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kastlequill · 11 months ago

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iii/v. unearth without a name: the parent forced to eat its young before it grows

pairing: keegan p russ x f!reader word count: 3.2k synopsis: the third time you hallucinate keegan tags: whumptober, psychological warfare, injury, electrocution, brainwashing, hallucinations, hurt no comfort, established relationship, ghost!reader, 4+1, no y/n warnings: canon-typical violence, torture ao3: read here ← prev | next →

III.

Things didn’t get much better from there. In fact, the torture only worsened.

The passage of time remained a disorienting illusion at best, but you were certain that you’d been in this hellhole longer than the less-than-professional portion of your relationship with. . .

With Keegan.

It hurt to think about him. Well, it hurt to think about any of the Ghosts, men who you had seen as your crew, your family, but matters surrounding the sergeant in particular were infinitely more painful. They had each promised you one thing and one thing only: short of death, they would sooner lose a limb or two than abandon you. He, however, had gone a step further, all but vowing to follow you to the ends of the earth.

Of course, Keegan hadn’t exactly said as much, for such a confessional manner of speaking was beyond his realm of expertise. Still, it was difficult to dispute the torch he carried for you when one took into account the way he slipped his treasured rations of dried jerky into your back pocket, or how he gave you his undivided attention both in the field and in the privacy of his own quarters.

Anybody with a pair of workin’ eyes can puzzle you idiots out in five seconds flat , Merrick had said once. Makes the rest of us sick. Sick, I tell you.

Unfortunately, reality was often disappointing. And you were starting to believe that the only person who’d ever been wholly honest about their intentions with you was Rorke.

The day you first had this passing thought was the day you officially relinquished your already-slippery grip on sanity, mind finally at a loss. Because nobody of a sound mental state would consider their captor, interrogator, and torturer to be a pillar of truth or a beacon of honesty. Nevertheless, he wasn’t the one who had given you false hope, nor had he been the one to abandon you here, leaving you to waste away and rot. From the get-go, this monster of a man had detailed the exact terrors he would inflict upon you and then subsequently followed through on his words.

A part of you—the worn-down, bone-weary, hollowed-out part of you—respected that.

“Why don't we start the day off with a bang, hm?” Rorke strapped your wrists down to the arms of the wooden chair in which you currently sat. Giving a sharp tug, he tightened the restraints until a tingling numbness radiated throughout the meat of your fingers. “Get the blood flowin’, so to speak.”

In your peripheral, two Feds were hooking you up to some sort of death machine, which looked like an entanglement of wires and an array of dials. Malnourishment slowed your ability to assess and process new information, so you couldn’t muster the energy to investigate whatever damage they had planned for you.

Resistance was futile; at this point, the pain was inevitable, and the suffering was unavoidable. You possessed no power, you had no leverage, and you were losing faith in your comrades fast. Combined, it was a sure recipe for disaster. Yet, you had no choice but to see all this chaos through until it’s likely-bloody conclusion.

Rorke took a seat in a chair of his own, positioning himself just a few feet across from you. Close enough to intimidate, but not within kicking distance. To calm your racing heart, you focused your attention onto the deep scar that sliced his left brow and trailed the contours of his face before abruptly stopping at the edge of his jaw.

Your sense of curiosity briefly flickered to life, and you wondered if it was the handiwork of another Ghost. Maybe Merrick, your methodical, war-horse of a captain? Or the Elias Walker, known to you only in the form of tales told by his remaining men?

Regardless, the image of the healed wound birthed in you a furious desire to bestow a matching mark on the unblemished side.

“First order of business,” the ex-Ghost began. “The Walker boy. Logan. Is he back in it again, runnin’ amok with that sorry brother of his? Haven’t seen either of their ugly mugs in a while.”

During the previous winter, you’d learned some of the details surrounding Logan’s capture and escape, both of which had occurred prior to your recruitment. Keegan had always been pretty tight-lipped about the subject, usually dismissing it altogether by redirecting you to ask Logan personally. And so you had.

What he divulged had sickened you to the core.

Although he wasn’t a big talker, Logan Walker had unveiled the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in a series of short fragments over the course of several weeks. His recounts weren’t always delivered in chronological order, for he occasionally jumped around as trauma poured out of him like an unleashed dam. He had spoken of the isolation and the disorientation, of the physical beatings and the mental lashings. Of reliving his father’s death again and again, of the apparition of his brother shouldering him with the blame.

The most harrowing part, however, had been the brainwashing. The manipulation of the mind and its contents, the rearrangement of orderly thoughts, beliefs, memories into a locked state of disorder. Forcing the self to become a foreign object in its own native vessel. You had thus far managed to avoid undergoing such disfiguration. Still, considering Logan’s experience mirrored yours almost exactly, it was safe to assume that you wouldn’t remain unscathed. But where his strength and sheer tenacity had foiled Rorke’s plans, you weren’t optimistic that you’d be able to replicate his success.

Even so, no matter the evils lurking in your future, you scorned the prospect of willingly revealing any information that could be used to harm your teammates. Especially Logan. Dying would be less of a burden on your soul than condemning him to this hellscape for a second time. He’d already endured it once; to curse him twice would be beyond cruel.

Perhaps you were a tad bit self-sacrificing. You ignored the bitter, unwelcome voice from within that questioned whether the Ghosts would do the same for you if the roles were reversed.

Finally ready to reply, your head jerked to the left, then to the right. No.

A harsh exhale escaped his nostrils, like Rorke had expected the small defiance but was nonetheless disappointed. He snapped his fingers.

“Wrong answer.”

To punctuate the detached statement, a sudden current of what could only be described as concentrated lightning flowed into you. Your nerves caught fire, and every single muscle housed inside of you responded by contracting painfully. The sensation caused your joints to lock, stunning you into submission.

You felt your eyes roll back, but you willed them to refocus, threats all around. It was the sole method of motion still under your conscious control, for the rest of your body was seemingly trapped in an electric prison. However, when you glanced up at Rorke, a blurry figure to his left stole your attention instead.

Brows furrowing, you blinked rapidly to wash away the hazy features you had grown to love, but the mirage of Keegan remained. You would’ve noticed the sharp sting of an injection, so, unlike the previous two instances, this particular hallucination hadn’t been induced by drugs. It was a break in the pattern.

I’m going insane. Great.

“I wouldn’t lie if I were you. We’ve got ways of verifying, y’see, so cut the shit.” A nasty, blood-curling grin spread across Rorke’s lips. His soulless vessel swelled with delight as he unleashed another cruel stream of words. “Those sons of bitches can’t be worth all this. You’re nothing to them. Nothing. They didn’t think twice ‘bout sendin’ you off to die an undignified death, alone, and yet you wanna protect them?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue, the expression on his face morphing into a strange mix of disgust and pity. “What a damn waste.”

Another snap, another electric shock. Those two Federation technicians must have increased the number of amperes or the voltage, for this wave trumped the previous in its overwhelming intensity.

God, you weren’t built for this. Sure, all the Ghosts had to undergo conditioning and interrogation training. But Merrick, Keegan, Hesh, and Logan had been navigating war and its unforgiving brutality for almost their entire lives. In contrast, you’d been a plain and ordinary civilian up until the moment Keegan dragged you out from beneath a pile of rubble not even three years ago.

For your dauntless comrades, who had confronted and conquered Death many times over, a little electrocution was indeed light work. For you, however, it wasn’t so.

Perhaps an additional year of experience would’ve solidified this weakness into something ironclad. Keegan had been giving you private lessons after sunset in an attempt to speed the learning process along, but your capture had indefinitely suspended such sessions. Thus, here you would remain, unrefined and incomplete.

At present, clouding your vision with the view of your torturer was more preferable than seeing the resigned disappointment on your lover’s war-painted face.

“Y’know,” Rorke mused, “the Federation could use a soldier like you. Someone with your kind of loyalty.”

You temporarily forgot your vow of silence and gave a derisive snort. The loyalty you had for the Ghosts hadn’t been acquired through material means; no amount of promised money or power in the world had a chance of swaying you. Bonds born of bruises and blood were damn near impenetrable and immortal.

That level of devotion couldn’t be fabricated or repurposed.

“Now, now, there’s no need to look so sour.” He bared his teeth, donning a devilish smile. “We’ll have you singin’ a different tune soon enough.”

This is it, you thought. This is where things get ugly.

As if the steaming pile of shit that Rorke had already dumped on you wasn’t bad enough. Still, objectively speaking, the brainwashing Logan had described would be leagues worse than even the most brutal torture you’d withstood yet. Because it wouldn’t just entail physical duress; your mental faculties would be taken hostage and subjected to radical change.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” he challenged, cocking a single brow. “Choice is yours. I’m partial to the hard way, myself.”

No answer left your lips, which was in and of itself an answer. One that elicited a sigh from Rorke and an eyebrow raise from Keegan.

“Hard way it is, then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You steeled yourself for a third wave of electrocution, but nothing could mitigate the calamity brought on by the hot coils that cascaded down your spine and traveled outward to your limbs and digits. It lasted for several seconds, minutes, hours. An eternity.

To what limits did Rorke intend to push your mind and body? A muddled sanity and crippled form would be of no use to him, surely. So what did he hope to gain?

Probably nothing special. Some people just want to watch the world burn, Keegan had told you at the beginning of your acquaintance, not long after explosives had free-fallen from the sky.

And Rorke fell squarely into that category.

“How d’you think this ends? In walks a Ghost or two, and then off into the sunset you go, happily ever after?” He sneered. “Like hell.”

The wave of his hand brought on another current of heat lightning, setting your skin aflame. You clenched every possible muscle in your jaw as he ducked down to meet your unfocused stare. Upon making contact, your fatigued eyes fluttered shut to replace the image of him with total darkness.

A fruitless endeavor, really. The hatred carried by his gaze and the imposing outline of his figure were both irreparably ingrained into the very grooves and folds of your brain.

But despite how he haunted your sleep and consumed much of your waking thoughts, Rorke had miraculously failed to eradicate your willpower in its entirety. Still, he had failed to isolate and exploit your Achilles’ heel; still, he was ignorant to the fact that the root of your motivations surpassed standard camaraderie. It would thus take more effort on his part than electric torture to excavate said root.

You were not yet at your breaking point. And you refused to allow today to be the day you finally cracked underneath his reign of terror.

For a moment, the pit was silent. Then came the dreadful murmur of his long-awaited epiphany.

“Ah, I see what this is,” Rorke said, tone giddy and ominous. “Tell me, who’s the lucky guy? Which one’s got you actin’ all stupid?”

Your heart stopped.

Fuck.

“Can’t be the quiet Walker, he doesn’t seem the romantic type. And it can’t be his mouthy brother either, too busy tryin’ to avenge the death of his old man. Merrick, well, the fella don’t really swing that way, if y’catch my drift. So, by my count, that just leaves. . .”

Heedless of your wishes, your lidded stare flicked to Keegan’s impassive face. Rorke hadn’t the faintest clue about the subject of your hallucinations or even about the fact that you were currently hallucinating. Nevertheless, the break in eye contact was sufficient evidence to betray you.

His gaze narrowed. “Bingo.”

You forced yourself to refocus on the non-imaginary man across from you, but the damage had been done.

“Keegan P. Russ, you sly sonuva bitch,” he muttered. Rorke pursed his lips and whistled in approval. “How’d he win you over? Did he call you pretty, say you’re special? Was he your knight in shining armor?”

In truth, Keegan hadn’t even needed to lift a finger to successfully woo you. Caring for him was as easy as breathing, and it had come so naturally to you that, without him, you felt a bit like a fish out of water. You couldn’t attribute this evolution of your relationship to a singular, specific instance; rather, an aggregation of stolen moments and intimate gestures had resulted in a mutual desire for more. But, to prevent whatever was mounting between yourselves from jeopardizing the team dynamic, the two of you had agreed to take things slow.

Maybe too slow, in retrospect. This hush-hush, test-run of a relationship had lasted a mere couple months, terminated prematurely by the man who was currently trying to fry your brain. Now your time was up, and much of Keegan would remain a mystery to you, forever undiscovered and unsolved. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret any of it.

You couldn’t bring yourself to regret him.

“Oh, this just keeps gettin’ better and better. I’m gonna have a whole lot of fun with you,” Rorke drawled, cracking his knuckles. A wave of apprehension washed over you, and he grinned at the horror that was surely etched into your face. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill our dear ol’ Russ.”

Relief surged within you, rejuvenating some of our deadened spirit, but the feeling didn’t last long. Nothing remotely good ever did down here.

“You will.”

Two little words, two little syllables shattered the illusion of Keegan, and with him went any remaining actionable hope. Try as you might, you were unable to reconjure his presence, incapable of reconstructing the facial features you had once loved to trace as he slept. Already, the pain had begun to distort his image in your mind’s eye, like how a digital photo album might be corrupted by malware.

Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps you should compartmentalize your memories of him, of the Ghosts, and of the resistance into tiny boxes, sealing them shut then storing them far, far away. Not just out of Rorke’s reach, but out of yours too.

Because, ultimately, time was on the side of your enemies. Your body would erode first, followed by your sanity and ending with your soul; such was inevitable. Recognizing you were powerless to circumvent this fate, you instead sought to curate the information that would be revealed to Rorke once he finally penetrated your mental bastion. If you purged anything to do with the Ghosts from your memory bank, then the knowledge you possessed couldn’t be weaponized against them.

The only way you could counteract Rorke’s plans was by forgetting the life you’d built alongside Keegan and the others. Even as you now sat tied up and riddled with convulsions, you were thinking about the four soldiers who had become your home, about how to protect them. Any strategizing you did was to discern a method of silent survival for their sake, not yours. Never yours.

You tried to stave off the bitterness that crept deeper into your heart.

“Conserve your energy. You’ll be needin’ it for what I’ve got planned,” the older man advised, though his sinister chuckle contradicted any notion of good faith. The metal legs of his chair scraped against the ground as he pushed himself backwards and stood to his full height. “And it should go without saying—”

Rorke let the sentence break off and linger in the tense atmosphere. During these sessions, you’d learned that the older man had somewhat of a proclivity for theatrics. The ex-Ghost derived sick pleasure from randomly dropping bombs of intel on you to instigate a reaction, or from watching you struggle to persist in spite of the various mental and physical agonies he had inflicted.

A true sadist.

“None of those sorry bastards are gonna barge in and save the day, so give that dream up already. You won’t be found. I mean, how’re they s'posed to find what they ain’t even lookin’ for?”

The sound of retreating footsteps meant Rorke had finally taken his leave, marking the conclusion of this interrogation. But, as the two remaining Feds prepared to conduct another bolt of electricity through your depreciating body, you knew that the prescribed torture had only just begun.

You hung your head and stared unblinkingly at your bound wrists, at your traumatized fingers, still twitching from the aftershocks. Tremors born of fear, pain, rage. Rage at Rorke, at yourself.

At Keegan.

In a kinder world, perhaps Keegan would’ve been around to hold your hands in his, to soothe your scorched flesh with a gentle, mindless rub of his thumb. A fierce longing for him gripped your heart, yearning for that Keegan who could glean your emotional state at any given moment as informed by the mere hitch in your breath or the rhythm of your pulse.

That Keegan, who let you crawl into his arms and steal his warmth on harsh winter nights, no questions asked. That Keegan, who caught the glazed-over look in your eyes whenever certain topics arose in conversation and thus tried to distract you by playing a game of I Spy, your favorite childhood pastime. That Keegan, who had once nearly broken a man’s wrist for daring to grab the collar of your shirt; he’d been the perfect picture of Death-incarnate, a fierce protector with his stone-cold warning and intimidating stare.

This Keegan, however, was all too different.

Because this Keegan did not come to your rescue. No, instead, he had left you here to die.

tbc.

#keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ #keegan russ x reader #cod ghosts #cod x reader #cod keegan #call of duty #whumptober #fic: unearth without a name #my fic

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goodomenscalendar · 1 month ago

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What is this? | Submit your own event or tag us! | Be sure to click through to the original post for the latest updates! Last edited: October 12th.

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#good omens #good omens events #october #zine #bang #fandom events #prompt event #other #meetup #apologies for missing september!!!!!#i know there was a LOT going down that i ended up missing because of Life Things #but i hope i have sufficiently filled your October calendars to make up for it!#i will probably edit this in the next few days bc i cant help but feel like im forgetting something #2024 #good omens zine #good omens bang

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a-reader-and-a-writer · 13 days ago

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Dangerously in Love (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 28 Alt 8. Kidnapping Fandom: MCU, Frank Castle, The Punisher, f!reader Summary: After witnessing your murder on a video call, Frank's only focus is on revenge. But he's about to learn that things are not always as they seem... Word Count: 4389 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Grief, Fighting, Blood, Gun Fight, Minor Character Death, Frank Carries Reader, Happy Ending Notes: Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Part 5 of the “In Love” series

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

It had taken Frank three days and a trail of bodies in his wake, but he had finally located where Costa had streamed from.

He had barely stopped since the moment he had left your—his—apartment and only to grab a handful of food or a few hours of sleep to keep up his strength for what was coming. Not that it would have made a difference if he tried to get a full night’s sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your terrified, tear-soaked face pleading with him before hearing the deafening bang of the gun and your blood spraying as the camera cut out. While he hadn’t actually seen the damage that the bullet had done to you, he had seen enough bullet wounds in his life for his brain to fill in the blanks. And when that happened, he would jerk awake with tears streaming down his face.

After Maria and their children were murdered, Frank had sworn never to allow himself to care for someone like that again. It was too dangerous…he was too dangerous. And yet, all of that flew out the window the moment he met you.

He tried to keep his walls up, to keep you out, but you quickly burst through them all as if they were made of vapor. And when you found out about the Punisher and who he really was yet still accepted him, it was over. Frank’s bullet-riddled heart began to beat again and it was all because of you.

You. The girl who would make fun of herself a hundred times over before ever saying a word against anyone else. The girl who couldn’t cook to save her life but still continuously put in a valiant effort. The girl who hid under a blanket during horror movies or gagged at the slightest scene with gore, yet pulled out the first aid kit without hesitation when he came home dripping in blood.

He knew the risks, he knew the danger, but he also knew he couldn’t live without you in his life. But now that danger had caught up to you and he had lost you anyway. At least if he had kept his distance you would be out there somewhere living your life happy with someone else—not shot to death in a warehouse while you were alone and terrified.

As Frank approached that same warehouse now, he thought back to your last kiss just before he sent you off to stay with Red. At the time, he had promised you it wasn’t goodbye, that he would come back to you. Yet even though he knew there was a very good chance it was a lie, he never expected you to be the one not coming home.

Looking around, he was surprised to find there weren’t any men standing guard by the main entrance or on the rooftop. He remained on high alert, but crossed the empty lot to the front door and kicked it in. When no one opened fire or swarmed him, he ducked inside.

It appeared the warehouse had been abandoned for a while. Even though he could faintly hear the churning hum of a generator somewhere below him, it must only be for the lights since there didn’t seem to be any sort of air conditioner or fans in the building. But that made sense. Costa must have known Frank would come for him after what he did, and it was better for Frank to locate one of his temporary bases of operation instead of his main headquarters.

Without slowing, he rubbed his face on the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat out of his eyes as it poured down his brow. He continued through the warehouse—gun raised—as he scanned for any traces of Costa, even though so far it seemed as if he wasn’t here. But Frank wasn’t going to stop looking until he made sure. He wasn’t going to stop hunting him down until Costa lay dead at his feet.

However, when he reached the door at the end of the hall and threw it open, he stumbled to a halt as his heart froze in his chest.

It was the same room he had seen from the video call—barren concrete walls, a single light hanging down from the middle of the room, and a metal chair with your lifeless body still strapped to it.

All of the air was instantly sucked from Frank’s lungs and his knees went weak.

He hovered by the door, unable to make his feet take a single step closer to your limp form. He swallowed—hard—as tears stung at his eyes. It had never crossed his mind that he might find you here. He assumed Costa would have dumped your body somewhere it would never be found or incinerated it. Maybe Costa thought having Frank see you like this, to face what had happened in person, would throw him off his game. If that was the plan, it was succeeding. Seeing your violent death over video had been one thing, but finding your long cold corpse days later—

Wait. Something wasn’t right here.

You had been left in this dank, humid room for the past three days. He should have been greeted by the putrid smell of rot and decay as soon as he opened the door but instead, he only sensed the metallic bite of fresh blood. Blood that should have long since dried and lost its potency. Yet he could see the dark red pool beneath your chair was still wet—it was recent.

Frank stumbled forward as if in a trance. It couldn’t be. He watched you die…hadn’t he? He saw the gun go off, a spray of blood, and your head snapped back—but he never saw the aftermath. Not really. The feed had gone black a second after the gun went off. Was there a chance?

The closer he got to where you were tied, the harder it was to look at you. You were still wearing his hoodie that you had been wearing in the video so it covered most of your skin. However, what was showing was littered with bruises and cuts of various sizes, layers of blood coating most of your visible skin as it had dried and been coated once more. The top layer still looked damp in some places, the color more vibrant and shiny in the dim light, and Frank silently prayed for a miracle.

He hesitated as he reached you, knowing that the tiny flicker of hope he was allowing himself to feel could be instantly extinguished the second he touched you. The air around him was deathly still as if the room itself was holding its breath waiting for an answer. He sank to kneel at your feet, as if you were some holy miracle he was prepared to worship. Unable to wait any longer, Frank slowly reached out and placed two fingers against the side of your throat.

For a moment, he felt nothing. Just your cool, clammy skin beneath his fingers, and his heart began to sink. But then—

Just as he felt the first weak thump of your pulse, your eyes slowly flickered open. Your gaze was glassy and unfocused but there was a small spark of recognition as you stared at the man kneeling before you. Your tongue ran briefly over your cracked, bloody lips before you weakly rasped, “-ank?”

Frank’s eyes grew wide as he clutched at your face, his fingers tangling deeply in your hair as he tried to convince himself you were real. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me. Oh god. I thought I’d lost you.” He fought back the tears that were building behind his eyes as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours.

You flinched as he shifted you and for the first time, he noticed the blood-soaked wrapping across your shoulder. Unlike the rest of your injuries, this one seemed more severe yet cared for and, if he had to guess, was probably where the bullet from the video call had struck you instead of the head as he had been led to believe. It was still a dire injury, yet he still felt a wave of relief flood over him. A shoulder wound you could heal from; a headshot was another story.

He stayed with his head pressed against yours, reveling in the fact you were alive and he had found you. Then he pulled back to gaze into your eyes.

However, where he thought he would see joy or excitement, there was only terror. Slowly—painfully—you began moving your lips as you tried to tell him something but nothing came out except a hoarse exhale.

“Shhh. You don’t have to say anything,” Frank murmured softly as he rubbed his thumb gently across your cheekbone. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m gonna get you outta here and bring you home to get some help.”

But you shook your head, the fear only intensifying in your eyes as you struggled to get your message across. Finally, you took a deep breath and managed to rasp out your message, “–’s a trap…Run.”

Before Frank could process what you had said, the door to the room slammed open and dozens of armed men rushed into the room. Frank sprang to his feet and tried to put himself between these newcomers and you, but they quickly surrounded the two of you.

“Well, look what we have here. Mr. Castle, we’ve been expecting you.” Costa chuckled cruelly as he walked through the door. “Although truthfully, I thought you would have been here a lot sooner. Three days is a long time to make your girlfriend wait with no food and very little water, especially when she is losing so much blood.”

“You bastard,” Frank growled as he stepped towards Costa, but he stopped as all of the soldiers around you raised their guns.

Costa’s grin widened. “Uh, uh, uh…I would be careful, Mr. Castle. One wrong move and my men open fire.”

“I can take it,” Frank said, stalking forward.

“I’m sure you can. Which is why not a single gun in this room is aimed at you.”

Frank froze in his tracks before glancing around the room. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Costa was right. Every gun was raised and they were all pointed directly at where you were still tied to the chair behind him.

Turning, he locked eyes with you and it was clear you had noticed this as well. And yet, the fear that he had seen in your eyes the last time he had looked at you was gone, and in its place was a sort of calm acceptance. You gave him a small smile as you nodded and mouthed, “It’s okay. Go.”

Frank’s heart swelled. Even after everything this bastard had done to you these past three days, you were still putting his safety above your own. God, how he loved you.

Costa laughed at the tender silent exchange between the two of you. “Oh, is this not precious? You know, she never once lost faith you’d come save her. She said you promised you’d come back and you never broke a promise. Every time one of my men came to check on her or to torture her, she insisted we’d all pay when you found her. Too bad her faith in you was so misguided.” He held up a finger and the men surrounding you all cocked their guns. “Just a word of advice, Mr. Castle that you will never have a chance to learn from: When you try storming the hideout of a known crimelord, don’t try doing it alone. You will always be vastly outnumbered.”

Frank raised his head and looked Costa dead in the eye as his lips curled into a knowing grin. “Who says I’m alone?”

Costa’s smile dropped just as the room was plunged into complete darkness. Frank immediately pivoted and dove towards the spot where he remembered your chair being. His aim was off slightly, but he still managed to grab the edge of the seat as he fell and he pulled it down to the floor with him. And just in time.

“Shoot them!” Costa’s voice rang out through the darkness. He was so focused on not letting you or Frank get away that he did not consider what he had just commanded his men to do.

Following their direct orders as they had been trained to do, Costa’s men opened fire. Bullets whizzed through the air over your heads, and Frank scrambled to cover you with his body as best as he could. You hadn’t made a sound since the lights went off, but Frank felt your hand weakly wrap itself into the fabric of his shirt, giving him a sign you were still with him.

As the bullets continued to fly above you, cries of pain and heavy thuds began to fill the room. Quickly, those sounds became more frequent while the sounds of gunfire grew less and less. When the lights flickered back on, Frank saw that only a handful of men—including Costa—were left standing. All the rest were lying motionless on the floor where they were hit by the bullets from the men across from them.

Glancing down, Frank saw you nestled safely under him with your eyes closed and your fingers still curled in his shirt. When you started to peek one eye open, Frank placed his hand over them. “Not yet,” he muttered. “Keep ‘em closed until I tell you to.”

He moved his hand to see you had followed his instructions—and just in time.

Frank felt the barrel of a gun dig into the back of his head. Slowly, he raised his hands.

“Get to your feet,” Costa growled from behind him.

Slowly, Frank did as he was ordered. Your eyes remained closed, but he felt your grip on his shirt tighten. Carefully, he eased himself back until you were forced to let go, then he rose to his feet. Turning, he faced Costa, the gun still pressed against his skull.

The mob boss’s face was deep red and a prominent vein in his forehead throbbed. “You just cost me a lot of men,” he snarled, spit flying from his lips and hitting Frank in the face. “I think it’s time we finally say goodbye, Mr. Castle. Tell your family I send my regards.”

Costa stepped back, his gun pointed at the center of Frank’s head. But just before he could pull the trigger, something flew from the hallway and struck his hand, causing him to drop the gun as he cursed loudly. Costa looked down at the red billy club lying next to his gun on the floor then raised his head just in time to see a red-clad figure with a horned helmet burst into the room.

About damn time.

Frank grinned as he watched Costa stumble backward at the sight of Red ducking and dodging as he lay blow after blow on his remaining men. Using this momentary distraction, Frank charged forward and wrenched the gun from Costa’s hand. The other man’s eyes grew wide and he started to beg for mercy, but Frank didn’t deal in mercy—he dealt in punishment.

Pointing the barrel of the gun between Costa’s eyes, Frank growled, “I’ll see you in Hell.” And he pulled the trigger.

Costa’s head exploded as his body crumpled to the floor. Wiping blood and brain matter from his face, Frank turned to see Red knocking out the last of Costa’s men.

As the vigilante turned towards him, he sighed. “Frank, you promised if I helped, there’d be no killing.”

Frank threw the gun to the floor as he snapped, “Yeah well, tell that to my wife and kids who he had murdered or my girlfriend—your friend—he left to waste away as bait tied to that chair.”

Red pressed his lips into a tight line but didn’t say anything. Frank knew this discussion wasn’t over but he was grateful Red was willing to leave it alone for the time being. There was a much more important matter that needed to be attended to at the moment.

Hurrying over to where you lay on the floor still tied down, Frank carefully righted the chair and cupped your cheek, tilting your head to get a better look at your face. Your skin was littered with bruises and cuts in various stages of healing, and your bottom lip was split wide. Your eyes were still closed just as Frank had instructed you to do.

Glancing at Red, he asked, “Is she gonna be alright?”

Red placed his hand on the side of your neck just below your jaw. He cocked his head slightly as he listened for a moment, then sighed. “Her heartbeat’s weak and parts of her body are shutting down.” He turned his head towards Frank. “It’s really bad, but if she gets help soon, I think she’ll be okay.”

Frank felt the tightness in his chest lessen slightly. At least there was a chance.

As Red dropped his hand, your eyes fluttered open. Surprised to see the other man with Frank, you asked, “M-Matt…?”

Red grinned sadly down at you. “Hey. Long time no see.”

You exhaled softly in a poor attempt at a laugh but then your lip began to quiver. “—’m sorry…shouldn’ta left…”

Red placed his hand on your uninjured shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. “No, it’s my fault too. I knew you wanted to be with Frank and I should’ve kept a better eye on you.” He paused and tilted his head “...That one wasn’t actually supposed to be a joke.”

“You two can pass around all the blame you want once we get outta here,” Frank grumbled before you could try to muster up another response. “Costa might have backup arriving at any minute.”

He wiped his hands on his pants to clean off as much blood as possible. Then he pulled out his knife and cut your bonds. Now unconfined, your body slumped limply in the seat until Frank gingerly lifted you up.

You felt so delicate and frail in his arms. As if you would snap in half with the slightest pressure. Your breathing was still very labored and ragged but no matter how Frank repositioned you, nothing seemed to help.

Moaning softly, you muttered, “Frank…?”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe. Get some rest, sweetheart.”

You nodded into his chest just before your body went limp in his arms. It seemed as if the trauma from the last few days had finally caught up to you and now that you were safe, your body and mind finally allowed you some peace.

Staring down at your broken body as you still struggled for each breath, Frank felt tears begin to silently stream down his face, and for once he was glad that Red couldn’t see him. However, by the way those red lenses were locked onto him, he had a feeling the vigilante knew exactly what was happening. As Frank passed by him as he held open the front door of the warehouse, Red’s hand shot out and grabbed Frank’s arm.

Giving it a tight squeeze, he said, “It’s over, Frank. You saved her and she’s going to be okay.”

Yanking his arm from Red’s grasp, he growled, “We both know for her, this will never be over and I doubt she’ll ever really be okay again.”

Without another word or even a glance in his direction, Frank stalked through the warehouse and out the exit. It was time to get you home.

When Frank got you back to your shared apartment, Claire was already there waiting for you. Red must have called her on the way. Frank was used to tending to his own injuries, not someone else’s so as much as he preferred to handle things on his own, he was grateful for the help.

He was also grateful Claire didn’t mention the destroyed living room that Frank had left after thinking you had been killed. In all honestly, once he killed Costa, Frank had never planned to return to your apartment. It was too painful imagining living here without you, surrounded by the memories of what was and the dreams of what might have been. Yet now that he knew you were alive, he was going to have to clean up his mess. But for now, he carried you into the bedroom and laid you down on your bed.

Claire tended to your gunshot and your various other injuries. Then she hooked you up to an IV to replenish your fluids and help fight off any infections you might have gotten in sitting in that sweltering warehouse for days. Then she gave Frank a bottle of extra-strength pain medication and told him to give it to you as needed. She promised to check back in after her shift at the hospital and she left.

Several hours later, you were fast asleep but Frank could see it wasn’t a peaceful one. Your jaw was clenched tightly beneath a furrowed brow and your right hand clutched at the sheets, twisting them tightly into your fist. Every so often, you would let out a soft whimper or your breathing would momentarily become more ragged. And at one point, tears began slipping down your cheeks.

Frank watched it all from his chair next to the bed, the stabbing ache in his chest growing stronger with each passing moment. He had helped you into a fresh tank top after Claire finished patching you up. As you shifted, the blankets slipped down revealing more skin and Frank noticed more injuries he hadn’t seen when you were wearing his hoodie. You hadn’t said a word about what they did to you, but Frank had seen enough injuries like these to get a pretty good picture. And while some would heal completely, the deeper ones would never truly fade. You would have to carry these scars as a permanent reminder of how he had failed to protect you.

“I found the perfect wedding dress.”

Startled, Frank’s head jerked up to see your eyes now opened and a soft smile on your face. “What?”

Patting the empty spot on the bed next to you, you said, “I looked online while I was at Matt’s place.”

Frank chuckled as he climbed into the bed and placed his arm behind your head. “You were there for less than a day and you found one?”

You nodded, snuggling your face into his chest. “The second I saw it I knew. It was the one I wanted to marry you in.” You paused, then added, “Just like at that moment I knew I didn’t want to be apart from you, no matter how much danger I might be in.”

So…it was time for this conversation.

Frank sighed, “Sweetheart—”

But you cut him off. “No, Frank. I know what you’re gonna say. But it was my fault, not yours. You sent me away someplace you knew I’d be safe. And I would have been—if I had stayed. But I came back—knowing the risks—because I love you and couldn’t stay away. So everything that’s happened is all because of me and my decisions. Not yours.”

“But you wouldn’t have ever needed to be sent away to keep you safe if you weren’t with me,” Frank countered.

“Maybe. But any life without you in it isn’t one I want to live.” You pressed your lips against the bare skin of his neck. “So if that means I’m put in danger from time to time, it’s a cost I’m willing to pay.”

“What if I’m not willing to pay for my happiness with your life? Because that’s what might happen one of these days if you stay. As bad as this was, we were lucky. Next time, we might not be.”

Sighing, you sat up and stared at him, your lips pressed together in a frustrated line. “Frank, do you realize that everything you’re feeling right now—all this dread and uncertainty and heart-stopping terror that something might happen to me—that’s what I feel every single time you walk out the door as The Punisher. I never know when I kiss you goodbye if that will be the last time I ever see you alive. But I never try to stop you. I just sit here patiently and pray you’ll walk back through that door to give me another kiss. And yes, this life you’ve chosen is dangerous for the both of us. But are you telling me that you aren’t willing to deal with those same feelings you put me through on a weekly basis in order to be with me?”

“Well, fuck, sweetheart,” Frank muttered looking down at his hands. “When you put it like that, it’d be pretty selfish of me to say no, huh?”

“Exactly.” Placing your finger under his chin, you tilted his head up until he was looking at you. The adoration in your gaze made the last lingering doubts about whether or not he should stay vanish. As you stroked his cheek, you cooed, “And if I know one thing about you, Frank Castle, it’s that you are one of the most selfless men I know. And I love you with everything in me.”

Frank leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought possible. And if you’re sure this life of danger is what you want, then you can buy that wedding dress tomorrow.”

“Too late,” you giggled, wrapping your good arm around Frank’s neck in a half-hug. “I already ordered it while you were in the shower.”

Frank shook his head with a soft chuckle. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me,” you said with complete seriousness. “Then we’ll have the rest of our lives together to figure out what comes next.”

Frank pulled you down—carefully minding all of your injuries—so you were lying on top of him. As he felt your eyelashes flutter closed against his bare chest, he murmured, “That’s exactly what we’ll do. I promise.” He pressed his lips against the top of your head. “And have I ever broken my promise?”

Taglist: @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @blue-aconite, @ohtobeleah

@foli-vora, @lucyysthings, @tavners, @merlehs,

@sunshineflowerchild789, @myguiltypleasures21, @androah,

@imreading, @arduadastra, @infinitelydreamingx, @weallhaveadestiny, @dreamcatcher121,

@andromacher, @assemblemotherfuckers

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skyward-floored · 11 months ago

Note

Hello!!

Um…

I really loved that one fic you wrote called “caged” with fable and legend, and I also really liked the sequel. I love how you described the scenes, it was really fun to read!

I saw that you were talking with another user about how legend got into the castle, and you mentioned that he probably got in through the secret passage way that he knows from alttp

I was wondering if maybe you were thinking about writing a prequel to that fic?

Maybe about how the chain lands in Legends Hyrule and they see Hyrule castle looming in the distance, perhaps under a spell of some kind and legend immediately runs towards it to find he can’t enter normally and he tells the chain that he does know of a way in. So they enter through the secret passageway and perhaps legend gets some flashbacks to alttp as they’re fighting monsters (or maybe brainwashed guards) and looking for fable.

It’s just a suggestion tho! I’m aware you have other stuff to do, so…

Uh anyways, I really liked this years whumptober fics a Lot too, they were all amazing! You are really such a talented writer!

That’s all, hugs!!🫂🫂🫂

I hope you have a nice day

So I wasn’t really thinking about writing a prequel at all, and I don’t do requests really but... well. The idea intrigued me, and I sat down and started writing, and this came out 😅

It’s minimally edited and certainly not my best work, but hey, it’s something. I hope you enjoy the little prequel anon, and thank you for the kind words :)

Caged

The sequel (Aftermath)

———————————————————

Again.

It was all Legend could think of as he stared at the castle in the distance, dread and anger and too many emotions for him to name making his hands shake.

They’d just exited a portal, landing in his Kakariko, and the relief of being back in his own time was immediately overshadowed by the oppressive dark magic in the air. Impa had found them soon after, and explained with a worried look in her eyes about a wizard who had tricked them, and overtaken the castle.

With Zelda inside.

The blood had begun to roar in Legend’s ears as Impa explained further, but he was barely listening anymore, his head spinning and chest tight with anger.

She’s in danger again, the kingdom’s in trouble again, and I wasn’t here to protect—

“Legend, what should we—?”

He took off.

He ignored the shouts of the others, the calls for him to wait up, and booked it towards the castle, his pegasus boots making it impossible for the other heroes to keep up with him. Rain had begun to fall at some point, but Legend didn’t let it stop him, not even when he nearly wiped out in a puddle.

He reached the castle gates in mere minutes, and banged a fist on the doors. They were shut tight though, sealed with magic that Legend knew he wouldn’t be able to break. But he pounded against them anyway, took out one of his rods and blasted at it, tried his rings and items and all sorts of things before finally kicking at them with an angry yell.

The others had caught up to him by then, and they joined his side, split evenly between looking at him and looking up at the gates.

“How are we going to get in?” Wind asked a little hesitantly, and Legend sighed, swiping some drops of rain off his face.

“I know a way.”

He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but it looked like it was the only way they could get inside.

Legend led them all around to the east side of the castle, the group’s weapons drawn and eyes squinted through the rain for any enemies. It was only a passing shower, not a torrential thunderstorm like the last time he’d used this passage, but the similarities still made Legend tense.

History sure does love repeating itself.

More then one concerned look was shot his way as they went, but Legend ignored them, as well as the memories that were trying to claw their way to the forefront of his mind. He had a job to do and a princess to save, and he wasn’t going to get lost in his head.

Even though this was at least the fourth time he’d done this and he was so tired of evil striking at his kingdom and the people he loved and having to stop them again and again. He wasn’t going to think about it.

Not now.

They didn’t run into any monsters on the way to the other side of the castle, which made Legend suspicious, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He quickly revealed the secret passage that would lead them inside, and gestured the others in.

“That’s convenient,” Wild commented, and Warriors studied the passage in interest.

“Are you the only one who uses this tunnel? Seems like a security risk.”

“Only a few people know it exists,” Legend replied, then dropped in so he wouldn’t have to continue the conversation.

Legend took the lead as they began to walk down the tunnel, and kept himself several paces in front of the others, his shoulders slowly hitching upward.

Water dripped as they walked along the passage, running on the edges and making the floor damp. There weren’t any monsters in this spot either, which made it easy for Legend to stride as quickly as possible past the spot where his uncle had breathed his last.

He hated being down here. He hated the reason he was down here and the slimy feel of the floor under his boots, and the smell in the air and the squeak of rats he hated it.

And was it his imagination, or was he smelling blood?

“Legend?”

Legend breathed in sharply as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked over at Twilight, the older hero giving him a searching look. They were nearly to where the dungeons connected, he didn’t want to stop now.

“You alright?” Twilight asked, and Legend let out a bitter laugh.

“Sure, I love coming home to find out the kingdom got taken over in my absence. And nobody knows what happened to my Zelda, and getting to tromp around in the sewers, I’m having the time of my life, thanks,” he snapped. “What’s one more crisis for the kingdom of Hyrule?”

Twilight’s hand didn’t leave his shoulder. “Legend.”

Legend stopped in his tracks and glared back at Twilight, gripping his sword so tightly he was sure it was leaving lines in his palms. “What.”

“We’ll save her, Legend,” Twilight said firmly, and gave his shoulder a bracing squeeze. “You’re not alone. You’ve got us this time— whatever this wizard is capable of is no match for all nine of us. We’ll save Zelda, and the kingdom. We’ll stop this together.”

Legend stared, then looked behind Twilight to where the rest of the Links were standing, and they all gave him equally determined looks. Their eyes were bright and fierce, and full of just as much resolve to save Zelda as his own were.

Legend felt his eyes sting, but he forced himself to blink the tears back, and nodded at Twilight, breathing out as some of the emotions storming in his chest eased a bit.

Twilight released his shoulder, and Legend turned back around, waving them all onward.

“Only a bit further to the dungeons. We’ll check for Zelda there first, but if she’s not there, we’ll... we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Legend said firmly. “Finding her is our biggest objective. The wizard comes second.”

The others nodded as they crossed through a doorway, and Legend squared his shoulders, shoving away the rest of his anxiety and terror and digging up the courage in his chest that had gotten him through six adventures already.

We’re coming Zelda, hold on, he thought desperately, shouting a warning back to the others as they reached the dungeons, and an enemy’s sword nearly took his head off.

Please be okay.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe fanfic #lu legend #lu chain #can be read as fable/legend :)#answers from the floor #anon #writing from the floor #I didn’t totally follow your idea but I hope you like it anon!

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blackseafoam · 1 month ago

Text

These Wells Are Dried

Part 1 of 2

The Red Lantern is a story I rolled up with The Broken Cask self-guided rpg book. It’s about an inn on the edge of a barren wilderness, owned by a "grumpy on the outside, soft on the inside" half-elf (Nicco) and run by his staff (Arturo, a human ranger and Elleh, a gnome bard). I highly recommend the book! It is so fun, and it got my confidence way up for DMing and creative writing.

The setting is based on the high desert and shrubsteppe of Eastern Washington and Oregon, a very special place.

whumptober 2024. Day 04. sunburn l healing salve l heatstroke l "if my pain will stretch that far"

WC: 2445

SFW no warnings really just peril, bad decisions, and someone almost dies

The high plain’s summer race was brutally hot this year. So bad that many participants had scratched before the starting gun even sounded, despite having trained years for this moment.

Nicco knew his horse could handle it. Cataldo was made for this weather, and the two of them had braved worse together. If anything, the severe heat wave would give them a competitive edge.

Each year, the Red Lantern Inn hosted the race as one of the checkpoints as well as the first aid headquarters. The famous location had been run by Nicco’s family for generations. The rustic wood paneled operation was self-sustaining, being this far out in the shrubsteppe wilderness. Despite the remote location, travelers came from all over for the experience. Not only was it a place to see riders coming and going, it boasted famously delectable dishes, had quaint lodging, and a haunting bottomless spring in the cellar with healing properties.

The spring had always been open to the public, until five years ago. Nicco had boarded up the cellar and magically sealed the door with no explanation. Since then the inn had lost a good chunk of business, making the High Plains Horse Derby a crucial opportunity to catch up on profits.

The starting line was twenty miles east of the Red Lantern. Where the tall ponderosa pines on the edge of the nearest mountain range offered the last shelter any of the riders would see for days. From this spot the high desert stretched out below, rolling hills stretching out until they became flat plains far beyond.

Nicco trotted Cataldo in the nearby clearing, a race veterinarian standing by to assess the beast’s gait. A horn rang out. Ten minutes till start. The half elf secured his long black hair into a ponytail and checked his pack one last time. Water was a concern, but he knew this land well, probably better than any of the other racers. Several springs along the way should be his saving grace, so he skimped on water. His gaze drifted up to the other riders heading for the starting line, heavy water skins bouncing with every stride. Nicco would make do with just two. He knew this land, it had always cared for him, and he for it. It was a risk, but calculated.

Riders stood abreast at the line drawn in the dirt at their feet. The fresh scent of pine needles crunching under hoof perfumed the air along with the excitement and adrenaline of three dozen horses and three dozen riders. Nico patted Cataldo’s already sweating neck, a confident smirk gracing his face as he made eye contact with the rider next to him, who was ogling at Nicco’s lack of waterskins.

The chatter grew more quiet as the three minute flag holder ran across the field.

The race marshall began the count down.

“TEN, NINE, EIGHT…”

Nicco ground the balls of his feet into the stirrups, heels down.

“...SEVEN, SIX, FIVE…”

He choked up on the reins and flexed his elbows.

“...FOUR, THREE…”

He shook a stray hair out of his face.

“TWO”

Breathe in.

“ONE”

Breathe out.

BANG. The starting gun went and so did thirty six horses. In an instant, Nicco positioned himself up in the saddle, taking his rear off the leather. As everyone around him whipped and kicked, he simply gave Cataldo the space to do what he did best.

Run.

“He’s here!” Arturo leaned out the window as he watched the telltale dust cloud of a group of riders nearing. They were just dark shapes, peeking in and out of view as they traversed the low hills and short sage bushes. Elleh put down the dish she was cleaning and ran to the door. The two of them jogged to the checkpoint station to cheer for their boss. As they neared they saw his waterskins were shriveled, completely empty, his face was flushed red.

“Nicco are you okay?” Elleh was immediately concerned.

“Quite fine, Elleh.” He dismounted as the race volunteer signed him in. He leaned closer to her and Arturo “First spring was dry, but it was the smaller of the three.” He said in a hoarse whisper, his lips were severely cracked already. “The next one will have water."

Arturo hummed doubtfully “We have extra water bladders, Ni–”

“NO.” Nicco cut him off. “If you help me I’ll be disqualified, remember? I’ll just refill here, and the next spring is 10 miles away.” He stormed off, leading Cataldo to a cooling off station. Arturo cast Elleh a worried glance, she shrugged and went back inside. When Nicco was cranky AND set on an idea, there would be no convincing him otherwise.

The next spring was dry.

Nicco tried digging into the cracked earth but it was no use, the deep-rooted plants bordering the basin had already begun to whither and drop their seeds. He bit his thumbnail as he decided what to do next, he looked over at Cataldo. The horse was absolutely drenched in sweat, and they still had a long way to go. He weighed his remaining water in his hands. Surely the next spring, the largest one will have water. With a decisive nod he lowered his hand and mounted again.

The heat had become even more unbearable as the day wore on. It made Nicco feel like he were fermenting from the inside, sticky sweat clinging to every inch of his skin, nausea creeping up with every stride of his mount.

Seven miles further, with 25 more to go. Nicco left the marked trail once more, to find his secret spring. He followed a small gravel line to a low spot behind a hill, anxiously leaning forward to see what awaited.

A basin of dust.

Panic immediately rose in the half-elf’s throat. He most certainly was not going to make it to the finish line, that much he could decide right then and there. He had gambled and lost, but what was worse is that Cataldo was an equal in these consequences. He dismounted, wringing his hands and looking at his steed. Taldo probably looked better off than he did. Being a thin-blooded desert horse, he could withstand the lack of water if Nicco was careful.

He had already given all of his water to the horse on the way here, with a pinch of salt for electrolytes, but Nicco hadn’t had anything to drink but one sip on his way to the second spring. He scratched at his beard nervously one last time, still looking around at the ground as if water would spontaneously erupt out of the earth. There was only one thing to do, head back as efficiently as possible. The rider undid his top wrap. He would share his sun protection with his horse to hopefully save on sweating. Upon remounting, he tucked one end of the fabric into the browband of the bridle, between Taldo’s freckled ears. Then he took the rest of the fabric and tucked it into his belt, creating something of an umbrella for the nag’s neck. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do.

Nicco chirped and squeezed his legs ever so slightly, sending Cataldo into a trot, the most energy efficient way home. Immediately, he could feel the heat of the early afternoon sun begin to prickle his exposed chest, shoulders, and back.

A cowbell rang on the west corner of the inn, the cooling station volunteer had been instructed to ring it upon anyone returning to the checkpoint, alerting the staff and medics to prepare for something to potentially be wrong.

Elleh and Arturo, in the middle of serving food, hurried to the windows along with most of the guests. The cowbell hardly ever went off, but this was the third time they had heard it today, two other riders had scratched out of caution for the heat just an hour ago.

“Can you see the rider?” short-statured Elleh couldn’t see past the crowd, and began to make for the door.

Arturo squinted and craned his neck, “It’s Nicco.” He looked back at her with wide worried eyes. Elleh burst out the door.

Elleh was concerned by Nicco’s sun-baked face before, now she was horrified. Nicco swayed on the saddle as he came in, eyes half-lidded and red, red like the rest of his blistering skin. His black hair was plastered to his forehead, neck, and shoulders with sweat. He swayed harder as he slowed Cataldo to a walk, leaning forward and gripping the front of the saddle, his wrap top that had been protecting the horse’s neck fluttered to the ground. The tiny gnome rushed toward the pair “NICCO!” Arturo was right behind her. The station medic was already on the way as well, and the three of them helped Nicco down.

“All dry.” Nicco huffed as Arturo supported him, the half-elf’s hand still gripping the saddle. His skin looked an awful lot like the rotisseried pheasants they served in the winter time, blistered and charred deep red.

“Damn it Nicco…” Arturo began to pull him away.

“No… Can’t leave… Dissqualiff’d” Nicco slurred as he gripped the saddle harder.

“Boss, your race is over.” Arturo said gently. “We have to go inside, now.” The burly man could feel heat radiating off Nicco’s body like a cast iron pan. He reached out and broke Nicco’s grasp on the saddle. He muttered and protested the whole way to the aid tent as Elleh hurried the horse to the shaded stables.

The race medics had already been prepared for dehydration, heatstroke, and sunburn as the number one concern of the day, but did not expect to see a case this bad. Nicco had been sick, twice, in the short walk to the tent, in between incoherent complainings. Arturo was basically dragging him by the time they got him to a cot, and deposited his lanky figure onto the frame like a dead fish.

Nicco’s blank mind didn’t even try to figure out where he was when his eyes squinted open at the gently rustling canvas ceiling of the tent. He had been drugged by an angry customer once, and that was the first thing his mind went to as he felt like his whole body was made of fog. Like how he imagined performing “misty step” would feel, if he knew any magic. He heard a gentle scratching sound above his head, he tried looking up to see, the cold rag on his neck sliding off. A tiny arm caught it before it tumbled off the cot, and placed it back in its place. Elleh’s rosy-cheeked face came in to view, tight with worry, she set her sketchbook on the stool she’d been sitting on and kneeled next to her boss. Her friend. His eyes started to close again.

“Nicco.” She whispered, she would shake his shoulder, but it was the worst burnt part of him and covered in a strange mint green salve. Instead she reached for his hand and squeezed it. “Nicco.” She said a bit louder.

His eyes opened a little wider now. Some of the fog had lifted and he could comprehend more of the space now. The little gnome was grabbing his hand, it felt nice. He squeezed it back weakly. He took stock of his surroundings, he was on a hammock-like cot, with naught covering him but his underpants and a few cold wet rags draped over him strategically. Several potions and a canteen sat on an empty stool by his feet.

“It’s bad Nicco.” Elleh frowned. She was never this serious, something was very wrong. “You almost died.” She barely choked out the words while her eyes went glassy. Nicco was still confused, why was she so upset? He hadn’t seen her cry since the first day he’d met her. Elleh was supposed to be the uplifting one.

“Cataldo…” Were Nicco’s only muttered words in response.

A flash of frustration heated Elleh’s sorrowful expression. “Your horse is fine Nicco, you gave him all of your water!” She shook her head, then got serious again.

She hesitated. “Nicco… you have to unlock the cellar. The medics… they said you could have permanent internal damage.”

His eyes shot up at her with that all too familiar stubborn look. He shook his head as much as he could before he was too dizzy after two shakes.

“Whatever… whatever it is, Nicco. Whatever it is you won’t talk about. It isn’t worth this. Please, you’re not thinking clearly. Just tell me how to open it. You could die.” She was begging now, having pulled his hand to her chest and squeezing it even tighter. “Just this one time, then we can lo–” She stopped talking when his dark eyes locked with hers, his cracked lips parted to speak. Nicco rolled over and was sick on the ground at the bard’s feet. Elleh released his hand to grab a nearby bucket, patting her boss on the back as the only secrets he let out were what he had for breakfast that morning.

Nicco fought the severe burns and inflammation for days after, the main medic stayed long overdue her contract to tend to him. Arturo offered to call in someone else so she could get home, but she declined, she had to see the job through. A cleric happened to be passing through the second day and treated the innkeeper to the best of his abilities. Nicco fully woke up the next day, to his caring employees again begging him to open the cellar so he could use the healing waters. He simply shook his head, voice too hoarse to respond.

Once the boss was semi-ambulatory, the medic left, and he sulked around the inn like a lost ghost. Elleh and Arturo constantly fussed over him to stop moving around. He insisted at least to sit in the kitchen to oversee things, but never lasted long. It was only when he was snoring like a bugbear in his seat that Arturo would force him to go to bed. Nicco was unusually quiet for weeks after, clearly hiding his pain from his doting employees, who were also his closest friends. He laid in bed and tears ran down his blistered cheeks once he was alone. They cared so much for him, care he in no way deserved. He could feel his body not working like it should, the horrifyingly abstract wrongness of it. The magical healing of the cellar pool could help immensely… NO. He buried the idea as quickly as it sprouted. No one could go down there ever again. He wasn’t even sure if he could remember how to break the magical seal anyway. He would take his suffering as long as he could, would he die for his secret? Undecided. He drifted off to sleep.

Author's Note:

I've been so excited to share this! I was struggling to come up with an actual story for these characters until I started writing for this prompt. The second part will show up later for whumptober :)

I just gave it a final edit and I'm so glad I wrote this when it was actually hot out because I would never have thought of some of the descriptions otherwise. I've never actually gotten heatstroke but came close when I went to Pompeii in August a few years ago, that place is like a huge brick oven that is also a maze (but also full of really cool stuff). I fell asleep in the taxi home and woke up on the Airbnb couch, whoops! Stay hydrated, gamers.

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 13 days ago

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Dangerously in Love (Part 2)

Part 5 of the “In Love” series

It had taken Frank three days and a trail of bodies in his wake, but he had finally located where Costa had streamed from.

However, when he reached the door at the end of the hall and threw it open, he stumbled to a halt as his heart froze in his chest.

It was the same room he had seen from the video call—barren concrete walls, a single light hanging down from the middle of the room, and a metal chair with your lifeless body still strapped to it.

All of the air was instantly sucked from Frank’s lungs and his knees went weak.

Wait. Something wasn’t right here.

For a moment, he felt nothing. Just your cool, clammy skin beneath his fingers, and his heart began to sink. But then—

He stayed with his head pressed against yours, reveling in the fact you were alive and he had found you. Then he pulled back to gaze into your eyes.

“You bastard,” Frank growled as he stepped towards Costa, but he stopped as all of the soldiers around you raised their guns.

Costa’s grin widened. “Uh, uh, uh…I would be careful, Mr. Castle. One wrong move and my men open fire.”

“I can take it,” Frank said, stalking forward.

“I’m sure you can. Which is why not a single gun in this room is aimed at you.”

Frank’s heart swelled. Even after everything this bastard had done to you these past three days, you were still putting his safety above your own. God, how he loved you.

Frank raised his head and looked Costa dead in the eye as his lips curled into a knowing grin. “Who says I’m alone?”

“Shoot them!” Costa’s voice rang out through the darkness. He was so focused on not letting you or Frank get away that he did not consider what he had just commanded his men to do.

He moved his hand to see you had followed his instructions—and just in time.

Frank felt the barrel of a gun dig into the back of his head. Slowly, he raised his hands.

“Get to your feet,” Costa growled from behind him.

About damn time.

Pointing the barrel of the gun between Costa’s eyes, Frank growled, “I’ll see you in Hell.” And he pulled the trigger.

Costa’s head exploded as his body crumpled to the floor. Wiping blood and brain matter from his face, Frank turned to see Red knocking out the last of Costa’s men.

As the vigilante turned towards him, he sighed. “Frank, you promised if I helped, there’d be no killing.”

Frank threw the gun to the floor as he snapped, “Yeah well, tell that to my wife and kids who he had murdered or my girlfriend—your friend—he left to waste away as bait tied to that chair.”

Glancing at Red, he asked, “Is she gonna be alright?”

Frank felt the tightness in his chest lessen slightly. At least there was a chance.

As Red dropped his hand, your eyes fluttered open. Surprised to see the other man with Frank, you asked, “M-Matt…?”

Red grinned sadly down at you. “Hey. Long time no see.”

You exhaled softly in a poor attempt at a laugh but then your lip began to quiver. “—’m sorry…shouldn’ta left…”

“You two can pass around all the blame you want once we get outta here,” Frank grumbled before you could try to muster up another response. “Costa might have backup arriving at any minute.”

Moaning softly, you muttered, “Frank…?”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe. Get some rest, sweetheart.”

Giving it a tight squeeze, he said, “It’s over, Frank. You saved her and she’s going to be okay.”

Yanking his arm from Red’s grasp, he growled, “We both know for her, this will never be over and I doubt she’ll ever really be okay again.”

Without another word or even a glance in his direction, Frank stalked through the warehouse and out the exit. It was time to get you home.

“I found the perfect wedding dress.”

Startled, Frank’s head jerked up to see your eyes now opened and a soft smile on your face. “What?”

Patting the empty spot on the bed next to you, you said, “I looked online while I was at Matt’s place.”

Frank chuckled as he climbed into the bed and placed his arm behind your head. “You were there for less than a day and you found one?”

So…it was time for this conversation.

Frank sighed, “Sweetheart—”

“But you wouldn’t have ever needed to be sent away to keep you safe if you weren’t with me,” Frank countered.

“Well, fuck, sweetheart,” Frank muttered looking down at his hands. “When you put it like that, it’d be pretty selfish of me to say no, huh?”

“Too late,” you giggled, wrapping your good arm around Frank’s neck in a half-hug. “I already ordered it while you were in the shower.”

Frank shook his head with a soft chuckle. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me,” you said with complete seriousness. “Then we’ll have the rest of our lives together to figure out what comes next.”

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whumpsmith-participates · 29 days ago

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AI-less Whumptober 2024

Day 12 - Isolation / Sensory deprivation

Tags/CW: emmper, claustrophobia, body horror (mouth whump)

He woke up with a jolt, the kind of jolt you get when you're falling asleep and your heart rate drops too fast and too low so your body jump starts you back awake. Only he hadn't been sleeping...he thought. He wasn't sure. He couldn't quite remember what he was doing before.

It didn't matter. He had other things to worry about. He'd blinked his eyes open, but he was met with complete darkness. Not a single source of light. He rubbed his eyes to make sure they were really open, to which he bumped his elbow against something soft, covering something solid.

N-no...

He felt around, recognising the sensation of soft silk wrapping around him, cushioning the solid wood that surrounded him. He could barely lift his head, he could barely move his legs, and he could barely raise his arms above his head, banging desperately against the lid of his small prison.

His breathing picked up, and he could feel himself getting dizzy, as if the box he was trapped in was swaying violently. He couldn't breathe. He started banging his fists more desperately, kicking his legs, gasping desperately for air. If it didn't open he would suffocate, yet for some reason, getting out of his prison also terrified him. The thought alone made him so nauseous his stomach hurt.

Suddenly a gust of air descended on him. Cool air that evaporated over his sweaty skin, making him shiver. He groped around for the edge of the wood and sat up, wanting to open his mouth to take a deep breath. However, as he did so, he felt a horribly familiar and painful sting around his lips. Something pulling and tearing into his skin when he tried to open his mouth.

He shakily reached for his face, carefully brushing his fingers over his lips, feeling the thick strands, the half-dried blood, the sting where the strands were threaded through his skin, pressing his lips firmly together.

"MMMMMMGH?!"

A shriek left his throat, but got muted inside his mouth as he remembered what had happened. He had to get out of there. Dizzy, he rolled over the edge of the box, thudding onto the cold, black floor. He wildly looked around for a way out, but everywhere he looked was just darkness. He couldn't even see the box, as if it had never been there.

"HMMMMMGH!"

A desperate scream, echoing through the nothingness until it was just a distant cry. He sobbed as he curled up into a fetal position, unable to process what was going on. All he knew was that he was in pain, and he was all alone.

Not again...

No matter how he screamed, there was no one around to hear him. The world around him didn't exist anymore. He was all alone, with no one to help him. His lips sewn shut by the two maniacs that locked him in the box, but they were nowhere to be seen right now either.

I'm all alone...

Vague visions of his friends dying plagued him in the darkness, while a horrible, cackling laughter haunted his ears. He didn't even realise he was still screaming until he ran out of breath again. He inhaled deeply through his nose, but he was cut off by an involuntary sob and he had no choice but to cough, even if that caused more painful yanking on the strands around his lips.

I'm going to die...

He desperately clawed at the thread. If he could just undo the stitches and pull them out, then he could breathe. Then he could call for help. He tasted blood as he pulled, ignoring the pain as he was too desperate for air to breathe. But no matter how he pulled, he couldn't get the thread to come undone.

I'm going to die alone...

His breath changed from deep and desperate to shallow and painful. Out of the darkness, a pair of hands closed around his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. The feeling of soft fabric returned, and he knew he was being locked back in that box. Where he had no air, no light, no friends...

"NO! NO PLEASE! NO!!!"

"Jasper? Jasper! JASPER!!!"

A sudden flash of light blinded him, and just like that, he snapped to his senses...mostly. He took deep, wheezing breaths while his eyes slowly adjusted to the light. The soft fabric he felt wasn't silk, it was linnen. The grip around his wrists wasn't strict or painful. The hands were warm, and a little clammy. Wind rustled through the leaves of a tree outside, and the curtains by the window swayed gently in the same breeze.

Jasper took another shaky breath, blinking the tears from his eyes as he looked at the familiar brunette blur before him, his features slowly getting a little clearer as he squinted his eyes.

"E-Emmett?" Jasper said hoarsely.

"Y-yeah," Emmett said, "are you okay, Jaspie? Y-you were screaming and scratching up your face, a-and I tried to wake you up, but you were so far gone..."

Jasper shivered as he looked at his hands, noticing the blood under his nails.

"I-I..." he stammered, but he couldn't quite find the words.

"It's okay," Emmett gently said, "just take slow, deep breaths, and let's get you cleaned up."

Jasper nodded, letting Emmett pull him out of bed and leading him to the bathroom. There, he closed the toilet lid and sat him down, before wetting a washcloth by the sink. It was only then that Jasper realised that Emmett looked about as pale as he felt, and he realised he'd never had a night terror with Emmett before.

"I'm sorry..."

"What for?" Emmett asked, wringing out the washcloth before turning around and approaching Jasper.

"I think...for scaring you?" Jasper slowly said.

"Don't worry about me," Emmett said, gently dabbing the wash cloth against Jasper's face.

Jasper closed his eyes, trying not to flinch every time Emmett touched him. It stung a bit, but the coolness was also soothing, and even a bit grounding.

"Was it one of the nightmares you told me about?" Emmett asked when things got too quiet for his liking.

"...y-yeah," Jasper said.

"Do you...wanna talk about it?" Emmett asked.

Jasper shook his head, taking a shaky breath as he tried not to start sobbing again.

"That's okay," Emmett said, "do you want me to call one of your friends?"

"N-no...they're probably busy this time of night," Jasper quietly said.

"I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

"I-it's fine," Jasper said, avoiding his eyes, "it was just a dream..."

"...if you say so."

@ailesswhumptober

Emmett belongs to @illustriousshadow

Masterlist Main account

I'm gonna start tagging the shipnames just because it's fun :3

#ailesswhumptober2024 #day 12 #isolation #sensory deprivation #oc #fic #emmper #claustrophobia #body horror #mouth whump #nightmares #whump writing #whump event #oc whump

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fantasyismyonlyrealescape · 16 days ago

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Whumptober 2024: No. 25 - Friendly Fire

Title: Shots Fired

Fandom: WWE (Professional Wrestling)

Characters: Sami Zayn, Kevin Owens, Jey Uso

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count: 565

A/N: Welcome to another addition to Whumptober, Day 25, coming at you with an alternative prompt this time. This is based off the real life tag match aired on the September 11th, 2023 episode of Raw. Cheers!

Summary: Jey Uso superkicks his tag team partner Kevin Owens during their tag match against the Judgement Day. Owens, already questioning Jey's loyalty, has had enough of his games. Sami getting involved only makes things worse.

Cross posted on AO3 under user wrestlinginjeans.

“Kev, wait up!”

A call, a voice that Kevin recognizes just as well as his own comes from behind him, but he can’t be bothered to slow down as he hobbles forward on his banged up knees, he won’t.

“Kevin!”

Another call, more desperate this time but still Kevin won’t stop as he brings his hand up to press his fingertips hard against the mark that Jey’s kick had left on his body. He didn’t trust himself to be with anybody else at the moment, he couldn’t trust himself in what might happen if he was.

Before he knew where he wanted to go, his feet led him to the locker room. While not the ideal location given that it was for the entire men’s side of the roster, it would serve in giving him the chance to grab his gear and leave as quickly as possible so that he could be alone. As he is throwing his gear into his bag, he hears somebody enter and immediately head in his direction.

“Hey, Uce, I’m sorry about that out there…” The man begins and Kevin realizes that it is the last person that he wants to see in that moment. Pointedly ignoring the dark-haired man, he keeps his gaze and focus directed downward at the task at hand, making quick work and moving to zip up his bag.

“Uce, come on, man. You gotta know it was an accident.” A hand reaches out and when the fingertips brush against Kev’s shoulder, he snaps spinning around and pushing Jey back against a wall of lockers close to the door.

“Don’t touch me, Jey!” Kevin growls, stepping into the Samoan’s space then so that he was right in Jey’s face. “I said I didn’t want to team with you, and I was forced to. What? You thought kicking me in the face was a way to get the Judgement Day to notice you? To get Rhea to notice you?” Kevin adds, his voice dangerously low. “What? You can’t do anything by yourself? You’re looking for the Judgement Day to help replace the family that you betrayed?”

Before Jey can respond, the two men snarling at each other, a third individual joins the group, immediately stepping into both of their spaces and pushing Kevin off of Jey.

“That’s enough, Kev!” Sami yells, stepping between the two men. “It was an accident! Let it go.”

“Oh, so you believe him too huh, Sami? It was an accident; not like he hasn’t done that kick thousands of times without hitting his partner!” Kevin rounds on Sami then, his eyes revealing the hurt that Kevin feels in his heart at Sami’s comments. He didn’t think about all the times that Sami had done this in the past. He was always trying to play the mediator; he wanted people to get along. He thought it was for their own good and was always trying to fix people. This time though, it was too personal for Kevin.

“You still want to ride with him? What, your time in the Bloodline was just too good? Fine then, I’m out of here.” Kevin growls, tossing his gear bag over his shoulder and shoving Sami’s hand off of him. “You two need to stay out of my way. I’m done.” Kevin adds, feeling familiar hazel eyes boring into his back, but not bothering to turn around.

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priscilla9993 · 1 month ago

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Whumptober

Going off of @ouatprompts It's finally here and I'm excited, even if I can't do them all bc time ;-;

Day 1: Torture Tuesday - Caged

Freedom Within Reach AO3 Link

Summary: After Robin leaves her behind in the jail cell, Alice despairs a life spent caged, stuck in a rundown tavern's cave basement after a lifetime in a gilded tower. Luckily, she's got more than one hairpin and doesn't easily lose hope with a Troll to defend.

Four walls and no way out. Well, three jagged cave walls and rusty metal bars, but who was keeping track?

“Isn’t this just grand?!” Alice yelled, kicking a rock with all of her might across the sandy dirt floor and watching it bounce towards the darkness.

Her eyes were puffy and sodden from crying her heart out, face slightly damp and dirty from wiping her tears with sandy and slightly wounded hands. Alice had tried everything. Banging the chains on the cave walls had only cut her hands and caused metallic sparks from her unsteady and desperate aim. Pulling and pushing at the bars, even tugging at the chains, hoping they were old and rotten enough to come apart, made her tired and out of breath. Using rocks to hammer away at anything seemed useless.

Moving past the latrine bucket, she paced as far as the chains would let her before they became taunt, pulling her back towards the entrance and only exit out of the cell. She sighed.

“UGH! You would think a girl who knows your life story, of spending most of it locked up, would think twice about leaving you behind in a cell. Who does she honestly think she is, caging me twice in one day, leaving me for dead over some stupid legacy and honor?!” Alice frustratingly cried, her qualms echoing in the chamber. She exhaled. “I can’t believe I thought it’d be different this time,” she solemnly reflected, remembering the betrayal of letting her heart trust a pretty sorceress.

Anyone would have steadily waited out their release, but to Alice, being trapped was a form of psychological torture. The door had swung close, not anymore locked than when the village mob leader had thrown them in due to Robin’s trusty rock hammering to the lock, but she was still bloody trapped. Grown up, free of the moss covered tower, but caged all the same in another place. Sure, the magical barrier that once encased her tower window no longer existed, but in her mind, it played out again. Freedom within reach, but unable to go free. Everyone always able to leave as they wished while she stayed stuck, numbering out her days with supposing.

When she was a kid, it was “Suppose Papa does find a solution to the tower’s magic, then what would I do first?” Alice planned her day out with activities, Killian trying his best to recreate the event inside the circular prison. After the witch’s arrival, it turned to supposing her papa would return or some miracle happening to free her. Recently, her quest had turned from supposing where the cure for the poisoned heart was to wondering if there was a world where people would understand, help the Troll be safe and calm. A twinge of bittersweet welled in her heart as Alice supposed a future with Robin, the first person after her papa to be enamored rather than upset at her peculiarity. However, none of that mattered if there was no future with Alice in it. It was as if fate had decided, she’d be the Girl in the Tower forever, the mad loony needing to be caged rather than a girl deserving of companionship and worldly exploration.

Alice slumped on the ground, burying her face in her arms. The Troll, the last of her living friends, gentlest of giants, was going to be slain at the hands of the villagers or Robin’s ignorant arrow. And there was nothing she could do about it, caged in a prison again.

“There has to be a way out of here,” she murmured, barely clinging onto hope as she tried to convince herself with the spoken words.

Alice ran a hand through her locks unconsciously as a self soothing gesture. What should have been an easy pass through her tresses got impeded by something small. “Oh!” She gasped as she pulled out the small obstacle with her fingers. In her hand laid the key to her escape, the same kind of hairpin Robin had grabbed from her earlier with a sleight of hand and unassuming flirting.

“How could I have forgotten?” Alice asked, amazed, eyes widening as sparks of joy sent energy through her.

The gears in her brain clicked into place. She jammed the hairpin in multiple ways, losing a few in her attempts, before finally hearing the sweet relief of the chains unlatching as they fell to the ground. Sweat drenched her forehead from the concentration. If anything, Robin made it look easy. Alice ran out of the jail cell basement without a second glance, not wanting to stay there for another second. Although the empty tavern and moonlit night sky indicated that hours had passed since the afternoon, Alice sped towards the forest, certain in her bones where the Troll would be. The mob might have had a head start on the hunt, but Alice wasn’t going to take any chances, not if she could do something to stop it.

#whumptober 2024 #ouat fanfic #once upon a time #alice jones #pris writes #in canon with 7x14 #I like angst with a side of retrospection #it's tragic how many times Alice has been tricked or trapped due to someone's selfishness or ulterior motives #my innocent bean

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vulpeskorsak · 1 month ago

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Day 2 of Whumptober 2024: Escape

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

AO3 got banned in my country and VPNs have not been working well on my PC lately, so I am not going to post these there for now. But hopefully I can do that at some point.

This is taking place in my own DnD/fantasy world.

Elias is a young magistrate cursed to turn into a blue half-reptile half-man doing his best to hide and temporarily reverse it.

--------------

Escape

"This is our chance to leave! Let's go!" The lionwoman Jess grabs him by the arm with a wide fanged smile, encouraging him to follow.

Elias firmly stays in place looking around in disbelief. Most of the colourful booths around them are set on fire. The surviving carnies and the visitors are running away from the collapsed main tent from which dozens of disjointed screams can be heard. Diego, the circus mascot tiger, is tearing into the throat of one of the cleaners only a couple of meters away from his open cage. Who started this?

"Elly! Move!"

The cursed lizardman turns his head to her finally, hesitating to follow. She was the one who lured him here, after all. She promised safety that turned out to be freakshow enslavement. She then cried and swore she had to do it for her family's safety and he claimed that he forgave her but…

"Alright, alright. I'm not touching you." She lets go glancing about with purpose. "But seriously, let's go! We can't miss this chance. The bastard is certainly not watching. He might even be dead!"

Jess hurriedly approaches the nearby small cages and begins opening them one after another with a big set of keys, releasing the animals trapped inside.

"Grabbed them off that guy," she explains pointing at the dead cleaner being consumed by the tiger with her tail.

Most creatures fly or run away at the first opportunity but some hide in the depths of their cages as far away from Jess as possible.

"Oh, come on! I can't be that ugly!" She laughs with nervous maniacal excitement as she kicks at the cages from behind forcing their inhabitants to quickly flee.

Elias flinches at the metal banging her kicks produce, finally willing himself to take a step away from his own cage. He looks back. Even if she is lying again, he does not want to return there ever again. Maybe, he can finally go home. He wonders briefly, as he would often do over the past five months, if his family considers him dead or if they are still searching.

He carefully approaches Jess as she shakes the final monkey out of its cage. He has not been avoiding her all this time, their relationship has been quite amicable but now that she is telling him to follow, he can't help but shake a little. The feathers that replaced the hair on his head once he transformed stand up in an unintentional intimidation display and his long reptilian tail sways from side to side nervously. He keeps telling himself that it has to be safe this time. She has no reason to harm him this time. She wants to leave even more than he does. She has been here for a few years, unlike him. Her family has already escaped. He saw them run into the woods. It should be safe.

"Great! Now… Elly?" Her face falls as she notices his posture. "Is it me? I… I'm sorry, Elly, I swear it's going to be okay! I- I swear on my life I'm not lying to you."

Jess offers her hand looking him straight in the eyes. He wants to believe her. She looks honest. But he thought the same five months ago… "Alright," he takes a deep breath before grabbing her hand and squeezing it a little. "Lead the way."

#whump #whumptober #whumptober2024 #no.2 #trust issues #amusement park #oc #dnd #fic #enslavement #freak show #lizardman #lizard wizard

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abubblingcandle · 1 year ago

Note

Would love if you want to share any snippets from Have You Noticed You Are Breathing? or any other whumptober offerings or anything in general you want to share!

You are an absolute star and your company in my sulking in a wetherspoons is much appreciated! Putting this under a break because it long!

Have You Noticed is coming ... slowly. The next chapter is a big one with Jamie's first war room meeting about his dad's case and then a therapy session with the newly returned Doc Sharon. So it's mulling about in my brain about how to do it justice. So instead of course am writing the much cuter chapter 9 lol, so here's a little snippet (I'll format when not on my phone)

"I'll never get this English obsession with not finishing a sport properly." "I'll take you to the Oval before you leave. See the Ashes. Get you a banana costume and everything," Jamie murmurs without really thinking and sees Ted nearly fall off his chair in shock. "Jeepers Jay, spare this old man the medical bills and announce yourself next time. Could've killed me," Ted gasped and clutched at his chest. "No medical bills in the UK boss," Beard correct and Ted waved at him dismissively.

Then in terms of whumptober I've just had a kick of inspiration for a fill for Day 19 (prompt Psychological) and so banging that out hopefully by the weekend. Here's what I've written so far ...

Roy would never admit any of this to Jamie as long as he lived and his sister had sworn on her free weekends that she would take it to her grave as well. It was the most embarrassing thing that Roy had ever done and he once had a mullet and did an advert for a Latvian stock trading website in a leopard print suit. This may all sound like an over reaction and yes he did tell Jamie everything but not this. This would be the thing that severed the tentative peace of friendship between them ... but dear god did it come in handy. It all started after the Jamie Tartt Homecoming Meltdown.

#All the love to you #Ask box is always open #Candle writes #Have you noticed tag #whumptober 2023

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oumaheroes · 2 years ago

Note

So i went to reread the three other oneshots you tagged in your recent of Gabriel leaving Arthur and Francis home but it doesn't make much sense

In the one of them at the party, at/towards the end you mention Alfred being caught by Antonio having "a lot of fun' meaning he was caught doing something naughty 👀

And then you mention Matthew hiding the good wine from Alfred, meaning they're AT LEAST 18 years old to be at this party, drinking and going into lewd acts with others.

But in the Marriage Counseling AU, they're both kiddos being told "your dad and i got into a fight" and how kids can tell that something is going on between their parents

Also.... Uhhh, just my own opinion about what Arthur's feelings... Uhhh

Is it Wrong that I really want Francis and Arthur to divorce?

I'm not sure what Arthur did that was bad aside from missing out on couples therapy, and him mentioning to Gilbert at the bar that he ALMOST fucked up, but catching or finding out your husband fucked some other person isn't something you can simply move on from, and if Arthur isn't ready to forgive or forget, and if he doesn't want to at all then thats a valid response from him. Lord knows i wouldn't but i guess he just loves Francis so much that he's willing to stay with him still, or maybe he's doing it for the kids like he tells Gilbert .

I'm also assuming maybe it's Antonio that Francis slept with, since they mention their absence when it's him and Gil at the bar drinking , like he had something to do with it.

Not sure, but yes, the whole au seems a little confusing now

Oh Anon, you speak such truths!

TLDR:

The Couples' Therapy AU exists in scattered parts and, as each part was written so far away from the parts before, the story has changed from the original design (where Al and Matt are Arthur and Francis' adult friends) to what they are in the next three installments- their children.

I've never revealed (aside to NeedCake hehe) what the storyline actually is, or what Arthur and Francis are actually fighting about or have done to each other. This is a secret for now and the stories posted are little flashes into it!

Rather than go back and edit the first part to fit, I'd rather write the whole thing out officially and prettily ;u; Thank you for your patience with me! I'm sorry things are a little confusing

Okay, long detail under the cut:

The Couples' Therapy AU originally started out with this. I had a vague idea of what I wanted but it was only going to give context to the -this was never meant to be anything more than a one shot! Arthur and Fran were a newly married couple sorting out some jealousy issues, Al and Matt are there but aren't related to them, and it was all going to be fine and dandy

And then Whumptober happened

Whumptober did things to me, Anon. I saw Day 2's prompt and the whole AU came back to me with a bang but this time, in my Whumptober fuled mania, it came back evil

From this point I fleshed the entire story out, each character's involvement, and then let it simmer. In this fic, listed as part three of Couples' Therapy, I kept the core idea of jealousy issues but redesigned the whole structure- Fran and Art are now a family, they've been married for years, but over those years cracks have begun to show and someone from Arthur's past comes along and inadvertently, innocently, steps on some fragile ground and breaks the whole things apart

The second listed part of Couples' Therapy then, written near the end of Whumptober, is the direct aftermath. What has happened has happened, everyone's hurt and split by it all, and we get a glimpse into what really went down

As for the truth of what happened, you'll have to wait and see. I've been waiting for the motivation to sit down and write the thing from the start but cake's birthday gift makes part number 4, which is chronologically the second story in teh timeline of events. It's about to kick off and we just need to watch it happen

'Is it Wrong that I really want Francis and Arthur to divorce?'

No it is not, they have done terrible things to each other

#heroes answers #couples therapy au

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amane-order-of-attack · 8 days ago

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Amaneverse Whumptober, Day 27

Muzzled

Technically the first section fills the prompt, but I decided to indulge a bit. Nott contributed to the end too. I put the rest under a cut.

Though the end might not make sense without the missing Day 7...

I might truncate this when I put it on AO3.

----

Amane wakes up to a tug on her collar. In a panic, she tries to push back, but she can’t move her arms. Of course. It’s an Eyepatch timeline again.

Cat, isn’t this needlessly cruel- she tries to say, but something is clamped over her mouth.

“Easy there. Momose Amane, I’ve only come to give my gratitude.”

Yuzuriha Kotoko. What could she possibly have to thank-

Red eyes glow menacingly. Amane tries to squint away the brightness before realizing… those are memories floating just out of reach, taunting her to grab them.

“...the warden has seen reason and allowed me to continue to pursue justice-”

Amane sits up, ramming her head into Kotoko’s face. It’s all coming back now.

This is the worst Eyepatch-Cat to have ever had the misery of existing.

Kotoko laughs as she wipes the blood away from her nose and pushes Amane back.

“Oh, such a defiant little girl. I’m surprised you still have it in you.”

Amane tries to headbutt her again, but Kotoko has clamped a hand on her forehead.

“Well, enough of the idle chater. I wish-”

Amane screams through the muzzle as much as she can, only for Kotoko to cover her nose.

“I wish you would stop interrupting me.”

She can’t move. She can’t breathe. She can’t… no… no no no… she can’t-

“And I wish for the warden’s continued support in my upcoming trial.”

There is only one end: a double guilty turning into a triple guilty.

Amane wakes up to a tug on her collar. Immediately, she headbutts the assailant, evoking a growl of pain.

The momentary satisfaction is interrupted when the assailant pins her down. It’s a heavy strain on her injuries.

“Momose Amane,... How did you know to react like that? Do you know something that I-”

Amane tries to scream again, but Kotoko quickly cuts off her air.

“I wish for the warden’s continued support!”

This time, it’s a gentle nudge that wakes her up. Something weighs down on her good eye, but she opens it to find Kotoko standing by her again, hands akimbo.

Amane tries to sit up to attack again, but something is holding her head down. She tries kicking instead, but there’s something wrapped around her ankles too.

“Oh. Sorry about that. Can’t having you lash out as soon as you wake up. Why the kneejerk reaction, though? It’s like you expected me… Like… you remember I did this before.”

How does she know that?

“Well, it’s bothersome. An extra variable muddling my plans. I wish I was the only one aware of these time loops.”

Can she wish that? How does it even work?

Huh? What just happened? Amane can only recall traces of a terrible dream.

Her hair is strewn around uncomfortably… It’s such a mess that she can’t lie down with it like that. She sits up and walks over to the vanity. She can’t do anything about it, but maybe she can ground herself and accept her new appearance.

As she predicted, her bangs are ruffled beyond recognition. There’s an impression of creased sheets on her forehead. She’s not the type to sleep on her face, though, given everything that threatens her ability to breathe.

The door opens behind her, startling her. She whips her head around to find Kotoko stepping in.

This woman has taken everything from her. She will not let her in.

Amane lets out a quiet growl.

And Kotoko Flinches.

That’s….

“I take it back!” Kotoko says, voice almost jittery. “I wish to let the loops proceed as they will.”

Loops? What does she-

Amane loses her balance and falls at the weight of her memories coming back in, colliding with some magenta dust, but Kotoko catches her before she hits the ground. Everything is coming back, crashing like a truck. She’d be angry at what Kotoko just did but she looks so…

Scared.

Amane wonders What exactly is scaring her for a second, before realizing that it’s Her. Something about Her is scaring her right now.

Kotoko takes a deep breath, preparing herself for what she’ll say next.

“And…And, I won’t be bothering you anymore. My apologies.” Kotoko helps her back to her feet. Quickly looking away from her as she does.

#amaneverse

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bionic-egypt · 19 days ago

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Whumptober Day 22: "Oh, That's Not Good"/Bleeding Through Bandages

At the far back of Jay's grandparents' property, half-secluded by a dense thicket of oak trees, was a large work shed. Her grandfather had spent countless hours inside during his long life, having built the shed with his friends years before even Jay's mother was born. It was a squat, sturdy thing with dulled metal sheeting concealing concrete bones. A heavy sliding door and matching industrial lock once kept unwanted visitors out.

Jay didn't bother closing the door behind her when she pushed her way inside that afternoon. She wasn't planning on being here for too long. Any curious thing from the outside would be warded off by the noises sure to come from what she kept inside.

The work shed was separated into four rooms: one larger main room that oncce served as her grandfather's workshop, and three smaller ones off the back wall that used to be storage. 'Smaller' was a bit of a misnomer, though. Each side room was about the size of her bedroom back in her grandparents' house. The work shed itself was practically a warehouse, but her grandfather had called it a shed, and so a shed it was.

Jay had spent nearly the entire winter renovating the shed to suit her needs. Each of the smaller rooms had been emptied and their contents reorganized in the larger main room. Slots were added to the doors around chest-height and locks were placed on the outside to stop anything within from getting out while she was gone. The old workbench had chains and locks bolted to the ends and a tarp had been folded up underneath in case she needed to cover it for a later easy cleanup.

The thought of what she might need to eventually clean up made her squirm, but if she was going to survive in this desolate world, she had to know what she was dealing with. It wasn't really any worse than hunting, was it?

Jay slipped her bag off her shoulders as she approached the workbench. She had work to do and not much daylight left to do it in.

Bang!

She jumped, and her bag fell onto the bench with a thud. One of the doors rattled with repeated impacts. Tiny sharpened claws scratched at the corners, accompanied by growls and hisses eager for her blood. Jay huffed through her nose. Seriously? She ignored the increasingly frenzied digging and started going through her bag, searching for her notebook and the tupperware boxes she had brought. She tucked them both under her arm and headed for the shaking door.

She kicked it hard with her steel-toed boot, sending the creatures behind scurrying away, just as she knew they would. After a pause to make sure they weren't going to start up again, she threw open the slot and peered inside.

Four snats, horrible snake-rat hybrids the size of the average housecat, were huddled in the back corner, glaring at the door with their beady black eyes. If animals could feel malice, they felt it in spades.

It had been a bitch and a half to get them in there. Actually catching them hadn't been the issue, though. Jay had been thrilled when nearly all of her snares had worked. Not so thrilled when one of the snats had managed to escape and tried to take a chunk out of her arm. Thankfully, it had missed. Grilled snat wasn't too bad, she had discovered that day. Almost tasted like chicken.

Jay popped the lid off one of the tupperware boxes and chucked the contents through the slot. the snats descended on it with fervor, tearing apart the bits of meat and snapping at each other when one of them tried to hoard it all. In minutes, the entire raw steak was completely gone. They snats weren't content, licking at the ground where their meal had landed.

She watched the whole thing. As their long forked tongues scraped the rough floor for one last taste, she flipped open her notebook to the entry on snats. A few hand drawn pictures were on one side of the page, as accurate as she could manage with her moving subjects and limited artistic skills, and a description of what they were was on the other side. She had started her notebook around the time she began cleaning out the work shed. Everything she learned went into the pages.

She flipped past the picture, the recount of how she captured them, the ways she had discovered to take them out, until she found the page on their diet. Snats seemed to closer follow rat diets to snake, omnivorous, though they did show a preferrence for meat. And as proven today, they didn't seem to care what type of meat they were given. Predator species were definitely on the menu. Maybe next time she would see how they reacted to caniballism.

Once her new notes were jotted down, she snapped the notebook shut, closed up the door slot, and headed over to the only other occupied room.

It had taken hours to stalk the new creature down and even longer to drag its unconsious body back to the shed. She had completely destroyed a pair of heavy duty work gloves on its capture. The tarp she had dragged it in on had shredded through and was still balled up inside the room with it.

The creature in question was a massive thing with the body of a wolf and foot long, needle sharp porcupine quills running down the length of its back. Jay had taken to calling the creature a 'spine.'

The name could have been worse. She had initially thought about calling them 'quills,' but that was a bit too on the nose, even for her.

Jay flipped open the slot and looked inside. The shredded up tarp was still wadded up in the back corner. Long grooved claw marks dragged across the cement floor. Beyond that, there was nothing. Nada. Zilch.

The spine was gone.

Jay shoved her face up against the slot, eyes darting around frantically. Where was it? Where did it go? It couldn't just escape! The door was locked!

She pulled out a key and shoved it into the lock before throwing open the door. She had to know how the spine escaped. Jay stepped inside, searching for any clues it may have left behind.

A low, whining growl rolled out form the front corner of the room. Jay froze. Breath caught in her throat, she turned glacier-slow to face the source of the sound.

The spine crouched low in the room's sole blindspot, sharp teeth bared. It should have been too small for the creature to hide in, but somehow, there it was. Jay couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Predator versus prey, and she knew which she was.

A flash of movement, then -

Burning agony erupted in her thigh. Jay hit the ground with a strangled gasp. A cluser of quills, smooth and sharp, were buried in her flesh.

The spine bolted through the open door to its freedom. Damn it! She grit her teeth, digging her nails into the skin around the punctures, trying in some way to alleviate the searing pain. Just get up. Get up, and figure out how to get the quills out. She could worry about the spine later.

Jay pushed herself up, biting back a scream when she tried putting weight on her injured leg. Don't do that, oh holy shit don't do that. Her body leaned heavily against the door frame, careful not to knock the quills against it. Stupid fucking spike dog!

Somehow, she managed to suck it up and hobble back into the main room. She collapsed onto the workbench, crying out as it jostled the quills. The spine was nowhere to be seen. It must have escaped the shed entirely. At least it didn't try to eat her. Small mercies, right?

She took a deep breath before grabbing one of the quills at the base and tugging on it. A flash of fire made her jerk away. Barbed, the quills were barbed. Barbed quills were buried in her thigh. That wasn't good. Oh, that was not good at all.

Right, okay. How could she get them out without tearing chunks out of her leg? Didn't hunters cut slits into animals to get their arrows out? That sounded right. Maybe she had imagined it, maybe not, but it was the best she could come up with. She had to get them out. Now.

Jay reached for her bag and dug around until she found her hunting knife and a long piece of cloth. She sliced her shorts at the hem and tore along the cut, exposing her whole thigh and making sure the denim wouldn't get caught in her wounds. The bits where the quills stuck in her leg were fully exposed now. Bloodied skin bunched around the thin grey shafts. She swallowed at a sudden build up of nausea. That was her skin. It looked like something out of a poorly funded gore-fest slasher film, but it was real and in her and she had to get it out.

Right. Just breathe. Don't think about it too hard. All she had to do was make some little cuts so she could pull the quills free and then she would be fine. That's all. She knew what she was doing. Sort of. Maybe. No, she would be fine. She just had to do this one little thing and everything would be okay. She just had to start.

Jay stuffed the cloth between her teeth and bit down. The point of the knife dug into her right along the edge of the topmost quill. Deep breath in through the nose and -

She screamed into her makeshift gag as she cut into her own leg. Jay almost dropped her knife. She couldn't do this. She couldn't. It burned.

But she didn't have a choice. She tightened her grip and forced herself to make a second cut. Muffled screeching sobs tore through her throat, but she didn't stop.

Both sides done, she dropped her knife and carefull freed the barbed end from her leg.

One down. Four to go.

Jay would like to say she didn't remember the process of removing the rest of the quills. She would love to say it was a blurry haze in her mind, that the only point that stuck out was the initial incision. She would be lying. Every agonizing second was seared deep in her brain, sure to remain in picture-perfect clarity for the rest of her days. By the end, she was panting heavily with tears soaking into her gag. Her thigh was slick with blood. Five messy circles of gorey flesh were bisected by wonkyy crimson lines. And five bloodstained spikes were discarded haphazardly on the bench beside her.

Even though the quills were out, Jay wasn't done yet. Her medical kit with its suture supplies was still back at her grandparents' house. She couldn't just lie here and wait until it stopped hurting. She had to get up and leave.

Jay took the spit-soaked cloth out of her mouth and wound it tightly around her leg. A sob bubbled up in her throat at the pain brought on by the pressure. She didn't bother to try and stifle it.

She braced against the bench and forced herself to stand, leaning all of her weight on her good leg. The instant she tried putting any sort of weight on her bad one, it gave out. Her backside hit the bench, hard.

Jay grit her teeth. Just get up. She had made it out here earlier, yeah? Just do that again. So what if the wounds were bigger and bleeding and pulsing beneath the wrap? The worst was behind her. She just had to get up. One step at a time. That was it. Just one step at a time. This would not beat her.

She grabbed at the workbench again and stood back up, jaw clenched so hard her teeth creaked. Slowly, oh so slowly, she started dragging herself toward the door. Along the way, she picked up an old rake to use as a crutch. It held enough of her weight that walking was no longer the agonizing slog she had dreaded it wouold be. It was still the worst, don't get her wrong, but she no longer had to worry as much about her leg giving out from under her.

Jay white-knuckled her way out of the workshed and into the cool evening air. The sun was sinking low below the horizon, casting deep shadows from the trees. It had been late afternoon, nearly evening when she entered the shed. That felt like an eternity ago.

As she hobbled along the dirt path, she kept her eyes peeled for any lingering sign of the spine. She saw neither hide nor quill anywhere along the path. It must have run off back to wherever it came from. Something ugly snared her chest and twisted her face into a scowl. It had taken her hours to catch the damn thing, and what, it shot her in the leg and ran off? Sure, it didn't try to take a bite out of her, but it just left? How would the spine like it if she strode up to its house and took a chunk out of it and then ran off into the night?

The walk back was a painful limping shamble, but somehow she managed to not collapse in the middle of the woods. Once inside the house, she made sure the door was firmly closed behind her. No unwanted creatures were invited in here with her.

She grabbed the first aid kit off of the coffee table in the living room, because of course she moved it to the living room and didn't keep it in the bathroom anymore. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now look at her, taking it back to the bathroom to fix herself up. She couldn't win.

She dropped down onto the closed toilet seat so she could get to work. The cloth around her thigh was streaked with deep red, spreading through the fibers like dye. She had to pull on the cloth to untie the knot and hissed through her teeth at the pressure. Unwinding the fabric revealed the cluster of gaping punctures, painted scarlet with still-weeping blood.

Jay steeled herself for the process of cleaning and sewing up the wounds. This was going to hurt. Again. At least there were some painkillers in the medicine box, still in date. Something to take the edge off, though she was certain nothing she had was strong enough to completely dull the fire in her leg.

As soon as she could walk unaided again, Jay was going hunting. It was time she found out what spines tasted like.

#my writing #whumptober #whumptober 2024 #whumptober day 22 #tw animal attack #tw blood #tw self harm #not really sure if that last one applies but better safe than sorry #oc jayden

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skyward-floored · 1 year ago

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Whumptober Day 2: Thermometer, Delirium (“I’ll call out your name but you won’t call back”)

This one has similar vibes to day 1, but it was originally for a different later-on day so that’s why (if you know the prompts, you can probably guess which!). Also there’s no actual thermometers here, but I definitely used the prompt as inspiration lol. Sorry Sky.

Warnings for: being out in the heat too long, an implied head injury, and a character thinks briefly about how it wouldn’t be so bad to die.

Read it on ao3

————————————————————

Sky couldn’t remember why he was here.

Blinding sun shone in his eyes, even when he shaded his face with his hands, that made the pounding in his skull twice as worse. The glare made it impossible to see across the desert he was walking through, and his eyes hurt from squinting. Sand blew past his face, tripped his steps, and the heat rose off of it in waves, making it hard to focus on why...

...why what, exactly?

Sky shook his head, unable to remember, and kept walking. There wasn’t anything else to do, after all.

He’d been walking for ages, and the temperature had risen sharply as he’d gone, making sweat pour down his face and drip down his back. His sailcloth had long been put away in his pouch, and as tempted as he was to remove more layers, he didn’t want to be vulnerable to attack, or exposed to the blinding sun any more than necessary.

Not that it mattered much. There was no shelter anywhere.

Only sand. Endless sand.

Sky squeezed his eyes shut a moment, the uncomfortable sting from their dryness worth the temporary respite from the sun. He only had a few sips of water left, and as much as he wanted to gulp them down, he needed to conserve them so he could make it back to... to somewhere.

...to someone?

Sky swallowed, the motion barely relieving the dryness of his throat.

He was alone, but it hadn’t always been like that, had it? He did faintly recall being in a desert like this before, but... but maybe he’d always been wandering out here by himself.

Alone in the desert, with no water and a headache that only got worse.

He kept walking.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky above him, no respite from the sun that beat down on his head. A scorching wind sometimes brushed past his bangs, kicking up the sand, but bringing no relief whatsoever.

Sky’s legs dragged more and more the longer he walked, his clothes soaked in sweat. He gulped down the last few drops of water he had, but it didn’t do a thing to quench his thirst. His head pounded, his headache worsened from the bright sun and pulsing behind his eyes, but Sky couldn’t even close them. Whenever he did, he always tripped soon after, and pulling himself back up got harder each time it happened.

A sound suddenly caught his attention, one that wasn’t just harsh wind or shifting sands. Sky dazedly looked up (when had he lowered his head?), and his eyes widened at the sight.

There were trees a short distance away, trees and tents set up around a large rock that reached up towards the sky. They all provided a glorious amount of shade from the sun, and in the middle of it all was a large pool of water.

Sky stared, then felt his aching face stretch in a smile.

Shelter. Shade.

Water.

He let out a raspy laugh, and began to run towards it, stumbling in the sand as he went. Finally, civilization, and a respite from the awful heat. Somewhere to rest, to figure out why he was wandering through the desert, why he felt like he shouldn’t be alone.

Sky was so fueled by the sight of something other then sand that in his excitement, he suddenly tripped on the large dune he’d been running down. His legs were too exhausted to recover, and he fell forward, arms pinwheeling.

Sky’s yelp was quickly cut off as his face hit the sand, and he tumbled down the rest of the way, limbs flying and sand getting on every bit of him that didn’t already have it.

He finally rolled to a stop with a groan, his exhausted body even more tired from the fall. He felt bruised and dizzy, and the same spot in the back of his head that kept pounding was blazing with pain now, but the reminder of water got him to fight through it, and Sky took in a steadying breath. Once his head finally stopped spinning, he carefully raised it, trying to focus on the oasis again and reorient himself.

Nothing but empty sand met him.

Sky stared, eyes widening as he lurched to his feet and looked around with increasing desperation. He could no longer hear the splashing of the water, see the leaves of tall palms rustling with a cooling breeze, just... sand.

Nothing but sand.

There had never been any oasis. It was just his mind, desperate for something to cool itself off with, tricking him.

Sky closed his eyes, a wave of despair crashing over him. It was so intense he nearly fell over, and he felt a frustrated cry build in his throat. He’d been so close, to shelter, to water, to people... but no, there’d been nothing to be close to at all. Just his dehydrated mind playing tricks.

He shook his head, and swallowed back the sting in his eyes as he reopened them. A dull feeling settled over him as he stared at the empty sands, and he sighed, the sound raspy and weak.

Nothing to do but keep going.

He began to walk again, and he couldn’t bring himself to scan the horizon for help any more. Maybe there just wasn’t any shelter anywhere.

Maybe the desert had no end.

Waves of heat rose off the sand, making the horizon impossible to make out no matter how much Sky squinted at it. The sun was right around its peak, scorching its rays onto his head, and Sky took his sailcloth back out with shaking hands and rested it over his head to protect his face. It barely helped, and he knew his skin was already peeling from burns, but he kept it there anyway. The faint sweet smell coming off of it was comforting at least.

He wondered why it smelled so nice. He couldn’t remember.

The sun seemed to stall above his head, getting no lower. Sky’s stomach began to roll unpleasantly, his dry throat crying out for water. He wasn’t sure why he kept walking honestly, when it would have been so much easier to just stop, but something kept his feet moving, even despite the pounding in his head.

A laugh floated by on the wind, and Sky blinked, a flash of pale hair in the corner of his eyes. He thought he saw a man approach him, covered in armor, but when he looked again he was gone.

The light grew more orange, his shadow squirming like snakes over the dunes. Harsh wind stung at his face like bitter words, and a wolf laughed at him when he stumbled, barks ringing in his ears. Something with fiery hair challenged him to a fight, but when Sky drew his sword to face it, there was nothing but a distant laugh in his ears.

He kept his sword out after that, using it as more of a walking stick than anything. Apologies spilled from his lips, for scuffing her steel and getting sand stuck in her hilt, but he didn’t know why. She was just a sword, wasn’t it?

Something circled lazily above his head, and Sky squinted at it, pausing as he tried to figure out why the shape seemed so familiar. Something outstretched to either side, a tail in the back...

Red flashed in his vision, and an intense hope caught in his chest as a memory surfaced.

“Crimson?” Sky breathed, watching the bird swoop around, wings stretched towards him as if it was coming in for an embrace.

Then it abruptly changed course and began to fly away.

“No— nnno no Crimson no, come back—!”

Sky bolted after his loftwing, but barely took a step before tripping in the sand, sending him sprawling. He desperately looked up, but his bird was long gone, lost in the blue sky.

It had left him. Everyone had left him. The scarf, the leaves, the golden hair, even his sword— Sky sobbed and tried to get up, but he’d finally reached his limit, the loss of his bird one loss too many.

He collapsed, muscles worn, heart aching, and his vision went dark.

(...)

A faint whisper tickled his ears.

Sky breathed out a soft moan, too hazy to try and listen. It was a gentle voice, one that made his chest hurt for some reason, but everything was disjointed, dark color smearing around the inside of his eyelids.

The voice repeated itself, but he couldn’t focus through the darkened void, too weak, too faint. But the voice continued, kept trying, and eventually Sky could hear it enough to just barely make out what it was saying.

“...Link...”

It was if his name was spoken through a heavy fog.

Sky still didn’t move, feeling utterly drained. It was like a weight had been dropped on top of him. Even when he thought he heard something move nearby, he remained still, listening silently as it approached. The sounds were strangely distant, but he listened to them anyway, unable to do much else.

The footsteps stopped, and Sky could feel that he wasn’t alone.

Maybe it’s a monster finally come to finish me off, he thought distantly. The idea was almost a welcome one, and he exhaled, sure that he’d feel a blade cutting into his heart any moment now. Then maybe he could truly rest, and join everyone who had left him.

“Sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.”

The familiar nickname abruptly cleared some of the fog that had descended in Sky’s head, and he forced his eyes open through the grit encrusting them.

Warm yellow met him, not like the painful glare of the desert sun, but a kinder, cheerful shade. Like gentle spring sunshine, with a silver glint from the moonlight. Sky blinked, and felt a huge surge of emotion as he looked up into crystal-clear eyes, their middle a blue even brighter than the sky.

“...Zelda?” he croaked, and she nodded from where she stood next to him.

“Sleepyhead, you need to get up,” she said in a teasing voice, and Link closed his eyes again, already exhausted from opening them the first time.

“...I can’t... Zelda, I...” he whispered, and he felt a light touch on his cheek, fingers gently caressing him.

“Open your eyes, Link.”

He obeyed, and Zelda smiled at him again, her form strangely hazy in his vision.

“You’re close to help, Link. It’s not much further, you can make it. I know you can.”

“I can’t,” he repeated in a whisper, wishing he could do as she said, but unable to gather the strength.

The sun had wrung out any energy he had, sapped by sweat and heat and the endless pound in his head. Sky belatedly realized it was much colder now, but the temperature switch was of no relief to his worn and wearied body. The air was now freezing instead of burning, and he barely had the energy to shiver, the cold leeching any remaining strength he had.

He was deathly thirsty, his stomach still hurt, and he still couldn’t remember why he was in the desert in the first place, or what he’d been doing beforehand.

Link closed his eyes again, a sudden wave of despair crashing over him through the confusion and haze.

“I can’t,” Link trembled out again, and tears would have sprung to his eyes if he’d had any water left in his body. “Z-Zel, I can’t.”

“You can,” Zelda replied in a voice equally firm and soft. Link couldn’t stand to look at her.

He kept his eyes closed, and then something moved at his side where his pouch was. He stayed still as it moved, then felt something soft fall over his shoulders, a familiar perfume drifting into his nose.

“You can, Link,” Zelda repeated, her voice encouraging. “I’ll be with you for every step. Don’t fall here. It’s time to get up.”

Link exhaled, and looked into Zelda’s eyes, watching the way the moonlight made them shine.

“Is that a command from my goddess?” he whispered in a barely-there voice.

“No. It’s a request from your friend,” Zelda said as she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his hair. “Now come on, Link. It’s time to keep going.”

Something alit inside Link’s chest at her words, something weak, and faint. But it was warm, and Link clung to it like a drowning man, curling around and snatching at it, and suddenly felt as if he had some of his strength back. Not a lot, barely any, and he doubted he could even raise his sword... but he could move.

He wasn’t going to die alone in the desert. He wouldn’t fall here.

He would keep going.

Link clutched at his sailcloth with trembling fingers, and turned himself off his side and onto his hands. Then he moved to his knees, and ever so slowly, body shaking with the effort, got to his feet.

He stood for a moment, trembling in the moonlight, afraid to move for fear that he’d fall over. But Zelda’s words rang in his head, and he breathed in, tightening his grip on the sailcloth. Then he took a single swaying step, and then another, and another, legs trembling like those of a newborn loftwing. Walking through the sand seemed more impossible than earlier, and once he began shivering, it was even worse.

But every time he faltered, every time he nearly collapsed, wanted desperately to stop and just rest... he saw a shine of yellow hair ahead of him, a glint of blue eyes... and he kept going.

All through the night he plodded along, boots slipping in the sand, clutching Zelda’s words to him as tightly as he clutched the sailcloth.

Something at his back gave out an occasional weak pulse, and Link matched his steps to the faint rhythm. The horizon began to lighten, orange streaks shooting through the sky, and somewhere in that time, Link stopped shivering, the temperature rising again as he trekked endlessly across the sands.

Step, after step, after step.

He kept walking.

The sun broke over the horizon, making his eyes sting from its brightness. His footsteps weaved uncertainly as it cast orangey rays across the sands, voices warbling to him on the wind, cheering him, jeering at him, words both indecipherable and clear as ice.

A red haired man yelled at him after spending all day with Zelda, and a tall woman fiercely berated him, making his ears sting. The armor looked at his sword with dislike and anger while a bunny twitched his whiskers, the very grass and trees laughed, dusk fell and cried out as he struggled against the darkness, his parents looked at him with pride and grief and Mia wove around his legs as she begged to be picked up—

Link belatedly realized he’d fallen to the ground, still-cool sand pressing against his cheek.

Zelda’s voice had gone quiet, no more yellow hair to follow, no voice urging him up. Link breathed out, his strength gone. The faint flicker he’d regained was utterly spent. His body had been pushed to its limit, and he’d gone as far as he could. He’d given it his all.

He couldn’t keep going.

The darkness started to creep up on him again, but it felt colder this time, deep, reaching out to drag him down with its claws. Link shivered and wanted to brush it off, but he couldn’t even raise his arm.

I’m sorry Zel.

The claws hooked into him, began to cover his vision, sending darkness over his sight, but as they did, Link thought he saw a flicker of color out in the sand.

A yell rang faintly in his ears as he closed his eyes, footsteps pounding the sand. More yells joined the first as Link relaxed, and the sand brushed his other cheek, though it felt remarkably smooth and gentle as darkness swept over him like a wave.

For some reason, he felt perfectly safe.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu Sky #zelink #lu Sun #...or is it?#whumptober 2023 #day 2 #thermometer #delirium #I’ll call out your name but you won’t call back #writing from the floor #these first few ended up so longgggg #but I guess that’s what happens when I actually have time to plan #don’t worry after the first week they’ll be pretty disastrous XD

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boowhumps · 1 year ago

Text

Whumptober 2023

Day 8

(@whumptober)

By - B.W

⚠TW⚠

~ Swearing

~ Mentions of Death

~ Mentions of Injury

Enjoy!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Freyja breathed heavily, brushing her blonde bangs out of her face. She scrambled about the room, looking.

“C’mon.. c’mon.. fuck.. where is it..?” She whispers to herself, throwing things aside frantically.

Her eyes widen at the sight of a locked box. She grabs it, and starts to mess around with the lock.

It won’t budge.

Freyja groans in frustration as she speaks into her earpiece.

“Silas-!” She whispers, looking around.

A voice comes through. “Frey-! Did you get it-“

“No-!” Freyja says angrily. “You didn’t say there was a passcode!”

Silas groans. “Passcode-? Damnit-! Give me a second Frey-!”

Freyja sighs. “Fine-! Just.. hurry up-!”

She leans back, inspecting the box. She sighs, throwing it in front of her. She stands up, pacing through the room.

“C’mon Silas.. I’m counting on you..” She mumbles.

Suddenly, there’s banging on the door. Her eyes go wide, and she goes silent.

“You didn’t think I would notice, huh!” A voice shouts.

Freyja’s blood runs cold. She stays silent.

“I know you’re in there.. they call you remnant, no.?” The voice says coldly.

The banging resumes, and Freyja runs to the door, blocking it with her body. She whispers into her earpiece.

“Silas.! I need you, Silas.!” She says desperately, but there’s no response.

The banging grows as more voices shout, leaving Freyja terrified.

“Fuck, I’ll get you! You hear me, I’ll get you, and when I do, I’ll do what my grandfather couldn’t!” The main voice shouts.

Freyja breathes erratically, her body shaking. She scans the room, only to find no exits. She gasps as she feels the door hinges coming undone.

Finally, Silas responds.

“Frey-! The code is 0126-! You got it-?” He tells her.

“Silas-! They found me-! I can’t hold them off-! I’m outnumbered-!” Freyja says back.

“Hold on-! Just get the box-! I’ll help you out-!” Silas says.

Freyja calms her breaths. “Okay-! I’m going-!”

Freyja pushes herself to rush forward towards the box, grabbing it. Her hands shake as she fumbles with the lock.

“Fuck, come on-!” She curses, trying to hurry as she hears the door giving way.

She fumbles until the lock gives way, and so does the door.

Freyja manages to grab the shard of the jewel and contain it in her pocket before she’s kicked down. She yelps, breathing heavily as footsteps approach her.

She touches her earpiece. “..Silas-“

She’s cut off as she’s pulled to her feet, and forced to stare straight into a pair of cold, green eyes.

“..look at you..” He mumbles.

Freyja turns her head away from him, shutting her eyes.

“They really sent you for this..? I expected someone else, really..” He continues.

“I don’t think we’ve formally met, I’m Sullivan.” He says. “And you must be Remnant.. or do they usually call you Freyja.?” He speaks slowly.

“I know much about you, my grandfather’s books hold much information..” He says, pacing about the room. “You were taken from an orphanage, and they intended for you to become a demon-werewolf mix..”

Freyja looks at him. “You don’t know any-“

She’s cut off with a kick to her stomach, making her cry out and curl in on herself.

“..that’s where you’re wrong..” Sullivan replies. “You were a failed experiment, and that’s why you tried to escape.. but your friend sold you out..” He replies sadly.

Freyja shakes her head. “..no..”

“But she did.” He says. “And they caught you again.. then you were killed.. yet somehow.. you’re right in front of me..” He mumbles.

Freyja narrows her eyes at him. “Fuck you..”

Sullivan laughs. “Poor Freyja.. left for dead once again..”

He pulls her close, looking her straight in the eyes.

“This time, you won’t come back."

Before Freyja can respond, a searing pain erupts in her side. Her eyes go wide as seen realizes she's been stabbed. She can't even scream.

The hold that was on her disappears, and she falls to the ground. She watched the shard of the jewel in front of her be picked up by Sullivan. She reaches out and grabs his arm.

Sullivan stares at her in confusion. Freyja musters up enough energy to speak.

"..long live amnesia.." She mumbles with a smile.

Sullivan's eyes go wide and he grabs her, pinning her up against the wall by her neck. Freyja struggles, gasping for air. Her vision fades in and out, leaving her dazed.

Suddenly, a portal opens up behind him, and a knife is thrown from it, missing Sullivan's head by an inch.

He lets go of Freyja, letting her fall once again. All she hears is footsteps running, and the shard falls in front of her view. She reaches out for it, taking it in her grasp.

She feels her breaths slow as her vision fades in and out.

She only stirs when she feels someone grabbing her. She cries in pain as she's lifted off the floor, and put up against something warm.

"..Si-.." She mumbles, gripping onto the familiar grey coat.

"Shhh.. you did it Frey.. you got it.." He whispers.

Freyja grabs his hand, placing the shard into it. He squeezes her hand and slowly places a kiss on her forehead.

"..make him pay.." She whispers to Silas. "..don't let him hurt.. anyone.. else.."

Silas nods. "I won't.. you'll be okay, yeah.? Just stay with me.."

Freyja feels a few stray tears leave her eyes. "..I don't.. want to die.." She mumbles, feeling weak.

Silas shakes his head. "You won't.. just hold on Frey.. I won't let you go.."

She can't muster up the energy to even groan as she's lifted completely off the ground, despite the pain..

She tried to blink away the black spots in her vision to no avail..

She feels her breaths slow until she can hardly hear them herself..

And the last thing she sees is a familiar castle as her body gives way into exhaustion..

Freyja groans softly, her eyes slowly opening. She looks at her surroundings, taking a few moments to realize that this is her room in Celestial.

She tries to move, only to watch her limbs fall back on to the bed. Even the once sharp pain she felt in her side was hardly even there.

She sighs slowly, eyes scanning the dark room.

They look around until they stop suddenly, staring at.. him..

His blonde wavy hair is let out of its ponytail, resting against the back of his neck. His grey coat is on the back of the chair he's on.. and his head rests on Freyja's bedside.

She looks at his hand clutching her own in a warm embrace, which brings a small smile to her face.

She slowly pulls her head away from his, and lifts it, letting it slowly rest on his head. She runs her hands through his soft, wavy hair.

She lets her hand fall back into his after a bit, letting sleep take her once again, for she has nothing to worry about if he's here with her..

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

#whumptober #whumptober day 8 #whump writing #YIPPEE #i am in love with this y'all #like AGHH i love these two OC's #also their newly found ship #like i barley starting actually shipping them 2 days ago #but like THEY WERE MADE FOR EACH OTHER #lowkey lowkey they give me Finn x Rose vibes #if you watch star wars then you know who im referring to #anyways ima not keep talking because im the only one who reads these damn tags #and as always #enjoy! :)

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