#altno. 2

[thomothysdoodles]

“GIVE ME ONE SINGLE GOOD REASON NOT TO SHOOT YOU RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW!”

“Because that’s not how the story goes, isn’t it, Abe?”

No. 27 - I’M FINE. I PROM...

Altno. 2 THREATS

Click for better quality

[sakarrie-creates]

Here’s my art for Whumptober’s Day 25 prompt, Flight! (Sorry I didn’t post this yesterday. I got mixed up and posted Alt 2, forgetting that was for Day 26, so I just swapped them.) So, the operative here snatching Player is actually an OC from the series, The Thief Returns by @gulfish! It a fantastically written continuation of Carmen Sandiego from basically right where it ends off. They really have the characters down to an art, so you can easily read it as Season 5 (and beyond!) and feel content that the story is in good hands. Things are starting to really pick up now so it’s a great time to catch up! While the story focuses on the main cast, there are a couple new characters, including this OC, Owlet! She intrigues me so much and I’m so excited to see where her character goes. Her “thing” is that she’s got this killer suit that allows her to fly and gives her talons. So, of course, me being me, the mental image of her swooping in and snatching Player has been ingrained in my head basically since she was introduced haha. I was so excited when Gulfish gave me permission to use her for this scene and I hope you like it! Thanks for letting me play with your character! Btw, while I’m satisfied with how this ended up for where I am on my art journey, my original mental image was way more dynamic, so I could totally see myself redrawing this in a year or so! Comments, likes, follows, and reblogs are appreciated!! Please do not repost. If you see this art posted anywhere else, please let me know. <3 Next up is for alt prompt 2, Threats!

[slashyrogue]

Whumptober Day 19: Broken Voice

Will wasn’t speaking. 

Hannibal wasn’t surprised that it took him so long to notice, but as the days went by and they did nothing more than smile and have one sided conversations the realization hit. 

“I don’t think you’re angry with me,” he said quietly in the dark as they lay side by side, “But your silence has meaning I’m sure.” 

He felt Will reach for his hand in response and let the relief wash over him. 

This wasn’t anger, it was something else. 

But Hannibal did not push for an explanation. 

They grew closer over the coming months, shared smiles and Will would nod or shake his head in response to inquiries. He missed hearing his voice, dreamed of the melodious cadance of its timbre, but took what he could. 

Together did not need words and he had plenty of them. 

It was a year to the day of “The Night of the Dragon” when he finally heard Will speak again. 

The safety of their home in Cuba had made them grow more hungry for more than just the mundane day to day, but neither of them had acted on the shared looks and soft touches between them. Nor had they given into the bloodlust that had never been reignited. 

A shared bed had been their constant since they washed up together on the beach, the closeness so much so that the dip of Will leaving woke him instantly. 

“Will?” 

He got nothing in response and thought for a moment of following but there was no need. 

Hannibal watched the clock by their bedside and when more than seven minutes passed his panic began to spike. 

Where was Will? 

He got up just as he heard a crash and ran down the hall to find the living room in shambles. 

Will was straddling an unknown stranger with his hand raised as he plunged what seemed to be a broken piece of glass into them. Hannibal rushed towards them just as the man’s legs stopped shaking and fell. 

“Will, what---?” 

He turned and Hannibal’s heart leapt at the sight of him covered in blood and half feral in his beauty. 

“We need an alarm system,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and half broken still. 

Hannibal fell on his knees at Will’s side and took the glass shard from his hand. He touched Will’s cheeks and smiled. “I will call in the morning.” 

Will let out a long breath and pressed their foreheads together. 

“I feel like I can finally breathe again.” 

“I’ve missed your voice. If you’d said something....” 

He lifted his head back and shook his head. “No, I--I had to find it again on my own. I...god I feel....” 

Hannibal waited with bated breath, desperate to lean in and capture his mouth, and to his relief Will kissed him. The touch was soft, barely more than a press of lips, but it was everything. 

“This intruder brought the sound of your voice back into my life,” Hannibal whispered, kissing him again, “We will feast on him for days.” 

Will laughed. 

“The Feast of The Fumbling Filcher.” 

Hannibal pressed his lips to Will’s ear to whisper. 

“I have a request.” 

“What? I have to get off all this blood and....” 

“Say my name, just once. Please?” 

He knew Will was smiling by the sound of his voice. 

“Hannibal.” 

Hannibal sighed happily. “I can now die a happy man.” 

“Don’t die yet,” Will whispered, his voice still raw, “We have to get rid of him.” 

He lifted his head back and stared into Will’s eyes. 

“Whatever plan you have I am all ears.” 

Will’s laughter brought tears to his eyes. 

This was perfection. 

No more silence. 

No more fears. 

Will was whole again. 

[keeroo92]

Fire and Ice

Here’s my submission for @whumptober2019 number three, “Delirium”. Also included are the alternate prompts 2 (Broken voice), 3 (Fever), and 9 (Hiding)

Featuring Vergil and Dante. Enjoy!

Word count - 1,702

______

Dante sighed and grabbed the bags of take out from the passenger seat. Tubs of liquid so hot they would’ve burned anyone without his heritage sloshed as he headed to the front door, heavy containers of meat and veggies in the second bag. Pho wasn’t his favorite, but it wasn’t too bad with enough hoisin.

“Vergil, I’m back!” he called, dropping his keys on the table.

Silence greeted him and his lips twisted into a frown. Vergil wasn’t doing well; a rare strain of flu forced him to stay in bed for the last few days. His fever was over one hundred degrees that morning and he hadn’t been able to keep any food down. Hopefully the pho would do the trick, but Dante was worried.

He set the food on his desk and trotted to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time as he called his brother’s name again. As before, there was no response.

Damnit, Verge… answer me, will ya?

A deep thud quickened his steps. That couldn’t be a good sign. His heart twisted in concern as he reached his brother’s door and knocked.

“Vergil, you okay in there?”

Nothing.

Shit.

He tried the handle. It was locked.

“Let me in, douchebag!”

A second heavy thud was the only reply. Dante cursed under his breath and pounded on the door once more, by now unsurprised by the lack of response. He stepped back and considered his options.

Shooting the handle or breaking down the damned thing entirely wouldn’t be difficult; he had no clue where the master key was. What a mess. He growled in annoyance and tried one last time.

“If you don’t unlock the door, I’m breaking it!”

All he heard was his own breathing. The threat of property damage always got a response in the past; something had to be terribly wrong. What if Vergil wasn’t answering because he couldn’t? What if his fever was worse? How high did it need to be to be dangerous? The man in red didn’t know and it scared him all the more for its ominous mystery.

Dante took a deep breath and shifted, his skin erupting in tough armor and flashing to red and black. Leathery wings sprouted from his shoulders and the taste of ash filled his mouth. He growled and stepped back to the opposite wall, bracing his claws in the carpet.

The door crumpled at his bull rush, splinters of wood scattering across the room. He shifted back the second the clattering ended with a deep exhalation, sapphire eyes already scanning the room for a familiar head of swept back hair.

His jaw dropped at the state of the room. Books lied on every available surface, some still open as if forgotten partway through reading. Piles of dirty clothing were heaped by the closet, empty glasses on the headboard. Tangled sheets covered the normally pristine bed, pillows arranged in a haphazard pattern. It smelled of sweat and sickness.

Never had he seen the room in such disarray.

But where’s Vergil?

He checked all the familiar spots; the chair by the window, the desk by the bedside, that patch of carpet Vergil paced upon whenever his mind needed to work. With every vacant space, his worry grew. He’d never needed to take care of anyone but himself, so the concept still felt strange, but his brother wasn’t well. He couldn’t take care of himself.

“Vergil?”

A miniscule rattle drew his gaze to the closet. Why in the world would he be in there?

It didn’t matter. It was his only hint.

The closet opened with a creak of complaint. Panting breaths echoed in the air and as Dante’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, his heart fell to the floor. There was Vergil, knees at his chin and arms wrapped around them. Yamato lied beside him, within easy reach but his brother didn’t seem aware of it. His eyes were wide open, vacantly staring at the opposing wall as if it held the secrets of the universe.

“Aw, shit, Verge… c’mere.”

Dante tugged at his twin’s arm, his eyes widening as it limply dropped to the floor. Whatever was happening in the other man’s mind must be intense, for him to be lacking his usual resistance. He crouched down and shuffled closer to feel his forehead, recoiling as it scorched him.

Fuck. I gotta cool him down somehow…

He retreated to douse a towel with cool water, bringing it to his brother’s boiling flesh upon his return. Steam rose from where cloth met skin, a sizzling noise accompanying every dab. The towel didn’t last long; within minutes it was dry and he tossed it aside with a scowl.

“I’m gonna move you, it’d be nice if you didn’t stab me,” he grumbled. He doubted Vergil heard him, but it couldn’t hurt.

Dante grasped his brother’s shoulders firmly, grunting as he dragged the man from his dark hiding place. His empty look didn’t shift as he heaved him into a fireman’s carry and headed for the bathroom. A soft exhalation was the only signal of Vergil’s continued incoherence as Dante carefully set him on the cold tile, doing his best to avoid burning his fingers.

Demon flu, maybe? Is that a thing? I swear if I catch this, I’m gonna be pissed.

Dante snorted. It was probably too late for that. He shook his head and started the bath, turning the dial completely to the cold side. Now for the really fun part.

It took several minutes of curses and singed fingers, but finally Vergil was left in only his briefs. No matter how sick he got, there was no way in hell Dante was taking off his brother’s underwear. He had his limits.

“All right, this would be way easier if you helped me out,” he said. As expected, Vergil didn’t respond.

Dante sighed and covered his hands with a towel. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would protect him from the worst of it. If not, he’d heal in a few minutes, but pain never got more fun. He braced himself and grappled Vergil into the cool water, splashing an absurd amount over the edge with his efforts.

Once his brother was settled, Dante took a perch on the toilet. Steam rose from the water, the area around his hands and feet reaching a low boil. The red-clad man added more water every time Vergil’s heat boiled too much away, staying by his side for hours and waiting for any change.

He jumped when Vergil spoke at last.

“It… it cannot be…”

The fuck is he yammering about?

Icy eyes darted around the bathroom, landing at last on Dante’s face. He offered a sheepish grin but his twin only snarled in return. A haze of confusion still clouded his expression.

“Im- impossible. She’s dead!”

Lithe but powerful arms slashed at the empty air, attacking an invisible foe. Dante dodged with practiced ease.

“Vergil! It’s me, calm down!”

“Begone, I will not succumb to trickery!”

More water sprayed onto the tile as Vergil thrashed. His hands cracked against the wall and Dante lunged forward, grabbing his skull before it followed suit. He bit his lip and held on as his brother writhed, battling the demons of his mind.

Damnit, quit freaking out!

By the time Vergil calmed, Dante’s arms were aching from holding his head for so long. Two of Vergil’s fingers splayed at unnatural angles and bruises marked him in several spots. Blue met blue as the two brothers’ eyes locked.

“D- Dante?”

“Hey, Verge,” he replied, lowering his sore limbs. Never had he heard Vergil sound so broken, his voice a low croak. “You back now?”

The elder Sparda glanced at the marks lining his arms, taking in his injuries with a disapproving sneer. He cradled his broken fingers and closed his eyes. “I think so.”

Dante leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “Good. You uh, ya had me worried for a sec.”

The man in the bathtub scoffed. “I didn’t realize you had the capacity for such things.”

He snorted. Vergil must be feeling better. A cautious hand went to check his temperature by shoving his shoulder; it felt warm still, but far less so. Progress.

“You should’ve heard the crap you were saying.”

Vergil flinched, his eyes lowering to stare at the water. The expression of vulnerable sadness shocked Dante; his brother wasn’t prone to fits of openness. It was rare to glimpse the man beneath the stoic exterior.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Vergil leaned back, resting his head on the wall as he lowered his mangled fingers into the cold water with a deep sigh. “I imagine you’ll pester me until I do.”

Dante chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, probably.”

His brother clenched his jaw and clicked his tongue, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again. “I was in the Underworld. Mundus was coming.”

“So, you hid in the closet?”

A curt nod was the only response. Dante knew better than to prod at that wound any further. He hummed and crossed his arms, gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling. Did he have the nerve to ask? How could he not?

“You mentioned a woman, too. Was… was it mom?”

Vergil shook his head and muttered, “No, someone else. You didn’t know her.”

A long moment passed in silence, each brother lost in memories of those they’d lost years ago. Eventually, Vergil broke the spell.

“Don’t you have better things to do than sit here and bother me?”

“Not really. But if you leave the door unlocked I’ll go,” Dante replied.

Another curt nod. “Agreed.”

The legendary devil hunter grunted as he rose, his tired body complaining after sitting in the same position for so long. He yawned and stretched, cracking his sternum as he walked away. Halfway out the door, he paused.

“There’s pho, if you’re hungry. Don’t drown.”

A final scoff was his answer and he smirked as he clicked the door closed. Only time would tell if the worst of Vergil’s illness was over. The thought of repeating the last few hours made him cringe. Stripping his twin once was enough, thank you very much.

[sakarrie-creates]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ivy & Player & Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep & Zack, Ivy & Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep & Shadowsan & Zack, Player & Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep, Ivy & Player & Zack, Carmen and the Faculty Characters: Carmen Sandiego | Black Sheep, Player (Carmen Sandiego 2019), Ivy (Carmen Sandiego), Zack (Carmen Sandiego), Coach Brunt (Carmen Sandiego), Dr. Gunnar Maelstrom, Dr. Saira Bellum (Carmen Sandiego 2019), Countess Cleo (Carmen Sandiego) Additional Tags: Whumptober 2021, Alt prompt 2, Threats, VILE knows about Player, Blackmail, Suspense, Self-Sacrifice, Protective Player, Protective Carmen, Supportive Ivy, Supportive Zack, tense situations Series: Part 19 of Sakarrie's Whumptober 2021 Summary:

During a normal caper, Carmen realizes the Faculty have more up their sleeve tonight than stealing a painting. The Faculty have set a trap, and one that she has no choice but to willingly walk into.

Written for Whumptober's alt prompt 2, Threats.

[whump-captain]

No 8. - Alternate prompt:

Threats

(650 words, OC)

Formally introducing whumpee number two, Felix Lawrence! He's kidnapped by a mysterious man whom he comes to call The Figure, trapped in a cursed mansion that will not let him die, and forced to participate in experiments on an eldritch living liquid known as the Stream. The story's pretty high concept and honestly i don't even get most of the concepts myself lmao

---

CN: threatened with a knife, threats of torture, manhandling, attempted drowning

---

Felix felt it on his skin the moment he stepped into the altar room. The fumes of the Stream, the eldritch liquid trapped in the altar's bowl, stuck to him like the thinnest rain, a burning tingle on his hands and face. The liquid wrinkled and waved, as if disturbed by a wind which had no right to make its way this far underground. The Figure, his hands braced on the stone edges of the bowl, looked up and Felix felt his throat seize. His step faltered, fear held him firm to the floor.

"Come closer," says The Figure. He indicated the altar as he circled it. "I will prove once and for all that man can become one with the Stream, absorb it into his very being."

Felix's gaze flitted between him and the altar and in one heartbeat, he understood. "No," he whispered.

"You cannot drown in the Stream," the Figure said and his voice betrayed nothing. "There's no threat to your life. I have far too much use for you to allow that."

"No," was all Felix could say. His mind was screaming, memories spun all around him and yanked him a step backwards, like bait on a string. Every time he touched it, the Stream brought him pain. Like fire that consumed more than just his flesh, that dug so deep into him it burned his very thoughts, forcing maddening knowledge into his mind. Agony both inside and out, until there was nothing else. Until he was broken. Until the next time.

And now The Figure was to drown him in it. He saw it in the man's eyes which he loathed to know this well. All he could say, over and over, was: "No. Please."

"Come closer, " The Figure repeated. Felix stepped back, against himself. It was instinct, an animal drive to avoid pain.

The Figure closed the distance in a blink and gripped the back of Felix's neck. His knees hit the ground and he scrambled for purchase as The Figure dragged him over to the altar. He thrashed, but the man's strength wasn't human. He hauled him up the stone steps and to the edge of the bowl, where the Stream's fumes burned like boiling steam. Felix cried out, frantic, and his arms shot out against his will. He braced against the altar, pushing out with force of pure desperation against the hand slowly bringing his face down to the surface of the liquid.

"Stop struggling." The Figure's voice was like ice. Felix clenched his teeth, his whole body tense. He shook his head, fighting tears of terror.

"Stop. Or I will cut your tendons."

"Please," Felix whispered.

The Figure threw him aside like a ragdoll. Something cracked - wood or bone, he couldn't tell - and before the sound finished ringing there he was, the terrifying hooded face inches away from his own. Felix gasped, but choked down the sound when a dagger materialised at his throat. He shut his eyes tight and the ice-cold voice enveloped him like smoke:

"I have high expectations for you." The blade shifted, dragged down the side of Felix's neck and onto his collarbone. "Do not fail me, not when we are so close to my goal. You can't escape this. You can only save yourself pain by doing as I say. Did we not have that agreement?"

Piercing pressure against his shoulder. Felix couldn't fight the sob that tore out of him, the tears now fell freely. He tried to push himself away, but a cold hand held him like a vice.

"Are you going to fight me again?" The Figure asked. The voice drowned out everything. "Do I truly need to hurt you enough to incapacitate you?"

Shivering all over, Felix swallowed a desperate, futile protest. His teeth were chattering.

He shook his head.

"Good," said The Figure. He stood up and dragged Felix back towards the altar.

[newbie-whumping]

Whumptober Alternative 2

Prompt: falling

It’s an accident. Chara didn’t mean to fall, they just did. A root stuck out that they missed stepping over.

Their thoughts race as they fall, wondering if this is the end. They find that they aren’t upset with the idea of that being true. 

[newbie-whumping]

Whumptober Alternative 2

Prompt: Broken voice

Kat is quiet as she sits in a corner of the little hideaway Flowey has. He’s busy covering their tracks for the moment, and frankly she’s confused as to why he’s helping her. She’d deserve everything she got if she went back.

It doesn’t mean she wants to, but it’s true.

He comes in a moment later, looking cheerful as ever. “They shouldn’t be able to find us here. We’ll be safe for the night.” He settles opposite her. “So. I know you’re usually more talkative than this. Did something happen?”

Her ears flatten. Is it that obvious she did something she never should have?

“You can tell me,” he encourages her. 

She’s reluctant. For one, her mouth still hurts, and for two, she isn’t entirely sure she even can speak now. He doesn’t push, though, just waiting. 

Finally, her words garbled and barely understandable, she says, “I ‘ih som’i I shouh’t hafe.”

It takes him a moment to process what she said and put together what she’s saying. “You did something you shouldn’t have?” he asks.

She nods, not wanting to talk again. Just that little bit sounded awful to her own ears; she can’t even imagine what he’s thinking.

“What did you do?”

She doesn’t answer. A minute or so passes, then suddenly he’s right next to her, and she practically jumps out of her fur. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He still sounds cheerful, but it’s a bit more subdued. “Can I see your mouth?”

She shouldn’t have said anything. She shouldn’t have opened her mouth; she just should’ve kept it shut. But she didn’t, and now he’s going to know just how bad she was. Screwing her eyes shut, she opens her mouth, letting him see her tongue - or, more accurately, the lack thereof. He frowns, sending a green pellet at her mouth. The magic is appreciated, as it takes the edge off the pain, but he really didn’t have to.

“That’s awful.”

She doesn’t respond.

After some time in silence, he finally says, “You should get some sleep.”

She curls up where she is, closing her eyes. He watches her for a moment before moving to keep watch at the entrance. She’s sweet. Innocent. Much like he was so long ago. It inspires this urge to protect her.