop down, activate your power on him then get out. Easy in, easy out.

The hitman entered the grand hall where the party, scouting out the floor as he lit up a cigarette. Rosinante is silently grateful for the shades covering his eyes, so long as he makes little head movements, no one can notice his eyes darting around the room. Out of the corner of his vision, he spots the window opening and closing on the upper half floor. He knows it's you.

The blond makes his way over to the drinks, keeping his eyes peeled when he spots the target laughing merrily with his brother Bege. Rosinante picked up a tray of wine glasses and strolled over to the duo, offering drinks to others casually to blend in. He turned his back to the pair when he was right next to them, bumped into someone on purpose and fell back with wine glasses spilling their contents behind him and onto the target and his brother.

"What the hell?!" The target exclaimed as the red wine soaked his clothes. Others backed away from the mess on the floor. He glared at Rosinante. "Hey buddy, you should watch your step."

"Forgive me, godfather." Rosinante bowed his head. "I'll clean it up I swear."

"Impossible, you can't remove wine stains from this." He gestures to his collar shirt.

"Want me to deal with him, brother?" Bege offered.

"Ehhh, just knock 'im real good, that'll oughtta teach him a lesson."

Bege nodded. Rosinante's eyes widened, this wasn't how- Bege knocked the blond out with the back of his gun. He smirked, hearing the loud bang of a gun.

Shit. Rosinante's power wore off. Your target hit the floor but now everyone knows it's because he got shot.

"GODFATHER!"

"The shot came from over there!"

"Get them! We'll make 'em pay!"

You dashed away from your spot. Since Rosinante always used his power on you, you never knew how loud your footsteps were.

"This way! I hear 'em."

Crap. It wasn't supposed to go this way. You need to get Rosinante.

"Bastard is around the corner."

"Rosi..." you breathe through your teeth. Heavy pants express your stress. You're being backed into a corner against the window. You need to slow your breaths and be quiet.

"We gotcha now!"

The mobster turned the corner and began firing. Gunshots pierced your flesh. The window behind you breaks, glass shards flying. Their bullets push you out and you fall to the ground.

Your clear clear fruit deactivating and its spirit leaving your husk.

Tags: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[fitsofgloom]

Take A Bite Outta Crime!

[hywenhei]

BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES: Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

"Oh- oh no. That wasn't supposed to happen. "What? What do you mean?" "Our little situation just got a whole lot worse."

A Whumper that curses Whumpee to stay alive no matter what tortures they're put through. Whumpee has to suffer through each and every punishment with no physical scars, just the mental horrors of their pain. And, of course, if Whumpee ever tries to step out of line, Whumper can simply threaten to take the curse away, reopening all of Whumpee's stab wounds and killing them instantly.

Caretaker barely manages to patch up some of Whumpee's wounds before they have to quickly escape before being caught by Whumper. As the team is running back, however, Whumpee is struggling to keep up as their fresh injuries get aggravated and blood seeps through their bandages again. All Whumpee can manage to say is "I don't feel too good..." before collapsing to the ground.

"Hero, I can't do this, I really can't-" "Come on, you've got this, Sidekick, just a little more. Now, tighten the tourniquet- not that tight!"

i have so much writing motivation right now it's unreal. wow. i must go forth into the world and share my knowledg. anyways, see you tomorrow for day 23!!

[hero-of-the-wolf]

Chapter Summary: Twilight sat down with a muffled groan, rubbing a hand against his throbbing forehead. It helped ease the building pressure, just a bit.

Then he pulled back the edge of his tunic, grimacing when he saw the bandages were already stained dark red. He tucked it back in, deciding that was a problem for later. It was a manageable amount of blood loss, and they didn’t exactly have healing supplies to spare.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

For She Was Afraid

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? | The Seas No More | The Nightingale's Song | Bones in the Ocean | For She Was Afraid |

CW: Magical whump, nonhuman whumpee, creepy whumper, it used as pronoun for nonhuman whumpee

-

"You have had this power a year," Atabei hissed as soon as the door to the study closed and the two of them were alone. Her hand around his arm felt like claws digging in to his skin, she had gripped on so tight. "And you have killed two people?"

Gilly swallowed, looking around to avoid having to face Atabei directly. The study had a large wooden desk - Eliza's late husband's apparently, from the old-fashioned design, the masculine weight and size of it. Correspondence scattered across the top, with a few books at one corner, and comfortable chairs on either side.

The walls were lined with bookshelves. There must have been two hundred books in this little room, and this wasn’t even the library.

Being the young widow of a very rich man had its benefits, Gilly supposed, and it seemed Atabei’s lady love had made the most of all of them.

“Guilford!” Atabei snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, making him jump. “I asked you a question!”

"I know! I know, my sincerest apologies-... it’s just, I didn’t kill two people…. Well, I did, but it was only one done with purpose," Gilly admitted, shamefaced, stopping to touch the spine of one particular tome. This shelf held Atabei's books on magic, carefully inconspicuous in a study full of reading material. In golden relief, the title read An Uncertain World: A Treatise on the Toa Volcano and Its Magical Properties as Befits the Pursuit of Certain Sciences. He was nearly asleep from boredom simply finishing the title. "The other was… well, very much so an accident."

Atabei stood with her back to the door, arms crossed. Here at home, her hair hung loose in its thousand braids, a glimmering waterfall of black, and she wore pants much like his own and a loose white shirt.

"An accident?" Atabei huffed an irritated sigh, fixing a glare on him he could feel even without looking up to see it. "I am not as stupid as you must think me to be, Guilford."

"No! No, Beibei, not at all. I'm not lying to you." He went to her, but she did not look at him directly. Her jaw was set with the stubborn distaste he knew so well, but had almost never seen aimed at him. "The ship's captain had a weak heart. When I commanded the siren to make him too afraid to tell what he was, it gave out. I did not mean for him to die."

“And why did the captain discover what the siren was in the first place? Hm?” Her changing accent was heavier here at her home, too, the low drawl more pronounced. Her eyes flickered to his and then away again, but it wasn’t weakness.

Not with Atabei.

“You did not keep him clothed?”

Well, no. He hadn’t. But Gilly didn’t think that was relevant. “He… misunderstood the nature of my connection to the siren. He thought it was a young man, and that…” He trailed off, face burning with embarrassment merely retelling the conversation, the captain’s sly accusations and subtle threats. “Well, the captain thought… he thought…”

Atabei’s voice was desert dry and even less forgiving. “He thought you were fucking him.”

“Beibei!” Gilly’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I’ve never heard you speak so vulgarly!”

“And yet now you have, and I am the same Beibei I was when you first made me flower crowns,” Atabei said, and there was a gentle teasing softening her voice that made him think perhaps she wasn’t truly angry, or not so angry he could not break through it anyway. She took a deep breath. "I can see now. He threatened you, threatened to expose you, and you thought the siren could help wipe his memory clean.”

Atabei didn’t need to know any of that.

“Yes, yes exactly.” Gilly leaped on this lovely lie, so much kinder than the truth. Better than telling her about the captain suggesting he might make good use of such a fine young man with such a lovely face and strong, lithe body. Better the softer lie than the truth of Gilly’s answering negotiation into sitting in the corner and watching it happen. Better than admitting that the captain had been pushing the siren down onto the bed in his quarters when the creature had sung him into fear. Or that Gilly had made sure the ship believed fully that the captain had died in flagrante delicto with a pretty passenger, which the crew had seemed… unsurprised by.

In any case, she swallowed, keeping her eyes on the windows with their heavy drapes on the other side of the room. "Fine. I can understand the accident. And the other?”

“Not an accident. The widow Neumann, who let me the rooms I was staying in?”

“Yes, the sweet little old lady.”

“... right. That one. Well, her death had a purpose. She left me everything, you see. I am… a wealthy man these days. If I had small ambitions, I would have enough to live on in comfort for the rest of my life.”

Atabei’s eyes searched over his face. “You have larger ambitions.”

“I do. This is only how I begin, Beibei. I’ll be a king, or more, before I am done.”

She nodded. There was a distant sadness in her, as if she mourned the gift he had asked of her, that she had given him. “You want that more than anything. I am happy I could help you take the first steps on your path.”

She moved away from him to sit behind the massive desk in a well-loved leather chair, leaning back and putting her feet up, crossed at the ankles. She was so very different here at home, with the coastal breezes fluttering over the drapes. So much more herself, more like how she had been when they were children. “Is there evidence? Can they trace it back to you?”

“No, no.” He waved away her concern, taking his own seat on the other side, wishing he had a glass of liquor in hand, but… Atabei was not one for alcohol here at home, and he knew there would be none unless this mysterious Eliza enjoyed it. “I was with her, but… she signed with her own hand, steady and strong. You couldn’t possibly have said it was forged. I mean, it wasn’t. I watched her sign each and every one.”

“Hm.” Atabei looked a little confused. “And then?”

“Then she drank a glass of strychnine mixed with wine, and died.”

“I didn’t know she had such a fondness for you as all that,” Atabei said, her expression of confusion deepening, although her wry humor was still intact. She even smiled, just a little, as he head tipped back against the back of the chair. “It is a great love one must feel for one’s downstairs tenant to drink deadly poison simply to expedite the tenant's inheritance.”

“Ha! I hated her more than any other soul and I daresay she did nothing but pity me, but it didn’t matter. I brought my sea creature up with me, and had it sing to her. After a while… she began to see things my way. I did her a kindness, really, if you think about it. She would have died in terror eventually, alone in her gigantic house, her little dog chewing on her toes-”

“Guilford, please,” Atabei said, face paling. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Right. Anyway, this way she had someone she adored with her at the end, and I even gave her little dog to a friend of hers.”

“You hate that dog.” Atabei’s eyebrows raised again. “You used to joke about tossing it into the ocean for the sharks.”

“And you will yourself note that while yes, I did say that, it was a joke. It wasn’t the dog’s fault it was bred and born to drive me absolutely raving mad with its noise and that it had to be the size of a small tea kettle. The stupid thing is living a life of sheer luxury with the widow’s oldest and wealthiest friend, who has a dozen servants on hand at all times and a granddaughter who will no doubt adore the dog’s decidedly ugly smashed-up little face. And the way it breathes…” He shuddered.

“I… all right. Well, that is reassuring.” She tapped her fingernails on the desk, utterly at her ease in here. It must be her study and hers alone, now, if she kept her books on magic in here and felt them secure. “But… wait, Guilford. You said you had the siren sing.” Atabei’s eyes widened. “The siren’s song doesn’t work on women. It is well known. Only men can be fooled by their voices.”

“I know, I know, but it did work on her. And it’s worked on… three other women besides, since then. I’ve tested it.” At Atabei’s thoroughly nonplussed expression, Gilly flushed and hastened to add, “Simply to make them forget they had seen its markings, Beibei! I’m not a monster.”

Besides which, he had the siren itself to slate his lusts on now. Something about the way it still sometimes wept with his hands around its neck or dropped its human glamor to bare rows of sharp teeth without any ability to use them on him did more for his desires than any woman’s softness ever had.

The siren was a creature who should have torn him limb from limb, but Guilford controlled that power, that ferocious rage. It took real effort not to have arousal overtake him just thinking about it.

“Good. I will not aid a man who uses such a power to do harm to women.”

“I am not a man who has any intentions of doing any such thing,” He said, a little soothing, leaning forward. His elbows rested on his thighs. Downstairs, somewhere outside and presumably sitting under a tree or something, the siren began to sing. It was nonsense notes, something trifling, without any power to it.

Guilford had been pleased with it, and given it leave for the occasional making of merry tunes to pass the time, as long as it only cast a spell with its voice when Guilford commanded. He enjoyed seeing its pathetic gratitude at these small mercies, ones he could remove at any time for any reason or even no reason at all.

Sometimes he did, and forced the siren to debase itself all the more in order to earn them back.

Atabei looked over to the window, tensing slightly until she could tell there was no new magic in the air, nothing to try to override her own. Then she sighed and looked back to Gilly, nodding slowly. “Perhaps it works now because it is your will and not his? Since it’s not his magic any longer, only yours, that must go through him. Maybe that’s why… Hm. Fascinating. I will have to read more on this, try to understand…” She trailed off. “One wonders why no one has captured a siren for these purposes before.”

“Who says they haven’t?” Gilly raised his hands in question. Half-hidden by a stack of books that had never been placed back on their shelves back behind Atabei, he saw a small portrait that had been set on the floor, sticking half-out. In it he could see a woman, a man, and a little girl.

“Remember the Verenni king, a few hundred years ago?” Gilly spoke while looking over the portrait, letting his thoughts wander as he considered the family of three. “He came from the Sea Peoples, from nowhere, and it seemed like he took over every land he touched for half a century until he was killed in battle. Maybe he had a siren who sang what he wanted, and someone killed the siren first. It’s possible.”

The man in the portrait was older, hair already silvered, with a prominent beard. The woman clearly decades younger than her husband, and with the solemn look of those who must pose for hours in heavy dresses. The little girl looked very much like her, but for her nose.

“True. But why haven’t we heard of it? It should be in every history book…”

“Unless, of course, the people who come up with how we remember our histories don’t want anyone to know sirens can be so used-”

Outside, the sound of a carriage, and the siren’s song stopped. Atabei all but leapt to her feet in a sudden panic, interrupting Guilford. “Eliza! She won’t know not to talk to him-” She ran for the door and down the stairs, Gilly pushing himself up to follow her.

Atabei darted like a silverfish through clear water - he could hardly have hoped to keep up with her speed. He heard her cry, “Eliza, watch out!”

By the time he made it out the front door, huffing and puffing, Gilly saw quite the tableau.

Atabei, holding the siren’s arm with a grip so tight Gilly knew he would have lovely new bruises to appreciate before he slept tonight, was speaking in a rush to a lovely woman wearing a simple dress and tilted, wide-brimmed hat that kept the sun off her skin, with a little girl standing beside her dressed in the pantaloons and shirt common to the young.

“-was only saying hello,” The woman - who must be Eliza Howe - was saying, affronted. She had the heavy molasses accent of the northern colonies, as if she considered every word before she spoke it. “I can handle a simple polite greeting of a guest, Bei.”

There was a tremor to her voice, though, that suggested she had been relieved Atabei appeared so quickly.

“He is not a simple guest, ‘Liza,” Atabei said in return, her tone apologetic even if her words weren’t. “Remember I told you about Guilford Wentworth, and why I had to go visit him in the islands?”

Eliza turned back to the siren, who was trying subtly to pull himself free of Atabei’s grip, and failing. The monster looked away from her, confused and uncertain. Gilly felt himself think strange, strange thoughts - it has no idea what’s going on. It meant no harm. He shook himself and strode forward, catching up to the little group. The siren cringed away from his very presence, and he ignored the stir of desire that roused in him.

The little girl hid herself behind her mother, peering out with wide eyes.

“This is the thing that Guilford Wentworth captured? This? Bei, this is clearly a man,” Eliza said, and then caught sight of Gilly. Her expression pinched. “Oh, and here is another. Who... is this, then?”

“This is Guilford,” Atabei said, with a smile, gesturing to him. He bowed to Eliza, and she inclined her chin just barely to him. “Guilford Wentworth. Guilford, this is… my wife, Eliza Howe, and her daughter Sirene.”

“Siren,” The creature said, speaking words aloud for the first time. Its had an accent after losing its ocean-tongue, something that sharpened each syllable. Its eyes went to the little girl, who looked at it in something between anxiousness and wonder. Its expression was much the same. “The young are called siren?”

“Sirene,” Eliza corrected, uneasily emphasizing the differences in pronunciation. “It’s her name. She’s a girl, a-a human girl.”

“A girl, yes, this I see,” The siren said, and Guilford blinked. Had it-... used the same wry humor that he and Atabei had always enjoyed, in that sly tone? He would beat it for the pretense later tonight. Beat it black and blue and bloody and begging. “Siren is… human name, then? What I am, siren, is a name given to human girls?”

The monster stepped forward, leaning down to look more closely at the little girl even as Eliza grabbed her arm and held tight.

Its gaze reminded Guilford of his visits to the Royal Zoo, the way sometimes the great apes of the Largest Continent would watch the visitors to the zoo right back, with much the same expressions of awe and delight. Gilly thought about how deeply uncomfortable that sight made him, the bars that separated them from the people only a few feet away. The identical expressions. The reality of the strength and power the bars held in check.

“Sirene,” Eliza repeated, stepping back, her eyes flickering between Atabei, Guilford, and the siren. She looked more nervous and uncomfortable with every passing moment. “It isn’t the same.”

“Oh. I see. Hello, Sirene.” The siren emphasized the name now, too, the same way, although it didn’t seem mocking. More like it had simply decided that this was the way to pronounce the sounds, to mimic Eliza’s humanity. “I am a siren.”

“Hello,” The little girl whispered, without coming out from behind her mother's skirts. “It is very nice to meet you, Mister Siren.”

The siren’s face changed. Gilly realized, with a start, he had never seen it try to smile before. The siren tipped its head to one side. “It is very nice to meet you. Is that what humans say?”

The little girl frowned. “When they are polite it is.”

The siren made a sound - Guilford felt irrational fury when he realized it was gentle laughter, musical and melodic. "Polite is good?"

"Yes." The girl nodded, solemn as the grave. "One should always be polite, Mama says."

The siren's seemingly gentle smile faded slightly. "Mama," It repeated, voice low. "Sirens call ours mama, too."

The girl nodded, as if this made all the sense in the world. Eliza, though, gave Atabei a look of something like panic. "Bei-... What have you done?"

Atabei cut her eyes at Gilly and he cleared his throat, stepping forward, blocking the siren from the little girl's line of sight. “You don’t have to say hello to it, Miss Howe, and it is not a mister. It’s not a person. I know it looks like one, but that’s a silly little trick it plays on people. It’s more like… a dog, maybe.”

The little girl looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. Her face - and voice - held a faintly hostile accusation he didn’t understand. “I say hello to dogs, too."

“Right. Well. Hm.” Gilly blushed, and wished he could order the siren to sing this whole moment out of existence for them all. It only made him angrier. “Perhaps not the best example…”

Eliza swallowed, stepping back, the girl moving with her in a stumble, slightly surprised. “Ah… Bei-... can you-... he’s very… very close to me, you see-... the sea thing is, I mean… but also your friend..."

“I understand.” Atabei pulled the siren backwards and shook its arm. “Don’t move. Let my wife go inside. Be still, sea creature.”

The siren stood, even without the magical compulsion, and watched as Eliza ushered the little girl away and back down the stone path to the front door of their home. She glanced a few times over her shoulder as she went, waving to the siren. "Goodbye, Mister Siren!"

"Goodbye, Sirene!" The siren called out. Guilford smacked it on the back right over some new marks from the belt he'd used on it last night and it cried out, stumbling before it caught itself.

"Silence!" Gilly hissed, and hit it again. And again. And again-

Atabei caught Gilly's arm in her hand and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Not here, Guilford. Eliza fears the anger of men. Her late husband was… unkind, when upset. Unkind to her."

“Of course.” Guilford nodded, already breathing hard. He pushed his glasses back up his nose instinctively. “We won’t trouble your beautiful wife with this nonsense. Simply show me where I can put it and it will not be seen by anyone other than you and I."

Atabei found a smile for him, and he smiled back, and for a moment - the two of them out in the grass of a front yard, with a rope swing tied to a large tree branch off to one side and a herd of cows lowing somewhere just beyond sight behind a hill - it felt like they were children again.

Atabei looked over the siren, who didn’t meet her eyes in return, staring down at the ground in the way Gilly had painstakingly taught it to. Her smile faded into a frown. “So, two deaths-"

"One by accident, remember!"

"... and wealth. What comes next? Where do you go after you finish your visit here?"

“Oh, that’s an easy question to answer,” Gilly said, watching as the siren, ignored again, crouched down and stared openly at a line of ants crawling along within the grass. “I’m heading to the northern half of the Largest Continent, back to visit my... mother. Where we will become significantly less estranged, thanks to this thing.” He kicked the siren lightly in the thigh, watching it wince without moving, attention still focused on the insects below it.

“Returning to the line of inheritance,” Atabei said, nodding, crossing her arms before her. “I see. And after she no doubt dies quite a tragic and well-mourned death?”

“Well… then maybe the next time we see each other face-to-face, I won’t be Gilly Wentworth, down on his luck sailor surgeon any longer. I’ll be… King Wentworth, or Emperor…”

“You aim high,” Atabei murmured. “You want to be like the Virenni King, the conqueror. They killed his siren, Guilford, if your theory is true. They killed the power he used and then slaughtered him as well, on his own battlefield, with one blow.”

“Right, well. I’ll be careful.” Gilly reached down, gripping into the siren's curls - he never tired of its soft hair, the way it tensed and shivered every time his fingers moved along its scalp - and pulled. It immediately tipped its head back, knowing the command by instinct without even needing to hear it by now. Its breath caught, and he knew if he touched beneath its jaw its pulse would be fluttering, like a horse about to bolt.

But it couldn’t go anywhere at all.

His mouth felt dry, just thinking about it.

“Your magic worked, it worked so well, Beibei. I can make it do anything I want, make anyone do anything I want, and no one who isn’t under its spell is ever going to know about it.”

-

"Except me," Atabei murmured, a strange tremulous quality in her deep voice. "Except for me, and mine."

Gilly, for the first time, looked into the eyes of his oldest friend and realized that if he could use the siren's power on women too, then even Atabei was not safe from him, not truly, and she knew it.

Atabei was afraid of him.

Gilly's eyes went back to the siren, who was looking up and watching the wind rustle leaves on a nearby tree. The creature's lips were parted, just a little, as if at any moment the song would begin.

Gilly smiled.

"Let's go inside," He said, smoothly, "And have tea."

Tag list: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings

For @whumptober prompts 19, 21, 22

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 22 - Watch Out

Warnings: words said in anger, grief, depression

Word Count: 1.6k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint recovers from the fallout of the Avengers.

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

2012

NEW YORK

“Get up,” Natasha tells him, the level of despondency irritating her.

She hasn’t left him alone, and whilst she understands this depression, she can’t understand the lack of self preservation that comes with it.

He hasn’t eaten, drunk water only when she’s told him too, and barely got out of bed.

He raises his head and looks at her in a pout.

“Not today,” he says, his voice crackling.

“Today is the day we meet with Fury,” she replies, pointing to the calendar.

“No,” he sighs, “go without me,”

She rips the sheets off him, and pushes a coffee into his hands.

“There’s no, “go without me”, not for this, this is Fury giving you grace, and now you have to deal with the mindfuck that was Loki.”

Clint looks at her betrayed.

“Don’t say his name,” he says angrily.

“Why? It shouldn’t matter, he’s done, he’s gone, we won, we didn’t die.”

“Yeah cause that’s exactly how you responded when you killed Dreykov,” he retorts, meanly.

“What?”

The words feel scathing and Clint can’t seem to stop them.

“Don’t you remember? You couldn’t even make it out of Budapest, you had the nightmares, you couldn’t function without help either.”

“You dissociate and can’t cope and I take it on, but when it turns the other way and I need time to not be in the world, you force it on me.”

He feels his face grow hot as he throws words at her.

“You were compromised, just like I am, and I protected you through it, and now, you can’t even do this. Some partner you turned out to be.”

He pulls the covers over himself and turns his back on her.

She feels anger, and then sadness roll over her.

“Phil would tell you to get up,” she says, a parting shot that makes him feel like shit.

He’s right of course, but she never thought that period of time would ever be used against her as a weapon.

Grabbing her jacket, she leaves, slamming the door behind her.

.

Entering Shield by herself, she feels eyes watching. They can’t kill her with looks, but the judgement still feels hurtful. Much like when she first defected the label of double agent plagued her.

Small hurts like changing the temperature of her room, stalking her, taunting her, all protected by Clint and Maria.

It makes Clint’s words hurt all the more.

She seeks Maria, knowing she’ll be close to Fury, and finding her way to the offices of Shield, hoping for privacy.

As she passes the empty office of Agent Phil Coulson, she pauses to touch the door.

Grief floods her, as she hold back the emotion, biting hard on her lip. The arrays of bouquets that line the door makes everything more real.

She hates him a little for making her face this alone, despite the difficulties he’s facing.

Natasha moves forward, hoping Maria is actually in her office, and finding the door slightly open.

Maria looks up.

“Nat,” she says, a tone of surprise.

“Where’s Clint? He has a meeting with Fury in twenty minutes,” she says quickly.

“Can I…” she sighs and stops.

“Clint’s not coming, I can’t get him out of bed, let alone out of the apartment,” she confesses.

Maria stops and watches Natasha.

“What?”

She calls through to Fury and cancels the meeting, and tells him she’s going to handle the debrief; then grabbing her jacket, she ushers Natasha out of the room.

“Come on,” she says, to Natasha. “Let’s go see the boy.”

.

“He said what?”

Maria breaks hard, almost rear ending the car in front.

“Nothing,” Natasha mumbles.

“Nat, that’s mean, he was mean, he has no right to judge you on how you reacted from defecting from your country, killing a man who tortured you and your coping mechanisms.”

Natasha stares out the window.

“I’m judging him on how he’s coping, and how long it’s taking him to reach equilibrium,” she sighs.

“You can reason this out all you want but what he said was mean, you didn’t do anything wrong and probably, you’re one that’s been protecting him from almost everything. You even took on Fury to negotiate more time. Nat, he shouldn’t have said what he said.”

Natasha continues to stare out the window, feeling emotions pulse through her as she knows that Maria is right.

“I don’t think I want to go back,” she confesses, sucking in a stuttering breath at the admission.

Selfishly she feels, she makes a decision based on what she wants and how she feels; not wanting to face Clint or his anger again.

Maria nods.

“I’ll go, I’ve got him for a bit, is there somewhere you want to go?”

Natasha wants to be alone.

“Just drop me at Grand Central Station,” she asks, knowing exactly where she wants to go.

.

Natasha loves the view from the Grand Central Station, finds it calming to watch the people milling around from tourist to regular New Yorkers.

Even aliens could stop this place, though the marks of damage still show.

They’d tried, she thinks, to fix what they could.

She finds a seat, opens her sandwich and sits and eats, letting the noises wash over her.

She analyses the old man’s gait, determining a hip injury, an old one it seems, then turns her attention to a young woman; stylish in her heels as she stalks across the station.

Two men clasp hands in greeting and walk off together, one animatedly talking to the other as he explained something Natasha couldn’t hear.

Natasha puts in headphones, no music attached, and watches the world.

It feels different here; maybe because so much has happened but still the place functions as though it hasn’t.

Maybe that’s her downfall.

She’s trying to function with Clint as though nothing has happened, trying to make him move past it like it never happened.

But it has.

People died at Clint’s hand.

Phil died trying to protect them all.

Clint lost control of himself.

And, she supposed, they were Avengers now.

Even their jobs had changed in the space of hours.

She sighs, rubbing her eyes in frustration and grief.

The clock alerts her to the later hour as the amount of people dwindles. Past 6pm, she realises that she’d left Clint with Maria for over 10 hours and guilt builds in her chest.

She stands abruptly, making her way for the door.

“Watch out!” the lady calls, her son barreling straight into Natasha’s leg.

He bounces off her and starts to cry.

Natasha squats and looks at the little boy, offering her hand to help him up.

The mother catches up to him and apologizes profusely.

“He moves with such haste, and never watches where he’s going.”

Natasha smiles, though watery she pulls herself together to wave it off.

The boy, still crying turns to his mother.

“Can I show you something?

She uses Clint’s favourite trick and pulls a coin from his ear, and in doing so, it gives her an idea.

The little boy stops crying, and she does it again.

Even the mother is smiling.

“Thank you—“ the woman starts, “wait— are you? Are you the Black Widow?”

The words and the name feel jarring out of the woman’s mouth, and the little boys eyes go wide.

“Do you know Iron Man?” he asks.

The woman shushes him, and grabs for Natasha’s hand.

“Thank you,” she says, “my brother was on the bus that Hawkeye saved and got the people out of.”

Natasha nods.

“I’ll let him know,” she smiles.

Moving away, Natasha pushes down the anxiety of being recognised and heads home, with an idea and a story to tell Clint.

.

The takeaway sits on the bench, as she moves into the apartment, nervous if there’s any more vitriol she’s going to walk into.

Finding him showered, clothes changed and sitting upright, Clint stands as she walks in.

“I’m sorry,” he opens.

“I shouldn’t have said the things I did, and I don’t know why I did,” he confesses.

“I’m aware I haven’t… been at my best, but the last few months have been hard. I know it’s no excuse, I know, I need to do better but—“

“It’s hard,” Natasha finishes.

“Yeah,” he finishes.

She nods.

“Come and eat something,” she offers, and walking back out to the kitchen, and pulling the food out of the bag.

“I think you’re doing better,” she comments, “but I think we need a project. Do you remember when you taught me the coin magic trick? I think we need to learn something new.”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t…”

She nods, “I’m going to teach you some Russian. Better Russian.”

He almost chokes on his food.

“It’s going to help,” she says confidently.

“Maria’s mandated therapy weekly,” he confesses.

“I know, she told me,” Natasha replies.

“I have to go in tomorrow,” he tells her, playing with the food.

“Do you want me to come?”

Natasha still feels the sting of the words from the morning but seeing him trying so hard when the day before he’d done nothing, lessens the hurt a little.

He nods.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” he says again.

“Vsyo v poryadke,” she replies.

He stares.

“Everything is in order, it is okay,” she reassured him, even though she’s not sure, even if she’s worried about the future, even about the hurt he can cause her and just how compromised she is by this relationship.

He drops his chopsticks and moves to her seat.

“Ya tyebya lyublyu,” he says softly.

“I love you too,” she replies.

.

[perpetuallylatetothefandomparty]

Summary: It’ll be fine, Shiro thinks as Keith guns the bike's accelerator and rounds the bend.

Written for both the @badthingshappenbingo and Whumptober!

[whumperofworlds]

Whumptober 2024 Days 22/25: Hard Fight

Now on AO3!

TAGS: @gala1981 @whumptober-archive @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @rebelxwriter @expressionless-fr

@fourwingedsnake @whumble-beeee @whumpninja @kingxlinkwrites (let me know if you wanna be added or removed!)

CWS: Blood, battle, injured, passing out, argument, stitches, strong language, male whumpee, male caretaker, implied whumpee x caretaker

FANDOM: Final Fantasy XV

A/N: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to Square Enix.

ENJOY!!!

_____

Tourniquet / Reopening Wounds / "Oh, that's not good."

Stitches / Being monitored / "It's for your own good."

The moment Ignis was knocked down, Prompto knew this fight had gotten bad.

The four went out on a monster hunt to get some Gil; a large Malboro that had been terrorizing travelers. As Prompto and Ignis gathered the supplies needed for the hunt, Prompto heard Gladiolus and Noctis arguing in the background. Something about how Noctis didn't pack enough curatives, and how Noctis said that they didn't need them. He mentioned how his sword could down the Malboro quickly.

Well, even with his sword out, the Malboro was still standing.

Gladiolus was behind the monster, slashing it with his greatsword. The Malboro turned to face him, and belched out a noxious gas towards him, to which Gladio jumped out of the way.

Prompto would be admiring the sight of a sweaty and badass Gladio, if it weren't for the fact that the Malboro was getting ready to suck Gladio in its mouth.

Noctis rushed forward, his sword out and ready to slice down the monster, but the monster, with its tentacle, slapped him across the field. Noctis slid on the ground, dirt flying, as he laid there, unconscious.

"Noct!" Both Gladio and Prompto cried out.

As the monster approached Noctis, Prompto knew what he had to do.

He rushed forward, one of his guns out, and aimed it straight at the Malboro's mouth.

The Malboro saw this coming, and it readied another slap of its tentacle. The moment it unleashed a slap, Prompto dodged it quickly, failing to notice the sting on his side thanks to the adrenaline.

He held up his gun, and pulling the trigger, shot the Malboro in the throat.

With a screech that deafened Prompto for a moment, the Malboro fell to the ground, green blood oozing from the exit wound it had behind it.

Both Prompto and Gladio let out a sigh of relief, glad that the hunt was finally over.

When Gladio glanced at Prompto, however, his eyes widened, and Prompto tilted his head. Why was he looking at him like that?

The adrenaline began to wear off, and Prompto felt the pain on his side. He glanced down.

A large gash, large amounts of blood spewing from the wound.

"...Oh, that's not good…" Prompto could only mutter as dizziness began to take its hold. He held his head, his body swaying from left to right until he fell on the hard ground; the last thing he heard was Gladio's scream of his name.

_____

"...fucking idiot, Noct."

"Gladio, it was supposed to be easy!"

"'Course you don't listen, Princess. Take fucking notes."

Prompto nearly jumped when a powerful slam hit something hard. His eyes widened when he was jolted awake from the loud noise. His head throbbed, unsure of what happened. Where was he? What happened?

"Gladio, I-I wasn't—"

"You, Prom, and Ignis got hurt because of your idiocy, and for what?!" Prompto recognized the deep voice of Gladio; and he realized how angry he sounded. That… wasn't a good sign.

"Gladio, I-I'm sorry," Prompto recognized the second voice as Noctis', "I didn't mean to—"

"Then listen to me next time! Your dumbassery could have gotten all of us killed!"

Prompto groaned, his headache worsening by the arguing. Ugh, why now? He needed to rest, not hear this.

That alerted the two, as Gladio suddenly went silent when he saw Prompto. Noctis opened his mouth to call out his best friend's name, but Gladio placed an arm in front of him, stopping him. Gladio stood from the chair before quickly approaching and kneeling down to Prompto.

Before Prompto could ask what was going on, Gladio lifted the blond's shirt up, and Prompto cringed when he saw a line of stitches on his side. His skin was red from the stitches being tight, and Prompto could have sworn he saw a small trickle of blood from the wound he had sustained from the Malboro.

…Oh yeaaaaaah.

He remembered it all now. How the four fought a Malboro. How Ignis and Noctis got knocked down. How Prompto killed the Malboro protecting Noctis before he passed out.

Gladio looked over the wound, gritting his teeth upon seeing the small trickle of blood. His eyes were filled with worry as he pulled out a potion from his bag.

"Big guy…?" Prompto questioned, noting how gentle Gladio was with the blond. Usually, Gladio was rough, both with his words and with his physical touch. Seeing someone so strong handling Prompto as if he was a newborn Chocobo surprised him.

"Here," Gladio offered, holding up the potion to Prompto. "Drink this."

Prompto did as he was told; with shaky and careful hands, he took the potion and downed it in one gulp. The oozing wound began to close up mostly, but blood continued to pour down from one of his stitches. Gladio cursed under his breath.

"One of your stitches reopened," he muttered.

…Oops?

Prompto pursed his lips, realizing that all of his movements caused it. He didn't mean to make it difficult for Gladio to care for him… "Sorry," Prompto whispered, expecting Gladio to yell at him for his mistake.

To his shock, however, Gladio placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. "Not your fault," he reassured, "I should have paid attention when you woke up. Sorry."

Glancing down at the oozing wound again, Gladio turned to Noctis, who sat on a chair beside a table, watching the two with worry in his eyes.

"Noct," Gladio's voice was gentler with Noctis this time, "think you could get another potion outside?"

Noctis nodded with a hum, before standing and running out of the tent.

Prompto sighed, settling in the covers without opening his wounds again, before he glanced up at Gladio. Instead of anger and disappointment, Prompto could see concern and guilt in his eyes.

"You can yell at me now," Prompto offered, knowing that he caused himself this injury. It was only natural—whenever Prompto messed up in a battle, Gladio called him out on it. After the fight against the Malboro? He felt he deserved it.

Gladio frowned, shaking his head. "I'm not gonna yell at you," he said, "I'm… glad that you're okay. You had me worried when you passed out."

Gladio? Worried? Prompto would be laughing if it weren't for the fact that he had a reopened wound oozing with blood.

"You're… not mad?" Prompto asked, trying to verify.

Gladio shook his head again, his frown intensified. "Of course not," he answered, "in fact, the opposite. You did good protecting Noct and Iggy. So… thank you, Prom."

Prompto's heart raced, his eyes sparkling as the words echoed in his mind. Gladio? Proud of Prompto? He had to be dreaming right now.

"...Who are you and what have you done to Gladio?" Prompto couldn't help but joke.

To his surprise, Gladio let out a roar of laughter at the lame joke Prompto made. He watched the taller man, a smile growing on his face. He never thought that he would make Gladio, of all people, laugh. And it warmed his heart. Seeing how his large chest heaved when he laughed, his grin… Prompto just wanted to hold him close and kiss him.

…Huh. That's new.

"It's me," Gladio began, wiping away a stray tear that fell down his eye. "I mean it Prom. You did a good job. Thank you for keeping them both safe."

"Anytime," Prompto chuckled, "doing whatever I can to keep you guys safe."

Neither of the two noticed that Noctis was peeking from behind the tent flat, along with Ignis, who had bandages covering his abdomen. The two watched the other men interact, and Noctis smirked.

"Ten thousand Gil they get together before this trip is over," Noctis betted to Ignis.

To his surprise, Ignis smirked and said, "Deal."

[destiny-in-the-universe]

The moment I’ve- I mean, you have been waiting for! I kept wiggling in my seat every time I had to wait for this fic’s release. I still have to thank the creator of the Heroes of Millenium AU for leading to my own ideas, and well, they are entirely independent of each other.

Though to get right to it! The chosen fixation- I mean, normal interest, yes sirree, is Randy Cunningham… with a twist! This time I decided to make it a crossover and I think you know…

I couldn’t resist the moment I saw that prompt, and well, both fandoms have become very dear to me so!

Drumroll please!!

Read below the cut for the extra fandom!

Okay, my lovely chaos-bringers, the crossover in question is with…

XIAOLIN SHOWDOWN!

It’s not spicy, but there could be implied content? Who knows, and since it’s mostly for whump, it might not be too heavy. I’m definitely happy with how the first chapter turned out and I’m very eager to share it with the world, so!

Now comes the fun part~

Plot/Summary

First Ninja’s latest mission causes him to trek across a desert environment, though between the yokai he was forced to confront and the heat, things will not be so easy.

Luckily, he has an enemy- ally in an unexpected place, but of course, both he and his rival are just as stubborn.

Prompts

No. 5: Sunburn/Healing Salve/Heatstroke

No. 16: Wound Cleaning

No. 22: Bleeding through Bandages/Reopening Wounds

Extras/Teasers

Slowburn Enemies to Lovers

Chase with Reptilian Traits

Scarred First Ninja

Norisu Nine Lore

talk so pretty but your heart got teeth

Part 10 of Whumptober

Part 1 of like moths to the flame (we’ll jump into the fray)

[yonbwekh]

Whumptober 2024 day 22

>> sorry the next few entries will have been late, school has been super busy. I'll have day 22-25 out today!!

Prompt: bleeding through bandages

Caretaker wipes cold sweat from Whumpee's pale forehead, unwrapping a roll of bandages. "Whumpee, you need to tell me when this happens." They say, maybe a little too sternly. "Sorry s-sir, won't happen again."

Caretaker sighs and takes off a now bloody wrap of bandages carefully, putting them in a bin beside them. "Don't worry, it's fine. You feeling okay?" Caretaker asks, trying to distract whumpee as they wrap the bandages around their bleeding waist.

"feeling f-fine.." Whumpee winces but keeps calm. They're fine. They'll get through this. "Good." Caretaker finishes the bandages and ruffles Whumpee's hair.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

The Journey South

The Watcher and the Thief, Chapter 3 Scene 1

Whumptober Day 22: 22 BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES | Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good"

Whumptober Day 25: SURGERY | Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

Whumptober Prompts List | Masterpost

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

<- Previous | Next -> (coming soon!)

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1600

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west

CW: blood, stitches, wound cleaning, worry

A/N: Hector and his stubbornly optimistic apprentice Luc have begun their journey south in search of a magician who can reverse Luc's curse. But can they find her before Luc bleeds out? A Watcher met on the road may provide an answer.

----------

Three days earlier…

“We’ll rest here.”

“Are you sure? There’s still a few hours of daylight left.”

Hector gave Luc a flat stare. While his apprentice was clearly trying to put on a brave face, his body language betrayed him. Exhaustion lined every inch of Luc’s body, and the way he held himself in the saddle betrayed how every movement bothered the wounds in his back and chest. Every sway and dip was accompanied by a wince or a tightening of the jaw as he tried to hide his pain.

But he knew Hector’s eye for detail better than anyone, and his shoulders slumped. “Okay, we can stop here.”

‘Here’ ended up being a spot a short distance from the road, hidden behind a small hill and the tall scraggly bushes common in the sparse plains southwest of the Fells. They had left the blockade as soon as they were able, but progress through the Fells on horseback was, as usual, slower than Hector would prefer, losing most of their daylight navigating through barely passable terrain.

Hector dismounted and secured their horses before he helped Luc down. Luc hissed through his teeth when he hit the ground, jaw clenched. “That’s… that’s gonna be pleasant.”

“Silas said to change the dressing every morning and evening. You think you’re up for it now?”

Luc hesitated before responding. “Let’s get it over with.”

Hector unloaded their supplies from the horses, setting them down beside Luc as the boy slowly lowered himself to the ground, face set against the pain. It was only until after Hector finished loosening the saddles and removing the bridles from both horses that he realized he was stalling.

He exhaled sharply and went back to Luc, digging the medical supplies out of the saddlebags. The elves had made sure they would not run out of things like bandages, dressings, augri for cleaning wounds, or various medicines on their journey. Understandable, considering Hector wasn’t certain how long it would take before they tracked down Qila Scoria. Magicians were unpredictable in how they chose to use their gifts, but last anyone in the Fells had heard, she was near Valdove, a few days’ journey south.

He was stalling again. “Shirt off,” he commanded, a little too sharply for the situation from the sideways glance Luc gave him before complying. The young Watcher hissed through his teeth again as he raised his arms above his head and worked the shirt over his head in slow movements.

Hector set his jaw when he saw the state of the bandages wrapped around the wounds on Luc’s chest and back. Blood was beginning to seep through the cloth and in some spots had entirely soaked through. Stitches or no stitches beneath the bandages, the carved runes were proving their refusal to properly close.

“Is it bad?” Luc asked quietly.

Hector untied the knot holding the bandages tightly and began to unwind them. “They haven’t gotten worse, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Well…” Luc began, thinking, “I suppose it’s all I could be asking for. Every day that passes without infection is a good day for me.”

Hector finished removing the bandages and set them aside, trying to ignore his nephew’s blood on his fingers as he pressed a clean cloth reeking with pure alcohol to the small, uniform cuts. Luc stiffened when the cloth made contact, but he did not cry out. “Still finding the silver lining,” Hector muttered, methodically working his way across Luc’s back, “I admire your perseverance.”

“I try,” Luc said, wincing with each movement. The runes sliced into his skin had been stitched shut by the elves, but that didn’t prevent the curse from continuing its work and keeping the wounds from closing.

Hector worked in silence, moving on from cleaning the wounds as quickly as possible. Rewrapping was much the same as unwrapping, although Hector felt his work was clumsier than that done by the practiced hands of the elven surgeons.

How many more times must I do this? He wondered as he put away the medical supplies. Luc’s blood was no longer on his hands physically, but he could still feel the thick, sticky liquid every time he rubbed his fingers together. How much longer until he bleeds out?

…How much longer until I have to bury another family member?

He didn’t voice any of these thoughts aloud. Not when he gathered some fallen branches from the nearby shrubs to start a small fire. Not when the fire grew hot enough to cook with. Not when he prepared their evening meal. Not when they ate in silence, the chill of the autumn night pressing against their backs.

Hector didn’t voice any of the thoughts aloud.

But he suspected, from the way Luc occasionally shot glances his way, that he could still hear them, even if he didn’t answer aloud either.

Facing your own death is one thing. Hector faced his so often that such a threat was almost meaningless.

Facing the death of your apprentice is another.

And facing the death of your apprentice when it might happen through circumstances utterly out of your control? Another thing entirely.

Not to mention the very real possibility that Qila Scoria, once they found her, would be unable or unwilling to provide aid. Then what? Search for the next magician? And the next? What if they encountered the one who had done this to Luc in the first place? They had only gotten away alive because Hector had caught her by surprise, he doubted the same thing would happen twice.

“I can help keep watch,” Luc offered as they were settling down for the night.

Hector looked at him sharply, about to argue, but Luc continued, speaking quickly. “I’m not going to be able to sleep well anyway, no matter which way I lay down I’m going to be on the stitches, and you can’t keep watch all night and navigate the next day, so get a couple hours of sleep, at least….”

Hector exhaled in frustration. He had a point. “Fine.” He unclipped his pistol from his belt and held it out to Luc, still in its holster. His apprentice stared at it for a long moment before hesitantly taking it. “I don’t expect you to have the same range of motion as you would normally. I’ve seen you shoot, you’re a good marksman.”

Few Watchers carried firearms, most in Hector’s generation preferred the bow or crossbow, having used them for decades. But Hector knew a dangerous and useful weapon when he saw one, and so when he got his hands on one he made sure he learned how to use it well. Such skill was imparted onto Luc, although you wouldn’t know it by the way he handled the weapon like a hot coal.

Hector contented himself with the crossbow he had inherited from his own mentor. Luc was as familiar with it as Hector himself, but the extra exertion from reloading the bolt was guaranteed to tear the stitches in his back.

“First watch?” Even before the words completely left his lips Hector knew the answer.

Luc nodded, turning the pistol over in his hands. “Perhaps when my watch is done I'll be exhausted enough to actually get some sleep.”

Hector allowed himself to return his nephew’s smile. He hoped his optimism would be able to last long enough for the curse to be reversed.

*****

They met the unfamiliar Watcher ten hours later.

The sun had only just risen above the horizon, the last wisps of morning fog yet to evaporate. She was walking south along the road, the same direction as Hector and Luc, and from her unbothered disposition when they caught up, she had heard them coming a while before.

“‘Morning,” she wished them as they rode up on her right. She wore a cloak dyed in the recognizable greens and browns of a Watcher, although hers were a more muted shade than Hector's own coat. Her curly brown hair was tied back in a low ponytail. She carried a bow in one hand, a quiver hanging from one hip and a short sword on the other.

Judging from her relaxed posture as she walked, she deemed them no threat. But her short sword was at easy reach, and any number of other weapons could be hidden within the folds of her clothing.

As Hector made his assessment, the way her eyes darted between him and his apprentice showed how she made hers. She frowned when she noticed Hector’s pistol holstered on Luc's belt. “Watchers in the north carry firearms now?”

“Fires faster than a bow or crossbow,” Hector countered.

“Hm. Noisier too.”

“Easier to carry.”

“Harder to acquire ammunition.”

“Yet.”

She sighed. “Fair enough.” She closed the distance between them and stuck out her hand towards Hector. On his horse, she came to the middle of his chest, estimating her height around one hundred and seventy centimeters. “The name's Kaira. Kaira Ta'ruen.”

He shook the offered hand. “Hector Epsilona. This is my apprentice, Luc.”

Kaira nodded to his nephew before turning back to Hector. “What brings two northerners to this lonely road?”

“Could ask the same of you.”

“Fair enough. I came from west of here, was called out to find a couple missing folks. Tracked them almost to the Fells where….” She narrowed her eyes. “You two wouldn't happen to know something about a serial killer up in the Fells, do you?”

Hector glanced back at Luc, who gave him an imperceptible shrug. Probably the best he could do without bothering his wounds. “As a matter of fact… yes. We do. We were called in from Caenum to help with the elven blockade….”

[clintbartonruinedmylife]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 22

"Glass hards, vehicular accident"

Bucky was on his feet in an instant when the alarm went off. It took him forty-four seconds and he sat behind the wheel of the fire truck. He turned on the siren, honked and floored the truck to get to the accident they were called to as fast as possible. 

“What do we have?” he asked Steve, who sat beside him. 

“Car accident,” he said. “Apparently there was an illegal car race and they forced another car off the street. Nat…” - a cop and also the woman Steve was in love with without admitting it to himself - “... said the driver is trapped and injured.” 

Six minutes later they were at the scene. Nat was waiting for them together with an ambulance and - much to Bucky’s dismay - it was Sam Wilson standing beside the car, trying to get to the driver. 

“We take over now,” Bucky snapped when he was out of the truck. 

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Wilson said  and Bucky threw a death glare in his direction. 

“Boys, calm down,” Nat interrupted the two of them. “We have to get the driver out of the car.” 

Bucky went to take a look while Steve already gave orders to the other firefighters. It looked bad, really bad. The driver bled heavily and he had glass shards everywhere in his skin. And the chassis of the car was twisted. 

“Is he stable?” Bucky asked and looked at Wilson and the EMT nodded. 

“As far as we can see, yes,” he said. “But we have to get him out of it as fast as possible. 

The driver opened his eyes and looked at Bucky and for a moment his breath was taken away. The man had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. And currently they were full of pain. 

“Can you hear me?” Bucky asked and the man nodded. “We will get you out in no time,” he smiled reassuringly. 

The man reached out and instinctively Bucky took his hand. Steve and the others came with heavy equipment and started to work. 

“What’s your name,” he asked and the man licked his lips. Bucky wanted to let go to help Steve and his team but the man didn’t let go. Steve shook his head and Bucky understood.

“My name is Bucky,” he said. “What’s yours?” 

“Cl-clint,” the man whispered and Bucky smiled at him. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Clint,” he said. “See that guy over there? His name is Steve. He and our friends will get you out soon. I’ll stay here with you if that’s okay,” he said and kept talking. Every now and then Clint answered but most of the time it was Bucky who talked and it seemed to calm the man down so Steve and the others could work. And it really took only thirteen minutes to get him out and then Wilson took over. They put Clint on a stretcher and shoved him into the ambulance and with wailing sirens they drove him to the hospital. 

But Bucky couldn’t forget the beautiful eyes of the man and that’s why he found himself in the hospital, too, two days later. He had asked his way through to him and then he knocked at the door. 

Clint lay in his bed, band-aids all over his face, his arm and a leg in plaster casts. 

“Hey,” he said when Clint looked up. “I don't know if you remember me but…” 

“My lifesaver,” Clint smiled. “I had hoped to see you again.” 

“Really?” Bucky asked, a smile on his lips. 

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Have to make up to you for getting me out.” 

“Technically I just held your hand,” Bucky said and Clint blushed violently. 

“It helped,” he said. “I thought I would die but… it helped.” 

“You’re welcome,” Bucky said and sat down beside the bed. “So, what did the doc say about your injuries?  How long till I can ask you for a date?” 

[firstdegreefangirl]

Shattered Glass

Glass shatters. Lucy gasps. Liquid splatters.

Tim turns his head, then jumps up from the couch when the kitchen island blocks his view.

He steps from the carpet to the tile and hears the glass crunch under his boot.

“Stop!” He barks, when Lucy tries to move one bare foot forward. It’s a tone he hasn’t taken with Lucy since he was training her. But it’s fear he hasn’t felt since he was keeping vigil at her hospital bed, brushing desert sand away from the edges of her hair. “Watch out, there are little shards everywhere. “Don’t move your feet.”

Lucy lowers her foot carefully. Her eyes are wide, in a way they weren’t before Tim shouted at her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“No, it’s alright, you were just trying to keep me from stepping -”

“I still shouldn’t have yelled. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Read the rest on ao3 here!