#WRITHING ON THE FLOOR IN AGONY. OHHHH. OHHHH!!

[subsequentibis]

going a little bonkers bananas about hw plainview therewillbeblood. like implicitly or explicitly it's been impressed upon him his role is to stand there and look cute. on some level he knows he acts as a prop for daniel, right, he knows that the father-son thing is a big draw. but it seems like his understanding is that they're leveraging something that actually exists, that daniel does love him and cares for him, and that even if they play it up to get investors, it's real. the first cracks in that show with the accident, when daniel leaves him hurt and confused and terrified, restrained by a worker, so he can watch the earth's blood shooting up in a geyser catch fire and cheer his good fortune. how much does hw know or suspect about daniel's motives once henry shows up? hw tries to warn him with the fire, a line drawn between them, and he sticks around to see what the aftermath will be, only running when daniel chases him. he must suspect that's why he's sent away, and when he's brought back henry is gone. but would he necessarily put the pieces together himself, that daniel is trading one supposed family member for another, just bolstering his image? it's fascinating how genuinely furious and unstable daniel gets when his family man image is threatened. it's not actually about hw of course, it is the IMAGE of it that he relies on - not how dare you tell me how to raise my son, but how dare you see through my painted disguise. anyway. so years and years on, and hw gets married. to someone who genuinely loves him it seems. and he goes to daniel and expresses that he still wants him in his life, but he doesn't want to be his business partner, he wants to be his son. he wants the truth that he thinks lies under the artifice. and he can't have it, he finds out, because it was never there. and he still acts like the prop, right, he's affecting the version of himself he thinks daniel wants to see, he's collected and calm and speaks kindly to him, even acquiesces and speaks out loud when it's demanded, and it doesn't! matter! because what he wants isn't there and was never there and you see that pain written so plainly on his face even though he barely twitches a muscle, and then that final catharsis comes: i thank god there is no part of you in me. he can sever that tie now, he can leave this empty mansion and this artifice behind and he can go live his life with people who care about him.

but he CAN'T!!!! he can't go live a good life can he!! because he's going to drill fucking OIL the corruption is IN him it's all down to the core, he was literally baptized in it, he's tied to it forever, there IS something of daniel in him, it ain't blood, it's OIL and it's never coming out!!!! GOD!!!!!!!!!

[haro-whumps]

Sleep Deprivation

CW: slave whump, lady whump, sleep deprivation, hallucinations, bucket of cold water, electrocution but ~*magic*~, evil lesbians

Tag list: @killtheprotagonist @appy-polly-loggies

@whumptober2020 day 23, a continuation of this piece 

Characters: Allura, Zethrid, Ezor, Acxa

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Ezor and Zethrid decide to play a game. It’s called “how long can we keep Allura awake”

--

Allura was not fond of solitary confinement, not by any stretch of the imagination, but she did prefer it to the presence of Ezor and Zethrid. She’d been forced to stew, alone, in the state of her new existence for quintents, water and the blandest paste she’d ever eaten delivered by a single, off-model sentry. Well, not exactly off-model. Perhaps just outdated. Allura had had plenty of time to contemplate the mark on the back of her unblemished neck, what it meant for her, what exactly she’d be going up against now, with a layer of free will stripped utterly from her.

An uphill battle, she knew it would be. To keep a hold of herself, to not lose her will or her spite. She would need to be careful to keep herself sharp, resilient, tougher than Galran claws. She was not too proud to admit that that would be easier done with the presence of her friends nearby, but she would only admit such to herself. As far as the pair of hooligans who’d just walked through the door were concerned, Allura was untouched and unmoved by any loneliness.

“I suppose you’re here for more fun?” she asked the grinning jackals, displaying no dismay at the fact that they were very obviously not there to reunite her with her companions.

“Aww,” Ezor crooned, eyes going half lidded in her toothy grin, “You know us so well already.”

“More that I know your type.”

“So fiery,” Zethrid chuckled. “Kneel, slave.”

Allura refused. The brand lit up in blinding pain, jolting through her whole body worse than the time she’d been electrocuted as an overzealous teen. It stopped the moment she moved to fall to her knees, rewarding her intent and punishing her disobedience.

She snarled, but did not rise. 

“Ohhhh we’re having fun alright,” Zethrid said, voice pitched low and a fist raised in front of her to crack the knuckles. 

Allura rocked back, rising to sit on her heels and stare trepidatiously at the towering woman.

“Return me to my companions,” she demanded, trying to sound commanding despite how scared she felt. “If we’re all marked, there is no reason to keep us apart any longer.”

“Sure there is,” Zethrid said easily, sinisterly.

Pain, of the regular sort, took Allura by surprise as she was yanked sideways by her hair. She lashed out at the source, only for her slave brand to light up in agony. She cried out, body jerking and spasming uncontrollably, and caught herself on her hands when it stopped, breathing hard.

They were laughing.

Ezor slipped back into the visible spectrum, Allura chagrined to realize she hadn’t even noticed Ezor leave her field of vision in the first place, too focused on Zethrid’s intimidating frame. Ezor bounced down to sit on her haunches, tail flicking for balance, and propped her chin in her palm.

“I wouldn’t do that~” she sing-songed, “Trying to hit one of your new owners is a big no-no little princess.”

Allura spat on the floor at her feet, instinctively twitching as Zethrid closed in.

“And you’re not seeing your friends for a while yet, little girlie,” Zethrid informed in her gravelly voice, a note of displeasure raising animal fear in Allura. “Turns out they’re almost as much of a power suck as you are.”

“Lots of magic all stored up in their cute human bodies, no way for them to voluntarily access it.” As though to brag, Ezor punctuated her statement by turning invisible again. 

Zethrid’s massive hand closed around Allura’s upper arm and she moved to slap it off, only to writhe in pain as the curse seared through her again.

“You know, I don’t think she’s actually all that clever,” Zethrid remarked, Allura dangling from her grip like she weighed nothing. She swallowed hard and got her feet under her, Zethrid’s right hand coming to grip her right arm, the hands a heavy presence even through her armor.

“Yeah,” Ezor agreed in her mockingly “contemplative” tone, “You’d think someone smart would know better than to do the same stupid thing over and over.” Allura jerked back as Ezor became visible again, her face right there close to Allura’s. Only barely did she manage to tamp down on the urge to take a swing.

She growled instead, baring her blunt teeth, her hair straggling across her face. It burned that they were right. She either let them get a rise out of her and suffered the mark’s pain, or she played along and gave them what they wanted. Ezor pouted at Allura’s lack of outburst, but her smile came back quickly.

“Aww, tired already princess?” Ezor cooed, caressing Allura’s face with just the pointed tip of a claw, then tucking a lock of hair behind Allura’s ear. She shook her head, but since no harm was intended against Ezor, her brand stayed idle.

Behind her Zethrid rumbled. It was not a good sound. “Betcha the two of us could give you something to be tired about.”

Ezor’s ears twitched, bright eyes flicking up to her (friend? Lover? Mate? Allura didn’t know) companion with devious glee. 

“Allura,” Ezor said, “we order you not to fall asleep.”

Allura’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “That’s an impossible demand!”

“But you’ll do it~”

“You don’t have any choice,” Zethrid purred in her ear. “You have to do what we tell you.”

“Perks of owning you.” Ezor gave Allura’s cheek a little pinch and shook it slightly. “You obey or it’ll hurt.” Allura resisted the urge to bite.

Allura saw a lightbulb go off in Ezor’s head. She did not want to see a lightbulb go off in Ezor’s head. They’d had plenty enough ideas wi--

“I order you to punch me in the shoulder.”

Oh fuck her!

If Allura was going to get tormented by her slave brand either way, she’d do it swinging. But when Zethrid released her arm and she took the punch, no pain lit up anywhere except her knuckles when they made contact.

Rather than getting upset about this, the sadistic monsters shared a delighted look.

“Oh, we’re gonna use her to fuck around with Acxa so bad,” Zethrid said, sounding like a kid who’d just been given a hammer they absolutely should not have.

“Wait wait wait, okay, now you order her to punch me.”

“No, you got punched last time.”

“Okay, Allura, punch Zethrid in the abs.”

Allura was not a doll dancing for their enjoyment! But her hesitation earned her nothing more than a surge of agony, so she curled a fist and punched as hard as she could. That definitely hurt her knuckles.

“One, I barely felt that, two:” Zethrid and Ezor clapped hands and chorused, “HELL yeah!”

Allura tried to take another swing, this time at Zethrid’s eye, but the pain lit up and she collapsed from it, gasping as laughter erupted over her.

“Ohhhhh, have fun pretty princess!”

“We’ll see you next time we’re bored.”

“No, please! I need to sleep eventually!” Allura gasped, ashamed of her desperation but they couldn’t do this to her!

“Sure you do~” Ezor agreed, the two of them moving towards the door and Ezor casting a look over her shoulder.

“Eventually,” Zethrid agreed, and left.

-

At first, it wasn’t all that bad. She was tired, but she’d had worse.

-

Then she got really tired.

-

It was impossible to judge time here. The sentries that brought her food seemed to follow a schedule, but she was fairly certain that sometimes, one of them would go missing, leaving an elongated gap.

She blamed those sadists.

-

She was just resting her eyes. She was laying down because her body felt like lead, and her eyes were closed because she was exhausted, but she wasn’t going to fall asleep, she wasn’t, she--

“AAA!” she cried, jolted back awake by the brand. She gasped, breathing, and tried to lift herself up, upright would help her stay awake, but she was too tired, she couldn’t. She laid back down, determined and resolute.

-

She lost count of how many times she’d been reawoken in agony around seven. It had to be at least double that though. Maybe triple. When did hallucinations set in again? Three days?

-

Her mother was in the room with her. She was petting Allura’s hair, singing the old lullaby she always sang when it was storming outside and Allura was frightened by the noise. She left every time the brand activated, but she always came back, always petting, always singing.

-

Allura didn’t hear the door open, but she did feel the ice water splash over her, jolting her back awake so sharp and sudden for a second, she mistook it for the now-familiar brand. She gasped, water trickling over her mouth and nose, and tried to lift herself up on her elbows.

“Rise and shine pretty princess!” And oh, how she loathed Ezor’s voice.

“You’re not looking too great,” Zethrid remarked, smug, bastard. “You don’t smell too good either.”

“Yeah, she really should bathe more often,” Ezor agreed, lifting a bucket of her own and upending the contents over Allura, little pebbles of ice still floating about in her water. Allura flinched, a gasp catching in her throat.

“Please,” she rasped, her pride having left her many, many torrents of pain ago. 

“Awwww, aren’t you cuuuute,” Ezor giggled, settling down on her haunches and dragging her claws through Allura’s hair. “You should keep--”

“What are you two doing in here?”

In a moment, Ezor had springed back up to her feet, and Zethrid’s ears were flared towards the door.

“Having some good old-fashioned fun,” Zethrid answered confidently, grinning at the figure in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?”

“A sentry reported seeing the two of you heading towards the holding cells carrying buckets. I think that should be obvious.”

“No fun!” Ezor complained, “Fun sucker!”

“Leave her alone! You know we’re not allowed to hurt any of them!” Allura flinched as the woman rapidly approached her, stalking directly between the two sadists. She almost expected one of them to lash out and take the woman’s head off as she passed, but they seemed to hold some small level of respect for the half-galra who now knelt in front of Allura, tilting her head towards the light gently. Acxa. Allura didn’t see her in the field much, only the once, but she recognized Lotor’s fourth general.

“And we haven’t! No bruises or cuts or poisoned guts anywhere on her.”

“So why does she look like this?” Acxa accused, Allura’s mind going a little wonky as her face was cradled by someone who was actively vouching for her safety and well-being. Acxa was nice. Safe. So much better than those two. She would let Allura sleep. 

“Sleep,” Allura gasped, trying to lift a hand to Acxa’s wrist.

“Oh for fuck’s sake you two!”

Ezor and Zethrid did not seem even remotely cowed, grinning their jackal grins and shrugging carelessly.

“You have to admit, she looks good like this,” Zethrid commented, hungry eyes roaming over Allura’s feeble body. “Vulnerable. Lamb for the slaughter.”

“She does not and don’t say that. Both of you, get out.”

“Make us,” Ezor said, pouting out her lips and looking at Acxa with a lid-eyed challenge. 

“No, no, Acxa’s a good girl remember?” Zethrid said, placing a massive hand on Ezor’s shoulder, covering it fully. “She’s a little fucking nark. We should do what she says.”

Ezor laughed, Zethrid joining in, but blessedly, blissfully, they did leave the room. Acxa waited for the door to close, then turned back to Allura. 

“I’m so sorry for them, they weren’t supposed to do this. They weren’t supposed to talk to you until Narti finished branding all of you. This wasn’t meant to happen--you can sleep.”

“Thank you,” Allura gasped, and when her eyes slipped closed that time, her mark stayed dormant.

[hayleysstark]

Top five Merlin whump moments 👀

The call-outs and wig snatches have started up AGAIN, i see, and this time, i’m not even going to attempt to defend myself against it. merlin whump clears up my skin. waters my crops. ends the wars. cleans the oceans. saves the narwhals. this list is literally going to save the world. use it wisely.

5. The Gates of Avalon

Holy fuck, just check out this delicious piece right here. The slam into the wall is fantastic enough on its own, but the powerful magic behind the blast literally nearly kills Merlin, and the impact with the stone left him with a nasty concussion. Which he has to completely ignore to run, like, what is it? Seven miles? Through thick wood? To get to Arthur and save his life? Oh, yeah. This is the good stuff right here. So blessed. So moved. Never going to take it for granted. Always going to give back. Thank you.

4. Beauty and the Beast

Oh, holy Jesus, this one is just so good. He is literally trapped in a tiny cave, with a raging fire, and little oxygen, for a whole damn night. And, to really ramp it up, he exhausts the fuck out of his magic trying to get past the massive rockfall Catrina caused on her way out. Has anything better ever happened in the history of cinema??? Respectfully, I think not. Aside from the others higher up on this list, of course.

3. The Poisoned Chalice 

Even if this was all a little gentler than the Merlin’s dying from magical poison angle, it’s still a very nice piece of whump all around. just !!!! look at it !!! the writhing, the sweating, the pale, waxy look to his skin, the barely coherent mumbles, the heavy breaths - this is the only true sick Merlin for me. And, like in The Gates of Avalon, we see him save Arthur’s life while he can barely hold himself together. Tell me the “whumpee takes care of somebody else while in the throes of their own agony” trope doesn’t just hit all your fuck yes buttons.

2. The Kindness of Strangers

This one is pretty much a no-brainer - in fact, it almost won first place! This one’s got it all - the blood, the winces, the grimaces, the heavy, labored breaths, the one hand always clamped around the wound because it hurts too bad to let go, and the crawling! Oh, the crawling! He can’t even stand up! This one definitely holds a very special place in my heart for when I’m craving that extra dose of Merlin pain to get me through a rough day!

Also, Merlin gets whumped a lot, so let me toss out a few honorable mentions before we get to the last pick!

A Servant of Two Masters

Whether it’s the scene where he’s hanging by his wrists in Morgana’s hovel, or the moment the mace gets him and he crumples to the forest floor, this episode has got it going on in terms of whump. Safe to say, if we’d had a thousand more like this one, I would not have complained a bit.

The Hollow Queen 

For the second, and final, time in the series, Merlin has to fight off the effects of a deadly poison and, on top of all that noise, he also takes a nasty fall off a cliff, and gashes up his leg so badly, he has a noticeable limp for the remainder of the episode. Need I say more?? 

The Diamond of the Day 

This one has just got it all. The myriad cuts and bruises on his face and hands? The screaming? The sobbing? The frenzied, panicked scramble to get out of the cave because he knows Arthur is meant to die today and he has to be there to save him? And, maybe the best part of all, the desperate terror that the loss of his own magic has brought out in him?? Absolutely, utterly exquisite! 

and, for the winner! 

1. The Tears of Uther Pendragon

This is the beauty that beat out The Kindness of Strangers for top spot, and I bet y’all can immediately see why. This is an absolute masterpiece of whump (yes, even without the lovely little bonus of the magic-binding chains Morgause left Merlin shackled in, this would still take first place.) The expressions. Oh, my god, the expressions. The way the whole world stops, for a minute, right after Merlin’s hit. The way the camera freezes on his shocked, agonized face. The way he slowly sinks down to the ground, totally silent, literally in too much agony to even think of doing magic. The way Merlin, after Kilgharrah has rescued him and brought him to safety, literally can’t do anything but literally writhe and whimper even after Kilgharrah has done his best to heal the wound. The way Merlin has to push through the pain to save Camelot again.

ohhhh my god. okay. due to personal reasons, i will now be rewatching The Tears of Uther Pendragon.

thanks so much for the ask, derpnerd!! 💚

ask me my “top 5″ anything

[secret-engima]

(Slaps table) give me Nox angst. Like—Nox having a Verg Very Bad Quiet Day, and he's like trying to get away from people to /hide/ somewhere—but some snobby noble comes across him and says something snide, something horrible, that it breaks Nox's already fragile headspace and he just—crumbles. Regis/Cid/whoever you want, coming around the corner just beside the snide comment and just—seeing Nox breaking apart, falling like loose seams on a patched hole, glass shattering on marble floor.

....

.......

Ohhhh boy. Oh dear. Welp. OKAY. BUT YOU ASKED FOR THIS. Also this went majorly sideways. Yay for angst and medical side-effects of magic.

-Nox is already having a bad day. He woke up having a bad day, because the nightmares had been horrible, horrible enough that Noctis had come and curled against him, but even that hadn’t helped much. And he’s tried to put it behind him, and wear his masks, and smile nicely, because he’s not a coward and he’s not lazy, so he’ll suck it up and deal like a big boy.

-Until eventually he just- can’t.

-He can feel himself on the very, very edge of a Quiet Day, can feel his words leaving him behind and the world getting grey around the edges as memories whisper-whisper-whisper, so he excuses himself and retreats, aiming to go ... somewhere. Anyway. Away from people, away from prying eyes. Maybe the garden. The garden is usually empty this time of day and there are plenty of hidden nooks where he can just sprawl out and doze his Quiet Day away until his headspace settles again.

-“Ah, young Lord Nox,” no-no-no-not-now-please-not-now Nox ducks his head and tries to swerve around the nobleman, he doesn’t know which one he is, doesn’t care. The man steps into his way and Nox is forced to stop or run him over. Nox tries to focus on the man’s face, because eye contact is polite, but he can’t. He can’t and the world is getting grayer and the man is talking but Nox can’t quite hear him, let alone muster the mental energy to respond. A shaky glance upward and he sees the man’s lips are pursed and something cruel is glittering in his gaze.

-Past the whispering in Nox’s ears, somehow- somehow he still hears the man’s next words with perfect clarity, “Just the lack of manners and intelligence I would expect from a by-blow.” A sniff and the world still, crystalizes like old, brittle glass in Nox’s head as the man’s nose tilts upward and he sneers, “It must be such a burden on the king, to have to keep you around and smile like he actually cares about you. As if that will fool the rest of us into trusting a half-blood welp.”

-And Nox.

-Shatters.

-“The king entrusted the role of protector to you.”

-“Then why didn’t he tell me that? Why did he stand there smiling as I left? Why ... did he lie to me?”

-Empty words broken words broken time lost time shame-shame-liar-liar- sad eyes knowing eyes what do you know why-are-you-looking-at-me-like-that-whywon’tyoutrustme-

-Why didn’t you tell me?

-Are you ashamed of me?

-“Dad...”

-Sword and armor and glowing ghosts. Magic and memory and the agony of a father’s hand shoving the blade through his heart to the hilt

-Do you at least...

-“Trust me.”

-enough to sit still and die for our people?

-Dying and dead and gone, heart stopped breathing stopped everything stopped as the Void drags him in and he doesn’t have time to do more than wonder-

-Are you proud of me now?

-And then he’s under and gone and lost and there is no air he needs no air he is dead and gone and the blue is all around and he doesn’t need to

-“-breathe! Nox you need to-”

-breathe because what use is air to a dead man dead king dead prince shameful prince who at least was useful when he sat still and let others kill him so that others could

-“Breathe! Come on, snap out of it and-”

-breathe in the light of a new dawn. The least he could do was follow his father’s last orders to

- “My son. Breathe.”

-.....

-Dad?

......

-Cor has no idea really what just happened. He was on his way to deliver some paperwork to Clarus when he rounded the corner and found Nox, shoulders hunched and expression rapidly blanking with that fragile way that meant he was sliding into a Quiet Day and some lesser nobleman standing in his way saying, “-burden on the king, to have to keep you around and smile like he actually cares about you. As if that will fool the rest of us into trusting a half-blood welp.”

- Over the nobleman’s shoulder, Cor has the perfect view of all the blood rushing out of Nox’s face. He sees Nox’s face twist into something broken and lost and terrible, and even as he drops all his paperwork to the floor to angrily drag the nobleman away from Nox and throw him against the wall he knows that he’s too late to stop whatever damage the man intended to cause.

-He flings the man away from Nox with a snarl that doesn’t cover the strangle, gasping cry that drags out of Nox’s throat as the boy staggers back like he’s been physically struck. He half turns toward the nobleman to do far worse than throw him against the wall but an instant later Cor is whirling and diving for Nox as the boy just-

-Drops. Like a puppet with cut strings, his magic surging into the air without control, strong enough to knock paintings off the wall and rattle teeth, but Cor doesn’t care about that, about the potential damage or the way the world turns cold because Cor can FEEL Nox’s magic now.

-He can feel it shattering into a thousand glass shards, twist and writhe like the trembling death cry of a mortally wounded animal before it crumbles away and pulls so tightly into Nox’s core that Cor can’t feel any trace of it even through their skin contact as he frantically keeps Regis’s eldest son from cracking his head open on the marble flooring.

-Cor dimly hears the nobleman (scum) saying something but doesn’t know or care what it is, because Nox has gone deathly pale and he’s shaking and gasping with vacant eyes, like he’s drowning deep underwater. There’s a glassy, empty look to Nox’s eyes that even the worst of his previous Quiet Days never gave him, and some instinct has Cor speed dialing the Citadel medical floor and roaring for a medic.

-He’s right to call for a medic.

-Something in Nox’s frame twitches, like the flinch from being stabbed.

-And Nox.

-Stops breathing.

-Cor’s memory gets fuzzy after that from panic. He remembers yelling at Nox, he remembers slapping the boy’s cheek only to gain no response, frantically feeling for a pulse and finding one going too fast and too slow by turns like his heart is struggling to pick a rhythm and then helping that rhythm as best he could with CPR. He remembers the medics arriving, with Regis on their heels, positively flying down the hall despite his bad knee, drawn from ten floors away by the pulse of magic Nox had given out before collapsing.

-He thinks he remembers, amid the frantic flurry of medics and their tools, one of them saying that something was trying to stop Nox’s heart.

-The nobleman, now pinned down by furious crownsguard and loomed over by a screaming Axis, insists he didn’t even touch Nox, Cor can reluctantly confirm.

-It’s Ardyn, who just arrived in a furious pulse of magic, who goes pale and says, “His magic.”

-No one understands until Ardyn whirls on Regis and snarls, “His magic! It’s reacting to a flashback! It’s keeping him from breathing!”

-A medic looks up, halfway saying that they’ve never heard of magic doing anything like that in all the records of caring for Lucis Caelums but Ardyn snaps a hand out and growls, “It’s rare but it happens, believe me. Magic is will and memory and he is remembering something that was killing him. His magic is trying to protect from a threat that isn’t there, that continues to assault him no matter how tightly it guards and in the trying his magic is smothering him. Regis, you need to drag his magic out of his body. Out of his core, I’d do it myself but I’ll just make it worse. You are his father, his magic will respond to you.”

-Regis’s face loses all color, Cor feels sick, then Regis is pushing his way past the medics to clutch Nox’s hand. Magic rises and pulls and tugs with a desperation Cor can taste, “My son, my son wake up,” Regis begs.

-Nox does not respond. His eyes are vacant, so deep inside his own head that Cor fears any moment he will be dead and Cor won’t even be able to see a difference.

-Regis’s grip firms, and something unravels in the air between them, “My son. Breathe.”

-And with a stuttering wheeze, Nox’s magic suddenly unspools from his core (from his heart, Cor realizes with a lurch of his stomach, Ardyn had been right, his magic had been curled so tight around Nox’s heart and lungs and throat it had been keeping them from functioning). It unspools and Cor can physically feel the cracks in it, the shivering aches and cold memories trapping Nox in whatever nightmare caught him through the nobleman’s words.

-Ardyn sags in relief as Nox very slowly begins to breathe again, and Regis is shaking as he keeps his hands on Nox’s, keeps gently dragging Nox’s magic out into the air until the world is tinted blue and crystalline shards swirl around them like gently falling snow. Nox doesn’t react as the medics strap an oxygen mask to his face and load him onto a stretcher that Regis follows the entire way to the medical wing.

-Cor swallows his own heart back down to where it belongs, then straightens and turns to the nobleman with vengeance humming in his veins.

-Nox wakes up in the medical ward three days later, aching and sore and disorientated, but breathing on his own and free of the oxygen mask. He looks over dazedly and sees Regis slumped over in a chair, dozing lightly with Nox’s hand clutched in his own and their magics so tangled together that it takes a minute to figure out where his magic ends and Regis’s begins.

-Ardyn is on Nox’s other side, stretched out on another medical bed fast asleep with dark bags under his eyes, and Nox will later learn that Titus drugged Ardyn’s tea to make him sleep.

-When Regis wakes up and finds Nox awake, he starts to cry and Nox stares in confusion.

-Medics fuss and people explain what they know. Nox refuses to say what flashback drove him to such a dangerous low.

-Ardyn watches him rub fitfully at his chest over his heart and already knows.

-Much later, days later, after Regis finally calms enough to return to being king rather than hover at Nox’s side everywhere he goes, Ardyn murmurs, “He is proud of you, you know. And he loves you greatly. And he did back then as well.”

-Nox thinks of the Regis of this time, who smiles and laughs, who goes out of his way to spend time with him for any reason. He thinks of fishing trips with him and Regis and Noctis, happy memories that were so much fewer in his past life. He thinks of the corners of Regis’s eyes crinkling in amusement at some joke or story, so much lighter when he looks at Nox than he used to look at Noctis. 

-But he also thinks of a last smile on sprawling stone steps, last minute advice that could never cover everything he wanted to say. He remembers asking for trust and getting a sword through his heart.

-“I know he did.” He whispers back, and for once Ardyn is kind enough not to call out his lie.

[lins-fandom-hub]

Death!MC AU

Ohhhh boy.

Started by my friend @dat-silvers-girl who drew a gut-wrenching picture to kick off the challenge, I’m going to add on with an ultimatum that’s going to send my MC into a void. Sorry not sorry?

This will be closely based on the universe developed in Etched, Engraved, Everlasting.

---

We have your brother held hostage at the location of the final Cursed Vault. Meet us there now, or say goodbye to your beloved hope forever.

-R

The words of the last message sent by R echoed in Clara’s mind, ringing like the echoes of wet footsteps she took over the dry stone floor, her teeth set in a grit as she held her wand in front of her. She could hear her sister’s shoes squeak beside her on her right, with Merula mumbling death threats on her left. Not the best choice of company, but everyone else was already staying behind to fend off the Grindylows and merpeople in the lake. She could only hope that they’d hold out before they got back.

“...have you this time, I swear,” Merula was saying now, her voice rising with every word she spat.

“Save your breath for the Vault,” Clara commanded quietly. “We don’t have much time.”

“Yeah? I don’t have much patience.”

“Clara’s right. Save it,” little Em snapped softly, her wand light sputtering a bit before regaining power. “The last thing we need is another argument to tax us out before the final battle.”

“Wherever this final battle is supposed to take place,” Clara grumbled, pushing the wet hair out of her eyes. “This place is like a labyrinth. Jacob’s prison chamber could be anywhere.”

“You’re honestly such an idiot,” Merula snickered softly, shifting her grip so her wand laid in her palm. “Point Me.”

The wand spun round and round like the needle of a compass, and for a moment Clara stood, mesmerized, before it snapped into position--heading northwest.

“This way,” Merula said, leading the two sisters through another corridor lined with the same stone material like all the other corridors they’ve walked in thus far. It was a miracle that none of them started to feel the effects of pneumonia yet.

After what felt like another eternity, the corridor opened out into a wide, circular, dimly lit stone chamber. Clara’s eyes widened at the sight--the windows that were placed equidistantly on the walls, the golden column that she grew so used to seeing. This had to be the Vault Chamber--but where was Jacob?

“This is the Cursed Vault?” little Em whispered in awe. “Whoa.”

“Yeah. It’s the last one,” Clara confirmed with a nod. “But where’s--”

“He’s here,” Merula said, pointing over to a body slumping against the wall on their left. “Come on.”

In no time at all, the three of them crossed the room to Jacob’s side, and upon seeing his condition Clara couldn’t help but cringe. Jacob was badly injured from the waist down--his legs were locked in perpendicular angles, completely paralyzed, and there was a bleeding gash about the size of a rose on his left inner thigh. His arms were bound to his sides and behind his back with ropes, and his mouth was gagged with a handkerchief of silk.

“Oh no,” little Em murmured, taking out a knife and proceeding to cut the ropes. “Jacob, who did this to you?”

“Why, I did, of course.”

The three of them immediately turned to see the last person they ever wanted to see approach them--hair of hellfire, eyes gleaming with a frosty demeanour, her expression pointed as she glared at them.

“Rakepick,” Clara growled, rising to her feet with her wand raised. “You did this to my brother?!”

“Honestly, Miss Lin. You really are as stupid as we were lead to think,” Rakepick purred, withdrawing her wand from her cloak. “I should have known that you’d do anything to save your brother and his well-being without thinking twice about your...friends.”

The hairs on Clara’s neck stood up, a chill running down her spine as she heard the last word said so uncertainly. Surely she and Merula were still not friends...and it was best not to spill out her true relationship between herself and little Em.

“Whatever happened to Rowan was done on her own will,” Clara spat. “Now answer my question--did you do this to my brother?”

Rakepick only chuckled, the rich laugh stirring a volcano in the pit of Clara’s stomach. “I’m not surprised you wanted to know. Very well--yes, I did this, on R’s orders.”

“Just so you could lure me here?”

“Dear, it’s not just about luring you here,” Rakepick drawled. “Look at the column there--the treasures that lie in the final Cursed Vault. Wouldn’t it be something to take it and walk away without sparing another thought about your brother’s reputation, your friends’ trust? You could start a life of glory. You could join us.”

“Join you? All this time you were working with the enemy--”

“All so you could join our ranks.”

No way. There must have been some sort of lie embedded in those words. Clara glanced over at Merula, who blanched at the sight of her former mentor, completely at a loss for words. Little Em was too busy working on the restraints binding their brother to notice.

“Your brother was a failure--simply a tool for us to use, but disposable after. How eager he was to think he’d get anywhere with us!” Rakepick scoffed, shaking her head. “I thought the same about you too, at first...but your strength has proven rather intriguing to me, Miss Lin.”

“Jacob and I may have our differences but we both agree on one thing--having anything to do with R directly is a mistake.” She shook her head. “No. I refuse.”

“Surely you don’t want to know the real reason you’re in this position?” Rakepick asked. “The real reason you’re standing here, in the face of danger, with your brother so close and yet so far?”

“Save it, Rakepick. If I do want to hear the truth, I’d rather hear it from someone I trust,” Clara finally said, then shouted, “Stupefy!”

“Petrificus Totalus!” Rakepick called out as she ducked from the jinx, waving her wand at Clara. She managed to dodge the blow, and it accidentally hit Merula who fell to the ground like a cardboard doll.

“Oh no you don’t!” Clara roared. “Depulso!”

“Flagrante!”

“Immobulus!”

“Impedimenta!”

Spell after spell was fired in the vicinity, jets of every colour flying through the room at the duelists locked in a careful dance. Clara could feel the beads of sweat emerge through her pores now, sticking with the lake water that still clung her robes to her skin, and she clenched her fists in an effort not to feel the burn of leaking tears through her eyes. She was so focused on the enemy in front of her that she didn’t even hear Jacob stir, now released from the binds, until little Em shouted, “I got it!”

“And what is this?” Rakepick said, turning now to the young Hufflepuff student now rising to her feet--somehow, despite the sweat shining on her forehead and her hair now resembling a wild bird’s nest, her breathing was still well controlled. “Is this another Lin? My, my--all the eggs in the viper’s nest!”

“What does it matter if I am?” little Em cried. “Don’t I have as much right to care about Jacob as Clara does?”

Rakepick didn’t respond. She eyed the youngest Lin with her evil glare, a wicked grin spreading as she raised her wand again. “Just like your sister, huh? Brave enough to go after your brother--and stupid enough to fall into a trap. If one Lin isn’t enough, wait until R hears of the day I rid of all three!”

“No!” Jacob’s choked voice was not enough to catch anyone’s attention. “No!”

“Crucio!”

A shot of red snaked its way towards little Em, who suddenly let out an unearthly screech as it hit her square in the chest--she crumpled now to the ground, writhing in agony, hands clutching at her hair unaware of the flowers that began to fall. The curse was enough to break the petrification over Merula, and she shot up to a sitting position, eyes widening at the sight of little Em being put under the Cruciatus Curse.

“No...” she murmured, crawling over to Clara who was frozen to the spot, unable to register anything except for the screams that bounced around. “You evil little--”

“Uh, uh, uhhh. Watch your language, Miss Snyde--”

“SHUT UP!” Merula bellowed. “YOU FILTHY, EVIL, NASTY LITTLE--”

“STOP!” Jacob finally managed to shout, stumbling his way now to little Em who was biting her lip so hard in an attempt not to scream. 

“STAY PUT OR SHE DIES!”

“YOU WOULDN’T!”

But Rakepick was faster. Just as Clara took a step towards her siblings, Rakepick suddenly appeared at her side, trapping her wrist in a death grip and forcing her to look into her eyes--those cold, calculating cerulean eyes that Clara could never shake from her nightmares.

“Try me,” Rakepick murmured. “Join me, or watch just how much I can hurt your family.”

“You will never get in the way of our happy family again,” Clara hissed. “I would never allow it.”

“So be it.” 

Faster than a viper sinking her teeth into her prey, Rakepick drew out an elegant dagger from her belt and plunged it deep into Clara’s side.

“NO!”

Jacob’s eyes tore from his youngest sister to see his second sister curling into the blade that stuck at her hip--she collapsed now to the floor, but Rakepick wasn’t done. She took out the knife and in one swoosh of her cloak pinned Clara to the floor, where she then stabbed her hard into the chest.

Clara never had the chance to scream, but little Em did. As the last of the Cruciatus Curse wore off, she watched in horror as, in her waking moments, her sister succumbed to the fatal wounds in her chest, her breathing growing shallower until it died altogether.

“No.” Jacob murmured--with what little strength he could muster, he crawled over to his sister’s side, cradling his sister’s head in his lap.

Merula glanced at the dagger now, dripping with Clara’s blood to the floor, before glaring at Rakepick and brandishing her wand. “You bitch!” she finally screamed at her former mentor. “Avada Kedavra!”

Not even the satisfaction of ending Rakepick with the killing curse was enough to bring peace to Merula. Even with Rakepick’s death--the death she finally delivered--she knew there was a horrible price to pay, even if she wouldn’t admit she wanted to pay it at all. As insufferable as she was, at least Clara was there sometimes. She wasn’t all that bad. Now she would never get the chance to tell her that.

And as she looked back at Jacob and little Em, she knew that the pain she felt was nothing compared to how they felt. Tears burned at the brim as she went over to them, kneeling down beside the corpse of her peer.

“Go,” she murmured to it. “Go join your tree twin.”

---

After the final battle and the death of Clara Xing-Hui Lin, everyone was rendered shocked. The aftermath rang with an effect much worse than the Statue Curse could give. The curse was broken, but at the cost of their dearest friend’s life--their leader’s life.

Jacob and Em would never feel at peace again. Merula was admitted to an asylum and never returned for her seventh year.

The world turned upside down...and not for the better.

[ichiwashername-o]

Maybe Blaster Gaster in the WAFF universe? Maybe it's an accident in the lab, way back when Papyrus and Sans were test subjects. Bonus if they're around to witness it.

Ohhhh, 1nky, it would be my HONOR.

--

This wasn’t supposedto happen.

Gaster’s eyes blazed with light, teeth grinding together aswhite hot agony enveloped him.

This wasn’t theplan.  Damn that accursed brat.

He let his guard down. He wasn’t diligent enough, he took his eye off Subject A for too long .. .

Subject A was far more resourceful, far more cruel andclever Gaster gave him credit for.

And now he was writhing on the floor, screaming as his bodytwisted into an unfamiliar shape.

The two subjects huddled in the corner of the room, watchingin horror.  Subject B was shaking, eyesflickering orange as the doctor changed. Behind the awful cacophony of snapping bones and peals of pain, he wassobbing.   Even Subject A was stunned silent, thespectacle too terrible to witness, too terrible to look away.  He just wanted to do to the doctor what hehad done to them.  To make him feel thepain they endured.

But to see his revenge come to fruition . . . Subject A felta hot coil like acid twist in his throat and settle in his stomach, burning himinside out.

Clothes ripped, bony spikes shot from his spine, his skulllengthened and twisted with a crown of horns. His cries became deeper, more animal-like, a newly-formed tail thrashingabout and knocking away anything in its frenzied path.

The changes finished, but the sounds did not.  Roars echoed deafeningly down the steelhalls, claws shrieked as they scrabbled across the tile and metal.  And Gaster turned to them, his eyes ignitedwith blue light.  The brothers coweredaway from him, shaking.  

He was far bigger than either of them in their Blasterforms.  Far bigger, far more powerful,far more furious.

Gaster seethed, blue mist seeping from his newly formedfangs.  His joints rattled, his breathcame in ragged gasps.  The changes hadbeen exhausting but his fury drove him to confront the culprit for his newstate.

And as he rose to his full height, towering above theshaking skeletons, and a sudden epiphany overcame him.

He felt powerful.  Stronger than he had felt than everbefore.  Steel warped and shreddedbeneath his claws, his jaws were strong enough to crush bones, and his SpecialAttack . . . well . . .

A new sound formed from deep within Gaster’s chest: a deeprumbling, haunting laugh.

If there was anything the doctor was good at, it was seeingopportunity from complications.

And my, what an opportunitythis turned out to be.