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#Febuwhumpday28
maggie-atwood · 27 days
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Hunted
@febuwhump Day 28: “No…not like this”
Fandom: The Walking Dead (TV)
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Era: Prison era (S3)
Word Count: 1.2k
Warnings: violence, guns, blood, revenge
A/N: Part 2 to “Matching Scars” Also posted from my phone, so the formatting 🤦🏼‍♀️ I’ll fix when i get my laptop back!
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Like a predator, Daryl stalks his prey through the woods. An experienced hunter, he’s been following his tracks for what feels like miles. A footprint here, a broken twig there. It is like following the yellow brick road to where he wants to go.
People never realize how much they leave behind in the woods. How easy it is for someone who knows what they’re doing to track them. That whole “leave no trace” mantra was bullshit - humans always leave a trace. They always find a way to ruin whatever they touch, even when they don’t mean to.
But this guy most likely does mean to. If everything Daryl has learned about these people from Woodbury is correct, these people make it a point to ruin everything they touch. They attack and they destroy and they take. At least, that’s what Daryl and his group have seen all the time they’ve been watching them.
And this one tried to take the thing most dear to Daryl in this world. He tried to take you.
Ever since the day you were shot, Daryl has been itching to get his hands on this man. Even after you woke up and started to recover, Daryl comforted himself with images of what he would do to this man when he caught him. Sometimes he fantasized about making it slow, using just his knives, making sure he felt everything before he died. Other times, he envisioned shooting him the same way he shot you in the woods that day. Daryl has played around with so many different scenarios in his head, each with the same result: the man who shot you, dead.
He never told you this. He didn’t want to worry you or impact your recovery. He wanted you to rest and heal so that you could be back on your feet as soon as possible.
But you knew, of course. You saw it in the darkness of his eyes whenever he helped change your bandages. You felt it when he ran a gentle finger of the scar on your forehead. You even sensed it late at night, when his restlessness kept you awake at night. You’d watch him in the low moonlight of your cell, the way his face turned into a scowl, even in his sleep.
So when Daryl spent even more time outside of the fence, outside of the safety of the prison, you knew what he was doing. Even when he told Rick and the others he was hunting, you knew he was really hunting for your attacker, looking for any trace of who it was and where he went.
As things escalated with the Governor and Woodbury, you both knew that it was one of his men. It was just a matter of figuring out which one. Not that either of you would have been opposed to killing them all and being done with it.
Until one day, he revealed himself. When the Governor led a small group of soldiers to attack the prison, it became clear who it was. Upon seeing you standing behind the fence, one of the soldiers went pale.
“That’s not possible,” he had stammered out. “You’re supposed to be dead. I-” Then he cut himself off.
But it was enough for Daryl. Now that he knew his mark, it wasn’t hard to track him down.
And that’s exactly what he is doing now. By the look of the bumbling footsteps, the man knows he’s being followed and he’s panicking. Daryl grins to himself, and pushes on.
It doesn’t take him much longer to find the man. In a small clearing, he has given up running: now, he faces Daryl head on, his own gun raised.
“Stay back,” he yells at him. “Or I’ll shoot.”
“‘m sure you will,” Daryl barks at him. He doesn’t lower his crossbow.
“I’m sorry, man,” he calls out, voice faltering. “I was just following orders. He told us to kill any of you we saw.”
“Even an unarmed woman?” Daryl spits at him. He knows you weren’t really unarmed that day - you never went anywhere without the knife he gave you - but this man doesn’t know that.
“Like I said, I was just following orders,” the guy is almost crying now. The gun in his hand shakes as his hands tremble in fear.
“You shot her, and left her to bleed out on the forest floor,” Daryl nearly growls.
The man gulps. “It was supposed to be quick,” he says quietly. “Shot to the chest, to the head so she wouldn’t come back.”
“Too bad your aim sucks,” a new voice snaps from behind him. The man whips around and comes face to face with you, your own gun raised at his forehead. He goes pale again, taking in your appearance. Your shoulder is still bandaged up, and the scar on your forehead is pink and puffed up from the recently removed stitches.
“I’m sor-” he starts, but he yelps and falls forward onto the ground. A bolt from Daryl’s crossbow sticks out of his back.
You lower your gun, looking up at your archer. He lowers his bow, stomping towards the man in a heap at your feet. Not gently, he yanks the bolt out of his back. The man screams out, rolling onto his back. He looks around for his gun, but he had dropped it out of reach when he fell, so all he can do is look up at Daryl and watch as he loads his crossbow again.
“How many bolts do you think you can take ‘fore you die?” Daryl asks the man, his voice dark and menacing. He raises the bow again, aiming it first at the man’s face, before slowly trailing it down his body. He settles his aim on the man’s leg, just above his knee, and fires. The bolt shoots straight through the leg and into the ground.
The man screams again.
“Shut up,” Daryl barks at him. He steps forward and yanks the bolt back out. The man screams again as blood spurts out of his thigh. He reaches down to try to stop the bleeding, but it’s already too much. It leaks out from between his fingers, staining the grass beneath him dark red.
“No, please,” he chokes out, struggling between his tears and his breath growing raspy. “Not like this.”
Daryl loads up his crossbow again. Then, he steps over the man, taking aim at his forward, with the tip of the bolt almost pressed into his forehead. The guy squeezes his eyes closed, preparing for impact. Daryl doesn’t move though - he just lets the man squirm around beneath him.
“Ya know what,” Daryl drawls slowly. “Yer right.” He steps back, lowering his crossbow. “This ain’t right.”
The man exhales a huge sigh of relief, opening his eyes. “Thank you,” he breathes out. “Thank you.”
“Not like this,” Daryl ruminates, before turning to you. “Darlin’, this one’s yers.”
The man’s eyes widen, but before he can mutter a word, you step forward and pull the trigger. Your shot lands right between his eyebrows. The man stills immediately, lifeless eyes staring up at the sky.
“At least my aim is better,” you murmur to the corpse.
You look back up at Daryl, who’s watching you intently. He steps forward, taking your face in his hands and leaning in to kiss your scar, the scar that matches his.
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linecrosser · 29 days
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Febwhump 2024 - Day 28 - "No... not like this"
SQQ/SJ and LQG in the LingXi Cave.
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whumpinthepot · 29 days
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@febuwhump 2024, Day 28. Alt 5. CPR
Oc Saunix
Mature art tag list: @frogkingdom @coppercoyote @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @ilasknives @alittlewhump @demondamage @for-the-love-of-angst
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simpforchuchu · 29 days
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There's no other way
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Prompts: DAY 28 - “no… not like this” @febuwhump Characters: Rindou x reader Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Summary: Rindou finds out his girlfriend’s betrayal
A/n for prompts: Hello guys! This is my first time trying a prompt challenge. I hope you like the short fics I wrote. I will finish them by writing some of the requests I have. I love you 💜
Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...
Thank you and love you 🥰
Warnings: mention of guns, blood and death | ANGST
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“Y/n!”
The young woman turned to the man approaching from behind and smiled. The man's facial expression did not change, he looked serious.
“I guess you found out.”
"Why?" asked Rindou. “Why did you betray me? Did they threaten you?”
Y/n smiled sadly and shook her head.
“I betrayed them, not you.”
y/n sighed as Rindou looked at her in surprise.
“I fell in love with you Rin, I disregarded my duty and loved you. I betrayed them. But I also knew I could never be with you. I am sorry."
Rindou wanted to take a step, but the young woman stopped him with her hand.
“I'm sorry, I'm really sorry Rin. But I will solve this problem.”
Rindou looked at her with fear when the young woman put the gun she had hidden behind her head to her own head.
“Y/n, wait! Don't do that!"
Y/n gripped the gun tighter with shaking hands.
“There's no other way, Rin, you know.”
The young woman smiled one last time.
“No… not like this!”
And a gunshot was heard. A loud sound echoed throughout the building. Rindou couldn't even reach to catch Y/n as she collapsed on the ground covered in blood...
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what-the-whump · 29 days
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Febuwhump 2024 | Day 28 | "No...not like this"
Power Rangers Cosmic Fury | 1x01 | Lightning Strikes
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scratchandplaster · 28 days
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FEBUWHUMP DAY 28 - "No...not like this"
CW: tiny whump
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
A tiny Whumpee who is forced to dance and perform on a music box. Ballet, reciting poems or whatever else Whumper has in mind as a pastime, though one lanky plié or exhausted breather gets them locked in there for hours.
Bonus points if Whumpee is a faerie and the box is made of iron, so every fall or stumble off the dancing platform burns their flesh.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]
@febuwhump
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janetm74fics · 29 days
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Febuwhump day 28 "No... not like this." Any brother, please 💛💚🧡❤️💙
Not Like This
@febuwhump day 28. With thanks to @the-original-sineater and @mariashades
~
It wasn’t fair! Once again his brothers were going out on a rescue and leaving him behind.
But this wasn’t just any rescue. This was an all-hands-on-deck rescue.
Even Kayo was going. But not him.
Not Alan. Not the baby.
And he hated it.
But more than that. He hated this rescue. This type of rescue.
Avalanche…
He sat at home on the floor in his room, supposedly too angry to listen in and killing zombies in earnest, but secretly Alan had already hacked the comms and was listening in.
It was slow going. There was a large area with quite a few victims and Two and her pods were in service.
Scott was jet-packing all over the scene, plucking people up from the surface where it was safe to do so and flying them up to Two. Virgil was manning Two’s infirmary, high enough that her jets wouldn’t set off more avalanches but low enough that he could take the people Scott was rescuing. When she was full he ferried them down to the triage centre. Gordon and Kayo had the Sherpa pods and were digging people out.
And of course John was directing it all from Five. Alan could picture his brother’s fingers flying over holograms, pulling all the data that his earth-bound family needed.
And still Alan sat at home.
Of course, he knew the reason he was here was more to do with that other time they were all involved in an avalanche, but Alan couldn’t remember that time and, 13 years later, he had hoped that his brothers would have been able to see the rescuer and not the baby brother they almost lost.
After all, they didn’t react to Scott like that and he had been closer to death than Alan himself had been.
But no. He got left behind. When all he wanted to do was to help. To be like his brothers. To be a Thunderbird.
‘Alan!’
John’s voice broke through his reverie. Huh – Alan must have zoned out. But then he frowned at the clear panic he could hear in John’s voice.
John never panicked. Never.
Alan tore off his headphones and was running for his chute before John had even spoken another word.
‘Suit up. You’ll be flying One but I’ll be there every step of the way, Al.’ ‘Wh-what’s happened? John? What happened?’ ‘There was another avalanche. Comms are down because of the snow.’ ‘And? John – what are you not telling me?’ ‘I can’t contact any of them. Not even Virgil.’
Alan swallowed. He wanted to be a Thunderbird. Wanted to be out on the rescue.
But not like this. No, not like this.
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ninjadeathblade · 29 days
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Febuwhump Day Twenty Eight: (Alt. Prompt) Last man standing
Warnings: Being sick, combat training
Word count: 602
Author's notes: The one and only thing I have written for The Bad Batch this month, happy Season Three Episode Four.
Crosshair ducked down behind the ledge of the tower, barely avoiding the bolts of fire that went past not a second later.
“Tech? Hunter? Wrecker?” He hissed into his comm. “I could use a distraction right now.”
Silence echoed back over the feed and he risked a quick peek down onto the field to spot where Wrecker had been swarmed by droids and his other two brothers seemed to have been tagged.
Right, stupid training regulations.
If you were tagged you were effectively dead and couldn't respond to comms.
And Wrecker was clearly too busy to reply.
“Useless di’kuts,” Crosshair sighed, quickly dodging a few more bolts.
The young clone swung his training rifle up with him, quickly sniping the droids that had been firing at him.
An overdramatic shout rang through the room and Crosshair rolled his eyes as Wrecker lay down on the floor.
That left him.
Last man standing.
He quickly sniped a few of the droids that were more sluggish about moving away from Wrecker before cursing as a bolt of training fire zipped past his helmet.
Crosshair wasted no time with picking off the last few before scaling back down the tower as the buzzer that signified the end of training sounded.
Wrecker clapped a hand onto his shoulder, jostling his skinnier brother. “Awright Cross! Nice job!”
The sniper kept his expression blank as he tugged his training helmet off, Maker forbid his brothers’ tease him. “I would have appreciated it more if you didn't go down so easily.”
“In my defence, ”Tech stated, a throaty sniff punctuating his words. “I am not functioning at usual standards due to the strain of the influenza virus I have picked up after you decided to drag us into a fight with a group of regs that had just returned from another planet.”
Crosshair shook his head before fixing Hunter with his piercing gaze. “And your excuse?”
Hunter shifted, averting his gaze. “Tech’s sniffing and coughing kept distracting me.”
“Uh-huh, sure.” Crosshair dragged the word out, trying to highlight his disbelief - at Hunter's obvious lie - and annoyance to his brothers.
“Tech, I'm going to harass a medical droid to get you something to take. Hunter, you are clearly having migraine symptoms so I'm also gonna grab your painkillers, di’kut’ika. Wrecker, get Hunter to his bunk and then try to be quiet, however hard for you that may be.”
Wrecker mock-saluted before flinging their brother over his shoulder, Hunter's screeches of protest making Crosshair snicker.
After those two were gone he turned to Tech. “You look like you need to puke.”
Tech's nose scrunched. “I will inform you that I do not need to regurgitate our first meal, I am perfectly fine.”
Crosshair looped an arm around his brother's shoulders, guiding him towards the exit their other batchmates had taken. “Y'know, you really don't have to phrase it that way. Also, you definitely do, I've never seen you this pale aside from that one time when I mixed some of your rations into your drink.”
Tech gasped, turning to him with knitted eyebrows. “I was certain it was you! Why you-”
Crosshair quickly stepped back as Tech doubled over, proving Crosshair correct.
The silver-haired clone gently rubbed his brother's back, trying to give off an air of indifference.
When Tech straightened back up he adjusted his goggles with one hand, using the other to wipe the edges of his mouth.
“Yeah, I'm definitely going to harass a med droid.”
“That would be appreciated Crosshair, thank you.”
“Sure, whatever, just go back to the barracks and try not to throw up again.”
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DAY 28: “You’re Safe Now"
TW: captivity, recapture, death threat, referenced conditioning, referenced deconditioning, referenced pet whumpee, intimate/creepy whumper
"It's alright," Whumper cooed. "They won't touch you again. Just stay here with me. You're safe now."
"Please," Whumpee voice broke. "I have a family now. And a home. God, I want to go home."
"Oh Whumpee." Whumper hugged them tightly and whispered in their ear. "You are home. And I forgive you. I know it wasn't your fault. Caretaker kidnapped you. I'm not going to punish you. I love you."
Whumpee choked down a sob. "Please. I can't do this. Not anymore."
"They've corrupted you, and undone all my hard work. But I'll retrain you. Don't worry. We can be happy again."
"I wasn't happy. I was never happy. Surely you know that."
"Shh, Shh. I'll be gentle. You were my favorite, you know that. You were always good, so compliant and respectful."
"I don't want to be your pet. I want to be a person."
"Just relax. We don't have to start yet. I hate Caretaker for what they did to you. They broke you. If they come here and try to kidnap you again, I'll kill them. You don't have worry about them. I promise."
Whumpee sobbed. Whumper held them tighter.
@whumpsday
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aquinnix · 29 days
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Febuwhump Day 28 - "No...Not Like This"
Everything froze, like time itself was held captive by the shock coursing through Grian’s veins. It wasn't supposed to end this way, then again, what is ever truly supposed to happen? Still here he stood, Scar kneeling before him, a sword reaching out to him in offering. Instantly, all of his anger faded. It didn't matter that Scar had run him through with the same blade only moments earlier. It didn't matter that Scar had allowed him to die. All that mattered were the words slowly making their way from Scar’s lips. 
“You may slay me and take the enchanter.”
Grian had always envisioned him and Scar at the end, just not this kind of end. He imagined their bodies falling side by side in battle. He imagined slicing Scar’s throat when their alliance finally crumbled, and following soon after. He imagined taking an arrow for his friend, but the sacrifice not being enough. Every possibility ended with them sharing a grave. Now, Scar lowered his gaze, not capable of holding Grian’s broken stare. Grian’s hand moved to take the blade, and paused, unable to take up the offer.
It couldn't end this way. 
It needed to be a fair fight, Scar deserved that much. 
It hurt just to think about having to harm him. To have to think about only one of them moving on, and the other left alone. It was an impossible situation, after everything they did, after all the lives they ended to get the far, only one could survive. Grian couldn't bring himself to take the easy way out. 
One thing about his dream came true. In the end, it would be just him and Scar. 
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kybercrystals94 · 28 days
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Coded
Read here on Ao3!
Febuwhump 2024 | Day 28 | Prompt 28: “No…not like this.”
Rated: G | Words: 288 | Summary: Missing scene from Season 3 Episode 4. [SPOILERS]
This story was inspired by @isthereanechoinhere96’s post! [see it here!]
A hand falls heavily on his shoulder, shaking him. “Hunt, wake up!”
Hunter startles, not sure when he closed his eyes, how much time passed between one blink of his eyes and the next. The data pad he’d been pouring over sits in his lap, screen dark with idleness. He looks up and finds Wrecker leaning over him, his face twisted with an expression Hunter hasn’t seen in months: hope.
“What? What is it? Did Echo find something?” Hunter asks, lurching to his feet.
Wrecker steps back, shakes his head. “No, but a coded message just came through. You have to see it for yourself. I think…” Wrecker’s voice breaks. “I think it’s her.”
Hunter doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, the shock of the words paralyzing him. This is a dream, an awful dream that he will wake up from. Her. Omega. No. It isn’t possible.
Wrecker is grabbing him now, pulling him to the console where the message is still pulled up. “Look! It must be talking about the moon where we met Hera, right? That’s what it means. It has to. Only Omega would send a message like that.”
Hunter reads over the message. Once. Twice. Three times. He gasps out the breath he’s been holding like a sob. And maybe he is crying. “It’s her,” he whispers.
Hunter doesn’t know if he can continue standing upright, his legs threatening to give out; however, before he can decide, he is engulfed in Wrecker’s arms.
“‘Course she found us!” Wrecker is laughing and crying, his embrace so tight Hunter can barely breathe.
Hunter finally reaches up and pats Wrecker’s arm, until his brother releases him. “Put in the coordinates,” he says, voice unsteady. “Let’s go get our girl.”
END
Forgoing my taglist for this one since it contains spoilers!
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FEBUWHUMP day 28:
Prompt: "You're safe now."
Mehmetçik Kut'ül Amare 5. Bölüm
@febuwhump
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littletrash1027 · 1 year
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"Shhh...it's okay. You're okay. It's just a bad dream. You're safe now." 
 it's been a journey yall. see you in March
au by @madychi
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whumpinthepot · 1 year
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@febuwhump 2023
Day twenty eight: “You’re safe now”
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aquietwritingcorner · 27 days
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No... Not Like This
Title: No… Not Like This Day: Febuwhump 2024, Day 28 Prompt: No… Not Like This  Fandom:  TMNT 2003 Word Count: 691  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  M Characters:  Donatello, April O’Neil Warning: SAINW, Major Character Death Summary: April O’Neil knew that the Shredder was a twisted, vile person. But she had never expected to find this, and part of her wished she never had.    Notes: I’m once again using one of Peter Laird’s original SAINW ideas, this time the “stuffed Donatello” one. This is not a happy story, and the implications are kind of disturbing, so please, read at your own risk.    ff.net || AO3
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No… Not Like This
April stared in astonishment trophy room that Angel had discovered. They all knew that Shredder had kept prizes, but they hadn’t understood the depths to which he would go until they started going through his stronghold. Some of what they had found had truly sickened them, although April could say that she wasn’t terribly surprised at just how far his depravity could go.
But still. She had never expected this.
April trembled as she stared at the find—as she stared at the body of her friend, her brother, Donatello, perfectly taxidermized and on display. Bile rose in her throat, and her stomach heaved, yet she couldn’t look away. He was young, the same age he was when he disappeared, and he’d been arranged in a fighting position, his highly polished bo held in his hands. His expression was fierce and determined, so similar to one that she had seen on his face a thousand times, although it rang hollow, as if whoever had set it didn’t know how to set it right.
And they probably didn’t. Whoever it was probably didn’t know Don, and probably hadn’t cared as he or she killed Donatello, and tore him apart, removing organs and—
April turned and threw up. She fell to her knees, and heaved, the little food she had eaten being violently expelled from her body, and after it, whatever bile she had.
Oh. Oh God. Oh, God in Heaven. Oh God. Donatello had been stuffed. He’d been taken, captured, held, killed, and stuffed like he was some kind of animal, a trophy, as if from a prize hunt. And then he was displayed there for anyone that Shredder wanted to see, to see. He hadn’t even hid the fact that he was more than an animal, not with the stance and expression, but it hadn’t mattered to him, he hadn’t cared.
It was too much, and suddenly all those years of repressed grieving reared up. A sob tore out of her, and April wept where she was, grief and horror pouring out of her.
She had always wondered what had happened to Donatello. She’d hoped that one day he would come back, or that they’d find something of him. She had always hoped that one day she would find out. But not like this. No… Not like this.
That he had died like this, probably in terror and pain, all alone, without any hope. That her gentle, intelligent friend had died in such a gruesome, degrading way, treated as little more than an animal even after death—No. Of all the ways that Donatello could have died, not like this. No… Not like this. The horror of it all was too much, and April felt like she could barely breathe as she wept.
It felt like hours before April stopped weeping, although the tears still fell from her eyes. As much as she didn’t want to, April turned around to face the body of her friend, of her brother, once again.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. She could still see the undercurrent of fear in his face, something that they couldn’t get rid of. “I’m so, so sorry, Donnie. I promise you, we’ll give you a proper burial, like you should have had all those years ago, right next to your brothers, next to Splinter. But I am so, so sorry, that you died a death like this. No one should have this happen to them, but especially not you. No… Not like this.”
April took a shaky breath, and tried to compose herself, at least a little bit. She wasn’t going to hide her grief. In this time, there was no shame in it, and besides, she didn’t think she could. But she still had duties to take care of them, and chief among them, now, was arranging for a proper burial for Donatello.
After all, it was the last thing that she could do for him. And do it she would, even as she grieved the way that he had died. He didn’t deserve to die like that. No… no, not like that.
Never like that.
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comfort-questing · 28 days
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28. "no... not like this"
the hard frost lay silver-white on the stones of the courtyard far below, and slick black on the castle walls; their breaths fogged into one cloud together where they shared a cloak in the curl of the staircase, the narrow window-slit bright with the moonlight beyond.
"you shouldn't be out of bed at all," they said to her, where she huddled in the curve of their arm. "but there, it's a window. are you satisfied?"
she was shivering despite their body against hers, their cloak around her; the feverish flush on her cheeks stood deeper with the chill. she stifled a small dry cough against their shoulder, but then nodded.
"I just - wanted to see."
"yes. doesn't surprise me you were getting tired of that room. warm as an oven though..."
"we'll go back soon," she said; but stared out almost hungrily through the empty slit of the windowframe, eyes full of the moon's silvery glint. "thanks... thanks, Mar."
"I just hope you're not going to catch your death of cold like this," they said, and drew the cloak tighter around the two of them. "your noble family will band together and ritually execute me or something if so."
"I should hope not," she said. "anyway, you're my guard, aren't you? you do what I say, don't you?" she chuckled then, through teeth clenched against their chattering. "I mean, you usually do."
"well, I'm not actually your guard. I'm just - a guard. according to the armory records."
"hmm. are you, though?"
"look, if you want me to bring Captain up to your room to talk with you and prove it by the list..." they sighed. "we can talk about this later. it doesn't really matter, what the names are."
"doesn't it, though." she coughed again, peering over their sheltering arm to squint at the moon hung high above the rooftops and the dark spruce trees. "give me your sword."
they snorted. "I don't have my sword."
"your knife then... you must have your knife."
a pause. "Lady, you can't mean - "
"yes, I do. I - want you to be mine, you know; you told me once you'd never been anyone's at all."
they turned from the window, their face a hands-breadth from hers beneath their shared cloak. their eyes were shining with sudden unshed tears, mouth working back and forth. "you can't mean - no - not like this."
one hand slipped around theirs, catching at the calluses with her thin fingers. "if anything happens. if I can't, later. I want - I want you to have this much."
for a long moment only her quick, rough breaths rustled in the silence. and then metal clinked gently, and they brought up from their belt the slim dull dagger they wore, balancing it in their palm.
"...this, no more in aimlessness, but in purpose; not as a single blade, but of another hand the extension; this, you receive back from me, but I shall hold your faith given with it..."
they closed their eyes, as she finished murmuring the words and folded their fingers back around the hilt; she bent and kissed their knuckles with her chilly lips, and then leaned into their warmth again, shivering.
"all right. now - now, my guard, we really - probably ought get back to my room, before they come looking for us."
"let them," they said, but clambered to their feet anyway, lifting her along with them. "I shall defend you and your wishes for fresh air and moonlight, my liege, to the death. or something like that."
she laughed, into their shoulder. "something like that."
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