#no. 9

[strawberrylabs]

Whumptober day 9 with Kaeya and Diluc!

Prompt: "You're a liar"

Whumptober masterlist

she/her version, he/him version

Summary: As the youngest child of the Ragnvindr house hold, you suffered years alone after your brothers falling out. But how would they react when a certain harbinger decides to sieze this oppertunity?

Warnings: Dottore (fuck him), death, injections, fighting, mentions of inhumane experiments

You were only young when Kaeya came to the Ragnvindr household.

You couldn’t explain it, but straight away you treated him as you did your biological brother.

Diluc and Kaeya often teased you as brothers do, but they were also protective of you.

You were close with both of them, but you were especially close to Kaeya, much to Diluc’s chagrin.

Mainly because Diluc, while still having fun with pranks and such, was still sure to follow your father’s rules.

Kaeya however, had a knack for bending the rules and finding loopholes.

And if you ask a little kid whether they’d rather have dessert or dinner first, it’s obvious what the choice would be. 

Kaeya always dragged you with him when exploring Windwail Highland, hand clasped around yours.

Of course he originally just wanted to have fun with his little sibling, but when you looked at him with pleading eyes asking to bring Diluc, he couldn’t refuse.

And of course Diluc couldn’t refuse you either.

That was often how it went; Kaeya and you going on adventures, you making Diluc come along, the three of you having fun and creating memories.

As you grew older, the boys taught you how to use your weapon of choice.

You often trained with them, being taught little tips and tricks as your strength increased.

When your brothers joined the knights, you would go visit him and Kaeya with lunch made for the three of you.

It was more than you could ask for. A loving father, and two older brothers who adored you!

…

But you weren’t able to hold on to your happiness forever.

The night of your father’s death, you clung to your father’s corpse. The ringing in your ears only subsided when you heard the clash of swords.

You screamed at your brothers to stop, hot, fat tears rolling down your face as your mind screams at you to do something before you lose someone else.

When Kaeya got his vision near moments before what would have been his final moments, you finally moved.

You ran and hugged Diluc around his waist, halting his movements.

“Dammit! Let go!”

He tried to shake you off as your wails got louder and more persistent.

After some time, Diluc finally stopped moving. Your grip loosened as he walked away from you.

Before Kaeya could leave, you ran to him, crushing him in a hug.

“Hey.. C’mon now, you shouldn’t be hugging a traitor.. ‘Luc might get mad.” Kaeya went to tussle your hair habitually, before stopping when he felt a certain fiery gaze watching his every move.

He goes to push you off, but you cling tighter.

“You’re not a traitor, you’re my brother! I don’t care why you’re here or why you were sent here, I just care that you’re Kaeya and you’re my brother and I refuse to lose anyone else I love!”

Your eyes stung with salt and loss.

The blue haired man finally caved and hugged you back, gripping you like a lifeline.

“Please don’t leave.. Promise me!”

Kaeya stutters a moment

“I… I promise. I’m your big brother after all. I promise I’ll still be there for you…”

You don’t quite remember how long you were in Kaeya’s hold before Diluc pried you from him. You didn’t fight him. Kaeya promised you. And you trusted him.

You let Diluc drag you away from him. 

You saw both of your brothers at your father’s funeral. Although none of you spoke. None of you stood together. The tensions were too high for that.

Kaeya and Diluc weren’t talking for obvious reasons.

Diluc wasn’t talking to you because of your promise with Kaeya.

Kaeya wasn’t talking to you because he didn’t want to get into another fight with Diluc.

And you weren’t talking to either of them for fear of whoever you didn’t talk to getting the wrong idea.

Oh how you wish you had the courage to talk to both of them that day.

Because your father’s funeral was the last time you spoke to either of your brothers for a long time. A very, long time.

When Diluc left for Sneznyah, he only left a note for you stating that he would be back. Didn’t say when, didn’t say where he went or what he was doing. Just that he would be back.

To say you were devastated was an understatement. 

You locked yourself in your room for a few days after that, trying to figure out what you had done in your few years of existence for the archons to hate you enough to take away your family.

After almost a week of not leaving the mansion, you decided to find Kaeya. 

You had hoped he would visit, but you supposed that since he took up the position of Cavalry Captain when Diluc quit, he would be busy.

When you approached Varka, he looked at you with pity.

“I’m sorry little one, Kaeya is not here right now.”

You couldn’t quite pick up on the remorse in his eyes.

It became a habit for you to ask about Kaeya over the months. Every day the same responses.

“He’s not here.”

“He’s busy.”

“He just left.”

Seeds of doubt began to take root in your mind. But you were always quick to squash them.

‘He promised.’ You would remind yourself

It wasn’t until one day when you were walking past the tavern did you hear a familiar voice drift through the open windows.

“I have to cut myself off from the people at the winery to do my job efficiently. That’s just how it has to be.” 

You don’t know what overtook you. You stormed through the tavern door, a starstruck Kaeya sitting there watching you.

“You promised me! You promised you’d stay with me! And what, you’re avoiding me? Leaving me by myself so you can do your job?” You seethe. You refuse to cry. You refuse to let him see how hurt you are.

“Wait-”

“Fine! I don’t need you or Diluc! I can manage on my own!”

Marching towards the door you turn around one more time

“Go screw yourself Kaeya!”

The walk home went by in an instant, a million scenarios running through your head, thinking about what you could’ve done, could’ve said differently to avoid this outcome.

You ran on autopilot for a while after that. Every day was the same.

Wake up.

Eat.

Shower.

Study.

Train.

Eat.

Sleep

And then do it all again. Some days you even missed one or two steps. But you didn’t particularly care.

Until one day, you were training near the shore like usual, when a voice sounded from behind you.

“Your form is lacking. If you continue to practise like that, the habit will be ingrained in your mind and you will forever be stuck fighting with incompetent form.” 

A man with mint green hair and a sinister lilt made himself seen. He didn’t appear hostile or as if he posed a threat. So you lowered your weapon.

“.. I don’t exactly have a teacher anymore.”

“Well! Why don’t I teach you? I’m spending some time in Mondstadt, and I need someone to show me around, teach me the ways of a local if you will. How about, I train you, you be my guide?”

You knew this man was trouble. You could sense it. 

So why did you agree? Was it this innate need to prove you were capable to the brothers who don’t care? Was it boredom? Curiosity?

Loneliness? 

Who knows. All you know is the man who made himself known as Dottore from that day on became the only constant in your life. And you grew attached to it.

He was there on time everyday to train you. He was harsh, but he wasn’t a bad teacher. In fact, you could feel your strength improving after mere weeks of training.

After training, sometimes before if you were early, you’d show him around Mondstadt. From Starfell valley, to Windrise, to Stormterrors lair. But oddly enough, he never asked to see the city. 

You didn’t question it. That was probably where he was staying after all, he didn’t need to be shown around.

After the first month of this, Dottore, told you that his stay in Mondstadt was extended. 

“I will be staying another year or so it would seem. I was wondering perhaps, if you would like to be friends- officially that is.”

And so you agreed to be friends.

Life continued on for another few months, Dottore continued training you, the two of you would go on walks to wherever you felt like (You had long since shown him everything Mondstadt had to offer).

Over time, you told Dottore about your brothers and family. And eventually, Dottore told you about himself.

“Now there is something I must tell you. I am a member of the Fatui. In fact I am a harbinger known as the Doctor. I know you are not stupid, you have likely known this for a long while. But I still feel it is better to be transparent.”

He was right. Over the months you had learned the name Dottore, and knew about the things he’d done.

But he hadn’t been that bad in person. He had treated you kindly, and he was honest.

He also kept his promises.

He hadn’t left you alone.

“I know… But.. I trust you. I think..” You murmur the last part, still not completely sure about what you’re saying.

But this was no time to back down. You had to prove you could survive without your brothers. That included making your own decisions about who to trust.

“Well in that case I must be honest with you once more. I am looking for a new.. Student. Someone who can withstand a certain injection I’ve concocted.” Something about the way he enunciated the word student sent shivers down your spine..

“I admit that is why I agreed to train you. I wanted to hone your body to withstand the experiment.”

“...And will it?”

“Pardon?”

“Will my body withstand the experiment?”

The Doctor grins.

—----------------------------------------

It was two years after your father’s death that Diluc came back.

The first thing he noticed was that you had grown. You were stronger.

You also held a vision. 

His heart ached a little.

How much had he missed?

But no matter how much he tried to ask, you deflected the topic. You barely spoke to him. Understandable. He thought. But he still needed answers.

Diluc didn’t like it, but he had to ask Kaeya. 

Needless to say when Diluc found out Kaeya didn’t know either, he was livid.

“What do you mean you haven’t spoken in two years?! Are you so incompetent that you can’t keep an eye on your own sibling?!”

“Well at least I didn’t disappear for two years!”

“Stop!” 

The two turned to you when you yelled, neither having seen you enter the tavern. 

Their eyes went wide when they saw a delusion hanging next to your vision.

“Where did you get that?! Give it to me-” Diluc goes to snatch the object, only to have his wrist grabbed by a gloved hand.

“Now now, no need to get worked up. I believe this one is handling the delusion quite well.”

 The smirk in Dottore’s voice was audible.

“I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t take too long, dear pupil.” The doctor chuckled as his eyes filled with mirth stared down the two brothers, as if to say

‘I win.’

The tavern falls silent. Diluc grabs your wrist and pulls you into the backroom, with Kaeya following behind.

“What are you doing with a harbinger! Where did you get that delusion? Are you mad! You know that’s what-”

“A delusion is what killed dad, I know.”

The air was silent, and heavy. It seemed no one knew what to say next.

You heave a deep sigh.

“I’m going to Sneznyah. I’m joining the Fatui as Dottore’s apprentice.”

Kaeya was the one who spoke this time.

“What? No- you can’t!” 

Kaeya didn’t express his emotions on his face often, but this time it was as if his face were a book, his emotions written on the pages. Worry. Anger. Denial.

“Why do you two care anyway? I could’ve left without saying a word and it probably would’ve taken you months to even realise.”

You take a deep, steadying breath.

“Dottore says I have potential. Potential to be something better- something stronger than either of you thought I could be. I agreed to let him test his hypothesis.” 

Your voice didn’t waver.

“Test? Do you hear yourself?”

“You know what will happen, it’s dangerous.”

“Don’t be foolish!”

“You’re making a mistake”

Diluc and Kaeya continue their onslaught..

This is exactly what Dottore said would happen.They don’t trust you. They don’t believe in your strength.

“And why would either of you care?! Diluc- you left me! For 2 years after our father’s death without a word!”

You turn to Kaeya before the redhead has a chance to open his mouth

“And you…

You’re a liar!

You said you'd look after me! You said you’d protect me! I was counting on you to be there when Diluc left! I kept hoping that at least once in these last few years you would at least acknowledge I exist!” 

“I-”

“No! I’ve had enough! I’m taking charge of my life, and I’m starting fresh away from the two of you! Let’s see how you like when your sibling acts like you aren’t there, as if you haven’t spent all your life together!”

The brothers look down in shame. 

They never thought that their darling little sibling would grow up like this. And it’s all their fault.

Memories of bright smiles and laughter flood their minds.

How did it go so wrong?

“Don’t expect to hear from me. I don’t plan on coming back unless absolutely necessary.”

Your hard gaze falters as you look at your brothers.

“Goodbye, Kaeya, ‘Luc. I love you guys.”

You turned around.

And you didn’t look back.

…

But Kaeya and Diluc were not about to let that psycho do what he wants with you.

They lost over the years due to their negligence.

And they were going to get their sibling back.

This is so much longer than I thought it'd be- oops

@loyal-to-dottore (I know you love the sibling fics<3)

[one-piece-aus]

Hi~~

Is it ok if i request Shanks for day 9 of your whumptober? hope u have a good day~~

Yes, of course! Enjoy your evening with this angsty read ^-^

Whumptober Day 9

Shanks x Reader

You sat in your office drinking black coffee, ignoring the taste in favour of keeping your body running, sleep can wait till you're done here. You just got photographic evidence of who your mystery mastermind is, you were just waiting for the pictures from the polaroid to develop.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you heard a phone ring. Your brows knitted in confusion, the office phone stay still, you checked your pocket for your work phone but it remained silent. Wait- you pulled out your personal phone and sure enough there it was, ringing in your hand. Your sore eyes soften once you see who it is and you answered.

"Shanks, you know not to call me while I'm at work."

"Ah come on sweetheart, it's 2 in the morning, I'm sure no one's going to complain about a little call from the outside." As always, Shanks' easygoing nature pulls a smile on your lips. "Why are you in so late anyways? Isn't the latest you stay midnight?"

"I just needed to oversee something before I call it a day," you tell him as you swish your drink around.

"Don't stay there all night, I wanna see you later." There's that charming tone you could hardly resist.

"What? Got bored drinking with your buddies?" You teased, spinning around in your chair.

"I can only stand looking at their faces for so long," he laughed at his own joke. "But seriously I'd like to see you, you've been busy all week."

"It's called working Shanks, something you wouldn't know."

"It's called being a workaholic, normal people get off at 5."

"Hmm, maybe but mysteries won't slove themselves," you said glancing at the spiderweb board behind you.

"I'll buy you something from the bakery~" Shanks bribed.

"Deal," you agreed and ceased your spin when you face your desk again. "I'll see you soon."

"See you soon, sweetheart."

You ended the call and pocketed your phone, already missing his voice. How did you go a week without seeing him? You frowned, staring at the black coffee in your mug. Did you really bury yourself in your work that much?

"Out of coffee already, boss?" Tashigi asked as she walked in and noticed you were staring inside your mug.

"No, but I'll need a refill soon."

"Well, if you're staying up because you're waiting for the photos to develop, worry no more!" Tashigi held up a box and placed it down your desk.

"You only collected the ones taken from 11pm to 2 am, right?" You checked reaching your hand in the box and pulling out a few pictures.

"Yes," Tashigi nodded.

You hummed in thought as you shuffled through the pictures. Most were low quality and blurry, the figures in them were covered in shadows. Halfway done looking through the photos and you felt this technique is proving to be a lost cause when you saw the next photograph.

You dropped it, letting it land on you desk as chills crawled up your back. Disbelief painted over your features as you stared down at the picture smiling at you.

Of all people- no, surely you're just sleep deprived. You hardly had any sleep this week, you're just halluctionating, right? Yeah, there's no way it's-

"Tashigi-" You picked up the photo and handed it to the woman. "Can you describe the features of the person in the photo to me."

"Uh- well..." Tashigi adjusted her glasses as she began examing the picture. "It looks like a red-haired man in his late 30s."

It's as you feared.

The man in the photo is Shanks.

Tag: @roseoftrafalgar @bookandyarndragon

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 9 - Polaroid

Warnings: alluded to child abuse and child neglect but nothing explicit.

Word Count: 1.2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha holds hope for Christmas.

A/N: I wish I had the time to actually think this fic through but it just is what is it coming through. No beta, and a minimal read through. Mistakes are my own; I know.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

1994

OHIO

Christmas season seems to put them all on edge.

Alexei leaves and Melina growls at them at clean. It’s nothing new and Natasha doesn’t mind the monotony of cleaning the house.

From where she’s come from, cleaning is almost a luxury to the hits and bruises of hard labour to get her small muscles strong.

Melina even allows music as they do so.

Yelena fiddles with the radio and she gets up and does a dance whilst Natasha cleans around her.

Christmas music plays and Natasha doesn’t quite understand the sentiments behind it.

Melina is tolerant until she isn’t and it’s the variability that sets Natasha on edge.

The week before Christmas, Natasha hears Yelena asks about Santa.

Natasha knows there’s no such thing.

How could there be a magical man in the sky that delivers presents, or answer wishes.

She hears Melinda talk about it, and anger curls low at Yelena’s hope and optimism.

“We get presents?” Yelena asks.

Natasha rolls over.

She doesn’t hear the response.

There’s no way that Melina would get them gifts. Alexei wouldn’t allow it either.

Natasha dreams of a man coming into her room, but this time he leaves gifts of flowers and food.

Candy mostly, but fruit too, it drags her deeper into sleep and for the first time in a long time she sleeps soundly.

.

Boxes sit under a Christmas tree. Natasha eyes them suspiciously at first.

There’s lights set up around it. Not Christmas lights but large stage lights.

Yelena shakes boxes, and Melina tells her not to touch them.

It fills Natasha with hope.

Maybe in the boxes there is toys, maybe there’s some pencils to draw with, candy? maybe a book?

She eyes the boxes carefully, not really believing that’s the case but wanting to believe it with all her heart.

As Christmas crawls closer, her hope grows.

Melina leaves for a couple of days to meet with Alexei and leaves Natasha in charge of Yelena.

It’s peaceful and fun.

They dance and sing and watch the television.

Natasha teaches Yelena some Russian and they have ice cream for dinner.

They sleep in the same bed and Natasha reads to her the books that they have.

Yelena begs her to open the boxes.

It’s the only rule Natasha has.

She desperately wants to, but she wants to preserve the magic of Christmas Day.

Two days pass before Melina returns.

Yelena runs to hug her and Natasha holds back, jealous of her easy trust.

The night before Christmas, Melina makes them dress up.

It sets Natasha on edge.

The last time she had to dress up and stand in front of people, bad things happened.

They’re made to stand in front of the tree and pose, whilst Melina takes pictures.

Natasha flinches every time the flash goes off.

Melina berates her to stay still.

She tries to smile as ordered, but it feels like dread.

“Can we open the presents tomorrow?” Natasha asks, on a whim.

Melina shrugs.

“You can open them now, there’s nothing in them.”

In that moment, Natasha feels her heart break.

She had hope.

She thought….

She doesn’t know what she thought, maybe that someone cared enough about her that they would get her a gift.

Maybe that she was good enough to get one like all the tales of Santa.

She feels tears on her face as the disappointment floods her body.

Santa would never come here.

She is not good.

Backing away, she flees to the bedroom, hides under the bed and sobs quietly to herself.

.

Yelena finds her still under her bed on Christmas Day; a box in her hands.

She holds out her tiny hand and helps Natasha out, her body stuff and sore from being curled up all night.

“It wasn’t real,” Natasha whispers to her, gesturing to the box.

“There’s nothing inside.”

Yelena shakes her head.

“I know, this is from me,” she presents the box to Natasha.

Natasha’s heart skips and she takes the box from her sister.

“Aren’t you disappointed?” she asks, “aren’t you sad?”

Yelena looks up at her legs crossed and shakes her head.

“Santa didn’t come for us,” she sighs, looking to the sky “maybe it’s because we were bad like Alexei tells us we are; or maybe it because he didn’t know we were here. Maybe he thinks we are still in Russia and there’s presents waiting for us there.”

Natasha’s heart sinks further.

There is nothing good in Russia, despite what Melina and Alexei tell Yelena.

“This is for you,” Yelena taps the box.

“I wanted you to have it.”

Natasha opens it.

The picture of them together, side by side faces smiling. The row of four taken when Melina had taken the others to send back to Russia.

“Please don’t show her,” Yelena looks nervous. “I saw that you liked them and I took them for you.”

On a whim, Natasha hugs Yelena, a deep crushing hug that she tries to convey how much the pictures mean.

She hides her tears in her hair and then brings her forehead to Yelena’s. She doesn’t know why, just that it feels right.

“I… I got something for you too,” Natasha whispers, hastily wiping her eyes.

If they see her crying, she knows they’ll make her run laps.

She feels Yelena won’t tell on her.

Taking the little present wrapped in newspaper, from underneath her pillow, she presents it to Yelena.

She swallows hard, wondering if Yelena will understand or if she’s too young.

Yelena opens it carefully, the tiny blue ribbon peaks out and she touches it carefully.

“My mother left it for me,” Natasha whispers.

“It’s the only thing I have of her, and I want you to have it.”

Yelena must understand, because immediately she passes it back.

“I can’t have this,” she says.

Natasha take a breath.

“There was a wet nurse; in the Red Room, she was mean and kind and told me that my mother wanted me and couldn’t keep me. I don’t know if it was the truth. She showed me the things my mother sent with me, it was this and a picture.”

Natasha lifts her bed and pulls out a book, inside the book is the picture.

She shows Yelena.

“This is my mother.”

Yelena takes the picture carefully.

“She’s so pretty.”

Natasha nods.

“The nurse. She said I couldn’t have the the things my mother left me, but showed me where she kept it. Before… before I came here, I took them. I wanted them to be with me, wherever I was. I thought… maybe it was all she had to give. I want them with me.”

Natasha takes back the picture and tucks it carefully into the book, then takes the one that Yelena gave her and places them together.

“I want you to have it, because it’s a part of me.”

Yelena nods but doesn’t really understand.

What she does understand is the sentiment that Natasha is trying to convey, and she feels the pull towards her sister.

“Put it in my hair?”

Natasha smiles and nods.

“Okay.”

Gently she braids her hair, tying the ribbon in so it sits firmly in Yelena’s hair, they hear Melina calling and Natasha touches her arm.

“She can’t know,” Natasha says urgently, “just like the pictures.”

Yelena sees the seriousness and nods.

“I promise,” she nods, and holds out a pinky finger.

Natasha takes it in her own and nods too.

Bringing her in for another hug, she feels Yelena’s little hands pull her close.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and kisses the top of her head.

.

[oneweirdbookaddict]

Whumptober day nine!

Y’all remember that town from the FS manga that blamed Red for burning it down? What if Four had to go back there? What if they remembered him?

1372 words

Warnings for (fist)fighting and very brief drunkenness that’s not really described and only a character mentioned once.

“You ok, Smithy?” He asks, just getting a small nod.

“Just… don’t like this town much.” Four mutters, sighing.

He forces a smile. “You don’t like any town.”

Four forces a small twitch of the lips. “Touche, Rancher.”

Their conversation is cut short as they walk into the tavern, Four’s lips pressing together as people glance at them. “Leave. Now.” Four hisses, arm grabbing his.

Before he can respond-

“Hey- Isn’t that the kid that burned down the town last year?”

Four freezes, eyes widening.

He looks down at the smith, frowning.

The whole tavern seems to look at the smith, too, heads craning.

“He looks a little different.”

“Got older is all. That’s him.”

“It wasn’t me. You’ve got the wrong person.” Four says, eyes glancing carefully around the pub.

“You’re a liar!” One man roars, face red and drunken. “We saw you with that firerod!”

“I mean no harm, I’ll leave if you wish-”

“Damn right you will, once I’m finished with you…”

Four’s grey eyes glance up at him. “Twi. Leave.”

“Yeah, right, Four, these people-”

“Let me handle it. Leave.” Four says, still oddly calm.

He hesitates. “Come on, Smithy, have some sense, it’ll be one on-”

“Twi. Leave.” Four repeats. “Get the others and go. Get away from here.”

“Four-”

But the smith turns, pulling a blade out of his belt and twirling it carefully in his hand.

“I don’t want to cause any harm. But I will if you make me. Let me leave and no one has to get hurt.” Four says, voice carrying through the tavern.

The original man laughs. “My wife died in that fire, kid. I’d like some revenge.”

“It. Wasn’t. Me.” Four says slowly, eyes flashing blue.

Then a lot of people are yelling- about things they lost, people who died, blaming Four, insisting Four set the fire, calling him nasty names.

The first person to get physical is a man who’d been watching from the corner, standing and slowly inching closer to Four.

Then rushes at him.

Four dodges the first blow, ducking underneath the sloppy punch thrown at his head. Unfortunately, the action spurs the others into motion, too.

Four’s grabbed from behind, a man grabbing his arms and another at his tunic, yanking him back. The smith is too hesitant to use the knife he has. He merely struggles, kicking with his legs and slamming his heel into a man’s knee.

The man swears with a grunt, releasing Four, who quickly goes for the other man but misses.

Takes a punch right to the face, staggering, and he’s grabbed again before he even has a chance to regain his bearings. A punch to the ribs. Another to the face. In the chest, on the arms, wherever people can get a hold of him.

Four finally starts fighting back.

Swings at a man, kicking another, knife flashing in the dim light.

Four places a knee right between a man’s legs, making him wince as the man drops.

Another slash. A man howls in pain.

A kick and man topples, having his legs swept out underneath him.

Four… actually manages really well for a while. Exchanges blows, takes a few hard ones, but dishes far more than he takes.

He’d lost his knife at some point, but he’s doing alright without it. And he hadn’t been using it much to begin with.

It’s not until one woman gets him from behind that he loses his edge- she manages to get behind him, bottle in her hands, smashing it right over his head.

He winces, deciding it’s time to jump in, regardless of Four’s wishes.

The smith staggers, eyes glazing over, dropping to his knees.

And the tavern breaks into cheers.

His blood boils, hands yanking his sword out and shoving people out of the way as he frantically tries to get to the smith.

They absolutely dogpile on the teenager, one man holding Four’s arms once again as another punches, another one kicks, one has gotten the knife Four had dropped-

His mind flashes white.

“Leave him alone!” He growls, twirling his sword. Much to his satisfaction, many of the others stare in surprise at him and quickly back away.

He kicks the man holding Four in the chest, hearing the snap of at least a few of his ribs. He staggers, falling to the ground and staying down.

Grabs one of the ones punching the kid, shoving him roughly into the crowd and knocking several of them down.

Makes his way to Four, no one else even going for them.

“Four.” He says quickly, grey eyes dazedly meeting his. “Let’s get out of here.”

He tries to be gentle, but anger and worry make his voice rough. Four flinches.

His blood boils as he takes Four’s arm, getting the smith to his feet, grabbing his sword and leading him out of the tavern.

The scowl on his face keeps anyone else from bothering them- and possibly all their injuries as well.

Four limps heavily, hands grabbing at his side, slightly hunched over as they walk.

His nose is bleeding- likely broken- blood smeared all over his face and dripping down his face onto his clothes, one eye already swollen shut, purple splotches already blossoming over his face and other visible skin.

Leans heavily on him, breathing labored.

He doesn’t stop moving until Four starts coughing, doubling over and blood bubbling out of his mouth. Spitting weakly, hand shakily wiping his mouth.

Then Four’s knees buckle, yelping in pain when he quickly grabs at the smith.

“Sorry- sorry! Goddess, Four, I’m sorry!” He says quickly, easing Four to the ground.

Four gives these raspy, painful sounding gasps, blood coating his lips.

Lung is most likely punctured, he realizes, chest sinking.

“Ok, Smithy, we gotta move, need me to carry you?” He asks, but Four gives no response.

Likely focusing on not suffocating.

Despite that, Four staggers to his feet.

Grimacing, hands- with very broken knuckles- grabbing weakly at his sleeve to stay upright, letting him lead them through town to the others.

“Time!” He shouts upon finding the other, the leader and Wind both turning immediately.

Then the old man rushes to them, already digging through his bag. “Do I even want to know?”

“No way Four got into a bar fight.” Wind cackles, but it stops quickly as Four wheezes.

Time falters as his gaze darts over Four, realizing just how badly he’s injured.

“Goddess,” Time swears. “What happened?”

“Some drunk people thought he burnt the town down- decided they wanted revenge.” He tries as Time comes up empty handed.

“Wars and Legend went to find potions.” Time sighs, turning to Wind.

“On it.” The sailor says immediately, darting off. He eases Four to the ground, the smith wheezing worse.

“Easy, Smithy, slow in, slow out.” He says gently.

Four’s grey eyes flutter.

“Wind will be back. You’ll be ok.” He says softly, using his sleeve to try to wipe some of the blood off his face.

Time produces a rag and some water, cleaning Four’s face off then holding the rag to his still bleeding nose.

“We need to get something on that eye, it looks awful.” Time mutters, testing the temperature of the water. “This is cold enough…”

He provides another rag that Time dampens, holding it to Four’s eye.

Four’s hand weakly tries to knock it away, and they both pause.

The smith gives a weak cough, wincing.

Then another, blood spotting his lips.

“Cough it up, Four, get it out of your lungs.” He mutters, rubbing Four’s back.

Gets a weak groan, but another few coughs.

Time gently wipes the blood away, holding the rag back to his nose.

“Hurts.” Four grits out, eyes squeezing shut as he leans his head back.

His breathing is… awful. Sharp, painful sounding gasps.

“You have to breathe, Four. Slower. In… out…”

“Can’t.”

“Four- nope, c’mon, kid, eyes open, just breathe with me.”

Four slumps against him, giving a sharp hiss under his breath.

“You’re ok, bud, just breathe.” He says softly, hand brushing carefully through Four’s hair. “We’ll get you a potion, you’ll be alright. Wind will be back soon. Just hang on, bud.”

Four gives no response.

~~~~

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Won't You Go My Way?

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? |

CW: Drugged whumpee, nonhuman whumpee/monster whump with dehumanizing language, magical branding, creepy whumper, nonsexual nudity (although gilly gets a lil gross about it), magical whump, captivity

-

Atabei knelt beside the siren on the cool stone floor of Guilford’s bedroom, carefully moving the poor creature into position.

They’d dragged him from the bathroom laid out on top of a blanket, a sort of makeshift sled that left him thumping over the bumps where the doorways were inlaid imperfectly into the floor, groaning but unable to react in any other way. The drugged fish had done its work, and if he could have any idea that he were no longer bound and gagged, well, he didn’t show it.

He lay limp even now, jaw slack after so many days forced open. His eyelids were cracked just a little, showing a glimmer of pupil and iris, each dark enough to be interchangeable. He turned to look in her direction, but she thought he didn't see her at all - or if he did, he was so far gone he couldn't begin to understand just what he was looking at anyway. The curls of his lovely black hair had dried and gone from stuck against his skin with damp to a salt-crusted, springy bounce she could wrap around one finger and watch it snap back when she let go. Little flakes of sea salt found their way onto the floor when she did. 

"Can you hear me?" She asked in a soft voice, snapping her fingers just before his face, close enough to nearly graze the tip of his slightly aquiline nose. 

He didn't even blink, or twitch. Just moaned, low and miserable, mouth opening just enough to show a hint of a slightly-rough tongue.

She smiled, a gentle expression at odds with what she soon would do. “Good,” She whispered. “Feel as little as possible before the worst begins, you poor dear. This will hurt you so very, very much."

He whimpered, and she wondered if it was only because he hated the dizzy lull of the poison in his veins, or because he understood her.

She patted his shoulder as if in comfort, then looked back over her shoulder to where Guilford was pacing nervously in what passed for his kitchen. His hands worried at each other in front of him. He’d taken off his shirt, baring a chest and back marked with the occasional scarring from life at sea, shoulders hunched, his nose scrunched up to show his nerves in an expression she knew as well as her own face in the mirror. 

It had been sweet, when he was a little boy. It just looked silly on a grown man.

He looked like a man with a wife bearing a child who was scared of the birth. In truth, what he wanted borne to him would be far more than a son or a legacy, but power.  She could give it to him, and she would, but she thought one day he would regret it.

"He is ready to be placed," She called, voice low. "And painted. Bring me my supplies."

Guilford stopped. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he nodded, grabbing the large black bag off the kitchen table. He moved into the dim, windowless bedroom, closing the door behind him and even blocking the space between the bottom and the floor with a rolled-up towel. They were left only with the light from the candles set on every available surface. It flickered along the walls like a fire in some ancient cave.

It felt… right, to do magic here, in a space like this, even if she did not like the magic she was about to do. She had learned the darker work, but rarely performed it. Eliza's husband's lungs had been her only casualty since girlhood. But this...

This was to put something old and awe-inspiring in chains that the siren could never, ever break. Still... Guilford had asked, and it was just the same as if her own blood-brother had needed her. Not that she had a brother. Even if she had, she would probably have loved Guilford better.

She leaned forward in a rustle of skirt and petticoat, moving the siren's left wrist above his head, the blue tint of veins just visible beneath the thinnest skin marred by raw wounds rubbed by wet rope until they bled, again and again. Now swollen and inflamed as his body fought oncoming infection. His right wrist was the same. Placed next to each other with palms facing the ceiling, the backs of his knuckles just brushed each other just above his saltwater-crusted curls, a sort of makeshift halo. 

His arms were strong, but the muscle was lean, barely visible until he was stretched like this. Sirens were rare - they bred so little no one had ever seen their young, and male sirens were even less common. She and Guilford, Atabei thought, were likely one of less than a thousand humans who had ever seen a siren without dying shortly after.

She let her own forefinger gently graze the line of his jaw, softened in this artificial sleep. She could see the edges of his perfect straight white teeth. The corners of his mouth were raw, too, looking almost as if his mouth had been cut wider but then healed. A terrible rictus smile that would make, indeed. At least when this was done, Guilford would have no further need to gag him.

Purple bruises on one cheekbone and smears of darkness beneath his eyes, the ring of finger-shaped marks around his neck and welts layered in red across his chest… it all told quite a vicious story of Guilford’s awful cruel impatience with him. 

"When we were children," Atabei said slowly, finger drawing nonsense shapes on the siren's neck as she followed the story of his wounds, watching the creature shift just slightly under her touch with a plaintive whine, “You found once a little burrow of quenk babies. Do you remember this? The little piglets all alone while the herd's sows had gone off to forage? We watched them for what felt like hours…”

"Hm? No, I don't remember that." Guilford crouched on the other side of the siren, helping Atabei to spread the creature’s long legs apart as well, with the feet turned out to show the inner ankle, the back of the knee, the insides of his thighs. If Guilford's gaze and hands lingered too long and with intention where those thighs met hips and an anatomy Atabei had no interest in herself, Atabei chose not to see it. 

Maybe he was simply jealous of the creature's endowment.

Maybe that was all. 

"Your father wanted to kill them all,” She whispered, tracing little circles around the creature’s stomach, realizing he had no true navel, only the faintest indentation where an umbilical cord would have connected him to his mother. Did sirens even have umbilical cords? How did they grow their young? She’d never even considered the answer to such a question. “He wanted to smoke the babies from their burrow, drown them in a sack, and then have you pick the sows off one by one when they returned to the burrow. He wanted to teach you to shoot that way. You cried and begged him not to, you wept for them. You don't remember this?" 

"Sorry, Beibei, I don't." Guilford frowned, thoughtful, as if wracking his mind for an event that he simply hadn't found remarkable. "Did it work?"

"I suppose it did. You were so noisy that the piglets fled deeper into the burrow, and the sows came back for their squealing piglets and chased you away." Atabei pressed two fingers under the siren's jaw. His pulse beat, steady and strong. 

Good.

He would need his strength to survive the spell. 

"Your father could not make you fire on the defenseless and frightened, then. And you did not let him kill what had done him no harm." She felt herself smile at the memory of her friend as a child with his permanent squint and muddied hands and knees, the absolute grief he caused the servants tasked with keeping him clean. Before, of course, there had been no more servants. Before there had been no more money. 

Before Guilford’s father had lost it all, and his lordship besides. 

"I'll bet he was furious. He always called me soft." Guilford sat back on his heels, watching the siren's chest rise and fall with deep, even breathing. "What made you think of that?"

"You would not do harm to the helpless, then." Atabei sighed and stood, moving to open her bag of supplies on a side table. “I suppose I only wonder what changed.”

Each of her twelve brushes she laid on a small towel carefully by order of their use, from the thinnest with only a few hairs for fine line work, each brush slightly larger than the last. The wooden handles were intricately carved, and their notches and swirls warmed to her fingers, recognizing their master. Then the tiny ceramic pigment bowls. Each of them appeared to have black pigment within, but Atabei’s experienced eye knew their differences, and which she needed most right now. 

She chose one, which hummed a little when her fingers lingered on it, and moved it to one side, mixing it with a little water from a pitcher. 

Finally, she set out a squat-bottomed bottle of shimmery black setting powder. It looked like mica that had been crushed finer than sand. It came only from beaches near certain volcanoes able to birth whole islands each year. Magic, like the seeds of certain trees, could only be brought to life through heat and flame. 

“I don’t think all that much changed,” Guilford said, a little defensively. “I still wouldn’t hurt quenk piglets off in a burrow minding their own business, and I’d still happily tell my father to go to hell. My mother, too, if you’d like.”

“Your father is already there,” Atabei murmured, and smiled at Guilford’s laughter behind her. “And I imagine your mother is not far behind, if this works.”

“My mother,” Guilford said with perfect innocence, “will almost certainly bash her way into heaven simply to get as far away from my father as possible. And I imagine she will die, quite tragically, of... let's say tuberculosis. If you're amenable, of course."

"Guilord!" That made Atabei laugh, too, shaking her head as she finished mixing the first paint and picked up one of the finer brushes, moving back to the poor unconscious siren, kneeling down. She could feel the magic pulling towards the creature as she looked him over, deciding where to begin.

Finally, she shifted close to his right shoulder, looking over the mottled bruising on the side of his neck. “He must be still,” She said, voice low. “If he so much as twitches, if the brushstroke is pulled the wrong way or breaks the line, the magic will run wild and it may turn on us, or it may simply not work at all and this will be all for nothing. He must be still. Are you quite certain the poison you put in the fish will keep him that way?”

“I am,” Guilford said, but his voice wavered a little. He knew well enough to respect magic - they had still lived near to each other when she had begun taking lessons as a child, and he’d seen some of her early spellwork attempts go wrong. There was a dead tree likely still standing in the backyard of her old home to prove it, and the bones of a creature she had tried to create all by herself and failed spectacularly at. “He’ll be still, Beibei. I promise. I-I mean, it will be still.”

Atabei’s eyebrow raised, just a little, but she let it go. Guilford was insistent on pretending he was not asking her to mark a different kind of humanlike man, as though that would somehow deny the evil of this.

She dipped her brush into the paint and felt, more than heard, the way the two created a sort of harmony when they met, certain in their purpose.

“Last chance to stop,” She whispered. “Magic has a price, Guilford. It will cost you a man’s lifetime and force on you a siren’s. He isn’t very old - it could be a thousand years for you or more.“

"I don’t care,” Guilford whispered. His eyes were avid, overbright. “I want it.”

“You don’t… I promise you that you don’t.”

“I do!”

Atabei nodded. “So be it. You cannot abandon him once you have what you want. He will be always with you, and you will be always responsible for his life in order to keep your own. You will not be able to set him aside. Ever. The cost is high, Guilford. Just tell me not to do this and I will put my things away.”

She raised her eyes without raising her chin, looking at his face from beneath her eyelashes. He stared back at her, solid and unmoving, then looked down at the finely formed, handsome face of the siren, that slack mouth with red at the edges and the creature’s long lashes laying now against his cheeks. 

“I want it. I want you to do this,” Guilford said, nodding to himself. She could see him pushing past his own doubts. “I need this power, it’s going to fix everything, give me everything I deserve, everything I should have had… I’ll be like a king… no, better, I’ll be a god.”

“Maybe aim lower than divinity,” Atabei murmured.

She carefully pulled the paint out, working with an aching slowness to draw the first symbols. Her brush buzzed against her fingertips as it began to do its work. The magic moved into her hand, up her arm, took hold of her mind and heart. The shimmer of candlelight all around them became a hazy, distorted nothingness. She was no longer aware of the bed in the corner, the side table, the washbasin or even the mirror hung over it. 

Atabei was the magic, and it was her, working through her, working Guilford’s will into the skin of the siren he had stolen from the feral power of the ocean. 

The first symbol had to be set against a place where the siren’s heartbeat or pulse could be felt, to make it strong. It bound their lives together, Guilford and his captive, and gave the magic the foundation of control she needed to do the rest. It was a kind of brand. Once the paint was set, the siren would be possessed, wholly, all that it was would belong to Guilford Wentworth, for as long as they lived.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, barely moving her lips and not even breathing real sound. Guilford was distracted watching and didn't hear her.

She worked the outline of the symbols, leaving the centers for the larger brushes she would use later on. For now, the outline was enough to get her started, and filling the magic in too heavily too soon risked her letting it escape her grasp, and who knew what wild magic could do when connected to a wild man?

Time passed in a fog, a haze. Her hand ached and she switched to the other one, thankful that the difference between the two had never meant much to her. Symbols moved down his neck and along his shoulder, down his right arm all the way to the inside of his wrist, where she set the first symbol again, cementing it, going back to fill in the interiors. It must have taken hours.

Guilford came and went - he must have gone to eat, or to relieve himself - but she didn’t notice. The magic ensured her body had no such needs until the work was done. And what work it was - the beauty of it, the intricacy, the incredible cruelty of each symbol’s meaning.

Belonging. Possession. Obedience. Submission. 

Fear.

Magic did not dry like normal paint, and so the liquid stayed fresh and shimmered like new no matter how long it took her to work. Only the siren’s fingers ever twitched in reaction when she took her paint to his palm - otherwise, he stayed so perfectly still he might have been dead or carved from stone. His throat moved when he swallowed, his chest shifted when breath hitched into a whine or a pathetic whimper.

He must feel the magic, and know he should fight it and yet... and yet he could do nothing.

She could have done anything.

She took a breath, stretching her back, and then moved down to his right foot and began again. The outlines she painted from heel up to toe, over the top of his foot and along his ankle, up his calf and to the back of one knee and then over the front, up his thighs where the muscle shifted minutely beneath, along hip and pelvis, would ensure he could go in no ocean - no water - without his master’s command and consent. The siren’s own home would be barred to him forever, unless Guilford allowed it.

And only for as long as Guilford allowed it.

Guilt prickled at Atabei’s conscience, but she simply set it aside. Guilford meant far more to her than any magical being could, and this was what he wanted.

She paused to wipe away from sweat and felt a hand on her arm.

She jerked backwards in surprise as she was thrown out of her haze and back into reality, blinking rapidly as Gulford leaned in close. “Guilford William Wentworth, are you mad?! I told you not to interrupt me! What if I’ve-” She looked down, and let out a gasp of relief. “Oh, thank the gods, I was not touching him still.”

“I-I know,” Guildford said, but he looked a little ashamed of himself, which was gratifying. “I waited until you were done with that bit there. I wanted to-… to ask…” He trailed off. His face was red, and she blinked, her vision wavering as she tried to focus on him and discern why.

“What? What did you want to ask?”

Guilford’s mouth opened and closed a few times, rather like a fish out of water, and Atabei had to fight back a slight smile at how utterly ridiculous he looked doing it. There was a pause, and then he leaned over, just like when they told each other secrets as children they didn’t want the adults to hear. “Are you going to mark up its, ah…” He reddened even further, blotchy all the way to his neck and shoulders. “Its… reproductive…” He trailed off, and finally just… pointed.

Atabei followed his eyes, and then rolled her own, sitting back over the creature’s prone form. “His manhood? You want me to spell his manhood? To do what, exactly?”

Guilford swallowed, hard. He was sweating, his face shiny and hair sticking to his neck and forehead. “… anything I want.”

For the first time in their lives together as friends closer than brother and sister, Atabei felt... disgusted by him. "Guilford…”

“I won’t,” He said rapidly. "It's so it can happen with others, not me."

She knew the look she had seen on his face. She knew it for what it was. Her stomach turned. “You lie, Guilford. You are a liar, to me. To my face!"

“No! No, no, I’m being honest as the grave! I promise, Beibei, I am. But just… you know, if it helps me get what I want in the future, I need to control everything, right?”

She hesitated. “You tell me he is not a man, and in the next breath you ask me to make it so he can be made to bed you-"

“No,” He interrupted. “Not me. But I just, in case I need it to seduce someone else, is what I mean. I want to be able to command it to do so, right? That’s all. That’s all I want, nothing any more untoward than that, Beibei, I swear. I swear. You don’t think I would really… do that with some sort of monster?”

Yes, she thought. I begin to understand that you will, if that monster cannot fight you. That what you want is the need to fight without the ability to, that is where your excitement lies.

She swallowed back the words before they could be spoken and picked up the finest of her brushes, with its few bristles, and dipped it into the pot of paint. The creature’s skin was soft, with the unique texture this place had on human men, too. She tried to touch it as little as she could. Its whines took in a higher pitch, then, and she shook her head, murmuring apologies she dared not speak aloud.

She had to work more slowly than ever to keep from making a mistake. Over the soft length of it, down to mark even the bollocks beneath - she made a face, wondering how men managed with those clumsy things always in the way between their legs - and finally she connected the pattern to the marks that already climbed his leg and over his hips.

The creature shuddered when the connection was made, a sign that he had felt the power settle into place, too.

Once he was fully marked - his right arm and leg coated in the spellwork, as well as all of his chest, his manhood, his stomach, and hips - she stood to get the small bottle of setting powder. 

“Get behind me and prepare yourself,” She said, voice low. She kept thinking about the strange greed in Guilford's face, the thick note to his pleading that made the hairs on her arms stand up, as if feeling the eyes of a mountain lion watching her move through the dark. She was giving him far more than a simple siren’s song to get some money, she understood that now. 

For the first time, she wondered just what damage he could do with the power he was about to hold in his hands, because of her help. But it was too late to stop, or to turn back.

She had to seal the magic, or all three of them would die when it broke the barrier and turned on them all.

“Prepare myself for... what?” Guilford was back to looking like his normal self, curious and hopeful. The strange blend of greed and some kind of soul-deep need had gone, and she could almost forget she had ever even seen it. He moved around and crouched behind her.

She poured a handful of the setting powder into the palm of her hand, watching it sparkle and shine in the movement of the candlelight. “For the way he is about to wake,” She said, voice low, and then leaned over, spreading the setting powder from his foot all the way up to the mark on his neck, from pulse point to the tips of his toes, up and down again, three times. "It will not be... pleasant."

There is always an added power in threes, and she needed all the power she could draw from the great well of it she had been granted the slightest sliver of access to.

His toe twitched, first. 

She held her breath, watching, tensed.

This was the moment they would learn if it had worked, if she had truly made each mark perfect. If there were any mistakes, the whole spell would be broken, and the poor captive creature would make short work of murdering them both before the magic murdered him as well.

They would probably deserve it.

Those dark eyes flew open, so wide the whites showed all around them, nearly bulging from his face as the siren hitched in a gasping breath. The powder seemed to sink into the markings, adding a new shimmer to them as well, and then the creature shook violently. His back arched, every muscle so tense he shook, a hair breadth from snapping his own bones beneath his skin.

Then, his head tipped back, his hands slapping down against the floor, and he began to scream.

It was a deafening shriek, something far beyond a human's agony, and it seemed to hang in the air as if it would never, ever end.

Atabei clapped her hands over her ears, closing her eyes tightly as if that would somehow help her drown out the roar of the siren’s unimaginable pain. The simple paint turned to buried ink, painting becoming a sort of permanent tattoo. 

Deeper than could be seen, it settled into the siren’s blood and bones. His very nerve endings were reworked, the siren’s marrow hollowed out and reformed in a burst that had him writhing, screaming, clawing at himself until there were deep gouges on his arms bubbling up blood - and yet the marks were unmarred beneath. The spellwork, once set with the powder, could no longer be broken. The creature dragged nails over its neck where the symbol branded him as Guilford's, wailing, shaking its head violently and then rolling onto its side.

It was shrieking a word, over and over, but there was so much pain she couldn't even begin to understand what the word was. She had to guess, from the terror and edge of his voice, that he was saying no.

A word he could say all he wanted, but it meant nothing, now, to his body.

The siren curled up into a ball, desperately trying to escape pain that came from within, not without. His very body was his cage. He rolled onto his hands and knees, pushing himself up with difficulty, and the first tears finally fell, dripping onto the floor. A terrible wracking sob came from him, a sound that nearly set Atabei to weeping with him. He went to kneeling, clawing at his own stomach now as if he could rip out his own organs, whimpering in helpless fear and confusion. He kept repeating that strange word, a sound that rang oddly in Atabei's own ears.

Then he raised his eyes to see Atabei and Guilford staring at him.

She watched him see the brush in her hand, the little tub of her paint, and even if he didn’t know how she had done it… he knew it was her, that she had done this to him - she and the man who hurt him, over and over again, and kept him here on dry land where he didn’t belong. 

The illusion of humanity dropped all at once, and she saw the sacred monster beneath.

He bared his teeth in a terrible snarl, and what had been flat and white, she saw now was row upon row of yellowed razor-sharp fangs designed to rip and tear apart his victims after their ships were broken apart on the rocks. That mouth opened too wide, too large. His previously perfectly normal human hands were tipped in deadly claws, marked already with his own blood. He was webbed between his fingers and toes.

He seemed, only then, to realize that he did not have a gag. That he was not bound, that he could raise those claws and swipe, open that jaw and end the lives of his captors at once. He jerked forward, reaching for her-

And stopped.

His claws were six inches away from her - if even that. She barely dared to breathe. “Guilford,” Atabei whispered. “Tell him you are his master, and say his name.”

Guilford was breathing just as rapidly behind her, one hand clenched so tightly on her arm that it hurt, not that she could feel much with her ears still ringing with the creature’s musical cries. He had a knife in the other - had he had one tucked in his boot the whole time? - and held it out, brandishing the only weapon they had between them, ready to pull Atabei back and protect her. He swallowed, and nodded, whispering, “C-Creature, I… I am your… master. Your n-name is… Areyto. Beibei, did it work?”

“I don’t know. If it did-”

The siren lunged towards them again, and Atabei flinched, eyes closed, absolutely certain she had messed up her spellwork for the first time since she was fourteen years old, and her life would be forfeit to some tiny mistake.

Guilford yelled, “Stop that at once, Areyto! Stay there!”

There was silence.

Nothing tore her apart.

But the siren made a sound of horrified confusion.

Atabei cracked her eyes open and discovered the siren had frozen on the spot. His eyes were no longer wide with the rage of a freed wild thing, but with the fear of one who had only just seen the bars of his cage and begun to know how small it really was. His mouth opened, air forced out with an audible hiss, but without any other sound. He tried again and again.

Nothing happened.

Atabei allowed herself to relax. “It worked. He's trying to sing and he can't. It-... it worked. You are his master now, and he can’t work their power on you.”

“What about you?” Guilford asked, with real worry, although he let go of her arm now and looked the siren over, walking slowly around him while the creature watched him, frightened and confused by how he was both unbound and yet utterly unable to act. The siren's hands trembled with the urge to attack, his knees shook. “Can it hurt you?”

“Only if you command him to. Which I certainly hope you will not do.”

“God forbid! You’re the only person on God’s green earth I’d never harm a single hair on!”

She believed him. Gods help her… she believed him. Or… hoped she did, anyway.

Atabei nodded, slowly easing back and away from the siren, but every single sign she could see suggested the spell had taken hold. “He can use his song only when and how you tell him to. He’ll learn our tongue more rapidly now, and with time forget his own. He cannot harm you or anyone you care for the safety of. He can and will harm anyone he is told to harm… by you only. His very nerves are yours to command. You may cause him pain with a word, or pleasure. Congratulations, Guilford.” She swallowed, and found herself unwilling to look the siren in the eyes any longer. “You have for yourself the full breadth of a siren’s power and lifespan, and it is yours to use as you see fit.”

Guilford nodded, but where her expression had gone grave and serious, his own was brightening into a pleased, proud smile. “Beibei, thank you. Thank you. You’ve no idea how grateful I am, I can’t even begin to express-”

“I know. I know. I know you are. Now…” Atabei sighed. She felt a strange unease, something that touched the edges of self-hatred but didn’t quite cross into it. She had ruined a beautiful wild ocean thing, but the look on Guilford’s face… “The work is half done. Command him to lay still on his belly, bare his back, and not move at all.”

“What?” Guilford looked like his ears might be ringing still. He stuck a finger in one and rubbed, then blinked at her, leaning close. “Lay down on his back?”

“No, no. Lay on his stomach. Set him up just how we began, but the other side, so his back faces us.” Atabei looked at the tears running from the corners of the siren’s eyes, how he was still frozen from Guilford’s command, his claws twitching constantly as he fought against the compulsion to obey. He looked at her with a pleading terror, and she turned her gaze away.

“Fine." Guilford licked his lips, as if savoring a delicious meal. "Areyto, lie down.”

The siren bared his teeth again - but then looked down at himself in surprise as he discovered himself already obeying the command. He made sounds of alarm, speaking rapidly in a language only he knew here, but his body no longer listened to him… it listened to Guilford.

Entirely.

Utterly.

The siren laid down on his belly on the ground, panting with fear. His eyes met hers, fearful and pleading. “No,” Atabei whispered. “You will have no help from me.”

When Guilford moved the siren’s hands above his head, the creature whined and spoke more, words that Atabei didn’t know but a tone she absolutely did. Stop. Please. Don’t do this. Why is this happening to me?

Once the siren was back in position, legs spread wide and the backs of his hands facing the ceiling, Guilford nodded. “Good,” He whispered, and Atabei shuddered at the tone of his voice, slightly thickened, oddly heavy. His eyes lit up as he began to truly enjoy and understand the way the siren would do whatever he told it to do. She had given him too much power over another being, but it was too late for regrets. “Now you may breathe, but stay still. Don’t move any other muscle.”

Guilford took his time tracing fingertips along the bottom of the siren’s left foot, unmarked as it was, watching the creature’s toes twitch. The poor thing couldn’t even begin to do anything about the unwanted touch, as it slid up his ankle, tickled the back of one knee. The siren wept against the ground, back shaking minutely with sobs that couldn’t be entirely repressed even by a magical command to stillness. Guilford, thankfully, lifted his hand before it went any higher.  “Beibei…”

“What?” She cracked her knuckles, stretched her back and legs, shook the hours upon hours of stillness out of her body. For a horrified moment, she wondered if he would ask her to leave the room right here and now.

But he only gave her a look of slightly embarrassed, good-natured puzzlement she had seen on him a thousand times before. “Um. Why did we roll him over, exactly?”

“Oh. I told you already.” She settled back on her knees, and set the paintbrush back into the little dish, wetting the bristles. “You don’t know why?”

“Well, I just… oh. I guess I”ve been… distracted, haven’t I?”

When she looked up at him, his face shone with excitement, and it made something in her stomach flip in uncertain, hesitant disgust - a feeling she refused to name. A promise of torment the siren would experience that she would not let herself admit to. “Yes. You have been.”

“Apologies. It’s just… is it because we have to do the back, too?”

“Yes.” She laid the first stroke of the paint, starting at the siren’s nape, a long curving line down. “Yes, Guilford. This will need redone every ten years for the spell to hold, and it must be on both sides for the control you have to be truly complete. Once we finish this… you will have your tool to gain riches and power. You will have your false divinity."

If he heard the condemnation in her tone, he didn't show it. His smile was wide and adoring, and gods help her, she adored him in return. She would have worked this evil for no one else. 

He clasped her free hand in his, clammy and sweaty, and she pulled herself free so it wouldn't mar her work. His voice was low and soft but sincere and earnest. “Beibei, again, I just, thank you so much for doing this for me. I am grateful, I will repay you a thousand times over for what you’ve done, you'll be so rich you can't even imagine the wealth, the influence, just… thank you.”

The haze of magic began to settle over her once more, but she kept herself together long enough to say what was on her mind, halting and slow. “I have done this for you, Guildford, and not for wealth or influence. You asked, and I gave. What we do here may before our deaths cost you your soul and me my peace.” 

She listened to the siren’s pitiful weeping and laid a hand in his hair as some thin comfort as her other hand worked the spell. Soon enough, the poor thing would be screaming again. 

She set her jaw against the racing of her own heart, and added, “Just… please, my friend… please don’t thank me for what I have done."

-

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

-

Look at me keeping up with including @whumptober prompts!

[sanjipussyindulgence]

people do NOT talk enough about how good the monster designs in kaiju no. 8 are

[firstdegreefangirl]

Not as Bad as It Looks (but it looks pretty bad)

“Damn.” Nyla sucks a breath between her teeth. Carefully, she reaches out to trace one finger along the swollen edges of Lucy’s face. “He really did a number on you.”

Lucy winces when Nyla reaches a particularly sensitive spot on her cheek. “Yeah. Brandi took me to the ER – she’s been burned just as badly, I let her think it was a relationship thing. Nothing’s broken, I’m all clear, but it’s awfully sore.”

“I’ll bet. Everything good at the hospital?”

“Yeah, my cover’s secure. Whoever did the records covered all the bases.” Nyla nods and puts the car into gear. Neither of them say anything as she drives through a handful of neighborhoods, doubling back and lapping her turns to make sure they’re not being followed. She pulls into a McDonald’s drive thru and orders lunch for them both.

“Thanks,” Lucy says, when Nyla passes her a carton of fries. “It’s better than it looks, really.”

“Well it couldn’t be much worse.”

“Gee, thanks.” Lucy rolls her eyes.

Read the rest on ao3 here!

[orntlgst]

sooo i've finally got my hands on the book and man,,,, the only downside is how short it is. didn't expect it to be this good. also, no.2 deserves the world

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Whumptober Day 9

No. 9 THE VERY NOISY NIGHT

Sleeping in Shifts | Tossing and Turning | Caught in a Storm

Warning: car crash, leg injury, ptsd hinted at, storms

Word count: 887

The case was over and you were driving back, there was heavy rain and strong wind that was supposed to last a few days minimum. And with the hotel you were staying at (and every other hotel) fully booked, it meant that you’d have to drive back. It wasn’t too long a drive, only seven hours. You were each taking it in turns to drive, with Aaron currently driving, you behind the passenger seat. You were lucky enough that you have been supplied with an eight seater - you could all fit in with your go-bags with plenty of room. It was your turn to drive next. You weren’t exactly looking forward to it, your anxiety had been playing up all day and you couldn’t quite pin down the reason.

Sensing eyes on you, you look up, catching your boss’ eyes flicking to you in concern every thirty seconds. “You should get some sleep,” He said, you gave a small shrug.

“I’m not tired.”

“What’s wrong? You’ve been acting off.”

“I don’t know,” You replied, “I just feel like something is wrong, that’s all,”

Aaron gave a nod, “I’m sure it’s nothing,”

“I hope so,” You laugh, “But, yeah, no rest for the wicked it would seem,” Aaron huffed a laugh. The case was in South Carolina, an unsub tryinging to ‘clean; the streets of the homeless. The man was rather easy to find and apprehend and soon enough, you were on your way back. You were only three hours into the drive, all of you running on nearly twenty four hours of no sleep. Derek had gone first, driving for an hour, then Spencer (wanting to get it over with), and now Hotch, then you, and then Emily and the chain would continue until you were home. 

“You could just be tired,” Hotch suggested.

“Yeah, probably,”

Hotch gave a small smile as you yawned, “Get some sleep, I’ll wake you up when it’s your turn,” You nodded, bunching Morgan’s hoodie (that you may or may not have stolen from his go bag) into a ball, placing it on the window and resting your head against it. You were fairly sure you weren’t going to get any sleep, but soon enough, the pitter-patter of the rain against the car drew you into a peaceful sleep.

Aaron softly calling your name drew you out of your sleep, he gave you a small smile, “Your turn,”

You nodded, “You want a makeshift pillow?” When Hotch shook his head, you threw the hoodie on over your head. You jogged around the car, slipping into the driver’s seat. Waiting until Aaron was buckled in, you started the car. 

Twenty minutes in, you felt tired. And sick. Your eyes felt heavy. Seeing a sign for a rest area with a fuel station a mile or two ahead you breath a sigh of relief. You were going to stop and get a coffee. A coffee sounded great right about now. Blinking felt harder, upon this realisation you opened the window, welcoming the cold bite of the air. It did wonders for waking you up. 

The pit stop cam fast, which you were happy about, and you quickly grabbed a coffee, waking Hotch before you did. You made it back in record time with a large cup of coffee in hand, you slipped it into the built in cup holder. After buckling yourself in, you start the engine, resuming your journing (continuing the timer).

There were hardly any cars on the road, which you were happy about. Although, your anxiety started to worsen. You sighed, perhaps the caffeine was causing your anxiety to heighten. You turn the radio on, the volume set at two. You hummed away to the song.

The screech came out of nowhere and the headlights blinded you. The impact crushed your side of the car and you cried out in both in shock and pain from the collision. The airbag released, slamming against your chest and face. 

It takes a moment before your brain registers the pain and then it hits you full force, your chest and face hurt, you feel a considerate ab=mount of pressure on your legs that causes you to wince. You head hurts and you think there might be something dripping down your face. You lift your head up, realising the team are also in the car with you. But there’s no one there. Everyone’s gone.

“H’tch?”

A hand is placed on your shoulder and your head snaps to them. Hotch. He’s speaking but you can’t hear him over hte blood rushing through your ears. “Where’s everyone else?” You watch his lips carefully, ‘everyone’s okay, paramedics are on the way’ you nod, hoping you read his lips right. 

When the paramedics get there, they quickly assess the situation. The car crunched under the impact of the other car, trapping your legs. No fractures or breaks, or permanent damage, nothing that wouldn’t heal with time. You have a concussion and severe bruising from the airbag, but it could be worse. 

A month later, you’re fully healed and your doctors are okay with you being on active duty. You were fine. Except for the nightmare, the fear of cars, the fear of driving, and the irrational connection between coffee and danger.

But that’s a story for another time.

[ajpendragon]

Doubts

John blinked vigorously to clear his vision, forcing the two projections floating in front of him to merge back into one. A flick of his finger and the ship schematics spun in front of him, faster than he had intended it to. The movement threw him off balance, a rare occurrence in zero gravity, only possible because of his exhausted state. He drifted back into the wall, colliding with it roughly.

“John, it has been roughly 72 hours since you last slept. It would be wise to take a break. You are too tired to be any use at the moment.”

“I’m fine, EOS. I have to check everything. All of us are going to be on that ship, and I won’t risk a repeat of last time. I can’t risk my brother’s lives like that. I have to make sure it’s safe.” He continued stubbornly glaring at the schematics, even as his vision swam in front of him. His arms felt too heavy to move, and if he weren’t free-floating in space, he would have been collapsed on the floor.

The hologram flickered out, and he knew EOS had put her foot down. She would not allow him to work any more, even when he desperately wanted to. “You need to rest. You will be of no use to your brothers if you continue on like this. You look awful, and you are so tired you can barely function.” Her voice softened slightly. “Working yourself to exhaustion to avoid thinking about your problems is not healthy, John.”

He pulled himself slowly down the hallways towards his bed, conceding the fight. He was too tired to argue, and that in itself was clear proof that EOS was right. He never gave up on an argument if he could help it.

John knew exactly what the chances of finding their father still alive were. The likelihood that they were going on a rescue mission was slim to none. People didn’t survive on their own in deep space for as long as Jeff had been gone. All they were likely to find was a body. They had to go, he knew that. To finally have an answer after all these years would be worth everything. But if anything he could do would make it safer, he had to try. Dad wouldn’t have wanted them to recklessly risk their lives on the very unlikely chance that he was still alive.

John had not been good enough to save his father.

His brothers were all he had left.

And he refused to lose them too.

*******************************************

Alan clutched the photograph tightly in his hand. There weren’t many paper pictures left, most saved on computers and phones now, but this one was special. Each of his brothers had one as well, but his was the most well-worn. Everyone else didn’t need the picture as much, having enough clear memories of Dad that it wasn’t as necessary for them, but he did. He had been too young to remember much when Dad disappeared, and with the years, the few memories he had faded. He knew that Scott looked like Dad, everyone said so, but what they never mentioned was the little scar on the corner of Dad’s chin, just barely visible in the photo.

They didn’t mention how his eyes looked so much like Gordon’s, or how his smile reminded them of John. They never mentioned the smile lines around his mouth just like Virgil’s. In fact, as Alan stared at the picture, he could see each of his brothers there. Everyone except himself. Each of his brothers remembered when Dad was around, too. They had dozens of stories, which Alan had heard many times over the years. They knew where they fit in the family with Dad there. They remembered a life with him.

But Alan hadn’t. He didn’t remember his Dad more than bits and pieces, and he was pretty sure most of those memories were from his brothers’ stories. He couldn’t remember a time before. He knew he was a capable astronaut, pilot of Thunderbird 3, valued member of International Rescue, but with his Dad home, where did he belong? His piloting skills couldn’t measure up to someone like the great Jeff Tracy. He was still young. What if Dad pulled him off rescues? Alan had proved himself to Scott, but his dad wouldn’t know that. All he would remember was the child he had left behind.

He curled up on his bed, still grasping the photograph tightly. His father’s face stared back at him, his smile now feeling mocking instead of the comfort it usually was. What would Dad say when they found him? Would he even remember him? Would he be proud of him, or disappointed in what he had become?

He wanted Dad home, there was no question about that.

He just hoped that he wouldn’t be a disappointment next to the child Dad remembered.

*******************************************

Gordon flipped the light on, banishing the shadows to the corners of the room. He wasn’t sleeping anyways, so might as well do something. A book was picked up and just as quickly tossed aside, unable to hold his attention. He tried jumping jacks, continuing until his breathing came heavy, but he was no more ready for sleep now than he was before. He briefly considered pranking one of his brothers, but quickly discarded that idea. They needed their sleep, and he wasn’t thoughtless enough to deprive them of it. He ended up settled cross-legged on the floor, staring at his fish tank, watching the animals drift slowly through the water.

The motion, though calming, wasn’t enough to occupy his entire mind, and the shadows began to creep back in. Ever since he had found the beacon, he had been fighting them off, but they continued to return, only growing stronger in the dark of night. No matter what he told them, they refused to leave, doubts long-hidden that had not been forgotten with time, only buried.

What if Dad was didn’t want him? He was the odd one out, the only aquanaut in a family of pilots. While the rest of his family had spent their entire lives attempting to leave the ground behind, with varying degrees of success, he had embraced the restraint of earth. Water was his element, not air. He hated flying. He hated space.

Dad had never said anything to dissuade him from his passion, but he had never encouraged him either. Maybe he had been hoping time would cure Gordon of the foolish notion of remaining earth-bound. It probably should have. The rest of the family was so connected, so similar in their desires, their wants, their loves. But no matter how much they tried to convince him otherwise, Gordon knew the truth. His father’s shadow stretched over everything he did. He had made a place, a name for himself while Dad was gone, but with him back?

He didn’t belong.

*******************************************

Virgil settled his headphones more securely over his ears, adjusting his position on the bench. It wasn’t often that he played his electric piano, much preferring the grand in the family room. The sound was better, and there was always a brother or two around to share it with, but tonight felt like a night to be alone. They were each processing in their own ways, him as much as anyone. He and his father had never gotten along as well as some of his brothers, Virgil reminding Jeff too much of what he had lost.

But they had shared some loves. Jeff had loved music, not as much as Lucy and Virgil, but he had some favorite songs. Lucy had recorded him one night, hiding the camera in the corner to catch his singing, something he never would have done if he had known he was being watched. It was an odd choice for an astronaut’s favorite song, but Jeff had always been a realist. He knew the dangers to be found in space, but he felt compelled to go anyways. It was worth the risk to him.

Of course, the risk hadn’t just taken a toll on him, but on his children as well. Especially now that they knew there was a chance he could still be out there, the song held a whole new meaning. Virgil pressed the start button on the recording, settling his hands on the keys as he played accompaniment to his father’s voice.

Can you hear, can you hear, can you hear my voice?

Coming through, coming through, coming through the noise

The recording continued, Virgil fighting back tears to be able to see the keys. He could imagine his dad singing the same song out in the vastness of space, hoping desperately that someone would hear him. That someone would save him.

It's so dark, it's so dark out here in space

And it's been so long, been so long since I've seen a face

My eyes are shut but I can see

The void between you and me, mm

And I feel, and I feel like I'm going insane

Virgil could only imagine what it would do to someone to live for so long on their own. When they first found out there was a chance Dad was still alive, he had done a deep dive into all the medical research he could find with any bearing on their situation. He knew the effects of low or no gravity on a human’s body, and how to help. He knew what to do if Dad hadn’t been eating enough, how to rebuild a body after prolonged nutrient deficiency. But there wasn’t enough research on what solitary confinement did to a person’s mind. He knew it was bad, that it had been banned as a punishment for years for a reason, but no one knew how to fix the damage it caused.

He didn’t know how to fix it, and he didn’t know how to deal with that. He was supposed to be the one who fixed everything, and he couldn’t let everyone down. His brothers were believed in him. His dad was counting on him.

He didn’t know if he believed in himself.

*******************************************

Scott pushed himself harder, forcing his limbs to cooperate and propel him even faster down the path. His brothers would have tried to stop him from running at night, but they had all gone to bed hours ago, and he had needed the release. His thoughts were too loud to allow him to sleep, and so he forced himself to go even faster, hoping to leave them behind.

What if Dad didn’t approve of what he had done with International Rescue?

His brothers risked their lives almost daily. What would Dad say when he found out about that?

Tracy Industries now was quite different than it was when Dad left. Scott had done his best, but some of the decisions he had made weren’t very popular. What if his dad didn’t agree with them either?

He ran harder.

What if he had made a mistake in allowing Alan to join on rescues? True, they had needed another astronaut after Jeff’s disappearance, but he was still so young.

What about the scars that each of his brothers bore, both on their skin and on their hearts? He should have been the one to bear those. They never should have had to. What would Dad say when he saw them?

It didn’t seem to matter how fast he went. He couldn’t outrun the voices. They grabbed onto him, closing his throat and tightening in his chest, cutting off his breathing. They took the face of his father, fuzzy and distorted by time, all glaring at him, shouting the same thing. “I’m disappointed in you, Scott. You failed me.”

Scott collapsed to his knees, clasping his hands over his ears to drown out their shouts. All the fears he had fought for years were coming back to haunt him. All the decisions he had made questioned. All the thoughts that kept him awake at night crowded forward at once, demanding to be addressed.

No. Scott pushed himself to his feet, refusing to buckle under the pressure. It didn’t matter what Dad said when they got him back. They were going to get him anyway. It didn’t matter if it was hard or dangerous. They were International Rescue, and that’s what they did. It didn’t matter if the person they were searching for didn’t approve of them. They saved people. And they were going to save their dad.

If he hated Scott when they found him, then so be it. Scott knew he had done what was right, and he could live with a clear conscience, and the knowledge that his brothers were alive because of him. He had done his best, but if his father couldn’t see that, he didn’t know what he would do.

If his father hated him, he didn’t know if he could live with it.

*******************************************

The next night, wrapped in the warm arms of their father, doubts were laid to rest, and they all knew they would be okay.

Dad didn’t hate him.

He wasn’t a failure.

He was worth believing in.

He belonged in this family.

He wasn’t a disappointment.

He was good enough.

*******************************************

He was finally home.

[aziraphalesbookkeeper]

For a guy who never takes off his gloves, Varian sure does lose them a lot. It’s not really the gloves Hugo notices though—it’s the scars underneath them. Or: 5 times Hugo tries to take off Varian's gloves + 1 time he doesn't have to.

Whumptober Day 27: Scars AILESS Whumptober Day 9: Scar Reveal

[veryrealimagination]

“Learning everything ain’t what it seems, that’s the thing about these days.”

Day No: 9

Prompt: Mistaken Identity

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries

Medium: fic

Trigger Warnings: none

SFW

Detective Watts was a busy man. As the now only detective at Station House Four, he took on all of the cases that came to them. At the least, he had to take the murders, and the robberies that were incredibly expensive. And assaults. Mainly, he passed on low robberies and vandalism as he didn’t have time. He now saw how much Murdoch had to deal with as lead Detective. Not even including that they had to bring in new Constables that weren’t used to his ‘unique’ way to dealing with police processes.

He was on his way into the Station when he stopped for the first thing he will eat for the day. The pretzel vendor was just starting to set up. He was recognized immediately and he had his first snacks of the day. Immediately eating at one, he placed the second one carefully in a pocket.

“Excuse me?” a young voice asked. Watts quickly swallowed the bite he had to address the person. Someone just out of childhood, if he had to guess. A boy’s softer features not completely realized to adulthood. “Are you the detective for Station House Four?”

A touch odd. Identifying him by his Station House. He had never heard of that during his career. “That I am.”

“Excellent.”

Watts immediately tried to fight back as soon as it happened. He was incredibly unsuccessful. A large bag, one likely used for food transport, was promptly thrown over his head and held down with powerful arms before rope was wrapped around to keep his arms down and the bag from being removed. His legs were grabbed and quickly bound as well before he was picked up and carried. “Why is this the response to my answer?” he pouted. Being kidnapped before even getting into the House. He had been doing well getting to work on time, considering he hadn’t had a bedmate in weeks to keep him occupied. Keeping George looking well respected and able to run a Station House kept him employed, and out of the Don. And he lost his food. Again. Like the last time he was kidnapped.

He was jammed into a small space, which he yelped and tried to squirm out of before a lid was shut down on him. That drove him to stop, and to shallow his breathing. Steamer trunks were impossible to breathe in. One of the times he had been investigating, he had lost consciousness while pounding for help after being shoved in one. It was only with the intervention of Jackson that he lived after that day.

Thought he could do without much air. They wanted the Detective of Station House Four, but did not mention myself by name. Why would one attack the position of Station House Four detective? Did they mean... Are they merely going after something they oft heard from another? ‘The detective from Station House Four bungled my robbery again.’ ‘Station House Four is a problem to be dealt with, take out the Detective and watch it fall.’

Or did they mean to go after Murdoch, and the only thing they remembered was that he was the Detective of Station House Four? Many of the regular criminals know that Murdoch is no longer with the Constabulary. They also know my name, although that is not a happy thought. I do believe I have been attacked a few more times now that everyone knows I am George’s subordinate.

When the trunk opened again, he managed a large gasp of breath to dislodge the heaviness that he had accumulated before being picked up again and carried. “I am still unclear as to why I am in this position,” he complained.

“Shut up,” one of the men, now that he heard someone, said, hitting him on a shoulder as they tried to hit his head. Didn’t work, and now he had a slightly pained shoulder.

He hummed. “Nope. Why Detective of Station House Four? I have a name. Most criminals that have an agenda against me use it.” Another hit to the same shoulder, and he frowned, trying to twist as it doubled the pain.

“Stop moving,” another one commanded.

“My position slightly irritates me,” he said, “Just trying to get comfortable.”

“If you can get comfortable from this, you’re certifiably insane.”

Another little hum. “An unfortunate hazard with my occupation. Although it only really started happening in greater frequency when I went over to Station House Four.” He did count up the number of incidents from pre-Murdoch and post-Murdoch. Three events when he was at One, while he was detective. Nothing personal while he was a Constable. At Four, there had been Strong, the girl who tried to poison him, Samuel’s father, the two men that thought taking him would get Murdoch off their backs (he had fun poking holes in that, as they had tried going after his wife and she had successfully fought them off, Crabtree was with Higgins and tried to arrest them, and didn’t they think they wouldn’t have been ready for another attack when they grabbed him), the man that shot him trying to kill him-

“Tape his arms and legs down. Make sure he cannot get to anything sharp,” a new voice commanded. A woman? Oh, that’s surprising. Tape? He heard the ghastliest of noises, stretching and ripping that was given the ability to scream. The rope had been removed because he was sitting down in a chair now and something was spread over his wrists and ankles. He was quite used to the smaller tape that was used to put up pictures around the walls of the station, or hold down the edges of an envelope if he missed a spot of glue. This, this was large, and thick. It held him to the arms and the legs of the chair without give. A bare amount of movement, he was quite hindered from getting anything.

It was annoyingly new, and a dangerous thought. If criminals were to start doing this, it was only second to be cuffed. And this was a normal substance that could be brought by the average citizen.

The bag was finally pulled off of Watts and he was allowed to see again.

He spotted four people immediately. Heard a shuffle from behind him and added another to the count. Three, he assumed, were his captors. Two of the men were slightly winded, figuring them to be the ones carrying him. One was the young man that got his attention, holding a gun on the fourth person. James Pendrick had a flash of worry before tempering his face.

Oh, they wanted Murdoch, that was for sure. Apparently, they didn’t know his name. Or that he wasn’t a detective anymore. Or that he was shorter.

“The infamous Detective William Murdoch,” the person behind him, the woman, said. She laid a hand on one of his shoulders, the uninjured one, as a show of control. He quickly looked at it, noting the bare hand that had a few calluses on it. A surprise, as the way she held command led him to believe she was more of a mastermind, not action based. “Perhaps now you’ll be more cooperative, Mr. Pendrick. A first name and an occupation made it simple to track him down. Imagine what else we’ve heard while you’ve been here.”

Watts almost groaned in exasperation. She was both smart, and yet, utterly foolish. Yes, using only a first name and an occupation, they had gotten close to finding their target, but they should have found a picture of the man and triple checked before grabbing him. He didn’t resist the roll that went through his eyes. Pendrick caught it, raising a brow in response. He raised his in a ‘well’ look. The other man understood. “Ms. Jones, bringing the *famous* William Murdoch here will signal your doom in your plans,” he pointed out, being ambiguous about the actual situation.

“No weapons, no sharp objects, and he won’t be able to talk at all unless two of us are near him,” she mentioned. Cloth knotted in the middle was shoved into his mouth and he protested as it was tied. “Quite honestly, he won’t even be allowed to talk to you.”

The awkwardness was already putting a strain on his jaw. He was going to be gagged until they decided to give him water, apparently. Also, food, hopefully. Food would be nice. How long was he going to be here until someone came to find them? George was good at noticing when people disappeared. He found Murdoch and Dr. Ogden once they had the situation with Edwards dealt with.

“Escort Mr. Pendrick back. I believe he’ll start working now,” she ordered. The men all left, leaving Watts with the woman that straddled a line between smart and incompetent. He had forgotten that her hand was still on his shoulder, and it tightened to the point of annoyance. Not quite pain, but it could have been if she had nails to dig in. “You’re the wrong one.”

A pit opened in his stomach as fear started to creep up. She *knew* and played along. “At least I don’t have to listen to you attempting a conversation. I need to decide whether or not you’ll even be useful.” She walked off and the room he was going to be kept in went dark.

*What happens if she decides I’m not useful?*

[medusapelagia]

Eddie's Month Day 9 + Whumptober Day 9

written for @eddiemonth and @whumptober-archive 

Prompts: Eddie’s month day 9: Cowboy | Wanted Dead or Alive - Bon Jovi | Cavalier Whumptober day 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.” - Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.

Rating: Mature Relationship: SteveHarrington/Eddie Munson WT: animal death, animal killing, shooting  WC: 2882

“Is that you?” 

Eddie turns toward the wanted dead or alive poster. The man on the poster looks a lot like him, he can’t deny it, but “No kid. That’s not me. That’s an outlaw called the Banished. I thought you could read, or your brother is sending you to school for nothing?”

“But he looks like you!” the kid insists.

“Well, don’t say that out loud, ok? We don’t want some stupid shithead thinking the same and coming to our home, right Dust?”

The kid lowers his eyes “No, Uncle Eddie.” 

“Good boy. Now go fetch the horses.” he tells him, and when the kid turns the corner he rips off the poster “Better safe than sorry.” he murmurs to himself then follows the kid and they ride back to their farm.

Steve is waiting for them and from his face Eddie can tell that there is some kind of problem.

“One of the cows is sick.” he says as soon as Eddie dismounts.

Shit. They just have two cows left after this winter epidemic.

“What do you want to do?”

“We can’t sell her. Maybe we could kill her and get some meat from the winter.” Steve proposes, his eyes are tired and worried. They have so many debts to pay.

“Are you sure the meat is safe?”

Steve pinches his nose “I’m not. But I could eat it and…”

“No fucking way Steve. You are not going to eat infected meat.” he interrupts him.

“We don’t know if it’s infected.” he tries to object but Eddie is adamant.

“We don’t know if it’s safe either and you are not going to eat something that potentially might kill you. Are we clear?”

Steve nods tiredly “So what do you propose? We can’t keep her…”

“I’ll dispose of her.”

There is a long moment of silence and then Steve sighs “It’s Bess.”

Bess is Steve's favorite animal on the farm. He nursed his little brother with her milk when their parents died. Eddie internally curses. It’s going to be hard on Steve but the cow was already old. If they can manage to keep the other they could keep producing some cheese and sell it at the emporium.

“I’ll make sure she will not suffer.” he promises and Steve nods. They are in no condition to take care of sick animals and whatever disease she has Eddie must take her away from the farm as soon as he can.

Steve goes back inside with Dustin, while Eddie goes into the barn.

Bess is at the back of the barn, looking at him with her huge brown eyes as if she was waiting for him.

“I’m so sorry, Bess.” he tells her “But I’m sure there are wonderful grazing lands on the other side waiting for you.

The cow follows him meekly.

She trusts him. He is his master.

He drags her to a secluded area and he digs up his gun.

He counts the bullet. He shouldn’t waste them. He could cut her throat and let her bleed to death.

But it is Bess we are talking about, and she deserves better.

“I’m sorry girl.” he tells her and then shoots her in the head.

For a moment the cow keeps standing as if nothing happened, and then she falls to her side with a loud thud.

Eddie pats her neck for the last time and then leaves the corpse to the animals.

***

Summer is coming, and Eddie is ready to move the few animals they still have to new grazing lands.

“It’s too soon.” Dustin protests, he always tries to keep Eddie at home with them.

“It’s too late, Dust. I should have left at least two weeks ago. I stayed as long as I could but the sheeps have nothing to pasture on, so I need to move them quickly. I’ll be back in a couple of months, you know that.”

“You promise?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow “You know I will always come back to you, don’t you kid?”

The kid sighs “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Steve. You know how he gets when you are not here.”

He knows. For the two months Eddie would be away he would not sleep an entire night, no matter what. But there is nothing he can do. Steve saved his life, the least he can do is keep his animals alive so that they could survive another winter.

“Take care of him for me, will you kid?”

Dustin nods “Come back soon.”

“As soon as I can.”

He gets to the barn, ready to jump on his horse and leave.

“Are you leaving?” Steve asks him, his cheeks red and his forehead sweaty while he is cleaning the barn.

“I am.” Eddie gets closer to him “A kiss for the road?” he asks, tugging him from his belt.

“Just one?”

“Two would be better.”

They kiss and Eddie’s hat falls to the ground revealing a deep scar on the side of his head. The one that Steve attended to and cleaned for weeks until he was sure that Eddie was going to survive.

“I’ll miss you.” Steve whispers on his lips.

“Me too. But I promise I’ll make up to you as soon as I come back.”

Eddie hugs him tighter, he knows what scares Steve the most. Being left alone “You know what? I’ll leave you Black Thunder. Ok, love?”

Steve gazes at him “You are leaving me your precious horse?”

“I am. So you’ll know I’ll come back.” he replies with a smirk.

Steve blushes, then he nods and leaves the barn, Eddie picks up his hat and then turns toward his horse who is glaring at him offended.

“I love you too. You know that.” he says to the horse, then he pats his neck “Take care of my boy.”

***

Steve is not counting the days and the nights.

He is too busy for that.

He has to take care of the farm, sell the cheese, and take care of Dustin.

And he is not missing Eddie.

And his bed doesn’t feel cold even if it's summer.

No.

He is fine.

Everything is fine.

And he is not worried about the group of bounty hunters that he has seen in town, but maybe he has told Dustin not to go into town without him.

Maybe.

“Nice horse.” one of them says to him when he comes back from the Emporium.

“Thanks.” Steve replies, getting on the horse.

“You don’t see a stallion like that every day.”

“I’m lucky to have him.”

“I was wondering how could a farm boy like you afford a beautiful animal like that.” the man continues, his hand too close to his gun in Steve’s opinion.

“Maybe you don’t know it but farms have horses, and sometimes they are blessed with a great horse like him.”

“What’s his name?”

Steve doesn’t like the question. There is something this man is not saying.

“Why do you care?”

“Curiosity.”

“Shadow.” he replies, but he has hesitated a moment too long and he can see that the other man is not convinced.

“Well. You are very lucky.”

Steve doesn’t reply, he watches the man leave with his companions and then gallops back to the farm.

“What happened?” Dustin asks as soon as he sees him.

“We are not going back to town.”

“But.”

“No buts, Dustin. We are not going.”

Dustin is clever enough to not ask any more questions when his brother closes himself in his room.

***

Three days.

Eddie left the farm three days ago and he is already missing Steve and Dustin so deeply.

At least he has Honey, Steve's lovely mare, that keeps him company.

He was used to sleeping on the ground looking at the stars. 

It’s not a bad life, it's just… that he misses the comfort of Steve’s arms.

He misses him and the kid so deeply that it seems to him to hear Dustin's voice.

“Eddie!!!! Eddie!!!”

He gets up from the rock where he is resting.

He is not hallucinating. Dustin is calling for him.

He sees the boy wandering in the woods and runs toward him “Dustin! What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

“They took him! They took Steve!” he yells.

Eddie freezes “Who? Who took him?”

“The bounty hunters!”

“Why should they…”

“He had your horse! They think he is you! They think he is The Banished!”

Eddie stiffens “What… what are you saying… I know nothing about that…”

“Come on Eddie! I knew it was you even before the poster! But they took Steve! They are keeping him alive to get more money but you know him! He will get in trouble and they will kill him!”

Eddie looks around himself. He can’t leave the animals and he can’t bring Dustin back with him so…

“There is an abandoned farm a few miles away. Can you get there? And bring the animal if you can. We will join you as soon as we can.”

“But... Steve!”

Eddie puts his hands on Dustin's shoulders “I’ll bring him back. Do you trust me, Dustin?”

“I do.”

Good boy.

“How many? And where are they heading to?”

“Three and they are going to Hawkins.”

The closest town. Shit. He has no time to lose.

He gets on Steve’s horse and starts galloping toward Hawkins.

He is alone, and even if he is still good with his gun he doesn’t want to risk any collateral damage and he doesn’t have the time to make a trap. He will just have to improvise.

***

The three men are drinking around the fire, talking about how they are going to spend the money they will receive for The Banished.

“I’m not him! I told you!” Steve protests for the umpteenth time.

“You know what? It doesn’t really matter! Either you are him or you killed him and took his horse. In any case, you are not a good guy and the sheriff is going to pay good money for you.” one of them replies and when Steve tries to object again he points his gun at Steve’s head.

“The poster said Wanted Dead or Alive. The choice is yours. What’s gonna be?”

Steve stays in silence, glaring at the man who slowly puts his gun away.

He is not worried about himself. He is worried about Dustin. And Eddie.

Eddie.

He will take care of Dustin. Steve is sure he will.

Steve lies on the ground, looking at the stars, wondering if this is going to be the last time he sees them.

He tries to shift but his arms are tied to a rock and he can’t really move.

He is almost dozing off when a hand closes his mouth and a familiar voice in his ear whispers “It’s me.”

Eddie.

Steve turns and sees the face he loves.

“How?”

Eddie puts a finger in front of his mouth to shush him and then cuts Steve free. They slowly move toward the horses, but one of the bounty hunters wakes up and starts to scream while the others take their guns.

Now the only thing that is keeping Steve and Eddie safe is the big rock behind which they are hiding.

“Now what?”

“I’ll distract them and you go toward the woods. Honey is waiting for you.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“Yes you are. I’ll find you. I swear.”

“What?”

Eddie kisses him “I’ll find you, in this life on in the next.” he tells him, and then turns toward the bounty hunters “You put on some weight, didn’t you Henry?”

The blond bounty hunter gets up and glares at him“Eddie. How nice of you to come all this way just to get killed and let us collect the bounty!”

Steve stares at the man at his side.

What?!

“Why don’t we do it the old way? Me and you and one bullet?”

“We tried that once, but you refused to die.” the blond man responds while shooting at the rock.

Eddie lifts his head to see where they are and his hat falls off.

“Fuck you! I loved that hat!” Eddie complains, then looks at the other rock a few feet away. He still has some bullets.

He shoots some bullets while he runs toward the other rock, keeping the men's attention on him.

He kills one, but it’s still two against one and he has only one bullet left.

Fuck. Why did he shoot that stupid cow?

He counts the bullets.

The two men have one bullet each. And when they stop to recharge he kills one of them.

He doesn’t have any more bullets, but Creel doesn’t know it.

“It doesn’t have to end like this, Henry. Why don’t you stop and we go back to our lives?” he tries to convince him.

“Because I want to see you dead!” the man replies, getting closer. He must have understood that Eddie has no more bullets.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Eddie kisses the little cross his uncle gave him years ago, ready to die.

At least Steve will be ok, or he hopes so.

He turns toward the other rock to see his lover for the last time but the boy is not there.

“Steve?” he murmurs, and then he feels the cold metal behind his head.

“Nice scar. Is this the one I gave you?”

“Fuck you, Creel.”

He hears the trigger and closes his eyes.

The click reverberates in the valley, but Eddie doesn’t feel any pain.

He hears Creel falling to the ground and when he turns Steve is holding a gun in his shaking hands.

“Steve?” he calls the boy who is still pointing the gun at the dead man.

“Steve, he is dead. Give me the gun. Come on. Give it to me.” he asks him, gently taking the gun from his hands.

He looks around them, Steve has taken the gun from the first man Eddie killed.

Fuck.

“Hey. Are you ok?” he asks him while he cleans Steve's face from the blood.

“You… You are a liar!” Steve screams “You lied to me! You told me that the bandits hurt you! But it wasn’t like that! It was the bounty hunters! Because you are a bandit!”

Steve falls to the ground “Oh my god, I let a bandit in my house. I put Dustin in peril! I… I…”

Eddie hugs him while Steve tries to escape from his hold “Sorry sweetheart.” he whispers, and then he pistol-whipped him.

They are too close to the town and the dawn is coming, Eddie has no time to calm down the boy, they must leave.

He takes the horses and gallops back to the farm.

***

When Steve wakes up he has a terrible headache, but at least he is in his bed.

“Hey Dust, I had the strangest dream ever…”

“Not sure it was a dream, Stevie.”

Steve jolts and almost falls from the bed “Yeah, I know, being pistol-whipped is no fun.” Eddie tells him, offering him some water.

Steve glares at him “Being what… oh my god did you…?”

“I did. And I’m sorry. But I was kind of in a hurry, you know?” Eddie replies with a meek smile.

“You fucking liar! Was it all a lie?” Steve yells at him.

“I never lied to you. I just… omitted.”

“You told me it was a bandit who hurt you!” Steve insists.

“And it was! Henry and the others were in my group of outlaws, ok? We had some… disagreements. And usually between outlaws, the disagreements end with someone dead, ok? They thought they killed me. If you hadn’t found me and nursed me back to health I would have died in the middle of those fucking woods.” Eddie tries to explain.

“But you… I…”

Eddie cups Steve's face “I love you, Steve. And not only because you saved my life. When Dustin told me they got you… I was crazy with worry.”

Steve startles “Dustin! Where is he?”

“He is safe. There is an abandoned farm a few miles from here. I usually stop there for a couple of days before searching for better places for the sheep.”

“And now what are we going to do now?” Steve asks looking around at the few things he still owns.

“I must leave, but you can stay here. It’s your family’s farm.”

Steve shakes his head “My family is Dustin. And you. Not this stupid farm.”

“We will have to travel a lot before finding the right place to hide.” Eddie warns him “Are you ready for that? I could guide you to the next town and leave you there.”

Steve glares at him “Were you lying when you said you loved me?”

Eddie grunts “I would never do such a thing.”

“So take me with you. We will find another town, another farm, I don’t care. All I want to do is be with you.” he pleads.

“Even if I’m an outlaw?” Eddie asks, scared of the answer to his question.

“Even if you were an outlaw.” Steve confirms

Eddie takes Steve into his arms and they kiss. When they separate Eddie whispers on Steve's lips “Rest now. Tonight we will leave.”

[darkkitty1208]

Entry for Day 9 of Whumptober 2023, alternative prompt: aftermath of failure & shaking, and @badthingshappenbingo​ card square: Survivor's Guilt.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Doctor Strange (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Stephen Strange, Wong (Marvel), The Cloak of Levitation (Marvel) Additional Tags: Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Heavy Angst, it does not get better lads, click back if you dont want emotional damage, unless youre a fucking masochist like me, Aftermath, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange Needs a Hug, no he doesnt get one, Survivor Guilt, Canonical Character Death, Guilt, Nightmares, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Compliant, Crying, Mentioned Donna Strange Series: Part 7 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

Blood tints his horrifying hands in red and it doesn't matter how many times he tries to wash it away–it's a permanent part of him now.

OR

Post-EG fic exploring Stephen's thoughts, ft. survivor's guilt.

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 9

“Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.” | Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

Fili/Kili, T Outlander AU (Tumblr / Ao3) 359 words

--

Fili flinched when Kili said those words. They hit him like a physical blow. “I didn’t lie to you,” Fili protested. “I would never lie.”

“All those times that we talked about something better?” Kili spat, his eyes on fire. “You were always the one talking about joining up. You said you didn’t care what Thorin thought! You didn’t care if he disinherited you!” Kili paced while he spoke. His steps were heavy and his stride long. “And now,” he was practically shouting.

“Shhh,” Fili hissed. “Someone will hear.” Kili froze and stared at Fili, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” He ran his hands through his hair. It did not lay flat again. It flared around his face like a wild and unruly mane. “You’re so concerned with what everyone else thinks that you don’t even think for yourself anymore!”

“Because I’ve grown up!” Fili flung back without thinking. “I’m not a child anymore. I know that my actions have consequences that I do not intend. Considering how my actions might hurt people does not make me a coward! It does not make me a liar.” Fili was on his feet now. “It means I’m not a child like you.” He pressed a finger to Kili’s chest with those final words. “I don’t just run off chasing dreams every chance I get.”

Kili’s face shut down. He closed himself off from Fili. His jaw muscles jumped when he clenched his teeth. “So that’s it then.”

Fili was already backpedaling, “Kili…”

“No. I’m a child. I dream of something better than this.” Kili spread his arms wide indicating the storage shed where they had retreated to to talk. “And you don’t.”

And then Kili was gone. The door banged against its frame in the wake of his rage. 

Fili slumped into a storage barrel. 

Kili was right. He was a coward. And a liar. 

He was going to stay here. Safe and sound in the walls of the castle, the walls that had kept him safe for his entire life while Kili went out into the world and tried to make it better for them and for everyone else. 

--

Taglist Everything: @silvermoon-scrolls Fili/Kili: @dubhlachen

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 9

Sabo x Reader

You could say it is the sequel to this story but that's up to you.

TW: Survivor's guilt

"Get up lazy bones," Koala orders, shaking Sabo awake.

"Huh?" Sabo stirs but becomes less sleepy when Koala hits him on the head with his pillow. "Ow! I'm up, I'm up."

"It's your turn to watch," Koala states dropping the pillow next to him before going over to her sleeping bag.

"Right... right..." Sabo rubs his eyes, trying to remove the tiredness from his body.

The blond sits up and reaches for his top hat. He glances over at Koala who had already fallen asleep in no time. Sighing to himself, knowing he'll be alone with his thoughts, Sabo stares at his hat now in his grasp, specifically the two photos inside. His hand takes the pictures and brings them out so he could see them clearly in the fire's light.

One is of Luffy and Ace all grown up, surrounded by the elder brother's fire that protects them from the marines. The other is of [Y/n] who is cheerfully reading a book to a few rescued children. Sabo half smiles gazing over the photos, seeing the people he loves with enthusiasm, yet his heart is squeezed at the sight since he knows Ace and [Y/n] are gone. While an excuse could be made for why he wasn't able to save Ace, nothing could be said for the loss of [Y/n].

"Why... why did I let you die, [Y/n]?" Sabo asked as if you could hear his words, yet only silence responds. The blond brushes the rim of his hat as he thought back to the event. "I was there, I could've..." He paused, unsure what he could've done to stop your death. Sighing to himself, figuring he best not ponder on the matter any longer tonight, he placed the pictures back in his hat.

"Sabo..." 

"Hm?" Sabo glances over at Koala, thinking the feminine voice was her, but the redhead continued to snooze away. Sabo narrowed his eyes at the girl before placing his top hat on his head. "That's rather strange."

Sabo did his best to ignore his speculating thoughts of where the voice came from. He tried distracting himself by manipulating fire, but he had begun to grow uneasy, feeling eyes on his back. The area seemed to have dropped in temperature as he shiver when chills ran across his arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

"Sabo..."

"Who's there?" Sabo inquired standing up.

"Sabo..."

Cautiously, the fire human glanced around, trying to identify where the voice came from. He couldn't be imagining it if there was a source. Picking up his pipe, he extended his flames to his weapon and waved it around like a torch.

"Sabo..." the voice called once more, this time sounding a little distant away from him.

Sabo headed in the direction of the haunting voice, determined to know the source. He wished to know why it called to him. The voice continued to lead him by whispering his name, luring him to darker and colder areas. Sabo wasn't aware how far he had strayed from camp until he tripped and faceplanted into the soft ground.

"Wait..." Sabo lifted himself up and analyzed the ground. "Snow? When did-"

"Sabo..."

The blond looked up to see you standing in front of him. His eyes widen as a mix of emotions filled him when he laid eyes on the woman he never had the chance to fully love.

"[Y/n], what- what are you doing here? I thought- I thought you- you..." Sabo didn't want to say it.

"Sabo..." Your lifeless eyes bore into his and you place your hands on his shoulders. Arrows begin to stick out of your arms and the poisoned tips leak their substance down your flesh and onto Sabo's. Tears run down your eyes as ice freezes him in place. "Why did you not protect me?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sabo! Sabo! Snap out of it!" Koala cried, frantically shaking the poor blond awake.

"Koala? When did you- I- [Y/n]-"

"Calm down, Sabo," Koala tells him and makes him lie back down. "You were muttering in your sleep again, crying this time too."

"Oh..." Sabo pressed his fingers to his cheek and felt the damp trail that his tears left.

"Uh... anyway, it's your turn to watch-"

"Actually Koala, could you get Hack to do it instead?" Sabo requested, and pulled his cover back on. "I don't think I'm in the right state of mind to keep watch."

Sabo could hear the girl protest but had already zoned out of his surroundings as he laid eyes on you standing in the distance.