yvonne-silver

[yvonne-silver]

Impaled

Whumptober 2022 #3. Hair’s breadth from death: impaled

The fight has been going on too long. Geralt can feel it, with years and years of training, that he’s cutting it too close this time. This creature, huge, with snapping pincers and too many sharp stabbing legs, has been keeping him at bay for more time than his potion allows. But Geralt can’t be the only one getting tired. All he needs is an opening.

When he finally finds the opening in its defence, Geralt doesn’t hesitate. Even as he feels his potion starting to wear off, he forces one last burst of strength from himself, plunging forward and thrusting his sword forward into the centre of the soft round body. The creature screeches, quivers, and finally lies still, leaving Geralt alone with with his ragged breathing.

Geralt leans forward on his sword, slowly catching his breath. It had almost been too close, this time. He can feel the potion leaving his system, his heightened senses dimming, the dulled pain starting to make itself known. He needs to get back to Roach before that happens. Geralt goes to sheathe his sword but finds himself hindered. He looks down.

Ah.

There’s a black cylinder, almost as thick as his underarm, sticking from just below and to the left of his midriff. His eyes follow it forward to where the appendage attaches to the thorax of the creature he’s just killed. With a grunt he manages to twist a little and look over his shoulder, to see the rest of the leg extend out behind him.

In his last, desperate charge, he hadn’t even realised he’d been impaled. He must have charged up the full length of the creatures limb, reaching its heart, but trapping himself in the progress.

Along with the realisation comes fresh awareness of the pain. Geralt stabs his sword back into the dirt and leans heavily on it, its support the only thing keeping him from falling to his knees. His shaking fingers trace the edge of the wound, feeling the smooth platelets of the appendage where they’ve torn through him. As the potion and the adrenaline wears off, the pain will only get worse. He needs to act now.

Still using his sword for support, he looks behind him. There’s at least a spears-length of leg behind him. Going backwards would be slow and painful, not to mention he’s not precisely sure what the plating situation is of this creature’s limbs. If they’re plated instead of perfectly fitted, they might function as barbs when going backwards. That means he’ll have to make a way forwards.

He looks at the length of leg protruding from him. There’s a joint a little ahead. If he can hit that just right, he should be able to cut the limb free, and slide off the end of it. He positions his feet a little firmer, wincing at the strain each movement is putting on the wound. With a grunt, he lifts the sword over his head, aims and swings down.

The impact sends a screaming pain through his torso. The sword glances off the hard shell, nicking against the joint before skittering away from his weakened grip. His vision darkens for a moment and his knees buckle. The only reason he doesn’t fall forwards into the mud is that he’s still impaled. As it is, he sinks slowly to his knees, his hands wrapped around the appendage sticking out just below his ribs.

When he’s kneeling on the wet marsh, Geralt takes a moment to steady himself against the limb. The pain is clouding his thoughts, and so is the exhaustion. Yet he can’t afford to pass out, not in this precarious a situation.

Geralt takes as deep a breath as he can manage. Then another. He takes stock of his situation. He still needs to cut himself free before he can think of doing anything else. Can’t move until he’s free. Can’t bandage the wound until it’s clean. Can’t even reach his supplies unless he gets off of this limb. And to do that he needs his weapon.

He looks up to see his sword lying in the mud to the right of him. His brow furrows. That’s too far. He can’t reach that far. But what other option does he have? He grits his teeth, wraps his left hand around the appendage for balance, and reaches out with his right hand.

The fresh pressure sends pain lancing all up his left side. He screams, reaching with all his length, fingertips stretching as far as he can go.

He doesn’t reach the sword.

He sits back, his energy spent for the moment. Swords a no go. He wraps his hands around the protrusion, bows his head as if in prayer. He needs a moment. Just a moment. Then he’ll figure something out.

#whumptober2022 #no.3 #impaled #the witcher #fic #spiders #or spiderlike creatures at least #pov whumpee #present tense #geralt of rivia #whump #first entree in a whumptober yay!

[yvonne-silver]

Whumptober 2022

Welcome to Whumptober 2022, in its fifth year of running!

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone new, WELCOME!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

With that being said, we’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators, see what juicy whump they’ve created too! We wish you all the fun!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Keep reading

#alright #I've started on the first prompt #it'll probably all be little snippets and stuff #but good practice none the less #whumptober2022