#you'll have to go through me

[breannasfluff]

Standing Tall

Whump Rating: 3/5 TW: Injury, electrocution

Collaboration with @ikaishere! Art link here!

Sky isn’t one for complaining about the eras they visit. History shapes the land and the heroes take claim far too often. Wild’s world especially draws a lot of ire from the group. It’s too big, there are not enough towns, the weather is unpredictable—the list of complaints is never-ending. Sky stays quiet because it’s not Wild’s fault.

Right now, Sky is considering every foul-mouthed curse Legend has ever spat. He and Hyrule are cut off from the others; fighting and the terrain driving them apart. A storm rolled in—too fast to be normal. Maybe there’s a wizzrobe summoning it.

Or, maybe the chosen hero has the worst luck.

Whatever the reason, the sky is black and grey; swollen clouds bursting with rain. It spits and bites as it falls. The wind switches directions continuously, throwing water in his eyes.

Oh, and there’s lightning striking the ground and enemies at random intervals. He’d be more thankful for the thinning of the ranks if it didn’t keep landing uncomfortably close to the two heroes.

“Duck!” Hyrule’s shout has him dropping on instinct, just before a sword slices over his head. The monster he’s engaging pauses for a fraction of a second. Sky uses the opening to swipe Fi through the monster’s legs, bringing it down. Then he slams the sword through its chest. In seconds, it vanishes in black mist.

Lightning slams nearby. The flash whites out his vision and the crack of thunder comes a split second later.

Sky waves his sword, mostly blind as he blinks and tries to get his eyes to refocus. A monster behind him lands a dull blow across his shoulders. He grunts, spinning Fi on instinct and jabbing it directly backward. Another monster down.

Yet no matter how many they cut down, more and more reinforcements are coming. Not every monster has black blood, but there’s enough to be a worry. Are the others okay?

Sky spins and slashes, then slips on the wet grass. He recovers but has to block the next blow awkwardly.

Hyrule shouts—in anger? In pain? Then he’s next to Sky, knocking aside the monster and pulling Sky to his feet. “I’m going to call for thunder!”

“What?” The hero spins, Fi glowing bright, to keep an eye on the incoming hoard. “There’s already a storm!”

“No, Thunder! My spell! It will take down a lot of these guys at once.”

“Doesn’t that take a lot of magic?”

“Yeah.”

“What if we need healing?”

Sky can’t see the eye roll, but he can imagine it. “Look, do you have any bright ideas on how we are getting out of here?”

He doesn’t, but he’d rather not admit it out loud, either. “What do you need?”

“Just a few seconds to concentrate. Cover me?”

“Always.” The Master Sword spins, leaving a blurring trail of light in its wake. Sky stays close to Hyrule, darting around him to cut off approaching monsters. The traveler’s hands gleam with magic and even under this sullen sky, the white-gold of lightning glows bright.

Hyrule starts to pull his hands apart, ready to direct the spell outward.

That’s when things start going wrong.

One of the monsters has a bow and, unnoticed by Sky, is aiming at Hyrule. It’s let loose before he can shout a warning. The arrow is thick and heavy; not the shoddy twigs most of the bokoblins use. It sinks through Hyrule’s shoulder—how deep, Sky doesn’t know.

Hyrule doesn’t scream. In his era, screaming is how you die. Instead, there’s a pained grunt ripped from his lips. One hand goes to clutch his shoulder on instinct. The lighting spell, formed yet directionless, separates with a pop.

“Shit!”

It’s the only warning Sky gets to drop to the ground, trying to make himself lower than the monsters. The spell wobbles with little direction. Then it glows brighter and starts humming. He covers his neck with his hands and braces for the explosion,

It never comes. The hum of the spell turns into a whine, then peters out. With a loud snap, not unlike the thunder, the magic collapses in on itself and vanishes. There is no lightning to save them now.

Sky throws himself at the monsters, but it’s a lost cause and they both know it. Lightning was their ticket to getting out of this mess and rejoining the group. Sure, they could wait for the others to come find them, but they’d only find dead bodies if they didn’t escape this fight.

“We need to get the arrow out!”

“I know that! I can’t heal around it. And most of my magic went to that spell.”

Jump a swipe, dart in closer. Twist Fi and bring her slicing edge through. The academy trains them in swordplay and his adventure fills in the gaps that remain.

Quieter, Hyrule says, “I’m bleeding.”

“I know you are!” It’s a little obvious with the arrow in his shoulder.

“You don’t understand!” Hyrule is rapidly tipping into panic. “It’s my blood! Monsters are drawn to it in my era!”

“This isn’t yours!”

“But some of the monsters are!”

Sky almost freezes, then continues fighting as he lets this fact sink in. There’s no time for questions. If Hyrule says this will be a problem, Sky believes him. “We need a way to wipe out all of these monsters in one go.”

“I can help fight if you cut off the arrow.”

The chosen hero risks a glance at Hyrule. He’s wavering where he stands, knees nearly buckling. His face is drawn and water drips off his lashes. In between words, he’s sucking air through his teeth and hissing it back out. He has to be in an incredible amount of pain, but there’s nothing to be done.

Sky continues fighting and protecting Hyrule. There’s a flash of light and on instinct, Sky covers his eyes. It doesn’t save his ears from the assault of thunder, but at least he’s not blinking away spots.

This blast lands even closer than the others; the hair on Sky’s arms rises despite the rain. The monsters finally back off, wary of the blasts. They don’t leave, but it gives the two breathing room for the moment. Well, breathing for him. Hyrule seems worse off.

“We need to get that arrow out before this fight continues.”

“We need to stop the bleeding, you mean.” Hyrule sets his jaw. “I can heal the wound around the shaft for now—”

“Absolutely not. We’d hurt you trying to pull it out later.”

Green eyes meet his, heavy with knowledge “I don’t think we have a choice.”

“We always have a choice.” Never mind that none of the heroes got a choice about joining this quest. Or any of the previous, for that matter. Sure, they could have refused, but the hero’s spirit is a strong pull to deny.

Sky glances around, then kneels at Hyrule’s side. “We don’t have long. The monsters are wary but they are already forming up.”

“How bad is it?”

He glances at the shaft, then leans Hyrule forward to check his back. “It went through. I’ll have to cut it and pull the two pieces out.”

The traveler gives in to a flavorful assortment of curses, then nods and digs in his pouch for a stray piece of leather to bite down on. “Make it fast. Some of them smell my blood, I can tell.”

Sky does his best to shut out the battlefield and shut out his brother. This is just another puzzle, another task. Remove an arrow without causing further damage. Battlefield medicine isn’t his forte, but he’ll do his best.

First up is cutting the arrow. “I’m going to have to use some force to split it,” he apologizes. Then he sends a silent apology to Fi because this isn’t the correct use of the Goddess' sword. Holding the fletching steady, Sky holds up the sword. Something crackles over his skin, biting as it goes.

He gives it little thought, bringing the sword down as close to Hyrule’s chest as he can. It slices through the arrow neatly, but it pulls a muffled scream from the traveler as it tugs on his shoulder.

“Sorry! Sorry! It’s a clean cut so it shouldn’t cause further damage. Let me pull it out. Are you ready to heal?”

Hyrule nods, although his eyes are watering with pain. Sky goes around to his back and braces one hand on his shoulder and the other around the arrow shaft. A darting glance at the monsters—they are definitely coming back—and Sky yanks. The wood slides free, slick with blood.

The traveler moans, but his hand glows faintly with magic. He stops sooner than expected. The holes are barely scabbed over, stopping the bleeding.

“Are you okay?”

Spitting out the leather, Hyrule tries for a flat look. Mostly, it looks panicked. “I’m out of magic. I had just enough to stop the bleeding, but the damage is done. Those monsters won’t stop seeking my blood until I or they are dead.”

He’s not going to be a help in a fight, then. He’s trembling, likely from shock and pain. Fresh blood still coats one side of his tunic from the wound. A few inches further and Sky might be standing over a dead body.

He can’t let that happen. Stepping in front of Hyrule, he holds the sword ready and glares at the approaching monsters. “You want him? You’ll have to have to go through me.”

The monsters take the challenge literally. No matter how fast Sky spins his sword, weapons keep sneaking through his guard. The layers of clothing are weighed down by water and soon cut by sword slices. One monster swings harder and a sword slices into his side.

The burning sensation has him grunting. He risks a glance down—bleeding, but not too badly. When he looks back up, the monsters swell around him. Hisses and howls add to the din of the wind and thunder.

One of the monsters raises its head and sniffs the air. “God killer!” it hisses.

Sky’s blood runs cold. Do they know about Demise? Well, if they want Hyrule’s blood, maybe it’s not a far stretch for them to go after him as well. He can use this to his advantage, though.

Glancing back at Hyrule—he’s holding a sword, but he’s fallen to the wet dirt. The combination of multiple magic spells, a long battle, and an ill-healed wound are adding up fast. Still, when a bokoblin rushes him, he pushes himself up and slashes at it. Hyrule is a hero and as long as he can breathe, he’ll fight.

Sky can’t let it come to that. He needs to be a distraction and draw them away. If they can smell his blood…it’s a terrible plan. It’s the only one he has.

Stealing himself, Sky thrusts his fingers against the wound at his side. By the three, that hurts. His body is doing its best to pump blood out of the slice as quickly as possible. He only needs to press to cover his hand in blood. Then he raises it in the air and waves it. The wind works with him for once, shifting to blow toward the monsters.

All attention focuses on him.

“I did kill your god! He was a blight on this world! By the Goddess’ name, I will not let that stand!” Sky charges for the top of the hill, digging his boots into the wet grass and mud. He only has seconds.

Behind him, the monsters roar and charge, converging up the side of the hill.

Sky raises the sword and calls for a skyward strike. It might not be the same as Hyrule’s lightning, but it should still thin the enemies. A tingle, then a buzzing prickles over his hand. The enemies rush closer.

“Sky! Don’t do it!” Hyrule shouts, one arm lifted to reach for him, despite collapsing on the hill. “The lightning!”

The air crackles and heats. He has only an instant to realize the danger. Sky is in Wild’s world, where lightning is attracted to metal. He’s standing at a high point, sword raised like a lightning rod.

The skyward sword strike charges at the same moment the lightning hits. The air explodes.

White light blinds the area and Sky can’t tell if his eyes are opened or closed. There’s a high-pitched sound and his throat hurts—is he screaming? Lightning claws its way down his arm and through his body. Muscles stiffen and lock. There’s a sense of weightlessness, and then something hard slams into his back.

Sky lays still. He can’t see anything outside of white light. His body burns. The previous lightning scars itch unbearably, but he can’t move his hand to scratch at it. His ears ring. Something is shaking him, but he can’t see or hear who.

Wild’s lightning bolts have a nasty habit of exploding with they strike; he must have been thrown. He’s probably got some new burns or lightning feathers, too. Great, Zelda is never going to let him hear the end of this.

Electricity continues to bleed out of his limbs and they twitch and tremble. A hand pats his face and although he can’t see, it feels like Hyrule.

“Sky! Sky!”

Ah, the ringing is dying slightly.

“Sky! Can you hear me?”

He manages a broken groan, which is as close as he can get.

“Just stay still, I think the others will be here soon. I don’t…I don’t have any more magic.”

“Monsters,” he manages. He can’t see. He certainly can’t stand and fight to protect Hyrule.

“The blast got them. They’re dead, Sky. You saved us.”

Well. At least he did one thing right. The rumble of thunder is fading and, at first, it seems like a product of his wavering hearing. But the rain spitting on his face is lessening as well.

“The storm is stopping. I think the others must have won. I hope.”

Sky hums and focuses on lying still. Hyrule still clutches his hand and he gives it a faint squeeze.

“How are you doing?”

The traveler’s voice breaks when he answers. “You’re asking me? You got electrocuted! Those monsters; they wanted to kill you! Why would you do that?”

Blindly, he reaches up until his palm meets Hyrule’s cheek. It’s wet; either from rain or tears. “Because you are worth saving, hero.”

Hyrule cries and Sky lets his hand fall. The muscles still jump and shake. Everything burns and itches. There’s a throb deep in his bones that says there’s more damage than on the surface. He still can’t see.

None of it matters, though, because Hyrule is safe. Sky will do whatever it takes to keep his fellow heroes safe. After cursing them to this never-ending cycle, it’s the least he can do.

“I see the others,” the traveler says, squeezing his hand. “Just hold on and we’ll get you fixed up.”

“You, too. Don’t think I forgot about your shoulder.”

A wet laugh. “Don’t tell Wild, but his weather sucks.”

That pulls a smile from Sky and he focuses on the feel of the sun warming his skin. The clouds must be dissipating. “After today? I agree.”

[sasuga-whump]

Whumptober 2023: Day Fourteen - "Just Hold On"

Ouroboros Ep 6

“イクオ大丈夫か?しっかりしろ!”

Genuinely one of my fav whump scenes ever

[whumpetywhump]

Whumptober Day 28 - "You'll Have To Go Through Me"

Bring It On, Ghost! - Ep. 16

Pending Train: 8.23 - Ep. 6

The King And The Clown (2005)

The King: Eternal Monarch - Ep. 5

The Yin-Yang Master: Dream Of Eternity

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2023 - No.23 - you'll have to go throug me

[how-much-for-a-whump]

FEBUWHUMP day 23:

Prompt: "You'll have to go through me."

Nemocnica S03E23

@febuwhump

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

@febuwhump DAY 23: “You’ll Have to Go Through Me”

Tauriel confronts King Thranduil as he prepares to abandon the Dwarves to their deaths. When Thranduil threatens to kill her for her defiance, Legolas stands firmly between them.

[rd-eternity]

Whumptober Day 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.” | Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

Words: 2.7k

Summary: A group of hunters find a ritual to destroy the Nemeton and keep more supernaturals from coming to Beacon Hills. In order to do so, they need Liam, who Theo will never let them have in a million years.

With so many hunters, and only one of him, he needs a plan.  Get some of their attention, draw them away, pick people off one by one until- His blood still when his eyes catch on the figure being dragged to the Nemeton, thrashing around and snarling.  His own lip curls into a growl.  Liam’s jacket is badly ripped, blood spilling down one sleeve, his feet flailing uselessly in the dirt.  The hunters throw him on top of the stump.  The beta manages to cut a few of them with his claws before they tie his hands above his head, lashing the rope to stakes in the ground.  His ankles are similarly locked down, leaving him a squirming mess on top of the wood, chemosignals drowning Theo in fury and fear. The plan won’t work.  He throws it out and bursts through the line of brush into the clearing.  All attention goes to him.  Liam stops struggling, an angry shriek dying on his lips when he locks eyes with Theo, lips parting in surprise. It doesn’t matter how long the hunters have been killing werewolves, in full shift form, he’s too fast for them.  More lights shine on the area, trying to illuminate him so they can shoot better, but he tears through them without half a moment to think.  When he gets closer to the Nemeton, his eyes fog, senses dulling with the amount of dark power surging from the roots.  He shoves the feeling aside, barreling into another hunter, claws driving into his legs and taking him down to the ground.   He reaches the stump and hops up.  Liam’s scent and the grin across his face is too appealing to not lean down to lick his chin, nose nudging at his cheek.  He dips his head, teeth snapping the ropes holding the beta’s hands.  Liam surges up when they’re free, arms flinging around Theo’s neck, entire body shaking.  Blood is spilling from his shoulder onto his fur, but he moves closer, letting Liam calm down.  

[faofinn]

No. 28 "We might not make it to the morning, so go on and tell me now."

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | "You'll have to go through me."  

The meeting with the principal and safeguarding went as well as Sheila had expected. The teacher who had caused so much of Finn’s low moods and outbursts had continued his war on the kid, and it just wasn't fair.  

While the adults saw the meeting as the necessary evil it was, Finn couldn't see past the hurt it was causing him. They cut it short in the end, to try and prevent a full meltdown, though they were already halfway into one. 

Finn screamed and shouted the whole way home, kicking off at anything and everything. As soon as he was helped out of his seat, he was off again, shouting that he hated them and never wanted to see them again as he slammed the doors up to his room.

Fao flinched, looking up from his book. He’d thought things had settled, but it seemed like they’d gotten worse. He swallowed thickly, the nausea and fear rising just from Finn’s outburst. He pushed it down, suddenly fiercely protective over Finn. 

He set down his stuff and headed out into the hallway, in search of someone coming after Finn. He wouldn’t let them touch him, he couldn’t.

Nobody came, the pair too used to his outbursts and aware he'd need space to decompress. That left Finn alone, curled in a tight ball under his duvet as he sobbed. His skin tingled, his wolf threatening to break through the suppression. 

After a moment of indecision, Fao knocked gently on Finn’s door. “Finn?”

"Go away, go away, go away!"

“I jus’ wanted to see if you were okay. It’s only me, only Fao.”

"I don't want to do it any more."

“You wanna just sit?”

"I don't want them."

“It’s only me, nobody else is around.”

He paused. "Jus' you?"

“Yeah.”

"Okay."

Fao cautiously pushed the door open. “Are you okay?”

He sniffed. "No."

“What happened?”

"They wouldn't stop."

“Who wouldn’t?”

"Everybody!" He cried, burying himself again.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

"You're doing the same!"

“Okay, we won’t talk about it.” Fao said softly.

Finn hesitated. "Promise?"

“Promise. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna. Wanna talk about something else?”

He nodded, slowly emerging to look at Fao.

“Can I sit on your bed with you?” 

"Yeah." His voice was small as he peeked at Fao, watching him carefully. 

Fao sat down on the end of his bed, crossing his legs. “Thanks. You cosy under the duvet?”

"It's safe under here."

“Yeah? Sounds good to me.” Fao said softly. 

Finn didn’t move, watching Fao with wide eyes. The older boy hadn't done anything to hurt him or force him to talk, which Finn appreciated. He seemed to be okay.

"Fao?"

“Yeah?”

"I've got a lion under here." He said with a grin, moving to show him. 

“Oh my god.” Fao exclaimed with a laugh. 

Finn grinned. "He's mine."

“What’s his name?”

"Lion." He said, his confidence returning. 

“That’s a pretty good name. I have Eeyore in my room.”

"You do?"

“Yeah. He was with me in hospital and everything.”

"I haven't seen him. My lion has been mine since dad was my Dad."

“Since you were born?”

He shook his head, his eyes suddenly widening as he cowered back. His grip on lion grew tighter, his small hands turning white. 

"Finn? You still up here?"

Fao frowned. “He’s fine!”

"You in Finn’s room, kid?" He asked, knocking on the door. 

“He’s fine, leave him alone!”

Fred frowned, taken aback by Fao's responses. He pushed the door open slightly, hanging round the side. "What's going on?"

“He was upset, I came to sit with him. He’s terrified, leave him alone.” Fao’s voice was stronger than he felt, but he was suddenly consumed by the desire to protect the younger boy. 

"Terrified? What's going on?"

“You know what’s going on. You were with him.”

"Still on that? You know it's over, kid. You can't keep going on at it, it's not going to help anyone. You've said what you wanted, why don't we leave it?"

Fao narrowed his eyes. “Look at him, he’s scared shitless. Leave him alone.” 

"He's had his time, Fao. He's gotta come out and do some other stuff."

Fao stood up. “Hey, no. Don’t tell him what to do. You’re the reason he’s scared.”

Fred raised his hands between them. "I think you've got something mixed up here. Why don't we take a breath and head downstairs, clear our heads?"

“I won’t let you touch him. He’s so scared.” Fao snapped. 

"I'm not gonna touch him."

“Yeah, sure. I heard him come in. And I know what he’s said to me.”

Fred frowned, confused. "Maybe we should have this conversation away from Finn."

“I thought you were better than the shit I had to deal with, Fred.”

"I think you've got the wrong end of the stick, kid."

Fao’s hands clenched into fists. “Sure.”

"Why don't we take five minutes and then have a chat like adults downstairs?"

Fao hesitated, the fear flaring. “Fine.”

"Right. Good. Why don't you go to your room so I can see Finn?"

“I’m not leaving him alone with you.”

"He's fine."

Fao turned to Finn. “Finn, do you want to be alone with him?”

He didn’t answer, looking between the two with wide, scared eyes.

“I won’t let him if you don’t want him to.”

Finn whined, everything just too much. He pulled the blanket over his head as he shifted, hands changing into paws.

“Oh.” Fao breathed. “Shit.”

"Oh, Finn." Fred shook his head. So much for avoiding that.  

Fao backed away from Fred, suddenly very afraid of him. 

"You gonna let me get him?"

“And do what to him?”

"Take him downstairs."

“You’re not going to hurt him?”

"Of course not." He said softly. "We'd never do that. He's got all his wolf stuff downstairs."

“Oh.”

[aquietwritingcorner]

You'll Have to Go Through Me

Title: You’ll Have to Go Through Me Day: Whumptober 2023, Day 28 Prompt: “We might not make it to the morning, so go on and tell me now” Bloody knife/Sacrifice/ “You’ll have to go through me”  Fandom:  TMNT 2003 AU Word Count: 1613  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T  Characters: Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Bishop Warning: NA Summary: Bishop has ambushed Leo and eight-year-old Donnie while they were out. Leo isn’t about to let Bishop get his hands on Donnie, but will he be able to hold Bishop off until help arrives? Notes: This is part of an AU I’ve had forming in my head where, during a crisis with the Time Scepter, Don sacrificed himself to save everything. Instead of it killing him, though, it turned him into a baby, and his family has needed to raise him all over again.       AO3 || ff.net

__________________________________

You’ll Have to Go Through Me

Leo’s face twisted in a snarl as he held his katana, his expression focused on the cruel madman that stood before him. His other katana was on the ground behind him, having flown there after Bishop had dislodged it from his hand. Leo knew it was there, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off of Bishop for a second to get it. Not with Donnie behind him, too. There was no way he was going to let Bishop get his hands on his little brother.

His literal little brother.

The eight-year-old had done remarkably well in the ambush. He’d only been training with his jo—he was too short right now for a bo—for a few months, and he’d only been allowed to rooftop hop without help for a few weeks. Yet he’d had to make use of both new sets of skills in the ambush, and he’d done very well, even if he was scared to death. Leo was beyond proud of him for it.

Yet it hadn’t been enough. Somehow, Bishop had managed to funnel them to this abandoned alley where he’d backed them into a corner. It didn’t matter, though. All Leo had to do was keep Bishop away from Donnie long enough for Raph and Mikey to arrive. In the meantime, though, Bishop had the upper hand—and they all knew it.

“Trying to protect your brother, Leonardo?” Bishop asked as he kept sharp eyes on them. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to harm him.”

“Now why don’t I believe that for a second, Bishop?” Leo shot back. His awareness shot up, making sure he kept track of Donnie. He could hear his brother scramble back to hide behind some trash that was there.

Bishop snorted. “Please. Do you know the value a younger subject has? There’s far more potential there. No, I’m not going to harm Donatello. I have plans for him.”

Leo could hear Donnie whimper behind him. He couldn’t blame his brother. It was terrifying to hear that as an adult, much less as a child.

Leo growled. “You won’t touch him,” he said. He could hear Donnie backing up even more, giving Leo plenty of room.

“Come, Leonardo. Do you really think that you’re going to beat me? More than that, it’s almost morning. What do you think will happened when the good people that live in these apartments wake up to find a giant turtle creature attacking a human government agent?” Bishop smirked. “But if it makes you feel better, I can tell you my plans for young Donatello.”

Leo’s focus sharpened even more, and he settled into a highly dangerous state. He was positive that there was nothing good in what Bishop had planned for Donnie. “We might not make it to the morning,” Leo threatened, “so you had better go on and tell me what you have planned for my brother now.”

“You mean you won’t make it until the morning,” Bishop said. “I will, I’ll have my prize, and your sacrifice will fuel more research.”

Donnie let out a small, scared gasp, and Leo wasted no time with anymore talking. He charged Bishop with a yell. Steel clanged against armor as Bishop blocked the hit. Leo didn’t let that stop him, though, and quickly delivered a strike to the man. Bishop couldn’t dodge it, but he did use its momentum to lead into another attack. The alley rang with the sounds of the fight as the two battled it out. Bishop was, as always, fast and swift, inhumanly so. However, Leo was fueled by the rage that came with protecting his brother, and he didn’t let up or give an inch.

And yet it wasn’t enough. Bishop managed to gain the upper hand, sending Leo crashing to the ground with a strike to his head. His katana flew from his hand, and Bishop picked it up, twirling it around. “Good-bye, Leonardo. I’ll make sure your body is put to good use.”

Bishop raised the sword, ready to plunge it down. Suddenly, he reeled back in pain as something stabbed him in the kidney from behind. He stumbled back and tripped over something that was ankle height that hadn’t been there before, dropping the katana. Rolling with the fall, despite the pain in his back, Bishop looked up to see what had happened.

To his surprise, young Donatello was standing between Bishop and Leonardo, a bloody knife in one hand, and his staff in the other.

“Y-you’ll have to go through me!” he declared loudly, clearly set on defending his brother, even if his voice was shaking. “So—stay away!”

“You brat,” Bishop said as he rose to his feet. “I’ll take pleasure in using your DNA to make a new army out of—and in charting every second of how you grow.”

The young turtle paled, clearly scared, and he backed up a step. But he quickly set his jaw, holding his staff with confidence as Bishop advanced. Behind him, Leonardo blinked himself awake and shook his head. His eyes widened as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Donnie, no!” He cried out, grabbing the young turtle by the belt and pulling him away at the last second, rolling a few feet away with Donnie in his arms. A sizzle from Bishop’s wrist stun-gun crackled, the shot having landed right where Don had been.

Leo grit his teeth and pulled himself to his feet, shifting Donnie to his shell and picking up his fallen katanas. Bishop was already on his feet. Leo scanned the area. There had to be a way out of here!

“Just hang on to me, Donnie,” Leo said, and he felt his brother’s grip on him tighten.

Bishop launched towards them, but before he could get far, two shapes descended on him.

“Stay away from our brothers!” Raph yelled.

“Yeah, you’re not on the approved human list for Donnie,” Mikey shot back.

Bishop jumped back, having to focus on Mikey and Raph at the moment.

“Leo, go!” Raph yelled. “Get Donnie out of here!”

“What about you?” Donnie cried out.

“We’ll be right behind you!” Raph said.

“Right,” Leo said, waiting for his opportunity.

It took a moment, but Raph and Mikey gave him and opening, and Leo took it, moving as fast as he could. But Bishop had anticipated it, or perhaps had given them the opening, because he lunged right at them.

“I’ll have the brat, and you three will just be a bonus!” Bishop said, his wrist gun powering up, aimed right at Leo and Donnie

And then Leo felt Donnie’s arm tighten on his neck and felt more than saw Donnie’s other arm lash out. His bloody knife lodged itself in Bishop’s wrist gun, clearly having hit something vital as the thing started sparking.

Leo continued his path forward, not even looking back as he heard Bishop’s yell and an explosion. He didn’t acknowledge Donnie’s yell of “Ha! I knew it!” He felt more than saw Raph and Mikey coming up behind him. And he didn’t slow down until they were far away and well hidden from Bishop, taking a breather in a small hidden tunnel.

“Alright, Leo, hand over Donnie to Mikey and let me look at ya.” Raph said.

Leo nodded, and Donnie went to Mikey, holding onto his hand as Raph helped Leo sit down and looked him over. “Looks like you’ve probably got a concussion,” Raph said. “Although I don’t think anyone’s surprised. You hurt anywhere else?”

“Just minor things,” Leo said. “Donnie?”

“I’m fine, Leo!” Donnie piped up. He left Mikey’s side and hurried to Leo’s. “Leo, are you sure you’re alright?”

Leo pulled Donnie in. “I am, thanks to you,” he said, giving his little brother a hug. “You were very brave, standing up to Bishop like that.”

Donnie buried his face in Leo’s shoulder, letting his brother pull him into his lap. “I thought he was going to kill you!” Donnie said. “I was scared!”

Leo pressed his beak to Donnie’s head. “I know. But I’m proud of you, little brother. You did so well.”

Donnie tilted his head up to look at Leo and smiled, even if Leo could still see the fear and the stress behind his eyes. They’d have to talk about that later with Master Splinter. But for now, it was good enough, and Leo smiled back at his brother.

“Hey—I gotcha something,” Mikey said with a smile, bending down to grin at Don. He held out what looked like Bishop’s half-exploded wrist gun with Donnie’s knife still in it.

Leo made a face. “Mike, are you even sure that’s safe?”

“I dunno. Maybe,” Mike said, as Donnie gleefully took it, already looking over it.

“Mike,” Raph said, warning in his voice.

“Don’t worry, it’s safe!” Donnie said. “I don’t see any tracking devices on it, and it’s disconnected from the powerpack, it doesn’t look like its got any way to hold a charge.”

Leo sighed, and Raph reached out to rub Donnie on his head. “You did good, Donnie. Now get your toy and let’s get you and Leo back home before Master Splinter starts looking for us.”

Donnie nodded and got off of Leo’s lap as Raph offered Leo a hand up. The group started down the tunnels, but it escaped no one’s noticed that on the journey home and for the next few days, as Leo’s concussion healed, Donnie stuck close to Leo.

This event had left a mark on him, and had revealed that Bishop was after Donnie, but no matter what came, the family knew that they would face it together.

[clintbartonruinedmylife]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 28

"You'll have to go through me"

When he saw the cars driving up to his farm Clint’s mouth went painfully dry. He knew what it meant. They wanted one of his kids. 

“Laura!” he yelled. “Hide the kids!” 

Laura looked out of the window, saw the cars,too, and hurried away. After the war, when the New Order was established, every district had to send fifty children to the capital where they were raised and educated to become Elite, the administration of the New Order. Every person recognized the cars that came to drag the children away from their families. That was the day Clint built a secret bunker under one of the barns. Laura would bring the kids to it and hide there with them. No one would find them. 

Clint grabbed his bow and a quiver filled with arrows and waited for them. 

The three cars stopped in front of him and he nocked an arrow and aimed at the one guy that looked like the big cheese. 

“Not a step further!” he growled and saw that the other men wanted to reach for their guns. “And you, keep your fingers where I can see them!” 

“Mr. Barton,” the big cheese said and raised both ads to show that they were empty. “Your daughter Lila is designated as Elite.” 

“No!” Clint snarled. 

“Mr. Barton, listen to reason. It is…” the man said again and stopped when Clint shot an arrow only one inch before his feet into the ground, nocked an arrow in the next moment and aimed at him again. 

“The next one goes through your brain,” he growled. 

“Mr. Barton,” the man said and cocked his head. “You will hand over your daughter or you will have to face the consequences.” 

“If you want to get to my children you’ll have to go through me,” Clint snapped. 

“Well, if it’s that what you…” the man started but Clint interrupted him.

“But let me tell you about my time with the Avengers,” he said. “And let me assure you, I’m still the world's best marksman!” 

“Is that so?” the man started to grin and gestured at his men. “Grabbed him. And then get the girl.” 

And Clint fought…

[em-writes-stuff]

“you’ll have to go through me”

@febuwhump day 23

characters: hero, villain, supervillain

warnings: collapsed building, stab wound (i think that’s the right classification), syringe, cursing, young whumpee, (implied) future abuse

577 words

a/n: hoooly shit guys this is one of the longest things ive written in a long time. i think its also one of the darkest things? but like. im proud of myself for it so enjoy <<2

---

Hero digs through the wreckage, constantly looking over his shoulder to see if Supervillain’s come to yet. 

“Hero?” Villain says weakly. “Are you still there?”

His heart breaks, “Of course. I’m trying to get to you, I promise. There’s just so much stuff and if it moves too fast it’ll crush you.” He tosses a chunk of concrete to the side and listens for her to reply. He stops shoveling debris and listens, “Villain?” 

“I’m still alive. Unfortunately for you.” she says, laughing faintly. 

“Hey now.” 

“Sorry. Any idea how much longer? My comm’s about to die.” she pauses and Hero can hear the gears in her head turning. 

“Don’t say it.” 

She huffs, “Party pooper.” 

He chuckles and removes a sheet of metal, Hero breathes out, “I’m done digging. Just hold on a little longer, kid.” 

Static. 

“Kid?” he presses on the earpiece, “Kid, you still with me?” He shakes his head and hops into what remains of the building. 

The light from his phone illuminates the room, falling on every speck of dust in the air. Hero coughs and holds a sleeve up to his mouth. 

“Villain! I need to know where you are!” he shouts. 

He strains to listen for her, hoping she managed to outlive her comm. 

“Over here!” 

He exhales sharply and follows her voice. He shoves a door open, tearing it the rest of the way off its hinges and covers his mouth when he sees her. 

A piece of rebar sticks out of her leg, blood oozing around it. She’s covered in small pieces of concrete and chunks of it lay next to her with bloody handprints painted on them. Her clothes are ripped from the concrete snagging it when she shoved it off of her torso.

“You didn’t tell me it was this bad.” he breathes, kneeling at her side. 

She shivers, “I didn’t think it was important. Where’s Supervillain?” 

“Don’t worry about them.” he says, shaking his head. He looks her over, stopping on the rebar. “That's gonna have to stay in until we get you to the hospital, it’s gonna hurt like hell but it looks like it’s plugging an artery; so if I take it out, you’d bleed out a lot faster.” 

Her teeth chatter and she shakes her head, “I know. Just…get me out of here, now, please.” 

He nods and puts his arms under her and picks her up in a cradle hold, she wraps her arms around his neck and buries her face in his shoulder. 

Hero shoves through the debris and pushes past the main entrance. He exits the building and the ceiling falls with a deafening crash. 

“That was an impressive save, Hero,” Supervillain says. 

Villain tenses against him, “No. Don’t let them-not again, please.”

“I won’t.” he soothes. 

Supervillain tuts, “Such confidence. Just let me have her, you know you won’t be able to handle her.” They take a step forward and smile when Villain’s breath hitches. “I can. She needs a firm hand, someone who’s not afraid to put their foot down.” 

“You’ll have to go through me.” 

“And I thought you’d make it easy for me.” they say, sighing. “If only I’d come prepared. Oh wait.” 

They jam a syringe into Hero’s shoulder and copy the look of surprise on his face when he loses his grip on Villain. 

“No,” she whimpers, holding tightly on Hero, “Please, no. You said you wouldn’t let them take me. You promised.” 

[kaesaaurelia]

trembling with the beauty of the word

For @whumptober day 28, using the prompts "bloody knife," "sacrifice," and "you'll have to go through me."

This is the last installment of this fic.

Continued from Day 3, wherein Muriel went to Heaven to get access to their old records, from before they can remember things, and discovered some troubling things written in their own handwriting, and Day 12, wherein Muriel discovered some troubling things they'd written (implied to be after the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah) which were used as evidence against them in the trial where their memories were erased.

Content warning for attempted child murder.

After trying and failing to read their own strikeouts for a bit -- no miraculous restoration seemed to help -- Muriel moved on from that exhibit and kept going.

There were more entries from their journal there. One exhibit was a List of Collaborators, which was apparently a bad thing. They seemed to be angels, mostly, although a couple of the names looked human. What had Muriel done? Who had they got in trouble?

They flipped back to the front of the filing and read, but none of it made sense. It said they were intentionally sowing Doubt and these people were helping them, but Muriel didn't see anything to that effect in their writing, and they knew they wouldn't just lie about that sort of thing. Apparently everybody on the list had had their memories corrected, so at least any mistakes they had made weren't permanent, but they felt guilt clawing at the center of their being anyway.

There was also mention of a Prior Incident wherein they had (allegedly -- although of course, if Heaven alleged it, it was true) knowingly defied the will of the Lord, and they flipped back through the exhibits to see if they could find that, because that sounded dreadful and they couldn't imagine doing that, but it wasn't attached.

Was there an earlier filing? They decided to ignore the Petition to Recall Angel from Earth for now since it seemed to be based on some sort of mistaken reading of something, and flipped through the earlier parts of the folder. There was a handwritten note from someone -- one of the humans on the list, by the looks of the signature, who'd been some sort of scholar or student or something.

Muriel began reading it, because, after all, it was addressed to them! Only a few lines in, they realized that this was a very... human... piece of writing, and decided to pretend it didn't exist. Had Old Bad Angel Muriel kept this? And not burned it? They were surprised it wasn't an exhibit as evidence of... well, it seemed awfully damning.

They kept going, though they didn't know what they were looking for. They found what appeared to be a shaky drawing in charcoal on the back of a blank report form. On one side of the picture there was a regular-size human, scowling, and brandishing a big... axe, maybe? and then a drawing of an angel (they could tell because of the wings, and the squiggly lines surrounding them, and the flying) clutching some kind of indistinct four-legged creature that seemed to be made mostly of swirls. The angel was smiling. On the other side of the angel was a small human, who looked very sad.

Something about this gave them that punched-in-the-stomach feeling again and they didn't know why, so they moved on.

And here was an incident report, once more written in their own hand. They winced, because this was going to be bad, but they were going to have to read it. They had to know.

As you are no doubt aware, amending humans' memories requires endorsements from the humans' attending Principalities, guardian angels, etc., for each individual human, all to be approved by the Office of Faith and Good Works. This process must be done for every single human whose memory is to be changed.

The Office of Faith and Good Works is currently dealing with a three century backlog while they sort through the 478 proposed Commandments. I believe they're trying to narrow it down something between one to three Commandments, as human memory unfortunately cannot retain 478 of them. I imagine it will take them quite a while.

I now continue my report, having hopefully established to your satisfaction that memory correction is not currently a practical option under the circumstances.

This seemed wildly irrelevant, and Muriel judged their old self once more for being inexplicably inefficient, although maybe they were making a point about how bad that policy was. It had definitely been changed, although Muriel couldn't recall when, so probably not very much after this incident. They read on.

My understanding of the mission was that it was to test and strengthen Abraham's faith in God, and I think in that sense it was a great success. However, I would strongly recommend against any further attempts to test humans' faith with child sacrifice, and I am so confident that you will understand my reasoning that I have gone ahead and told them that the Lord would never require such sacrifices. I was very clear on this. I told Abraham to tell everyone else he knew about this, because my experiences on Earth suggest that child welfare is one of humans' greatest motivators. I think it would be particularly good for our optics to be known as the faith option with a guarantee of no child sacrifice, and by now there should be several hundred humans who are aware of this policy, which I maintain can reasonably be inferred to be in line with current Heavenly policy from the following materials:

There followed a lengthy list of citations. Muriel was not familiar with most of them, but they looked real enough. Perhaps they were no longer relevant due to changes in policy since this incident. But the whole thing seemed horribly clear to Muriel. They had decided, without consulting Heaven, to claim something was policy and then make it impossible for Heaven to take back without undue strain on the bureaucracy.

On the other hand, Old Bad Angel Muriel was right; humans were very keen on child welfare. It was a whole thing with them.

They skimmed the rest of the report -- Old Bad Angel Muriel explained that it had been an alarming amount of work to convince Abraham that he had to kill his son, and that, as they had used up all their miracle allotment on Abraham, there had been none left for the child's mother, who had punched Muriel. Punching is something humans do when they're very angry. It can be very painful for everyone involved, they added, and I would suggest that this and other common acts of aggression be added to the standard curriculum for Earth agents. (It had been, although Muriel hadn't had time to actually go through that. They had happened to read about it when it was entered into the code at some point after the Flood.)

There then followed a lengthy account of purchasing the ram and getting the ram up the mountain without being seen, which seemed largely unnecessary except that Old Bad Angel Muriel was asking for the money for the ram back. They admitted they had been overcharged, but they pointed out that they did not have enough time to haggle, and that 52 of the proposed Commandments had to do with not stealing, so it seemed like a bad idea to steal the ram. (Muriel had to admit this was a good point.)

At the end, there were no less than three pages about the boy, Isaac. Old Bad Angel Muriel had described his character and personality, what his favorite color was, what he thought of every member of his family down to the dogs, what every member of his family thought of him (excepting anyone who couldn't talk, such as the dogs), and what he wanted to do when he grew up. He said he wanted to be an angel because he wants to be able to fly, but I told him that unfortunately Heaven is not hiring, so he's considering his options. It was... irrelevant, Muriel knew, but it was a portrait in writing of a human, a person who was irreplaceable and individual.

The last sentence was I will not be taking further actions that cause humans to attempt to harm children. No at this time, no until further notice, no unless you confirm it with the relevant committees. No justification or explanation.

Muriel closed the folder, because it was making them feel unpleasant things, Bad Angel things, and it suddenly occurred to them that perhaps Crowley needed help finding the thing he had forgot, which he was looking for, and which definitely existed. If they were helping someone they couldn't be a Bad Angel. Although perhaps because he was a demon, that wasn't true. But he was a Good Demon, so, therefore...

Well, all right, no, that was a nonsensical line of reasoning, but they still didn't want to look at the folder anymore.

So they got up to go and find him. "Crowley?" they called.

The bookshop wasn't actually all that large, but it was surprisingly easy to get lost in, Muriel reflected, some time later. Perhaps there was more of it than they'd realized. Perhaps the books all got together in secret while they were out, up on Heaven retrieving files they shouldn't be retrieving. Perhaps Muriel really was inexplicably going in a circle, and the room they thought was behind those shelves wasn't there, and instead it was just a really long corridor of nearly identical bookshelves.

Or, also, perhaps demons had ways of hiding themselves in bookshops they knew extremely well, from angels who were new to Earth and also to said bookshops.

Muriel sighed, snapped their fingers, and the endlessly repeating bookshelves dissolved, and there was the room they thought they were looking for. Crowley sat at a circular table. There was a dark glass bottle in front of him, and an empty drinking glass, one of those miniature ones that didn't seem to hold enough liquid to be worth it.

He did not look very happy, but Muriel was glad of the company anyway.

"Did you find your thing that you forgot?" Muriel asked.

"No," said Crowley, sounding mournful. "Nope. 'Snot here."

"I thought you said it definitely was?"

"Mm." He put his head in his hands.

"Why were you hiding?" they asked.

"Didn't want to be bothered," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Oh," said Muriel, feeling unaccountably guilty.

"By you," he added.

"Oh," Muriel said again, supposing that accounted for the guilt. "Am I... bothering you?" they asked.

Crowley looked at them for a long moment. He seemed very sad. Finally he said, "Nah. Come on. Sit down. Have a drink."

"No thank you," said Muriel, because things in dark glass bottles were alcohol, and were therefore sinful, and also smelled terrible.

"Did you find out what the nightmares were about?" he asked, pointing at the folder. Muriel had forgot they brought it with them.

"Erm. Not really," said Muriel. "I found out some other things."

"Oh?"

"They're all horrible," Muriel said. "I was definitely a very bad angel."

Crowley grinned. "Yeah? Did you forget to submit a form or something?"

"No, I. I made up something and told the humans it was God's new policy, and then I made sure Heaven couldn't contradict what I'd said without a lot of paperwork."

"You what?" Crowley's dark glasses slipped slightly down his face as he leaned forward.

"I did it on purpose, I think. Either that or Old Muriel was very stupid, and I don't think they were."

"What did you tell them?" Crowley asked. At least he was feeling cheerful now. Or spiteful. It was hard to tell.

"I told them God didn't want them to sacrifice children," said Muriel. "I think I thought it... was policy, somehow, even though it clearly wasn't. And I remember later, I remember there were things where... I mean. It wasn't God's policy. It... it would have been a good policy, though, if it had been," they said. "I remember there were... things God authorized... that weren't... I mean I didn't realize... it was..."

They recalled a long scroll unrolling before them, and the then-Principality, now-Supreme Archangel standing in front of them being a bit silly (they'd thought at the time) about human children not being easily replaceable. They hadn't met any humans back then.

They felt that punching feeling again. Maybe they had been punched in the stomach before. They hadn't specified in their report.

"I think I might still be a bad angel," they admitted to Crowley, in a very small voice.

"Yeah, maybe," said Crowley. "But like I said, all the best angels are bad angels. Any angel worth knowing, certainly."

"Also I think a human wrote me a love poem?" said Muriel. They had just remembered the child's drawing, realized it was probably Isaac's, and then, seeking refuge from the weight of this thought -- the child they had endangered with their miraculous vision and then saved with their overpriced ram had used some of his tiny human lifespan to make something for them, and Heaven had wiped him entirely from their mind until now -- their mind had sought refuge in the absurd.

"What?"

"I don't know, I didn't read it. I didn't read, er, much of it, anyway," said Muriel.

"Was it any good?"

"No! I mean, I don't know, I didn't read it," said Muriel, horrified.

"Can I see it?"

"No! You don't want to anyway, it was... surprisingly anatomical."

"Oh, yeah, humans do that," said Crowley, making a face. "I thought you didn't read it."

"I read enough of it to know I didn't want to," said Muriel. Crowley laughed at that. "What was the thing you came here to find, anyway?"

Crowley shrugged. "Dunno. I forgot."

"You forgot the thing you forgot?" Muriel asked.

"Yup. You're sure you don't want a drink?" Crowley asked.

"Maybe I'll just... look at it," said Muriel.

He produced another of the miniature glasses and poured from the bottle. It was a warm amber liquid. It smelled terrible, and as per usual, they did not taste it, but it looked all right.

While they were examining the drink, Crowley stole their folder. They let him; if he went looking for stupid poetry and ended up stumbling across a long-dead child's drawing instead and having too many feelings, that wasn't on Muriel, and he probably deserved it.

[arecaceae175]

Febuwhump Day 23: "You'll have to go through me" (Wind)

AO3 link. This is a continuation of Day 22: Can't Scream (Wind).

NatureLover on AO3 wanted protective Legend and @aurora--lights wanted a continuation of yesterday’s prompt AND I’m having fun with the spook so I combined the requests and here you go! I hope you both enjoy!

Warnings: discussion of stuff from the last chapter, but nothing in huge detail

Part 3/3. Part 1. Part 2.

Wind was alone. 

The monsters picked them off one by one until Wind was the only one left. There was no struggle, no screams, barely any noise at all. Both times Wind heard a rustling of leaves, then a tug on his hand and then the others were gone. Just gone.

Wind sniffled and hugged himself tighter. He had no idea what to do, no idea where to go, and no idea if the others were okay. He couldn’t leave the forest until he found them, but if he made any noise the monsters would get him too. He couldn’t rescue the others if he was taken.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Wind was terrified. Put a sword in his hand and he could fight anything and everything. But this? He didn’t even know where to start.

A stick broke. Wind froze. He hoped he was high enough in the tree that the monsters would keep moving, as long as he didn’t make any noise. 

“Hyrule! Wind!” 

That sounded like Legend. Wind furrowed his brow in confusion. Legend wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“Four! Wild! Anyone?” Maybe-Legend yelled. He was stomping heavily through the forest and had a lantern casting a dull glow around him. Wind held his breath. 

“I swear I’m never letting any of you out of my sight again,” Maybe-Legend muttered. He was nearly right below Wind’s tree. Wind’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. 

“Hello?  In search of fellow heroes!” Maybe-Legend yelled. He kicked a small rock and it tumbled until it was directly below Wind. 

That sounded like Legend. It looked like Legend, but Wind didn’t trust that anymore. He was moving the same way Legend moved, without any of the monsters’ weird strides and stiffness. Wind but his lip, caught in indecision. If it really was Legend, he was finally safe. Legend could help him rescue the others then he could finally, finally leave this Hylia-damned forest. 

But if it was a trick? 

Maybe-Legend stopped underneath Wind’s tree. He leaned up against the tree and pulled out his waterskin. After he took a sip, he leaned his head back against the tree, eyes closed. 

Wind could count the number of times on one hand he had felt more scared.

After a moment, Maybe-Legend opened his eyes and gazed up into the tree. His eyes found Wind’s bright blue tunic immediately, and he pushed himself off the tree.

“Wind?” Legend asked. 

Wind felt himself sag in relief. Legend could see him! He was real!

Wind jumped down from the tree and tackled Legend in a hug. He wrapped his arms around Legend as tight as he could and buried his head into Legend’s chest. Legend caught Wind easily, arms around his back. 

“Woah, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Legend asked. There was no trace of his usual sarcasm in his voice. 

Wind felt tears building behind his eyes and desperately willed them away. He shook his head, not trusting his voice. 

“Okay. Hey, you’re okay,” Legend muttered, hands rubbing comforting circles on Wind’s back. Wind allowed himself exactly twelve more seconds of the hug before he swallowed his emotions and pulled away from Legend. Legend let him go but kept his hands on Wind’s shoulders. 

“Are you okay?” Legend asked, ducking slightly to meet Wind’s eyes. 

“I’m okay,” Wind said. “I don’t know about the others, though.”

“What happened?” Legend asked.

“There’s some sort of creature in the woods,” Wind said. His voice was barely above a whisper. “They don’t have eyes, but they can hear everything . Their bodies are weird and black and fleshy and way too long ! They can also shapeshift, but they didn’t do that at first. I think they figured out we were smarter and changed tactics? And they took the others, and I don’t know how to find them, and-”

“Woah, sailor, breathe,” Legend said. “You’ve gotta slow down. The others were taken?”

Wind nodded rapidly. “The monsters took them. They got Wild first, then stole his body and then there were two of Wild but neither of them were actually Wild. ‘Rulie figured it out, he could tell something was off. They got him next, and then Four. I didn’t see any copies of Four, though. I ran and hid and I haven’t left the tree."

Wind felt the guilt hit him like a physical blow. What was he doing ? How could he have hid while the others were taken?

“I’m sorry,” Wind said. “I didn’t know how to find them, and I-”

“Stop,” Legend said, squeezing Wind’s shoulders. “I don’t want to hear that shit. Sounds to me like you would’ve been taken too if you hadn’t hid. We’ll find them.”

Wind swallowed down his guilt and nodded rapidly. “You’re right,” Wind said. Legend smiled.

Wind couldn’t change his actions in the past, but he could make sure he found his brothers now. It was time to figure out their plan.

“Where are the others?” Wind asked.

“We split up to look for you,” Legend said. 

Wind sighed and ran a hand through his hair in aggravation. “That means we can’t trust anyone else. And we need to make sure we don’t get separated. Do you have any rope?”

“Yeah,” Legend said, and he turned to pull it out of his bag. Wind kept a tight grip on his shirt. “Why do we need rope?” 

“Me and ‘Rulie and Four were holding hands and the monsters still took them,” Wind explained. Legend handed him the rope and he set to work tying it around both their waists. “This way even if the monsters try, they’ll have to separate us and cut the rope.”

Legend nodded. Wind finished tying the knots then attached himself to Legend’s side. It was strategic, sure, but Wind was self aware enough to admit to himself he wanted the comfort. He would never say that out loud, though. He was still a hero. 

“And we can’t make any noise,” Wind continued. “That’s how they’ll find us.”

“Don’t worry,” Legend said. “Those monsters will have to go through me, and I sure as hell won’t let them get to you. We’ll have the others back in no time.”

Wind smiled gratefully up at Legend. Legend smirked and ruffled his hair. Wind pushed his hand away with a light-hearted grumble. 

Wind took a steadying breath as he intertwined their elbows together. “Let’s do this.”

[jellicle-shifters-au]

Found

for Demelurina Week Day 2: Anniversary and (a little early) @whumptober day 20 people don't change, time does; and day 28 you'll have to go through me

TIMELINE: six years after demeter's first captivity

--

The air tastes different here, on the outskirts of the town, than it does in the heart of it. It’s not the same as the green, there’s still a tinge of smoke and exhaust and restaurant fare in the green, but here in the park there’s less of that, and Demeter can smell more of the greenery and squirrels and other small things lurking in the grass. That, and the hint of ice cream still drifting from the pink-and-white truck parked on the other side of the street. There’s a kind of cold that drifts across the wind, that kind that she recognizes from winter but with something more metallic to it, each and every time the man opens the freezer.

She and Bomba had already been to the truck, and now she sits on a nearby bench nursing a cone—plain vanilla, of course—while Bomba has run off to the bathroom. It’s nice, to just sit there with nothing to do and nowhere to be, with all the time in the world.

The wind blows gently into her face, and with it comes the scents from across the park, the squirrels tucked away in trees, the dogs and their humans, the pines and oaks and the maples. There’s the faint scent of cat, too, others who have been this way but none of them are familiar to her.

None of them except—

“My, my,” she hears, in between the crunch of leaves and the creak of the bench as he sits, and not without a soft, strained sigh as though something about the motion hurts, “it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

The cone breaks under her fingers.

Six years. It’s been six years since she ran off, since she climbed out that window in the dead of night and disappeared into the dark. Six years, that smooth, silky voice has haunted the edge of her dreams, the center of her nightmares, has made her so afraid of her own name she goes by something else entirely.

Six years he had the chance to come after her and he waited until now, six years later, to find her again.

Six years later, when she thought he would have searched the town up and down, every nook and cranny, tore the place apart just to find her—

And all it took was a day at the park.

Cold ice cream runs over her fingers. The taste of it turns to ash in her mouth. The air around her turns bitterly cold, the hint of ice from the truck turns sharp and sour; the cold seeps deep into her bones, not even her compression shirt can keep her warm. The blood drains from her face. She grips the cone a little tighter in her hands, feeling the brittle waffle cone crack under her fingers.

Why? Why did he wait six years? Why now, why not then, why wait so long to come back for her?

And he is coming back for her. Demeter had always known he would. 

It’s a feeling that’s been sitting somewhere so deep inside her she’d almost forgotten it was there, but it had always gnawed at her like a flea when she let it.

She’d known, since the day she ran out, that this would always happen.

Her mouth is dry. Her heart races. She can’t look at him. It’s over already, but if she looks at him, she might never come back.

If he ordered her to, she’d get up and follow him back to his car, back to the rats and the dark and the terror and the sensory assault—to her own death—he wouldn’t give her a choice and she wouldn’t give him a fight.

And Bomba—

She’d never see Bomba again.

“You look…well,” he says slowly.

The park blurs. She can’t remember how to breathe.

I haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t hurt anyone. I haven’t come looking for you. I haven’t felt anything.

I haven’t done anything wrong.

She doesn’t know how she responds, but she feels a sound catch at the back of her throat. Warm tears run down her face when she blinks. The park comes back into view. There are parents and their kids on the other side, at the playground. A pair of joggers passes by. A group of adult women mingles around another bench. None of them look at Demeter.

“Where have you been hiding these days?”

She doesn’t know how to answer, even if she could. Every word she wants to say catches and dies at the back of her throat. She shivers, cold vanilla ice cream dripping over her knuckles, and imagines herself to be a lot like that cone—cracking, cracking, cracking under the pressure of Macavity’s hold until she shatters completely.

Bomba, she thinks—Where’s Bomba?— I’ve been living with Bomba—Bomba—

It feels like Bomba’s been gone for hours.

What if something’s happened to her? What if the rats found her? If Macavity found Demeter, then he certainly could find Bomba, his rats could jump her as she comes out of the bathroom, anything could happen—

If he doesn’t know…she can’t give him Bomba. If he knew, if he knew Bomba had been hiding her all these years, there’s no telling what he’d do to her, what he’d do to both of them. She can’t give him Bomba.

The narrow scope of her world goes quiet for a moment, filled with nothing but cold and the ice cream running over her fingers and the terror in her heart. Then Macavity inhales heavily; Demeter whimpers at the sound.

“I asked you a question, Demeter.” And there it is, that patronizing, prodding tone, I want something from you and you’re failing to give it to me, the tone that’s made her so afraid of her own name.

She squeezes the cone tighter, takes a sharp breath, tears running down her cheeks and gives him another whimper. It’s all she can manage.

She’s forgotten how to speak, how to call for help, how to call for Bomba; she can’t reach the phone in her pocket with the fractured cone glued to her fingers, the only lifeline she has.

Another moment, and then he sighs heavily, hisses softly. She’s in trouble, she’s in so much trouble—Demeter would scream if she could—

“Now you’re being rude.”

Demeter’s head snaps up, there’s something in that tone she can’t resist. She looks.

His eyes are glowing orange, his magic grips her with warm claws; he holds her gaze right where it is, even as he looks her over and takes in her new appearance, now that she’s regained all the weight she’s lost and her clothes fit her and she wears compression shirts and she’s not a grimey, matted mess anymore—

And his face, it hasn’t changed in six years. His fiery red hair has a little more gray now than it did then, but there are no new wrinkles around his eyes or mouth or in his cheeks. His eyes still hold the same intensity they did then, still hold her just as easily.

I’m sorry, she wants to say, but still she can’t. Her voice is gone.

“Yes,” he says, tilting his head, frowning thoughtfully, more to himself than to her, “you’ve certainly managed to do well for yourself.” The light goes out of his eyes, but Demeter can’t force herself to look away.

You’re being rude.

“Where have you been?”

She stares at him, wide-eyed. That note in his voice, he knows, he’s known for years, he’s always known, now he wants her to confirm it. She doesn’t know how.

She can’t.

Hkk, is the most she can manage, a thin, choked sound at the back of her throat. 

“Hm.”

Demeter shivers. Ice cream drips onto her pants. 

It’s not like she’ll have them long, anyway. Her dark jeans will be replaced by frayed gray sweatpants soon enough and the ice cream stains won’t matter then, not that they even matter now, really—

Macavity takes a breath. It’s enough to make Demeter’s head spin; the blood’s drained from her face, the oxygen’s gone from her lungs, she can’t think clearly and yet the way inhales sets off alarms in her head—he’s taking her scent, she smells like Bomba, he’ll know she’s living with Bomba.

He narrows his eyes. “I see.”

Demeter sobs. 

No, no, he can’t know, he can’t know about Bomba, if he knows about Bomba, he’ll come after her, he’ll do worse than the three scars on the back of her leg, he’ll kill her, he’ll kill her and he’ll take his time doing it.

Please not Bomba, it’s not her fault, she didn’t do anything wrong, she didn’t do anything wrong—

“What the hell is this?”

 Demeter squeezes the shattered cone tighter; freshly melted ice cream runs around her fingers. She gulps in air, the tension in her shoulders fading out as Macavity’s hold on her is broken. The feeling and control comes back into her body, a weight finally lifted off her shoulders. She inches back until she’s pressed against the arm of the bench.

He turns to meet Bomba, his eyes narrowed. His lip curls just enough to show the tip of one sharpened fang. “Bombalurina.”

Terror grips Demeter’s heart again. Bombalurina. No one calls Bomba by her full name, it’s either Bomba or Rina, never Bombalurina.

“I didn’t realize Demeter was your…ward.” There’s a hiss in his voice, a hint of displeasure, annoyance. Anger.

He knows now, he knows about Bomba, he was never supposed to know about Bomba, he can’t know about Bomba—

“Yes,” Bomba answers. Her voice doesn’t betray anything; the one word is laced with venom. She crosses her arms as she moves to put herself between Macavity and Demeter, blocking Demeter from his view as much as she can.  “She is. It was my choice.”

For a moment, Macavity says nothing. Then he nods his head to Bomba, and says softly, with careful consideration, “So it was.” He stands, crossing his arms, looking Bomba over with careful thought. “Tell me something, Miss Ford—how much thought did you put into this little…venture?”

“Enough.” A snarl lines Bomba’s words. Demeter looks up. Bomba’s chin is raised, her hair is clipped up at the back of her head in a curly red bun. She stands with her spine straight, looking ever like the Protector she is. “Be warned, Mister Stern, there’s not a Jellicle in this town that wouldn’t fight to keep her out of your hands.”

“Do you really think, Ms. Ford,” Macavity says slowly, “that a handful of Protectors could stop me from taking her again if I so desired?”

He does. He wants her back. But why did he wait six years to do it?

“We'll die trying.”

“Hm. I’m sure.” He takes a step closer to Bomba. “Tell me something else, Miss Ford, since Miss Mayweather is currently incapable of doing so herself—” and it’s not without a sharp glance at Demeter. She shrinks back into the corner of the bench, shivering with fear and cold, the ice cream now a thin liquid still running over her knuckles and between her fingers, the cone a soggy, broken mess. “Has she showed any signs of relapse?”

Bomba lurches forward with a fang-filled growl, her hands forming into fists as uncrosses her arms, only to stop at the last moment, tucking her arms back across her chest. She backs away. “You had your time with her,” she snarls. “If you wanted to be so sure she wouldn’t…relapse—” she spits the word out like a maggot— “then you should have come for her that night. Not six years later.”

“Perhaps,” Macavity answers. His orange eyes flash to Demeter. “But do consider that some symptoms are best measured with time.” 

It’s too much, it’s too—

The cone falls from Demeter's hands as she lurches forward and vomits into the grass, the weight of Macavity’s words finally crushing her, pushing her off the bench. Bomba doesn’t have the time to yell at him, tell him to go away, get away from us, get away from her, don’t come back before the man slips away and she’s on her knees next to Demeter, pulling her hair out of her face, rubbing circles on her back, politely declining help from the few passersby who finally stop to see if Demeter is alright, and it makes her sob harder amidst her retching, she burns with anger, they couldn’t help her before, but they could help her now, couldn’t they? Why couldn’t they help her before? Why couldn’t they help her when she sat there sobbing in terror as the man who ruined her life sat there and threatened to ruin it again?

Where were you? she wants to ask. Where were you when I needed you?

Where was Bomba?

Taking too damn long in the bathroom—

She coughs into the grass. It’s not Bomba’s fault, she can’t blame Bomba—

Bomba was the only one to help her—

“It’s alright, love,” Bomba says softly. “It’s alright, you’re alright. I’ve got you, Metra, I’m here.”

Demeter’s retching turns to sobs. She falls into Bomba, the strength and energy sapped out of her limbs. She cries into Bomba’s shoulder, gripping her with what little strength she has left, leaving a sticky, sloppy mess of ice cream on her blouse. It’s a distant thought that occurs to her, under the terror and the frustration and some symptoms are best measured with time.

She cries until there’s nothing left; and later, when they’re in the car, Demeter will stare at the mess of ice cream and shattered cone on her shaking hands and her pants and the mess she’s left on Bomba’s shoulder, and say with her mouth dry and her voice reedy, I’m sorry about your blouse.

Bomba will sigh, heavy and sympathetic, and reach over to take Demeter’s sticky hand in her own. A blouse can be replaced, she’ll say, her own voice tight, but you can’t.

[thisfairytalegonebad]

"You'll have to go through me." - Whumptober day 28

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Character: Gladiolus Amicitia Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Death of a parent, death in childbirth (no details)

Read below the cut or on AO3 here.

Gladio is a protector, born and bred. It’s hammered into his head from childhood, but he also takes to it naturally. He’s a mama’s boy through and through, and he’s determined to protect her, something he never tires of telling her. She’ll read him stories of brave knights saving a princess from a dragon, and he’ll tell her, with all the sincerity his four-year-old self is capable of, that he’ll save her from a dragon if necessary because he loves her so much. And she’ll laugh and kiss his head and promise him that he’d make the most perfect knight who ever lived.

When she tells him he’s going to be a big brother, he’s over the moon. He spends hours with his head on her stomach, trying to hear his little sister’s heartbeat even though his mother tells him she’s too little to have a heartbeat yet. The last four months of the pregnancy, his mother has to spend on bedrest, and Gladio barely leaves her side during that time. At first, she reads to him to pass the time, but eventually, he can see that it’s too exhausting for her to hold the book and focus on the words, even though she never outright tells him.

By now, Gladio is old enough to know that it’s not dragons he’ll protect his mother from, and he’s starting to understand that what is happening to her is not something he can protect her from at all. But what he can do is keep her company and try to make her feel better, and so he applies his newly developed reading skills to read the stories to her instead. She often falls asleep during the story, earlier and earlier until she barely makes it through the first couple of pages, but it’s alright - she used to read him stories to make him go to sleep, so it just means he’s doing a good job.

One night, when his little sister is almost ready to come, Gladio says good night to his mother like always, standing on his toes so he can kiss her cheek, and then he goes to bed. He’s barely been asleep for an hour when he’s woken again by frantic voices, the sound of people running, and his father’s voice that is tinted with an emotion Gladio has never heard from him before - fear.

He climbs out of bed and goes to investigate, but he barely makes it out into the hallway before Jared catches him and leads him to the living room instead. He keeps Gladio calm and distracts him long enough that he starts to think that everything is going to be alright after all, and when he hears the sound of a baby crying, he jumps up from the couch and takes off running towards his mother’s room before Jared can stop him.

Gladio will never forget the look on his father’s face that night, sitting next to the bed with the screaming baby in his arms and Gladio’s mother, lying unmoving and paler than the sheets she’s covered with.

Years later, his father confesses to him that he was afraid that Gladio would end up resenting his sister, blaming her for their mother’s death, and were Gladio not Gladio but any other child, that might very well have happened. But Gladio takes to Iris in an almost obsessive manner, projecting all his love for his mother onto her and adding the love he’s held for Iris herself from the day he learned of her existence.

A natural big brother, they call him, but to this day Gladio is not sure how much of his admittedly insane protective streak is the constant reminders of the job he was born with, how much is trauma and how much is really just instinct. It doesn’t really matter, though, and he’ll probably never find out either way.

What does matter is that he meets little Prince Noctis when they’re both young children with poor emotional regulation and both of them have their fair share of issues to work through, so most of their encounters end in screaming matches and tears.

Gladio has met King Regis many times, and sometimes his mother’s fairytales weren’t fairytales at all but true stories of Dad and the King’s adventures together, so he knows how impressive the man is. He’s the archetype of a King, and when Gladio is told that he will one day be Shield to King Regis’ son, he envisions himself serving a King much like Regis.

Noctis is not at all like his father, though, and for a long time, the thought of him fills Gladio with rage and despair because how is he supposed to protect someone who is so weak and helpless and doesn’t seem to put the barest amount of effort into anything? Worse, he is supposed to die for someone like that?

He only enters an uneasy truce with Noctis when the Prince helps bring back lost Iris and even covers for her when she’s about to be reprimanded. There’s mutual respect between them, now, though their relationship continues to be rocky. But at least now, Gladio is able to make his peace with his role by Noctis’ side, and he starts to feel similarly protective of the kid as he is of Iris.

Gladio doesn’t really have time for deep, intimate friendships or other relationships that don’t involve Noctis, which is probably a blessing because it seems that loud, protective part of him just latches onto everyone he starts to care about. It’s something he starts to realise when he befriends the Prince’s stuck-up advisor, Ignis Scientia, and makes it his personal mission to get the guy to loosen up and smile every once in a while.

Before he knows it, Ignis has somehow become his best friend, but in some ways, this friendship is even harder to navigate than his tentative friendship with Noct. The main problem is that Gladio instinctively tries to take care of Ignis the way he does with Iris and Noctis, but Ignis is notoriously hard to care for. It’s something Gladio learns the hard way when polite, soft-spoken Ignis turns prickly and hissy and refuses to talk to him for a week only because Gladio suggested he go and have a chat with some of the council-assholes that have been needling Ignis endlessly over some non-issue for the past few weeks.

“I can fight my own battles, Gladio,” Ignis says, and Gladio says, “I know,” and perfections the art of taking care of Iggy in a subtle, plausibly deniable way. It comes in the form of casually backing up his suggestions during meetings with arguments of his own, of warm takeout boxes Gladio brings to Ignis’ office because he was “getting lunch for himself and would appreciate some company while eating”, of sparring matches coincidentally scheduled just as Ignis threatens to crack under the stress and desperately needs to blow off some steam.

Gladio is admittedly a bit of a hard-ass where Noct is concerned, but he’ll turn right around and threaten to break some new recruit’s nose who mutters something about the Prince being a spoiled brat. He hangs out with Iggy, drags him to bars every once in a while, makes sure he doesn’t get crushed under the weight of the expectations and responsibilities piled onto his shoulders.

And it works, for the most part. Gladio loves them both as fiercely as he loves Iris and loved his mother, his entire world revolves around them, and yeah maybe that’s not exactly the healthiest thing, but honestly, with the way this whole Shield business was beaten into his brain, who can really blame him?

What he doesn’t expect is there to be a fourth person thrown into the mix. Gladio would have thought there to be a limit to how much love a person has to give, but Prompto makes himself at home in his heart right next to the others before he can even really notice it.

Prompto, in a way, is also hard to take care of. He’s different from Ignis in the sense that he’s desperate for approval and terrible at hiding it, but when he’s offered any kind of support, he dissolves into a flushed, stuttering mess, and trying to freely hand anything out to him is a challenge. It’s no secret that he’s not that well off, financially speaking, and Gladio can tell that eats at him, especially surrounded by people who have more money than they can spend in one lifetime. But he absolutely refuses to let them buy him anything, and it takes Gladio a while to figure out where the line is - what he can just casually pay for despite Prompto’s protests and what will make Prompto feel more miserable than if he just let him pay for it himself.

The kid soaks up affection like a sponge, and Gladio’s always been tactile, so he makes it a point to initiate physical contact frequently, much like he does with Iris - headlocks, ruffled hair, one-armed hugs when they’re joking around, and Prompto seems to thrive under the attention.

When they leave Insomnia for Noct’s wedding, it’s not long before their world crumbles before their eyes, and suddenly, Gladio has to come to terms with his father’s death - and his own, subsequent promotion from Shield to the Prince to Shield to the King. The pain is raw and makes him angry - his sorrow has always manifested in the form of anger, in the end.

But after some time, the pain isn’t quite so sharp anymore as it dulls into an ache, that’s sometimes more or less noticeable, but almost always bearable. Despite their circumstances, Gladio feels more content than he ever has before, especially once he knows Iris is safe in Cape Caem. He has three of his four favourite people with him at all times, and he’s always loved camping - it’s really not all terrible.

That is, of course, until they get to Altissia and everything goes downhill faster than any of them can process. Within mere weeks, Ignis is blind, Prompto is gone and Noct is an empty shell of himself, and Gladio can feel everything he cares about crumble beneath his hands and run through his fingers like ash.

What use is he to them, he wonders, if he can’t do a damn thing to protect them? Why would the Astrals - the universe, whoever - tie his heart to those people and then rip it apart within the blink of an eye by putting them through the most horrifying things Gladio can’t even dream of protecting them from?

It eats at him for ten entire years until they get Noct back. By now, they all know about the prophecy, courtesy of Lunafreya's dead dog who showed Ignis a cruel prophecy as the last thing he ever saw before the ring burnt away his vision. And they all agree, of course, that they won't just stand by and let it happen, not on their watch. They inform Noct of that, briefly, because there's really not much to discuss there - they are going to save him, no matter what it takes.

Gladio is determined to finally make things right, and so they set out to Insomnia to reclaim Noct's throne.  Ardyn sits on it like a content cat, sprawled out as he awaits them, expression warping into the grin of a predator when they approach him.

Ardyn hits them with some sort of spell, the three of them, and Gladio crumples to his knees, fighting to keep his consciousness. Next to him, Ignis and Prompto collapse to the ground and lie unmoving, and Gladio fervently hopes Ardyn didn't kill them - he'll tear the bastard's throat out with his bare hands if he did.

"What did you do!?" Noct demands, horrified as he stares at their bodies on the ground.

"They have no place in this, the battle of Kings," Ardyn purrs, and suddenly, he's no longer on the throne, instead standing on top of the rubble grinning down at Noct. "Come, Noctis!"

With all his remaining strength, Gladio struggles upright, sword in hand as he staggers forward.

"You'll have to go through me," he says, standing proud and unwavering, sword lifted in a protective stance in front of Noct - in front of all of them.

And this time, he's not going to fail.

----

Read all of my Whumptober prompt fills here.

[diegoalvesisgod]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Men's Football RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Alessio Romagnoli/Sandro Tonali Characters: Alessio Romagnoli, Sandro Tonali Additional Tags: Whumptober 2023, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Pirates, Attempted Murder, Angst, Blood and Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt Series: Part 28 of Whumptober 2023 Summary:

Sandro leans in closer, his piercing gaze locked onto Alessio's eyes. “Well, that could change, eventually,” he says. “So, you'll stay with us until the captain decides what to do with you. But I’d say you’re worth quite a pretty sum. You better hope your family has deep pockets."

Day 28 of Whumptober 2023 - "You'll have to go through me."