#whumpay2022
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Whumpay Day 21: "How Bad Is It?"
before the final scene in Tithonus | @today-in-fic, @whumpay2022
"How bad is it?" She mumbles from a hospital bed, her head thick and fuzzy with medication. She tries to take stock of her own body, but her eyes are heavy and bleary and everything feels dulled, slowed. There's a throbbing in her stomach that isn't quite pain yet, and her throat hurts. All she's really certain of is that Mulder is here, sitting in the chair beside the bed.
"Six hours of surgery, two blood transfusions, more epinephrine than I want to think about, and they finally took you off the ventilator a couple hours ago," he rattles off, his voice sounding unsteady. He probably had to call her mom, didn't he, to tell her that her daughter was dying again. Scully thinks suddenly of Fellig telling her to look away, of her barely-conscious obeying.
She swallows carefully, her throat dry. At least now she knows why it hurts. "Did I code?" She asks softly, tipping her head slowly to better look at him. She sees the way his face flickers, how he momentarily clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut.
"No," he replies, casting her a lopsided, exhausted smile. "Thank God." For once, she thinks he means it.
(If she was more awake, less drugged under, she might notice the glint of gold under the collar of his shirt. She might ask, and he might break and tell her of how he'd cried when an orderly gave it to him, covered in blood. They'd apparently misinterpreted the meaning of the word partner, and while he's never been more grateful for that, his hands shook when he washed her blood from the intricacies of the chain. There was nothing he could do but put it on.)
She blearily watches him watching her for a few long seconds before she attempts speaking again. "Have you been here the whole time?"
Mulder ducks his head, shaking it. "I got here while you were in surgery," he says. "They, uh... they couldn't tell me if you'd make it or not," he adds, his voice dropping to a whisper, like it will crack if he speaks louder.
"I'm here," she murmurs back. It's a reassurance for both of them; maybe it's the drugs, but she still feels a little unsettled. She should have died, but she didn't. How many times has she cheated death? Then, a little louder, "I'm thirsty."
Mulder lifts his head and looks around before reaching over to the table beside the bed. She hears a quiet rattle, then he leans forward and offers a spoonful of ice chips, which she receives gratefully. Once she's finished, a little too aware that she has to pace herself, he stays there, hovering over her, and his fingers carefully trace the outline of her face for several long, quiet moments.
"Mulder," she whispers, fumbling toward the edge of the bed. His hand drops from her face to take hers, wrapping it in both of his with his thumbs stroking her wrist like he's not even thinking about it. She tries to squeeze back, but finds herself too tired.
"Scully," he breathes, bringing her hand up to his lips to press a long kiss to her knuckles. They need say nothing more. She drifts off again, lulled by painkillers and Mulder's presence.
#btw i know nothing about medical stuff but i watch a lot of procedurals so *shrug* forgive me#just like. very soft in the midst of building tension.#thinking about the thumb war in the last scene of the episode... good grief they love each other so much#it's so gentle and tender and why do they love each other best in hospital rooms and near-death experiences#Lu writes#txf#the x files#txf s6#dana scully#fox mulder#msr#msr fanfic#whumpay2022
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Whumpay alt prompt 3: Cold-Blooded Torture
Bad Things Happen Bingo: Collared and Chained
@whumpay2022 , @badthingshappenbingo , @whumpers-monthly
TW: Bruises
"Wakey, wakey, baby!" The tug of the chain slightly choked him and made him coughed before he was released again. Ronald chuckled, then gently touched his battered back. Just because of the eye gaze, he had to endure such severe torture.
"Time to get up and get to work!"
#whump#whump prompt#whump art#bruises tw#whump OC#whumpay2022#cold blooded torture#bad things happen bingo#captivity#whumper#whumpee#writing prompt#collared tw#chained#beaten#OC: James#OC: Ronald
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oooo i LOVE your whump, can i please suggest maybe keith for the concussion square? perhaps he and the team are trying to complete a mission but they can’t get back to the castle until the mission is over? (or if thats too complicated maybe a lonely keith dealing w a concussion in the desert) again live your stuff ^^
@badthingshappenbingo
Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Square: Concussion
Also fulfills: Whumpay Day 10, “I Can Still Fight”
Warnings: head injury, temporary memory loss, mild blood, death mention
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Being slammed into the wall isn’t anything new. It happens fairly regularly, really, which is something he should probably be more concerned about. But hey, he’s constantly fighting aliens that are easily twice his size. Getting thrown kinda comes with the territory.
Which is why, when the Galra he’s fighting tosses him like a ragdoll across the ship’s corridor and his head cracks against the metal surface, Keith isn’t shocked or surprised. His vision goes dark instantly, and when it comes back he’s slumped on the ground, the battle continuing around him. His temples are throbbing from the noise, and there’s an intense pain spreading from one particular point on the back of his skull.
That doesn’t really concern him, though. What does concern him is that he doesn’t remember being in the middle of a battle. He remembers…breakfast? Maybe? And maybe some training afterward. Yeah, he and Shiro had fought one-on-one after breakfast. But now he seems to be on a Galra ship, surrounded by both live Galra soldiers and sentries, and the team is…somewhere nearby, he assumes. They’re not yelling at him in his comms, so that’s a plus.
Oh wait. His comms. Keith pushes away from the wall and sits up, the pain flaring in his head as he does so and the corridor spinning around him. Gritting his teeth, he reaches a hand up tentatively and prods at the worst spot on the back of his head. His gloves come away sticky and wet.
What was he thinking about, again?
A flash of red a few feet away catches his attention. He squints at it, trying to bring it into focus. It’s a helmet, he thinks. His helmet? Yeah, maybe it’s his helmet. He does wear red, after all. Red like his Lion. Like the big, metal, alien spaceship robot Lion that lives in his head now. Crazy. He’s pretty sure she’s trying to say something to him right now, actually, but all he’s getting is flashes of warmth.
A sentry’s sword swings by his head far too close for comfort. Keith jolts backwards, regretting it immensely when the whole spinning and pain thing happens again. Right, the battle. The one he doesn’t remember starting, but should probably work on finishing. Otherwise somebody is probably going to kill him, and Shiro will shoot him if he dies.
Heh. That’d be pretty pointless.
Somehow he gets himself to his feet, swaying slightly, putting one hand on the wall to make sure he doesn’t fall right back down to where he just came from. He feels like something is missing, though. Somewhere, he’s got a…uh… Muscle memory leads him to flex his hand and summon his sword. Sword? Yeah, it’s a sword. It’s also a weird word, a…bayard, that’s it. The word always plays in his mind in Allura’s dialect. Bayaaaard. It’s funny, saying it like that. He snickers a little before remembering that he’s supposed to be actually using the bayard.
That’s easier said than done, though. His arms feel really heavy, like maybe somebody put weights in his armor or something. Probably Lance. When he finally manages to lift the sword and swing it at the nearest sentry, he misses completely. Which is weird, because he was almost positive he saw it go through the robot’s torso. Maybe…yeah, he’s definitely seeing double. Or…triple? Quadruple? It’s really hard to tell, there’s sentries and guards everywhere and it’s almost impossible to pick out which ones are real.
Oh, well. Keith dives into the crowd with all of his usual gusto and none of his usual coordination, swinging wildly. Eventually his sword actually makes contact with something, and he turns to stab it, nearly falling over but righting himself at the last second.
His head really hurts.
“Hey! McMullet! There you are.” Lance appears out of nowhere. Like, poof, there he is. Except there are two of him, too, just like the sentries, and that is not what Keith needs in his life. One Lance is quite enough, thank you.
“We’ve been calling you on the comms and you weren’t answering.” Both the Lances lift their rifles and fire at some distant target. “Guess that’s because you don’t even have your helmet on.”
Oh yeah. His helmet. That was a thing that he’d been thinking about earlier. It’s…on the ground somewhere? He should probably really have it on. But when he spins around to try and figure out which direction it was in, he just gets super dizzy again.
“Hello, are you even listening to me? Why aren’t you wearing your helmet, Mullet?”
A fist knocks against the side of his head. It isn’t hard, but it’s enough to make his vision white out with pain. He might even scream, he’s not sure. He does know that the floor he finds himself staring at while one hand clutches his throbbing head is looking more and more appealing.
“Whoa. Dude. Are you okay?” Lance has his back to him, shooting out into the crowd of enemies, but he glances back over his shoulder at Keith with eyebrows knit together.
Yeah. Of course he’s okay. He’s fine, he just needs Lance to keep his freaking hands to himself. “Don’ do tha’. Tha’s…’s not cool.”
“Yeah. Okay. Something is definitely wrong with you, we need to get you to Shiro.”
“No!” The exclamation sends pain stabbing though his head again, and he winces, pressing his fingertips into his forehead. “Nope. Don’…don’ need t’ get Sh’ro. Need t’ fight.”
“Keithy, somehow I think fighting is the last thing you need to be doing right now.”
Like he has a choice. They’re kinda surrounded by Galra, what does Lance expect him to do, lie down and take a nap? Even though that does sound very, very nice…
“Stop it.” Keith scowls, pointing a finger at one Lance’s face, then the other. He isn’t sure which one is actually the real one. “Both…both o’ you. Stop…tellin’ me what t’ do.”
Both the Lances’ eyebrows shoot up toward their hairlines. He looks funny like that. Keith smiles, but slaps a hand over his mouth to hide it.
“Yeah. Alright. You’re not okay, and there’s no way I’m letting you keep -”
A sword swings over his head mid-sentence, his last second duck the only thing saving him from being decapitated. “Quiznak!” Stumbling backwards, he grabs Keith’s arm and drags him back, too. The abrupt movement sends both his head and stomach spinning, and he groans loudly.
“Geez, why’d you have to be so big?”
Keith squints up at the giant, towering Galra. “Why’d there have t’ be two?”
“Keith, for Pete’s sake there’s not…never mind, just…don’t die.”
He isn’t paying attention to Lance anymore. His focus is on the soldier - soldiers? - attacking them. Lance is a long-range fighter, a good one, but he’s out of his element right now. That means this fight is mainly up to Keith, headache and dizziness or not.
Each strike of his sword against the Galra’s weapon sends waves of pain through his body. He’s fading fast, and he knows it, vision wavering in and out so that he barely sees the hits coming for him before they connect. The headache is intensifying to the point where he feels like his skull might just explode right there.
Then suddenly, he’s on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how he got there. The Galra appears over him, grinning, ready to run him through, and Keith wants to move, he really really does, but his body just…lies there, frozen. His thoughts freeze, too. Everything seems to move in slow motion, the sword coming down toward him…then the Galra jerking backwards, stumbling, and falling out of sight.
Lance. He must have found higher ground, and taken the soldier out with his rifle. Reliable, just like always.
He almost died.
For some reason that’s hilarious to him right now. He almost died, again, for the millionth time. Keith is still on the floor in the corridor of a purple cat alien’s spaceship in the middle of outer space, but now instead of being frozen, he’s cracking up. A full-on belly laugh that hurts his head as bad as fighting had, but he can’t stop. Tears are rolling down his cheeks.
“See what I mean, Shiro? Either he’s dying or somebody did some kind of alien body-swap on him. Look at him, he’s laughing! In the middle of a battle! That’s…that’s not Keith.”
Shiro’s face leans into his vision, a look on his face that’s a mixture of concern and amusement. “Hey, kiddo. What’s going on?”
Keith stops laughing long enough to stare at the white bangs that fall over Shiro’s forehead. “Y’re…turnin’ into an old man, tha’s what.” He snickers again.
“Right, right. I hear ya.” Shiro leans in closer, flipping on the blue lights of his armor, eyes darting back and forth across Keith’s face. “Yep, you definitely have a concussion. Your pupils are way off.”
“Yay,” Keith cheers quietly, sarcastically. “Love co’cussions. This makes…mmm…five? Six? I dunno, i’s hard to keep coun’ when everythin’s spinnin’ ‘round.”
“I’m sure it is. You’ve really gotta stop hitting your head so much, though.” Shiro slides his hand gently underneath Keith’s head, cradling it as he helps lift him to his feet and giving him time for the room to stop spinning before attempting to move him anymore.
“M’ head really hurts, Sh’ro,” he mumbles after a moment.
“I know it does, bud. I know. Let’s get you back to the Castle and get that fixed, okay?”
“‘Kay.”
#whumpay2022#no.10#I can still fight#bad things happen bingo#badthingshappenbingo#concussion#voltron: legendary defender#head injury tw#memory loss tw#mild blood tw#death mention tw#voltron whump#hurt keith#keith whump#voltron fanfiction#vld fanfic
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Well this got waaaay away from me.
Whumpay Day 10
I Can Still Fight | "I can't stop." | Exhaustion
The jungle is dense and moist and thick with insects. Everything rots.
The medic scrubs antiseptic into the long gouge where the bullet clipped him. “You should go back to camp,” she tells him, wrapping gauze tight over it, “and stay there until this has closed up. If it gets infected, I won’t be able to save it.”
“If it starts to get hot, I’ll go,” he says. “We can hope for good luck.”
Wounds don’t heal cleanly out here. But his does. He rubs his fingertips over it often, feeling the profile of it through the dressing and the plastic cover that keeps the rain out.
He wonders if he really is that lucky, or if his good fortune is the work of an unseen force moving, the ripples cast by something swimming beneath the surface. The jungle is hot and humid, but goosebumps shiver across his skin as if a cold wind blew.
He gets shot again in a skirmish, an ambush gone wrong when they stumble across the enemy sooner than they expect. It’s a victory, still – they have the element of surprise – but they lose half their number.
A bullet goes clean through his thigh and out the other side.
“It’s a miracle you didn’t bleed to death,” the medic tells him after, although he feels almost as if he did. He didn’t lose it all, but still a lot of his blood soaked away into the spongy, foetid ground. She taps a finger to one side of the entry wound. “An inch further this way and you’d have been dead in a minute.”
A miracle. He wonders if she’s right. The thought is as thrilling as it is unnerving.
The trek back towards the camp is gruelling. Wounded lean on wounded. Grief hangs about them, as palpable as the clinging wetness in the air, as sharp-toothed as the leeches in the water.
He expects to be dizzy and barely able to walk, but he finds unexpected strength – a second wind that shouldn’t help with blood loss. Some nameless, fierce emotion coils inside him and sends chills across his skin.
When they hear the rattle of the enemy’s guns up ahead, from the same direction as the camp, the lieutenant curses a dozen different ways. They halve their pace, exhausted scouts creeping constantly ahead and back and ahead again.
“I’ll take a turn,” he volunteers.
“You’re shot,” the lieutenant counters.
“And we’re all dead on our feet. I can walk and I can fire a gun. I’ll do it.”
The long trek to the top of the ridgeline is not rewarded with a view of the terrain beyond. The vegetation is too dense. But at least it’s downhill from there. His leg burns fiercely, but it takes his weight.
They get the drop on the enemy scouts. It’s a brutal business of knives and of hands clamped over mouths until the twitching stops.
“We turn back,” the lieutenant orders, hushed. “We can’t take the rest of ‘em. We’ll go around.”
They aren’t so lucky.
He freezes when the first shots ring out. Panicked instincts still haven’t gotten the message after four months of combat. He still wants to run, or fling himself at the dirt. Instead he pivots towards the godawful noise and starts shoving his way through the choking vegetation.
It’s near impossible to tell friend from foe without getting so close as to get shot first. All you can do is try to remember where your friends were and do your best. He unloads in the direction of the shooting, and keeps stumbling forwards as his hands go through the motions of shoving a fresh clip into place.
The crashing of someone else trying to run through the dense understory makes him whirl to his left. He holds his fire trying to get enough of a glimpse to decide – and the enemy reaches a conclusion first.
It’s like getting kicked in the chest. He’s shocked that it doesn’t hurt more. He staggers, and autopilot keeps his arms moving even as he’s trying to process that he’s been shot in the chest, he’s dead –
He opens fire, and at least he gets to take the fucking bastard down with him.
He knows, as he claps his hands over the bullet holes and feels blood pour over his fingers, that it won’t help. His knees give way and he collapses backwards, gasping. The foliage closes over him like black water, swallowing him.
He’s alone in a coffin of dark leaves and spiny stalks, twitching and kicking in the wet, spongy leaf litter as he struggles to fill his lungs. He can’t believe that he thought it barely hurt.
The world has narrowed to just the struggle for air, the pain, and the rushing freefall certainty that he is hurtling towards the end.
It seems to last for an age.
The shooting keeps going. There is shouting and cursing, in two languages. There are screams, one close enough that it seems he ought to be able to push a leaf aside and make eye contact with the other casualty. More gunfire.
Then there is quiet.
Slowly he starts to face the creeping suspicion that he might not be quite as fatally shot as he thought.
His hands are still clamped over the wounds in his chest. When he gingerly eases up on the pressure, he expects more blood to well up, hot and wet under his palms. And it does, a little, but not the flood he’s expecting.
Maybe the bullets… lodged in his sternum, or his ribs, or something. He’s heard of that. It still hurts to breathe, but he definitely hasn’t drowned in his own blood. Very cautiously, acutely aware of his heart still thudding I’m alive I’m alive I’m alive in his chest, he props himself up on one elbow.
He tries to get a look at the wounds and he sees holes and he can’t look any closer, hot darkness washes over him and he flops back to the wet dirt. It’s almost funny. He ought to be used to blood by now but apparently that’s too much.
Flies are already starting to try and land on the wounds, so he puts one hand back over the mess, refusing to think too hard about what the front of his chest looks like right now, and with the other arm he levers himself up to his knees. From there, taking it slow so as not to faint again, he gets to his feet.
He doesn’t know where to go.
Everyone else, friend and foe alike, has vanished into the jungle. He won’t find them. He could walk right over a body and not see it. Even if he called out, the vegetation swallows up sound. And he’d as likely be heard by an enemy who’d execute him as by a friend.
He checks his compass, and starts walking in the direction that they were going before the fighting. The direction that should be back to camp, if camp still exists.
By all rights he shouldn’t make it. He should collapse, or he should walk right past it, wander endlessly into this hellish wilderness and die alone.
Stumbling out of the treeline with his hands in the air, he thinks – wouldn't it be ironic if after all this luck, it was a twitchy sentry who shot him dead?
As soon as they see the state of him – the amount of blood on him – they call for a doctor. Relief steals all the strength from his legs and he can’t make it across the firebreak before he collapses again, but soldiers are hurrying out to help him.
They’re bundling him onto a stretcher when the doctor gets her first good look at the wounds, and she stops dead. He gets a glimpse of the shock and confusion on her face before they pick him up and he’s preoccupied with the pain of being jolted around as they run him to the hospital tent. The doctor stays frozen for a second, then follows after.
She cuts the blood-soaked shirt away from the wounds and she freezes again. So too does the medic on the other side of the table. They look at each other. The medic’s mouth is slightly open. Both look like they’ve seen a ghost.
“What?” he demands. “What is it?”
The doctor’s gloved hands are shaking as she reaches out to touch the closest wound. Her fingers feel around it for a second and he groans. Then she puts her finger inside and he screams.
“I don’t understand,” she is whispering when he manages to get a hold of himself. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”
“Hey!” he shouts as she whirls abruptly away, dragging the other medic by the wrist. “Hey, where are you going?”
But neither of them look back. He’s left alone, still strapped to the stretcher, to wonder what the hell is going on. It takes him longer than he’d care to admit to find the courage to lift his head and look at what they saw.
The holes are scattered across his bare chest, six or seven where he thought there could surely surely only be one or two. He should be bleeding. You only don’t bleed out of a hole like that if you’re already dead. Nausea rises in his throat, his head spins. He spots what looks like a glimpse of white bone in one of them – and that’s the final straw, he blacks out again.
By the time he wakes up for real – not just remembering what his chest looks like and slipping straight back under – the commander is there.
“-- lungs should be so much mincemeat,” the doctor is saying, talking too fast, “and full of blood besides, he should still be bleeding, he shouldn’t have enough blood left in his body to sustain a pulse let alone remain conscious –”
The commander holds up a hand, and she falls silent. “Can you hear me, man?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he croaks, head spinning, ears feeling full of water. “Not feeling too hot, but I hear you.”
“Good.” Her voice is firm and steady. “Stay calm. Can you look at me?”
He does, and she nods approval. She takes his hand and he grips hers tight. “Doc, put a sheet over him would you? That’s better.”
Then, without breaking eye contact, she debriefs him. He clings to her hand like it’s all that’s keeping him afloat, and answers questions about everything that happened since he left camp.
“I didn’t think it was that bad,” he confesses in choked tones once he can’t put it off any longer. “I knew I was hit but I thought I got lucky. I thought –”
“Easy, man,” she assures him. “You got hit, and then what happened?”
He can’t tell her at first. He’s stuck on the thought of it. He was bleeding when he was first hit, he felt it spill hot across his fingers. But she coaxes him onwards and, faltering at first, he tells her the rest.
Once it’s all said, there is silence.
“Medically speaking, you should be dead,” the commander tells him, calm and level as everything else. “Obviously you are very much alive. I don’t suppose you have any idea how or why this might be the case?”
He opens his mouth to tell her no, but it all comes crashing back.
He didn’t believe it. It saved his life twice and he still thought it was just good luck. He was so convinced it couldn’t be real that he forgot all about it when the pain knocked pretty much every other thought out of his skull.
The commander must see the stricken look in his eyes, but she waits patiently for his answer.
“The rock,” he croaks at last.
“Which rock?”
“You, you know which.” He wheezes a painful thread of a hysterical laugh. “The black rock.”
The one they didn’t make camp around, even though it would have been an excellent place to put some artillery. The one that juts up from the forest floor, square-sided like a giant’s table, ominous as silence in the heart of the jungle. The one that’s so black it seems to eat the light, so black that black doesn’t seem like an adequate word to describe it.
The one they all quietly left alone because it made their fingers itch and their teeth hum to be near it.
Someone said it was made of magnetic iron. The magnetic field was really strong and that’s why it felt so weird. No one believed it, but everyone spread the explanation around.
“Can you explain a little more?” the commander prompts.
He groans, or perhaps it’s more of a moan, weak with pain and horror both. “It’s – awful,” he confesses. “I shouldn’t, I shouldn’ta done it…”
“Done what?”
He tries to let go of her hand, but her hold remains steady.
“You remember the prisoners.” He doesn’t want to be saying this. He feels sick again. “The ones we shot.”
“That was a terrible thing to have to do,” the commander nods gravely. “I gave that order. You were one of the soldiers who carried it out.” It’s almost a question, like she doesn’t quite remember.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “We marched ‘em out in the forest and we killed ‘em. They” – his voice breaks – “were brave. But the last one…” a distraught whisper, “we took the last one to the rock.”
“That wasn’t part of your orders.” He can hardly understand how she keeps it a calm observation when he deserves a biting accusation.
“I wish we hadn’t,” he moans. “I wish we hadn’t, we shoulda stayed away.”
“Why did you take him to the rock?”
“I don’t remember, it was a joke or a dare or, I don’t remember, it was a stupid idea.”
“And then what happened?”
“We climbed up on it, me and one of the guys and – the prisoner. And we killed him there – I killed him. We said it was a, a prayer, a sacrifice but we didn’t mean it, it was a stupid joke I swear we didn’t mean it!”
“Hey. Hey, look at me.” She’s squeezing his hand. “Breathe, okay?”
He breathes, acutely aware of the fact that medically speaking he should not be able to.
“People do stupid shit all the time, okay? I just want to understand what happened.”
He nods jerkily. He wants to run a hand across his face but he’s still strapped down and he can’t blame them for that.
“You killed him, and then what happened?”
“Nothing. We just – came back to camp. I never thought anything would happen but god, what else can it be?”
“Okay, breathe. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”
“Does it hurt?” the doctor asks softly into the silence.
“Yes it fucking hurts,” he almost laughs, “I have – so many bullet holes in me, of course it fucking hurts.”
The doctor makes eye contact with the commander, and waits for her nod before turning to get him something for the pain.
“You’re going to stay here for now,” the commander decides, letting go of his hand to pat his arm instead. “I’ll leave it to the doctor to figure out what we can do for you medically. I want you to know that you’re still one of us, whatever has happened to you.”
“Stay here.. in the hospital?” Anxiety is a sudden prickle across his skin. “I have to stay here?”
“You look like a colander,” the commander reminds him with a wry smile. “Where else would you be? Your condition could change at any moment. We don’t understand what’s happening right now, so I want the medical professionals to keep an eye on you in case you, I don’t know, suddenly start bleeding.”
In case what? In case I turn into some kind of zombie? In case you want to cut me open to see what’s going on inside?
“I don’t think I’m dying,” he insists, a little frantic, “I walked all the way here, I can fight.”
The commander looks down at him sidelong. “We have plenty of soldiers here, the wounded don’t have to fight.”
“I can though,” he insists. “I want to. Give me a gun, I can do it. I’m – I’m bulletproof, right? Don’t you want me out there? I could be fucking unstoppable.”
The commander and the doctor share an inscrutable look.
“You’re staying here for now,” the commander repeats firmly. “That’s an order.”
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@whumpay2022 day 4 - Damsel in distress
Loud, thudding steps made their way slowly to her cell. She scrambles to the corner desperately, tears already starting to pour as she mumbles to herself. “Please, no, please, help me, someone.”
The steps come to a stop and she squeezes her eyes shut, pretending to be somewhere else, but the familiar, awful smell of her captor made her incapable of escaping reality. There’s a huff of air and she flinches at the small sound.
“Look at me.” The voice is stern and deep. Her eyes open wide but are focused on the floor, too afraid to face her captor.
There’s another huff and she jolts before forcing her gaze to the man’s eyes, dilated and manic.
“You know, they’re talking about your disappearance on the news.” Her captor says casually. He watches her terrified expression as he plays with a large, serrated knife. “There are a lot of people looking for you, you know. Do you think they’ll find you?”
She starts to rock, her lips screwed shut as tears began to drip to her cheeks.
“It’s no fun if you don’t answer my questions, dear. Do you think the police will find you, or your parents? Maybe even your boyfriend?”
She whimpers again and he sighs. He crouches to his knees and grips the braids of her hair. “Answer me.”
Her quivering lips manage a word. “C-Coming.”
“What?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, “They’re coming to s-save me.”
He was close enough to her now that she coulfd feel his breath on her face, the alcohol on it stinging her nostrils.
“Is that so.” She watches his lips pull into a smirk, “Well, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to use this knife- yes, don’t shake your head at me- I’m going to cut you and cut you until you believe that no one is coming to save you.”
She bites her lip as she begins to sob, her body almost jolting with her shivers. “Please, please! Let me go! Please!”
“I’m going to cut up your legs,” he ignores her as he places the blade of the knife onto her right calf. “Your arms too,” he makes a tiny cut on her forearm and she lets out a squeal, watching with horror as deep red blood dripped from her dark brown skin.
“Then we’ll go all the way up-” His knife trails up her body until it rests on her tear stained cheek, “-until I mark up that pretty face of yours. How does that sound?”
“Please, sir!” Her voice wobbled as she cries, “No one’s coming to save me. Please don’t hurt me!”
Her captor instead gives a sadistic grin, “Don’t lie to me, darling. I know you don’t believe that. But don’t worry. I’m here to make you.”
He moves closer and she starts to scream before the knife even touches her skin.
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#whump#whump event#whump writing#writers#writing event#whump prompt#writing#whumpay2021#whump scenario#whumpay2022#whumpay2023
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James had been reworking a prototype for the last two days. Unsurprisingly, he’s had troubles over a section that wasn’t catching right. It’s all he’s been focused on, even ignoring Sally unintentionally. His assistant had brought food and drink, which he ate one handed as he tried to pinpoint the exact issue while watching the device move over and over. Eventually, he realized that the room had gotten very dark. Someone had turned off all but one light to the room and it was night. The young man that he had hired was standing by the table. “Mrs. Pendrick said that this would be the third night you didn’t go to bed,” he said, walking over to the table.
He stopped his latest round and turned to the young man. “Watts, I can’t see in this low light,” he stated.
“That is the point,” he mentioned, sitting down, “You haven’t had any intentional sleep for two nights. Merely falling asleep on your blueprints for an hour before waking up in a frenzy.”
“I’m in the middle of-”
“A very important, revolutionary, world changing invention that will net you another million dollars, a new award, more people groveling at your feet,” Watts mockingly extolled, vaguely picking old sentiments and speeches out of the air.
Pendrick wasn’t amused. “Mr. Watts.”
His smile was. “You’ve done nothing else but work on your new project. No meetings with investors or board members.”
“My investors will understand.”
“Your board members do not,” he said, “Three have come by in the last two days, since your first overnight. Demanding to see you, but I reminded them about your own rules. They might break in if you do it again and have no meetings tomorrow. Or, well, later today.” He sat across from him. “Mr. Opeck will be disappointed if you fall asleep during his business update.”
“Mr. Opeck will have to wait.”
“Misters Nielson and MacPherson will not,” he reminded, “They had an appointment over your electrical device that you worked on with Tesla.” Drat, he did forget about that trying to get this going. Watts, who had the inability to keep his hands off of anything, carefully pulled one of the arms away. “What hasn’t been working?”
He sighed, “The engine hasn’t been completing intervals.”
“What happens when you watch it?”
He shook his head. “It’s working as intended.”
“Are you sure on that?”
His head snapped up to the young man. “Your mind may be completing the cycle as you think it’s supposed to be,” he said, “But you’re actually missing the problem. You’re exhausted, Mr. Pendrick. Two nights of no sleep, your brain needs to shutdown for a bit before seeing it again. And before you talk to investors or boardmembers.”
He was feeling the effects of sleep deprivation. "I can't stop," he stated.
"You're not. You're pausing your work, not stopping," he reminded, "Please go to sleep, Mr. Pendrick, everyone has been growing concerned over a few of your sleepless habits." Defeated, the man allowed his assistant to walk him out, turning off the last light before locking up.
#murdoch mysteries#whumpay#whumpay2022#Llewellyn watts#james pendrick#exhaustion#i cant stop#its set in the smol watts story#snarky watts#warehouse 13 ref ftw
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Prompt: abandonment
Fandom: Dresden Files
CW: past abuse, referenced trauma, child neglect and abandonment
Summary:
"Why didn't you take me with you?"
Thomas has a talk with his mother, or at least with her portrait.
Link
#dresden files#thomas raith#fanfic#bad things happen bingo#whumpay2022#thomas is making me sad again
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Summary: The Battle in the Museum goes very differently.
@whumpay2022 Bonus Day!
#whumpay2022#Alt Prompt 4: Impaled#trollhunters#tales of arcadia fanfic#tales of arcadia#Major Character Death
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Whumpay Day 28: "I'm about to pass out"
during Unruhe | @today-in-fic @whumpay2022
Scully wavers as she exits Schnauz's trailer, the clear sunlight sending what feels like a red-hot spike through her skull. Would an icepick through the eye have felt like this? It's the side affects, aftereffects, of the mishmash of medications Gerry had given her; a bone-deep ache and waves of dizziness washing over her. She looks at the ground, tries to steady herself.
"Are you okay?" Mulder asks, suddenly at her side, and she can't deny that she's grateful. Her heart is still pounding with fading terror, and the way he touches her waist reflects the same in him.
She starts to shake her head, but winces at the pain and instead just utters a small, "No." She's not alright. She wants to sleep until the drugs are out of her system, but isn't sure that's safe. She wants to not be afraid anymore.
Mulder leans down so he can see her face and she can't help but relax; he's blocking the light and easing some of her pain. On the other hand, it only makes her more aware of how shaky and dizzy she is. "You should get checked by the paramedics," he says carefully, like he thinks she'll argue. She tries to take a step, though in what direction she isn't sure, but has to catch herself against his shoulder.
"Mulder," she whispers, suddenly feeling very small, "I think I'm about to pass out."
The last thing she registers as the dizziness and drug-induced exhaustion take her over is Mulder's arms coming around her to break her fall. The first thing she registers a few minutes later, coming to with a paramedic checking her over, is also Mulder, his lips pressed to the top of her head and one hand stroking up and down across her back. He's still holding her, and she can't help but be grateful, for both their sakes.
She'd heard the desperation in his voice screaming her name earlier, when they'd both thought he would be too late to save her, and she hears the gentleness now as he whispers I've got you into her hair, and for the first time, she realizes he might love her.
#listen... she's tiny#the lady in the cold open took a minute to go under from the drugs but scully instantly goes down#idk man just. this episode is a lot. their mutual desperation and mulder pulling her up gets to me#sometimes... scully has to be forced to be vulnerable in order to see the truth right in front of her#(which is that she loves mulder and he loves her just as much)#(scully realizing that maybe he loves her?? hnnnsnshssnsnjm)#Lu writes#txf#the x files#txf s4#dana scully#fox mulder#msr#msr fanfic#whumpay2022
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Naruto
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Senju Tobirama, Black Zetsu (Naruto)
Additional Tags: Whumpay 2022, Missing-Nin Senju Tobirama, Exiled Senju Tobirama
Series: Part 9 of Whumpay 2022, Part 5 of missing-nin tobirama au
Summary:
Whumpay Day 11: Empathetic Healer / “I feel you.” / Self Sacrifice
Tobirama is finally ready to face down Zetsu.
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Live. Die. Repeat AU except it's called Love. Die. Repeat.
-
The Merry Whump of May Day 8 - Begging
Whumpay 2022 - "You're Worrying Me."
@whumpay2022 & @themerrywhumpofmay
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For @whumpay2022 Day 4: I had it handled
This is part of the AU with @abstractwhump (currently called our “sad au” even though a more interesting name will probably be developed one day)
~~~
She wakes to the sound of swords clashing.
Rahim is already alert next to her, his eyes wide in horror in the dim light. Are they under attack?
He scrambles to his feet, grabbing his sword, and Sajia follows quickly as he runs to the door and throws it open.
Her mind can hardly process the scene. Their guards are fighting for their lives, enemy soldiers and enemy mages attacking with a brutality that Sajia has never been witness to before. Bodies are on the ground. One of them swings a sword in her direction, and Sajia acts on instinct, spinning out of the way before blasting them back with a powerful gust of wind. Another soldier lunges at her, and her husband intercepts him, fire lighting up the hall and the soldier’s screams echo as she backs up, feeling the panic shoot through her as she frantically looks around, heart stopping at the confirmation of her worst fear.
The door to her daughter’s room is open.
“Sajia, wait, let me-” He doesn’t grab her, but she can hear the fear in her husband’s voice as she moves towards Jolani’s room.
She turns to him quickly, knowing that there’s no time to waste, she can hear fighting coming from down the hall. “I can handle it. They need you here.”
His hand slips into hers for just a brief second. He squeezes it tightly, his fear and his love conveyed through the simple gesture. But one look into his eyes, and she knows what his answer will be. “Go.” He breathes out. “ I’ll take care of this group.”
He lets go, charging back into the battle that’s happening inside their own home, and she doesn’t hesitate to slip along the wall to Jolani’s room. She can see lights flashing inside but it’s hard to hear anything over the chaos that’s happening in her home. Fire battling with lightning most likely.
The sounds are overwhelming. The clang of swords, the screams, the orders ringing through the hall. And above it all, she hears a loud cry of pain.
“Jo!”
There are four of them. Rengzhi soldiers, she can only assume, and they all turn towards her when she sprints into the room. Her daughter is on the floor in the corner, half curled on her side, and for a horrifying moment, Sajia is certain that she is dead. Then she can see the faintest rise and fall of her chest, and that’s all it takes for Sajia to turn on the mage nearest to Jolani, and attack.
She rarely uses her magic, but she has the upper hand almost immediately. A heavy gust of wind blows three of the attackers back, and the one nearest to Jolani- the one who is most likely responsible for her daughter being unconscious on the ground- is collapsing to his knees a moment later. Gasping for air that won’t come as she takes it away from him, watching him suffocate right before her eyes.
The others are attacking and Sajia takes a deep breath as she plants herself firmly between Jolani and those who want her dead.
Lightning flashes as her wind whips around the room. One of the attackers lets out a loud cry as he slams hard into the far wall, and she refocuses her attention on one moving in with a sword. Everything is moving quickly, and it’s hard to see with her magic acting as a shield. The one that hit the wall is getting back up as another stumbles away from her attack. The one with the sword is trying to circle around behind and she focuses on him as the most immediate threat to her daughter. Her magic steals the air from his lungs, and she watches as he drops to the ground, sword falling out of his grasp as both hands go to clutch at his throat.
He collapses to the ground when a hand closes on her shoulder and spins her around. She has no time to defend herself before something cold and sharp pierces her chest.
Sajia gasps, stumbling to stay on her feet. The pain shoots through her as she tries to grab at the hilt of the dagger. It’s twisted and the world goes black and she screams.
Brilliant light fills the room, and the blade is yanked roughly out of her. Suddenly she can’t seem to breathe at all, more just desperate gasps as she stumbles backwards until her back is pressed against a wall to support her. One hand weakly paws for the wound, trying to find it to apply some pressure. There’s more light as some of her vision seems to return, loud yelling nearby, and then two sets of footsteps storm past her, fading into the distance as Sajia starts to slide down the wall, one hand still clutching at her rib cage. The world is fading in and out of focus. The sounds of fighting have mostly vanished.
More footsteps are approaching her now, but somehow she knows it’s help, not the enemy coming back to finish what they started. She’s not sure of what’s happening, except that she’s badly injured and that her daughter is safe. The latter is all that matters.
“No.” She knows that voice, but she doesn’t open her eyes. “No, no, Sajia-” Arms are wrapping around her, gentle and warm like they always are, and she leans into them with her remaining strength. “I’m right here, I’m right here, please-”
She blinks open her eyes to look up at him. His hands are over her own, strong and steady and applying pressure to her wound. She’s never seen him look so scared. “She okay?” Sajia murmurs, moving her free hand to rest over his, squeezing it softly like he did to her before she ran off.
He smiles, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead. “Yes, she’s going to be just fine, you did amazing.”
“I told you, my love.” Sajia closes her eyes again, feeling her strength starting to fade to nothing. “I had it handled.”
His head is buried in her hair, holding her close like he always does. “You’re going to be okay.” He murmurs, voice barely audible as she leans against him. Sajia can hardly feel the pain now. “We’re going to be okay.”
Sajia doesn’t have the strength to say anything else. She’s being held by the man she loves, and as her breathing starts to slow, it’s almost like she’s just going to sleep in his arms. She’ll see him again someday.
#whumpay2022#day 4#i had it handled#character death#stabbed#bleeding#sorry Sajia my love#sad au#jolani minhas#sajia#rahim
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Well, the poll has spoken. If you have suggestions for prompts, you can send an ask or put in a submission here. Thanks I’m advance.
#whump#whump event#whump writing#writing#writers#writing event#whump prompt#whumpay2021#whump scenario#whumpay2022#original work
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Day 17 - To the pain
To say Julia was terrified was an understatement. The man inside that room didn’t know that. It had been three days since anyone saw the detectives of Station House 4, and the only lead was the man they managed to catch. He wasn’t giving anything to Crabtree or Higgins, and laughed in the Inspector’s face when he came in. The Deputy Chief Constable forbade them from roughing up the suspect, given the nature of the case.
He didn’t laugh when Julia walked in, but the grin on his face was unbearable. “A woman?” he chuckled, “What? Did they think I would talk to a woman any better? Ain’t gonna happen. Sorry, Honey. Grab me a cuppa, though, would ya? The boys outside have left me a bit parched.”
That terrified state may have been quashed by the man’s temperament, and she didn’t feel bad once she placed her medical bag on the table and brought out a roll. “My name is Doctor Julia Ogden,” she introduced, placing the edge on one side and laying it out to the other. Everything inside was gleaming, surgically cleaned and ready to work in an instant. Scalpels, forceps, long tweezers, a slimmer version of a bone saw, and a pair of rib spreaders she had managed to cram in the roll.
“Doctor, huh?” he nodded, “Not the type to stop working?”
“My husband understands,” she said, sitting down. “We met here, when I started my career in the morgue.”
“Workplace romance?” he shuddered, before bringing up that grin again, “What type of guy looks at a girl cuttin’ up a corpse and thinks ‘That’s the one for me?’”
She smiled, trying for a razor edge in her smile. “Detective William Murdoch.” His grin faltered. “I believe you’ve met him recently.” She plucked the first scalpel out of her roll. “Number Twenty. Meant for general incisions. This or Ten would be the one I would chose to start the Y.”
“Y?” he asked.
“Y incision. It’s how one starts an autopsy,” she informed, “Doing it on a live person is bloodier than anyone thinks. Several arteries and veins by the collar bone and above the ribcage. William and I had been working on a vacuum and suction to clear up blood for doctors and nurses working on living patients.”
“A vacuum?” he asked, minutely flinching away.
Good, he was nervous. “Well, as a doctor, it is harder to see where I should be cutting with all the blood coming out. We’ve been looking at testing it on patients that have to go under the knife, but several of my colleagues are noticeably anxious about William’s inventions.” She placed the scalpel back, and picked up the forceps. “Especially when I need to find something in the chest cavity that isn’t supposed to be there. Imagine that I need to go after a bullet lodge in a stomach. If I can’t see the bullet, then I’m going to be digging around, possibly plucking out a few other important items by mistake.”
That made the man uncomfortable, and she was watching him squirm in the chair. *He may have had some experience in that.* Julia pulled out the rib spreaders next. “There is also the possibly that getting the bullet will mean that I need to get under the rib cage. I can’t just go digging, not when it might be, say, near a lung. So, I have to place this and open it up to get full access to the chest. You heard a lot of cracking when one does this. Frightful, in a way, if one’s not used to it.”
She wanted to pluck out the bone saw, but that was the finale, something to push the man over an edge into getting information. The tweezers didn’t look threatening though. It would have to be something she played up. “Plucking around with these,” she pondered, clicking the tweezers a couple of times. Maybe she wouldn’t have to play it up as much, as the man still moved back. “A little ways off and it pokes at organs with a needlepoint.”
“I still ain’t,” he attempted, because her describing how her instruments work was taking a toll on his thoughts.
The bone saw came out, and she heard his chair scrape as he tried to get further back. “Oh, have you seen a bone saw work?” she inquired.
“You ain’t getting near me with that thing!”
Julia allowed an amused and dark grin on her face. “There has been astounding leaps in the craftsmanship of these since the American Civil War. They used to perform hundreds of amputations on the battlefield to try and save their soldiers lives. As I’ve heard and read from many sources, the first saws damaged so much of the joints that they pained the men until they died. Obviously, we’ve been getting better at figuring out how to make thinner and more flexible saws. Something that will go between the tendons and gaps in bone.”
The man was clearly frightened, and perhaps she could get something out of him now. “Now, Mister Lanke, where is my husband and Detective Watts?” she asked, holding up a scalpel again, “I would very much not like to perform a live version of an autopsy to get the answers I need.”
#whumpay2022#murdoch mysteries#to the pain#julia ogden#give julia her husband back and everything will be fine
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Summary: Rusty struggles with the other trains' bullying and receives help from unexpected source.
@whumpay2022
@tending-the-hearth @goblinlovesmusicals
#whumpay2022#Prompt: 'I wish i could do something.'#Prompt: Harming Self#starlight express#starlight express fanfic#self-harm#bullying
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