#whumprilday11

[cuddlepilefics]

Can’t Sleep

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Chan

Caregivers: Stray Kids

Prompts: Can’t sleep, eyes rolled back, weak pulse, urgent care, no time to rest

@whumpril

No one’s POV.:

Chan had been nursing a cold for the past week. It hadn’t been more than a scratchy throat at first but that was soon joined by a persistent, pounding headache. Since they were preparing for a comeback, Chan didn’t allow himself time to rest. There were things that needed to be done and even if he lay down and tried to sleep, his thoughts would be racing, circling everything that was still left on his to-do list and keeping him awake. If he couldn’t sleep anyway because there were so many tasks left to be completed, might as well go about completing those tasks. At least, that was the leader’s reasoning. His dongsaeng’s had told him to rest and recover from his cold first but they hadn’t been successful and not even the reminder that he would end up making himself a lot sicker wasn’t enough to keep Chan from working.

They had seen it coming, well, everyone except for Chan had seen it coming. The other members weren’t all too surprised when their hyung’s health took a turn for the worse. Changbin and Jisung were sweating while working at the studio despite wearing short sleeve but Chan, bundled up in a thick hoodie, was still trembling with chills, so they had to keep the air conditioning off. It was obvious that the Aussie was running a fever. If the chills hadn’t given that away, the flush in his cheeks, that stood out against the sickly pallor of his face, and the glossy shine in his eyes surely would have. His eyes watered from looking at his laptop screen and no matter how many times he dabbed away the tears with the cuff of his sleeves, they were always replaced by fresh ones. The light not only made his eyes water, it also sent stabs of pain through his already aching skull but it couldn’t be helped.

Changbin and Jisung had repeatedly asked Chan to lay down and sleep. He could even take the studio couch if he didn’t want to go back to the dorm but no, the eldest still insisted he couldn’t sleep, so what use was there in laying down? “Hyung, for fucks sake, just rest your eyes or something. There’s no way you can actually see through all those tears. Even if you don’t sleep, your eyes need a break. You need a break”, Jisung argued, frustrated with his hyung for not listening and destroying himself for absolutely no other reason than being stubborn. Nodding along, Changbin hummed: “We’re perfectly on time with our schedules and you can easily afford taking a break. You’ve already made yourself sicker than you would’ve needed to be. Jeonginnie had this cold too but he rested and took care of himself, so it was little more than the sniffles. You on the other hand refuse to do any of that and already managed to start running a fever. Maybe listen to your body’s signal now or how far are you intending to push it?” The rapper just barely refrained from reminding Chan how bad his immune system was due to his usual sleep deprivation but the implication was there.

Jisung was impressed that Chan actually let them drag him back to the dorm when Changbin announced they were done for the day. He would’ve fully expected Chan to argue and insist on staying back at the studio on his own. Little did he know that the leader didn’t find the energy to argue back because his throat hurt too badly to speak and his fever was rising. Sluggishly throwing his belongings into his bag, Chan winced because every move, no matter how careful, made his head thump and he could feel his heart beat pulsating inside his skull. He weakly nudged his sleeve against his septum and gave a wet sniffle, eyes tearing up even more when the pressure in his sinuses increased. Yeah, maybe his bed didn’t sound so awful in the end.

Chan’s vision darkened as he got out of his seat, forcing him to tightly hold onto the edge of the desk. Alarmed by the leader’s quick and ragged breaths, Changbin spun around and cursed when he saw the faraway look in his hyung’s eyes before they rolled back. Wrapping his arm around Chan’s chest, he pushed the leader backwards into his seat and held him there, so he couldn’t fall. “Hey, you with us, hyung?”, the rapper asked but received no reply. Chan’s head had dropped onto his chest, no muscle tension left in his body. Worriedly fanning the older with a stack of lyrics sheets, Jisung muttered: “We should’ve taken him home a very long time ago.” Changbin hummed in agreement, lightly patting Chan’s burning cheeks. He sighed in relief when the Aussie finally came to.

It was safe to say that they took Chan straight home, arms linked because he still looked a little wobbly on his feet. “I’m fine, really”, the leader rasped tiredly, “My blood pressure just dropped for a moment when I got up.” – “Yeah, and your blood pressure regulation would work a lot better if you weren’t feverish as hell and got an adequate amount of sleep”, Changbin shot back and tightened his grip on the leader’s arm when he tripped himself. Jisung rushed to unlock the door and then headed to the kitchen to make some tea for Chan while Changbin guided the leader to his room. Chan was glad to already be wearing sweatpants because the way home had zapped his energy and he simply flopped onto his bed, coughing into the pillow.

When Jisung joined him, he was carrying not only a steaming cup of tea but also an icepack. Shuddering, Chan wrapped his hands around the cup and thanked the younger quietly. Though the steam made his nose run, the warmth and the sweet honey soothed the pain in his throat and the Aussie sipped it slowly, giving watery sniffles in between. It was funny in a way, how his heart could race as though he was running a marathon when all he really did was sip his tea and bury himself under his covers. Was it really that straining? Perhaps he could try sleeping again even if the chances of him succeeding were slim.

Satisfied that their hyung was settled, Changbin and Jisung left the older to get some rest, hoping he’d feel a little better when he woke up. Chan groaned as he tried to get comfortable in his bed. His muscles ached and he couldn’t really find a position that made the pain better but he had to. There was no way he could fall asleep while he was hurting like this. It wasn’t even like he could afford to take a break in the middle of the day. There were still so many things that needed to be taken care of for their upcoming comeback. How could Changbin and Jisung be so stupid to keep him from working? Didn’t they realize how things would get out of hand and their schedules messed up if he didn’t keep track of everything? There was no time to rest.

Feeling his heart race, Chan threw off the blanket and scrambled out of bed only to be hit by a wave of intense dizziness. Right, his low blood pressure…. Chan took a few deep breaths to brace himself for the walk to the door but barely managed to take a few steps before his knees buckled and he could feel himself fall. He had also lost his vision on the way down and groaned when he found himself sitting on the floor, the light assaulting his already sensitive eyes as soon as his vision returned. Chan’s ears were still ringing when he struggled back to his feet and shuffled out of his room.

Changbin and Jisung had holed themselves up in one of their rooms to keep working at the dorm within shouting distance from Chan in case the leader needed anything. In his fever muddled brain, the eldest was convinced to be home alone though. Maybe even hoping his dongsaengs had returned to the studio to keep working. He almost tumbled when he slipped on his shoes but managed to get to the front door, already calling a driver to take him to the company building. Knowing his fellow 3racha members wouldn’t be pleased to know that he returned to work, Chan made up his mind. He’d simply have to use a different studio.

The dance racha was still working on a new choreography to go with their comeback track when Chan arrived at the company building. They almost ran into each other because Chan passed the dance rooms mere seconds before Felix exited to go to the restroom. It was impressive really how the leader’s determination kept him going despite the high fever he was running. He even found himself an empty studio but needed multiple attempts to punch in the code because his hands trembled from the exertion and his vision blurred. Chan heaved a shaky sigh of relief when he finally succeeded and stepped into the studio, shutting the door behind him. His head was spinning once again and he didn’t even get a chance to sit down before his eyes rolled back.

Changbin was satisfied that he hadn’t heard the slightest noise from Chan’s room in a very long time, convinced the older was sleeping deeply. Chan would get frustratingly restless whenever he ran the slightest temperature, so not hearing him toss and turn and fuss with his comforter was a pleasant change because it meant he was too knocked out to move, right? Jisung contemplated checking on his hyung when he needed to use the restroom but decided against it, afraid he’d wake him by accident. Eventually, Changbin deiced to go check on Chan, if only to replace the water bottle by his bed in case it was empty to make sure the leader would stay hydrated. It was safe to say that the rapper was dumbfounded when he realized Chan’s room was empty, comforter balled up at the foot of the bed.

It took a few seconds for the realization to sink in before Changbin started to panic, calling Chan’s name. The leader didn’t answer though, instead Jisung came running, worried that something had happened. A quick check of the dorm proved that their hyung wasn’t anywhere near and he also didn’t pick up his phone when Changbin gave him a call, so the two rappers texted their group chat, asking if any of the members had seen Chan but nobody had. Jisung couldn’t help beating himself up for not checking on his hyung earlier. Chan’s fever had been pretty high after all, so what if he had gotten delirious and wandered off somewhere?

Within minutes, the entire group was on high alert, spreading out to search for their leader. The dance racha was searching different studios on the floor, wondering if Chan’s workaholic self would be self-destructive enough to return to work in such a rough condition. Minho’s head shot up when he heard Felix yell a little further down the hallway. The younger had finally come across Chan’s crumpled form, panicking as he checked for a pulse. Feeling Chan’s wrist, Felix was relieved to find a pulse even though it was fast and weak. Minho was by their side in an instant, elevating Chan’s legs and shaking his shoulders. Eventually, he got a weak groan from his hyung.

Chan tried to sit up despite the lingering dizziness but there were hands on his shoulders, keeping him down. “Take it easy”, Felix warned, brushing the unruly curls out of Chan’s face to get a better look at his glossy eyes. Feeling the leader’s pulse, Minho frowned: “Do you remember what happened?” – “Hm, Bin an’ Han took me home but…”, Chan muttered, rubbing his face, “That was wrong. I got no time to rest.” – “Yes, you do”, Minho scolded and felt the other’s forehead, “You were supposed to sleep.” The leader only rolled his eyes at him and tried to sit up again. This time they let him.

“Why are you so stubborn?”, Felix asked sadly, still shaken up from having found his friend unconscious, “We talked to Changbin-hyung and Sungie. You’re perfectly on schedule, maybe even a bit ahead of it, so no ‘I got no time to rest’. You do, you just refuse to. Why? You need sleep, you got the opportunity to sleep, yet you come back here to work. Why?” Chan’s eyes flooded with tears as his chest tightened. The younger immediately felt guilty for being so stern only moments after Chan regained consciousness. Scrubbing at his tears, the leader tried to keep his voice from cracking as he mumbled: “Can’t sleep.” Felix pulled the eldest into a hug, heart breaking. “I try and- try b-but. I jus’ can’t”, Chan hiccupped, resting his pounding head on Felix shoulder.

Chan could hear his dongsaengs talk quietly but his mind was too hazy to keep up with their conversation, besides, he was content where he was. Felix was comfy. At some point, Minho left so it was only the two Aussies at the studio. “Chan, we’re going to take you to urgent care”, Felix hummed, tracing his nails down the leader’s back, “You fainted multiple times today, your fever is bad and we can’t even trust you to stay put if we tell you to rest, so taking you home to sleep it off seems pretty useless.” – “No”, Chan whined, almost too exhausted to really argue, “I promise I’ll stay put this time. You could just give me my laptop and I promise- I promise I’ll only get up to use the restroom.” – “Nuh-uh, too late for that”, the dancer denied, gently nudging Chan off of him before getting up and offering him a hand.

Getting back to his feet was a struggle for Chan and he swayed for a moment, leaning heavily into Felix. “Come on”, the younger smiled sympathetically, “Maybe you can get something for your insomnia too at urgent care. At least temporarily till you’re over this cold. I know fevers always make you restless.” Minho had already informed the other members, him and Hyunjin arranging a ride to take Chan to urgent care. Since the dance racha was already with their leader, they decided that Hyunjin and Felix would accompany the eldest, while Minho would meet up with Changbin to talk to their managers together.

Considering how stubborn Chan had been earlier, he put up close to no fight now. Probably because the headache truly made him miserable or simply because he knew that with how lightheaded he was. There was no point in running from Hyunjin and Felix if their arms were the only thing keeping him on his feet…. He was glad that he didn’t have to go alone though. Already not being in a clear state of mind, Chan would’ve felt too vulnerable to accept the mild sedative the doctor offered him if he didn’t have his friends with him. It made him drowsy as he lay on the bed and waited for the IV with fluids and fever reducers to finish, knowing he’d be allowed to leave and sleep off his illness in the comfort of his own bed. How he’d get there, he didn’t know yet, but knew he could rely on his dongsaengs to figure something out.

“How’re you feeling now, hyung”, Hyunjin hummed softly, stroking the hair iut of Chan’s face. Blearily blinking up at the dancer, Chan yawned: “I was hurting all over, that’s better now. Really tired though. Might fall asleep.” – “Please do”, Felix muttered under his breath before smiling: “That’s good to hear. Wouldn’t it be great if you fell asleep? You’d wake up feeling so much better because that’s exactly what your body needs. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to get yiu home safely. Sleep, hyung.”

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whumpril Day 11: Can't Sleep

CW: wing whump, magic whump, captivity, drugging mention

Shut in the witch’s cellar, Oryn lies awake on his pallet, surrounded by the choking, sickly-sweet scent of old magic. It makes his eyes water and his nose sting slightly. And, somehow, it makes him miss the circus. Though he stayed only a couple of days before the witch bought him, though they drugged him and treated him roughly, at least he had a clean bed and fresh air.

Then he rolls onto his side, and the rope fastened around his ankle tightens, and his bound wings crunch painfully under him.

The flame of the single candle next to him wavers in his vision, and a face swims into his mind. The other boy whose gaze he’d caught as he was forced to his knees when Griffin had first acquired him. The boy with white hair and red eyes. Immortal, he’d heard. The Immortal Resurrecting Boy. The boy that everyone had come to see. That could have been Oryn, with his ethereal, iridescent wings and near-white skin.

But instead, Oryn is trapped here, alone, with only a candle and leaping shadows for company.

Something thumps in the dark. A footstep. Then another. His heart skips a beat and starts to race. Maybe the witch is coming to check on him. He glances at the rope on his ankle, tethering him to a wooden pole, as if that will protect him. Another footstep, clumsy-sounding and hollow. Oryn holds his breath.

The smell of magic changes and grows stronger, morphing from sickly sweet to light and dreamy, like lavender and vanilla. He finds he can’t look away from the flickering candle, transfixed by its dancing, rhythmic movement. Dimly, he hears the footsteps grow louder and closer, but as much as he wants to look, he can’t tear his eyes away from the flame and dancing shadows.

No, stop, cries a small voice in the back of his mind. It’s a spell, you’re under a spell, you can’t let it take you…

Something touches his shoulder. He doesn’t jump. He can’t.

“Sleep now,” comes a gentle but strangely wooden voice. “You need to sleep, before it’s too late.”

As Oryn succumbs to the magic and slips into a deep, dreamless sleep, he sees someone. A girl, bending over him, the hem of her ragged dress brushing the tips of his bound wings.

A girl with the face of an expressionless doll.

[losthavenmine]

Whumpril 2023 Day 11: Bedside Vigil

A Beautiful Mind (2001)

[pandoramoments]

Cal sat on his blanket, heavy eyes focused on the door to his little room. He couldn't sleep, didn't dare try as he simply didn't trust the people on Bracca enough to let his guard down. He could hear what st times seemed like endless hordes of people walking past his flimsy door, shouting obscene things at each other in their loud voices.

He shivered as he blinked heavily, his eyes seemed almost sticky when they touched, trying to seal shut. But he just kept trying to kerp them open as he tugged the hood of his newly found poncho up over his head.

"Can't sleep." He muttered to himself, coughing to clear his throat and try to give himself awake. He was alone without his master, but he just needed to wait until the Jedi Council came to get him and find out why their troops had turned on them.

Then he could go home.

[crimsonlyinglilly]

Day 11 Can’t Sleep

Working on catching up on whumpril, so here's day 11.

Back to Mother's son, and the aftermath of Dahlia claiming her son.

----

Freya can’t sleep, Dahlia left her days ago. Freya thought the only time she would was to claim another first born but it was too soon for that, wasn’t it?

Her Finn would be Fourteen now, baby Elijah, nine, so what had caused her interest enough to drag them across the ocean and leave Freya behind.

When Dahlia returns, she has a child with her, one old enough to be her siblings.

She knows it’s Elijah before the boy looks up and she hates the fact she understands that lost look in his eyes too well, hates the fact it’s there at all, her siblings should be safe.

It explains the sudden powerful addition to the link she had felt the night before now not why it was so out of control until Dahlia had taken hold of all their power and smothered it, her little brother hadn’t felt that powerful before he was born and at nine he should have control of it.

Elijah would have been mother’s third child so why did the power feel like a first born, why had Dahlia claimed him. 

“Freya. My son.” Dahlia smiles as she introduces them, her hand on his shoulder, Freya looks between them, while yes they did look concerningly similar, but Freya remembers singing to mother’s stomach and Elijah within.

Dahlia looks all too pleased when she explains, her hand never letting Elijah go and her brother, he would always be her brother, nothing either Dahlia or Esther did would change that, stays still under it.

She doesn’t let herself wonder if he had already felt Dahlia’s anger, how far were her family from here, how long has it been since Dahlia stole him, who was there when she had taken him. Had her brother watched as mother stood by and let him be taken too?

“My poor foolish sister attempted to trade her unborn child for you.” Dahlia tells her, leading the boy closer to her, “this, Elijah is the girl they wanted to trade you for.”

Freya learns as she makes sense of the words that she can hate mother more than she thought, the least Esther could have done was to protect her remaining children the ones she hadn’t stole to slavery instead she offered another, as if the problem was who was taken and not that any of them was taken at all.

And even as she bites back the anger she knows that Dahlia is trying to plant seeds of resentment between them, get Elijah to blame her for what their mother had done so they can be a loney and resentful as her but instead Elijah brightens, smiling at her with true warmth in his eyes.

It’s been so long since someone had looked at her like that with love instead of faint fondness that always vanished when Dahlia remembered how Freya came to be with her.

“Finn told me about you not a lot but-” Elijah starts but never finishes as she throws herself forward and pulls her little brother into her arms away from Dahlia’s grip, cutting him off.

“I so very much wanted to meet you.” she says into his hair, blink back the heat from her eyes and hugs tighter when she feels his arms move around her, ignoring Dahlia’s cold look as the anger she had hoped to inspire failed to appear.

She hated them both, mother and Dahlia, but Elijah was her brother no matter what and she wasn’t letting him go.

—--

Finn can’t sleep in the aftermath of his nightmare coming back and stealing Elijah, of failing his brother, on past nights when sleep would come he used to watch Elijah sleep, count his breaths until sleep finally found him.

Once on the ship as they travelled over here, to a new start, he had held Elijah and when the small babe had stopped breathing in his sleep he had woken him up, afterward when they settled Finn had taken to watching her most nights, it was his small way of being a brother, he couldn’t face the child that Elijah grew into with his nightmare’s dark hair and look but during the night he had kept watch to make sure his brother kept breathing.

He couldn’t now Elijah was gone.

Would never see his brother breathe again.

When Klaus had demanded they follow her to find her to get Elijah back, refused to give it up the way Finn had, Mother had explained the horrible truth, that Dahlia had likely killed Elijah not long after she had taken him, that was likely what she had done to Freya years ago, to take their magic.

Still knowing that mother had used Finn to cast that stupid spell years ago, Freya was mother’s fault but Elijah was just as much Finn as Esther’s, he wasn’t sure he could forgive her for that, he wasn’t a child this time.

Father would return and mother would explain that Elijah had been killed by a wild animal, Finn knew he would end up dealing with father’s anger, no matter what mother promised, for failing to protect his brother but he would take it, he deserved it.

So Finn doesn’t sleep, it’s not to avoid nightmares, after all his nightmare is real. 

She’s wandering the earth with his siblings' blood on her hands and Finn helped her.

—-

Elijah can't sleep, as he curls under the blanket, sharing the bed with Freya, sometimes Da- mother insists he shares her bed but he knows that just to hurt Freya and during those night’s he normally spelled asleep, since the first night she had asked and she noticed the way he had frozen, too scared to touch her by accident in his sleep.

Finn used to complain, and upsetting his brother was fine, upsetting d-mother wasn’t, he remembered the way Finn had screamed when she came for him, the way Freya watches her for any sudden mood changes the same way he had been learning to watch father.

He misses mo- he winces before he can finished the thought and corrects it to Auntie Esther, even when he knows she the reason he was taken, that she hadn’t wanted him as a child but more importantly he misses Niklaus,  Kol, baby Rebakah and even Finn, he wonders if his younger siblings had forgotten him yet.

It was likely that Kol and Rebekah would never know him but Klaus was the same age Finn was when Freya was taken, he’d remember him.

But he wonders if that’s worst, Finn was always sad when Elijah had managed to get stories of Freya from him, he wouldn’t want Klaus to hurt everytime he remembered him

—-

Klaus can’t sleep, every time he tries, he sees ‘Lijah walking away with the bad woman, to save them, him and Finn. Klaus didn’t understand a lot of what was said by the bad woman, but she had scared Finn and Lijah and then hurt Finn, made him scream and cry.

And Lijah had left with her, had been taken away.

Mama said they couldn’t go to save Lijah, that the bad woman had already killed him, taken him away forever like she had the oldest sibling that Klaus hadn’t known about.

She had made him swear not to tell father, that it was a special secret between them, Klaus didn’t want to, maybe if father had known he could have hunted the bad woman down before she came for Lijah but father scared him so he had agreed.

Father had shouted and screamed, when he returned and mama told him Eliah had been taken by a beast, Klaus had seen him hit Finn when Mama wasn’t looking. Klaus hadn’t said anything he was still mad at Finn for not saving Lijah, he was bigger, it was his job but seeing that had ended any idea of telling father the truth.

So Mama and Father, and Finn seemed to want to forget about ‘Lijah like that had their oldest sister who Klaus had learned was named Freya.

He wasn’t going to let that happen, he was going to make sure Kol and Bekah knew all about Lijah and when he was much bigger he was going to hunt down the bad woman, hurt her for taking his Lijah. 

[lingeringmirth]

sleepless in loch nora

Stranger Things | Steve Harrington centric | Rating: T | Words: 369 | Insomnia, nightmares, post s1, steve has bad parents, hurt no comfort, character study. | CW: use of someone else's prescription drugs (mentioned once.)

Written for @whumpril day 11. can't sleep | Also here on AO3.

-

After November 1983 Steve stopped sleeping in his bedroom, or, rather stopped trying to sleep in his bedroom, because no matter what he did to get to sleep there, rest didn’t come. Eventually he’d run out of his mothers left-over ambien, which had helped him sleep, if not kept the nightmares at bay.

He tried the guest room across the hall first, its windows weren’t on the pool side of the house where the dark shadows held secrets and death, always lurking, ready to strike at any moment. He lay awake, staring up at the popcorn ceiling by the light of the bedside lamp for hours, his eyes unwilling to close, because when they did he was back in that moment of flashing lights, adrenaline and screeching, fighting for his life. He did fall asleep some nights, eventually, caught a few moments of shut-eye here and there, but never enough.

There’s his parents' bedroom, of course, but he'd rather never sleep again than try sleeping there, it’s just… No way was he sleeping there, if he did then he’d be haunted by Barbara’s fate, the flower-faced monster at the Byers’ and the ghost of his parent’s failed marriage and hands-off parenting, which would all give him even more nightmares and insomnia than what he already had.

That left the sofa, but the living room had the door out to the patio, where the pool was and where even the outdoor lights weren’t enough to dispel the terror of the place. Apparently, there shouldn’t have been any more flower-faced horror monsters roaming around, but Steve didn’t trust the government or the lab, and was always looking over his shoulder. He’d signed an NDA and gotten his hush-money, now they knew who he was and where he lived and were likely tapping his phone, those were all reasons enough to be paranoid.

He could go to Nancy’s, maybe, climb up to her window and sneak in, see if she’d let him crash on her floor or talk with her. Those thoughts were always put aside, he couldn’t trouble her with his issues, with his inability to cope.

What did he need enough sleep for anyway? 

He was fine… until he wasn’t.

[isamajor]

Whumpril 2024 : day 11 to 15

11 . Can't Sleep

Nebarra came and sat down heavily near the campfire near which Taliesin was already installed, a fur wrapped around his shoulders.

“Can't sleep, mmh?”

A growl answered the elder Thalmor. Both knew the question was purely rhetorical. They were both veterans of the Great War and had experienced their share of horrors. Enough so that once you close your eyes, they take the opportunity to haunt you. Rather tired than reliving this in their sleep.

“Hand me the wine.”, Nebarra finally growled.

Taliesin sighed, rolled dramatically his eyes but handed him the bottle. Lacking sleep, Nebarra needed it to numb his memories. (100)

•

12 . Weak Pulse

Lydia was found lying in the tall grass, pale and motionless. The ground was soaked with blood beneath her. Kaidan threw himself on his knees beside her and immediately tilted his head to listen for a breath, then placed two fingers at her jugular. Time seemed endless. Kaidan seemed to feel a very slight pulse, but so faint that he doubted he felt anything.

“Damn, I think we’re losing her!!!”, he shouted.

Lucien arrived a few seconds later and, although out of breath, began to perform his best healing spells on her. Both clung to the hope of that faint pulse to save her. (104)

•

13 . Angry Tears

At first Lucien's features expressed shock. As if he couldn't believe what was happening before his eyes. Then, being assured that it was not a mistake but indeed a betrayal, his big blue eyes filled with tears.

"You said you wouldn't kill him ! I trusted your word !"

Lucien was trembling. It was not the blizzard that froze his tears on his cheeks that caused this, but rather his anger. Taking his courage in both hands, he stepped between the Dovahkiin and the old dragon.

"I won't stand for this." he finally said, his tone suddenly icy. (100)

•

14 . Urgent Care

They had faced an imposing Falmer pack which had divided their group in the maze of the cavern. Remiel clutched her stomach, pale and doubled over in pain. Inigo quickly understood that she was badly injured. He forced her to lie down and tore the sleeve of his own tunic to make a pressure bandage.

"It's gonna be alright. I'm sure Xelzaz will be here in a minute. He'll have potions to heal you.", he reassured her. But his voice was uncertain. He could only provide the minimum amount of emergency care. The Argonian needed to come, and quickly. (102)

•

15 . Mind Games

A memory had arisen. His father watched him, while he was still young, practicing the magical arts, scrutinizing his every move. “Your posture. Straighter!” he ordered, sharply adjusting his position. “Don’t shame our name.” he added.

Instinctively, at the thought of this memory more than a century old, Taliesin corrected his posture. The conditioning imposed by his father in order to make him a perfect Thalmor had left its mark. His father's little games had molded him that way, by exploiting his vulnerabilities and constantly pushing his limits. Each failure was accompanied by his abuse, forcing him into a endless search for perfection. (103)

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Nightmares (Magician's Bait, Part 3)

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 5: Scream / Captivity / "NO!"

Whumpril Day 2 (Sweat), Day 11 (Can't Sleep), Day 18 (Broken Glass)

WoW Whump Event Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

TW: captivity, chains, broken glass, monster, guns, death, knife, magic whump, nightmare, kidnapping mention, arguing

first part | <- previous part | next part ->

Context: It's been four years since Reese's life first went to shit. Although everything's settled down, she still has nightmares about the experience. An old friend and a bitchy magician visit her, seeking aid in the case of Damian's abduction.

-----

She was back in the cell.

The chains on her wrists, the bruises on her arms, the clear, tempered glass that allowed her captors to observe as her life force was stolen from her.

The cold, glass cell.

Reese’s voice bounced off the walls as she screamed for help. The vibrations shook her to the core, echoing from every direction, amplified and distorted. But she didn’t stop.

Not until the answering roar came from above.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

No.

Not the—

The monster barreled past her cell, claws scraping and gouging the floor in its haste for prey. Her.

Reese clamped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. The monster noticed her somehow, by sight or sound or scent, and charged.

The force of the first blow cracked the glass. Strong as it was, the cell was never meant to hold a creature like that. A werewolf? Werebear?

It didn’t matter what sort of creature it was. As it backed up for a second strike, Reese made herself as small as possible, raising her forearms to protect her face.

The glass shattered at the second blow. The tiny, sharp pieces slashed at the exposed skin of Reese's arms, and something warm and wet ran down her arms, dripping onto the floor. A stray shard sliced through the skin below her left eye.

The monster roared, an ear-splitting cry echoing throughout the entire manor.

And the answering gunshot was just as loud.

Crack! Crack-crack! Crack-crack!

It took five bullets before the creature finally fell. Reese stared at the beast in shock as her savior stepped over its corpse, gun in hand, the glass crunching under his feet. She scrambled back, broken glass digging into the palms of her hands.

“It’s okay,” the guard said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A strange noise came from above. A sound simultaneously like a hiss and a yowl.

The guard unlocked Reese’s chains and pulled her to her feet. “The experiment has failed,” he said, “you need to get away now!”

“But—” Reese protested, “you—”

The guard led her around the monster's corpse and down the corridor, shrugging off his mottled jacket as he did so. He thrust the coat at her, and she numbly put it on. 

“I’ll be okay,” he said. The voice had changed, and his face became Draven’s. Then Octavian’s. “You need to stay safe.”

They reached the door. The one leading out of the manor and into the forest. “NO!” Reese shouted, pulling away from him. “No… don’t leave me alone!”

“But you’re not alone,” Octavian said softly. When had the gun become a knife? “You have—”

A sharp voice cut through the air, speaking a word Reese did not understand. A rune. Octavian froze mid-word, eyes wide, before crumpling to the ground. Reese screamed, falling to her knees beside him, trying to find a pulse.

“Oh, child,” someone said behind her, “you can’t save him.”

Reese stiffened. She knew that voice!

Kaira snatched her by the arm and yanked her away from Octavian, turning her around. The woman’s face was contorted in rage. “Let’s see if you’re immune to knives too,” she hissed, rune-inscribed dagger raised high.

Reese watched, helpless, as it plunged towards her heart and—

She snapped awake, chest heaving, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. Her skin was slick with sweat, and at some point, she'd kicked off her blankets. Curling up into a ball, Reese started to sob.

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

Barely an hour later, Reese was sitting at the dining table, wrapped in a blanket and sipping coffee, when a knock sounded from the door. She didn’t need to check a clock to know it was still early in the morning. The first hints of the sunrise had yet to leak over the horizon.

Grabbing her rune-inscribed knife from where she’d left it on the table, Reese silently crept to the door. She paused in front of it, listening.

“...you sure your contact can help us?” a woman’s voice.

“Yes.” The response was short, almost snappish, but recognizable enough.

Reese opened the door, keeping the dagger out of view. “This is early, even for you, Luc.”

Luc jumped, reaching for his akinaka blade before he realized what he was doing. He at least had the sense to look somewhat sheepish. “‘Morning, Reese. Sorry to wake you up.”

Reese eyed the person behind him. Her face was hidden beneath a gray cowl. “I wasn’t asleep. Who’s your friend?”

Luc glanced back at the woman. “She’s why we’re here at such an inconvenient hour. May we come in, please?”

Reese popped her head out the door and checked down the hallway. The lamps had burned low and wouldn’t be lit until after sunrise. Everyone else in the apartment complex was asleep, and the halls were deserted. She nodded and opened the door the rest of the way, leading them to the dining room.

“Coffee?” She motioned to the pot.

“Reese…” Luc’s tone was scolding, but she ignored it as she returned to her seat, setting her knife back on the table in full view of everyone. 

Thankfully, he let the matter drop, pulling out a chair for the woman before seating himself. “What I’m about to tell you is classified information and does not leave this room. Is that clear?”

Reese rolled her eyes. “You know who you’re talking to, right?”

“I need a better confirmation than that.”

“Yes. Understood. Point taken. Clear as glass.” She winced at the metaphor. Too soon.

Luc sighed. “Are you aware of the recent rumors pertaining to the prince?”

“You mean the ones claiming that he was sent to the north as ambassador to the elves? That he’s sick with the plague? Or that he abdicated the throne and the king just hasn’t announced it yet? Or—”

“Yes,” Luc interrupted before she could go on, “those. All those are speculating why the prince hasn’t made a public appearance in over a week. Well… I was just informed of the truth.”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “Prince Damian has been kidnapped.”

Reese blinked. “...okay…” she said slowly.

“Luc,” the woman said, speaking for the first time since she entered Reese’s home, “how is this child supposed to help us?”

“Caiya…” Luc warned softly as Reese’s hands curled into fists. “Don’t. She is exactly the right person to help. Probably the only person who can help.” 

He returned his attention to Reese. “We—Caiya, some detectives, and I—have determined that the abduction was… well… it was impossible unless the person who did it was a magician, or—”

“Or a Stalker,” Reese cut him off, thinking quickly. “One who Caiya can find, but is too much of a coward to fight.”

Caiya inhaled sharply, but Reese affixed her with a glare. “Save it. I might be young, but I’ve seen a lot of shit.” Her eyes flicked to Luc. “I’ll help, but only because I’m the only one who can, and only if I’m properly compensated.”

“Of course,” Luc agreed, a bit too eagerly. His chair scraped roughly against the floor as he stood. “I know it’s inconvenient, but could you return with us to my office? From there we can figure out our next move and you can speak with His Majesty yourself.”

“Excuse me, Luc,” Caiya interjected as Reese rose, “shouldn’t we let her parents know where she’s going?”

“My parents are visiting relatives across the ocean,” Reese snapped, “and they know I can handle myself.” She snatched her knife off the table and stalked out of the room to change. Responsibility or no responsibility, she was not going to get belittled by a self-righteous magician like Caiya Ebony. She’d faced far worse than the magician had imagined.

When Reese returned to the dining room, knife strapped to her thigh, a bag of essentials slung over her shoulder, and the familiar mottled jacket replacing the blanket, she arrived in the midst of an argument.

“Listen here,” Luc hissed, hands firmly planted on the table. “Magician or not, if you duel her, you will lose. Badly. She won that dagger, and she’d rather be cast into the depths than lose it. And if you challenge her to a duel, I will personally see to it that you face the prince’s captor by yourself. Are. We. Understood?”

“Did I miss something?” Reese asked softly.

Luc flinched and whirled around. His expression was neutral, but his cheeks were red from anger. “No,” he lied, shooting a glare at Caiya.

Reese’s eyes darted between Watcher and magician as she fought to keep the surge of pride from showing on her face. She made a mental note to thank Luc later when the magician wasn’t around. “Well… are we going then?”

“Yes,” Luc affirmed quickly. Too quickly. “Right now.”

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

Whumpril Day 11- Can't Sleep

While Mindy is in California, Cliff doesn't sleep a wink.

[drabbles-mc]

What Did You Do?

Richie Jerimovich & Mikey Berzatto

For Day 11 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: bedside vigil / "I'm right here"

Warnings: 18+, drugs/overdose, hospitals, language, angst

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I broke my whole entire heart writing this. Idk what else to say about it.

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @narcolini @withmyteeth (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

When Richie showed up to The Beef and found the front door unlocked and walked in to see most of the lights already on, something felt off. It didn’t feel like the typical morning when someone else had gotten in before him. The door was open, the lights were on, but the restaurant was silent. Early morning prep wasn’t silent, especially not when Mikey was the one prepping.

Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, he called out, “Yo! Cousin!” He walked behind the counter and made his way towards the kitchen. “You good?”

Every second of silence that followed only caused the discomfort coming over him to intensify. He was fidgeting with his hands even though they were shoved in his pockets. Part of him wanted to call out for Mikey again, another part of him couldn’t force any more words out. He didn’t want to know what a second round of no responses would do to his increasingly erratic heartbeat.

Striding through the kitchen, Richie noticed that while everything was clean, it wasn’t set up like someone had come in early to prep. It was all still, everything packed neatly away from the night before. The light that was starting to flicker by the door to the walk-in, throwing an even more eerie vibe over it all. He shook his head as he made his way towards the office.

He reached up to knock on the door when he saw that it was ajar. There was a strip of yellow light creeping out through the small crack between the door and its frame. He stood there frozen with his hand raised for a moment, unable to shake the feeling of dread that was stopping him from knocking. Clearing his throat, he tried to shake the negative thoughts that he didn’t have any real foundation for in the moment.

Finally rapping his knuckles against the door, Richie forced out an uncomfortable laugh as he said, “You deaf or somethin’ now, Mikey? Jesus, I—”

The rest of the sentence died in Richie’s throat when he pulled the office door open. His eyes widened and he was fairly certain that his heart stopped for a solid few seconds as he looked at the scene in front of him. He saw the empty, bright orange pill bottle discarded on the floor, the lid nowhere to be seen, only for his eyes to travel up and see Mikey sitting in the office chair, completely slumped over the desk.

“Fuck,” was all Richie was able to say as he charged in and over to his friend’s side. Leaning in, Richie looked at Mikey’s face, the fact that his eyes were closed and mouth open slightly only seemed to solidify the worst case scenarios running through his head. He shook Mikey roughly by the shoulder.

“Mikey?! Mikey! C’mon,” he shook him again, “wake the fuck up!”

When he didn’t, Richie felt bile creeping up in the back of his throat. He paced for a moment as he tried to pick one of the million racing thoughts in his head to focus on. Running his hand back over his head, he finally got himself to spring into action. He was so far out of his depth, but even so he knew that trying to do something couldn’t be worse than sitting back and doing nothing.

With more difficulty than he expected, he moved Mikey from the chair to the floor, laying him plat on his back. Richie didn’t even realize the way that he was constantly muttering the word, “Fuck,” over and over again under his breath. He fumbled getting his phone out of the pocket of his track pants before dialing 911. He let the phone clatter to the floor before kneeling next to Mikey’s body.

Pressing his ear to Mikey’s chest, he felt tears prick at his eyes when he didn’t hear anything. He felt no beat, not even the slightest shift of a weak inhale or exhale. Interlocking his hands, he tried to remember where exactly he was supposed to put them to give compressions. All the fucking medical dramas his wife made him watch, he thought that he would’ve picked up a few pointers on how to do CPR.

“911, what’s your emergency?” a woman with an infuriatingly calm voice asked on the other end of the line.

Richie shook his head as he started trying to do his version of CPR. “I uh, I think my best friend might be dead.”

They went back and forth, the operator asking questions and keeping her cool in a way that both kept Richie sane and also made him want to scream at her. He even did, a couple times, but she took that in stride too. She coached him through everything that he needed to do, and somehow he managed to do it even though he was on the brink of combusting the entire time.

“Told him,” he muttered to himself more than the woman on the phone, “told him not to mess with those fuckin’ pills. Told him there were bad fuckin’ news.”

“Sir,” her voice cut through the noise in his head, “please, I need you to give me your address.”

He scoffed, a fresh wave of anger breaking through the tears. “I told you I’m at The Fuckin’ Beef,” he snapped. “How, how many places called The Beef do you know of?” It was easy to be angry, to take it out on the woman being forced to ask the questions, but the reality of it was that he was far too upset and scatterbrained to remember the street address.

“I understand, sir.” Again, she handled it with no attitude, no problem. “Emergency services will be there soon. Please stay on the line with me until they get there.”

The first responders basically had to fight Richie out of the ambulance. The only thing that finally got him to relent was telling him that the longer they stood there arguing, the longer it was going to take to get his friend to the hospital to get him the rest of the help that he needed.

“If I beat you fucks to the hospital…” Richie threatened as he stormed off to his car, hand shaking violently as he clutched his car keys.

Richie was driving down the road as quickly as traffic and stoplights would let him. He’d never used the horn so much in his entire life. As he was attempting to weave through other cars, he was also trying to get ahold of Carmy and Sugar.

He didn’t know what he expected from Carmy. The kid was states away doing god only knows what in some restaurant packed to the brim with rich, pretentious fucks. But this was about Mikey. He had to pick up if it was about Mikey. Or so he thought. Richie didn’t even bother to leave a message when he went to Carmy’s voicemail. That was a problem that he would sort out later.

He huffed as he scrolled to Natalie’s number in his phone. He hit the call button, hand shaking as he brought the phone up to his ear. It rang twice before he heard Sugar’s voicemail message in his ear. He groaned right through the beep that cued him to start leaving a message. “You gotta fucking call me back, Sugar. I’m serious. Call me!”

The rest of the way to the hospital he kept trying to call. He texted her saying to call him and that it was important. This wasn’t a conversation that he felt like having over text. It wasn’t really a conversation that he wanted to have at all, but especially not over text.

When he got to the hospital, he was practically sprinting through the hallways trying to find where he was supposed to go, or at least find someone who could tell him where he was supposed to go. For a few minutes he didn’t realize why it was so hard to see in the fucking hospital, but then he realized it was because he had too many tears in his eyes to be able to see past him.

“They brought my cousin here,” he said as he leaned over the nurses’ station counter. “You gotta let me see him.”

The woman was obviously tense, hoping that Richie’s worry and urgency wasn’t going to turn into something that was a problem for her. “When was he admitted?”

“I don’t—” He shook his head, dropping it into his hands for a moment. “Probably like five fuckin’ minutes ago!”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to—”

“And I’m gonna need you to let me in so I can make sure that he’s not fucking dead!” He pointed aggressively to the maze of walls on the other side of the main desk.

The woman that he was talking to took a deep breath, setting her shoulders back just a little as she geared up for whatever was coming next. “Sir. I need you to give me your cousin’s name.”

He deflated slightly at the question. “M-mikey.”

“Last name?”

“Berzatto.”

The woman nodded as she typed it in. Her eyes scanned the computer monitor in front of her and she let out a small sigh before she looked back up at Richie. “You can’t see him yet.”

“What?!”

She stood up out of her chair so that she was a little closer to being eye-level with Richie. There was still a decent gap between them, but she lessened it enough to prove a point. “They are working on your friend. When they’re done with the procedure and he’s stable in his room, you’ll be able to see him.”

“Pro…procedure? What fucking—”

“I can’t say anything more,” she said with a shake of her head, a bit of sympathy in her voice that hadn’t been there before. She gestured to the small waiting room. “I, or one of the other nurses here, will let you know when you can see him.”

Richie wanted to argue, wanted to continue on his warpath, but there was something about the look in the woman’s eyes that sucked all of the fight out of him. The events of the morning were all starting to catch up to him at once. So, instead of yelling and bickering, he simply nodded and tried to find a seat in the waiting room that was as far away from other people as well. He tried calling Sugar one more time, but instantly went to voicemail. So she either shut her phone off, or finally got sick of him and blocked him. Either one was equally likely.

Richie’s eyes were glued to the tile floors of the waiting room, one leg bouncing uncontrollably. He felt like his heart hadn’t slowed down at all since he’d gotten there even though he had been sitting as still as he could the entire time.

He didn’t notice that there was someone standing in front of him until they cleared their throat. Looking up, he saw the nurse from before standing there, arms hugging a clipboard to her chest. “You can see him now.”

It should’ve been a reassuring thing, to be able to see him, but for some reason it felt like Richie’s stomach dropped even more. Swallowing hard, he nodded as he rose to his feet. Running his hand down his face, he asked, his voice not sounding at all like his own, “Is he…did he…you know…”

She nodded, understanding exactly what he was asking based on his half-sentences. “He’s still unconscious, but he pulled through. I don’t know when exactly he’ll wake up, but you’re more than welcome to wait with him until he does.”

There was a tremor to the breath that he let out as he nodded. “Yea, yea. Okay. Thank—thank you.”

When the nurse dropped Richie off at the door to Mikey’s room, he found himself still hesitating to go inside. All he could think about was the sight of him slumped over the desk in the office. He knew that that wouldn’t be what he was walking into this time, but it was all that he could picture. After a few seconds of shaking his head at himself, he stepped in and saw Mikey laid out peacefully on the hospital bed. He was tucked in like he was taking a fucking nap, not recovering from an overdose on pills.

His voice was quiet and shaky as he walked over to the bed. “What the fuck, Mikey?” He shook his head, dropping down in the chair beside the bed. “What the fuck did you do?”

Richie only managed to sit in the chair for about twenty seconds before he had to get up and start pacing. He wandered around the room, touching everything that didn’t seem breakable or like it would cut off whatever life support wires and tubes they had Mikey hooked up to. He just knew that he couldn’t sit still, couldn’t just sit at Mikey’s bedside twiddling his fucking thumbs. He kept checking his phone, hoping to see either Carmy or Sugar’s name flashing across the screen. Each time he was met with an empty lock-screen.

On his umpteenth lap around the hospital room, Richie spotted the bag filled with Mikey’s belongings, everything that was on her person when they loaded him into the ambulance. Ripping the bag open, he dug around in search of Mikey’s phone, letting out a sigh of relief when he found it. Taking it out, he typed in the code to unlock it without even having to think about it.

As one final hail Mary, he dialed Sugar’s number. The relief in his chest was indescribable when he didn’t get sent directly to voicemail. After a couple rings, she picked up and answered with, “Thank god. Are you with Richie right now? Can you tell him to stop blowing up my fucking phone? I’m at work. He knows that some of us work, right?”

It was hard for Richie to speak past the lump in his throat as he said, “Hey, Sug.”

“Richie?” She sounded confused and annoyed for a moment, but then after a second of silence, her tone switched as she asked, “What’s going on?”

His legs finally gave way and he sat down. “It’s…it’s Mikey.”

“What the fuck is going on, Richie? What happened?”

“I’m at the hospital. He’s,” he coughed in an attempt to hide the emotion in his voice, “he’s okay but you really, uh, you gotta get down here.”

“Shit. Fuck. Yea, yea okay. I’ll…I’ll be there soon.”

“Alright.”

They didn’t exchange a goodbye, Sugar opting to just hang up the call. Richie kind of preferred it that way, really. All things being equal, that was the nicest exchange that the two of them had had in a long time. He tossed Mikey’s phone onto the bedside table, sighing as he let his face drop into his hands. He could feel the tears spilling over and he didn’t even have the energy to try and stop them.

He snapped his head up when he heard the rustling of sheets on the hospital bed. Fresh tears filled his eyes when he saw Mikey reaching up to rub his eyes. He blinked hard a couple times, confusion taking over his face as he looked at the IV tubes that were plugged into his arms.

“Shit,” Richie finally forced out, a smile on his face despite all the heaviness in his chest.

Mikey turned and looked at him, his face paler than usual and an expression on it that Richie couldn’t quite read. It was like Mikey was trying to be himself but he couldn’t quite swing it. No one would’ve been able to blame him for that.

“Richie?” his voice was gravelly, like the back of his throat had been scraped raw.

“Yea,” he said, not sure what else he was supposed to say in a situation like this, “it’s me. I’m, I’m right here.”

“Hey.”

Richie didn’t know what was more genuine, the smile on his face or the ache in his chest as he stared at his bed fried laid out in the hospital bed. He was glad Mikey made it, of course he was glad Mikey made it. But there was so much that needed to be done now, so many conversations to be had. And, for all the talking that the two of them did, Richie had the nagging feeling that this was one thing that was going to be tough to get Mikey to be straight about.

“What’d you do, Mikey?” he asked, quiet as he’d ever been.

“What?” Mikey tried to play it off, tried to flash his usual smile that would transition him from one topic to the next seamlessly.

“What do you mean what?” Richie shook his head. “Do you, do you know where you fuckin’ are right now?”

“I know, I know.” Mikey slowly tried to move himself so that he was sitting a little more upright. “I got, you know,” he coughed, “carried away. I’m good.”

“You’re not good, cousin. You,” the lump came back in Richie’s throat, “you were dead in the fucking office.”

“Richie—”

“No, Mikey.” He stood up out of his seat. “I’m not joking with you right now. We’re not just going to move on from this. I, I told you not to mess with those fucking pills and you—”

“You were right. That what you wanna hear?”

“No! That’s not what I wanna hear! I don’t give a fuck about being right, Mikey. You died! Is that, is that not clicking with you?!”

Mikey sighed, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before looking back over at Richie. “What do you want from me, Richie?”

“I want you to be real about whatever the fuck has been going on with you lately. I want you to, you know, I want you to at least pretend that you’re taking this seriously.”

Deep down he knew that Richie was right, but he wasn’t ready or willing to cop to that. He wasn’t ready for everything that was going to happen in lieu of admitting that things had spiraled way too far out of control. So he did what the Berzatto’s did best—avoided the fucking problem.

“When are they lettin’ me out of here?”

Richie sighed in defeat, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Didn’t get that far. Was too busy asking if you were actually going to wake the fuck up to worry about when they were gonna let you out.” He dragged his hands down his face. “Sugar’s gonna be here soon. You gotta…get right before you see her.”

“Get right?”

“Yea. You can’t be acting like this when she comes in to see you. She’s probably been crying her fucking eyes out the whole way here and she can’t come in and see you sitting in bed acting like an asshole who doesn’t care that he just OD’d. You better fake that shit, cousin.”

“Richie—”

“I love you, you know.”

Mikey’s façade faltered for a moment. “I lo—”

“But I’m really, I’m fuckin’ pissed right now. So I’m,” he shook his head, “I’m gonna go meet Sugar in the lobby, I’m gonna go back to the fuckin’ restaurant, and I’m gonna make sure the place doesn’t burn down while you sort the rest of this shit out.”

Mikey knew when he’d lost an argument, so he just nodded. “Alright.”

Richie stepped towards the door to his room, stopping to make an amendment to what he’d said. “If anything else goes down, you fucking call me, alright? Because I’m, I’m still here for you.”

Mikey knew that Richie wasn't one to lie, for better or worse, but he still found himself asking, “Yea?”

He nodded. “Yea.”

The two of them stared at each other for another moment before Richie finally let himself out of the room. He felt like he was walking out of the room with a completely different set of weights resting on his shoulders than when he’d walked in. As he made his way down the hall, hoping to run into Sugar before she blasted her way into Mikey’s room, his mind started to peel apart everything that had happened over the course of the morning.

Before he could spiral too far, he could hear Sugar’s voice as she spoke with presumably the same woman that Richie had talked to not too long before.

“I know that he’s here, so please, let me—”

“Sugar,” Richie cut her off, his voice devoid of any of the humor and sarcasm that it usually had when he talked to her.

Turning to look at him, it was the first time that Natalie ever looked anything besides annoyed about seeing him. She didn’t look happy about it, per se, but there was definitely something akin to relief on her face.

Striding over to him, she stopped right in front of him. Her eyes were red and puffy—he’d apparently made the right prediction about her crying on the way to the hospital. “Is, is he okay? Where are you going? What happened?”

Richie motioned with his hands for her to slow down. “He’s out of it, but he’s alright.”

“What happened?” she asked, the hurt look on her face saying that she already knew the answer.

“Pills.”

She shut her eyes tight for a moment. “Fuck.” Wiping the tears off of her face, she came back around to the other question she’d originally asked him. “Where are you going?”

“Restaurant.”

She scoffed, like she couldn’t believe that he was just going to walk away. “Are you serious?”

“What, do you wanna go cover it, Sug?” He sighed. “I don’t think he needs me right now anyway. You,” he gestured towards the hall where Mikey’s room was, “go and talk some fucking sense into him.”

She didn’t have it in her to get into addressing everything that he’d just said. Instead, she asked, “You talk to Carmy?”

Richie shook his head. “Neither of you fucks picked up your phones.” He huffed, staring up at the ceiling as he said, “This is why you don’t give toddlers fucking smartphones.”

Natalie shook her head, already pulling out her phone to text Carmy. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Right.”

Richie went to step by her when she reached out, gently resting her hand on his forearm to stop him. “Richie?”

He couldn’t hide his confusion at the soft gesture. “Yea?”

She gave a short nod. “Thank you.”

He took a deep breath, nodding as he told her, “Family, right?”

She let out a shaky exhale as her hand dropped back to her side. “Family, yea.”

[astaldis]

@whumpers-monthly​  @whumpril​

Chapters: 3/?     Words: 7,820 Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Geralt of Rivia, Vesemir (The Witcher), Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Coën (The Witcher), Lambert (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion 

Relationships:Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Cahir Mawr Dryffyn aep Ceallach & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Cahir, Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Vesemir, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy & Vesemir, Jaskier & Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt of Rivia

Summary: At Kaer Morhen, Cahir tells Ciri something that makes her scream ...

Excerpt from Chapter 3: 

"Fuck," Geralt says after a moment of silence.

"Fuckety fuck, that is bad indeed," Jaskier adds with a deep sigh. "Come here, darling, let me dry those tears." He fishes a frilly, pink handkerchief from his vest pocket and, hugging her even closer, gently dabs at Ciri's eyes. Yet, now the tears begin to flow for real and Ciri starts to sob uncontrollably in Jaskier's arms. Tears of grief for her dead grandfather and grandmother, for the loss of her childhood, her home, for all the death and destruction and pain that followed, but also for the evil things she has done and is ashamed of. And for Cahir who might be dying because of her.

"Here, my daughter, drink this. It will make you feel better." Geralt holds a mug in front of her tear-streaked face when the sobs finally cease. Surprised, she looks up into his concerned face. In her grief she did not even notice that he had left the room.

Ciri takes a sip. Warm milk with honey. It does make her feel better. And very sleepy. As soon as the mug is empty, Geralt and Jaskier tuck her in. Then Jaskier starts to sing a lullaby for her. It is not the one she expected but one she has never heard before. A fairytale song about a little tin soldier with only one leg and his tiny ballerina, and their eternal love. It is beautiful and sad and exactly what she needs to finally fall asleep, secure in the knowledge that her family is always there for her. Never lost, always found, like in the fairytale.

[em-writes-stuff]

bedside vigil + “i’m right here”

@whumpril day 11

warnings: hospital setting, iv, bullet wound

hero, villain, doctor

700 words (!!!!!)

part one here | part two here

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Hero blinks awake, fluorescent lights nearly blinding her. Monitors beep steadily around her and something whirred every few seconds. She jerks up, supporting herself with her elbows. Next to her, five cups of coffee are on the bedside table and…so is Villain. 

His legs are drawn up to his chest and his chin rests on his knees. He’s snoring softly and for a second, Hero forgets who he is. She stares at him, eyes squinting under the harsh light and, maybe for the first time, she sees him. His beard is patchy with grey hairs and wrinkles are as plentiful as his scars. One of his eyebrows has a slit and she gets the impression he did that by himself. 

He opens his eyes, pulling back into the chair and stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. “Hey,” he says, rubbing his eyes, “You’re awake.” 

She pulls her legs to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on her arm, “I’m awake.” 

“Let me get your doctor.” 

He stands up and grabs a few of the cups, rattling them before tossing them in the trash on his way out of the room. Hero closes her eyes for a second before opening them again and looking for her things. 

The door opens again and Villain walks in with a doctor in tow, she smiles and stands in front of the bed, “Hi, I’m Doctor. I’ve been taking care of you. Do you need to call anyone?” 

Shit. Sidekick’s probably worried sick right now. “How long have I been here?” 

“About seven hours. I expected you to wake up earlier but I guess you’ve been running overtime. Plus the infection wouldn’t help with anything.” 

“Infection?” 

“Yeah, that bullet wound? Whoever treated it didn’t do a very good job. There was still some metal lodged in the muscle. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.” Doctor says. 

Hero squints at her, “I treated it. I thought I got all of it out but I guess I missed some.” 

Doctor blinks in surprise and glances at Villain. He shakes his head. “Right,” she finally says, “Well then. You did a pretty good job for doing it yourself. I’d prefer next time you coming to me. Of course, it would be best if there wasn’t a next time.” 

Hero nods along, “Yeah, yeah, sure. Where’s my phone?” 

“All your things are in this bag,” Doctor says, pulling a bag out from seemingly nowhere and handing it to Hero. “Your phone should be in there with it.” 

“Actually…” Villain says, reaching behind him for the windowsill, “I took a look. I know, I know, lecture me later. It was ringing like crazy about an hour ago so I answered it. Sidekick’s on his way. He told me he’d be here as soon as he could be.” 

Doctor glares at him, “You know better.” 

“It’s fine, he probably did the best thing honestly. Sidekick has a habit of going nuclear when he can’t find me. Did my parents call?” she scrolls through her calls and sighs when she doesn’t see either of their names. “That’s good.” 

Villain and Doctor share another look and Hero clears her throat, “Well, I should probably get ready to go, do I need to stay?” 

Doctor sputters and blinks in surprise, “You should probably stay here at least for a few more hours. I just dug metal out of your leg and the infection’s still clearing up. I’d recommend just…” she guides Hero back onto the bed and covers her with the scratchy hospital blanket, “Resting for a while.” her pager beeps and she curses, “Damnit, I have to go. Villain, please keep her here until she can walk on that leg without limping.” 

He mock salutes and waves her out of the room with a gentle smile. 

Hero stares at him and frowns, “What now?” 

“I’m right here, and I won’t leave until you tell me to or Doctor makes me, so…it’s up to you.” 

She keeps her eyes trained on him, eyes narrowing the longer she stares until she finally sighs and falls back into the bed, “You can stay. I’m not explaining everything to Sidekick.” 

[uuuhshiny]

Russel Crowe in the Sum of Us

Why’d you go and do a silly bloody thing like that for? 

[acasualcrossfade]

Whumpril Day 11: Bedside Vigil

Watching Over You

Written for @whumpril Day 11 Nightmares | Bedside Vigil | “I’m right here.”

Marvel, Thor and Loki

Words: 526

Loki is badly hurt and exhausted after his time on Sakaar. Thor watches over him as he rests.

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The sound of the opening door shook Thor from his half-asleep doze. 

The early light of the morning was just beginning to paint Loki’s room walls. Thor pushed himself upright in the small plastic chair he’d set up next to his brother’s bed. His back whined as he stretched, and Thor did his best to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Loki slept fitfully on his side, his bandaged wrists peeking out from under the covers. He knew there were more wrapped around his torso and ankles. His mind recalled the words the doctor had said. 

Most of his injuries were from repetitive motions. He was probably bound or in chains.

Thor knew his brother well enough to know that if it was anything he’d never stop fighting for, was his freedom.

And this time, it almost killed him.

He’d never seen Loki with anything more than a few cuts and bruises, but even those faded quickly. His seidr healed him or he’d try and cover it with a glamor. Thor learned that with Loki’s seidr exhausted and also recovering, his healing was slowed. The sound of Loki’s breathing was the only sound in the room. It was hitched and uneven, but Thor was grateful his brother could breathe on his own. 

“Just here to change his dressings,” the nurse said easily. He rolled in a tray filled with bandages and solutions.  

Thor fought the urge to retort; wasn’t his brother exhausted? Didn’t he need the rest?

He tried to remind himself that these nurses were the ones that had helped when they first touched down on New Asgard. And, they had volunteered to watch over Loki from the comfort of their home. 

Still, Thor’s chest tightened as Loki jerked awake at the nurse’s touch and at the way Loki’s eyes slid open. Loki’s dull green eyes exhaustedly tried to make sense of his surroundings and were searching, searching, until they caught sight of Thor. He steadily stared at Thor as he tried to speak. 

The sight made Thor reflexively tighten his grip around his hammer. Whatever had happened to Loki on Sakaar, he wanted someone to pay for it. “I’m here.” His voice was hoarse, but Loki’s eyes never left him.

Etches of pain and anguish lined Loki’s face as the nurse carefully redressed his wounds. Thor was by his side the entire time, speaking soft words and telling Loki stories of when they were younger. The stories told in his hushed voice kept Loki distracted and calm, and when the nurse nodded that he’d finished, Thor continued as he lay Loki on the bed.

And when Loki was laid on his other side, his fresh bandages stark white against the cream of his blanket, Loki slipped into sleep easily, and when his breaths deepened, Thor pulled the blanket up to his brother’s ear. Thor took residence in the plastic chair again. 

The sun continued to move around the room, painting sunshine and shadows over Loki’s bed as the day moved on.  And Thor kept watch as Loki slept, one hand loosely wrapped around his hammer, ready to protect his brother from anything. 

[coffeeangelinabox]

Whumpril #11: Can't Sleep

Darrow

In the navy he had once been a part of, there would have been a command structure. He would have had a second. He had certainly been attached to the ships he’d flown back then (what Captain isn’t?) but they hadn’t been his. Not like the Valjean is. She is a part of him, as much one of his limbs as his left arm. He’d sweated and bled to make her a home and keep her flying, to keep those aboard safe from harm and out of the Domain’s reach. He’d spent his last credit and then some on her. 

It does mean that there’s no one else to take over. No one else to answer the bells and whistles and alarms when a Domain scout is seen, when the eddys and rifts of the solar winds buffet at them, when they run low on supplies or the engine wheezes. 

Darrow prides himself on being able to last days without sleep if need be, to be able to make command decisions while his eyes blur, for his hands to shake and fine motor function to be a thing of the past before his brain slows. He’s the only one who can take the responsibility. No matter how he trusts the others, he is willing to leave his ship and crew in no one’s hands. 

David

David worries endlessly about those around him. About what Darrow’s crusade will lead them to, about what they say about good intentions and the road to hell; about Jay’s tendency to leap without looking and Lee’s delicacy that is unsuited to this war; about the fact that Rosie is just fifteen; about the fact that he doesn’t know enough about Nico and Casey’s physiology to help them if they ever got really hurt; about all the ways this tangled mess between Gene and Jemma can go horribly wrong; about the fact that between Darrow’s obsession and Gene’s torrid and inevitably disastrous affair, he has no one else his own age aboard.

On a ship this side, conducting a war against a superpower that spans most of the Orion-spur, sickbay is never quiet and empty. David works through more nights than he doesn't. Anything to make a difference, to staunch the wounds in his psyche, even if he can’t always fix his crew mates. Anything to keep the worries at bay.

Gene

Gene hunches over his private console. Jemma. Missing. He’d wish her dead before he’d put her in the hands of the Domain. He knows what they all think of him, knows that she is probably too young for him, but war makes the strangest of bedfellows - literally in this case, and she’d been willing. She’s kept him up all night before, more than once. 

But never like this. 

Missing.

He traces through some intricate code, scanning all the Domain chatter he can. It’s a tiny hope, millions upon millions to one, but Jemma is smart and resourceful and strong. If there’s a way to get a message out he’ll find it. He’ll find it and he’ll find her. 

A knight on a charger riding to her rescue. Or her avenger if there’s nothing else he can be. 

Jemma

Jemma doesn’t even know it’s night as she arches her back and shrieks on the table as electricity plays over body. She doesn’t know how long she’s been awake, just that her brain has turned to mud and sludge. She will realise later (much later, when they drop her back in her cell under harsh lighting and loud sounds, still preventing rest) that they haven’t even asked her any questions.

That this torment is for sport and little more. 

For now, she screams and convulses, forced to remain conscious through every moment. 

Jay

Jay knows exactly what they say about him - reckless, childish, impulsive, thoughtless. He knows that they think he doesn’t take this campaign seriously, that he thinks he’s in some kind of vid-game, that he’s a little boy playing at war.

They don’t know, can’t know, that his cheerfulness, optimism, determination is feigned more often than not: that Jay has a perpetual voice in his head reminding him to be strong, to be calm, to smile. A voice that reminds him, by Darrow’s example, that this is how heroes act, that they are in control and strong, that they walk upright and unbowed. He makes himself put up that veneer of confidence no matter how he feels. A mask so deeply ingrained it is, by now, second nature.

They don’t know that alone, in his cabin, Jay is jolted out of sleep by nightmares, each crueller and more vivid than the last. There’s the generic fear of what the Domain can and will do to them if they are caught; the horrors of dying in space; the fear of letting those who trust him down. There are the faces of the men and women he’s killed - monsters all, but he still wakes up shuddering and retching at the memory of their blood on his face. He fears being alone and he fears being hemmed into an overcrowded, overpopulated planet, granted a space smaller than his cabin and told to make the most of it. 

He hasn’t slept through the night in years.

Rosie

Rosie is so very very afraid of this new group thinking of her as just a silly little girl. She’s had her whole family stripped out from under her in one fell swoop. She’s heard the others refer to one another as family and she’s definitely not part of that, but the thought of being judged wanting by the only people she has left makes her stomach curl in on itself. 

She does her crying at night. 

The tears had long since run dry for her mother, she barely remembers her. If anything, her mother’s murder just fills her with icy, hard hatred - against those who had done it. For what it had done to her father. 

But she weeps for her father and her uncles, the stability she’d always known. She cries in silence, curled into the corner of her cabin, arms wrapped around her knees like a little child. They’d given themselves up for her, she knows that intellectually. 

But she feels so abandoned and alone. She misses them. Misses Cyrus’ warm humour and jokes and the way he never told her she was too young. Misses Romulus’ steady patience and the way he always knew the best stories. 

And her dad, her dad…

She misses his smell and his warmth, the way he’d brush her fringe off her face when he thought she was asleep, the fact he could make any combination of horrible ingredients into delicious soups, the way he said her name.

She’ll never see them again. If they’re lucky, they’re dead and beyond her reach forever. If they’re not, they no longer remember her and she knows which one would be worse. To look into those eyes, so like her own, the eyes all of the Porters had shared and see no one and nothing looking back, to be with them but without their love and protection…

She cries until her face is pale and her head hurts and her eyes are puffy. Then she wastes some of her daily water ration washing the tear tracks from her face and steps out into the main ship to earn her keep. These people aren’t family, but they’re all she has. 

She can’t let them think she’s too weak to be one of them. 

Nico and Casey

Nico and Casey know Darrow worries for his crew, in his own human way. They’d never tell him, it would hurt him too much, but this ship is painfully, achingly cold. They’re almost used to it. They have, after all, been part of this crew since the beginning. Their planet hadn’t wished to ally with the Domain. It had been destroyed, used as a waste ground for the toxic byproduct of the Domain’s engines. Like the rest of the survivors of their species, Nico and Casey are damaged by the pervasive radiation, less limbs than their forebearers had, a milky jelloid colour instead of a clear sharp jewel tones translucent. 

They have nowhere else to go, and a powerful desire to see the Domain shattered as they had been. Very few people will stand up against their colossal might. Darrow, they acknowledge, is either brave or stupid and likely both. But still, Nico and Casey would be nowhere else.

But the cold eats into them, making their inner walls contract and convulse, ensuring that their strength is sapped from them inexorably, that their tendrils ache and their breathing tubes are scoured raw. It’s all but impossible to sleep. Their kind don’t use blankets, after all, in repose, they melt and ooze. The cold is only worsened by cloying, wet fabric. 

When this is all over, they promise themselves night after night after night, when the Domain is strewn across the stars in pieces, they will retire to a volcano world, they will frolic in near boiling pools. They will be warmed.

For now, they head back to the bridge, movement makes it easier to bear. 

Lee

Lee throws up, wipes a hand across his mouth, paces across the room before throwing up once more. Poison, sickness caused by the rich Domain food. Guilt. He has murdered his hero, his best friend, his father. 

Macbeth shall sleep no more. 

He knows exactly how he felt.

Fenrir

Fenrir watches the boy on his security cameras and his lip curls in a sneer. Beowulf had chosen to join the Elite-ids. That he had also chosen to leave - to dare to use his civilian name when he’d renounced all of that and pledged himself to Fenrir - infuriates him. Traitor. 

It amuses him that he’ll die because of one. 

Excitement bubbles low in his stomach, pure fizzing pleasure in his veins. Soon. Soon. He’ll be able to look into the eyes of his one time captain and ask why.

And then, he’ll see him suffer. He pulls boots and a clean issued jumpsuit back on. He’ll check his tools, make sure everything is ready. Beowulf had once been very fastidious during inspection, wanting everything to be just so. Making sure that the interrogation chamber will meet his standards is far more valuable than unenjoyable rest.

[bg-sparrow]

Fandom: Back to the Future || Rating: T || Genre: Whump, Angst, Some Humor || Summary: In which Marty finds himself living an outlaw’s life alongside Buford Tannen in the Old West, where danger, death, and disease abound.

whumpril 2024 || day 11 - can't sleep

CW: child death An opaque, moonless sky bled into the Kansas plains that night. Marty felt its inky blackness thick in his throat, disquiet pressing at the hollow of his neck; he couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t breathe. Buford eyed him. He wet his lips, put the fire out. “There was nothing you could have done.” It happened so fast.  But that didn’t soften the child’s scream ringing through Marty’s mind the moment the Platte River claimed him. Or the mother’s heart-wrenching wails; God, he’d never unhear those. But two hundred yards away, they could do little else but watch. Marty sniffed.  “Guess not.”