#No. 13

[zegalba]

Alexander McQueen: No. 13, spring/summer 1999

Winged bodice and skirt of balsa wood with trouser of cream wool and cream silk lace

[lostwhump]

@whumptober | Day #13: "Death Will Do Us Part" Captain America: The First Avenger (2011); Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014); Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[one-piece-aus]

Can I request Whumptober No.13 for Yan Rob Lucci or Yan Kaku?

Sure thing! ^-^

Whumptober Day 13

Yandere Lucci x Reader

"Hello there," you greeted a little white pigeon wearing a red tie. "Aren't you cute."

"Thank you."

You jumped, startled, and surprise clouded your face. "You can talk?"

"Yes, but don't tell anyone, okay?" The pigeon held up his wing as if they were hands forming the shush sign.

"Ohhhhh okay," you nodded. In awe and fascinated by this talking bird, you didn't pay attention to the noises next door. 

For hours you asked the bird questions until it announced it had to leave. Sad to see it fly away, you waved goodbye until it flew out of sight. You'd never see it.

At least, that's what was supposed to happen.

A month later the pigeon came back, and your excitement skyrocketed. You were beginning to believe the talking bird with a tie was all a dream you had, you were happy to know the bird's real. You asked more questions but then you asked one you should've asked sooner.

"Do you have a name?"

"I do, forgive me for not introducing myself," the pigeon apologized and bowed. "I'm Hattori."

"Hattori, huh." You petted his little head. "Do you have an owner?"

"Mhm, but he's... busy right now, so I came here out of boredom."

You giggled, "I hope I don't get in trouble for keeping you away from him."

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Hattori leaned into your hand. "I think he'd like you."

"You think so?" You mused before going into the kitchen to get Hattori a snack.

Little did you know, his owner was standing under your balcony, arms crossed and leaning against the wall.

Like clockwork, you saw Hattori once a week now. You invited him inside a few times, but he declined, saying he preferred being outside with fresh air. At least, that was before tonight.

"[Y/n], it's cold outside, can I fly in?" Hattori shivered with his wings wrapped around him.

"Of course." You stepped to the side and let the poor bird into your home, forgetting about your glass of water on the counter. "Here let me get you a blanket."

You left the balcony door open and headed to the hallway closet, taking out the handstitched blanket you made for the bird you had created in your spare time. When reached, Hattori was perched on the counter beside your drink.

"Here," You laid the tiny thing around the bird. "You should feel better now. Oh, I almost forgot about my drink." You picked up the glass, sipping the contents. "What kind of owner leaves his pet out in the cold of night? Actually..." You placed the drink down and held your head. "I don't feel so good."

The counters became sideways and the ground came up to slam into you. Hattori flew up from the counter, you didn't quite see where he went. The last thing you saw was dress shoes approaching you.

Tag: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[fitsofgloom]

Made In The Shade

[serickswrites]

Death Will Do Us Part

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, electrocution, escape, unclear character status, unconsciousness

"Whumpee, you have to promise me you'll stay awake," Caretaker said as they slung Whumpee's arm over their shoulder and began to live.

"T-T-T-ryingggggg," Whumpee mumbled. Their head hung low and they were barely hanging on. Blood dripped from the cuts on their body, some deeper than others.

"Remember, you promised before, death will do us part, Whumpee. You have to stay with me." Caretaker didn't want to think what would happen if they didn't get Whumpee out now.

Whumper had captured the two of them days ago and had been enjoying torturing the two of them. Whumpee was in far worse shape because it seemed Whumper enjoyed Whumpee's screams and Caretaker's anger far more than the other way round. Whumper had shocked Caretaker a few times before returning to cutting Whumpee's skin.

Whumpee had been bleeding for hours. Had been getting weaker and weaker. And now they were barely conscious and this was their chance to escape. Caretaker had to get Whumpee out of there.

"Mmmmm," Whumpee hummed.

They were so close to freedom. Caretaker could see outside. Could see freedom. Just a bit longer. Caretaker opened their mouth to try and urge Whumpee on, but nearly fell as Whumpee's knees buckled. "Don't break down on me yet, Whumpee. We're almost there!"

Whumpee didn't reply, becoming more of a dead weight pulling Caretaker down. "Come on, Whumpee. Come on," Caretaker said as they scooped Whumpee into their arms.

Whumpee's eyes were closed, their jaw slack. Their head lolled on their neck as Caretaker lifted them up. Their limbs flopped as Caretaker ran. But they didn't wake. "Stay with me, Whumpee. You promised. You promised."

Whumpee didn't wake as Caretaker shook them. Didn't wake as Caretaker talked to them. Didn't wake as Caretaker emerged outside with a cry of delight. And they didn't wake as Caretaker begged them to open their eyes and look around to see they were free.

"Please, Whumpee! Stay with me now! PLEASE!"

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[psychologeek]

Whumptober #13:

TEAM AS A FAMILY | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part."

@keitria this isn't exactly what you want, but part of the universe

There's a basement underneath The Nest. 

During the constructions of the old theatre, Tim has extended it sideways and below, making it so sheltered that one could survive anything smaller than a nuke. Whole with enough MRE for a year, necessarities such as bathroom and algae for oxygen and recycling water.

There's a box in the basement. One that used to hold his secret photos, back when he was a child.

It still holds memories. 

~

There's a kid's cap, and child-sized shovel.

("There you go, kiddo! Just like your dad!")

There's an old book and a pair of gloves.

("You are part of a long, powerful dynasty. Never let anyone make you feel ashamed of who you are.")

There's a magnifying glass and a pair of googles.

(“The hair gets in my eyes and Flush’s so mode about it he keeps telling me I just need  to cut it but I don’t want to did you know they have shampoo that can make you smell like STRAWBERRIES? that’s totally crash past is so crash but I still like my hair.”)

There's a golden earring. 

("What's wrong, Rob?"

And everything was too much. Too wrong. 

"It's nothing.")

There's a golden earring, shaped like the sun.

("It just. It feels wrong," he later tried to explain. "Like it's... it was done for a girl. But that was done to my body. But it wrong and- urrgh, sorry, it's hard to explain it.")

Just a single eering. 

(Kon and a needle and a pair of earrings -

"I thought maybe it could help," said his teammate. "Maybe we can make it, like, something of our own? Making this - I don't know. Something good? That we choose?"

And there was a needle in Kon's hand, and a hole in his earlobe were a tag used to be. A number.

But after that, they were just friends who shared a single pair of earrings.)

(Like it? I have more mini-fics Whumptober index | And full size fics on ao3. )

[oxideblack]

[tepidti]

more patches but for me this time 🕺

[moonlight0934]

Death Will Do Us Part

Peter wakes up to find himself restrained and unable to use his powers in a concrete room. Some of the other X-Men are scattered around the room, all unconscious and restrained too. Peter has no idea how they ended up like that since the last thing he remembers is getting his classroom ready for an activity that he had planned. He was completely alone, moving chairs, and then nothing, not even someone coming into the room with him.

His head is throbbing, and he feels like he probably has a concussion. He pulls on the restraints only to realize that there’s something locked around his arm from the wrist almost up to his elbow. Most of the feeling in that part of his arm is gone, probably from cut off blood flow. He takes a closer look at it without trying to twist his other hand around to probe the area. As much as Charles has been preaching restraint, grace, and not jumping to conclusions, this definitely looks like government equipment.

Storm starts to come to, also seeming confused and panicked. Peter doesn’t say anything, because he’s still freaking out, and has no idea what to say to make her feel better. She realizes that he’s awake and there, and she seems to calm down somewhat.

“Peter, are you ok?”

“I think I hit my head, but I’m not actively bleeding. I don’t know where we are though, and you’re the first one other than me to wake up. But you’re not hurt?”

“No, and you’re sure you’re good?”

“I seem to be.”

“Do you know what happened?”

Peter shakes his head, and his vision spins. He tilts to the side, having to catch himself with his shackled hands.

“Peter?”

“Sorry, I don’t know what that was. Anyway, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was outside of the mansion, and there were a lot of noises from inside, so I went to check on it. I didn’t make it past the entrance hall before I blacked out.”

“Whoever it was must have gassed the building. That makes sense why I don’t remember anything. The only thing I know is that I was setting up my classroom. The whole hall would have been empty, so even if my powers played into how long it took me to pass out, I wouldn’t have heard anything.”

Storm hums, trying to brute force the shackles off. Peter puts his head back against the wall, feeling very suddenly and unusually tired. He’s not sure how long he just sits there, but eventually he hears someone calling his name.

“Hm?”

He picks his head back up, wondering when he closed his eyes. A few of the other people in the room are just staring at him, and all of them are awake now.

“Sorry, what?”

“I think there’s something really wrong with him,” Storm says, sounding concerned and angry.

“Peter, can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Hank asks patiently. His tone is level, and he sounds much more calm than the rest of them.

“Wait, are we all here except for the professor?” Peter asks, realizing that he misjudged just how many people are scattered around the room.

“Almost, but that’s not important right now. Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“I feel fine, just a little foggy.”

“Ok, well-” Hank is cut off by a buzzer.

Before any of them can say or do anything, they’re all shocked. Electricity runs up and down Peter, and his vision fades out for a second.

Erik blinks, wondering where in the hell he is, because it’s certainly not his bed where he went to sleep last night. He’s in a concrete room with chairs on one side in front of a black window, and he’s restrained on the other side. There’s a console between the chairs and the glass. He startles realizing that Charles is next to him.

“Charles?” he whispers.

They’re alone in the room, and he can’t remember anything other than going to bed last night. It’s been almost a year since they’ve seen each other, but he looks exactly like he did the last time they saw each other. Charles doesn’t move, and Erik tries to make the shackles remove themselves, but nothing happens. Eventually Charles starts to stir, and he looks just as dazed and confused as Erik is.

“Charles? Are you alright?”

“Erik?”

“Yes.”

“I’m fine, what about you?”

“I’m unharmed as well.”

“Good, good.”

Charles sighs.

“I can’t use my powers,” Erik says softly.

“Neither can I. I can’t hear anything.”

A man in a military uniform walks in. He smiles upon seeing them awake.

“Good to see that you two are finally up.”

“Military,” Erik says, sounding entirely unimpressed.

The man smiles wider at that.

“Well, someone is feeling bold, especially to be bound and unable to do anything.”

Charles bites his lip, his eyes dark and unhappy. Two other men come in, and each one grabs one of them. They force them into the chairs in front of the console, which is dark except for the right hand side where the first man is standing. All of the buttons over there are lit up.

He presses one of them and the tint comes off of the window, and they can see the X-Men scattered around a concrete room. They’re talking, but the room Erik is in has no sound. His eyes linger on Peter just a little longer, though he isn’t sure why he’s drawn to him. There’s blood matting Peter’s silver hair along the side and back of his head. It’s a lot, but that’s not too surprising with a head injury.

“What are you doing to them?” Charles asks, sounding rightly furious.

“We’ve been given clearance to try a few tests with them. We’ll start with their tolerances to different things since most of them are completely unharmed.”

“You’re just going to torture them, and why? Because they’re different than you?”

The man smirks.

“Of course not.”

Erik scoffs.

“Why am I here?”

The man turns to Charles.

“You and the boy never told him? I must admit I was surprised when I got the results of the DNA test that we ran on all of you. You know what? I think I’ll let you be the one to tell him. For now though, we’re going to get the festivities started.”

He pushes a button on the console, and suddenly they’re all electrocuted. This goes on for a good fifteen seconds before he lifts his finger. 

“Stop that!” Charles exclaims, and Erik can feel his anxiety.

“Charles.”

The man puts his finger back down on the button as Charles just watches helplessly.

This happens a few more times before the man says, “Ok, well, we’ll call it now. I’ll let you guys watch them while I get the next test set up.”

Charles doesn’t look away from his children, or acknowledge the man in any way. Once the door shuts behind him, Erik takes a deep breath.

“Charles?”

Charles doesn’t respond, his eyes misty and still entirely focused on the X-Men.

“Charles?” A few seconds pass. “Charles?!”

“What?” Charles asks, sounding on the verge of tears.

“What was he talking about? What did you not tell me?”

“It wasn’t my place, and it’s not my place now.”

“Charles, no. You don’t get to do that. Whatever it is is the reason I’m here. Who was he talking about?”

“Peter. You remember him, right? He was the one who broke you out of the Pentagon.”

“Oh, I forgot about that, but I remembered him. He was with Raven last time. He was talking about Peter? What about him?”

Charles finally pulls his eyes away from his children to look at Erik with the saddest eyes.

“Peter is your son. He didn’t want to tell you because you’d just lost your family, but that’s why he came to the school in the first place. He wanted to find you, and tell you.”

Erik feels like the air is sucked out of his lungs, and all he can hear is the blood rushing to his ears. He turns to look back at the young man that he had met years ago. He’s almost completely forgotten that he was the one who got him out of the Pentagon, but now he remembers something that he said with startling clarity.

“You know, my mom once knew a guy who could do that.”

“No, he’s not…”

“Yes, he is. I spoke with his mother. She wasn’t happy that he wanted to see you, but he’s an adult, so she couldn’t stop him.”

“He’s my… I have-”

Peter stirs, his eyes glassy and more blood running down his face as he opens his eyes. Erik finds himself searching Peter’s face for any kind of explanation to what he’s hearing. He sees a lot of his own features in Peter’s face once he looks hard enough.

“He wanted you to know, but he was willing to give up his own peace to make sure that he didn’t take away any that you had left. He’s a wonderful young man who always does everything he can for other people. He’s so compassionate, and he’s a lovely person to talk to. All of the children love him, and most of them just met him a year ago. Everyone trusts him, and he’s always available if you need something.”

Erik takes a shaky breath, feeling a little bit like he’s going to pass out.

“We have to get out of here,” Erik whispers, trying to push the other information to the back of his mind.

“Yes, but I don’t know how.”

“Where’s Raven? I don’t see her.”

“She wasn’t home. She was in town for the day since she had the day off teaching.”

“What does for the day mean?”

“The entire day. She was going to be volunteering at the women’s shelter in town.”

“So she might know you’re gone by now?”

“Yes, but what could she do by herself?”

Erik puts his head back, frowning.

“I don’t know what to do.”

This continues for the next thirty six hours before Raven manages to get into the facility. They do a multitude of things to the X-Men in that span of time including, more electrocution, bursting out some of their eardrums, breaking some of their bones, and messing with their individual abilities. Erik and Charles have to watch all of it. It takes a few hours for them to get to a hospital once they’re rescued, but most of them are admitted immediately.

Erik, Charles, and Raven are left to wait after that. Charles and Raven have a mental conversation, but Erik doesn’t even try to puzzle out what they’re talking about. He just keeps his head on top of his knees, staring blankly at the wall. Raven eventually turns her attention to him.

“So, are you alright?”

“No.”

“Is it because of Peter?”

“How long did you know?”

“Since the government took us from the mansion. I think I was the first person he told.”

Erik hums, blinking slowly.

“I guess that makes sense. How could I have missed the first what, thirty years of my child’s life?”

“You didn’t know, and he didn’t for a long time either.”

“Yeah, but I… I don’t know what to do now.”

“That’s ok. You don’t have to know what to do right now. You’re also not the only important factor in this anymore. He’s not a child. He’s an adult, one who is not only very capable of making his own decisions, but pretty good at it too.”

Erik nods.

“Yeah, I know. What’s he like?”

Raven smiles.

“He’s funny. He loves music, telling stories, drawing, and poems. He’s really into bands, like more than anyone ever should be. He has an interesting style, which I’m sure you’ve noticed. He’s compassionate, and he’s a really good listener. He may not always know what to do, but he’ll always try. He’s so brave, and he makes everyone around him better.”

Erik feels his heart clench.

“Where did Charles go?” he asks, suddenly realizing that his friend isn’t in the room anymore.

“A doctor wanted to talk to him, so he went with them right before I started this conversation.”

“Oh, ok.”

They sit talking for almost an hour before Charles comes back. He looks terrible with puffy eyes, and a dark expression.

“What happened? Did someone die?” Raven demands, shooting to her feet.

“No, but they don’t think Peter is going to make it. He’s in a coma right now, but his head wound got infected. His body isn’t strong enough to fight it.”

Charles keeps talking, probably telling Raven bad news about the other kids, but Erik doesn’t hear it. Everything melts away at the idea that his child is going to die right after he learned about him. That he’s never going to get to know this amazing person that Charles and Raven have told him about, and it’s mostly his fault. 

[sowhumpful]

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

[strawberrylabs]

Whumptober day 13 with Tighnari!

(they/them) pronouns used!

Prompt: I don't feel so good

Whumptober Masterlist

she/her version, he/him version

Summary: You and Tighnari get used against the Traveller. Talk about a romantic tragedy...

Warnings: Death, poison

You and Tighnari had somehow become part of a plan to hurt the traveller. 

The two of you had received word that there was a new withering zone- and as forest watchers, you both went to investigate.

The two of you were knocked out, and when you awoke, you were in one room, Tighnari was in a room across from you, separated by a pane of glass. In front of the two of your rooms was the Traveller, Paimon, and a masked man you didn’t know.

“Well traveller.. Which of your friends will you save?”

What?

Oh.

You’re beginning to understand.

“Traveller! Don’t worry about me! Save Tighnari!”

“What?! Don’t be stupid! Save them!”

You felt bad for the Traveller. They looked mortified, Paimon equally so.

“Tick Tock blondie.” The man grinned sinisterly. 

“Tighnari, you know you’re more needed in Gandharva Ville! You’re the best healer and forest watcher we have!”

“Stop being so foolish! How could I live with myself if the love of my life died because I lived?”

Despite the anger in his tone, you could see how his ears drooped and his tail fell between his legs.

You pressed your hands and forehead against the glass separating you, and he did the same. 

“Blegh, I hate lovers. You know what Traveller? I’m feeling nice. I’ll choose for you!”

The Traveller yelled in proteste as he pulled a lever. 

Before you had time to think about what might happen, a pink vapour began to fill the room you were in.

“Shit! No!” Tighnari was frantically trying to find a way to break the glass now. Punching it, kicking it, ramming himself into it. To no avail.

“Tighnari.. I don’t feel so good..”

Your eyes stung and your breathing grew heavy and laboured- it was as if every time you inhaled, you were inhaling sand instead of air. Your ears started ringing, and before you knew it, your legs had failed and you were sliding down the glass.

You can faintly make out someone laughing, and Paimon’s high pitched screaming. But that was in the distance.

In front of you was Tighnari.

He had knelt down as you fell, keeping his forehead against the glass where yours was. He was crying.

“No no no! Stay with me!! Please stay with me, you idiot!” 

You want to reply, to tell him it’s ok, but you can’t move. You can’t feel. You can’t…

You can’t.. Anything. 

Before you can register you’re dying, your head goes limp against the glass, lifeless eyes still peering into Tighnari’s.

His mouth is agape in horror, a soundless scream escaping him. 

You’re gone.

You’re gone and he’s still here.

“You.. You bastard! Bring them back! How dare you- Bring them back to me!!” Tighnari’s eyes were clouded by tears as he bared his teeth at the masked man.

“You know Traveller… I don’t very well like this one’s tone.” Before Traveller could protest, the lever was pulled again.

Tighnari’s vision went pink.

“Damn you… at least.. I can go see them now..”

Tighnari’s life faded, eyes still locked with your own. 

The man laughed sardonically

“What a tragedy.”

short- but i enjoyed this one<3

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Nightingale's Song

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? | The Seas No More | The Nightingale's Song |

CW: Dehumanizing language, use of ‘it’ as pronoun for nonhuman whumpee, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, fade-to-black noncon implied, magical whump, captivity, minor side character death

-

One year after the events of The Seas No More

Gilly, fingers itching to close around the old biddy’s skinny neck, settled for laying the cool compress over her forehead, taking pains to look like nothing so much as the devoted tenant helping his landlady through some terrible mysterious illness. 

It had been a very, very long eight months or so since he'd started this little act, feigning devotion and care for the old woman, and it was with very real relief that he finally saw the end in sight.

Mrs. Neumann’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her little yappy dog running circles below her where she was laid out on the chaise in her less-fashionable front room. It stopped, now and then, to lick at her fingers, and then ran in circles again. 

“Water, please, Gilly,” Mrs. Neumann croaked, and he smiled solicitously as he tipped the cup to her lips, allowing her only a few sips before pulling it back away. “Thank you, you sweet young man.” Her cold bony fingers closed around his wrist and Gilly suppressed a shudder only with effort. "You have been so good to me, in these hard days..." Her eyes, when they met his, were strangely foggy, as if covered with a sort of film that stood between her and the world. “You have been such a boon to an old woman with no one to care for her. There is some infection, I should think… We must send for the doctor, mustn’t we?”

“The doctor has already come and gone,” Gilly said, leaning close and half-shouting in the hopes she could hear anything he said. Her mouth worked aimlessly, and he gave her more water, although it didn't seem to help. “Do you not remember?” Her hearing had gotten even worse since her illness had taken hold of her - or since the siren's song had convinced her that she was ill, anyway - and soon enough, he thought, all this shouting could finally cease. 

“Oh, he did?,” Mrs. Neumann quavered, eyes watering. But then she seemed to forget her emotions and looked to the side. “I suppose so… He must have. Oh, but Gilly, who is singing? The voice is so fine…”

In the corner, Gilly’s siren sang, plaintive and mournful, as he’d been ordered to. He hadn’t wanted to turn his song to Gilly's will, but with a year of careful teaching he had taught the creature to obey him without hesitation, and they were finally ready to put Gilly’s plan into motion.

It began here.

His future would start here at Mrs. Neumann’s sickbed, where beneath the notes of the lovely song were the commands being worked into the elderly widow’s malleable little mind while she burned with unchecked fever. 

The doctor came and said there is nothing to be done now but rest. Gilly Wentworth cares for you now. Leave him everything you have. He deserves all you have and more. 

He deserves everything. 

“He's a friend,” Gilly replied to her question, shouting right against her ear and getting almost no sign she was aware of him at all. Her eyes shifted, moving as if following the notes of Areyto’s beautiful song. The clouds over her irises were thickening. “He sings well indeed! It was a miracle I found him!"

“As the hart on the mountain so was my love brave,” The siren sang, powerful tenor rising and falling. Its eyes were distant, its body relaxed in a way it never was otherwise. But even Gilly could see that the siren loved the act of using its voice, not only for luring wayward sailors but simply to sing at all. “So handsome, manly and clever. So kind and sincere and he loved me so dear - oh, Edwin, thy equal was never..."

“How beautiful,” Mrs. Neumann whispered, lips barely moving. He watched the fog on her eyes overtake them entirely as the spell in the siren’s voice took hold of her. “Oh, Gilly, you have done more than anyone could ever be asked to do for me… it's a pity, what happened with your father… you should have kept your riches…"

“Yes,” Gilly whispered, leaning closer. “Yes, I should have…"

"A pity," The old woman repeated, reaching blindly for him, unable now to see anything but what the siren commanded. "Such a pity… you deserve everything…"

Gilly shivered with anticipation, breathing harder. "Yes, yes, I do…"

Even the little yappy dog had gone silent, now, head cocked with its ears up as it listened, seated on the ground. Gilly wondered idly if the dog would try to give him all its stupid little bones or something, if the siren’s magic could speak to the hearts of animals, too. 

It didn't work on animals, everyone knew that. But then it wasn't supposed to work on women, either, and here was Mrs. Neumann wholly ensorcelled by it.

He would have to go see Atabei, and tell her, after this was over.

“You have been such a good and kind gentleman…” She murmured, and he held her hand in both of his, soft papery wrinkled skin cradled between his palms. “I will leave you everything, everything you deserve…”

“Yes," Gilly repeated, more insistently this time, leaning even closer. He could smell her now, the rosewater she dabbed at her neck and wrists each day like clockwork when she rose, the sour note of her sweat beneath. It wouldn’t be long now.

As soon as she signed.

“But now he is dead and gone to death’s bed,” The siren continued, “He’s cut down like a rose in full bloom. He’s fallen asleep and left me here to weep by the sweet silver light of the moon…”

Mrs. Neumann’s mouth had fallen open, a look of serenity overtaking her features entirely but for the clouds over her eyes. Gilly left her for the moment and went over to a table near to the door, grabbing the sheaf of papers there, an inkwell and pen. He returned, settled himself back next to her, and began to speak to her in a soft voice.

She heard, somewhere, deep beneath the deafness that had come on her with age and the siren’s song. The siren commanded her to hear him, so she did.

He explained how important it was that she leave her wealth to someone who would use it wisely, that her friends and the church could not be trusted with it - only Gilly Wentworth, who cared for her so faithfully, deserved her fortune.

She nodded, and wept a little at the selfless nature of such a man, and then she took the pen.

The old woman signed every paper he gave her, her signature unmistakably her own and unwavering, even though she never looked directly at any of the words. He’d had these drawn up himself by a solicitor who had remarked, also, on the fine quality of his friend’s singing, before his own eyes had clouded.

When they had left the solicitor's office, the man had remembered no such song, only Gilly himself, and how kind he was to care so for an old woman alone in the world.

He would file the papers, once Mrs. Neumann finally kicked over the bucket and went on to the endless pile of her previous beloved yappy dogs in the sky, waiting for their mistress to greet them. Really, it wasn’t like she was doing anything with her wealth anyway. 

Gilly intended to do quite a lot with her wealth.

“Roll on, silver moon, guide the traveler’s way when the nightingale’s song is in tune,” The siren’s voice shifted, went so painfully sad that tears welled in Mrs. Neumann’s eyes, moved by the mourning the siren could mimic but, Gilly thought, not actually fully feel. “Never more with my lover shall I stray by the sweet silver light of the moon…”

She signed.

And she signed.

And she signed.

When he had all he needed, he put the sheaf of papers back, poured a glass of a scarlet liquid into a crystal cordial glass, and then set it into Mrs. Neumann’s hands, closing her fingers around it. She didn’t seem to notice, frozen in place by the strength and power of the siren’s song. 

Smiling, Gilly walked slowly towards the corner where his captive magic creature stood, lit by the strong yellow sun coming in the windows. Despite the immensity of emotion in its song, there was an emptiness in its dark eyes that sent a thrill down Gilly’s spine and pooled a greedy heat within him begging to be released. The sun touched the edges of its black curls and turned them to gold, shone warm on smooth brown skin.

Naked, it was a vision, an ancient statue brought to life by the favor - or curse - of ancient gods. Gilly came to a stop beside it, looking over its finely-formed face, the imprints of his fingers still, eternally, written clearly in purples and reds around the slim column of its neck. His eyes moved down, following the complicated swell of magical symbols that held it firmly in check, bound it without question to his will. The siren looked down and away from him, the song… shifting just a little. 

The note of wistful loss that the words called for became something stronger but far more painful to hear, a wailing plea to the heavens for help trapped within its perfect pitch. And yet no help could come.

Not for such a monster, not with the magic keeping it still for Gilly’s every touch, for as long as he commanded it to be. 

“His grave I will seek until morning appears and weep for my lover so brave…”

Gilly laid his hand against the siren’s face, palm to its cheek, and its voice wavered a little as its dark eyes closed.

“I’ll embrace cold turf and wash with my tears the flowers that bloom o’er his grave…”

With avid delight and no small amount of desire he followed the trail of a tear that ran down its other cheek and settled at the corner of its mouth. He touched his thumb to the spot and then licked the salt off it. To see the creature at its wicked work was… truly beautiful to behold. To know that it wept because it could do nothing but obey him - him, Gilly Wentworth, just a man in a world full of men and yet now one of the most powerful men alive - was… incredible.

Awe-inspiring.

And they had only just begun.

“Never again shall my bosom know joy,” The siren’s voice dipped to low, a hushed and mournful lament. “With my Edwin I hope to be soon. Lovers shall weep o’er where we both sleep by thy sweet silver light, bonny moon.”

Gilly checked back on Mrs. Neumann, and smiled. She stared off into space, her chest moving fitfully with emotion. The money, the house, the horses even… all of it would be Gilly’s very, very soon.

Really, it was like she was investing in him.

Just like everyone else was going to do.

Pity she wouldn’t see the returns.

“Have her drink what’s in the cup,” He whispered. The siren took a breath and obeyed, changing its power minutely.

“Roll on, silver moon, guide the traveler’s way when the nightingale’s song is in tune…”

Gilly watched as Mrs. Neumann, seemingly in a trance, lifted the cup to her lips and drank it all, swallow after swallow, some of the liquid running from the corners of her mouth to wet her hair and the chaise beneath her. 

He smiled.

“And never, never more with my lover I’ll stray by thy silver light, bonny moon…”

The final note hung in the air, as Mrs. Neumann’s eyes slowly closed. She relaxed back into the chaise, her hand dropping, the cup clinking onto the floor and rolling away, the last drops of poison spilling like water to evaporate and leave no trace of themselves behind.

Gilly exhaled, then walked with purpose back to the siren. 

It raised its eyes, briefly, to meet his just as he grabbed it by the arms and shoved its back against the wall. A gilded mirror hanging next to it crashed to the ground, cracking into pieces, and the little dog took to yapping again. 

It stared at him with naked, unhidden fear. 

“Good,” Gilly murmured, an inch from its false man’s face. Uneven breath on its lips, those eyes like pools of deep water locked on his. There were still red welts on its back, new ones thanks to Gilly discovering that even its pain sounded pretty, and he enjoyed the soft sound the siren made as its back was ground against the wallpaper.

He put one hand around its neck, thumb pressing just over its pulse, and felt it flutter and jump under his touch as the siren bared its neck to him, as he had taught it always to do. To defy even this touch would result in a misery the stupid sea creature could not bear. Even the dumbest animals could be trained, after all. Even the stupidest, most stubbornly beautiful man-shaped things could learn. 

Its voice was thin and airy. “M-Master-... please-"

“You did wonderfully,” He breathed. “A perfect tool for my will. Now we must find someone to take the dog - it’s irritating but I won’t leave it to starve here, will I? I’m not so heartless as all that - and then we’ll sell the house and the horses and all this nonsense and frippery she keeps… and then we’ll be on our way, won’t we?” He leaned forward, speaking against the siren’s ear just to feel the way its body shivered against his. “You and I. Now. Kneel for me.”

“Yes, master.” Its voice went dull. Its mimicry lost its shine, and everything fell flat from its mouth like heavy stone. It always spoke like that, when he commanded it to its knees. 

Gilly didn’t mind. 

Behind him, as the poison took hold, he heard Mrs. Neumann's breath go suddenly rapid and rasping, heard her fall from the chaise to the floor, arms and legs rigid, muscles spasming.

It would only last a few moments.

Then she would slip into unconsciousness and finally to her death, and Gilly would be one step closer to everything he'd ever wanted.

He let go and stepped back, watching the siren gracefully sink down onto Mrs. Neumann’s expensive woven rug.

Gilly put a hand in its hair, gripped tight enough to make it whimper with the pain when he pulled its head back. “I need to write a letter to Atabei." His other hand worked at his breeches, and his eyes took in the way the thing shuddered at the sight with greedy, rising lust. "Have to tell her it worked on a woman. I should see if it works on other women... Need to tell Beibei I finally have the coins to come see her for a visit. Be dressed in real finery, for once."

"Yes, master."

"Sssshhh. Open your mouth for me."

He closed his eyes, buried both hands in the siren’s thick hair, and gave himself over to his triumph and the perfect pleasure of the siren’s tears. 

-

Taglist: @burtlederp  @finder-of-rings  @theelvishcowgirl  @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump  @bloodinkandashes  @squishablesunbeam  @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings

Covers @whumptober prompts 13, 14, 15

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Will the Blood Be There in the Morning? - Whumptober2023

But for days like today, he didn’t need a date to remember. He didn’t need to read a board or for someone to inform him, he knew that today was the day he died.

He could tell in the rising sickness, rippling through his stomach and leaving that thick, sharply sweet feeling of nausea in his throat. It was the screaming sensation in his bones telling him something was wrong, different in his reanimated corpse tonight. The scar across his back didn’t hurt exactly, not tingly or weeping, yet at least, but he could certainly say that he was more aware of it right now than he usually was.

----

Ahkmenrah experiences his death again.

For day 13 of @whumptober . Also on AO3, inspired by a post here on tumblr that I can't find but spoke about the exhibits experiencing their deaths. If anyone can find it for me then I'd greatly appreciate it.

Words: 4066

Ahkmenrah stood overlooking his sarcophygus with a sick feeling in his stomach. Rising bile despite the fact that his gall bladder had been removed with his liver, held by Ismeti and part of the many artifacts of his that were stored, but he couldn’t have. He often wondered if they too were restored to how they’d been when he was alive each night, or stayed dead considering they’d been removed from his body. Or they could just magically return to his body, they hadn’t been removed when he’d been alive so if he was truly how he was then, in body at least, not spirit, then surely they’d be there. He’d never ventured to the records department to find out. 

Sometimes the passage of time, and the different calenders used in the modern day, made it hard to remember exact dates from his previous life. His birthday, when his parents had died, when he was crowned Pharaoh, when he died. If it wasn’t for the historians finding old records and translating them into the modern day, he wouldn’t be able to trust himself to remember much at all. 

He was the only actual human exhibit in the entire museum, he wondered if that meant his memories were more or less vibrant than the likes of say, Teddy, who could recount tales all night long, but openly admitted to the fact that they didn’t feel like his. Ahkmenrah couldn’t really get his head around that idea. His memories were his after all, so the idea of remembering something, but knowing it was all fake, made him feel even more sick to his stomach.

But for days like today, he didn’t need a date to remember. He didn’t need to read a board or for someone to inform him, he knew that today was the day he died. 

He could tell in the rising sickness, rippling through his stomach and leaving that thick, sharply sweet feeling of nausea in his throat. It was the screaming sensation in his bones telling him something was wrong, different in his reanimated corpse tonight. The scar across his back didn’t hurt exactly, not tingly or weeping, yet at least, but he could certainly say that he was more aware of it right now than he usually was.

This night was one of the few nights that he’d appreciated being locked away for fifty years in his saarcophygus. Seeing people, when you were literally dying, was a little hard to muster. Especially with how gruesome his death would get, he should know, he experienced it every year. Also, people didn’t get concerned over his screams like they would do now, his screams were normal after all. And they left him alone, something he wanted tonight but didn’t exactly get. If he ever isolated himself too much, someone would always try to find him, not a desired outcome when you’re trying not to vomit on your own blood. Not good.

“Ahk, you alright?” That was Larry, he had absolutely no idea about what was happening right now. He didn’t want him to find out. It was far too much for even the other exhibits, much less a mortal man who hadn’t yet experienced death. 

He swallowed the rising bile, the main event wouldn’t start for a few hours, he could handle things for a few hours. “I will be,” He said, turning to him with a half-smile.

“Great, come on, there’s a red moon tonight.”

A blood moon, how ironic.

~~~~

The exhibits were loitering outside the front door of the museum when he and Ahkmenrah joined them. Teddy seemed the most interest, gazing through a pair of binoculars Larry had brought in after reading the news when he woke up. Some of the others were braving the cold, others were watching from windows inside, such as Sacagawea. He’d expected her to be out here but she’d claimed that she felt under the weather, something he didn’t think museum exhibits could do but every day was a school day, he guessed. 

He turned to Ahk, and saw the goosebumps on his arms. He supposed ornate robes made for the egyptian desert weren’t the most suitable for New York in December. He stepped over to him, still unsure about where they were when it came to what they were, and rubbed his arms. That small smile he gave him shot butterflies through him.

“The egyptian had a lunar calendar, right?” Larry asked. 

“In the beginning, yes, but by the time I was Pharoah, we had a solar one.”

His gaze was solely on the sky. Did he miss it, during all those years locked away in his sarcophygus? Did he blame himself or did he hate the old guards who did it to him? He wanted to ask him about it but was far too worried it was a sensitive subject to try. 

“How did that work?” He opted for instead.

“We had four seasons each 120 days, with three months of thirty days in them, and five holy days at the end.” 

He said it like it was simple, like he was asking him what grass was. Larry couldn’t help but feel jealous that he, all the exhibits in fact, understood an entirely different time than he did, remembered as their own. Was it like remembering their childhood? Distant and fuzzy? Or was it vibrant, held in place by the knowledge that you could never return there and it be the same again.

“Makes sense, more than ours does in comparison,” he said.

“You can image my confusion when I first learnt the new one,”

New one. It wasn’t new to Larry. Nor to many of the other exhibits in the museum. They weren’t four-thousand years old, though. 

“It’s strange how the moon doesn’t change, isn’t it?” Larry said. 

The red light radiated from the celestial figure but couldn’t break through the shield of artificial lighting made by the City that Never Sleeps. He wondered how it looked over the sand dunes and monuments of Ancient Egypt, or the forests when Sacagawea was forced to lead Lewis and Clarke, or after a battle when the red covering your weapon shimmered under the dark reflection. It was daunting and comforting to know that these things were ancient. He had something in common with all his friends, but it also reminded him that they were never meant to be here.

Ahkmenrah didn’t respond. When he turned to him, he saw his eyes closed and jaw tense. His usually tanned skin seemed dull, as if the sun had gone in on a sunny day. His hands clenched his robes with a grip so tight it almost drained the blood from his hands. It made Larry wonder how close to life Ahkmenrah was, if the blood was reall draining from his face or if he was just feeling the effects. Whatever it was, he couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. 

“Sorry, what is something I said?”

He moved closer and wrapped his arms around him as he began to fail. His feel stumbled, moving through the snow covered stairs and slipping on the layer of ice underneath. His body was strangely light as he lent into his arms. 

“You alright?” He said. “Is something going around? Sac was acting the same way earlier?”

Teddy turned around at the mention of her name. A wave of seriousness came across his face. It spread to the others as they looked between him and where Ahkmenrah was faint in his arms.

“It’s not something spreading, Lawrence.” He spoke with experience, as if this was something prepared or expected, like he was supposed to know. 

He walked closer and removed his fake leather gloves. Placing the back of his hand on Ahkmenrah’s forehead, he began to explain without looking at Larry. 

“Every year we’ve come to life we have to experience our deaths again, like a price to pay for our strange sort of eternal life that’s brought about from the tablet.”

Larry went from keeping his eyes locked on Ahkmenrah to darting to Teddy. Ahk gulped and stood up, not looking any better but taking deep, shaky breaths as he tried to ground himself. 

“That’s why Sacagawea is indisposed at the moment, I did offer to accompany her but she prefers to be alone on this day,” Teddy looked at the ground.

Ahkmenrah gulped again, hands clenched at his sides. “It’s a hard day, Larry, to be reminded of everything you had and will never have again, despite being reminded of it every day.”

Larry had no idea what to expect. He’d researched most of them when he’d first started, their deaths being at the end of whatever article or book he read. He’d never given it a second thought, their deaths. To him, they were maniquins, mostly, exhibits in a museum given a weird chance at immortality. After realising how Teddy felt about being a fake Theodore Roosevelt, he learnt not to prod any of them too much as the details about their life, and how it affected their not-death. 

“So this is how you’ll be all night? Weak and waiting for-” He didn’t say death, because it wasn’t, not really, not if it was an annual thing. 

“A death that will never be real?” He finished. 

Larry nodded. 

“Yes, except this isn’t it, at least for me.”

The others turned to him. His usual ingrained confidence had disappeared. All his energy seemed to be going into keeping himself standing and coherent.

“My death had two parts, each by my brother Kahmunrah,” He said.

Those who’d been sent to the Smithsonian reacted accordingly. It was strange to think how they could be related, Larry had done subsequent research and seen the theories that he could’ve been a bastard son, born of Ahkmenrah’s father and a concubine. He hadn’t asked what Ahkenrah thought or knew of that theory, he didn’t think that conversation would go very well.

“I should’ve suspected that he was trying to kill me for a while. I wasn’t king for awfully long, not the decades like my father, and he was always at my side, advising and pretending. I should’ve known that he was actually trying to get close enough to kill me.”

He closed his eyes and bit his lips. For a moment, he shook in the wind, weak as a feather. Larry placed a hand on his back again. 

“He tried to poison my breakfast, but must have not put enough in, because while I fell ill, yes, I didn’t drop down dead immediately. So I lay down, and a little while later, he came up to ‘check on me’. He didn’t make his presence known so could catch me off guard and-”

He didn’t finish the sentence butturned and lifted the extravagant cape out of the way. None of them had looked at his back before, why would they, but they could tell now that there was a reason that Ahkmenrah wore his over-the-top clothes that was more than just ‘it was what he was buried in’. A raised, angry scar took up most of his otherwise smooth back. It wasn’t just a stab wound, which would be bad enough, Kahmunrah had lost control and not just stabbed his brother, but carved an Ankh symbol into his body. A wave of nausea came over Larry, he pushed it down.

“He plunged his blade into my back, all the air left my body, I couldn’t fight him off, he was always taller than me. I knew I was going to die then, I knew why I’d felt ill that morning. And it only got worse, he spoke of him being the rightful heir, of me being the favourite and him helping me along even more and making sure I stayed dead by carving the Ankh symbol into my back. The key of life, rather ironic I know, but used by us Egyptian on-”

“Tombs.” Larry finished. 

Ahkmenrah dropped the cape and nodded. He didn’t turn around however. His body stumbling again, faltering, probably regaining composure, he was always polite and formal. Larry approached him, hands going on his shoulders then down his his sides. As he pondered if it was appropriate to touch him back, Ahk let out a raw gasp. It crackled and croaked, pain in just a sound as he fell forward, only not faceplanting because Larry forgot all etiquette and grabbed him around the waist to stop him. 

Larry settled his arms under his arms, feeling all his body pressing into him as he lost more and more of that spark in his eyes, his tan skin not glowing but dull. 

“Come on, Ahk, let’s get you somewhere comfortable,” He had no idea where but he would find somewhere. 

“Sarcophygus.”

“But that can’t be comfortable-”

“Sarcophygus, please.” 

They met eyes, Larry nodded and shifted Ahk so he wasn’t fully weighing down one shoulder. As he adjusted his arm, his hand brushed his back again. Red coated his fingertips as he saw a glimpse of his hand. Blood. 

Ahkmenrah had noticed this too and his sickly face froze, startled. “It’s already started.”

Enough explaining. Teddy opened the door as Larry and Ahkmenrah hobbled toward the elevator. His breathing was getting heavier as he tried not to pant. Every few steps his feet would falter, slipping on the varnished floor. Larry kept gripping his side tighter and tighter, his shoulder aching as he took more of his weight on. 

The elevator jolted as it travelled upwards. Luckily his exhibit was near by, and private. Even though the museum had known for a few years now that Ahkmenrah wasn’t the crazed Pharaoh that they were led to believe, he guessed some habits died hard, bad choice of words considering the situation, and most people still didn’t linger too much in the corridor. Either that or the intimidating Anubis statues guarding the entrance that still gave everyone at least a harsh look when they walked past. 

By the time the elevator arrived at their floor, Ahkmenrah was stumbling with every step. Larry could see red splotches on his cape as they raced toward privacy. He didn’t mention this, Ahkmenrah probably didn’t need him to do this. With every step, that scar on his back was opening up, his face becoming sullen, eyes unfocused as he tried to concentrate on moving and not collapsing in the empty hallway. Did he feel the blade too or just the agony of his flesh being ripped apart?

The Anubis guards rose their weapons to separate Larry from Ahkmenrah, immortally protective of their Pharaoh. Ahkmenrah managed to wave a hand and they turned their weapons from them to the entrance, not exactly pointing them at anyone who could walk past but making it evident that here was not somewhere you were going to linger tonight. 

“Here, Larry, please.” 

How could he remain so polite even when he was literally dying?

They both collapsed gently onto the harsh stone floor. Ahk slipped from Larry’s shoulder to rest on his torso, giving up on controlling his breathing as he panted. Larry took his hand in his as clenched his eyes closed. There would be blood on his uniform, something he’d have to explain to Dr McPhee in the morning if he saw. Although, would it even be there in the morning, considering Ahkmenrah would go back to being a 4000 year old mummified corpse by then?

Larry didn’t say anything. There was too much going on already, too much in the air for him to add to. He could feel Ahkmenrah’s pain in the air as he opened his eyes again, his breathing not pants but slow and shallow. His body sunk more and more onto him, Larry became more and more aware of how solid the floor was, felt its cold leaching through his clothes and into his skin. The only thing he felt sure of was how tight Ahk held onto his hand, as if it was his only lifeline in a tumultuous ocean.

“Just focus on that, okay?” He said in a whisper.

All Ahkmenrah could do was nod. He’d deteriorated so fast, what was he expecting from that severe of a wound? Yet he didn’t have any experience when it came to wounds, or blood, or dying. Larry was seriously underqualified for this. Just another skill he’d have to learn for this job, it was strange how he both didn’t mind that, if it meant comforting someone he cared about, and wanted to run in the opposite direction. 

“Do you want me to say anything?”

Ahkmenrah nodded, again. He closed his eyes again, the skin around them crinkling as he tensed. Larry saw crimson sinking into his uniform, mixing with the grey to create a sticky burgundy. It stuck to his fingers, his palms flashing bright against his pale skin.

“Nick’s enjoying high school-” 

That was all he could think about, Nick had wanted to come tonight, but he had a lot of homework to do over the Christmas break that was more important than hanging out here on a Monday night. Larry was glad he and Erica had both put their foot down, this was too much for anyone, let alone a kid. 

He turned back to Ahk to finish his sentence when he jolted up. His next breath came out wet as blood spurted from his mouth, dribbling up and bubbling as he tried to get in any air through the pain. They met eyes, there was a pleading look in them as Larry went to wipe it away or say something, he carried on with his sentence. 

“He’s-he’s um still got some of his friends from middle school so there wasn’t too much of a jump,” He didn’t want to ignore the fact that he was holding someone currently bleeding to death, but Ahkmenrah trying not to choke on his own blood was an image permemantly seared into his brain. “He’s joined a computer club, I think it’s for games or coding them or something, I’ve never been good with computers, really.”

Ahk’s hand weakened in his. His eyes glazed over occasionally as he tried to focus on him and his words, he didn’t care if he wasn’t taking any of this in. 

“Not that I don’t like video games, I went to the arcade when I was a kid.” He said. “But the ones Nicky plays are just far too confusing for a guy who’s used to Space Invaders and Pacman.”

He realised, through the confusion and fear, that Ahkmenrah didn’t know what he was on about “I’ll have to show you sometime, there’s a place in Brooklyn that has a bunch of old arcade games, I took Nick there one day on my day off and it was satisfying when I was better than him, don’t tell him that.”

Ahk’s head slipped from his torso and rested on the stone below them. The blood was trickling from his chin, down his neck and marking his expensive outfit with fresh red. He could see the wound through his clothes now, wet to the touch and even heavier than before. 

Larry tried to turn him around, his body getting harder and harder to lift as he got weaker and weaker. The whites were rimmed red as tears fell down his face and mixed with the blood stuck to his face, watering it down and causing more to fall down his neck. If this is what he like now, how had he managed this every year he’d been locked away? Had he screamed more than usual? Would it have even been worth it?

He wiped one away as he let out a mix between a sob and a cry. More blood spurted out. His hands were cold now, as Larry gripped them both in his and secured him on his shoulder, running his thumb through his short hair. His eyes kept drifting shut, not clenched from pain as they had earlier. This was it, wasn’t it? 

He knew better than to admit that his shoulder was starting to ache from where Ahk was slumped on him. It was all of his weight now. His body relaxing as he gave into whatever happened when an already dead Pharaoh died again. 

There was blood everywhere, in places he didn’t think it could reach. Covering both hands, most of his uniform and his pants. It pooled in the grout between the stone slabs on the floor, dyed Ahk’s robes scarlet and wiped his skin like paint. 

His breathing got croakier, ripping and scratching as the blood stopped bubbling from his lips and dried on them as they cracked. He looked down at how much of his blood was oozing out of him, not flowing like before, and whined, how did he deserve such a gruesome death? 

Larry tilted his head with one hand and made sure that he couldn’t miss his gaze. If he was dying, reliving his last moments, he’d rather he not look at the evidence of his own pain. 

“La-larry-” Ahk croaked out, a whisper and a plead all at once.

“I know, just focus on me,” He wished this was over, and felt guilt ripple through when he did. “Not much longer okay, then you’ll wake up tomorrow night and this will all be a dream, okay?”

He nodded. His brown eyes flicked as he took in all his facial features. A distant haze creeping in from both sides as any parts of his body that still had some strength in them gave in. 

“And this won’t happen for another year. The eclipse will be there tomorrow and you can tell me all about whatever you can remember about Ancient Egyptian astrology like it’s common knowledge, because you’re smart and sarcastic and passionate and don’t, didn’t, deserve this pain.”

He couldn’t even nod anymore as he stopped looking in his eyes and sank onto his shoulder. Like he was turning into a liquid, he melted down his body. A few more shallow breaths came out of his mouth before the final death rattle, something he’d never actually heard before because he was lucky enough that his parents were still both alive. His eyes were bland and still. Hands flopped lifelessly across his lap as he moved him back into his sarcophygus, something a lot harder than usual as all his body seemed three times more heavy. 

This wasn’t how he should’ve been remembered. He realised that he hadn’t even had the graces of a comforting face in his last moments, probably just his brother towering over him as he waited for the crown to become his. The blood covering him, scarring and painting him not as elegant as he prided himself in being. Skin not soft and dazzling like it seemed to be all the time. He closed his eyes for him.

He couldn’t look for too long, however, it still was the dead body of the person he loved. Museum exhibit or not, that was hard for anyone to bear. Moving everything back into place, he nodded at the Anubis guards and waited for them to move back to their places before leaving to give the others the news. 

There was a trail of blood as he trudged back to the others. He didn’t think he could take that elevator again for a few days, not with everything fresh and new in his mind. Although he wished not to feel this, he also didn’t want to get used to seeing Ahkmenrah like that, considering that was going to happen every year the tablet was here. 

Other exhibits moved past and around him. Sun sparkled through the window as dawn broke. How long had he been in there? It hadn’t felt like long but had evidently been all night. 

He looked over the balcony and saw most of the others waiting by the desk. All he could so was nod as he moved on autopilot to do his end of shift tasks. Did they feel guilt knowing what Ahk had to go through every year he was locked up there, alone? 

The answer didn’t truly matter, though, the question dwarfed by another as he heard it ringing and echoing like bells in the distant. Would the blood disappear when the sun fully came up?

This is my kind of whump. Blood, death, all that good stuff. Like I said, this idea wasn't mine, I just expanded on my interpretation of it. Thanks for reading! @whumptober-archive

[decalight20]

Like We’re Gonna Die Young

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 13 - I don’t feel so good

Warnings: nightmares, illness, vomiting

Word Count: 1.6k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint gets sick after a mission and Natasha learns the importance of having your own space. (First dates)

A/N: Happy Friday dear ones. Well done on making it through the week.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

2009

NEW YORK

Their changing relationship is new and Clint knows they both feel the shift.

Neither willing to say anything.

Fury’s emphasis on partnership had set a punishing pace of nonstop missions and constant surveillance in the first year.

It was effective.

Natasha was used to it.

Clint was not.

The Red Room had never believed in rest, and Clint seemed to revel in it.

She’d often find him asleep on the couch with the window open, and she kept telling him that it wasn’t safe.

He’d laugh, tell her to join him.

She’d become very familiar with the way he worked; and with his apartment; and he’d become more familiar with her trauma and skills sets.

It all had a way of bonding them.

The second year, Fury had sent them on more long term missions, deep cover, and Natasha found when they were apart she missed him.

They come back together like magnets to debrief and talk.

The hours moved quickly, and she wondered if he missed her like she missed him.

It was silly really, she told herself, that there was no way; with all her baggage that he would ever feel the same.

She was glad he was finally home.

Two weeks he’d been in Antigua.

She carefully juggles the donuts and apples in one hand and knocks on the door with the other.

He doesn’t answer and she picks the lock anyway.

“Clint?” she calls, “it’s me.”

She wanders in and finds clothes strewn across the apartment, telltale signs he’s home.

She sets the donuts and apples on the bench and continues to the bedroom.

“You’d better not be naked, again,” she calls out, half covering her eyes as she pushes open the door.

She finds him on the bed, in his boxers asleep.

Natasha walks over to him and touches his shoulder; heat radiating off him.

“Clint?”

She shakes him.

She’s never worried over someone before, not consciously at least, and the new feeling makes waking him feel urgent.

“Clint wake up,” she repeats, urgently.

Eyes peak open and he groans.

“Hey.”

Attempting to get up, he moves slower than usual, and doesn’t seem pleased to see her.

“Your face is warm,” she tells him, “do you have a temperature?”

“Idunno,” he says, groaning again and laying back down.

“Im’k,” he tells her, rolling over.

“Your sick?” she asks redundantly, knowing the answer before he refutes it.

She leaves and gets him some painkillers and water, returning to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

“Clint?”

He looks up, his face sorrowful.

“I don’t feel so good,” he confesses, then promptly vomits on the floor.

He groans.

“Sorry,” he says, looking up with glazed eyes, “sorry.”

Natasha steps around it, pushing him gently back into the bed, and passing him water and the two little pills.

“Take this,” she urges.

He stares at her for a minute before following her instructions, then leaning back he apologises again.

Natasha goes to bathroom to find cleaning supplies, and returns to clean the vomit.

“Mmmsorry,” he mumbles, “please.”

He raises her head to find him staring again, and she assures him gently.

“Go to sleep, Clint,” she whispers.

“Be here?” he asks, tiredly.

“Yeah,” she assures him, “I’ll be here.”

.

Clint talks in his sleep, things she’s sure he wouldn’t want her knowing.

He calls out for his mother, and she sits by him, drawing circles on his hand and telling him stories that she knows to calm him down.

The fever spikes and drops and she sits with him through it.

Fury calls through with a mission for her and for the first time, she asks if she can stay grounded.

She tells him that Clint isn’t well and she needs to stay.

Fury hadn’t said much but his distain was clear.

He told her, she had a week, and sent through the mission packet regardless.

She hears Clint get up, move to the bathroom.

Dutifully, she follows and knocks on the door asking if he’s okay.

“Nat? You’re still here?”

His voice sounds pathetic and she tells him she’ll warm up some food. He calls out thanks and she leaves him be.

She sucks at this.

Natasha knows Clint just seems to know how to make her feel better, but she has no context, only what she’s looked up. She knows to track the painkillers, make sure he eats and drinks, and sleeps.

She thinks maybe, he might be feeling better, the last two days passing quickly.

Smiling as he enters, he greets her with a tiny wave.

Natasha offers him food, but he beelines for the coffee.

Holding up the cup, he grins.

“Make sure you eat something with that,” she smiles back, glad to see him acting more like himself.

Clint steps forward.

“Thanks,” he says, offering her the coffee.

“You know, for taking care of me.”

Natasha ignores the acknowledgment.

“Are you feeling better?” she asks.

Clint shrugs.

“Better enough I think,” he nods taking another sip.

The silence is comfortable, as they both move around the kitchen. The morning passes slow, with Natasha pushing Clint to the couch to rest.

She watches as he dozes then allows herself to do the same.

.

The forth night of staying with him is the longest she’s ever lived with someone in a setting that’s not contrived.

It’s the most comfortable she thinks she’s ever been. This apartment, this small place of a friend’s home, is perfect in all the ways she would think a home would be.

It makes her want to live somewhere other than the base. To have a place of her own.

She thinks Clint knows she’s not ready to leave, because he doesn’t say anything, and tells her to stay with him; that’s he’s still not 100% and needs some help.

The night has been kind and they’ve made it through another movie in his DVD collection that he swears everyone should watch. Movies like The Princess Diary and Miss Congeniality are at the top of the list and though she makes fun of it, she knows they for her.

She smiles, a spontaneous moment that Clint notices, and offers a smile on return.

If only her 15 year old self could see her now.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks after a moment.

“Do you think they’d let me get an apartment?” she asks, “away from the base?”

Clint looks slightly off, and she thinks she did something wrong.

It’s a moment before he nods and smiles back.

“Yeah! Of course, yeah!” his enthusiasm is infective.

“Would you want to live somewhere near here? There’s an apartment nearby? I could ask? It’s not big but it’s like in the apartment block over!? Nat, you could learn to cook like you wanted! Not that you couldn’t before, but it’s easier when it’s your own place,” he rambles.

“You could get stuff? Do you know how good stuff is? A cool rock, your favourite hair conditioner, oh! A favourite mug! Not that you couldn’t before, but like it’s different in your own space.”

She smiles, slightly overwhelmed.

Natasha sits with her hands around her glass, and nods.

“I’ll help you, okay? We can work it out, together,” he assures.

“Yeah,” she says, sipping her drink, “I’d like that.”

.

He knocks on her door, flowers and food in hand.

Moving from foot to foot, Clint knocks again impatiently, and waits.

It’s slow but finally she opens the door.

She looks worse for wear than he’s ever seen her.

Dark circles under her eyes, pale face and a slight sheen of sweat on her face.

“Oh Nat,” he says, sympathetically.

He still thinks back to the time, months ago, when she took care of him.

“How long have you been feeling like shit for?”

She shrugs.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He pushes his way inside.

“It’s okay, I am feeling better, tell Fury I’ll be back on Monday,” she sighs.

He laughs.

“I’ll do no such thing.”

He looks her over again.

“Go to bed,” he says softly, “I’ll make us something to eat.”

Natasha must really not be feeling well, as she pads slowly back to bed, and climbs in without argument.

Later, he finds her in the midst of a nightmare, sweat drenched and hand in mouth to stop the screams and tears.

Clint’s heart breaks.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, like soothing a small child, “everything will be okay.”

She looks up, eyes unseeing.

“I don’t feel so good,” she whispers, “they’ll kill me if they know.”

His heat drops.

“Who’s going to kill you? Hmm? Here in your own apartment?”

It seems to orient her, so he continues.

“No one can touch you here, not with the bullet proof glass, or the soft blankets that surround you. No one would find you here, with your name changed to Natalie. You’re safe and I’ll help protect you, even though you don’t need it.”

She closes her eyes and tucks herself in next to him.

“Mmmsorry,” she whispers.

.

Their first date is a non event, and although both of them acknowledge that it was their first date, it’s more because it’s the first time they kiss.

Popcorn and a movie on Clint’s couch, with Natasha dressed in his clothes and Clint in his oldest hoodie.

Anything else, they agreed, would be contrived.

All day they play someone else, dressed up and faking happiness.

In their apartments the masks drop.

It seems right that the first time and the first date is perfectly in a place they feel the most safe.

He promises though, that he’ll take her to all his favourite places, and kiss her there as well.

.