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jasmines-library · 7 months

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Just forget about it.

WHUMPTOBER 2023: Prompt: ‘conditioning’

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: As part of the winter soldier program, all you’ve know is how to kill. After years of being left in cyrofreeze, you are finally let out and are given a mission; to protect. You follow it to the t. Until a certain familiar face shows up to get you out of there. (I suck at summaries ok?)

Warnings: Torture, mind control, fighting.

Word count: 2.8k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

The room was cold, and you couldn’t see anything besides the white fog that rose slowly in front of your face as your mind snapped back online. It hurt too, as your brain began to receive signals again from your pain receptors, your body lit up like it was being stabbed over and over again by a thousand tiny needles. They dug into every inch of your body, burning in your veins. Everything seemed too loud; your thoughts which raced at a thousand miles an hour, the harsh tones of the men surrounding you, the loud clunking of the machines. It made you miss the blissful silence you had been engulfed in for who knows how long.

When the door to the chamber hissed open, and the cold clouds of ice dissipated away, you squinted at the bright light which flooded in. When your eyes adapted, you stared grimly at the man before you. He was all too familiar, though he looked significantly older. It was the face of the man who had tortured you and shaped you into what you were; an unstoppable weapon. He smiled darkly at you as you tried to move away, though you were still restrained by the metal cuffs that pulled you tight against the back of the chamber. You had been in this position before, but something was different this time. This time you remembered. You remembered the feeling of the harsh grip on your arm as you were dragged back into where you would be put back into a deep, meaningless sleep. You remembered the cold and then pain- tenfold to what you were feeling now. But you also remembered a face. One with hard features; long dark hair and firm blue eyes, but often with gentle intent. Something nagged at you that you shouldn’t be able to remember that.

The man stepped towards you, the shit eating grin still plastered on his face. “Hello my lotus.” He spoke to you, his Russian thick and unmissable. “Oh how I have missed you very much. It was such a shame when we had to put you back in cryofreeze. I have missed your pretty face very much, but not to worry. I have a job for you, my lotus.” He lowered his voice. “Let’s just hope we don’t have another little mishap. Hmm?”

He leaned down towards you and you took it as a chance to spit in his face. “You fuck yourself.”

He blinked, wiping away the spit from his face before turning back to you. “You are going to regret that, soldat.”

There were more hands on you then, freeing you from the restraints and dragging you through the room. With what little energy you had, you squirmed but that only resulted in a kick to the ribs to settle you down.

They brought you to an open room, industrial looking of sorts. It was large with machines for all sorts pressed against the walls. In the centre of the room, raised on a circular platform stood a chair. The fabric of the chair was torn and frayed beneath the harsh light above it. You writhed as the men dragged you towards it. You kicked and screamed like a child as you struggled to get away. The chair held too many unwanted, painful memories. When you were forced onto the old leather and bound once again by metal cuffs on your forearms, the familiar man stepped before you and grinned, trailing his hand along your jaw.

“Let’s hope you learn to obey this time, soldat.”

With that, he turned to slam the heavy doors to the room. You heard the locks whirr as they clicked into place, as he moved away into some part of the room that you couldn’t see from where you were sitting, leaving you with another man whom you didn’t recognise. He stepped forwards, ensuring that you were secure.

“Begin.” You heard from behind you.

There was a shuffling across the room, followed by a whirring of the machinery you were strapped to as it started up. Then you were consumed by a blinding pain. You let out a blood curdling scream, which ricocheted off of the tiled walls. Thrashing and writhing, you tugged on the metal cuffs. They dug into your skin and you tried to escape the pain that radiated in your head and raced through your body. It was a thousand agonies at once. When you thought you couldn’t take any more, the pain amped up. Your head pounded and your eyes burned against the light. Your fingernails scraped along the leather as your back arched. Blood dripped from your nose and your ears. You could taste its copperness as it spilled over your chapped lips and into your mouth.

Then, it all stopped.

Your body slumped back against the chair with what little energy you had left. Your limp body heaved for air. You swallowed thickly; your throat was raw.

The man slunk forwards from wherever he had retreated to in the room. Your body froze when the string of russian words began to slip from his mouth.

“Purify.”

You tensed, eyes wide as you looked around the room.”

“Brass. Hang. Illustrate.”

You thrashed, trying to cover your ears with your hands, but to no avail.

“Noiseless, twelve, evanescent.”

“NO! No..” You cried. These words would be your undoing. Once they had been uttered there was no going back. You couldn’t go back.

“Illustrate, beserk.”

“NO! STOP IT!... Please.”

“Connection.”

Your mind went black. No feelings, just the urge to follow orders. Thoughts, but no control or freedom over what they were. Your bloodied body relaxing in the chair. Thousands of memories of your training and your experimentation flooded your head. You raised your head to look up at the grey haired man. “Ready to comply.”

“Good. We have a mission for you, Soldat.”

~~~

Shoot, kill, protect. Shoot, kill, protect.

That was all that went through your mind and you slunk around the corners of the base. It had been infiltrated by a group of highly-trained superheroes. They were hardly subtle, despite how much they tried to be. Your enhanced hearing allowed you to hear their footsteps echoing across the halls. Pressing yourself up against the wall, you waited until they had rounded the corner. You were lingering only a few feet away from where Zola had locked himself away to prepare for his escape. You were not only guarding him, but also the files that he possessed. Little did you know that that was not all that the Avengers were hoping to find.

When the footsteps rounded the corner, you were greeted with a redhead woman. Before she could move any further, you had your hand wrapped tightly around her throat, pinning her against the wall. You narrowed your eyes, pressing your gun to her abdomen. She delivered a harsh blow to your stomach, which despite your strength sent you keeling backwards.

“I’ve got eyes.” She muttered something else into her comms, making an advance towards the room, but you grabbed her leg and pulled her to the ground. Her head hit the floor.

Scrabbling for your gun, you were up on your feet in seconds before another two pairs of footsteps reached the end of the corridor. This time, it was two men that rounded the corner. Bucky’s heart almost stopped in his chest when his eyes landed on you. He felt as though he was going to be sick. Mechanically, you readied yourself into a fighting stance. Racing towards you, they both advanced towards you. You ducked under the arm of the taller one before using the wall to propel yourself towards the other. The small hallway became a blue of bullets and limbs as the three of you fought. The movement of one of them was well placed. He seemed to know all of the counters to your moves. It was the red star on his silver arm that caught your attention. And that small distraction was all it took for the man to knock you down and plaster you to the floor.

As you kicked, trying to get a good hit in on the man, he studied your face. It flashed with recognition. Your piercing eyes would never leave Bucky’s memories.

“Y/n?”

You flinched at the small mention of your name, but your programming was too strong. Shoot, kill, protect. Your fingers reached for your gun which he had knocked out of your hands. Your fingers inched along the floor, but then there was a firm grip on your wrist keeping it still. You squirmed.

Bucky tried again. He couldn’t quite believe that you were in front of him. Your face hadn’t changed much since the last time he saw you but you looked older, more tired. “Doll?”

You stiffened. The name cuts through your programming like a knife in butter. His face came flooding back to you, some memories good, some bad. He was there when you were at your lowest, you were there when he was at his. The two of you had been together through thick and thin, supporting each other through what little good and what masses of pain you had experienced. You furrowed his brow, scanning his face. His blue eyes were still the same, but he looked different. Kinder. Calmer.

“Bucky?”

“Yes!” The super soldier nearly cried. “Yes doll. It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

He eased his touch a little as you melted against him. His touch became tender like you remembered it to be as he cupped your face with his non metal arm.

There was a commotion behind you. The sound of bullets filled the air and your programing shifted to the front of your mind again. With Bucky’s loosened grip on you, you managed to wiggle out from under him and scramble towards the open door. The other man had managed to slip away and infiltrate the room where Zola had barred himself in. You raced in, your finger poised on the trigger. You raised it, aiming at the offender in the room. Though something was stopping you from pulling the trigger as you so normally would under the soldier programing.

Zola frowned angrily. “Kill him.” He spat.

Your hand shook as your mind fought itself. One part of you screamed at you to just pull the trigger. The other, more sane part of you told you otherwise.

A pair of hands wrapped themselves around your waist, pulling you away from the scene. You tried to fight against them, but also enhanced by the serum, Bucky’s strength was on par with yours.

“Get off of me.” You growled.

His grip was firm as it moved to your shoulders.

“Hey, Hey calm down.”

You tried to kick at him, but it was pointless.

“You’re ok doll. It’s me.”

You stilled, relaxing in his arms again.

“I’m gonna get you out of here Doll. I promise.”

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY EIGHT ⛤ DAY TEN ->

🏷️ Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

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bumblingdragon · 7 months

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Whumptober - day 9 - Polaroid

(you should click on that for full quality)

#whumptober2023 #no.9 #Polaroid #OC #art #hostage #digital art #digital painting #clip studio paint #my art

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aprocessionofthoughts · 7 months

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To succeed is to fail

whumptober2023 day 9- mistaken identity fandom- Danny phantom x Batman TW- nothing summary- The Amity Parkers have the opportunity (they didn't want) to explore Gotham. It's just too bad that Danny looks a lot like adoption bait.

First of all, I’d like to state that I know this is whumptober. But the story disagreed. So now we have whumpcracktober.

ao3 masterlist

They were not supposed to be here. They didn't want to be here. They hadn’t even tried to be here. Yet luck had never been on the Amity Parker’s side before, and they should have realized this would be no different.

It was their senior year and things around Amity had calmed down. Or at least everyone was used to Amity’s special brand of crazy.

He had told his parents about Phantom and they had helped hunt down the GIW. Most of Amity was discovered to be liminal and most of the young people had developed some basic abilities.

And then Mrs. Abernagaby decided that their science final would be a group project. This wasn’t anything new. Every year Casper participated in the Helping Intelligent Minds Be Outstanding competition–better known as the HIMBO competition.

And usually the smartest seniors would be picked to work on a group project to submit. Casper High had never won. So, this year Mrs. Abrnagaby decided that all the seniors could work on it together. Because more heads were better than one!

Obviously she didn’t remember what being part of a group project felt like. And she obviously didn't account for the fact that no one would care.

They weren’t even told what the award was since it varied year to year and was meant to be a surprise.

All they were told was that they had to design a new air filtration system.

So, being seniors who had survived ghost attacks, invasions, their town being pulled into another dimension, dealing with the GIW, and making it through adjusting to Amity shifting to the stranger side as everyone's liminality began to show, they did not try.

Which was how they ended up with this masterpiece.

The challenge was to design a new air filtrator. Which if they had wanted to, would have been easy since air filters that would reduce the amount of ectoplasm in the air had been designed before the residents realized it was too late to do any good, and so they had never been made.

They didn’t even submit a design; it was a paper mache volcano covered in everyone’s failed tests. The accompanying research paper they were supposed to submit had Dash’s and Paulina’s self-insert fanfics with– you guessed it– phantom as the love interest. Danny had tried to make them remove it since it was awkward now that they knew who he was, but they had claimed they wrote it before they knew. Danny knew this was a lie because they were lying liars who lied.

The paper also included one of Sam’s activist papers, Wes’s conspiracies about Bruce Wayne being Batman’s sugar daddy (now that everyone knew Danny was Phantom Wes didn’t feel the need to include that research (he also believed that Batman was Bruce Wayne but didn’t want to antagonize the furry who could ruin his life)).

Tucker had included evidence of a Pentagon hack he had done a few years ago, Mikey had drawn some incredible fanart about Green Lantern (he said this would have the greatest effect on Gothamites and Wes agreed saying Batman didn’t like Green Lantern. How he knew this, no one asked.).

And lastly, they attached a file of them doing the Harlem Shake.

Mrs. Abernagaby hadn’t even looked at it before sending it off.

And then of course they had won. And what a grand prize it was! They won a trip to Gotham to explore the various big businesses, as well as a chance to apply at those locations for internships. Yeah… Sam had found out all the other schools had dropped out after finding out the prize. No one wanted to go to Gotham. But the school said it was a learning opportunity! To see what it was like outside Amity! To see what normal was supposed to be like!

So, they were forced to go, but at least they got Mr. Lancer as their supervisor and they wouldn’t even have to take a long bus ride because Amity was friends with Gotham. Apparently there weren’t very many Living Cities and the two liked to talk. They also thought it would be hilarious if the Amity Parkers went to Gotham. So, Amity had temporarily turned the road that left the city into a portal that led to Gotham’s border, and at the end of the week Gotham would return them.

And that was how he had ended up here. In the back of a smelly van with a smelly bag over his head surrounded by smelly men probably heading to a smelly, sketchy location. All because these men were stupid and thought he was some Wayne kid.

Sure, he could have gotten out. But this was honestly more interesting than touring another boring building and having to almost get mugged again.

..........

AN-I plan to continue this but it probably won’t be until after October because I want to focus on completing the challenges I'm participating in.

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober #no.9 #mistaken identity #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #batman #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #humor #no angst #I know this was supposed to be whumptober #but the story disagreed #what was I supposed to do #aren't we supposed to support our children's decision #I was being a supportive story writer

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celtic-crossbow · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023

No. 9 Polaroid | No. 27 “Let me see.”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Alexandria/Sanctuary

Warnings: Self-harm, mentions of character death

You thought it would be a no-brainer that you’d accompany Daryl to run Sanctuary. The man had been tortured and humiliated within those walls by the very people he was meant to now help. Still, Rick had balked at the idea of losing your aid in Alexandria. Daryl had, of course, sided with the leader and encouraged you to remain behind. It was by his persuasion that you agreed for a time.

That is, until a visit to the thrice cursed compound.

You entered with Rick, hearing his praises being sung as per usual. When he stopped to converse with and reassure the people, you continued onward, in search of the only person that mattered to you.

Daryl was not in his room. You let yourself linger for a few minutes though, sitting upon his bed— unmade, of course — and lifting his pillow to your face to inhale the scent he’d left behind. You’d be able to indulge in that later, though, so you lowered it to your lap and leaned forward to take in his lodgings.

Things were tidier than you’d ever expect from the archer. Maybe someone would keep things cleaned up for him as you would do when he was home with you. He had a few things pinned on the wall: maps and plans and a single photo. Of you. It wasn’t the best by your standards. Glenn had taken it at the prison. Your hair was a mess. You had one eye pinched shut, having just woken up. Your hand was reaching toward the camera and there was a smile on your face. You remembered the moment well, though you didn’t know that photo had made its way to Daryl’s possession. Regardless, the fact that the archer had only that, his crossbow, and the clothes on his back from home made your heart swell.

You replaced his pillow and made his bed before you stepped back into the hallway and pulled the door shut. Outside was the next option. There were a few men out there but no sign of your partner.

“You seen Daryl?” You queried. They seemed friendly enough. Not former Saviors but workers, you surmised.

“I saw him over toward the old cells a while ago.” An older gentleman answered. He offered you a kind smile that you saw no reason to not return before you entered the door across the way.

The former cells were being converted into more rooms for the people that still resided in the compound. Today, though, it seemed no one was working on that project. The halls were dark aside from the tiniest bit of light filtering underneath one of the doors.

“Daryl?” You kept your voice low, suddenly fearing what the shadows could hide. The compound had been cleared of the dead but in the days you were living, fear was almost always justified.

You reached the door and stared at the space underneath. The light was unsteady, almost vibrating. So, a candle or a match, maybe.

You tapped a knuckle against the metal door and waited, only to be met with silence. The hinges groaned when you opened the thing, the smell of cigarette smoke and…something else wafting into your face almost instantly.

You wanted to be relieved that you had found Daryl, but the sight you were met with was anything but relieving. He was sitting against the wall of the cell that you knew without asking had been his. He had shown you before. His lighter was open and burning on the floor, a polaroid lying beside it. But distressing were the obvious tear tracks on his cheeks and the burning end of the cigarette he was pulling away from the top of his hand.

It was with clear understanding that you moved slowly whilst he repeated the process, burning another deep circle just below his knuckles. He didn't even seem to notice you were there, even when you were sitting on your knees directly in front of him. His vacant gaze wasn’t on you or even on the wounds he was inflicting upon himself. It was settled solemnly on the photo beside the flame. You leaned to see what it was, and your stomach lurched violently.

Glenn. It was a grizzly photo of Glenn after—

Daryl had told you about this photo, how they had used it to try and break him. How it had nearly worked.

But…why did he have it? You were sure it had been destroyed.

Unless—

You closed your eyes, allowing a single tear to cascade down your cheek and fall to the floor. This wasn’t about you.

“Daryl?” You kept your voice calm and even, gently taking the cigarette from his grasp and putting it out on the concrete floor. His hand and wrist were a mess of circular burns but that could be dealt with later. “Hey, can you look at me?”

His eyes lingered on the photo for a moment before sliding toward you, his head turning slowly. His gaze was still eerily blank. You took that moment to reach, without looking away from him, and flip over the picture. If you could coax him back to you, you didn’t want to risk him drifting away again by accidentally seeing it.

“That’s it. Hi.” You cooed softly, caressing his face and brushing back his unruly hair. Recognition was slowly seeping into those gorgeous blue pools. You smiled gently when you felt his hand come to rest on your forearm.

“Y/N?” His voice was quiet and rough. How long had he been in here?

“I’m here.” You soothed, continuing to offer small, comforting touches while not invading his space. “Want to tell me where you were just now?” He stared at you for a moment before his carefully placed expression crumbled. Shit. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” You pulled him forward gently, his face in the crook of your neck before his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. You shouldn’t have asked, not yet. Should have given him more time to fully gather himself in the present and out of this cage.

So you held him in silence and let him cry, rubbing his back in slow circles. His uninjured hand had released your arm to grip at your open flannel, fingers flexing in the material. You weren’t sure how much time passed and didn’t really care, your full attention on providing grounding and comfort for the man in your arms. He eventually calmed enough to pull away, attempting to turn his head in order to hide the wetness below his eyes but your hand tenderly caught his jaw. You shushed him softly while using both thumbs to wipe away the moisture.

“What can I do for you, baby?” It was a loaded question. You knew this was more guilt than he was capable of ridding himself of all at once. His talk with Maggie had been a start, but far from the end. Daryl carried things for years before eventually allowing himself to come to terms with the emotions that certain events left for him. Daryl and feelings had never been friends.

He didn’t answer, not out loud. His eyes moved to the polaroid and remained there, managing to remain dry but no less haunted. Still, you understood.

Your hand came to rest atop his, lifting it and placing it on the back of the picture. He pinched the edge between his thumb and index finger, and you did the same just beside his, not allowing him to flip it over. You helped guide him the small distance to the lighter, releasing the photo to clasp his wrist in a loose grip as the corner of the polaroid caught fire. Your eyes were on him as he watched the thing burn. For a moment, you thought you’d have to shake his wrist for him to release his hold but he dropped the photo mere seconds before the flames could reach his fingertips.

Only a small pile of ashes remained when Daryl reached for the zippo and closed the lid, sending you both into complete darkness. Your hand was still on his wrist, holding the connection until he was ready to move.

“Le’s go.” His voice was quiet and he pulled away from you but you could hear him getting to his feet. You had a split second to worry for him before you felt his fingers lace through your own. He guided you to the door and down the hall, the simple act leaving a bad taste in your mouth. How many times had he come here in the dark to navigate without an ounce of light?

The door opened and your eyes were assaulted with the afternoon sun, forcing you to shield them under your hand. With a squinted glance, you saw Daryl doing the same. You both seemed frozen to the spot while your eyes adjusted. It didn’t take long for people to approach, riddling the archer with questions and concerns of every caliber. He tensed almost violently beside you, his hold on your hand tightening.

“Hey!” You stepped in front of Daryl and held your hands up placatingly. “I can promise you that Daryl is very adamant in hearing each of your questions and concerns. However, we are fortunate enough to have Rick Grimes in tow today! You’ll find him in the worker’s hall and can direct everything to him in Daryl’s stead today!”

The people seemed more than happy to adhere to your suggestion, shuffling off as one unit to find the former sheriff. You watched them leave and felt your bowman’s arms encircle your midsection.

“Rick ain’t gon’ like tha’.” He warned from behind your shoulder.

“Whatever. He loves me. He’ll get over it. Come on.” You took his uninjured hand and pulled him along toward his quarters. Luckily, you ran into no one else on your journey and let out a sigh of relief once the door closed behind you. You leaned against the cool surface and watched Daryl slowly sit down on his bed.

“Ya already been in here.” It wasn’t a question but you gave a shrug anyway while toeing off your boots.

“Couldn’t find you. Had to start somewhere.” Disappearing into the small attached bathroom, you grabbed a roll of gauze, a small bowl of cool water, a cloth, and stopped in the kitchen on your way back, hoping to find what you needed. Luck seemed to be on your side. Snatching the back of one of the dinette chairs, you dragged it along with you and placed it in front of Daryl. With your supplies at the ready on the bedside table, you presented your palm and wiggled your fingers expectantly. “Let me see.”

He held out his left hand without argument, wincing when he heard you hiss at the extent of what he had done. “S’not tha’ bad.” He whispered, feeling shame start to nibble away at him.

“Hey.” You reached to hook a finger under his chin and guide his gaze toward yours. “Don’t do that. You were dealing with your pain. Alone. Maybe we can find some healthier outlets for you together but don’t beat yourself up about this.” The space between you closed for a moment, your lips pressing gingerly to his. “I was only reacting to how much they probably hurt.”

“Okay.” He still sounded doubtful but you could help him work through that a little at a time.

You set about wetting the cloth and pressing it against the burns as gently as possible. His fingers twitched but he showed no other signs of discomfort. There were at least a dozen new burns but with something to compare it to, there were a few scars already littering the area. How could you have missed this?

Once you were satisfied that they were clean and the skin cooled, you grabbed the half bottle of organic honey. It was definitely outdated but you had all learned to work with what you had.

“S’that fer?”

“I am so glad you asked, Mr. Dixon!” You beamed while squeezing small amounts onto your fingertips. “Honey has natural antibacterial properties, as well as a level of hydrogen peroxide, low ph, and high viscosity.” You dabbed a little onto each irritated circle before grinning up at him.

“Ya sound like a infomercial.” He gave a soft snort and if that was as close to a laugh as you got from him today, you’d take it. You wouldn’t dare let him catch you staring, but he looked truly awful. Dark circles were beginning to form underneath his eyes, and he had lost a little weight. Not much, but enough to be noticeable. He appeared to have aged a decade since the last time you had seen him.

And that simply would not do.

“Okay! All done! Oh, wait!!” You secured the gauze with a bit of tape and pulled his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the bandage. “Can’t forget the most important treatment.”

“We kissin’ each other’s boo-boos now?” There was a hint of amusement to his tone that made it clear he didn’t mind. With another quick peck against his lips, you gathered up the mess and walked away.

“Damn straight, we are. Things are just that serious between us, Dixon.”

On your way back into the room, you paused by the door and engaged the lock, flipping off the lights so that only the natural light from the small windows could filter in.

“Whatcha doin’? Gotta get back out there—”

Your finger pressed against his lips to effectively silence him. “Nope.” You snatched the radio from his belt and switched it on. “Get cozy. You’re not leaving for the rest of the day.” Before he could protest, you had pressed the call button on the radio. “Rick, it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N! I’ve been trying to reach Daryl. Have you seen him?”

“I have but he’s taking the night off.”

“Is he alright?”

You smiled softly at the archer from behind the device. “He will be. You got things under control, right, Grimes?”

“Could I talk to him for a second? There’s a situation with—”

You shut off the radio and placed it on the dinette. Daryl was watching you, looking a little nervous.

“He really ain’t gon’ like tha’.” He drawled.

“Tough shit. I thought I told you to get cozy?” You shrugged off your flannel, pulled your shirt over your head, and shucked off your jeans. Standing there in your bra and panties, you crossed your arms and cocked an eyebrow until he finally gave in with a tired roll of his eyes.

Both stripped down to your underthings, you crawled under the blankets first and held them up for him.

“Ain’t even dark yet.”

“Something tells me you need the extra rest. Now get in here and cuddle me like a man.”

“Yer somethin’ else.” He mused, following the order. You pulled at him until his head was on your chest and an arm draped over your middle. Once your fingers began to run through his long hair, you heard him sigh and felt the tension draining out of him. You couldn’t fix everything in a day but it was a start. Tomorrow, you’d talk to Carol about taking over there so Daryl could come home with you. Then you’d ensure Rick gave him some time off, even if it meant you had to toss the archer into the trunk of a car and steal him away to a remote cabin somewhere.

“I sure am. You chose this. No refunds, buddy.” This was stone number one, and together, you’d build on it.

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lost-shoe · 2 years

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Supernatural - Inside Man (10.17)

Whumptober 2022

No. 9 TOSSING AND TURNING

#whumptober2022 #no.9 #tossing and turning #supernatural #gifs #spnedit #spndaily #spncreatorsdaily #deanedit #dean winchester #spndeanwinchester #jensen ackles #jensenacklesedit #jacklesedit #jensenedit #mark of cain

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adrift-in-thyme · 7 months

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Whumptober Day 9: Mistaken Identity

Read on Ao3

- Legend & Hyrule

- Summary: Legend is mistaken for Hyrule

CW for drugging, blood and injury (specifically to a character's neck), a character nearly suffocating, and a very near-death experience

---------------------

The world is in flashes of light and color and sound. Muffled yells, orders he doesn’t understand – they collide, pounding against Legend’s aching skull.

Rough hands yank him into a standing position (he hadn’t even realized he had been lying prone on the hard ground). He stumbles, cursing.

What in Hylia’s name had happened to him?

He remembers bits and pieces. Flitting images, parts of memories that he can just barely snatch. He was walking through a dungeon, he thinks, and somehow had been separated from the others. And then he had come upon a chest and opened it…

Everything after that is hazy. Far hazier than the other memories are.

His befuddlement is infuriating. He’s the veteran of hero business. He knows everything but everything. Yet he can’t even recall how he ended up where he is. And he certainly can’t collect his thoughts enough to figure out an escape.

Ropes find their way around his wrists and ankles now. A gag pulls tight between his lips. He wavers and bumps against one of his captors’ hips. They shove at him, blurry faces leering.

“Take him outside!” One of them shouts. The sound reverberates through Legend’s head and he cringes.

By the golden three can they not be a little quieter?

Suddenly, the ground tilts, dipping as he rises without moving a muscle. In the next moment, he finds himself slung over someone’s shoulder like a bag of grain.

His sluggish mind struggles to comprehend. Dimly, he realizes he should fight back. Clumsily, weakly he tries. But his body is as uncooperative as his mind. Whatever runs through his veins is too potent to be pushed aside by anger and fear.

His captors laugh at him, the sound grating and infuriating. It brings to mind Agahnim’s patronizing cackles as he had shot beams of magic at his face.

“Don’t worry you boy,” someone sneers in his ear. “It’ll all be over soon. So unfortunate for you, though, that you won’t get to see him.”

More laughter. Legend shuts his eyes, willing the world to stop moving, stop tilting.

“Indeed, and yet, it will be your blood that resurrects him. Intriguing isn’t it? That a hero possesses the power to resurrect Gandondorf.”

Legend’s eyes fly back open, his blood running icy cold.

What on earth…

He has heard tales along his journey with the other heroes, tales of a boy with blood that can bring back a great evil. But he had never heard enough to decide whether or not to believe it. And he certainly knows that boy is not him.

A chill hits him as they leave the darkness of the building. If he squints he can make out the sky, lit by twilight’s glorious glow. It reflects upon the sand and cliff sides in shades of shell pink.

But he hardly sees it. Panic has surged through the haze now and he struggles, still feeble, still uncoordinated, yet more desperate than ever.

His blood is incapable of resurrecting that evil man. If it were, he would know. These people, however, obviously didn’t get the memo. And in order to try and achieve their dastardly goal, they undoubtedly will need to extract quite a bit of blood. Possibly, enough to kill him.

Legend would really rather remain alive.

His thrashing is as fruitless as before, though. All it earns him is a few grunts of pain from his captor, and a very unpleasant plunge down into the sand. He hits it with a muffled groan.

But seconds later he’s up again. Hands fist in his hair, dragging him into a standing position. Cool metal presses against his neck.

“You know the spell, don’t you?” Someone hisses. “Well, get on with it.”

A small group of the masked men band together a few steps away from him, muttering in a language Legend has never heard before. With every word their voices grow louder. With every word his heart beats faster.

Whatever drug they had given him is slowly draining away and as it leaves, utter terror replaces it. He dares not fight now, however, not with the sickle that is biting at his throat. It will strike soon anyway, but some innate instinct forces him to prolong the seconds in which he isn’t choking on his own blood.

Every moment counts, he guesses, especially when you know they’ll be your last. Too bad he’ll spend them restrained by coarse ropes, a stranger’s grip, and the substance still clouding his mind; trembling from pain and cold and a nauseating mix of terror and fury.

It has been a long time since he felt quite this helpless.

The chants grow steadily louder and take on an eeriness that sends shivers running laps down his back. And then one of the men raises his voice into a shout. Before Legend has a moment to prepare, his captor brings the sickle across his neck.

A stinging burn encases the spot. Blood floods his throat. Eyes blown wide with panic, Legend struggles, trying to drag in a breath through the metallic liquid he is suddenly drowning in. It’s as though he is on the sea once more, buffeted by wind and rain, choking on salty water.

He can see it through blurred eyes, cascading down his chest in gory rivulets of red.

It’s going to stain my tunic, he thinks, dazedly. It’s a shame. I liked this one.

Fingers brush roughly over the gash, gathering more blood. Cackles of sadistic glee ring in his ears. The chants continue their ominous rhythm as the world begins to go a dismal gray.

Everything seems to swirl around him, mad and out of control. Faster and faster it goes as his panic builds, making him dizzy.

Then, abruptly, it stops.

“It didn’t work!” Someone shouts, voice echoing in the sudden stillness.

If he wasn’t actively bleeding out, Legend would laugh in their faces. But his grasp on anything resembling consciousness is slipping fast, his strangled breaths growing shallower, and distantly, dully, he knows it’s coming. It’s a wonder he has held on for this long.

Yet still he gasps like a fish on land, still he fights to keep his eyes open and the darkness at bay.

He has to get back to his brothers and Zelda and Ravio. He won’t leave them, he won’t, he can’t….

“Maybe we need more blood!”

His back hits the sand. Legend writhes, trying to breathe past the cloth sticking to his lips, the iron flooding his lungs. Each breath gurgles, bringing in nothing but more liquid. The ground tilts dizzyingly.

Then, pain rips through him anew as they carve a gash into his arm. A silent scream rises in his heaving chest and never comes out. Blood runs hot and thick, soaking his clothing, turning the sand red. It’s everywhere. He inhales it, tastes it, smells it.

Light and darkness dance before him, a kaleidoscope of rainbow hues.

My son, his uncle says and his kind voice is like a balm, soothing endless pain. It is time to go home.

It is time to fly away, Link, Marin sings. And be free as I am.

Legend tries once more to breathe. He fails.

“No!”

Hands enclose his wrist. Magic jolts through him like an electric current, zipping through his body. It sears into his neck, red-hot with fury and determination.

Hyrule.

“Don’t give up, you can’t— ”

Another surge of power. The darkness begins to slip away and Uncle and Marin fade with it. Legend chokes on a sob, reaching out.

Don’t leave me again.

“But it is time,” his uncle says again. “It is time to go home.”

Marin smiles, sweet and agonizing. “Go and be free.”

Be free. Be home.

“Come on, vet. Don’t leave me!”

Another hand reaches to him out of the darkness. As tears stream down his face and pain tears through him, Legend turns around, reaches out, and grasps it.

Light penetrates his vision. Faces float into his line of sight, some tear-streamed and pale, all worried. The faces of his brothers.

Hyrule hovers inches from him, hands warm and real in his, fire and terror swirling in his irises, lips set in a thin line of determination. But when Legend’s eyes find his, his expression morphs into a tearful grin.

“Ledge?”

Legend’s lips lift in a small smile of his own. “H-hey ‘rule.”

The words are torture on his abused throat and the salt water draining down isn’t helping matters either. But then, Hyrule pulls him into a hug and nothing else matters.

The others join in seconds later. They’re all gentle, all cognizant of his still-fresh wounds, and their arms envelope him like a blanket.

Any other time this would be off limits entirely. At least, not without a big to-do about elbows in his stomach and breath in his face. But now, Legend doesn’t care.

Pretenses and reputation be damned. He wants his brothers here, surrounding him, keeping him safe.

So, he buries his face in Hyrule’s shoulder. And he breathes.

#whumptober 2023 #no.9 #mistaken identity #linkeduniverse #fic #blood tw #injury tw #drugging tw #lu legend #lu hyrule #whump #angst #hurt/comfort #trin writes #had a lot of fun with this one XD #though i can't say legend did #sorry vet

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atimeofyourlife · 7 months

Text

Whumptober day 9

Steve knew he would get caught in the lie eventually. It wasn't something he'd be able to hide forever. That his parents had sold the house from underneath him, no offer for him to move with them, no offer of assistance to find somewhere new to live. Leaving him living out of his car until he was able to find somewhere new to live. Having to use the showers at the community pool, which he had access to because he'd never returned the keys after the last summer he'd worked there. Surviving off of to go meals or non-perishable food that he could eat without heating it up. Unless he was at work, then he could use the microwave for something hot. He just wanted to hide the lie long enough to be able to find a place to rent, preferably a place that didn't need a reference.

Robin would have picked it up immediately, but she'd left for college. They had a weekly phone call arranged on his Tuesday night late shift at Family Video. Originally it had been to his house, but he started claiming that his parents were home with no end date to cover up that he was no longer living there. He'd told everyone else the same lie, telling them they could reach him on the walkie if they ever needed him. Robin hadn't been happy, but she'd accepted it, knowing what his parents were like.

The kids grew a little suspicious when he started refusing to give them rides all the time, because he didn't want them to see how stuffed his car was with all his belongings, but they quickly got over it as they were old enough to drive and some of them had cars of their own. He made various excuses, from the price of gas to working over time to needing to help his parents with something. He wasn't sure how much they believed him, but none of them called him on it, and eventually they stopped asking.

It was harder lying to the adults, Mrs Henderson, the Sinclair's, Joyce, and Hopper. Steve felt like they could see right through every lie he told them. Especially as they stepped up and started offering more help to him. Hopper and Joyce inviting him round for dinner at least once a week, often more. Mrs Henderson offering the use of the guest room whenever she saw him, if he ever needed a place to stay. Mr and Mrs Sinclair extending an open invitation for him to show up whenever he wanted to, and always tried to force him into taking leftovers after every visit. He didn't think they knew he was homeless, as he was certain that they would make a bigger deal out of it, but it was obvious they knew something was wrong, most likely that he was having a hard time with his parents being home.

He moved his car regularly, never staying in the same spot for more than two nights in a row. Not wanting to get caught by the police, especially not Hopper. It was awkward, but again he made it work. He had to, if he wanted to get any sleep. On more than one occasion, if he was on a closing shift followed by an open, he would pull his car around to the back of Family Video and sleep there. And there'd been a night during a particularly bad storm where he'd done all the closing duties, and locked himself in for the night, crashing on the lumpy couch in the breakroom so he wouldn't have to try to sleep as the wind and rain battered his car.

But it was only a matter of time before it started to fall apart. He got caught sleeping in his car by the police twice in a week. First time by Callahan when he was parked at the edge of the quarry, then a few days later by Powell up near Lovers Lake. Both times he gave the same excuse, that he'd gotten into it with his parents and needed to get away from them for the night. He realized later that he should have known that information would quickly make it's way back to Hopper. That outside of government mandated ones, there weren't many secrets kept in Hawkins. After that, he tried to find different parking spots, resorting to the dark corner of a parking lot for a motel that was just outside of town. But he only got a couple of nights there before it all crashed down.

It started with Dustin calling him on the walkie just after he'd finished work one day. Declaring there to be a code red, and that Steve needed to meet everyone else at Joyce and Hopper's place immediately. Steve broke a few traffic laws on his way over, horrified that it might be starting again. For what it would mean for the town, for his loved ones.

When he got there, the place seemed strangely quiet and subdued for the Upside Down potentially starting again. He climbed out of the car, and made for the trunk, stopping when he noticed Hopper watching him from the porch.

"You don't need the bat, kid. Just come on in."

Steve felt uneasy as he followed Hopper inside, unsure what was actually going on.

Once inside, everyone was calm. Too calm. No one was panicking, no one was planning, no one was organizing weapons. They were all just sat around waiting, with the tv on low in the background.

"What. What's going on?" He asked hesitantly.

"Steve, honey, we need you to talk to us. Tell us what's happened." Joyce said softly, guiding Steve into the room.

"I. What?" Steve was confused. "I don't- what happened? Is it the Upside Down?"

"Why would it be the Upside Down?" Mike asked from where he was stood against the wall.

"It. Henderson said-"

"You called a code red?" Lucas hit Dustin in the arm. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"We needed to get Steve here without him asking questions." Dustin protested, hitting Lucas back.

"Okay, all of you, pack it in." Hopper warned the kids, before turning to Steve. "Don't worry, Harrington. It's not the Upside Down. We just needed to talk to you."

"Steve, is everything okay at home? Are you safe?" Joyce asked, and Steve froze for a second, terrified that they had found out.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Why wouldn't I be safe?" Steve lied, fighting to keep his expression neutral.

"Powell and Callahan have both told me that they've caught you sleeping in your car on different nights in the last week. That you'd got in a fight with your parents or something." Hopper said cautiously, as if he was trying not to sound accusatory.

"Well, yeah. But you know what they're like. Me and dad clash heads a lot and it's easier for me to leave so we can both cool down. It's not the first time it's happened. When I was younger I used to crash at Tommy's." Steve replied, not exactly lying this time. Because it had happened so many times, even leaving him sleeping in his car or outside before.

"You're a liar." Dustin burst out.

"What?" Steve asked, unsure where Dustin wasn't following the lie.

"You're a liar. You're lying to us. I tried calling you a few days ago and the line's been disconnected."

"My parents wanted to get a new number because they kept getting harassment calls. I guess I just forgot to let you guys know that. I'll get it to you soon." Steve still wanted to dig his way out of it, even though the look on everyone else's face said they didn't believe him.

"The kids told me that calls weren't going through, and they were worried something had happened. So I went round to do a welfare check. It wasn't your parents that opened the door. It was a new family, and when I asked about you, they said they'd brought the house and moved in two months ago. So what is going on?" Hopper said firmly, and Steve knew he was caught.

"Look it's no big deal. I'm managing." Steve got up and tried to leave, but Hopper grabbed his arm before he could.

"Harrington. Steve. You're not going anywhere until you tell us exactly what's been going on. How long you've not been at home, how you've been coping, where you've been staying?"

"We're worried about you, we just need to know that you're okay." Joyce added.

"I'm fine." Steve insisted, but knew he'd have to explain at least some of it. "My parents sold the house. I didn't want to leave, but I've not found a place to rent yet. But it's all fine, you don't need to be worried about me."

"So you're homeless? Have you been sleeping in your car the entire time?" Hopper asked, but Steve didn't answer.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Dustin demanded. "My mom has always said that you can use the guest room whenever you need it. You could have stayed with us."

"Because it's not a big thing. I've been coping just fine. No one needs the burden of me staying with them until I can find a place to rent." Steve snapped his mouth shut as he realized that he'd admitted that he saw himself as a burden.

"Honey, it's not a burden on anyone. We all care about you, and it's never a burden to make sure that you're safe." Joyce replied, her voice tinged with sadness at his answer.

"You're going to stay with us." Hopper said firmly, giving Steve a pointed look when he opened his mouth to protest. "No buts. It's safer for you, for everyone. You can have the guest room for as long as you need it. And if you want me to, I'll cosign for you to get an apartment once you've found somewhere."

"I. I couldn't accept it." Steve started, unsure of what to say about the offer.

"If you don't accept it, we'll tell Robin that you lied to everyone about your parents being home, and that you were actually homeless." Dustin threatened.

Steve knew he was stuck. Robin would just about kill him for not telling her that he'd been made homeless. "Fine. I'll take the guest room. But only until I find a place to rent."

#whumptober2023 #no.9 #“you're a liar.”#stranger things #fic #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic stobin #jim hopper #dustin henderson #steve harrington whump #atimeofyourwrites

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