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Traitor!
-Day 3 of Whumptober 2022
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whump-side · 1 year
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WHUMPTOBER 2022 No. 3 A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH
Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled He came back for Whumptober once again and his situation isn't getting better
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livingforthewhump · 1 year
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Whumptober No 3.
Gun to Temple|“Say Goodbye”|Impaled
“Whumpee!” Caretaker yelled, looking around desperately in between fighting off opponents. They’d lost sight of them in the fight. One moment Whumpee was right next to them, and the next—
“Drop your weapons.” Whumper’s voice cut cold and clear above the sound of violence, drawing the team’s attention as his lackeys drew back. As soon as Caretaker’s eyes fell on Whumper, their blood ran cold.
Whumpee was disarmed, a trickle of blood running down their forehead and into their dazed looking eyes. Whumper stood triumphant behind them, one arm looped around Whumpee’s chest and the other pressing a gun to their temple.
The sound of Caretaker’s weapon hitting the floor echoed in the room.
Whumper smirked at them, but they couldn't bring themself to be annoyed. Not when they were so terrified.
“Your friend here has the right idea,” Whumper drawled, looking over at Leader. “Do you really value Whumpee that little?”
“Let them go,” Leader growled, starting forward but stopping when multiple weapons immediately got pointed at them.
“That’s not on the table.” Their voice was cold, too loud in the empty space. “Your options are: drop your weapons, or say goodbye.”
It only took a few seconds for Leader to lean down, setting their weapon onto the floor. The rest of the team followed suit. And Whumper said, “Seize them.”
The henchmen closed in, and Whumper cracked the barrel of the gun against Whumpee’s head, catching them easily as their eyes rolled back into their head and their legs crumpled.
Leader and Caretaker shouted in protest.
“What are you doing?” Caretaker yelled, thrashing in their restraints.
Whumper gave them an appraising look before turning their attention elsewhere. “Leader, it would do you well to control your soldiers.”
Caretaker’s lips pulled up in a snarl, but Leader was as calm as ever. “What are you doing with Whumpee?” they demanded.
Whumper exhaled through their nose. “Isn’t it obvious?” Their lips stretched into a cruel smile.
“I’m keeping them.”
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chiefdirector · 1 year
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A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH | Tim McGee | NCIS | Whumptober 2022
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Day three: Gun to temple
The barrel of the gun felt cold against her head. The sensation almost felt calming to her, the coolness in contrast to her rising, anxiety induced, body temperature. It was almost as if it was grounding her back down to earth. As if it wasn’t going to be the thing that kills her.
She couldn’t see that far ahead of her, the ex-petty officer had made sure of that. She could just make of the home video camera by its flashing red light, next to it sat a small disposable phone. The dampness in the air suggested that she was underground but all of this knowledge was useless to her now. If only she had known about the basement before she has surveilled the house then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have ended up here.
Gibbs would be disappointed in her. She could feel the head slap waiting for her when she ever got out of this situation. Or if she got out. She should’ve known better than to go in alone, she had been a NCIS Special Agent long enough to know that. Maybe it had been her arrogance or her unwavering need to prove herself against her male colleagues but whatever it was, it wasn’t worth dying for.
The ropes that had bound her hands behind her back dug into red-raw skin as she tried to shift away from the gun slightly. Ziva had once taught her how to get out of bondage like these many months ago. If only they hadn't opened that third bottle of chardonnay then maybe she would have managed to escape before her captors had come back for her.
She tried not to focus on the burning sensation in her wrists. Instead she thought of Tony, and the lewd comments he would make about her being tied down. She could almost here it now: Look at you, Y/N. I didn't think you were the type for restraints. She could imagine how Kate would have rolled her eyes at him if she had lived. She could imagine rollering her own eyes at him if she survived this.
Abby, she knew, would be hysterical. They had always been close. Abby had been her first friend at NCIS, briefing her of the Do's and Don'ts of Leroy Jethro Gibbs (she also showed her the right spot of the vending machine to hit for free Doritos much to Tony's dismay). Abby couldn't lose another friend. Ducky would be there for Abby, but Y/N knew that he would be the one to perform the autopsy, she knew that Ducky would have to live with that image forever more.
And Tim, her sweet, sweet Tim would be left widowed. She knew how much he lad lost and how many burdens he had to carry with him. She had stayed by his side throughout some of the worst moments of his life, she had promised him that she would always be there for him. Now, she faced being his next problem, his next issue, his next burden to bear.
"The address," Her captor said, breaking the heavy silence in the air. "Give me the address and then I'll let your little agent here go."
The phone crackled as the recipient of the call spoke. "No deal. Give her back then - and only then - will I consider giving you anything."
Instead of responding, the former marine clicked the safety off, pushing the barrel further into her head.
"I'm sorry, Gibbs. I tried. I really tried-"
"You have nothing to be sorry for, L/N. He does. This is his doing, not yours." Gibbs took an audibly breath before turning his attention back to the man. "Let her go and then we'll talk."
"In your own words: no deal"
The trigger was pulled quickly, so quickly that Y/N didn't hear a thing before her world went black and she plunged into oblivion; the NCIS team watched helplessly as they watched her body slump forward in her chair on the MTAC screen before the picture disconnected.
Tim didn't know how long he stayed there, watching the fuzzy screen before him. He didn't remember Tony offering him a ride home, or how the two sat silent in his car for nearly an hour. He didn't remember much of the following days, or the funeral. All he knew was that he was alone now.
Masterlist
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one-piece-aus · 1 year
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Whumptober Day 3
Doflamingo x Reader
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"Doffy..." you squeaked as the gun pressed at the back of your head.
"How does it feel, Doflamingo, to have the one you love held at gunpoint?" Law smirked, having the blond right where he wanted him.
"Enough games Law!" Doflamingo shouted, he lost all patience and could hardly cool his anger any longer. "This has gone far enough!"
"Far enough? Tell that to Corazon! Clearly killing him wasn't far enough for you!" Law called out and pressed the gun harder against your head. You could feel the kid's hostility breathe on your neck. 
"I had to kill! I had no other choice!" Doffy yelled and took a step forward. He would've taken another if Law hadn't clicked off the safety. He growled at the brat, shooting looks that would kill.
"You could've just left us alone. You were always going on about how you'd do anything for your precious brother. How many times did you threaten to kill me if I touched a hair on his head?" Law chuckled to himself at how fucked up things turned out. "But in the end, I was the one who cried when you shot him."
"Is it- is it true, Doffy?" you inquired having never heard this story before. "You had... you had a brother?"
"Yes... I had a brother," Doflamingo confirmed.
You felt chills run down your back. Never once did he tell you he had a brother, you thought he was an only child. You felt realization smack you with a brick: You didn't know a thing about Doffy. Not a thing from his past, not a thing about his family, and certainly not a thing about his relations with people. Do you know him at all?
Chills crawl across your skin the longer you pondered these thoughts of Doffy. You were brought back to the conversation when you felt the gun tap against your skull once more. Law returned to being hostile to Doffy.
"And you have this woman under your strings, another one of your subordinates ready to die for you?"
"Leave her out of this Law, this is between you and me." Doflamingo seemed to have regained his composure, but he still frowned at the boy.
"How long until you shoot her too?" Law asked, looking at the blond dead in the eye. At least he would be if Doflamingo wasn't wearing sunglasses. "Until you kill her like what you did to Corazon?"
"You were- you were going to shoot me?" you choked. Your eyes looked into his, your eyes spoke you felt betrayed.
"I was never going to harm you, [Y/n]. I never will harm you."
You stared at Doffy hard. You wanted to believe him. You so desperately wanted to believe him. You love him. However, doubt whispered into your ears, making you question if anything your lover says was true.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure of that," Law stated and pulled the trigger, cold eyes glaring right at Doffy.
"[Y/N]!" Doflamingo cried and rushed to your side, catching your falling limp body.
"You don't deserve to have love, Doflamingo," Law told him as walked past the scene. "You only end up seeing them betray you and crush 'em dead."
Stuck between his sobbing heart and his rage, Doffy could only witness Law room himself out as he held your husk to his chest. Looking down at your form, Doffy took off his shades so he could properly weep the loss of his love.
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cinna-wanroll · 1 year
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Bait
You may read this below, or on AO3 :)
For @cyareclones
Golden hour fell over Corellia like a diving phoenix. It spread the tips of its wings across Urudyk's features, washing over his face. The left side looked like the center of a blaze, burning hot, while the orange illuminated across the rest of his face turned into lapping flames.
Locks knelt in the shadow of his partner's towering frame, determined. Even with the cold weight of Urudyk's rifle on his temple, he felt at peace.
High atop the roof of a business tower, they waited for company. The breeze blew cool, sliding past them like water over smooth stones. Locks closed his eyes, a sigh slipping from his lips.
"You're sure about this," Urudyk prodded once more.
After nearly six months of working together, Urudyk's deep timbre became a source of comfort. The same voice answered each of Locks' requests with steadfast reassurance, told clever jokes, and lulled Locks to sleep on nights when he lay awake. The same steady rhythm lurked behind Urudyk's purring slumber sounds. Each syllable was a familiar note that Locks could read as though contextualized on a datapad. Urudyk was concerned, but not about the plan. Locks knew Urudyk trusted him enough not to question his strategies. This concern was a new, foreign kind of worry that had Locks swallowing over an invisible lump in his throat.
"I am."
Silence, save for the distant whirring of traffic.
Eventually, Urudyk straightened and pressed the muzzle of his rifle harder into the side of Locks' head, signaling that the targets were approaching. Locks gave him one last, hard look.
"Do what you will to survive," someone had once advised him dryly, "this Force The Jedi speak of, it is without mercy."
"Ni cuy' ti gar," Locks said firmly.
As Urudyk pulled his face covering over his nose, he answered, "Ni cuy' ti gar."
Three silhouettes were approaching them silently, each carrying a blaster. Urudyk had done an excellent job arranging the meeting. He lured the targets into a false sense of security with tact. A renegade clone would fetch these arrogant upperclassmen a hefty sum from the Empire. Urudyk's only request had been that they arrive on short notice.
"I just want to be rid of him," he had snarled into the comm, a reassuring hand draped over Lock's shoulder.
Oh, the targets sprang at the opportunity to take advantage of such a deal. Blind fools were the best targets because they often meant that Urudyk and Locks got to return to The Crusader early.
Blind fools though they were, they still had blasters.
When they approached with haste, Uru backed away for a moment as they marveled over Locks. Natborns never seemed to get over the delight of seeing a real clone. It was as though they were desperate to verify his face's sameness, that sinister quality of one.
One of the men scoffed, "This one doesn't look like an exact copy of the rest of them. I don't know. How can we be sure this is the real deal?"
They were stepping on his fingers, grabbing his chin harshly enough to leave bruises, tugging on his hair. Locks could feel the tension radiating off of Urudyk, waiting to strike.
Not yet, not yet.
"Wonder if he'd do better as a brawler. He might make us even more money that way. They're bred for fighting, you know. That's all they're good for. What else would they do?"
Locks sat still, wondering if he would ever be regarded as anything other than an identical pawn. Tears pricked his eyes as a man slapped him, the sting shooting up his cheek.
Urudyk shifted.
Not yet, not yet.
As the chime for 18:00 sounded across the city, they painted at least a part of the town red.
That night, after a long stretch of gentle quiet, Urudyk's voice arrived in time to save Locks from his thoughts.
"You are more than a product for destruction."
“Then what am I?”
“Just... a man.”
Locks ruminated on that.
After a while, Urudyk yawned and amended, “a good man.”
Locks chose to focus on the word good, rolling it over in his mind. Did it feel better to be a good man than just a man? What made him good? He decided it didn’t matter all that much to him in the end. There was no true good or bad, after all. Locks had learned that the hard way through faith in a system that failed him and his brothers. A system supposedly founded on light turned to dust with his vod. Now, he had made his own light, for better or worse, with Urudyk. And that was enough.
“Goodnight,” Locks replied, tucking himself deeper into Urudyk’s arms.
“Goodnight, Locks’ika.”
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geminihurt · 1 year
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Whumptober 2022 | Day 03
Hair's breadth from death | Gun to temple
"You cannot keep pretending that you're okay"
Bodyguard 04 | David Budd - Richard Madden
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oddsconvert · 1 year
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Day Three: "A Hair's Breadth from Death"
Gun to temple | "Say Goodbye" | Impaled
Whumptober Masterlist!
CW: Corrupt Caretaker, Numb/Vengeful/unhinged Whumpee, Whumpee turned whumper, whumper turned whumpee, guns, death threat, revenge, begging, pistol whipping, blood, implied kidnapping/captivity/torture, ambiguous/implied character death, adult language
@whumptober
-
"Whumpee-"
Hollow eyes, devoid of life, flit up to stare into Caretaker's. Eyes that have seen a thousand horrors. So numb, so exhausted. The fire raging within them long extinguished, leaving a pitch-black darkness and snuffing out all the light.
Caretaker presses the muzzle of the gun deeper into Whumper's temple, their finger hooking just around the trigger. Eager to pull it, to blow the bastard's brains out and finally put an end to Whumpee's suffering.
Close this chapter of their life and help them turn the page to the next.
"Say goodbye to Whumper."
Caretaker grins from ear to ear, their fist coiling in Whumper's hair and tugging it as they groan out, pulling at their handcuffs, thrashing about. Their knees grind into the rough stone beneath them, and all they can see is Whumpee standing dead ahead. That same soulless look about them.
Judge, jury and executioner.
"Fuck! No!" Whumper bellows, wildly swinging their head in an attempt to pull away from the gun. They resign and stare up to Whumpee's looming frame, towering above them.
It's weird. It's too fucking weird for Whumpee to have all the power, and Whumper to be begging on his knees. Like the poles of the earth have swapped, the laws of nature have vanished - and now he's bottom of the food chain.
"I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear? Oh come on, Whumpee. You don't want this!
A nervous twitch flickers in Whumpee's eye as they stare down at their captor. Squeezing their fists with rage. The audacity of them to beg and bargain, after they refused Whumpee's pleas time and time again.
"No…" Whumpee mumbles to themselves, a montone grumble, looking to Caretaker and the gun in his hands, "It's too quick. Give me the gun."
Caretaker falters for a moment, his hand curling defensively around the handle, wanting to keep Whumpee's hands clean of any blood.
But this is their pain, their life that's been stolen and torn apart. They should be the one to do this. They hand it over, and Whumpee near enough snatches it.
"You can be the better person in all this" Whumper pipes up, panic clear in his voice, "Walk away victorious, head held high knowing that you bested me. You escaped my clutches. Bravo. We'll never meet again."
"If I do that, I walk away as a victim. As nothing. Because of you. I won by chance. I won't let anyone else lose to you."
Whumpee crouches down before Whumper, dropping to one knee, using the muzzle of the gun to lift Whumper's chin high in the air, exposing their bobbing Adam's apple as they swallow thick nerves.
The barrel travels over Whumper's wobbling lips, he stays deathly still, his breathing rabbit fast. Whumpee slowly stuffs the gun into his mouth, the muzzle grinding against his teeth, metal resting on his tongue as he whines around the gun, squeezing his eyes shut. But he lets it happen, not wanting to anger Whumpee - playing along with the little power trip they're on.
"I think I've been the better person for long enough. I've sat quietly and let you do whatever you want to me. I screamed when you wanted me to. I cried when you asked me to, I begged for something, anything, when I had nothing."
Whumper shuffles uncomfortably on his knees at that comment, knowing he's entirely at his prisoners mercy right now. Whumpee rises to his height, scoffing at the pathetic sight before them.
They're stomach churning when they see themselves in the poor excuse of a man knelt at their feet.
"Why shouldn't you suffer for once?"
The second the words left their lips, Whumpee felt all the built up rage spill over. All the hatred and despair, charging the brutal blow that Whumpee brings down on Whumper's skull with the butt of the gun. Thwacking him over the head and ignoring the cries of pain, the splitting skin and pooling blood seeping out with each swing.
There's no stopping, it's relentless and it's unleashed something malevolent within him. Even when Whumper is a gasping heap on the floor, flinching and crying out with each hit. A splitting headache ripping through his skull, warm blood gushing out as Whumpee carries on their onslaughting attack.
And Caretaker lets it happen. Stands idly by and watching. Until Whumpee decides they've had enough, Whumper is sufficiently hurt and terrified, laying on their side and heaving for breath they can't draw in. Trembling.
"I've said and done my piece. Put him out of his misery" Whumpee chucks the gun over to Caretaker, just catching it before it clatters on the ground.
With a nod to Caretaker, the gun clicks off safety. The sound so small but feels deafening when Whumper hears it, jumping at the sound and their eyes darting up, growing wide with fearful realisation.
"You owe this to them, Whumper. You took Whumpee away from their life. Now they get to take yours from you."
"Wait-!"
Whumpee exhales a deep sigh of relief.
"Goodbye, Whumper."
-
Drabble taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumpsday @sparrowsage @whumperfully @wolves-and-winters @ha-ha-one @mannerofwhump @no-terms-and-conditions-apply
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what-the-whump · 1 year
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Whumptober 2022 - No.03 - Hair's Breadth From Death
Gun to Temple
- Sanctuary - 3x05:
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ssa-atlas-alvez · 1 year
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Whumptober Day 3 (Luke Alvez x Male BAU Reader)
No. 3 A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH
Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled
This is my 1,800th post lol, that’s absolutely mental, also I went all out on this one, please please please read the warnings and tags. 
Also there’s aspects of it that aren’t perfect but I’m okay with that, maybe I’ll change it in the future, maybe I won’t, who knows lol 
Warnings: major character death, guns, suicide, suicide attempt, Russian roulette, failed suicide, dead body (not graphic, I don’t think)
Word Count: 2034
@whumptober-archive
"Say goodbye," You motion vaguely to your mouth, duct taped shut, with as much sass as you physically could. "Ah, not you. Bad hostages don't get to say goodbye. Bad hostages don't get closure." You glare at the man as he taps your nose with a grin. "No, you don't get closure." He turned around, scanning the other hostages, eyes settling on Luke who's in front of you. "He can get closure," 
You shut your eyes, hoping that, to outsiders, it looks like your mourning not being able to say goodbye to those you love. You know you're being selfish, but you don't know if you can listen to Luke exchanging his last goodbyes with Lisa.
This unsub (name still unknown) had taken large groups of citizens hostage, hurting and threatening them, before forcing members to phone their loved ones and say goodbye before he killed them. He had done this four times already with no hostages making it out alive. You and Luke were just on a coffee run when the unsub took control of the room, it was only a small coffee shop (you had convinced Luke to support a small business, he had rolled his eyes with a small smile before agreeing), and now here you were. 
The unsub drags Luke to the phone, who punches in some numbers before it begins to ring. It takes three rings for Lisa to answer. 
“Hello?” You furrowed your eyebrows at the voice. That certainly wasn’t Lisa.
“Hey,” Luke voice wavered
“Luke? What’s wrong?”
“Emily, I-” Luke cut himself off, swallowing. He needed to make this sound as believable as possible. “He’s making us say goodbye,”
“Luke-”
“Just let me talk, let me talk, please,” Luke’s eyes drift from the phone to you. “I know we work together and we aren’t really supposed to have relationships at work but the second I get out of this- the second, I want to be with you. I love you, I think I have for a while, but I just, things got too messy and I couldn’t say anything, I was with Lisa, you were with Kai and it just didn’t line up. But if- when I make it through this, you and I? We’re going to make up for lost time.”
At the police station, Emily’s eyes flicked up to Rossi, “We’re going to be together, you’re going to get out of this,” She hoped Luke would get the message. We’re coming for you.
Garcia’s heart ached as she and the rest of the team watched over CCTV. The situation was not good to say the least. They watch as Luke confessed his love to you through Emily, they watched the emotions fly through your eyes despite your best efforts to mask them. They saw your hands trembling slightly in front of you as you listened, as Luke’s eyes filled with tears, hands twitching towards you. All he wanted to do was embrace you, love you, be with you. 
“I love you, so much, so much it physically hurts, but in the best way possible,” Luke said, only breaking eye contact to take a breath. “I’m a better person for knowing you, even if we don’t get the chance to be with each other, I’m a better person for loving you,” 
Your sob was muffled by the tape covering your lips, but your shoulders still shook, the tears still trickled down your cheeks, sliding past the tape and under your chin. He loved you too. All this time, all those years could have been spent together. All this time wasted dancing around each other when you could have been together. Perhaps you would live together by now, engaged? Married? Thinking about kids? You’ve always known you wanted kids. You let yourself imagine having kids with Luke, him chasing them around the garden, the kids and Luke in a fit of giggles while you hold a hot cup of coffee close to your chest. 
“And I’m so sorry that we may never become an ‘us’,” Luke added gently. 
The unsub’s smirking, until he sees your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He presses his gun to Luke’s temple. “You’re not talking to her, are you?” He spits. 
Luke doesn’t answer until the unsub pushes the barrel of the gun harder into his temple. “No,”
“You’re speaking to him, aren’t you?” He says, using his other hand to point at you. 
“Yes,” 
The man gives a laugh before turning to you, gun still against Luke’s head. “You, get up,” When you don’t move, he shoves the gun harder against Luke’s head, “Get up!”
You scramble up the best you can with your hands tied. “You too Luke,” The unsub’s hands are clenched around Luke’s shirt collar, “You, not-Luke, in front, come on.” You stand in front of Luke, “Good, now, you’re going to lead the way, try anything, I put a bullet through lover-boy’s head.” You nod sharply. 
You follow the unsub’s directions, it leads you down into the basement, under a drain and into the drain systems. You do as he says, not finding a safe opportunity to try and disarm him, not whilst his gun is flush up against Luke’s skin. There’s not even a chance to disarm him when he climbs up the ladder. He’s quick to put the cover back on. You look around, you appear to be in an abandoned warehouse. He forces you and Luke both on the ground, kneeling against the concrete floor, opposite each other but still relatively close. 
When the unsub takes the duct tape from your mouth, the first words that come out are aimed at Luke, an urgent ‘I love you too’, he smiles and nods with a quiet ‘I know’ and you find yourself smiling. 
The unsub, disgusted by this, doesn’t waste any more time. He tips the bullets out of the gun, placing one back into it’s rightful place in the chamber before pocketing the rest - the two of you too caught up in the moment to notice -  he spins the chamber before shoving it into its position. He aims the gun and pulls the trigger. 
The team back at the station split up, getting in their cars, speeding to the location Garcia sent them - she was able to narrow down which tunnel he would take based on the profile. Emily, Rossi, and Tara get there first, Matt, Spencer, and JJ pulling up a second later. Emily orders Matt and Tara to head round back, the rest of them are going through the front. There’s the familiar sound of a gunshot and the team starts running. 
There’s a loud bang and something warm splatters against your cheek. You watch as a small strip of blood rolls down Luke’s temple before his body collapses to the ground, lifeless, eyes already beginning to gloss over. 
You don’t realise you're screaming until the unsub’s hand clamps over your mouth. You struggle against him. Luke. You needed to get to Luke. You shout, bite, everything you can think of. Eventually, he decides it’s not worth it and he stops, turns and runs. Leaving you alone with Luke. Sobbing, you scramble to your left, grabbing a piece of glass from the floor, frantically cutting at the rope on your hands - not caring as you accidentally scrape the glass across your skin. “Luke? Luke, hang on!” When the rope’s off your wrists, now a bundle on the floor, you scan the room, spotting the phone you dial Garcia’s number, it being the only one you have memorised (other than Luke’s). Garcia answers, patching you through to everyone as she’s tracking your phone. You drop the phone, no longer caring about them on the other side - help was on the way, now you needed to be with Luke. 
You crouch beside him, hands hovering for a moment before pulling him up and into your lap, his back flush against your chest, his head lolls to the side, lifeless. You press your forehead in the crook of his neck. “Luke?” The silence makes you whimper, “Luke please,” Your hands clench the fabric of his t-shirt tightly, you sniff, “Please?” You clutch him tighter to your chest, a sob wracking through your body. “I love you too,” You cry, “So much, so please don’t leave me,”
In the silence, you open your eyes. You spot the gun, not too far from where you’re sat. You could join him. You could finally be with him, after all this time. You’re moving slowly, sluggish. It’s heavy and cold in your hands, sending pins and needles up your hand, of anticipation? Anxiety? Grief? You’re not sure. You draw in a deep breath as you close your eyes as you lift the gun to your temple, waiting for the courage. A tear slips past your eyelashes, you draw in one final breath. You’re ready. You nod to yourself, keeping your eyes closed as you begin to pull the trigger. 
“(Y/N), no!”
There’s a click and you’re ready. But nothing happens, your face falls and your eyes snap open, no. No, no, no, no, no, please no. You open the chamber and there’s nothing there. “Fuck!” You growl, you look up, locking eyes with Emily, “It’s empty, there’s nothing there!”
“(Y/N), we need you to give me the gun,” Emily’s voice is level but you shake your head.
“No,” Your answer is immediate, “No, he- and I-”
You don’t process Spencer running towards Luke, checking his pulse with JJ, before he looks up at her and shakes his head. You don’t see Rossi and edging closer to Emily. You don’t hear Matt and Tara walking up behind you.
“I know,” Emily answers softly. “I know, but I need you to give me the gun,”
“There’s nothing in it!” You yell, “It’s fucking empty!” You throw it, following it with your glare. And it lands, a foot from Luke’s body. Luke. You’re about to run to him when you see Emily give a small nod and Matt’s arms wrap tightly around, pulling you close to him. “Get off!”
“(Y/N), it’s okay, it’s me,” 
“Get off me!” Your breaths coming in pants as you try to manoeuvre your way out of the hold, all you want is Luke. You want to be with Luke. Why can’t you be with Luke? A sob leaves your lips, “Luke?!” Part of you expects him to sit up, joke about having a headache, for him to glide over to you and gently envelop you in his embrace. Your frantic eyes meet Emily’s, filled with tears. “I need- I need to be with him, please-”
Rossi comes into your view, tears trekking down his cheeks, but his voice is even, “Kid, I need you to listen to me,” Your eyes meet his, a sense of comfort rushes over you. “I need you to take some deep breaths with me, okay?” You nod frantically, wanting him to know you’ll try, you will. “Okay, breathe with me,” 
You follow his breathing, in for four, hold, out for four. Your breath hitches for a moment, before his voice calmly guides you through it. Five minutes pass and they’re no longer worried you’re an immediate threat to yourself, Matt’s arms are gone and you miss the comfort. They were helping ground you. You turn to him, chin wobbling as you remember and he understands and gently wraps his arms around you. Emily and Dave send him a look and he sighs before turning his attention back to you. “I’m going to need to put these on, just as a precaution,”
You nod, what else could you do? With the handcuffs in place (in front of you), Matt places an arm around your shoulders, you bury your head into his shoulders. He rubs his hand in circles in the centre of your back, “Let’s go,” He says softly.
Shaking your head you whisper, “I can’t see him like that again,” The image flashes past your eyes, body, lifeless, pool of blood. You shudder, hands gripping Matt’s shirt as you try and push the image from your mind. 
“That’s okay,” Matt answers, “We’re going out the way I came in,”
“Okay.”
“We’ll get you through this, (Y/N), I promise.”
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wolfeyedwitch · 1 year
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Weapons Don't Weep, Part 9
No. 3 A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH
Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled
I know almost nothing about the military, and that's how I like it. Any inaccuracies about rank or protocol or what have you should be handwaved away; please do not tell me. Please do tell me if I missed any tags, or if you would like to join the taglist.
CW: gun violence, possessive whumper, abuse of authority, (spoilers, rest of CW in tags)
Masterlist
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Dr. Evangeline Colman, known as Command, prided herself on her patience. She had been the one to develop the protocols that took an unknown danger to the nation and turned it into their finest weapon. The process had taken the better part of two decades, but the results had been well worth the wait. 
She was rather protective of her Weapon. With all the work she’d put into creating and molding it, it wouldn’t do to have all that go to waste because someone got careless. 
As such, her usual patience was in limited supply after hearing that the Weapon’s escort team was returning— without her Weapon.
Command met the team as they exited their vehicle into the compound built to house the Weapon. She noted that the two senior members, those that would have been in the car with the Weapon, were nowhere in evidence. 
“Status report,” she barked at the remaining team members, who all snapped to attention.
“Sir,” one said. “There was an ambush. The terrorists set off a- a shape charge, of some kind, while our convoy was exiting the area. They separated the vehicle with the Weapon, and pinned the rest of us down with covering fire.”
She studied the group. They looked agitated and unnerved, standard enough post unexpected combat. They also looked intimidated, which was the standard reaction to her presence. Underneath those, though… There was a faint hint of guilt, as well.
Command narrowed her eyes behind her glasses. “Who gave the order to retreat?”
None of them answered. 
She turned to the person at the end of the line, the newest member of the group. “Private Harris.”
The man looked alarmed to be addressed personally. “Sir?”
“Who gave the order to retreat, Private?” she asked softly. 
Private Harris visibly gulped. “Sir, I’m- I’m not—”
“Do you know the voices of your teammates, Private Harris?” Command asked, tone even.
“Yes, sir,” the private answered.
“So you would have recognized who gave the order. Is that not correct?” she asked.
“Yes, sir,” Private Harris answered. “I- I mean, no, sir! I- everything was so hectic, and—”
“Are you saying that you were not adequately trained to keep calm and respond as necessary in combat situations?” Command asked, raising her eyebrows. “Did you sleep through that day in basic training?”
“No; no sir,” he answered. The private was practically trembling with fear.
Good. He should be afraid. They all should be, for failing in such an important task. But the person who should be most afraid…
“It’s a simple question, Private. Who. Gave. The order,” Command repeated, enunciating each word clearly.
…was the one who made the decision to leave her Weapon behind.
Private Harris screwed up his courage and managed to say, “Corporal Miller, sir.”
She nodded sharply and turned to face the corporal. “Report.”
He, at least, hid his fear well. His voice was even and level as he spoke. “As stated in the initial report, Command, the convoy was separated via explosive device. Sergeants Lee and Thompson were incapacitated and taking heavy fire. I made the decision to retreat to protect the rest of the team and prevent further losses.”
Command looked him over, assessing him. She let the silence stretch uncomfortably in the wake of his words. Finally, she broke her stare. She took off her glasses and began to polish them with a handkerchief. 
“What type of sidearm do you carry as your service weapon, Corporal?” she said, not looking up from her glasses.
“A Sig Sauer M-17, sir,” he responded promptly. 
She finished polishing her glasses and put them on again. “Do you know the cost of that weapon?”
A frown flickered across his face before he composed his expression again. “About $600, I believe?”
“That model is sold on the civilian market for approximately $650, Corporal,” she said. “We, of course, received a discounted rate. Step forward.”
He complied with her order, stepping out of line.
“Hand me your service weapon.”
The corporal retrieved the handgun and held it out to her, grip first. 
Command took the weapon and checked it over. Full magazine, and one bullet in the chamber. She held the gun at her side, finger on the trigger guard, as she continued speaking. 
“It is important to know the worth of one’s tools, Corporal,” she said. “For instance, I know that you are worth $[amount]. That is your projected pay over the course of your military career.”
She let another uncomfortable silence settle over the room.
“Of course, that number can change drastically. Tell me, Corporal, which is your dominant hand?”
He didn’t let his confusion stop him from answering, “I’m right-handed, sir.”
Command nodded and took a step to her left. “For example. That number changes if you were to die. At that point, the calculations would be based on what we would have to pay to your next of kin.”
She turned to face the corporal again. “Do you know how much my Weapon, the one you gave the order to abandon, is worth?”
He stayed at attention, not turning to face her as he said, “No, sir.”
Command allowed a grim smile to spread across her face. “Far, far more than you.”
With that, she pressed the gun to his temple, released the safety, and pulled the trigger.
The silence following her actions was almost as deafening as the gunshot.
She stepped away from the spreading puddle of blood as she removed her fingerprints from the weapon with her handkerchief. Then she turned to face the remaining team members.
“Tragedy has struck today,” she said, voice carrying through the whole room. “We have lost three good men. Sergeants Ryan Thompson and William Lee were killed in another act of violence from these brutal terrorists. Corporal Miller then committed suicide upon returning to base, after failing to keep our most valued weapon out of enemy hands. We will not allow these actions to go unpunished. We will find these terrorists and make them answer for their crimes.”
She set the cleaned gun down next to the corpse on the floor.
“Now, find me my Weapon.”
---
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Dangerously in Love (Part 1)
Whumptober 2022: 3. Gun to Temple, 26. Separated, 29. What Doesn’t Kill Me..., 30. Note to Self: Don’t Get Kidnapped
Fandom: Marvel, Frank Castle, The Punisher, f!reader
Word Count: 3327
TW: Angst, Revenge, Kidnapping, Hostage Situation, Guns, Gun Violence, Blood, Mention of Reader’s Hair
Note: Thank you to @loverhymeswith for talking over the initial idea, reading this over and always being supportive of this series 💖
Part 4 of the “In Love” series
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Frank had messed up. Big time. He had gotten lucky in his years as The Punisher and had always managed to either escape unrecognized or leave with no witnesses to identify him. However, the night he had first gone after the Costa Crime Family, he had underestimated their forces and barely made it out alive. And to make matters worse, his injuries from that night had caused him to develop a near-fatal fever, the aftermath of which had almost cost him you. 
And now, he was afraid of losing you again. After only three months of dating, Frank had revealed everything to you: his time in the military, his previous family, what happened to them, what he became after their deaths. While you had been a little shaken by the revelation, you had accepted him. All of him. And in the two years since you learned the truth, he had done everything in his power to shield you from the violence and bloodshed of The Punisher. 
But last night, the Costas had sent an assassin to attack the two of you in your apartment. Frank had taken care of the man before he could touch you, but it had been a wake-up call. Seeing you quaking in fear in the corner of the room, blood splattered across your face as you stared up at him in fear…. It was something he had always hoped you would never have to experience.
He had been terrified you would be frightened or repulsed by him after seeing him kill the assassin. But as he bent down and held out his hand, you had thrown yourself into his arms, sobbing loudly as he held you. He had never felt so simultaneously relieved and heartbroken before. You might be traumatized about what just happened, but at least you were safe…. For now.
Which was why Frank was currently helping you pack your bag so you could go stay with Red for a while. Frank and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen might not see eye to eye on a lot of things, but he knew Murdock would protect you with his life if it came down to it. Of course, Frank hadn’t told him what he planned to do next, but he was sure Red had some idea of what he had in mind.
The only issue was that you were far from happy with this arrangement. As Frank threw a few of your shirts into a suitcase, you stood in the doorway to the bedroom with your arms folded across your chest, wrapped in the ratty oversized sweater you only wore when upset or needing comfort, as you watched him. Frank grabbed a few small things off your dresser to toss into the bag before slipping in one of his hoodies he knew you loved to steal. Then he turned and held out the suitcase to you, but you refused to take it.
Ignoring the bag, you looked up at him with large, pleading eyes. “Don’t make me go…. Please. Frank, I want to stay with you. I want to help.”
He placed the case on the floor and ran his fingers across your cheek, pushing your hair off your face. “I know, sweetheart. But the Costas aren’t going to stop until I’m dead or until I kill every last one of them. And I’m not gonna have you be here for that. The best way you can help me right now is to go someplace where I know you’ll be safe, and that means with Red. It won’t be for long. Just until I can take care of them once and for all.”
“And what if something happens? You almost didn’t make it back the last time you faced them. And if– when –you come home, who’ll patch you up and take care of you afterward if I’m not here?”
Frank sighed softly. “Then I can call you and you can come back to me because it’ll be safe. You won’t have to be gone long, I promise. But I need you to promise me that you won’t come back until I say so. Can you do that?”
However, you ignore his question as you fire back your own. “But what if you never call? How long do I wait? And how will I know what happened to you? What do I-”
Frank drew you into his chest, where you instantly wrapped your arms around his waist, desperately clinging to him. In no time, he felt your tears dampening his shirt but he just rubbed your back and let you cry. He was just as scared of losing you as you were of losing him. But while Frank had the training and skills to hold his own in a massive shootout or brawl, you had only the most basic self-defense training, none of which would help you if you encountered multiple assailants with guns. As much as he didn’t want you to leave either, he knew it was the only way. 
Once you had stopped crying, he put his hands on your shoulders and held you at arm’s length so he could see your face. Tears still stained your cheeks and your eyes remained trailed on the floor. Placing one finger under your chin, he tilted your face up to meet his as he said, “Hey, I love you and that’s the only reason I’m doing this. Once this job is done, nothing will keep us apart ever again. Do you hear me?” You nodded softly and Frank smiled. “Good.” He placed a light kiss on your forehead.
“Frank?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Don’t make me say goodbye, okay?” 
Frank knew you weren’t just talking about when you left the apartment. Wiping a tear from your face, he reassured you, “Never. It’s never a goodbye, just a for now.”
“Do you promise?” you whispered.
“I promise. And have I ever broken my promise?” You shook your head slightly, some of the anxiety lifting from your face. But Frank knew you were still scared for him. “And, uh, this isn’t exactly how I wanted to do this, but while you’re gone, how ‘bout you start looking at wedding dresses, huh?”
Your eyes grew wide as you took a sharp breath in and whispered, “Do you mean it? I mean… are you sure?”
Frank ran his thumb across your cheek. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Tears once again filled your eyes, but this time they were accompanied by one of the brightest smiles Frank had ever seen. “Okay, Frank. I’ll find the perfect dress. One I know you’ll love.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll love you in anything you pick.”
You laughed, “Okay, then I’ll just wear one of your old sweaters and a pair of my sweatpants.”
Frank grinned. “Sounds perfect to me.” He cupped your face and drew you in, your lips pressing against his. Despite his promise, he tried to memorize every detail of this moment just in case it was your last kiss. Just in case he didn’t make it out of this one.
But he wouldn’t let that happen. He had to come back to you. The two of you now had a wedding to plan.
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In the two days since you left, Frank had searched all over the city for any trace of the Costa Family. But it seemed as if they had all just disappeared. Like rats scurrying back into the sewer. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared that it was taking a while to find them, but now, the longer it took, the longer he had to be away from you. And he was already missing you with every fiber of his being.
As he approached your apartment, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. Drawing his gun, Frank burst through the door, ready to take out whoever was waiting. Yet the place looked empty. 
However, it was apparent someone had been there at some point. The entire living room was in disarray. Lamps knocked over, cushions tossed from the couch, chairs and knick-knacks lay on the floor. And as he cautiously eased further into the room, he noticed a small pool of blood on the throw rug in the middle of the floor. But who could have made….
Glancing around quickly, Frank’s blood ran cold and he feels his legs threatening to give out. Next to the door was your suitcase. The one you took with you when you left for Red’s. 
Frank stumbled over to the bag, falling to his knees beside it. He fumbled with the zipper but finally managed to open it. Inside, everything that he had packed for you was still in it. The only thing out of the ordinary was his hoodie was missing and there was a tablet sitting on top of the stack of clothes. You didn’t own anything like that. 
Flipping it over, Frank saw a sticky note on the back with the words “call me” on it. When he turned on the tablet, he saw there was only one app installed. It was used for video calls and there was only one number programmed into it. Clicking the button, Frank waited.
A minute later, a man’s face filled the screen. When he saw Frank, he smiled widely. “Ah, Mr. Castle. At last, we meet face-to-face… sort of.”
“Who the hell are you? What the fuck have you done with her?” Frank growled. 
The man beamed. “Oh, you mean your little girlfriend? She’s right here with me.”
The camera panned around and Frank inhaled sharply. You were sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, your hands and feet bound and a gag tied tightly around your mouth. Blood dripped down the side of your face from a small cut on your forehead and some had landed on his hoodie that you were currently wearing. Your eyes looked slightly dazed as if you had been drugged or recently regained consciousness. Yet the moment you caught a glimpse of him on the screen, your eyes widened and you began to squirm against the ropes, your muffled pleas coming through loud and clear through the speakers.
Frank tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible to not give the man any satisfaction nor to worry you, but inside he was in full panic mode. You were supposed to be safely in Hell’s Kitchen with Red. How the hell did these guys get to you? And what were they planning to do now that they had you?
The man with the camera gave an order and a second man, who had been standing silently behind your chair, removed your gag and you cried out, “Frank!”
Giving you what he hoped was a reassuring smile, Frank asked, “Sweetheart, are you okay?”
“I-I think so. They knocked me out with something a-and my head is still a bit fuzzy b-but I think I’m okay.” However, your lip began to tremble and a sob tore from your throat. "I’m so sorry, baby. I-I couldn’t leave. But when I came back to the apartment, they were waiting a-and grabbed me.”
“You promised me you’d stay away,” he whispered.
Shaking your head, you gave him a small smile. “I avoided that question when you asked.”
Frank opened his mouth to say something, but the camera moved again so he was once again staring at the man from before. The man chuckled. “She’s a tough little thing, I’ll give you that. Put up quite a fight when my men tried to grab her in your apartment. But a little bit of chloroform goes a long way.” Frank gritted his teeth, but the man continued. “Now, you asked who I was. I thought that might be obvious, but seeing as it’s not, my name is Frank Costa and I believe you have been targeting my operations and killing my men.”
Frank swallowed sharply. Of course it was the Costas. If he hadn’t been so distracted by your disappearance, he would have realized that instantly. No one else had a reason to go after you. But knowing who was behind your kidnapping only made the dread in his stomach worsen. The Costas were known for their brutal form of torture and abuse that often left the victims praying for death. There was no telling what they had planned for you.
“What do you want?” Frank snarled.
“I want you to get what you deserve.” From behind his back, Costa drew a pistol as he looked into the camera at Frank. “Now, I believe in a just world. And eye for an eye and all that. You tried to destroy me, so now, I’m going to destroy you. Metaphorically speaking.”
He raised the gun until it was pointed directly at the center of your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a small whimper as Frank begged, “Please! Don’t do this! She didn’t do anything to you! I’ll turn myself over. You can do whatever you want to me, just don’t hurt her!”
Costa smiled. “Oh, don’t worry Mr. Castle. I’m certain we will be seeing you very soon. Well… I will.” He pulled the hammer back on the gun.
“No!” Frank cried. “No, please! Stop this! Sweetheart-”
“F-Frank….” Your eyes were open once more, terrified and pleading. “I’m so sorry. I should have listened to you. But I love you. I love you with all of my hea-”
The blast of the pistol cut you off. Frank watched in horror as your head jerked back and a plume of blood sprayed into the air. Then the video cut off.
He continued to stare in shock at the blank screen in front of him, trying to come to terms with the fact he had just witnessed your execution. You were gone. He had lost yet another person who he had given his whole heart to, who he had loved more than life itself. And it was entirely his fault. He had known from the moment he met you that being a part of his life meant you would be in constant danger, yet he had taken that risk anyway. And you had paid the price
With a mighty roar, Frank hurled the tablet across the room. It slammed into the wall and the screen shattered on impact. Frank rose to his feet and began flinging furniture around the already destroyed room. What did it matter anymore? The life he had planned in this place was over. He would never carry you over the threshold of the apartment in your white dress. He would never start the family you had talked about late at night while you were wrapped in his arms. He would never see you grow round with your children or watch you chase them around giggling and playing. He would never watch you age or grow old, your life cut short on this day. And it was all because of him. 
Sinking to his knees in the middle of his destruction, Frank felt all of the fight drain from his body. What was the point anymore? Why should he keep going?
But then he spotted something amongst the debris over by the couch. Going over, he picked it up. It was the picture of the two of you that had been taken on your second anniversary. You had asked him to smile and he grumbled he hated having his picture taken. Through the smile you had plastered on your face, you said, “I don’t care if you hate it. It’s our anniversary and I’m going to get one goddamn picture of you actually looking at the camera with something other than a scowl. Now shut up and give me a fucking smile.”
Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to keep the grin off his face at that, and you had managed to capture the perfect picture. 
As Frank traced his fingers over your face, he thought about how he should have just sucked it up and given you a smile. How there were a million things he should have done differently to make your life better, easier. How you deserved better than him. Better than this terrifying death.
His hand tightened around the picture frame until the glass shattered under his grasp. Rising up from the floor, Frank headed into the bedroom and quickly changed into his Punisher gear. Grabbing as many weapons as he could conceal, Frank then headed out the door. If Costa wanted him so badly, he was going to get him. But Costa should have been careful what he wished for.
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The pain in your shoulder distracted you from the throbbing in the back of your head where the man standing behind you had violently yanked your hair, forcing your head backward until you were staring at the ceiling. You tried to glance at your shoulder but just a glimpse of the damage from the bullet was enough to make your stomach heave, forcing you to quickly look away.
You heard someone clear their throat and you glanced up to see Costa smirking at you. “I’m sorry for the theatrics, but I needed Castle to believe you are dead.”
“Why? What was the point of that? What are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing…. yet. You’ve served your purpose for the time being. Now we just have to wait for Castle to arrive seeking his revenge.”
You burst out laughing. “That’s your plan? You seriously just wanted me to make Frank angry? Oh…. you’ve made a huge fucking mistake,” you hissed. “He’s slaughtered entire legions of men single-handedly. He’s walked through Hell and left the Devil tied to a chimney. And now, he’s coming for you and he won’t stop until every single one of you are dead.”
Costa crouched down until his face was level with yours. “I’m counting on it, my dear. And when he arrives, we’ll be waiting for him. We have just taken the love of his life away from him for the second time. The Punisher or not, that will make any man reckless, cause him to make mistakes. And if by some miracle he makes it this far, I still have you as leverage.” 
You froze in your chair as you picked up on something he said. “W-what do you mean you’ve taken the love of his life away for the second time?”
“I thought you knew,” Costa said smugly. “We were the ones who arranged to have Castle and his family killed all those years ago. Yet somehow, regrettably, he managed to survive.”
“Why?” you asked in horror. “Why would you do that? What did you have to gain from the death of an innocent family, two children?”
Costa shrugged. “Nothing. We just wanted Castle dead. His family was just collateral damage. But where we failed to put him down back then, we won’t fail this time. Because we have you, my dear.”
He ran his fingers down the side of your face and you pulled back in disgust. His eyes narrowed as he straightened up. “But just remember, Castle already thinks you’re dead. And if you don’t behave, that can still be arranged.”
He nodded at the man standing behind you and they both walked towards the door. But just as he reached it, Costa turned back to face you. “I’ll send someone in to look at your wound and then I have some questions for you. If you answer them, then we won’t have a problem. If you don’t…” he smiled cruelly. “... then I can make it so you’ll wish I had put that bullet between your eyes.”
With that, the two men exited the room, leaving you alone, bleeding, and still tied to the chair. Trying your best to ignore the pain in your shoulder, you hung your head and squeezed your eyes closed tightly as you muttered, “Please, Frank. Please be careful.”
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Part 2 coming soon! 😘
Taglist: @babblydrabbly, @loverhymeswith, @foli-vora, @lucyysthings, @11thstreetvigilante, @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @myguiltypleasures21, @androah, @okei888, @arduadastra, @infinitelydreamingx, @weallhaveadestiny, @dreamcatcher121, @andromacher, @assemblemotherfuckers
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shywhumpauthor · 1 year
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NO. 3 HAIR'S BREADTH FROM DEATH
Gun to Temple | "Say goodbye." | Impaled
Prev. || Masterlist
Cw: guns, blood, restraints, kinda stress position? Idk pretty short and mild chapter
Time itself seemed to skip up in that moment, a scratched record catching to a halt before jumping ahead moments later. Not a single coherent thought flashed through Whumpee’s mind, their eyes locked unblinkingly at the sleek black pistol just inches from their forehead. They could feel a deep cold flood through their chest, every bit as terrible as the warm blood still dripping down their face.
“I will give you one more chance, sweetheart.”
Though the man’s voice was smooth as honey, sickeningly sweet as it slowly flooded through Whumpee’s mind, it left behind the feel of a thousand bee stings, sharp and jarring to the core.
“Tell me your name.”
That was the moment time skipped ahead. They had no recollection of speaking, or of even thinking about speaking, but at that point it had been merely out of survival instincts that they stammered out their name. But the satisfied smirk that curled across the man’s lips told them that they must have done as he wanted, because next he was lowering himself to one knee, lessening the distance between the two as he pressed the gun against their forehead, the warning of his finger against the trigger enough to make them cautious to breathe.
Daniel’s hand wound even tighter in their hair, and though his knee dug into their back, pinning them to the ground, he forced them to look up. Whumpee could only gasp, a small hiss of air slipping between their teeth as the muscles along the front of their neck strained.
“I suppose it’s only fair I tell you mine, now, isn’t it, darling?” The man said with the release of a breath, giving off an air of satisfaction as his free hand moved to Whumpee’s chin. They could only tremble, a small sound of fear slipping from their throat as the man’s thumb brushed across their lips, wiping away a bead of blood that had been caught in the corner of their mouth. “I suppose you’ve heard of me. After all, it is my house you seem to have snuck into.”
Whumpee wasn’t sure what came over them, whether it was the fear or the adrenaline built up behind their muscles, muting every sense of impulse control. Whatever it was, they regretted it the moment the word slipped from their lips.
“Hh’se?”
Their voice was slurred, barely audible, but it seemed as if Whumper had understood them just fine. For a moment, his expression remained stoic, before a grin cracked through the stony facade and he let out a chuckle.
“I suppose it is a bit bigger than your average house, but yes. It’s my house.” He smirked, his hand slowly trailing from their jaw to brush against their neck, making Whumpee’s chest constrict. “Now, may I ask, what exactly are you doing in my house, Whumpee? Are you part of the papers? An investigation, perhaps?”
Whumpee could barely shake their head no, cringing as the gun pressed harder into their skull.
“Then how, dare I ask, did you end up here? You certainly weren’t on the guest list, no, I’d remember a face like that. And that name, I’ve never heard it before. So, darling, I will give you another chance. What are you here under?”
Whumper’s gaze raised for a fraction of a second, locking with that of the man behind them. Whumpee let out a small whimper, their scalp burning with pain as their hair was pulled even harder.
“I dd-‘nhh kn..’w-” They wheezed, the new stress beginning to restrict their breath. “mhh n’t whh..k’n ffh.. nhh’ne…”
Whumper’s gaze remained locked on their head, his finger tightening against the trigger.
“Release them.”
The two short, clipped words drew a near instant reaction as Daniel suddenly let go of their hair, his knee moving from their back, allowing them to draw in the first full breath they seemed to have taken in the past—what, fifteen minutes. Their lungs burned with relief as they let out a couple dry coughs, trying to regain control of their breathing through the metallic coating that lined their throat and mouth.
“How did you get in.”
It wasn’t a question this time. Whumper’s demand rang clear, cutting through the air just as smoothly as the small click when he released the safety from the pistol.
“I- ‘shh… an inv’t..” Their voice cracked, a deep breath leading them to another small coughing fit as a bit of blood trickled down the back of their throat.
“And how did you end up with an invitation?” He pressed further, a clear disbelief lacing his tone as he glared down at them.
“Bhh.. mis’hake,” Whumpee whimpered, their heart beating strong against the inside of their rib cage, they were sure that Whumper could feel their pulse from where his hand still caressed their throat. “Rr’hng adr’th..”
With a sound of annoyance, Whumper’s gaze rose once more to Daniel’s.
“You said you have their phone?”
“Yessir,” Daniel nodded. “It’s back across the hall-”
“Good,” Whumper cut him off with a single word and a wave of his hand, flicking the safety back on the gun and shoving it away. “I don’t have the patience to deal with their stuttering. Bring them to a room, get them some ice and a washcloth. If any more blood gets on my nice floors I swear I’ll be using your paycheck to reimburse the damages.”
Daniel’s pride seemed to be knocked down a notch or two by that. He gave a stiff nod, grabbing a fistful of the back of Whumpee’s shirt and wrenching them to their feet. The later let out a small gasp, a deep pain lacing through their skull, knees threatening to buckle under them. Daniel’s grip tightened the slightest, his other arm moving to grip Whumpee’s bicep as he began to drag them forwards.
“In fact,” Whumper thought out loud, his voice causing them both to freeze. Daniel turned, glancing over his shoulder. “Bring them to the Northern wing, third floor. Room across from the office. And for the love of god- untie them. That’s just embarassing…”
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Tag list: @whumpasaurus101 @suspicious-whumping-egg @t0rture-me
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whumpty-dumpty · 1 year
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Whumptober2022 | no. 3 | A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH
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whump-they-it-is · 1 year
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Whumptober
No.3 Hair's Breadth from Death
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brutaliakhoa · 1 year
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Day 3: A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH
Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled
Twoface was slowing down now, form half-outlined by the pale moonlight that, like a thief, stole all the colors in the world when people weren’t watching. It was a marvel that he traveled even this far, considering that he was carrying two-hundred pounds of dead weight that was Maroni.
Bruce didn’t bother to mask the sound his boots made slamming upon the concrete roof, gravel crunching under his heel as he landed back onto street-level, stopping Twoface dead in his tracks.
They’d stopped right under a street lamp, one of the only kerosene lamps Gotham had left that had survived both the Cataclysm and the city-wide renovations spurred after the federally-mandated no man’s land was waived. The light painted the right, unscarred half of Harvey’s face orange-gold, and Bruce was unwittingly reminded of the time in middle school, when Harvey had snuck out of his house after he heard his dad making a nasty ruckus downstairs—and knowing it wouldn’t be long before his dad came up to take it out on him—and went straight to the manor. It was midsummer then, the distant sounds of cicadas hidden in the trees filled the silence between them as two of them laid belly-first in the garden, fireflies like fireballs lighting up patches of gold everywhere. Bruce turned his head and saw golden specks adorning his friend’s eyes.
There was only one now, the deeper orange as if the gold bled too, a bloodstain that Midas couldn’t help but touch, in Harvey’s eyes. He didn’t seem fazed by Batman’s appearance, just calmly took two steps back, a corrupted imitation of dance steps where the partner doesn’t and can’t follow, adjusting his chokehold on Maroni’s neck.
The man was still out cold, neck bent at an unnatural angle and body limp against Harvey, courtesy of the butt-end of Harvey’s pistol to the temple fifteen minutes prior. Without breaking eye contact, Harvey laid the muzzle of the gun delicately against Maroni’s temple.
“Harvey,” Bruce said in Batman’s voice, “you don’t have to do this.” They’ve been done this road countless times, but tonight was different somehow.
Harvey snarled, jerking his head so the left side of his face was fully in view under the golden wash. His exposed teeth glittered when he sneered. “Harvey Dent is dead. You know this better than I do.”
But that wasn’t true, was it? If it was, why did Bruce see the moment of hesitation before Twoface brought the pistol down on Maroni, why didn’t he shoot Bruce when he had the chance?
Harvey’s face was an impassive mask of gold, cast in precious metal and frozen. Bruce took two small steps forward, retracing Harvey’s own from a few moments ago. Harvey reared back, letting go of Maroni who went down with a thump onto the concrete.
The muzzle was coal-black, a hungry mouth waiting to expel death. The spark would shine like the fireflies did, just unkindly. Bruce traced the gun’s trajectory from the bridge of his nose up until it pressed between his brows, his cowl separating him from the coolness of the metal.
The gun smelt like a half of Harvey’s suit looked, day-old blood. The gun splitting him into two, a trick of parallax. Harvey in the black suit looked pale, pupil blown wide with the gold dancing again. Bruce didn’t look at the Harvey in red. He felt weary and reckless, weighed down by the years of secrets between them, and leaned just a fraction against the gun.
Bruce looked both of them in the eyes, the one on Harvey’s left untouched by light save for the corner of it, so he looked to the other, though Bruce’s right eye could see nothing except the body of the gun and the small tuft of hair that always laid errant, no matter how much mousse Harvey used before— Before.
“Go on.” Bruce couldn’t raise his voice above a whisper, there’s not enough air left in his lungs for that. The voice distorter in his suit didn’t pick up any of it, but those two words might as well have been twin gunshots fired out onto the street.
Harvey’s hand shook, fingers convulsed dangerously close to the trigger. Bruce didn’t know his eyes could get wider, the gold a steady spot like the patch made by the afternoon sun when it shone down on the nook in Thomas’ study where they used to cram themselves into. Impossibly but never uncomfortably warm. His mouth half-open, poised silently over B’s intonation, not bearing to say it.
That was alright. It’d be over soon.
“Well?” Bruce choked out, the tail end of this word shaking, the jump of his carotid pulse violent against the supporting walls of his suit.
Harvey blinked rapidly, the pressure between his brows almost unbearable now. The gold was mesmerizing. Phantom cicadas whose songs are carried in by the wind from a distance. The trigger finger twitched as the hand in the black sleeve frantically patted his suit pants, looking for a coin that must had fallen out somewhere three streets back. Like a half-mad butterfly, then, it rose, the palm pushing down on the hammer until the gun shook under warring grips, until both forces gave out.
Harvey followed his gun in a similar arced freefall, until he hit the pavement at Bruce’s feet. Bruce couldn’t bear to watch, the roof of his mouth dry like sandpaper. Why can’t I stop hurting him, how can I stop myself from wanting to be hurt. Strings of words that couldn’t never pass for questions, because the answers were found years and years ago.
When he looked down, the right half of Harvey’s face had already been looking up at him. Self-deprecatingly rueful, tinged with more and more red-and-blue as the sirens drew closer. The gold, though, never left.
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