#VOICELESS

[muxshwriting]

compelling

Feud-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

summary: Feyd can no longer live with only a portion of his wife and strives to find who she truly is || word count: 948 || masterlist

once again, I have been peer pressured (someone very politely requested) and I am being forced (I wrote this in a peak of artistic inspiration) to publish a third part to voiceless and articulate. Enjoy!

REQUESTED: I've read all your Feyd stories and I love them! Would you please consider doing a continuation of "Articulate" where Feyd is so desperate to win over his wife that he asks her new friends for advice? Thank you.

Ever since you’d postponed your day with him, Feyd had been unable to think of anything else. He couldn’t imagine what else you spent your days doing, what was more important to you than him. As he began craving your presence, he noticed just how much time you spent out of your chambers, elsewhere.

He approached you one evening when you were getting ready for bed. “Y/N?” He stopped calling you ‘Wife’ when he noticed the subtle flinch that accompanied its use. “Where do you spend your days? You always return with such happiness.” He meant nothing by it, a simple observation that you always glowed a little brighter afterwards.

You hesitated before answering, hearing horror stories of what Feyd has done to servants. “I- My handmaiden and some of the other maids, they spend their days teaching me things about our house, about Geidi Prime. I enjoy their company.” You admitted.

Feyd frowned. “Your handmaiden? You’ve been hiding away with your handmaiden all this time?”

“Do not speak of her with such disdain! She is my friend. You will do her no harm or I will never forgive you.”

“What?”

You mistook his confusion for insult. “You heard me-“

“You misunderstand, my love.” That title was a new one. “I am simply surprised. I worried you had filled your time with another lover. That I would not be so kind towards.”

The endearment that slipped from his lips did not escape unnoticed by you and you felt your heart fluttering slightly within your chest. The careless and childish hopes from the beginning on your marriage had the nerve to peek their heads towards daylight and it took all your might to push them back down. He was just a possessive man, claiming what was already his. He could not love you, not the way you wanted him to.

“Oh. No! I would never- I would never take a lover Feyd. I am not a traitor.”

“I- I was not trying to imply-“ It was the first time you had ever heard Feyd be uncertain in anything, stumbling over his words.

He reached out to you and you let him slip your hand into his. His body was mere inches from yours as he stood silently, staring down at you.

“I’m sorry.” It was a murmur of an apology you never thought he was even capable of. “Please tell your handmaiden… thank you from me, for taking care of you.”

Your eyes soften as you take a small step so you’re truly in each other’s space. “I shall pass along your message. Goodnight husband.” There’s a softness behind your words that Feyd hasn’t heard in a while and he’s very grateful for its return.

In the days following your discussion, you and Feyd had minimised some of the distance between you, but not all. There was space Feyd couldn’t cross alone, no matter how much he wanted to. He needed help, aid from someone who knew you far better than he did.

Reluctantly, Feyd made his way down to the servants quarters. He stops silently outside the door, suddenly nervous to enter.

He knocked and your handmaiden opened the door, paling at the sight of the Na-Baron. “My Lord Feyd.” She bowed before him, slipping out into the hallway. “How can I assist you?” Despite your assurance that your husband would never hurt her, your handmaiden still had fear when stood in front of Feyd.

Feyd seemed unsure of himself now that he was stood in front of someone about to ask for their help. “I wish to help my wife.”

“Is the Na-Baroness unwell?”

“She is fine.” Feyd said shortly. “But our marriage…” He does not wish to continue and your handmaiden knows it.

Slyly, she looks him up and down with a knowing look. “It’s called love. She feels it too.”

“She-“ Feyd stopped himself. “She loves me?”

“And you love her. She’s just hesitant to give you all of herself.”

He took a moment to breathe, his head spinning from the realisation that his wife loved him. “I love her…”

“Then tell her that.” Your handmaiden pressed. “Tell her she is loved.”

Heeding your handmaiden’s words, Feyd approached the evening much differently than he normally would. He greeted you as he entered your chambers, a small smile across his face as he offered to help you change and you, surprised, allowed him to.

He couldn’t stop the giddy feeling his heart had when you leant into him as he pulled the pins from your hair. You let yourself lean in, praying that life had finally dealt you the perfect hand.

Beyond either os your notices, you handmaiden had slipped into your chambers, aiming to help you get ready for the evening. But upon seeing your gentle embrace with Feyd, a knowing smile spread across her lips and she turned on her heel to slip back out again. Her shoe brushed against the floor for just a second and you glanced up at her.

Silently, a conversation passes. A frown, a smile, a nod. A look towards Feyd, a glance you made in his direction. He’s aware of all that is going but blissfully choosing to ignore it, his eyes almost slipping shut as he runs his hand down your back and letting it settle at your waist.

No words are exchanged as the evening progresses, but the light touches continue and you never find yourself out of Feyd’s space for more than a second. It isn’t until you’re in bed and wrapped in his arms that you speak.

“Goodnight my love.”

Feyd smiles against you and murmurs the same sentiment back, finally slipping into sleep.

[alitteraladhdmess]

I’m still here

Vent art with Voiceless Donnie

He’s mute and sometimes that makes him feel like he goes unnoticed

Even if that’s not true

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 27 - Voiceless, “I have no mouth and I must scream”

I feel like I’ve been mean to Wind a lot heh, I feel bad for the little guy. It’s better than the three arrows I put in his chest in that other fic! ...Maybe, anyway.

Warnings: redeads

Ao3 link

————————————————————

Wind was not happy.

He struggled and kicked, tried to squirm out of the bruising hold on his arms, went limp and tried to just give the two soldiers dragging him along some underground passageway as worse of a time as possible. They’d already taken his weapons and only held him tighter as he struggled, but Wind kept it up anyway.

One of the Yiga grumbled in annoyance as Wind kicked at his legs, and he felt a glint of satisfaction.

“Rotten kid, that attitude will die plenty quick where you’re going,” the other Yiga snapped, ignoring Wind’s attempts to bite him. “This cell was for the hero, but what better way to lure him there than to dump his little brother in it first?”

“You built a cell underneath the outskirts of a village? Wow, that’s normal well-adjusted behavior,” Wind huffed, and one Yiga sneered.

“We merely adapted it for our purposes. And you’re the perfect person to test it out.”

Wind finally managed to clamp his jaws down on one of the soldier’s hands, and he yelled, gloves not thick enough to really protect him. The other one snatched at Wind and put a dagger to his throat before he could press his attack, and Wind reluctantly released the hand, getting the message.

“Link’ll never fall for your stupid trap anyway,” Wind said with a glare, and the Yiga both chuckled.

“Oh yes he will. Have fun, kid.”

A door was opened, and Wind was tossed through without any sort of fanfare, stumbling as he landed. He whirled back around to the door, but it was already closed and firmly locked.

Wind scowled at it, then turned to look around his prison, mind already turning towards thoughts of escape. Who did these Yiga guys think they were, kidnapping him off the street? He was the Hero of Winds! How had they even gotten the drop on him?

Wind scowled again and kicked at the floor of the cell. At least he’d been walking around with Four and Wild. Surely one of them would notice he was missing soon. And if not, well, Wind was pretty good at getting out of tight spots if he did say so himself.

No problem.

Wind put his hands on his hips, looking around the dark cell. There was a single tiny torch hung up on the wall, too high for Wind to reach that lit up the skinny space. A stone wall stood at the far end of the cell, but the two sides were open bars, darkness yawning beyond them.

It... kinda made his skin crawl.

Wind crossed his arms, feeling cold all of a sudden, but he shrugged it off with a huff. He needed to figure out how to get out of here, creepy darkness or not. The deep shadows beyond the bars suggested a bigger area, so if he could just find a loose one, he’d be set. Maybe he could even climb up and grab the torch.

Wind walked over to a side, starting at one end and giving each bar a solid shake. They seemed pretty firmly in the ground, but Wind worked his way across anyway, hoping for a loose one. He got all the way through without a single loose bar, and sighed, crossing to the other side to try there instead.

He’d gotten about halfway when he heard something, creaky and quiet.

Wind froze, listening, and the hair on the back of his neck went up as he heard it again. That noise was familiar. He couldn’t place it, but he knew it was familiar.

And that it was bad news.

A low moan came from somewhere in the darkness, and Wind slowly began to back away, nerves all alight. If he could just see he wouldn’t be nearly as nervous. Maybe the darkness was just freaking him out, and he was imagining noises because of that?

A bloodcurdling scream rang out, and Wind’s eyes went huge as a familiar sensation wracked through him, deathly cold and terrifying.

Oh no, he thought in a panic, his feet frozen to the floor, body unable to turn away from the shambling footsteps he could hear. Oh no oh no oh—

A face appeared in the flickering light of the torch, decaying and horrible, eyes glowing. A rotten hand stretched forward and wrapped around the bars, and Wind stared at the Redead, trapped in its unnatural terror.

It didn’t look like his version of them, taller, with a few ragged clothes on its lanky body, but the feeling it left him with was the same, sheer, unnatural terror.

I’ve got to get away, maybe by the door I’ll be far enough it won’t be able to—

A different scream rang out, sending another jolt through Wind’s chest, and he watched in horror as another redead grasped at the bars, reaching out to him, trying to pull him close. Beady eyes stared at him, glowing and malicious with hunger, and Wind might have whimpered if he could move his mouth.

He fought the paralysis as much as he could, but the moment it started to wear off, one of them screamed again, leaving Wind with no escape. More screams joined the first two, and Wind choked on his breath as a whole group of redeads shambled out of the darkness. Screams came near constantly from their lips as they grabbed at the bars and reached through, trying to get at him.

They can’t get through, they can’t get through they can’t hurt you, it’s just to scare you, Wind thought frantically, heart drumming in his chest. They don’t want you to escape that’s why they put them there you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay.

The screams just kept coming, endless and piercing and shooting Wind’s heart through with inescapable terror. He couldn’t even move to cover his ears, and he felt a terrified scream build in his own throat.

But it wouldn’t come out. Wind could only keep standing there, immobilized, tears trailing silently down his cheeks.

It felt like his heart was being encased in ice, frost shooting through his veins with every scream and grazing touch. More screams joined the agonizing chorus from behind him, and the terror felt like it would crush him, repeatedly crashing over him like a freezing wave.

Hands grabbed at him, nails grazing his skin. Wind couldn’t move, the torrential screams hammering at him, cracking him, filling him up with so much terror his mind couldn’t focus on anything else.

His world narrowed down to screams and beady eyes, Wind drowning in terror, eyes darting around wildly, mind screaming every time a hand grazed him.

If he could move he’d be curled up on the ground, but all he could do was stand here and sob in his mind as a deathly cold hand finally closed around his wrist.

Then a different noise rang out over the screams.

It was garbled in Wind’s ears, some sort of talking he couldn’t make out over the redeads’ shrieks. But suddenly music poured into the cell, cheery and bright, and the screaming stopped.

All of it.

Wind’s ears still rang with them, and the terror still pressed over him like a wet blanket, but there was finally silence, and the hand trying to drag Wind closer to the bars had stopped in its efforts, the redead’s mouth stuck open with its teeth bared.

Wind would’ve sobbed if he could move, and he heard footsteps and talking, his ears still ringing too much to make out. Strong arms pulled the hand off his wrist and cradled him to a chest, shouted something at the other sets of footsteps. The song trilled again, bright and warm, and though Wind still couldn’t do much as twitch his pinky, some of his panic eased as he felt a steady heartbeat against where his ear rested.

The others were here.

There must have been a trip out, but Wind missed most of it, still trapped in the lingering screams he could hear in his mind. Tears trickled steadily down his cheeks, and past the unnaturally sharp fear was a flicker of annoyance at crying so much.

But the terror mostly blotted it out.

Sunshine finally fell onto his face, warm and soft, and whoever was holding Wind lowered themselves to a knee. A face looked down at him, and Wind saw Twilight, eyes fearful.

“Hey Wind, you alright?” he asked, and Wind could only stare at him, heart pounding, terror still clenching like a talon around him. “Wind?”

“Is he okay?” someone else asked, and Twilight leaned back, Time and Wild’s faces both coming into view next.

“He’s not responding,” Twilight replied, and Time leaned in, studying Wind’s face with a worried look.

“Wind, can you hear me?” Time asked, setting a hand on his chest.

I can hear you fine, I just can’t move! Wind wanted to scream, but his mouth was still frozen shut. The only thing that he was still able to do was cry, apparently.

Time gently wiped his tears away, and if Wind wasn’t still so terrified, he was sure he’d be embarrassed. “Do we know how long he was down there?”

“An hour, hour and a half? No more than two based on when we started looking,” a voice Wind placed as Wild added anxiously. Oh good, he avoided the trap. “Is that bad?”

“It’s a long time to be around an attacking redead, no less dozens of them like he was,” Time replied, gently tilting Wind’s head around as he looked at it. “Usually the song fixes things, I have no idea why he’s still frozen like this.”

“Prolonged exposure I’d guess,” Four’s voice added, and Twilight’s hand combed gently through his hair. “It might just take him longer to break out of it. He’s so cold...”

“I still can’t believe we lost sight of him like that,” Wild said quietly, and a different hand touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Wind.”

Oh Wild, it’s not your fault, Wind thought, trying to look the champion in the eye and convey the sentiment. I’d tell you so if I could.

Some more footsteps pounded against the grass suddenly, and the amount of voices around Wind doubled, more faces leaning over to look at him, worried questions floating over his head. The other Links had obviously joined the group, and Wind struggled even harder against the paralysis making him nothing but deadweight. But he remained as frozen as ever, a scream still stuck in his throat, ice around his heart.

“Give him space, I’m pretty sure he’s aware of what’s going on and you all are crowding him,” Warriors’ voice chided, and the majority of heads pulled back from his view. The captain’s face appeared in his line of sight, full of worry. “Wind? Can you move anything? Even just something small?”

Wind started at his feet and worked his way upward this time, trying to move anything he could. Fear still thrummed through him, his body on high alert, tears tracking down his cheeks, but he finally managed to twitch his eyelids a little.

“Hey, there we go,” Warriors said with relief in his eyes. “Can you do it again?”

Wind focused, managing another twitch, and almost did a full blink when he tried again. Warriors’ face was still worried, but he looked encouraged by even the tiny movement.

“Here, let me see if this helps some more,” Time said then, and Twilight shifted Wind around in his arms so his head was a little more upright.

Time pulled out his ocarina, purplish blue in the sunshine, and he played the trilling song again, the one Wind finally recognized as the song of passing. Time played it through a couple times, magic falling over Wind like a beam of sunlight. He was surprised the time of day itself didn’t change, but maybe Time was stopping it from doing that somehow.

Suddenly the magic loosened something inside him, the icy terror cracking, thawing a little. Some feeling swept back into his body, and the scream that had been stuck in Wind’s throat this whole time suddenly burst out, loud and terrified.

Time immediately stopped playing, and Wind began to tremble as feeling slowly spread to the rest of him, his scream ending in a hiccup. It felt amazing to finally give voice to the horrible coldness in him, and Wind barely noticed when a thumb brushed along his cheek.

“Wind?” Time asked quietly, and Wind breathed in a shaking breath, firmly blinking tears out of his eyes.

“Th-thank, tha-ank y-you,” he managed get out in a miserable-sounding whimper.

Sighs of relief went up around him, and Time gave Wind a smile, even with the way Wind was shaking and still unable to stop the tears from escaping his eyes.

“You’re welcome Sailor,” Time replied, and brushed a few more of his tears away.

Wind managed a shaky smile back, then relaxed into Twilight’s arms, more and more of the ice in his chest melting away into bright sunshine.

[across-violet-skies]

tumblr despises me. this is the link

Day 27: voiceless | Whumpee– Wild | Addt'l– Twilight

Wild has a fever.

TWs– dry heaving

Whump Rating– 3/10

preview under the cut!!

Wild blinked, exhaling. His head was pounding, and the morning sun streaming through the forest canopy wasn’t helping. He groaned, the sound bubbling in his throat but never making its way out.

“You’re awake,” Twilight murmured. A wet cloth was placed on his forehead, blissfully cool against his heated skin. “You’re running one crazy fever, Cub.”

That makes sense, Wild noted in his haze. He opened his mouth, but only a weak croak escaped his lips.

“Don’t try to talk,” Twilight insisted. “You’ve lost your voice. It’ll hurt more if you try to speak.”

“But-” he descended into a violent coughing fit, hacking and choking on the singular syllable.

The rancher sighed, gently running a hand through Wild’s tangled hair. “You’re okay, you’re alright,” he murmured, trying to soothe the feverish boy. “Take it easy.”

Wild flipped onto his side, dry heaving. Tears streamed down his face, a scratchy sob escaping his lips.

“Oh…” Twilight frowned, rubbing Wild’s back. He had cared for a couple of the village kids before when they got sick, but never anything this intense. Never without a roof over their heads.

When Wild finished, he nearly collapsed. He panted heavily, eyes shut. Sweat shone on his skin. Twilight simply rewet the rag, dabbing it against Wild’s forehead. “It’s okay…”

-> read the rest on ao3!!

[liamket]

Day 27 - Voiceless

Character(s): Wind and Legend (LU)

Words: 1126

Summary: Wind is usually one of the loudest of the chain. Him staying silent means that something is wrong

Whump scale: 3 (see the full scale here)

Warnings: Injury, future Character Death referenced (he's just being a ghost here)

Kinda related to day 19

Also thanks to @majorproblems77 @ordonianhero and @gryphonlover for giving ideas! tried to combine them and get something new out of it, sorry if this isn't what you all though at first, but hope that this fills your expectatives!

-

Arriving to an era between heroes wasn’t that pleasant, just meaning that they will need to do extra work to go around an know more of their surroundings.

Sometimes they could recognize if an era was after or before them, these times made even easier their mission. This time it seemed like they arrived to a time after Legend, maybe a hundred years passed since his adventures.

Traveling was easier this way, he could easily recognize the paths and where did they lead to. This was going to be quick.

They arrived to the first monster camp, killing any monsters and leaving it clean. There was no portal yet, so there must be one or two black blooded monsters camp left.

Although, there was something that didn’t let Legend sleep well that night.

Wind was usually one of the loudest in their group, always in fights indicating or calling for something that he noticed, like an attack that came by surprise or monsters trying to escape.

Nothing of this happened their whole fight, no sound came from their sailor. Now that he was thinking about it, no word has been heard from him since they arrived.

The veteran went for the third shift, occasionally looking at the sailor’s direction. Seeing him so still was also worrying, like if any movement would make someone mad, normally he would be rolling around and snoring like a walrus.

The next morning the rest of them went like they normally do; Sky being grumpy until having his cup of coffee, Twilight already up and packing his things, Wild making breakfast, the usual. But there was something that they were lacking.

The usual jokes and stories that the sailor always tells to fill the silence weren’t present, he just sitting there eating his breakfast without a word.

This continued for other two days of traveling, and Legend was getting tired.

He decided to ask, he knew that the others knew but nobody dared to do the question, maybe thinking that the kid needed his space. Unfortunately for them, he hated to just wait and do nothing.

The vet went to walk next to the sailor, calling his attention by just walking a little louder “Hoi Wind, Can I ask you a Question?”

If this was a joke from the goddesses, then he can tell that they don’t have a good sense of humor. The captain called for them, already localized the camp of monsters.

He will have to postpone this talk, but this will not end here.

As they expected, these were black-blooded monsters, being a little more intelligent than their usual normal selves. Still, they had managed to coordinate and know how to take them down more easily.

Anyone who gets hurt Hyrule goes to aid them, and if he was busy or out of magic Warriors took that job. This was going well.

Until, from a corner of his eyes, he found Wind already surrounded by monsters and with injuries all around his body, is that a cut on his neck?

Why the fuck did he not call for anyone. This was definitely not okay.

“GUYS! WIND’S IN TROUBLE!” He called for the rest, already going by his own to aid the sailor. He saw something in his eyes, maybe a plead to not come closer, to ask him to stay away. He will not do such a thing, first dead than that.

He killed the biggest of the monsters, a moblin ready to swing its sword towards Wind, making it fall to the ground and disappear in a cloud of black smoke, just leaving a dark-colored blood on the grass.

“Din’s damn it kid! Next time call for someone, you would almost get killed!” The lack of response or an insult for calling him a kid was feeding his fears. There was something wrong with him.

The rest took care of the monsters, now the camp was completely clean of any monster. It was confirmed by the feeling of the portal opening in the center of the battlefield.

They all prepared to go through, as always going in duos if the portal separated them.

He will talk with Wind after this.

-

The first thing that his eyes saw was a spectral figure. He knew what it was, he sees them in a daily basis, almost everywhere he went.

When he was about to do a comment, the spirit puts a hand on his mouth, shutting him and a voice, too similar to his, answered.

You will share with me, no voice to cry out what you get to witness. No voice to refuse to my request.

Even if he wanted, nothing could come out of him.

Every request he wanted to do, the spirit answered, nobody being able to hear it but Wind. He heard his own voice say his fears out loud, comments that he would never dare to tell on the other’s faces, things that he would never share.

If the others ask what was wrong, how could he tell them that a ghost was haunting him with his own voice and saying that he felt weak and not worthy next to them?

How could he tell the vet that…

During fights, even if he wanted help, even if he decided to put his own doubts aside, to call for help, no voice could come to him. The spirit kept using the stolen cords, now saying things that he could never say.

When Legend came to his aid, his own voice was there to haunt him.

Look at you, here being a bother that they need to protect just out of pity, if only you even got there in time, if only you were able to do something… But no, you are not able to do even that. You are not even able to protect one of you brothers.

He didn’t know what was it referring to. He didn’t want to know, an idea forming in his head. He didn’t like his mind sometimes.

When they finally leaved the era, he felt like chains finally let go of his throat, breathing becoming even easier and the cold feeling always in his back gone.

If he ignored the veteran, nobody commented on that. Legend doesn’t need to know; he doesn’t deserve to know what will happen.

The image of his ghost, a clean cut in his throat almost separating his head from his body, was something that he will take to the tomb with him. If he can, he will try to be faster. To be useful.

If he never went back to telling stories, jokes, or anything else, nobody dared to ask. And if they do, a proper answer will not be what they get.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 27 - Voiceless

Warnings: red room violence, mission like violence

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine - if you know who’s it is pls let me know)

Summary: missions in the red room are a little different - sometimes they lead to other things.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

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Fingers thread through braids, Natasha’s hands catching on a knot as the smaller girl turns to protest.

A nudge makes her turn around and they continue until the final braid is tight and pinned in place.

“Are you ready?” she whispers, like she’s not sending the girl into the woods.

Determination seems to fuel the child, hands touching the folds in her hair.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, more for herself than for the girl in front of her.

The forest of looming trees stands tall in front of the group of girls.

One of them adjusts her makeup, the deep browns and greens on her face like war paint.

The guards to the right and left of them stand still, eyes focused ahead, making Natasha feel more nervous.

With the last bits of preparation done, Natasha feels the weight of her own backpack.

She forces herself to take a calming breath and adjusts her gun.

This mission was important.

They had been promised a reward at the end.

Waiting for the starting gun, she glances to her right, and then her left.

Her team of five ranged from eight to ten years old. She knew the strengths and weaknesses of each girl, and as the team leader, she felt confident in their ability.

Capture the flag.

The other team was somewhere in the woods, armed and dangerous, protecting their flag against them.

It was Natasha’s idea to braid their hair, make sure they’d be completely camouflaged when needed and hold them back on purpose.

There was no time limit on the exercise, and she knew better than anyone the sense of foreboding that suspense brought.

The other team were likely to become more on edge the longer this went, the longer they didn’t hear sounds of movement through the woods.

Natasha nods to Iva. The girl moves forward, her sniper rifle armed with a rubber bullet cradled carefully in her arms.

Each of their guns only had a single bullet, so they were cautioned to use it wisely.

Natasha looks around.

She had set a perch the night before.

Sneaking out, and perhaps going against the rules, she knew it was necessary. The tree was the tallest and gave the best view.

She didn’t feel bad; she knew the other team had placed surprises for them too, not authorised, but everyone knew the generals didn’t care.

Three other girls hold their position, waiting for Natasha’s cue.

The two younger girls were small, but Natasha knew they could fight well enough.

Natasha steps forward first. Their formation the shape of a diamond.

Two girls behind her, and Vika behind them.

She motions for the girls behind her to scout left and right, respectively.

Vika winks, catching Natasha’s eye.

Natasha grins back.

This was fun.

She moves slowly forward and hears Iva shoot.

A cry of pain sounds in the woods and Natasha motions for them all to stop.

If one has been tagged, it means there were four left.

She doesn’t hear any noise.

Natasha leads her team forward again.

She knows approximately where the flag is, if they haven’t moved it.

“Two, six clicks left,” Iva shouts down.

Natasha whistles in acknowledgement.

She orders Vika to the right, telling her to sweep the area and circle round, to pick up Iva once she’s done.

She nods, and Natasha leads the other two left.

The youngest girl, Hannah, shoots, their position highlighted as the shot rings out.

She must have hit one of them, as a single bullet whizzes back, narrowly missing the girl to Natasha’s right. She motions for them run in opposite directions, as she looks around, finding the nearest climbing tree.

With two bounds, and a jump, she scales it, climbing up for a better view.

A twig catches her in the thigh, and she winces. Watching from above with her own gun ready, she knows that as soon as she shoots she’s a sitting duck.

She notices them straight away.

They had advanced in pairs.

She watches as Iva neatly disposes of the second girl in the pair, an elbow to the head knocking her down and out.

Two more left.

She whistles sharply, directing Iva and Vika right.

The two young girls hear and follow the direction changing their movement

The girls must see the pair and one shoots, hitting an opponent in the chest and then the other bursts through the brush to surprise the remaining girl.

Natasha takes her shot and hits the enemy square in the chest.

And… only one was left guarding the flag.

Natasha’s own team was working solo now. Five against one.

Hannah shouts as she falls into a trench pit, clearly dug out.

Natasha swears under her breath.

She should have thought of that.

She can’t do anything for her now

The last girl appears in view.

Natasha squats, waiting.

It can’t be this easy.

She whistles low.

Three whistles come back.

With that she judges that the girl is surrounded.

They have one bullet between them, and Natasha gives the order to shoot her.

But the girl doesn’t.

Iva moves to her, annoyed.

She takes the gun off the small girl with wide eyes and apologetic look.

Iva takes the shot.

It hits the girl left, and Iva is the first to move forward.

Natasha shouts for her to stop, but it's too late. She hears the click and then the mine goes off.

It’s not an explosion but gas.

It fills the immediate area, making Natasha’s eyes water.

She covers her mouth with her uniform.

She doesn’t care how many mines they’ve set, the flag wil be hers.

Stepping forward, she triggers another mine, smoke hazing in front of her, but still presses on.

A low whistle sounds in warning and Natasha’s vision blurs.

Another mine goes off.

The air is thick and clotted.

She doesn’t inhale.

It’s not far, she tells herself.

The flag comes into view; its green and red markings make her smile.

The world tips and she growls. Her body is heavy.

Her arm reaches out and her fingers just manage to grasp the material.

Successful mission, she thinks to herself, just before passing out.

.

Natasha wakes, her head strapped to a table.

She tries to call out but nothing happens.

She tries again, but nothing, not even a squeak.

She hears movement above her and she closes her eyes, pretending to be asleep.

If they think she’s asleep, they might just say something, to let her know what they’re planning.

She hears more footsteps.

She desperately wants to open her eyes.

The voices start low. As they move over to her head, she hears Dreykov.

Her body seizes up, and she feels herself holding her breath.

“When will she be ready?” She hears him say, his voice edging on anger.

“We are just planting the tracker now. We’ve numbed her throat.”

“Just get it done. The other one is ready and Melina wants to leave as soon as possible. Alexei is getting antsy.”

Was this her reward?

Her fists curl.

She completed the mission.

She won.

And now they’ve drugged her and taken away her voice.

They’re sending her into the unknown.

Tears of frustration and shame squeeze out her closed eyes.

Natasha can’t even make a noise as she openly cries and they drug her again.

.

[whumpshots]

Whumptober #27

Trope of the day: voiceless

_

They couldn’t even scream if they wanted to.

Whumpee feels their head spin when they open their heavy lids, which feel like they are glued to their eyeballs. Their mouth is dry, throat as well—a croak is everything that leaves them as they breathe in the cold air.

How long they have been here, they don’t know, but Whumper made sure that they won’t forget that they won’t be able to leave anytime soon. If at all.

The days of pleading have ended quickly, screams have subsided. It still hurts. Everything Whumper does to them hurts them, but Whumpee cannot muster the strength to scream, their body won’t even let them.

A croak is everything that leaves them when they hear footsteps.

Every day they imagine that it’s finally Caretaker. Caretaker whom they couldn’t even greet.

[bucknerdycore]

No Words

Rating: Teen and Up Archive Warnings: Not Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Tommy/Buck

Tommy sighed, his shoulders loosening just a bit, his gaze softening even more. “Come on, Evan. I can see you’re trying to tough it out...” His hand on Buck’s shoulder tightened in reassurance. “Are you hurt?” Embarrassed by how easily Tommy read him, Buck gave a reluctant, honest nod. With a half-smile, Tommy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I get it.  But the last thing I need is you getting worse. I’m taking you home.I think Bobby will understand it." Buck opened his mouth to protest, but he quickly realized his voice was only a painful rasp. Tommy just chuckled softly, holding up a finger. “No arguments. I’m driving you.” Buck has a sore throat and can't talk for some days.

Whumptober 2024 Day 28: Voiceless

Link

[yonbwekh]

Whumptober 2024 day 27

Prompt: Voiceless

>> inspired by a post I saw a while back that I now can't find. Basically about Whumpee's having their vocal cords weakened but not removed with surgery

Whumpee sobs quietly.

"Speak up." Whumper says, grinning cruelly.

"I-I'm sorry sir I ca- can't." Whumpee says, trying to ignore the way Whumper's boot rests on their already damaged throat.

"I told you to speak" - The boot presses firmer - "up."

Whumpee ties to pull the boot off of their neck, squirming and kicking their feet, but it's futile. "S-sir," Whumpee rasps, grabbing at Whumper's ankle, "Ple- Please.. I can't.. Breathe.."

Black dots cloud their vision, threatening to overtake them.

"What was that? I can't hear you."

Whumpee doesn't hear their own response as their movements slow and they pass out.

[moonlight0934]

Voiceless

“I’m going out hunting with Murphy and Miller. Do you need anything?” Bellamy asks, leaning against the wall of the dropship.

Clarke looks up.

“No, why are you asking me?”

“You’re just in charge of the most things aside from me. Are there any plants or anything that we know are useful that you want me to look for? That kind of thing.”

Clarke thinks for a second.

“You want to grab some more of that seaweed in case someone gets hurt?”

Bellamy nods.

“I can do that. I’ll be back with it later.”

“Or you can have someone else drop it off,” Clarke suggests.

Bellamy laughs. Miller and Murphy are waiting by the gate.

“You ready to go, or what?” Murphy asks.

Bellamy nods.

“Let’s get going.”

They spend the next few hours hunting as quietly as they can though there’s no sign of any Grounders anywhere. They manage to catch a deer, but it’s getting dark by then. So, Bellamy turns to Miller and Murphy.

“You guys should start hauling this thing back to camp. I’m going to take a detour to the lake. I should catch up with you guys before you get to camp. I can help with that thing at that point.”

Miller nods, and they set off. Bellamy jogs towards the lake, making sure to watch his surroundings and his footing. There’s no sign of any Grounders, but he still moves quickly in hopes of getting back to camp before the sun fully sets. The light is barely peeking over the trees when he reaches the shoreline. He looks down, contemplating whether he should take his shoes off.

On one hand, it would take less time to dry if I didn’t walk in there with them on. Eh, I need to be fast, and I can just leave them to dry out overnight.

He steps into the water, and starts looking around for the seaweed. It’s hard to see with the quickly fading light, but he manages. He walks out of the water, holding the seaweed. There’s a noise to his left near the treeline, immediately drawing his attention. He grabs the pistol tucked into his waistband, eyes scanning for anything moving. A small cylinder rolls towards Bellamy, and he’s at least half convinced that it’s about to blow up. It doesn’t though, and it just starts spewing smoke. Bellamy tries not to breathe it in, but he ends up passing out anyway. He’s in a cage when he wakes up, and immediately starts to panic in his head.

Where am I? This doesn’t look like a-

He looks around and sees just rows and rows of cages. Most of them have people in them.

“What the-” he whispers, trailing off.

His head is spinning with all of the new information he’s taking in, and the after effects of whatever he was drugged with. Two guards walk in with a sleazy looking young man.

“Take that one to get some testing done,” the sleazy young man says, pointing at Bellamy.

“Yes, sir.”

They walk over, and unlock the cell, then pull Bellamy out, keeping a tight hold of him.

“Let go of me,” Bellamy growls, trying to pull away.

They ignore him even though he doesn’t stop trying to get away. After going through two hallways, one of them elbows Bellamy in the midsection.

“Stop squirming!”

Bellamy coughs, but once he regains his breath, he refocuses his efforts on figuring out where he is. This place is mostly concrete, and the people are very different from anyone else that they’ve seen on the ground. They have guns strapped to their hips, they’re wearing some kind of uniform, and they don’t seem as aggressive as the Grounders have been.

They take Bellamy to a room that looks kind of like the infirmary on the Ark. They strap him to the white cot while he looks at everything else. There’s a small table that has all kinds of tools on it. There’s also a sink, and a few cabinets.

“Where are we?” Bellamy asks, more just thinking out loud than anything else.

The sleazy man rolls his eyes.

“He’s a chatty one. He’s going to be loud through this process, so one of you go get-” He doesn’t finish, but they seem to know what he’s talking about, because one of them immediately rushes to do what he said.

The thing they come back with is something that Bellamy has only seen in books, but he almost immediately recognizes it. He doesn’t say anything, but he does try to pull his head away when the man tries to fit the muzzle over his face. The man ends up hitting him over the head, and putting it on his face anyway. A woman walks in, and one of the guards walks out to stand by the door.

“Cage, is this the one?” the woman asks.

Cage? Is that his name?

“Yes, his name is Bellamy Blake. We’ve been watching them for some time, but this is going to give us a better idea of what they can do for us. He was alone, so it was easy enough. Remember though, if my father asks, he’s a Grounder with a higher tolerance for radiation. We still don’t know what he thinks about the sky people, and we can’t risk him shutting us down.”

Sky people. Shit, and they’ve been watching us? Who are these people?

The woman walks over.

“He looks to be in pretty good health. I guess I’ll get started now, and we’ll know for sure soon enough.”

Cage hums, then says, “Ok, well, I’ll be entertaining my father. Come get me when you have all of the results.”

The woman nods, then turns back to Bellamy.

“Well, my name is Dr. Tsing. I know you can’t respond, but you should know that we don’t want to hurt you. It’s for a good cause, and you’re going to help a lot of people.”

What is she going on about?

She grabs a needle, and gently puts it into Bellamy’s right arm. Bellamy tries to pull away again, but he can’t move enough.

“Shh, stop that. Don’t make me sedate you.”

Leave me alone. Who are these people, and what do they even want?

His arm is starting to burn spreading outwards from the spot that she put the needle in. It’s only a few seconds before his skin turns bright red and his whole arm feels like it’s on fire.

“Ok, well that’s not a good sign,” she mumbles.

She draws blood from his other arm, setting aside enough vials that Bellamy is starting to feel dizzy. Then she just watches his right arm for a little bit. Finally, after what feels like forever, she puts something else into his right arm, and it soothes the fire.

“Ok, well it seems like you had a bad reaction to that. I’m going to take this blood, and we’ll see what happens when I play around with it.”

She puts another needle into his arm, and his vision starts to fade almost immediately.

[mayblossomss]

Whumptober Day 27: Voiceless

Being the middle child was almost like being invisible. You weren't the oldest, who got to pick out their clothes without only being handed hand-me-downs, and were allowed to be held to no special standards. You weren't the youngest, who was the family's pride and joy, being excused from any punishment no matter the crime.

No, as the middle child, you were given the hand-me-downs and you couldn't buy new clothes unless you absolutely had nothing else to wear. You were treated as though you had no opinions of your own and were mere reflections of what your older and younger siblings wanted.

You didn't stand out from your athletic superstar brother, and you were an academic failure compared to your genius brother who skipped a grade while you were on the verge of failing yours.

You were always "Darrel Curtis' younger brother" and never "Sodapop Curtis, his own person, with a personality and hobbies and an entirely different story!" It was like he was defined by his brothers and nobody gave him a chance to introduce the real him. And it hurt, it really did.

Since Darry was so athletically talented, everybody assumed that Sodapop would be too. His parents enrolled him into sports like soccer, baseball, and cross country, all of which sports that Darry had done and excelled in. Soda was decent at them, no better than any other kid on the teams, but preferred to spend his practices chatting near the back with the other lazy kids. His parents stopped making him go after realizing it was a waste of money, and that focusing on their more gifted son would be a better use of that money.

Nobody asked him if there were any other sports he was interested in, because if they had, they would've found out that Soda loved badminton, and every time he went over to Two-Bit's, the boys would spend forever hitting the birdie back and forth.

If Ponyboy wanted to go watch a movie, or needed to head to the library to pick up a new book, Soda was the designated person to accompany him. Sodapop adored his brother, and would happily escort him to wherever he wanted to go, especially when he was younger, but sometimes it was annoying. Soda would have plans with Steve or Two-Bit, but without even asking him first, his parents would sign him up for babysitting duty. If he spoke against it, he was being a brat.

He was voiceless at the end of the day. Nobody listened to him,he may as well have been muted. Soda knew his family loved him, and he loved them too, but they didn't understand that he was his own person most of the time. They treated him like a shadow, one that followed exactly what they expected him to, and mimicked whatever they did.

Sodapop felt especially voiceless whenever an argument between his brothers would break out. It had always been like that, since Soda was thirteen, and Ponyboy discovered how easily he could get on Darry's nerves. They didn't fight too badly then, only an occasional squabble that always ended on a positive note, but ever since their parents died, their fighting became constant. Every week, Soda would sit on the couch, staring absently at the cartoons playing on the TV as Pony and Darry hollered at each other from the room across from him.

It was exhausting, and it took a lot of willpower to keep from blowing up. He was expected to see both of their sides and completely empathize with them, while disagreeing with the other.

Soda could see why they fought so much: Darry was stressed from having to go from a boy to a man within hours. He spent all day working, whether it be at work or at home doing chores, the last thing he needed was to constantly fret over Ponyboy. With Ponyboy, he was only fourteen-years-old and still trying to handle his grief. He was a teenager, of course he's both hormonal and ready to pick fights over every little thing. Neither of them were wrong to be prone to fighting.

Neither of them could stop and think about the other person's point of view, though, as they were very stubborn. If Darry paused and thought about the fact that Pony was trying his best to accommodate to Darry's authority shift, and if Pony stopped to think about all of Darry's stresses, maybe the two of them could tone down the bickering.

Soda tried explaining it to them, but it went right through one ear and out the other one, as always. His words were passionate, but they were weak to his brothers' hard heads.

On one particular morning, Soda wasn't woken up by birds singing outside his window, but by screaming coming from the kitchen. A part of him wanted to roll over and shove his pillow over his head, but ultimately, he pushed himself out of bed, threw on a shirt, and walked to the kitchen. There, Ponyboy was screaming away, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms like a kid. Darry was a few feet away from him, eyes narrowed and jaw tense as he yelled back, their voices overlapping and coming out unintelligible.

"What's going on?" Soda asked, his voice drowned out by their fighting, so he repeated himself with more force. "What's happening?"

Ponyboy noticed him, shoulders slumping and a hint of relief flashing through his eyes. "Soda! Tell Darry he's being unreasonable!"

"What's this about?" Sodapop questioned tiredly, looking from Darry to Ponyboy.

Darry turned to him, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. "Ponyboy got a B- on his history test even though I told him to study. What did he do instead? Went to the damn movies with Dally and Johnny!"

"It's one B-, Darry! What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal?" Darry scoffed. "Soda, tell him what the big deal is, since it doesn't seem to get through his skull any other way!"

Soda's body tensed as their fighting continued. They asked him to pick sides, assuming he'd pick their own, but it wasn't fair to him. They were both right and they were both wrong. How can they make him pick when there wasn't a correct answer? If he picked Darry, Ponyboy would be upset with him all day, but if he picked Ponyboy, Darry would be mad.

"Why don't you both stop yelling?" Soda suggested, taking a slow step toward them. "Can't we talk about this rationally?"

They ignored him, their voices only increasing in volume. It got to the point where they were practically chest-to-chest, screaming in each other's face. One of these days, one of them were going to take their fighting too far, and Soda dreaded it, knowing he'd have to stand witness to it, but ultimately be helpless. Tears of frustration began to brew behind his eyes, but he pushed them down and kept trying to speak.

It was pointless. Soda's pleas for them to quiet down fell deaf ears. After a few more minutes of it, he couldn't take it anymore. He crept away from them, heading for the front door. Neither of them noticed, after all, he may as well have been invisible, his voice silenced by their refusal to acknowledge him.

As always.

[lunalejanaa]

I ask about it and receive only a smile in return. You have walls you’ll never put down.

You hide the weight of 12-hour shifts, the ache in your hands, the steel in your spine.

You don’t let me see how exhaustion clings to you, in the small spaces between work and sleep.

To some, you’re not human—you don’t inhale and exhale like everyone else. You’re a machine, built to produce, to move, to endure, to be unseen.

To others, you’re a joke. A broken accent, a misplaced syllable, entertainment in a language that was never yours.

If only they knew how hard you try, how verbs and pronouns slip like water, how your tongue can’t help but remain loyal to the land that raised you.

And through all of this, your heart remains soft and kind. Your smile remains my sibling’s and mine—our eternal sunrise.

[rolandtowen]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier Characters: Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Nina Gurzsky, Magda (X-Men), Jean Grey Additional Tags: Hurt Erik Lehnsherr, caring charles xavier, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Charles Xavier Loves Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier is a Sweetheart, POV Charles Xavier, Whumptober 2024, Erik Lehnsherr Needs a Hug, Erik Lehnsherr Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Has PTSD, Flashbacks, Dissociation, Nonverbal Communication, Nonverbal Erik Lehnsherr, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, for a split second, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Established Relationship, Post-Movie: X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), Whump, Erik Lehnsherr Whump, Caretaking, Implied/Referenced Character Death Summary:

Erik sees something at the mansion that triggers a dissociative episode. Charles helps ground him again.

[samwpmarleau]

fic: the lady with the lamp

whumptober day 27: voiceless masterlist: tumblr, ao3 Robbie settles himself in his fantasies, ignoring the truth beating beneath the floorboards of what the Rider’s really doing out there. He’ll never again have the run of his own body; but for now, at least, the Rider lets him have the run of his mind. May as well enjoy the simulation.

Robbie welcomes being in the passenger seat.

Here, on one hellish planet after another, he has no capacity for choice, so even if he were to try to make one, it would be Ghost Rider’s prerogative whether to follow through or not. There’s no use thinking about Earth and the people he cares about there. The only way he could return is if something bigger than the Rider’s scores blew up, and Robbie can’t imagine what would do that.

Beyond that, the scores are … Robbie had told Daisy once that he sometimes preferred to not remember what he did to people while the Rider was in charge. It’s even truer here than there. At least on Earth, people were still people. Now, there are horrors beyond his wildest imaginings. His body, such as it is, is torn into and laid to waste with each fight; the Rider doesn’t care. Why would he? Robbie is merely a vessel, and a healable one. Robbie just needs to hold together long enough each time for the Rider to finish what he came to finish.

Then it starts all over again. One beast to the next.

So, he decides to make the one choice he does have: to cede control of his consciousness. The Rider laughs at him, calls him weak, but Robbie had lost the capacity to care about what counts as strength or weakness around the time his leg got clawed off (again, and again, and …).

Night night, then, Robbie Reyes, the Rider says, and like the flick of a light switch, everything falls away.

It’s quiet. A whole lot of nothingness. If he concentrates, he thinks he can feel the gentle tug of reality. A dragline should he wish to pull on it. But he doesn’t, not yet. The Rider can use and abuse his body all he wants; it’s not like Robbie has any practical use for it anymore. He won’t need it to drive Gabe to prom or replace a carburetor or ask Director Mace what the plan is for explaining how Uncle Eli got vaporized.

He won’t need it to remember how to take someone out on a date. Or to deal with the rejection if she said no. A specific she, whom he hadn’t thought about in that way until he was a few dimensions away screaming to be heard. He’d been too busy, and she was a royal pain in the ass, and she was grieving, and he was appallingly out of practice anyway, so why even spend time considering it? He still hasn’t decided whether he does think of her like that, or whether she’s just something interesting to focus on. A puzzle he’d never solved.

He doesn’t think she’d say no, if he couched it as casual. Make it a group thing with Mack and Yo-Yo or Fitzsimmons, two third wheels simply joining forces to have a fun night out. Run by Lisa’s in a panic to ask her why she ever dated him in the first place, what it was about him that made him remotely a catch, and hope her answer wouldn’t be, “Because I was a dumb teenager, Robbie, that’s why.”

(It wouldn’t, he’s pretty sure. Lisa might laugh in his face, but she’d be nice about it.)

He’d have to fork over some cash for some new clothes. The only formalwear he owns is the ill-fitting suit of Uncle Eli’s that he’d worn to Mom and Dad’s funeral. He’d need better than that. Slacks and a button-down, or at least a pair of jeans that hasn’t seen the innards of someone he’d just disemboweled. Would a blazer be too much? Probably. He could get away with his jacket, he thinks. While it, too, has seen its fair share of guts, he’d like one thing to be familiar.

If nothing else, he could give it to her if she got cold. Well, he could offer. It might be too warm of a night for that, or maybe she’d be too stubborn.

He wonders if it’d be weird. Maybe the main event would be sufficient distraction — a movie? bowling? what do normal people even do these days? — but afterwards? The couples would pair off if they decided on a boardwalk stroll or something. Would Daisy be more chatty to avoid the elephant in the room, or would they both have to wallow in awkwardness? Would he have to be chatty? He has no clue how to do that. Not since signing away his soul sucked out any whimsy he’d once had.

Then there’s the other elephant in the room, a big Lincoln-shaped one. Group function or not, maybe Daisy actually wouldn’t accept. Maybe it’d be too painful, or she’d be still on her self-sabotage kick. Maybe she’d only be interested in her friends’ company, not his. He’s lost people, but never in the way she had.

But he could wait. It’s not like he’s on a time crunch or has a lack of things to do. Nothing nice, but things nonetheless.

Which could be another option, come to think of it. He’s seen her in action, he’s gone hand to hand against her, he’s seen how formidable she is. Perhaps he could bring her along to those lack of nice things. She might not be pro-killing, but she could help incapacitate or grab a confession. The Rider had agreed to give James over to S.H.I.E.L.D. rather than leave him to die; he could do the same for some other lowlives, Robbie thinks.

He wouldn’t mind the company. He’s used to working alone, by necessity as much as by choice, but it could be novel to fight alongside someone for once. Assuming she obeyed Simmons’s health regimen. Robbie won’t soon forget the grisly sight of Daisy’s arms or her face glistening with sweat as she fended off her body’s desire to pass out. A walking contradiction, that woman, wanting to die and save the world one earthquake at a time.

A diner perhaps, afterwards. If Dad were alive, he might chastise him for taking a girl somewhere so basic — as though Dad himself hadn’t bagged Mom with some matinee drive-in tickets and a Hail Mary — but a diner wouldn’t bat an eyelid if they showed up dirty, bruised, and bandaged, so long as they tipped well.

Yeah, maybe that would work. No formality, just a bite to eat after making crooked cops and child abusers wish they’d never been born. She’d deserve somewhere with glitz and glamor, whatever her own opinions on being deserving, but it’d take charm he doesn’t have to pull that off. He could pull off a diner, though.

From there … he hasn’t a clue. He’d have to hope she’d take the lead on that. If the night even became anything more in the first place.

He’d be okay with that, too. His list of friends is short, and from what he’s seen, Daisy’s as ride-or-die as they come. A little intense, but it’s not as if he’s any better. Gabe’s ribbed him about that endlessly, as had Daisy herself.

Whatever. Birds of a feather.

In some form or another, she’d be there, a steady presence on the fringes of his life. He likes the thought of that.

Sometimes, he wonders if she’s looking for him. He tries not to, because it’s depressing to consider that the answer is probably no — she’s got more important things to do than spend time concerning herself with his fate — but he can’t always help it. As long as he doesn’t have confirmation she’s not looking, he can fantasize that she is.

Maybe she’s spending her free time poring over books about the occult, reaching out to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s many supernatural contacts. Maybe she’s roped Fitz and Simmons into it, asking if there’s a sciencey way to help. Maybe she’s probed Gabe for details about Robbie that she hadn’t been able to find on the internet. Maybe she’s asked Mack if there’s anything in that Good Book of his; no reason not to turn over every stone.

Maybe she’s close to figuring it out. Any day now, a rip of spacetime will open up and she’ll be standing there like a scowling angel.

He thinks he might dissolve into a blubbering mess of tears at that scowl. Being able to breathe fresh air, see blue sky, have regular blood on his hands, no ichor or acid, it’d be a dream come to life.

He could apologize to his brother. Hug him, if Gabe would allow it after so deep a betrayal. He hopes someone’s got an eye on the kid. He knows Lisa or Dr. Dacosta or the Perezes down the street would anyway, but with all the danger he’d exposed Gabe to, he’d feel better with a little more heft, too.

Robbie doesn’t care what happens to him, all he needs is for the people he loves to be safe. With no ability to know for sure, he just has to take it on faith that Gabe will be okay. If he lets himself consider the alternative, he’ll let go entirely of that dragline to reality. There’d be no reason to find his way back if there were nothing to go back to.

So he settles himself in his fantasies, ignoring the truth beating beneath the floorboards of what the Rider’s really doing out there. He’ll never again have the run of his own body; but for now, at least, the Rider lets him have the run of his mind.

May as well enjoy the simulation.

[tiamat-zx]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series), The Legend of Vox Machina (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Keyleth/Vax'ildan (Critical Role) Characters: Vax'ildan (Critical Role), Keyleth (Critical Role), Raishan (Critical Role) Additional Tags: Whumptober 2024, Day 27, voiceless, I kinda changed it up a bit regarding the prompt, Episode: s03e12 Souls in Darkness (The Legend of Vox Machina), Presumed Dead, Villain Character Death, Not Beta Read Series: Part 27 of My Whumptober 2024 Stories Summary:

This time, let’s explore Raishan’s final moments… from Vax’s perspective. Because gods damn, that SCREAM from Liam O’Brien, thinking that the “Voice” was lost forever. — @whumptober 2024 Day 27: Voiceless

—

In terms of “Voiceless”, I decided to go and further flesh out THAT moment in 312 where, for the briefest of moments, in Vax’s eyes, he really did lose the “Voice”.

As in, Keyleth.

As such, I say the prompt still applies because I’m clever lol

[crimsonlyinglilly]

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

Here's Day 27 of @whumptober 2024, late again

back to Freedom in Fur

follows Guilt Set 2x06 of The Originals

---

Elijah struggled to open his eyes to glare at the chains that once held him.

The weakness mother’s spell had caused him, or as he was forced to accept had returned to him as he recognised the familiarity of the aching exhaustion his body felt, had left him in a losing battle to remain awake.

And in his sleep he was running from the beast she had forced him to realise he was and the howling shadow he was starting to think was the death he should have died at six.

It was hard to deny Mother tale as he had felt the link, one he wasn’t aware of, to Niklaus break during the spell. She had left afterward, leaving him alone to feel his strength sap away. To remember the faint memories of illness before Niklaus’ birth or realise the memories of aching chest with every breath and shaking limbs weren’t from a bad illness but his normal life.

She had returned later to give him the choice of a new body and he had refused, even when she unchained him to show how weak he had become as he had followed into her arms and hadn’t been able to push her away.

She had laid him on the floor gently, claiming regret at being forced to do this to him and trying to convince him to agree to her plan, to steal another’s body, in return he had aimed cruel words at her weak points, smirked as he enraged her.

Even made physically weak and useless he always knew where to strike with his words.

Of course, her apparent regret failed to remain after that and she threw more unknown truths at him, forcing him to remember his worst acts, things he had hidden from himself.

He had killed Tatia.

The horror and his denial had proven too much for his weakened body and he had passed out.

When he had woken next and he still refused, she rambled about the child he once was as he had laid there helpless before she had muttered another spell and slit his throat to force him to relive his monstrous acts.

When he had woken after that it was his mother watching him asking him if he had come to accept her deal. He once again refused but found it difficult to get the words out, even that zapped the little strength he had and he fell back into the dark.

To the woods, to feeling young and small, to facing the worst of himself and running from a hunting shadow.

That was the start of the cycle that now had him glaring at the chains above him as he felt his strength fail him again, he was barely aware of Esther and Finn in his brief moments of consciousness.

There was a level of horror in this he wasn't allowing himself to think of, because if he did he'd give in and accept. It wasn't the uselessness his current state left him feeling like, or the bone deep exhaustion and aches, or the helplessness as he could do nothing to escape her soft touches.

It was the lack of an end, even with the weakness he could not die without a white oak.

Neither he or Niklaus had been aware of the link but now broken Elijah was very aware of its absence and the knowledge there was no fixing it.

He had been a parasite surviving off Niklaus’ strength and was without it he was being used a bit to lure Niklaus to Esther.

He starts to catch some sort of noise from outside, his supernatural senses still working even as everything fails, but he finds himself drifting off despite it.

—

Elijah found himself in his mind, the white hallway of many doors, a familiar red door standing stark among them.

“You've come to me.” His own voice called he could hear the cruel smirk in his voice. “That makes this easier.”

He looked up at the cold amused expression of himself.

A low growl came from his other side making him look from the bloody beast in a suit to the shadow that had been chasing him.

A large black wolf snarled, teeth bared.

He threw himself forward and through the plain white door unsurprised to find himself in the woods again, he didn't stop and kept running.

—

Klaus’ concern of a dead man’s return vanishes when he finds Elijah, unchained and still on the floor. Without hesitation he found himself on his knees beside him and lifting his brother up to wake him, looking around to find nothing keeping his brother down.

“Wake up, brother.” he called, placing a hand on his brother’s cheek, something about the picture was wrong even as his mind failed to find what it was. “Elijah. I'm here.” he added as gently shook him.

“He won't wake.” the soft words came from behind him as he froze, turned to look as Esther stepped towards them “And even when he does he’ll be too weak. Which gives you and I one last chance to discuss my offer.”

Klaus swallowed his rage, furious at the sight of her, at her confidence as he carefully laid Elijah back down. 

even when he does, he’ll be too weak. 

“What have you done?” he asked calmly as he checked over his brother’s body, there was blood from his capture and from a slit throat but everything was healed, there appeared nothing to keep his brother unresponsive, “You promised me Elijah's safe return.”

 “I broke the link between you.” Esther answered, making him blink at her.

“What link?” He started before the ghost from outside returned to his mind “is this all a trick, just like that ghoulish atrocity outside claiming to be my father, back from the dead?

“Your father's return is real.” she told him, and he hated the shiver of hope that grew inside him, hope and pain, weakness he couldn’t have now, with his family in danger, Esther and Finn aiming for Hope, Elijah-

Something was off with Elijah beyond his unresponsiveness and he didn’t know what it was.

 “I pulled him from the Other Side before it collapsed,” she spoke again, pulling his attention from Elijah “and left him in the Bayou to join the wolves. And, I used the execution of one of his own to draw him here, where I knew he'd find you.”

“To what end?” he hissed, “Besides my torment?”

“ I brought him here to be the father you never had.” she appealed to him as he stared up at her in disbelief and rage, ignoring the burning of his eyes “To teach you to be the man you always longed to be. Once you are remade as a werewolf, you can join him.”

He forced himself to stand up and step away from Elijah Esther’s words making it hard to think past the rushing sound of his blood and pure incensed rage.

All his life she made him live a lie, to protect herself, left him to face Mikael’s cruelty, made him into a vampire and sealed half of himself away. And now she was offering the Father she kept from him to make up for killing Hayley taking and torturing his brother, going after his daughter.

The best parts of him and Esther had targeted them and she thought the gift of a long briefed longed for daydream would make up for it.

“His return changes nothing.” he told her slowly as he stepped closer.

"It changes everything. It is my gift to you, Niklaus. " she started unaware that every word just grew his hatred for her.

A gift? a man he didn't know because of Her to replace his Daughter. Elijah blooded and still, left on the floor, deaf to him, no doubt having under suffered her.

"This offer is your last chance at salvation." his mother-Esther just kept talking, "Reject me now, and you will live out your endless days unloved and alone. Do not refuse me out of some ancient spite--"

"Not spite. Hatred." he interrupted her. "A pure and perfect hatred that's greater now than the day I first took your life!" he snapped his voice raising as he spoke.

–

Elijah managed to open his eyes again back to the stone and chains, muffled words got his attention before Esther's frustrated voice carried itself to him before it was cut off by a thump.

“BECAUSE YOU CAME FOR MY CHILD! MY DAUGHTER! Your own blood!” roared a voice he knew too well.

Niklaus, he tried to speak to find himself voiceless, the word getting stuck in his throat, for a terrified moment he feared the weakness had spread leaving him mute before he realised it was his body struggling to breathe.

“You- don't- understand!” Esther choked out and Elijah allowed himself the pleasure that he wasn’t alone in his struggles even as he noticed his eye lids getting heavier.

“MY. CHILD!” Klaus shouted the words bouncing off stone and Elijah hated that even that volume wasn’t enough to keep him awake.

“Niklaus! I ha-” Esther gasped as she tried to argue but Elijah heard no more as he fell back into the woods before he could get either of their attention.

—

Klaus ignored the pain in his head, tightening his grip around her throat.

“You declared war when you came after my family.” he told her, taking a breath and all he smelt was copper from his nose bleed “And, for that, I will make you suffer as only I can.” he smirked as he listened to her wheeze, “After all, I am my mother's son.” he sneered as he threw her to the ground, barley glance to her struggling to catch her breath before returning to the more important person.

He lifted Elijah careful and left without another look at her.

It’s only as he steps out the crypt that he finally noticed the thing about Elijah’s stillness that had bothered him, Elijah breathing was wrong.

Even in his sleep Elijah’s breathed, unnatural for him and his siblings but it was worse than that, Klaus could feel each hitched breath under his hand, hear his brother’s lungs laboured as they struggled.

He was torn between returning to Esther to demand answers and getting Elijah as far from her as possible.

It was the small movement that made his mind up as Elijah woke for a moment looking at him, his lips shaping his name. Elijah lost consciousness again before either of them managed to say a word.

He bypasses the rest of the compound to arrive in Elijah's room, laying him carefully on his bed. 

He leaves his hand on his brother’s head, running figures over his hair and waits on the tiny hope that the change in position would fix his brother’s unnatural breathing.

It doesn’t and he finds himself snarling at his own weakness- uselessness as Elijah sleeps on.

“What's wrong with him?” Hayley asked when she returned to the compound to find Klaus hovering over his brother, still sleeping on the bed, still struggling to breath.

“I don't know.” he admits to her barely looking away from his brother’s chest, the blood stained white chest rising  and falling inconsistently “this may be another attempt to force my hand to join her beside my father’s return.” he added

“Mikael?” she asked her hand on his shoulder forcing him to look from Elijah to see her.

“No.” he corrected, she blinked.

“Your- blood father the-” she started slowly.

“Wolf,” he finished for her, the sheer unthinkable foolishness of his mother’s plan bringing a bitter chuckle as he rethought of if, it was either laugh for break something and Elijah would disapproved of the latter, “yes she thought him enough to buy my-”

“Niklaus” a barely there whisper made them both freeze and they spun.

In the blink of an eye, they both of them were by the bed.

“Elijah!” They called in time with each other as they found him awake on the bed. Both gave him space to sit up, but Elijah made no attempt to move; instead he just stared at them, as if even that took too much effort.

What had Esther done? Something shuddered inside Klaus like terror.

—

“Get him.” Elijah wheezed, chest aching with even that much.

“What- Elijah what has mother done to you?” Niklaus demanded, his hand on Elijah's cheek.

“Your father.” he choked, exhaustion swallowing him already, “He knows. help.” 

“We will” Hayley promised as her hand curled around his own limp one and wished he had more time, more strength to return that comfort, but he knew he was running out of both so he kept his eye on Niklaus’.

“Link.” He managed before he lost his battle to stay awake, unseen to Elijah, Klaus’ eyes widened.

---

Elijah stumbled over a branch and started running as he found himself in the woods, the lighter sound of his little brother giggles echoing from in front of him.

“You cannot catch me, Elijah!” Niklaus shouts young and bright.

Elijah feels like he had forgotten something.