#not much longer

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 30: “Not much longer...”

Downfall duo!!! A shorter fic, but I think I’m burnt out lol

Read on ao3

Warnings: blood & injury, a little intense

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“C’mon Legend, not much longer,” Hyrule grunted, and Legend moaned, a hand pressed tightly to his middle. “We can stop soon, we just need to cover a bit more ground.”

“Can’t stop,” Legend breathed, flinching as something snarled in the distance. “Th’ll find you, keep going.”

Hyrule didn’t bother arguing, knowing it wouldn’t help the situation.

A monster howled somewhere nearby, closer then the previous sound, and Hyrule tried to quicken his pace, dragging Legend through the dark woods. He didn’t know why or how the monsters had mistaken Legend’s blood for his, but they were being hunted because of it.

And he was so low on magic that if he tried to heal Legend, Hyrule wouldn’t be able to run any more.

Legend stumbled, and Hyrule tightened his grip, Legend letting out an unsteady breath.

“Hang on Ledge, hang on, we just need to put some more distance between them,” Hyrule breathed, and Legend nodded, his face pale from what Hyrule could see of it. The lack of snarky reply made his heart beat faster then it already was, and Hyrule tried to speed up even more.

They were in his time he knew, but he didn’t know this area as well as some others, and couldn’t remember any safe spots anywhere close by. There was a little voice in the back of his head telling him that they were moving too slow, that they wouldn’t make it, that they’d be caught and Legend would be killed once they figured out it wasn’t his blood that they wanted, but Hyrule forced it away.

They could make it.

Legend suddenly stumbled, dropping in Hyrule’s arms so abruptly that Hyrule fell along with him.

They both fell to the dirt, Legend gasping as he landed on his side, and Hyrule quickly scrambled upright and tried to pull Legend to his feet. The veteran shook as Hyrule put his arm back around him, and he dragged him upright, the sound of pounding feet and monsters baying for blood growing louder.

“R-Rule, I-I can’t,” Legend croaked, and Hyrule looked at him, his heart in his throat. “I can’t...”

“Legend no, come on, just a bit further,” Hyrule said, voice shaking a little. “We can make it, we just need to keep moving.”

Legend looked at him tiredly, but there was a spark of determination in his eyes as he met Hyrule’s.

“Rule you gotta... gotta leave me. K-keep going.”

“Not an option,” Hyrule snapped, and cast desperately around the woods for something to help them. All that met him were huge shadowed trees, twisted roots and a dark, moonless sky.

“Want your b-blood, more ‘portant you... get away,” Legend whispered.

Torches suddenly glinted close by, too close, and Hyrule’s frantic gaze finally caught on a particularly tangled tree up ahead. A deafening howl rang through the forest, and Hyrule nearly carried Legend to the knot of roots he’d spotted, the hole just large enough that he was able to press both of them inside.

Legend made a sharp noise of distress when Hyrule accidentally nudged his injury, and he shushed him, curling around Legend so he was further hidden.

“Stay quiet Vet, we can’t let them hear us,” Hyrule breathed, the sharp tang of blood reaching his nose as he held Legend’s head close to him. Legend let out a pained breath, and Hyrule shushed him again as a monster hissed, still too close for comfort.

Footsteps pounded even closer, and Hyrule pressed them both tighter under the knot of mossy roots. All he could do was hope the shelter would be enough to hide them.

Torchlight flickered, and Hyrule tried to quiet his ragged breathing as he heard footsteps pound the dirt right next to their hiding spot. Legend flinched suddenly, his breath stuttering, and Hyrule pulled his head to his chest, trying to muffle any noises he made.

The footsteps stopped, and Hyrule closed his eyes, hoping desperately that the monsters would pass them by and not sniff out the blood dampening Legend’s tunic.

Please keep going, please don’t find us, keep going, keep going please...

A monster growled, and Hyrule heard a few voices exchange words in broken Hylian, hisses and snarls filtering down through the roots. Leaves crunched right by Hyrule’s feet, and he looked over in terror at the tail lashing right by their hiding spot.

Legend’s arm suddenly shifted, slowly reaching down to his side. Hyrule felt his hands shaking as he rifled in his pouch, and the leaves beside them rustled, a low snarl making the hair on Hyrule’s neck stand straight up.

A hole was suddenly torn in the roots above them, but Legend threw something over the both of them at the same time with a pained gasp.

A lizalfos stared down at them, tongue flicking between its teeth, and before Hyrule could try to attack or scramble away, Legend pressed his hand over his mouth.

The lizalfos continued to stare, looking directly at Hyrule and Legend, but made no move to attack. It extended its face only a few inches from Hyrule’s, so close that the traveler could count the scales on its snout, but still didn’t try anything.

It let out a low hiss through its teeth, and then it drew back, snarling something as it stalked away.

Hyrule let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and Legend shakily withdrew his hand.

Neither of them moved though, snarls and growls still ringing through the trees. After what felt like forever, footsteps pounded across the dirt, leaves crunching as the noises faded, and the torchlight receded, leaving them in almost complete darkness.

Hyrule looked over at Legend, his breathing ragged, and the veteran shakily pulled down what looked like a deep red cloak from their faces.

“How...”

“Invisibility cloak,” Legend croaked, breathing out shakily. “Takes m-magic to use though, I... can’t do th-that again.”

Hyrule let out a laugh that was a little hysterical, and rested his head against Legend’s, both of them trembling with the close call.

“I think we can stay here for the night,” Hyrule breathed eventually, and Legend made a small noise of agreement. “I don’t think they’ll come back any time soon.”

Hyrule shifted a little, Legend hissing in pain, and he set his hand on Legend’s bloodied side, calling forth the dregs of magic he had left.

“Rule...”

“You’re going to bleed out if I don’t,” Hyrule murmured, and Legend exhaled, letting him use what magic he could to stop the bleeding.

He stopped before long, feeling lightheaded from the magical drain. He hadn’t been able to completely heal Legend, but he wouldn’t die from the injury now, as long as they paid attention to it.

Legend murmured a quiet thanks, and Hyrule nodded, closing his eyes. He hoped the monsters wouldn’t come back— the odds of them checking their hiding spot again were slim, but... still possible. There really was no reason to suspect that they were here though, and they should be safe for the night.

Neither of them had the strength to move anyway.

Legend set his head on his, still slightly trembling, and Hyrule felt himself begin to drift, exhausted from the adrenaline draining away, and the low state of his magic.

“That was close,” he whispered, and he felt Legend swallow, holding him a little more tightly.

“Yeah. It was,” he whispered back.

They both drifted off not long after that, ears still pricked for the sounds of distant snarls and howls, curled up tightly under Legend’s cloak.

[madmanwonder]

You have to survive one month in your last watched cartoon/animated series, how screwed are you.

[evillittlebirdie]

Salvation (Kar'niss/Tav)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine

"Astarion deserves all the credit for this idea," Tav complimented with a smile. She stopped near the tree where, at the base, sat a bucket and a small bag.

"Where would you be if it wasn't for this creative brain?" Astarion delightedly responded. The two laughed, and Kar'niss pursed his lips.

Before Kar'niss could ruminate on the apparent insolence Astarion showed, his attention was taken away by Tav climbing the tree. He watched in interest as she swiftly moved through the limbs before settling on one near Kar'niss's height. "Kar'niss! Walk over here. I want to see if I'm high enough."

Kar'niss obeyed as though her command was as second nature as breathing. He walked over to her. His head reached the height of the branch she was perched on. "Perfect! I guessed correctly," Tav beamed. She straddled the limb and raised her hand against Kar'niss's hair.  

Ilhar grabbed Kar'niss's hair and pulled him from the vanity. Her manicured nails clawed into his scalp. There was no use protesting, but Kar'niss still squirmed against his mother's grip. She dragged him out of his bed-chamber and down the hallway. Servants and slaves scattered out of the way. Only one, a female duergar slave whose mind was far gone, lingered. They dutifully picked up the pieces of ribbon that fell from Kar'niss' hair. 

Kar'niss is slapped and berated for an infraction he doesn't remember committing. Ilhar says he disrespected his tutor. Kar'niss doesn't remember, but obviously, he must have. 

Kar'niss didn't move as Tav touched his hair. He kept his breath, ready to be hit for his committed transgressions. Instead, Tav explained, "If it's alright with you, I would really like to wash your hair. I didn't want to offer until I could figure out the logistics. I can't exactly ask you to lean into a basin." She gestured towards his body. 

The drider never had the misfortune of being thrown through the air. Still, Kar'niss imagined the sensation was similar to how he was feeling now. What she proposed served no purpose. His extra eyes could see the thin layer of grime that now appeared on Tav's fingers. 

Filthy creature. Putrid, rotting from the inside out. Fit only for caves and dirt. Blood, bile, mud, viscera, oil, matted, wiry-

 But suddenly, Tav's soft voice entered his mind. "Kar'niss."

The other voices scattered away once Tav's light entered his mind. Soothing and sweetly, she told him, "Please do this. Trust me."

His Majesty's Chosen commanded him. Alight with renewed purpose, Kar'niss ignored his mind's insults. He nodded in agreement and was rewarded with Tav's pearly smile.

Astarion grabbed the bucket and the bag. He held both items up high for Tav to grab. 

"It may be cold," She warned him as she waved her hand. The bucket suddenly filled with water. She sat on the side saddle on the limb and placed the bucket between her legs.  

"Ah yes, she warns the drider the water is cold. Not me." Astarion lamented. 

Kar'niss wished he could use one of his legs to kick the elf away. But he stopped himself. Astarion was obviously a pet favorite of Her Majesty's Chosen. Kar'niss would only need time to prove the vain elf's heresy. He could smell the elf's faithlessness. He believed in nothing. 

"For the hundredth time, I apologize," Tav sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'll remember that the next time your arms are so sore you can't lift them up."

Astarion huffed disrespectfully, his arms crossing his chest. "Hmph, well, I will leave you to your beauty parlor." Tav chuckled in response, waving to Astarion with her free hand.

Kar'niss was relieved to watch Astarion stroll off. "Can you tilt your head back for me?" Tav asked him. He forgot about Astarion and obeyed Tav. He tilted his head back, and the back of his neck hit the bucket's rim. 

The water that cascaded from Tav's hand was cool, but it wasn't the temperature that made Kar'niss flinch. How long had it been since he felt the water on his hair? He remembered his first few days on the surface. It rained one day, which was a very jarring event for him. And before that, it was when he fell into the water the first day he saw his reflection.

Kar'niss' heart twisted in mortification. It had been years then. So many years. His hygiene never bothered him before. He had grown used to the layers of dirt and dried blood. Before he was introduced to the Absolute, he was content. He had hoped that one day when she made him whole, he could be clean and pure. 

***

Tav didn't care to admit she had a secret motivation for washing Kar'niss's hair. She needed information. And she knew she could ply it out of him. 

Tav ran her fingers through Kar'niss's hair, pulling at the knots. Underneath the oil, Tav could tell his hair was strong and thick. It just needed some tender care. And she was happy to provide. She made sure to pull her fingers carefully through the tangles. She didn't want to hurt his scalp or accidentally pull more hair than necessary. She began to speak as she rinsed his hair, "I used to wash the hair of all my brothers and sisters. I came from a pretty big family. I was the oldest of twelve. What about you?"

"Only son. Disgrace," Kar'niss mumbled quietly, "Five sisters. Proud, proud daughters. All yathrin, priestesses of the spider bitch." 

Tav frowned at his self-depreciation. But didn't know if she should address it or not. She hesitated as she looked at the water. It was already brown, almost black from all the grime she cleaned. She placed her hand under his neck and eased him up. She could feel the hard shell of his exoskeleton rising up to his hairline, where there was a thin line of skin. She pretended not to hear the Kar'niss's breath catch in his throat. She pretended not to feel his pulse quicken. She ran her fingers through his hair, squeezing the excess water into the bucket. 

"You grew up very differently than me. I had six brothers and five sisters..." Tav disclosed as she tossed the bucket of dirty water on the ground below. She filled the pail again with clean water and returned his head to the bucket. 

"Six brothers..." Kar'niss echoed in amazement. Tav couldn't fault him for finding the situation strange. She heard that most noble Drow families allowed for two sons before they began to sacrifice the males. 

Tav reached her wet hand into the bag and pulled out the small bottle of rosemary oil. She poured half of the bottle's contents onto Kar'niss's hair and began to lather.

Kar'niss inhaled deeply, obviously picking up on the aroma of the oil. "Courtesy of Astarion," Tav explained, "No disrespect to my fellow companions, but he's the only one whose hair doesn't smell like lye." 

"Mistress likes this smell?"Kar'niss clarified. 

"Rosemary? Oh, I love it. I can do without that pomade he douses his hair in. But I love the scent," Tav imparted. 

Kar'niss hummed in response, a chirp vibrating in his throat.

Despite herself, Tav giggled softly and told him, "I like that sound you make. That little chirrup. It's cute." 

Kar'niss's extra eyes began to blink rapidly. "Mistress?" He called in confusion. Tav might as well be speaking Draconic rather than Common. 

Tav avoided his call and continued to later his hair in the water. His hair was as white as fallen snow now that it was clean. She moved her fingers to his scalp and began to massage the skin. She was concerned when Kar'niss started to tense. But slowly, he relaxed under her ministrations. 

"Moonrise Towers. That is where you were taking those pilgrims, correct?" Tav inquired. 

"Yes. They sought to pray in my Queen's glory. Our Queen," Kar'niss replied. "Her Majesty's Chosen, General Thorm, is preparing an army."

Fuck.

"An army, you say..." Tav continued on, moving her fingers along scarred skin. How long had it been since Kar'niss had been touched by anyone? How long had it been since a kind, delicate hand gave him mercy? She should be ashamed of herself for taking advantage of him. 

"They shall follow, or they shall submit," Kar'niss answered reverently. A soft moan vibrated in his throat. He bit his lips to quiet it. "But General Thorm cannot move yet."

"Oh?" Tav tried to choose her words carefully. As far as Kar'niss knew, she was one of the Aboslute's Chosen. She rinsed Kar'niss's hair again and allowed the bucket to drop. She reached into the bag to pull out a comb. She brushed through Kar'niss's hair. "He is searching for the weapon." She thought about the Astral Prism safely tucked away at camp. 

"Not much longer," Kar'niss hummed. A purr vibrated in his tone. "He'll find it soon. That and the Nightsong. Balthazar is close to finding it."

The Nightsong. So, this mysterious artifact was connected to the cult as well. Just as Tav suspected. Well, Tav had to find the Nightsong before this Balthazar did.

Tav didn't press her luck. She finished brushing Kar'niss's hair and began to braid it. The movement was as second nature to her as any other caretaking activity.��

"Mistress?" Kar'niss spoke, his voice tentative and still vibrating. 

"Yes, Kar'niss?" Tav acknowledged, taking care of her styling.

***

Kar'niss allowed his mind to wander to a place he had no right to be in. He thought about turning his body to face her. He would reach to pick up Tav in his arms. He would cradle her against his chest. His abominable body would ache, searching for a release he could never have. He cursed the Spider Queen. But he would do what he could to please His Majesty's Chosen. Kar'niss had served well and was granted a tender touch. And he would spend the rest of his life cherishing Her if only Tav would touch him one more time. 

"Never mind," Kar'niss answered. He was a coward. And he deserved to rot in the shadows rather than have any grace. "Forgive me for distracting you."

"No forgiveness necessary," Tav commented in her affectionate tone. She gave his hair a final pull before taking a long ribbon from the bag. She used the ribbon to tie his hair back.

Pretty things long ago. Far and long ago. Ilhar wants me to marry. I do not want to marry. I want to be a cleric like my sisters. Ilhar will be proud of me. Lolth will shine upon me. 

"You look absolutely stunning. Your hair is beautiful," Tav remarked. 

Kar'niss hesitantly brought his hand to his hair. It was still damp, but he could already feel the difference. He ran his fingers down the braid to the silk ribbon that tied it together. 

"Thank you, thank you, Mistress..." Kar'niss gratefully murmured, feeling tears form in his eyes. He blinked his eyes close, averting his gaze from Tav. "I feel my strength returning with each day. Maybe soon I can join you on your travels," Kar'niss offered, desperation tinging his voice. He could feel his abdomen tremble in anticipation. 

He would draw blood for her. 

[rd-eternity]

Whumptober Day 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer…”

Words: 2.4k

Summary: Theo and Liam fight better together, they learn as much in the hospital. Do they stay so in sync afterward, when Liam starts getting worse and worse?

“Do you have to be anywhere?” Liam asks.  Theo shakes his head.  Without the Dread Doctors directing him around, he’s a lost wolf without a den to return home to.  “Can you stay for a while.”  He winces in pain when he tries putting pressure on his leg, color draining from his face.  “You don’t-” “I can stay,” he says.  Liam sways on his feet, eyes fluttering.  “Let’s sit you down.”   They don’t get the chance.  The beta’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls.  In the same movement he catches him with an arm behind the back, Theo scoops his other underneath Liam’s legs, so his knees are tucked over his elbow.  He nearly stumbles at the added weight, but hoists Liam up against his chest.  His own shoulder burns in pain.  Bullet wounds take longer to heal when the bullet is still inside, and when his body is trying to patch up other cuts and bruises at the same time.  Liam’s head falls back, his muscles going slack, completely limp in his grasp. Getting up the stairs is a challenge, almost falling with an unconscious Liam in his arms.  He has no idea where his bedroom is, just follows where his scent is strongest.  He kicks the door open with one foot, adjusting Liam in his arms.  The beta shifts, neck tipping back, hair tickling Theo’s forearm.   Gently as he can, he sets Liam down his bed, sliding his arms from underneath him.  He puts a hand on his forehead, skin burning up.  Every part of the room has different scents, all so uniquely Liam.  Being in his space makes it hard to keep a handle on his own chemosignals, with how much he wants to sink into Liam’s.  That’ll have to wait.  

[ohanahoku-ao3]

Whumptober 2023 Day 30

So close to finishing these prompts, just one left after this one! Hope you guys enjoy it, this one is one of my favorites! <3

Teen & Up - Gen - Merlin (TV)

Their Strength, Their Shelter

     Gwaine watched Arthur limp along the deer path they were following through the forest, frowning as Arthur again ignored Leon’s offer to help him. They had been attacked by bandits, and while their prince was the only one who sustained an injury, their horses had spooked, leaving them stranded and forced to walk back to the capital. They wouldn’t make it by nightfall, and Gwaine was relieved when Arthur called them all to make camp. His friend had been limping for hours on a bad leg, and while he’d let Merlin tend to it, he was refusing any offer of support for his injured leg.

     Gwaine watched as Merlin forced Arthur to sit down and fussed over his injury momentarily, looking frustrated when the prince sent him away to collect firewood. He shook his head, heading over to sit down next to Arthur. “He’s just worried. We all are.” He told him, taking a sip from his flask before offering it to Arthur.

     “There’s no need, I’m fine,” Arthur said, taking the flask and tipping it back for a swallow.

     Gwaine chuckled, shaking his head. “You nobles are all alike. Too proud to admit you’re not okay.” He took his flask back for a few long sips. “I’m sure I’ll have to say it more than once for it to penetrate that thick skull of yours, but it’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’ We won’t think any less of you for it.” He glanced at Arthur and sighed as he saw his friend’s face close off. He passed the flask back to him rather than comment on it. “Drink the rest. It’ll ease the pain.”

     Arthur looked like he might refuse but then relented, taking the flask and bringing it to his lips once more. “Thanks.”

     Gwaine nodded, patting Arthur’s shoulder before taking his leave and heading to the forest to help Merlin collect the firewood.

     It was late at night when Gwaine found Arthur in the training yard, yelling in rage as he destroyed a fighting dummy. He watched in the pale moonlight for a minute as Arthur utterly demolished the sturdy wood figurine, anger and grief making every movement sloppy but powerful until he stood there, chest heaving as he stared at the fallen target. Gwaine stepped forward then, calling out to his friend. “Destroying our practice dummies won’t help.”

     Arthur whirled to face him, eyes sparking with grief, but his face set in a furious sneer.

     Gwaine spoke again before Arthur could retort. “What you need is a real challenge.” He drew his sword, lifting his chin in a clear dare for Arthur to come at him.

     And Arthur did, lunging at Gwaine and holding nothing back as they parried, dodged, and exchanged blow for blow. Gwaine goaded him on, provoking Arthur at every missed strike and letting him work out his anger. He took every hit Arthur delivered, his muscles straining as he fought to keep up with Arthur’s erratic pace. He kept up until Arthur’s attacks started growing weaker, until Arthur’s tears blinded him to the point of missing every strike, until Arthur’s hands shook so hard they couldn’t hold his sword anymore, and it fell onto the grass.

     Gwaine threw his own sword aside as Arthur fell to his knees; the prince-turned-king wracked with sobs as he doubled over and screamed hoarsely into the dirt. Gwaine knelt next to him, one hand around Arthur’s lower back and the other at his shoulder as he held him close. “That’s it, Arthur. You don’t have to be okay. Not now.”

     The knight looked up and saw Merlin standing several yards away at the edge of the yard. It was nearly impossible to see Merlin’s eyes in the low light, but Gwaine couldn’t help noticing how his best friend was drowning in guilt. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sooner than he had, Merlin turned and ran, as silent as if he’d never been there.

     Ringing in his ears brought Gwaine to, and he reached up to hold his head on as he sat up. “Merlin?” He called, looking around and wincing when his voice felt like a hammer against his head. “Arthur? Anyone?” He stumbled to his feet, looking around for his compatriots. There were a couple of men face down in the dirt, wearing the sigils of the clan that had attacked them, but his friends were nowhere to be seen.

     “Gwaine.”

     A weak call of his name had Gwaine whirling around as he hurried towards the voice, the ache in his head fading slightly from adrenaline. “Arthur! Are you okay?” He called, stumbling over the uneven ground of the forest.

     A shaky breath preceded the soft answer. “No.”

     The answer chilled Gwaine to the bone as he came upon his king. “Arthur.” He breathed upon finding the young man sitting against a rotting log with blood staining his clothes. “What happened?” He asked, kneeling beside him as he lifted Arthur’s shirt to examine the wound.

     “Got… stabbed,” Arthur said, his eyes closing for a minute before they struggled to open again. “Merlin. They took Merlin.”

     “We’ll get him back,” Gwaine promised, fastening a makeshift bandage around Arthur’s torso. “But you need medical attention first. Do you think you can stand?”

     Arthur shook his head, grimacing as he admitted, “I’m not okay.”

     “That’s alright. I’ve got you.” Gwaine promised, swallowing thickly. It was the first time Arthur had admitted such a thing to him, and while the circumstances were what brought it about, it was obvious those words cost Arthur his pride. He placed a hand under Arthur’s shoulders and another under his knees. “Alright, up we go.”

     He stood with Arthur in his arms, the king gasping in pain from the minimal movement and a little more red seeping into the bandage around him. “Stop, stop,” Arthur begged, and Gwaine stilled for a moment as Arthur got used to the new position, his face growing paler by the second until he nodded silently.

     “Let’s get you home, Princess,” Gwaine said as he walked forward, grinning when Arthur still managed to glare at him for the nickname. They walked for hours, occasionally taking short breaks for Arthur to drink some of the water from Gwaine’s half-empty canteen. As they went, Arthur got paler and paler, slipping in and out of consciousness as he started to whimper in pain.

     “It hurts,” Arthur admitted at length, voice smaller than Gwaine had ever heard from the young king. “It hurts.” He repeated, and Gwaine glanced down at him just as Arthur passed out.

     The knight cursed and walked faster, frantically searching for any sign that they were getting close. A half-hour passed before Gwaine recognized a small stream, his eyes lighting up. “We’re almost there, Arthur. Not much longer.” He informed his unconscious friend as he picked up his pace.

     When they finally reached the capital, Percival met them at the gate, carrying Arthur to Gaius as Elyan went to fetch Leon. As soon as they learned that Arthur would be okay, they wasted no time saddling their horses to ride out in search of Merlin and his captors. But as they were about to mount their horses, a commotion at the gate drew their attention. There, at the entrance, stood Merlin. Gwaine’s friend was shirtless, with some sort of symbol half-drawn, half-smeared in blood across his chest. His arms were littered with bruises, and more blood smudged his face and hands. The sight was so startling that no one moved nor said a word until Merlin spoke, his voice shaking as he asked about Arthur.

     At Gwen’s stuttered assurance that the king was okay, Merlin sobbed in relief before crumpling in on himself. His knees hit the stone floor of the courtyard hard, spurring them all into action as they rushed to the servant’s side.

     Sometime later, after Merlin had been cleaned up, Gwaine stood with him by Arthur’s bedside. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, watching Merlin closely.

     “I’m fine,” Merlin said, echoing the same phrase he had said earlier, even after being forced to explain the horrible things the cult had tried to do to him.

     Gwaine sighed, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay.’” He told him, watching as Merlin’s eyes flicked to his, his blue eyes haunted and wary. Gwaine shook his head fondly, ruffling Merlin’s hair. “It’s okay, Merls. You don’t have to say it now. But I’ll be here to listen when you’re ready to say it.”

     Merlin stared at him for a moment longer before nodding once, curt and stoic, before looking back at Arthur like the king would disappear if he took his eyes off him for too long.

     Gwaine stayed with them both through the night. After all, he was their Strength, and he’d be there to support them regardless of whether they were ready to admit they needed the help or not.

[riahlynn101]

Whumptober Day Thirty: "Not Much Longer Now."

Takes place in the FNAF movie universe.

This is a work in progress, but I've been so busy. Day 29 (which I'll post sometime today) and day 30 are basically the same story told from two Point of views. This one is Garrett's POV. And day 29 is Mike's.

I'm going to put the story under a read more just in case I decide to include spoilers.

Trigger warnings: Child death, major character death, blood, gore, implied/referenced kidnapping.

Edited 10/31/2023 - added onto the story. Minor grammar and spelling edits.

Garrett can still recall the pain he felt. The knife ripping into his flesh. Uncle William staring down at him with a cold expression, not a hint of remorse in his eyes. He remembers calling out for his brother. 

Mike never failed to show up before. Rushing into his bedroom during a thunderstorm to make sure Garrett’s okay. Checking under his bed for monsters every night without fail. And letting Garrett curl up next to him whenever he got scared. 

But that day, for one reason or another, his brother never showed up. 

Garrett died…scared and alone and-

The next couple decades are an endless blur of nightmares. Terrible beasts with claws and forked tongues chasing and lunging at him.

Sometimes, though, he’d get lucky. Instead of beating back monsters with a flashlight, Garrett would find himself being forced to reenact his last moments with his family. It should frighten him, being forced to do anything. But he gets to see his family again, and it’s the last good memory he has. 

He likes being able to play again, zooming around the picnic table with his toy airplane. Mike bought it for him with his birthday money. Garrett loved that toy until the day he died. Quite literally too, he died holding it. 

The only bad part of the dream is seeing his big brother so distressed. Watching Mike run after the car, calling out his name, hurts. His heart aches terribly. He longs to reach out to his brother, hug him and tell him that it’s okay. That despite what happened, it’s not his fault. None of it is Mike’s fault. 

But slowly, over the years, that wish changed. 

It morphed into something more permanent. 

A simple hug and some meaningless words wouldn’t suffice. His brother spent years ruminating on his kidnapping. Sure, it might work in the moment, but what happens when Mike wakes up? Will he be satisfied, or will his self-blaming tendencies come back in full swing?

Garrett puts his plan into motion. 

It starts with the reopening of a long abandoned pizzeria. When management starts talking about hiring a security guard, Mike’s file ends up on their desk. 

He talks with the other children, and makes sure that they know not to mess with Mike. They listen to him-for the most part-but Cassidy glares at him. Not that Garrett cares. As long as they leave his brother alone, they can hate him all they want. 

The next part of his plan is left to chance. It’s hard to maneuver the marionette, so leaving the pizzeria is hard. And it’s not like he can threaten his brother into taking the position anyway. Well, he can-if he could leave-but Garrett doesn’t want his brother to take the job out of fear. 

Instead, he calls his brother, dialing the only number that he could ever remember. His voice isn’t picked up by the receiver, so Garrett has to get creative. A customer left a speak and spell, so he uses that to communicate. 

He doesn’t have a lot of time, so he chooses his words carefully. Something that can’t be confused with anything else. 

“C…O….M….E…..F…I….N…D…..M….E….”

His brother always just hangs up the phone. Which Garrett finds to be a little bit rude. Their mom raised them better than that. He’ll have to remind him of that when they meet again. 

Mike takes the job, thankfully. And the kids do their part and stay away. Cassidy is noticeably absent most of the week, but Garrett has bigger things to worry about. 

The one and only thing that gets in his way during the week is the stupid music box. Whenever it’s played, he’s forced into a deep slumber. A deep slumber with the same monsters that have tormented him all these many years. And there’s no way to disable it, Garrett’s tired - many times. 

Fortunately, his brother slips up. He falls asleep at the security desk, head pillowed by his arms. The music box slows down until it stops entirely. 

Garrett maneuvers the marionette, maneuvering it through hallways and into the main office. He watches his brother sleep, a peaceful look on his face. Putting the marionette down, he creeps closer. 

He touches Mike’s forehead, setting the final part of his plan into motion. 

Garrett stands in the same forest that he was kidnapped from. The sun is out, shining down through the treetops. 

“Mike!” He calls, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Mikey!”

“Garrett!?”

Garrett whirls around to face his brother. “Mike!” He shouts, practically launching himself at his brother. It has been way too long since he could hug him. 

His brother hugs him tightly, body wracked with sobs. Tears stream from his eyes, but Garrett chooses not to mention it. Mike has always been weird about crying, especially in front of people. Which strikes him as odd, given that their parents used to encourage them to cry if they had big emotions. 

“I…I’ve missed you,” Mike murmurs. 

“Missed you too.”

“And I’m sorry. I should have-” 

Garrett cuts him off. This is supposed to be a happy moment, and he isn’t going to let his brother spiral into unhappy thoughts. “Nope. Not here. Not today.”

Sniffling, Mike nods. “Okay…yeah. Sorry.” He returns to hugging Garrett. 

Eventually, when they pull away from each other, he takes his brother by the hand. “I want to show you something.”

And his brother accepts his hand without thinking twice, because of course he does. Mike has no reason not to trust him. They walk through the forest, underbrush crunching under their feet. 

“Uh…Gar…where are we going?”

He smiles at his brother, who now looks exactly how Garrett remembers him. A child only five to six years older than him. “Not much longer now. You’re going to love it.”

His brother mutters something under his breath, but he ignores it. 

They arrive at a clearing. It’s full of flowers. Daisies and roses and sunflowers as far as the eye can see. Garrett turns to his brother. 

“Do you like it?”

“It’s…pretty…” Mike says, sounding a little unsure of what to say. “Did you do this?”

“No.”

“Then who-”

“Do you want to stay here forever?”

His brother looks at him, confused. “What?”

“Do. You. Want. To. Stay. Here. Forever? With me, I mean.”

“Gar, I…can’t. We have a sister now, and she still needs me.”

That’s what he thought Mike was going to say, but it doesn’t hurt any less. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Mike asks, backing up a little bit. 

“Okay. I understand.” He doesn’t. It’s not fair. Why is Abby more important than him? He knew Mike first. “Before you wake up, can I have a hug?”

“Sure,” Mike says, though there’s a slight hesitation in his words. Like he’s afraid of Garrett, which is ridiculous because he wouldn’t hurt his brother without a good reason. He wraps his arms around Garrett.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” he whispers. Before his brother can ask what he means, Garrett plunges a knife in his back. His brother falls back.

Garrett stands over him, watching him wraith around in agony. “It’s going to be okay,” he tries his best to sound reassuring. He steps forward, knife poised in the air. 

“N-no! Stop, Garrett! What are you doing?” He scoots backward, using his arms to shield his face. 

“It’s going to be okay. I promise.” Garrett strikes his brother’s chest with the knife, making sure to hit his heart. The less suffering he puts Mike through, the better. 

His brother cries out one last time. 

He smiles down at his brother. All the pain will be worth it, he silently promises Mike. 

We can finally be together again….forever. 

[musewrangler]

The girl was strong past reasoning.

Three days they’d had her. Three days as she endured and screamed and suffered.

At last, Tarkin had summoned him and ordered that Vader personally interrogate the Rebel chit.

Vader hated Tarkin with the power of Mustafar’s lava flows, but Palpatine had ordered that he work with the Grand Moff on this Force damned vanity project.

Already, he’d had to chase down the stolen plans for Tarkin only to be thwarted by this very girl. So the sooner he could get the information from her, the sooner he could return to the Devastator and continue work on his own plans for the galaxy.

He entered her cell and she struggled into a sitting position.

So small.

So defiant.

But she looked much the worse for wear—-her hair straggling from its elegant coils and her robes stained with sweat, blood, and dirt.

“It is high time, Princess,” he informed her, while she glared at him. “For you to give us the stolen plans. And I am here to discuss that.”

[meetinginsamarra]

Whumptober Day 30 "not much longer"

Sherlock hesitated, carefully phrasing his words. “I’m so sorry that Mary died. For you and for Rosie. You were full of grief.”

“This does not excuse that I kicked you, a helpless person, on the ground. You did not even defend yourself. I broke two of your fucking ribs, Sherlock! Nearly irreversibly damaged your eye!”

“John…”

“Do you want to know what the worst thing about this is?” John clenched his fists and punched himself hard on the thighs, relishing in feeling the pain. “The worst thing is that I enjoyed doing it! The worst thing is that I would not have stopped had I not been yanked away from you!” John began crying openly. “I was your friend and did this to you! How can I ever look you into the eyes without feeling like the most despicable person ever?”

“John, come here.” Sherlock reached out with both hands, begging him to lean in and then he cradled John’s face, carefully pulling him close.

“Look into my eyes, John.”

John relented, his eyes wet and red but focusing on Sherlock’s.

Ella would be so proud if she could hear me repeating what she said to me a month ago. Even more so because I now actually believe it’s the right thing to do. The only way for us to rebuild our friendship is to lay down a strong foundation made of truth and trust.

“You have to let go of this guilt. We both did things that were horrible. We hurt each other. Maybe intentionally, maybe not. But we have to forgive. Each other and ourselves. Not much longer hold onto our griefs, failures and sorrows. To be free to go on from here. Yes?”

John could only nod and more tears fell onto the bedsheets, mingling with the ones Sherlock had shed. He leant forward, bridging the remaining two inches of space and let his fore head rest against Sherlock’s.

The comfort both felt when their heads gently touched was immense.

—

find the fic on AO3 HERE

---

Please tell me if anybody wants to get tagged or untagged (just say it, I won’t get mad).

@helloliriels @calaisreno @7-percent @lisbeth-kk @peageetibbs @gaylilsherlock @totallysilvergirl @alexisnoir @blogstandbygo @jobooksncoffee @missdeliadili @kabubsmagga @mary-johnlocked @vaticancameos221 @kestrelwing64 @sabsi221b @jelly-of-many-ships

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 30

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

Hummingbird 30

It's really only getting much darker now. Please watch yourselves. There is and will be emotional whump, despair, self-doubt, self-inflicted wounds, suicide attempt and gore.

Story starts here / previous

...

The externally inflicted stupor of drugs lasted another day. Apparently Sam was sobbing and pleading enough between unnerving nightmeres and restless foggy hours floating inbetween, to convince Grey-Monty to take him off the medication.

Sam was like a ghost. It wasn't much of a difference from his drug-induced-zombie-like state from the time before. He was numb, not from intoxication this time, but from some part of him just missing, never to come back.

Grey escorted him from here to there like an invalid. Sam didn't touch his food or did hardly anything else than lay or sit in bed and stare into nothingness.

His mind was hazy from lack of emotion, but he was kind of able to think a bit for himself. At least it felt like it, in comparision to the chemicals blocking every spark of his own free will. Despite his escort to untouched meals Grey didn't pay too much attention what Sam was actually doing, beyond trying to do anything more than stay in bed. It wasn't that he wasn't concerned or didn't care, but he had the feeling, that the kid needed a bit to swallow the shock of his revelation and get back his bearings. Despite his better judgement, he left him some space and didn't motherhen him, like he inwardly wanted to.

So Grey didn't recognise Sam taking the filetknife from the kitchendrawer. The kitchen was usually off limits, even if Grey didn't believe Sam was still capable of attacking him. Apparently not after being drugged out of his mind all the time. But nevertheless Sam managed his way in, taking that knife, while drawing Grey's attention by overexaggered confusion and another mental breakdown.

The former pedriatrist tried to get through to his broken toy, using platitudes like. "It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’." But what did he know. Sam wasn't talking anymore. He was about to go down the deep end. He had no desire to fight or flee, not in a physical way anyway.

Or maybe, he had. A specific statement replayed itself in his empty head now and again. The result of his coming actions would bring him freedom, hopefully. In one way or the other.

'By heart surgery and blood transfusion I have to pass.' Grey had admitted. 'Good!'

So he would be brought to a real hospital and get a chance to be saved or he would just die here. Either way he would be free from this psycho, this living nightmere, this life and of all, himself.

The knife was sharp. He picked this particular one for its sharpness. Sam was still afraid of the estimated pain, consciously cutting through layers of skin and flesh at his thin wrists, would inflict. The knife had to be sharp, so he wouldn't stop, what he was about to do. This was the only way.

Sam was sitting in "his" bed, preparing himself to do, what he felt to be his only possible escape. But he doubted, that he was actually able to really reach a point, where he could feel any kind of prepared for this.

Cool metal touched warm skin.

Hesitantly, he pushed. Nothing happened. Suddenly a red line was drawn just under the sharp edge of the blade. He pushed harder, the line go thicker.

Then the pain came. Blunt, strong, breathtaking. He pulled the knife upwards, still pushing the blade inside his flesh, feeling hot sticky liquid traveling down his forearm, curling around his wrist, seeping through his fingers, while he cut himself open. The pain developed into something sharp directly under the metal penetrating his skin. Where the vene was finally layed bare, it started to throb in the rhythym of his heartbeat.

In the middle of his left forearm Sam removed the knife. Mesmerised he watched his liveforce leaving him. He hadn't thought it would happen so fast. His breath hitched, he was breathing too hectically. He was cold already. The distinct paleness of his right hand still holding the knife in comparision to the red crimson running down his left, was fazinating.

He wanted to exchange his hands, but the knife just trembled from his weak slippery left, the bandaged palm still injured. It fell into the already formed stain of his blood on the sheeting. 'Damn, he should have thought about that earlier.' He was not a lefty and with his hand already cut, he should have started with his other arm.

But by the amount of blood freely pumped out of him with every beat of his heart, it would probably be enough.

His breath came in pfuffs, he tried to calm down. It was in vain.

A headache settled in. Sam could feel his heart actually beating inside his neck and in his opened venes of his arm. It felt so warm, while a chill settled itself inside the rest of his body.

He felt tired all of a sudden and layed back. His left leg was sticky, the fabrik of his shirt was soaked fast, sticking to the small of his back.

His eyes went to the window above and he looked at passing clouds upside down. It was soothing to watch the world go by. It would still be turning, when he had stopped breathing. Maybe that was his biggest problem. The world always kept on turning, no matter what happened to him. That was the damn issue, him never being able to keep up (afterwards). He had tried a shortcut, the time with Peter. But something else happened and he was still paddling on the same spot, while everybody else moved on. There are no shortcut to foul destany or yourself.

But maybe, that was kind of a reassuring thought. His death wouldn't so much as even make a dent in the course of this world.

Sam felt clammy and cold. His breathing had conciderably slowed down. He wanted to move his left hand, it felt so thick and numb, but his fingers wouldn't obay his command anymore.

'Not much longer.' He whispered to himself, but it was only a silent plea for it to be over soon. His pale lips wouldn't part anymore. His body felt heavy. This all consuming heaviness, he had felt so often since being here. Yet his mind felt light, the lingering certainty, that he finally would be free of his burdon, he called his life.

His eyes blinked tiredly, refusing to close for good. But he wasn't fighting anymore.

He was just done fighting.

Inwardly Sam never believed his own additional explanation of being brought to a hospital and flee. He kind of knew, it would end this way. He kind of knew, it was supposed to be this way.

A last glimpse through a break in the clouds. Clear blue sky. One last blink and his eyes finally closed. This was a good day to die.

×

Only very shallow, but Sam was still breathing, when Grey pressed his slack form into a bridal carry against his own chest and made long brisk steps into the ER.

TBC

Hummingbird masterlist

@whumptober-archive

[onyxedskies]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fire Emblem Engage Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Diamant & Staluke | Alcryst (Fire Emblem) Characters: Diamant (Fire Emblem), Staluke | Alcryst (Fire Emblem), Jade (Fire Emblem), Amber (Fire Emblem), My Unit | Ryuuru | Alear Additional Tags: Hypothermia, Cold, Snow, Being Lost, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Angst, Whump, Desperation, Self-Worth Issues Series: Part 29 of whumptober 2023 Summary:

Alcryst went on his mission hours ago.

It was too cold for him to be taking this long. [whumptober day 30: borrowed clothing/bridal carry/"not much longer..."]

[cynicalone94]

Not Much Longer

Jay tugs on the collar of his dress shirt. 

He hates this damn thing. In the Army, the only reason he’d ever worn his dress uniform had been for funerals and once for a promotion that he hadn’t deserved. 

If he’d truly been as heroic as they claimed, men wouldn’t have died that day. 

And now that he’s home, working for the CPD, it’s pretty much the same. Funerals, awards he doesn’t need, and the occasional charity gala. 

Which is where he is tonight. 

There’s a fundraiser for the Fallen Officer Scholarship Fund which pays for the children of fallen officers to go to college. 

It’s a good cause. He doesn’t mind helping out.

The trouble is that Intelligence had made a major bust earlier in the week that had garnered significant positive media attention. And now their reward is being forced into their dress uniforms so that they can be paraded in front of rich donors in an effort to elicit more donations. 

He’s had random women, mostly older women in incredibly revealing dresses, hanging off him all night, asking to hear stories about his exploits in the line of duty. 

He and Hailey deliberately keep a distance at these events to avoid being accused of inappropriate displays of affection. The team mostly stays together and they try to keep one of their teammates between them at all times. 

But tonight he’s felt her gaze on him the entire night, her angry gaze. 

She’s either going to murder one of these women or he’s going to have a very good night if they ever get out of here. 

“Excuse me, sir.” a young woman says, putting her hand lightly on his arm. “The Superintendent has requested you backstage.”

Backstage? More circus tricks for him. 

Nodding to Marjorie, the latest cougar to latch onto him, he makes his way behind the stage. 

It isn’t the hive of activity he would have expected if the Superintendent was getting ready to make a statement. 

He turns back around, coming face to face with the waitress who’d approached him. 

Holding a gun. 

“What the hell is this?” he asks.

“Exactly what it looks like.” she scoffs. “Take off the jacket.”

He’s been dreaming of taking off this suffocating wool jacket all night. But not like this.

He unbuttons it slowly, sliding it down over his shoulders and draping it over a nearby toolbox. 

She reaches behind herself to the cart of hor’dourves she’d been pushing when she’d approached him. Her hand comes back with a heavy metal collar. 

“Put this on.” she orders. 

“What is this about?” he asks, taking the collar from her but just holding it in his hands. 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” she snaps. “Right along with everyone else here.”

He just raises an eye brow, studying her face. 

“Don’t think I won’t shoot you, Detective Halstead.” she says. “Put the collar on.”

He loops it around his neck, hearing a click as it locks into place. 

“Now cuff yourself.” she orders. 

He pauses, tilting his head. 

“I know you have them on you.” she says. “And I know they’re on the opposite side of your belt from your gun so don’t even try it. You can cuff them in front.”

He reaches down, liberating his cuffs and locking them around his wrists. 

“Now get on your knees. And cross your ankles.”

He complies, lowering himself slowly. 

“I’m not here alone.” she tells him, lowering her gun. “You try something, he starts shooting people.”

“There are hundreds of people here.” he says. “A lot of them cops.”

“You say that like you think I didn’t choose this.” she says, tucking the gun in her apron and walking around behind him. 

He doesn’t move while she works on the collar. Maybe she’s lying about having a partner, maybe she isn’t. He’s not about to risk it. 

Hailey is out there. 

Wiring trails down to his wrists and then suddenly the cuffs are tightening. 

“That’s a pressure switch.” she tells him. “Anyone loosens that cuff and this lovely device here goes off.”

He grimaces. 

“The same goes for this.” she continues, pressing a plastic disc into his mouth and gently pressing his jaw closed. 

Then she smooths duct tape over his mouth. 

“Someone will find you soon.” she tells him, stapling a sheet of paper to his tie. “And that’s when the real fun starts.”

She turns and walks away, pushing her cart back around the partition. 

Jay kneels there in enforced silence for a long time before the curtain pulls back. 

Hailey steps through.

“Hey Jay, is this where you’re hiding –” 

She cuts off as she sees him. 

“Oh my god.” she gasps, sprinting toward him. “Jay!”

She reaches for the tape over his mouth first and he leans back, shaking his head. 

“You … don’t want me to ungag you?” she asks, looking confused. 

He nods his head toward the collar and she glances at it, frown deepening as she tracks the wire going from it to his mouth. 

“There’s a pressure switch.” she guesses. 

He nods and then jerks his head down again. She reaches for the paper and then pulls back, pulling her sleeve down over her hand and then pulling the paper off his chest. 

“Superintendent Dixon,

Ten years ago you took everything from me. Now you’ll admit to what you did and apologize publicly for your crimes. You have until the close of the gala or Detective Halstead dies. 

If someone attempts to disarm the device, I will detonate it.”

She looks up at him. 

“They were planning to get you.” she says, jaw twitching. “I have to go find Voight. And the Superintendent. Just uh… stay here.”

He makes a face and she chuckles weakly. 

“Hang in there.” she tells him. “We’ll figure this out.”

He nods and settles back on his heels, cuffed wrists resting carefully in his lap. 

There’s so much he wishes he could tell her, starting with a description of the woman who’d attacked him and left him wired up like this. 

Hailey’s back within minutes, followed by the Superintendent, Voight and the rest of their team. 

“You hurt?” Voight asks. 

Jay shakes his head. 

“Did you see who did this to you?” 

Jay nods. 

“Be nice if we could get a statement.” Adam says, sitting back. “Though I’m guessing that’s why the pressure switch in his mouth.”

“Maybe he could write something down.” Kim suggests.

“Second pressure switch between his right wrist and the cuff.” Hailey says, biting her lip. “Even moving his hands has the risk of changing the pressure and setting it off.”

“Damn.” Kevin mutters. “These assholes really thought this through.”

Voight turns to the superintendent, holding up the letter.

“This is our best lead on who’s behind this. You have any idea what this is about?”

“No.” the man says, shaking his head. “I can’t think of anything that happened around that time that would mean this much to anyone.”

Voight frowns. 

That the man is lying is a given. Pushing him will only make him clam up. 

“Alright.” he says, shaking his head. “You should probably head back out there, entertain your guests and keep everyone calm. How long do we have before things wrap up here?”

“An hour and a half.” the man says, looking down at his watch. “Not much time to wrap this up with your only witness under a gag order.”

Voight nods, unimpressed by the joke. 

“Tell me if you think of anything else that might help us.” he says. 

The man nods and disappears back around the curtain. Voight turns to Adam. 

“Find out everything you can about Dixon.” he orders. “I want to know what happened ten years ago.”

Adam nods and hurries off. 

“Kim, Kevin look into the staff here.” Voight continues. “I’m guessing one of them is involved in this.”

He glances over at Jay who just nods. 

“Figure out who.” Voight orders. 

“Hang in there, Jay.” Kim says before following Kevin out of the backstage area. 

“You got him?” Voight asks Hailey. 

“Yeah.” she promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Alright.” he says. “I’m going to go talk to a few people who would have known Dixon ten years ago. Fortunately plenty of them are here.”

She nods, sitting cross-legged next to Jay. 

Voight has just finished an unproductive conversation with one of Dixon’s old cop buddies. 

At least one of them definitely knows something but without being able to disclose what’s happening, he can’t push too hard. 

Adam walks over. 

“Hey boss.” he whispers. “I think I found something.”

Voight nods, motioning him away from the tables. 

Once they reach a more isolated corner he turns. 

“What do you have?”

“I pulled Dixon’s financials.” Adam says. “There’s some unusual payments. Every month like clockwork to an account at Western Union. Where the money was immediately pulled out the same day it was deposited.”

“By who?” Voight asks. 

“I’m still working on that.” Adam says. “Waiting on a response to some inquiries. But that’s not all that’s interesting about them. The payments stop ten years ago.”

“So he was making blackmail payments until he got sick of it.” Voight surmises. “Took out whoever he was paying off.”

“Only now someone found out what he did and wants him to own up to it.” Adam says. “But why go after Jay to do it?”

“I think first we need to find out who they are.” Voight says. “The rest will fill itself in.”

There’s a commotion by the stage and they look up to see Jay walking up the steps, cuffed hands pressed against his right leg. 

Voight looks around for any sign that would explain why his detective is moving, why he’s revealing the explosives to the crowd.

Hailey joins them. 

“Another note got left just outside the curtains.” she fills in. “Kim and Kevin found it on their way back to check in. Our perp is tired of waiting. Wanted Jay at center stage. No further explanation.”

“Only forty five minutes left to the deadline.” Voight says. “Maybe they don’t actually want to kill Jay. This is their way of putting pressure on Dixon so they can avoid it.”

Jay sinks slowly to his knees, eyes darting around the crowd. 

Looking for the person who’d placed the collar on him. 

An overhead speaker crackles before a distorted voice echoes around the room. 

“The police are supposed to serve and protect. In my life, Leonard Dixon did neither. He knows what he did. And he has one hour to publicly confess to what happened or I will detonate the explosives and kill this detective.”

Voight ignores the bedlam of the crowd. 

This isn’t anything he doesn’t already know but something about the voice does tell him something. The voice might be altered but they can’t distort tone, or the slight quaver on the words. 

“When do the payments start?” he asks Adam who checks his notes. 

“Twenty years ago.” he answers. 

“Check with Kim and Kevin.” Voight orders. “See if there are any nineteen year olds on the staff.”

“You think Dixon knocked someone up?” Adam asks. 

“And then killed the mom so he wouldn’t have to pay child support under the table anymore.” Voight answers. “Only now their kid found out about it.”

“Detective Jay Halstead is an actual hero.” the voice continues. “Numerous commendations for bravery on his record. Don’t let him die for what you did, Dixon. Do the right thing for once in your miserable, pathetic life.”

Voight looks at Adam. 

“Find me that kid.” he orders. “I’m going to go have another chat with Dixon.”

“You want me to come with?” Hailey asks. 

“Stay here.” he orders. “Keep eyes on Jay.”

She nods, looking back at her partner. 

They’d started their day early executing a warrant just as the sun had started to creep into the sky. Every member of the team had been planning to ditch the gala once their obligatory appearance had been made. 

This hadn’t been in their plans and Jay’s posture reflects his exhaustion. 

“Just hang in there partner.” she begs. 

“I’m done asking, Dixon.” Voight presses. “My detective is on that stage right now, waiting to see if he’s going to get blown up tonight. I’d like to know why.”

“I’m still your superior officer, Voight.” the man snarls. “Don’t talk to me that way.”

Voight just raises an eyebrow. 

“That might be changing.” Voight says. “Whoever you pissed off just made this public. You can’t hide from it forever so maybe it’s best if you get out in front of it.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dixon insists. “Someone is attacking me to hurt the CPD. They don’t need an actual reason, just an obscure year range and a whole lot of bad publicity.”

Voight shakes his head. 

“If Jay Halstead dies because you can’t own up to what you did you will never see the light of day again.” he snarls, turning to walk away. 

The guy isn’t just an asshole, he’s an idiot. Voight hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that the public nature of this fiasco means that whatever had happened, whoever the man had killed, will come to light. 

Unfortunately, it also means that Voight can’t just chuck him into the cage and employ a little tough love to get the answers that he needs. 

He finds his team in the corner of the room, talking quietly amongst themselves and glancing repeatedly at where Jay is kneeling on the stage. 

“Alright people.” he says as he joins them. “We’re running out of time here and Dixon isn’t talking.”

“I wouldn’t either if I was him.” Adam says. “Considering admitting to murder isn’t going to go well for him.”

“He did kill someone then.” Voight asks. 

“Mallory Gibbons.” Adam answers. “We found one nineteen year old on staff here tonight. Eliza Gibbons. Born to a single mother with no father on the birth certificate. Her mother was murdered ten years ago, just a few weeks after the last payment that Dixon made.”

“We got eyes on Eliza?” Voight asks. 

“She was working tonight but nobody has seen her in the last thirty minutes.” Kim answers. 

“We need to find her.” Voight presses. “Before she kills Jay. The three of you spread out. Find Eliza. I’m gonna take this information back to Dixon. Maybe I can convince him to do the right thing.”

Just as the team starts to spread out a shot rings out. 

Voight looks to the stage, seeing Jay lying on his back. Hailey brushes past him, already rushing to her partner. 

“Nobody approaches the good detective.” the disembodied voice orders, bringing her to a halt. “He’s still alive and he will stay that way for the next twenty minutes. After that, his fate is up to you Dixon.”

Voight scowls, stalking toward where he’d last seen Dixon. 

But the man is gone. 

“Bastard is running.” he scowls. 

He looks back at the stage. Jay hasn’t moved, still lying uncomfortably on his back. 

Is he unconscious? Or just afraid that the struggle of getting back will cause too much movement in his wrist and set off the bomb?

“Hey.” he calls, getting the attention of one of Dixon’s assistants. “Did you see where Dixon went?”

“He walked off that way.” the man says. “A couple minutes ago.”

Voight nods and hurries off in the indicated direction.

He catches up with Dixon just outside the catering entrance, slamming him up against the wall. 

“Going somewhere?” he growls. 

“Get off me.” Dixon argues. 

“Not if you’re just going to run off like a chicken shit instead of facing up to what you did like a man.” Voight growls. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Dixon protests. 

“Not even to Mallory Gibson?” Voight presses. 

The man pales. 

“Nothing happened with Mallory Gibson.” he insists. 

“No?” Voight questions. “You just paid her money every month like clockwork for almost ten years and then she mysteriously died and you didn’t have to anymore.”

“I don’t know what -”

He cuts off abruptly as Voight slams the wall next to his head. 

“You knocked her up.” he growls. “She got pregnant and made you pay for years so that she wouldn’t tell anyone who would listen what you did. What happened, Dixon? Did she ask you for more money? Or did you just get tired of paying?”

He freezes. 

“I-”

“My detective is going to die in about ten minutes if you don’t man up.” Voight yells. “I know what happened. And before we’re done here tonight, everyone is going to know. Now do I have to march up on that stage and tell the world, or are you going to do it?”

“I… I’ll do it.” Dixson says, hands splaying out. “I’ll do it.”

Voight pulls him away from the wall, dragging him back toward the ballroom. 

The crowd parts as he shoves him forward. No disembodied voice stops them as he shoves him up the stairs onto the stage. 

“Ten years ago.” Dixon shouts. “I murdered a woman by the name of Mallory Gibson. That’s what I did and I’m sorry. Don’t hurt Detective Halstead for it.”

“Tell them why.” the voice says. 

“So that I wouldn’t have to keep making payments to her so that she wouldn’t tell everyone that I got her pregnant.”

“She just wanted you to support your child.” the voice says. “Child support that she couldn’t legally sue you for because you wouldn’t publicly claim me.”

“I know.” Dixon says. “I was stupid and I… I shouldn’t have.”

“You’re a police officer.” Eliza snarls. “You were supposed to know better.”

Another shot rings out and Dixon drops to the stage with a bullet hole in his forehead. Voight turns, trying to track the shot. 

“You can call bomb squad now.” Eliza says, now walking into the ballroom instead of speaking over the loudspeaker. “Help Detective Halstead. I got what I wanted.”

Voight grabs his phone to call the bomb squad. Hailey jumps onto the stage, crawling over to her partner. 

“Jay?”

His eyes are closed but blink open at her call. 

“Just hang on partner.” she says, searching for injuries. “Bomb squad is on the way now and we’ll get that thing off you.”

He nods, eyes slipping closed only to fly back open as she presses her hands against the hole in his stomach. 

His muffled groan breaks her heart. 

“Not much longer.” she soothes. 

He’s quiet until bomb squad arrives, lying motionless until the bomb, cuffs, and gag have been removed. 

As bomb squad finally backs away, letting paramedics in to treat him, he finally speaks. 

“Do you think this gets us out of the next gala?”

Hailey chuckles. 

“Not a chance, partner.”

[ahmoseinarus]

The Celestial Seal

2023 Whumptober Day 30

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | "Not much longer..." The Celestial Seal - Ahmose_Inarus - Critical Role (Web Series) [Archive of Our Own]

[veldeia]

Fic: Every Beat, Every Breath

Chapter 6: Beneficence

Fandom: Avengers Assemble Rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings, but heed the tags! Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Background Avengers Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Tony Stark-centric, Protective Steve Rogers, Medical Torture, Unethical Medicine, Medical Inaccuracies, Arc Reactor, Near Death Experiences, Kidnapping, Tony Stark Whump, temporary paralysis Summary: It's not the first time Tony's been kidnapped, and it probably won't be the last. What's different this time is that the ransom note the Avengers receive comes with a live feed of his vital signs.

Chapter summary:

Tony is finally out of trouble, but recovering from the experience will take a while. Luckily, Steve is there to help.

Fill for the Whumptober day 30 prompt "Not much longer…" and the lyrics prompt "It's okay, just to say, 'I'm not okay'", as well as the Flashbacks square on my @badthingshappenbingo card.

Chapter on AO3

Also, I'm happy to finally be able to say: BINGO! I got the card all the way back in 2020, and wasn't sure I'd ever get here! 😅

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 30 - The Shadow and The Brute

This bit of the hero/villain verse takes place in between the other two I've written this month - after Leave Me Alone and before Interrogation (both of which you can find on the masterlist!)

Bruno aka The Brute belongs to Izzy, who wrote most of his dialogue for this piece and helped come up with the idea for it.

Taglist: @painful-pooch , @sssunshinebreeze

Shadow of Death Masterlist

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.” | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

Contains: lady whump, supervillain whump, beating, broken ribs, mild blood, corporal punishment, talk of death, referenced parental abuse, brief self-deprecating thoughts, touch aversion, passing out

.

.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Kamaria whirls around, heart lodging itself in her throat as soon as she hears Roderick’s voice. Swallowing past it, she gestures lamely toward the end of the alley where she’d been heading. “Going back to headquarters?”

He takes a couple of slow steps forward, eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe you finished your mission.” 

She grits her teeth. This was bound to happen, she just thought she’d have until she got back to prepare herself for it. He’s never met her outside of headquarters like this before. “I couldn’t. Got stopped by The Brute.”

“He stopped you.” His voice is a dangerous growl now, and he storms forward until he’s looming over her. Kamaria refuses to back up. “Show me. Show me right this instant how, exactly, it is that he stopped you. Because it looks to me like you are standing upright, walking, even. I see no blood. I see no broken bones. And even if I did see those things, I know that I have trained you to take a lot more pain than that and keep going. So explain to me again why you’re on your way back without completing your mission, because I am sick and tired of hearing that The Brute stopped you while you are still alive and on your feet.”

This is going to end very badly. “Look, he’s…relentless.” Relentless in showing up, at least, making her life so much more difficult but somehow better at the same time. “I can tell when a fight isn’t going anywhere.” Mostly because neither of them want it to go anywhere. “I could show you the bruises he left on me, but I don’t really want to strip down in this alley and you probably wouldn’t be able to tell them from yours, anyway…”

The punch across her face is predictable. It was either that, or he grabbed her by her hair or throat, and she honestly prefers the punch. It whips her head to the side, but she stands firm. 

“You don’t get to decide that ‘a fight isn’t going anywhere’. Your job is to make the fight go somewhere. All these times you’ve clashed with The Brute…he should be dead by now.”

He really should be. She’s had hundreds of opportunities to kill him, especially now when he’s decided it’s all just a game between the two of them. 

But she can’t. He may be a hero, but he’s the only person in the whole world who treats her like a human being. She doesn’t want him dead. 

“If I could, I would have! He’s too strong.”

“Then maybe we should just make you stronger, hm?”

That’s all the warning she gets. Roderick lays into her, slamming his fist into her face. She stumbles backwards a couple of steps, blood immediately pouring from her nose and reflexive tears stinging her eyes. He punches her again, and the taste of blood fills her mouth from a cut in her cheek. 

Still, she keeps her arms down by her sides. She’s not allowed to fight back.

He switches to her stomach, instead, doubling her over after two hits, at which point he grabs her by the shoulders and throws her into the brick wall. It would be easy to just crumple to the ground. She’ll end up there eventually, anyway. But if she falls too early it makes him mad, he wants her to withstand it for as long as possible. 

So she trips, and wavers, but straightens herself back up to face him. And the hits keep coming. By the time she does actually fall to her knees, she can’t take a breath, the alley is spinning in vicious circles around her, and her head feels like it’s being repeatedly stabbed. She does attempt to get back up, but he kicks her in the chest, knocking all the remaining oxygen from her lungs and bruising her spine against the wall.

Kamaria catches herself on her hands as she retches. Another kick sends her toppling over onto her side. Instinctively she wants to curl up, to protect her head and organs, but she has to stay limp and vulnerable, to let him do what he wants. He won’t kill her, anyway. He’ll drag her back after this, make her use her power to keep herself alive if he goes too far. It won’t change how much she hurts, though.

He targets one spot on her side, slamming his heel into it over and over until the ribs give way. Then he turns his attention to her legs, leaving bruises all up and down them, with a few more shots to the stomach in between. 

Suddenly he pauses. Kamaria’s vision is too blurred to see what he’s doing, she can only hope that he’s done. Every breath rattles in her chest and sends pain shooting through her center. This is definitely one of the worst punishments she’s had in a while. The next few days are going to be horrible to deal with, especially if her father still insists on sending her out on assignments.

Seconds pass, then Roderick delivers one more swift kick to her knee before his footsteps hurry away. He…didn’t take her with him. She lifts her head, just barely, trying to blink away the fog and see where he went without success. Is he just…leaving her here? Does he want her dead, after all? Or is this some kind of test, to see if she can make it back on her own?

She allows herself a quiet groan as she drops her head back to the ground, but cuts it off and tenses up as more footsteps approach. A figure hovers over her for a moment before crouching down. She tries and fails not to flinch as their hands reach toward her.

“Shadow. Oh, no…”

Wait, she recognizes that voice. 

“It’s okay, it’s me, Brute.” A string of curses spills from his lips. “Okay okay, we need to get you help.”

No. No, that’s the last thing she needs, all of this happened to start with because she and Brute are too attached, because she can’t just kill him and he refuses to hurt her. If she doesn’t get back to headquarters right now, she’s going to be in even worse trouble. 

She shifts, trying to get her arms underneath her so she can sit up. Everything in her body throbs with the movement. “‘m fine. Don’…don’ need help. Gotta…get back.”

“Don’t try to get up!” His hands grip her shoulders, and she jerks backwards away from him. She lands on her back, vision going black as pain erupts in her skull. 

Brute’s voice is muffled, barely filtering past her own harsh breathing. “Shadow…keep your eyes on me.” He swears again. “This isn’t good. Okay, I don’t care about the code right now.”

He’s touching her again, but she can’t pull away this time. He moves too quickly and decisively, sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other under her shoulders and lifting her off the ground far too easily. Kamaria bites back a gasp. Her head is swimming with both panic and pain. Her cheek is resting against his shoulder and the proximity makes her skin crawl, but she can’t seem to lift it up. All she manages is slapping at him weakly with one hand.

“No, no, don’...don’ touch me…gotta…go back…” 

“Your ribs are broken…at the very least! You can’t make it back on your own.” He’s running with her in his arms, and every step jostles her injuries. “Look, you got to trust me for once. I…I won’t lose you.”

It isn’t that she doesn’t trust him. She shouldn’t trust him, he’s a hero, but that’s not something she can even fully grasp right now, much less worry about. She knows he’s trying to help, but he doesn’t understand that she’s suffocating from being held, and that every second she spends away from headquarters is more pain she’ll experience later. And how can she explain that to him? She can’t even tell him that there’s a villain’s guild without signing her own death warrant, much less that she’s said guild’s favorite punching bag. 

She wouldn’t, even if she could. She’d rather he never know how pathetic she actually is.

“Fought you with…broken ribs…before.” Also with fresh whip lashes, and with a broken arm. It’s the only argument she can think of at the moment, but she knows it won’t do any good, not now that Brute has his mind set on something.

“I know you have.” He pulls her even closer to himself. “I won’t remove the mask. I swear on it. I got a healer that can patch you up in no time. Then you can go back.”

No, that won’t work. If she comes back miraculously healed…besides the fact that he doesn’t need to be bringing other heroes into this. “...get in trouble.”

“Me or you?”

Her breath catches as he stops suddenly to look around a corner. It feels like there’s a knife stuck between her ribs. 

“Both.” Wait, no, she can’t tell him that she’ll get in trouble. “You’re a hero. Can’t…help me.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice her slip up. “I don’t care what I am and what you are. You’re a person that’s hurt. I’m not letting you die. Over my dead body.”

Before she can argue that she’s not about to die, they’re at his car. Or at least she assumes, since he’s bending down and opening a car door to put her inside.

“‘m gonna get blood on your seats.”

“So what? They don’t matter to me.” He maneuvers her through the door and into the passenger seat, and Kamaria somehow manages to keep from making any pained noises while he does so. Opening the back door, he rummages around for a moment, returning with a towel that he throws over her lap like a blanket. Then he runs around to the other side of the car and dives into the driver’s seat.

“Shouldn’t…be doing this.” She shouldn’t be letting him. She should be opening the door, throwing herself out of the car if that’s what it takes. If the villains find out that a hero helped her, she’ll be in so much trouble. If the hero guild finds out he helped her, she can’t imagine they’ll be happy with him. And if the villains decide to go after the man who did it, she’ll never forgive herself.

“Stop worrying. I’m gonna get you help.” 

The car is moving, every jolt and curve resounding through her body. She clutches the edge of the cloth seat until her knuckles ache. Brute punches buttons on his console, and a phone begins ringing, echoing loudly through the car.

“They’re gonna…hate you. Not supposed to help me. What if…what if the guild finds out…or…or the media?” It’s getting harder to talk, her face starting to swell up more in various places.

“No one is going to find out about this.” A woman’s voice comes through the speakers, and Brute rushes to reply. “Patches. I need you. I need you so bad.”

Kamaria lets her eyes drift shut, too dizzy to keep watching the scenery speed past. “They’ll find out,” she mumbles to herself. “Always find out…”

Brute and the woman are arguing, voices raised, but they’re drifting in and out of Kamaria’s focus. A hand rests on her leg, and she tenses all over. It just lays there, though. It doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t hit, doesn’t hurt her in any way. Oddly, it’s…slightly comforting, despite the way her skin seems to shrivel underneath it at first. 

“Hang in there, Shadow.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. “Not much longer now.”

Kamaria stops fighting the darkness that’s been trying to claim her, allowing herself to sink deeply into it.

[astaldis]

Guess I wasn’t done quite yet (almost) executing poor Cahir. Here’s another, last little fic just in the nick of time. But, I guess, the next whumpy prompt is just around the corner 😉😘 @whumpers-monthly

@whumptober-archive

Chapters: 1/3   Words: 953    Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Fringilla Vigo, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Emhyr var Emreis Additional Tags: Execution, Whumptober 2023, Whumptober, whumpers-monthly, Angst Summary: After having lied to his Emperor about the elven baby, Cahir is sentenced to death. Or so he thinks. (Takes place between the end of season 2 and season 3.)

Excerpt from chapter 1 - Lies don’t travel far

"You failed to fulfil your most sacred mission. And now you lie to me, the White Flame of Nilfgaard, your Emperor, your Saviour?" Emhyr asks sharply, his dark eyes boring into the very soul of the fettered man kneeling before his feet. "You've disappointed me once too often, Cahir, son of Ceallach. And you know what happens to traitors!"

Cahir starts to tremble despite himself. Yes, he knows, he knows it very well. He knows, too, that he has failed. Failed to take the north, failed to bring Emhyr the girl, the Lion Cub of Cintra. His daughter. And now the last straw, his lie about the elven baby. They will both die for it, Fringilla and he. It is what happens to traitors ...

Continue reading on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51197152/chapters/129361525

[inklingofadream]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus Additional Tags: Whumptober 2023, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Wears a Skirt, but in a bummer coercive way :(, Isolation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Manipulation, On the Run, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, but again as grounds for manipulation :(, Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard Series: Part 42 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

Jon doesn't have anywhere to go after Leitner is killed. Elias offers a solution.