First off, I'd like to formally apologize for what happens in this prompt. I added a Read More bonus to try to make up for it because I felt bad and couldn't just leave it as was. (readers on AO3 aren't lucky enough to get the bonus scene.)
I used this prompt as an excuse to write something I've been wanting to try for a while. Unfortunately, Geoff and Layne got caught in the cross-fire of my creative needs.
Whumptober prompts
Alt. no.5: Friendly Fire
word count: 867
content warning: gun usage and character death(s)
(not gonna lie I'm a little nervous to post this last prompt...)
~-~-~
“Why would you shoot it!?” Geoff demanded as he ran alongside his friend.
“I thought it would kill it!” Layne exclaimed. He risked a glance back. The black furred creature, that looked like some kind of demonic dire wolf, which he'd shot multiple times, was still chasing them. “Uh, it's catching up.”
Geoff threw a glance back and cursed under his breath. “Over there!” He pointed out a building. An old gas station. The back door was open. It was probably their only option.
Layne pushed his legs harder. He made it inside just seconds before Geoff, who threw the door closed as he made it in. As Geoff quickly looked around for something to barricade the door with, Layne searched his backpack, desperate to find more bullets for the handgun. There was a noise behind them and they spun around to see another open door with three zombies making their way over. Layne took the couple steps it took to get to the door and threw it closed. At this point it was far too late to be concerned about noise.
The creature slammed against the door causing it shake on its hinges. Geoff spun around. The zombies started banging on the other door. He looked around, searching for another exit. There was none. They were trapped. He shifted his grip on his bat. They might have a chance if they faced off against the zombies. But if he was the only one armed…
One bullet. That was it. A lot of good that would do them. He tossed the backpack aside. Layne looked over as the creature hit against the door again. It wasn't a matter of if but when it was going to break it down. And from the sound of it, it wasn't going to take long. He glanced back to the other door. There were at least three zombies there. Another bang against the door. They wouldn't have time to get past them. It was going to get in. If not the next hit then definitely one of the next two. Layne looked at Geoff, and swallowed. He couldn't let him die like this. Not by that thing. Not by that thing…
“Geoff, I'm sorry.” Geoff looked over, about to ask what, exactly, he was apologizing for, but froze. Layne, with a look of distress, had the gun pointed at his head. The creature banged against the door. They could hear the hinges and frame bend. “I'm sorry,” Layne repeated, his voice thick with guilt.
“Lay-”
Layne flinched away as he pulled the trigger. Geoff dropped the bat as he crumpled to floor. He was shaking. Heart pounding. His arm fell to his side and the gun dropped to the floor. A pool of blood was already starting to form. Look away, he tried to tell himself, but he couldn't. Fear and regret built up. What if he was wrong? What if he just-
Bang! Layne jumped and looked to the door. It was denting in. One more hit and it will probably be in. He could hear it growling loudly on the other side. Turning he looked back down towards Geoff, only to find his body gone. Just the pool of blood remained. Layne let out a shaky breath of relief. But it was quickly overcome by panic as the creature burst through the door. He grabbed the bat as he tried to get out of the way of the incoming beast but slipped on the blood. Searing white pain erupted as the beast slashed its claws across his back and he staggered. Every movement hurt as he went to turn. He wanted to get one good hit with the bat. Just one. But he didn't manage to fully turn around before he was thrown to the floor, the bat slipping from his fingers and a strained gasp falling from his lips as he landed on his back. His senses were overwhelmed by the pain. Layne blinked a few times, trying to focus through the pain. He was able to for just a second before the creature jumped on him and he screamed as it tore into him.
Again.
Geoff woke with a gasp. He was alive. How? He'd looked down the barrel of a gun. Layne shot him. Why would he-? Geoff shouldn't be alive. He couldn't have survived a point black shot to the head. Realizations started to settle. But if Layne killed him how was he here. Alive. He blinked up at the evening sky between the tree branches. Wait… Slowly, he sat up. He's laying under a tree. But… he was just at a gas station. With Layne. How was he suddenly here? And where was here? What the hell was happening?
With a bit of a headache, Geoff looked around. He spotted a backpack sitting against the tree. He frowned as he noticed something. There was a patch on the top half of the backpack that had his name on it. That's weird. Layne had one exactly like it, just with his name on it instead. Geoff stared at the bag, trying to work out what was going on…
Ky grits her teeth, determined to stay silent as Gaster chants and channels whatever spell he’s casting. Whatever it is, it hurts like hell, but she won’t show him. She refuses. She will not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much she hurts.
Will was still shaking when Jack got him to the car.
The blood on his hands was still wet and so red he couldn’t look away.
“Will.”
He tried to calm down but found he could hardly breathe.
“Will!”
The urgency in Jack’s voice was just enough to break him out of his spell, and when he looked up to see the concern there he knew he’d pulled it off.
“I was so scared when I hit him,” he lied, tears falling down his face, “I didn’t know what to do.”
Jack nodded and handed him a blanket. It was coarse and not at all what he’d grown accustomed to in the last four years.
“He’s going away for a long time,” Jack said, “You’re safe now.”
Will watched as they carried Hannibal out in handcuffs, the blood on his face and hands matching his own. The look they shared was one of longing, defeat, and Will wasn’t sure he could pull this off.
Hannibal had been clear on this, he knew that, but the thought of facing a lifetime without him didn’t seem worth freedom.
They put him in the back of a squad car and Will felt tears start to run down his face.
“We need you to come down to the station, and then you can go home.”
Will stared at Hannibal, whose smile made him want to cry.
‘For me.’
He mouthed the words but Will couldn’t do this.
Shouldn’t have to do this.
“I am home,” he whispered, turning to look at Jack, “And I’m not going anywhere.”
It only took seconds for him to knock Jack to the ground, biting into his shoulder, and the shot in his own was enough to make him stop.
Four people pulled him off, and Will spit the blood out as Jack stared at him in horror.
“I’ve fallen for the monster, Jack,” he laughed, “And I can’t let go.”
He saw Hannibal smile as they led him to another squad car, still bleeding, and turned just in time to see him one more time when they pulled away.
The road to being together again would be a long one, but they would be.
Characters/pairing: Alec Lightwood, Magnus Bane; malec is there if you squint
Prompts: 12. "Don't move”; alternative prompt 5. Fist fight; Check @whumptober2019 for more!
Assassins!AU that no one asked for. Lighthearted, because it's October, my favourite month of the year, and I like to spread love. Assassin!Alec and rogue assassin!Magnus. Alec is tasked with bringing Magnus in, Magnus has other plans.
*
Alec feels it before he sees it or even hears the intruder. He can't believe himself, he is supposed to be on his A game, there is a rogue in town and a bounty on Alec's head.
As it happens, he closes the door to his apartment, turns and comes face to face with a gun.
"Hi, honey," the man sing-songs, his voice deep and smooth.
Alec moves without thinking, gets out of the way and manhandles the gun from him. It's the rogue alright, Alec'd recognise that face anywhere. Bright eyes gleaming, jet-black hair styled up, a purple streak sticking out, the sharp features, the rueful smirk.
If the man in front of him ever wanted to get lost among the crowd, he'd have a hard time at it looking like that.
Alec's studied that face for hours while he was trying to pinpoint the man's location.
"Oh, you are good," the rogue says excitedly as they try to out-maneuver each other.
He manages to get his gun back, Alec kicks it out of his hands at the same time as he pulls the trigger. There is a silencer on it, but Alec hears a picture on the wall behind him shutter.
The flat is a rental set up, so he doesn't care much.
"Took you long enough," Alec says, kicking the gun further down the corridor.
The rogue takes a step back, eyeing him with a smirk as he shrugs his jacket off, the gun forgotten. Alec tsks. Show off.
"I had to make sure you were as pretty as your bounty picture was," the man says. "And I'm not at all disappointed," he winks.
They trade blows, slowly waltzing towards the living room.
"Besides, that's long overdue, isn't it? I've spotted you in Detroit."
Detroit was five months ago, and Alec's been on the task for six.
"Why didn't you stop and say hi then?" Alec mutters dodging another hit.
It was Isabelle's brilliant idea to get out a bounty on one of their respective heads to get the rogue to show himself, when it became clear that his apparent witchery worked as well in the US. He was called a witch by most for his unparalleled skill in getting in and out of restricted places and taking out some heavy-guarded figures. He made a lot of noise in Peru before landing on the American soil.
"I didn't mind the company," the man shrugs between blows, managing to sound nonchalant. "Although, you didn't follow me to Toledo, that was rude. There was an exquisite party in that club-"
Alec tries to clock him, once, twice, the third time the man grins wider catching his arm and yanks, hard. Alec stumbles, but blocks the blow elbowing him in the solar plexus. The man oofs.
"Good moves," he says, stepping backwards, into the living room. "But I can do better, mister Lightwood. Or can I call you Alexander?"
That has its effect. Alec misses a bit, because no one is supposed to know that name, it has been buried long ago, along with a plethora of things. The rogue catches him off, hitting him right underneath his Adam's apple with the edge of his palm. Alec coughs, chocking, and steps backwards, hitting the wall and going down slowly, seemingly losing his footing.
The rogue stands above him, and there is a disappointed look in his eyes, even though he is smirking winningly as he tries to even out his breathing.
"You've done your homework," Alec says when he stops chocking, "but so did I."
The smug expression on the rogue's face turns curious, but then Alec kicks him in the shin, hard, making him stumble backwards. Right over a glass table.
To be honest, Alec didn't just do the homework. He became mildly obsessed, all things considered, chasing after the mysterious witch-assassin all over America, watching him take out seemingly random people that actually had huge bounties on them, before the man led him right back to New-York. The Clave wanted to get their hands on him or be rid of him, they didn't appreciate disturbances on their soil and were not known for working well with outsiders.
Alec thought the rogue was... truly magical in his work. If such a thing could be said about assassins.
The man seemed chaotic, but was rueful and deliberate, picky at his bounties, not just jumping from one huge check to another. He was searching for someone, and judging by the state some of his victims were found in, he was moving somewhere with that hunt of his.
So, of course, Alec had to dig deeper. He even abandoned the watch altogether to fly to Indonesia (that's when Toledo happened, and Isabelle nearly tore him a new one for that) to run down a tiny, paper-thin hunch.
Of course, there was no way to confirm Alec's findings beforehand, but well, what else was new.
The man rolls, seemingly unfazed by the table that just broke into pieces under him, and jerks his head, getting his hair out of the way. His lower lip is split and his shadowed eyes are gleaming with a new-found interest.
"Do tell, darling," he says getting the glass shards off himself.
"You're Indonesian," Alec says blocking his next punch.
He smirks besides himself too, because the rogue is as good as he suspected him to be, better even. And he isn't even trying that hard, that's clear to both of them. He shoves a chair into his direction, but Alec avoids it easily enough.
"You do have eyes," the man almost laughs.
"Your first kill was an accident," Alec says.
That makes the rogue pause and give him a once-over. He spits some blood to the side, before spreading his lips in a cocky smile.
"Do you think I have a sob story?"
"Everybody has a story," Alec says.
"I knew you were special, Alexander," is his answer. "I feel the bond between us getting stronger by the second."
He deals a stinging blow to Alex's temple, and Alec retaliates by clocking the guy in the nose, and he steps backwards into a french window (glass, it's an old building). The frame budges easily.
Alec moves forward on instinct, grabbing the man's shirt, breaking his fall. Suddenly, they are close again.
"Is it a gun or are you just happy to see me, Alexander?" the bastard huffs.
He doesn't miss a bit, pushing back, and stepping away from the window. There is a gash on his left shoulder, where the glass got through, but he doesn't seem to care.
Alec breathes heavily, catching his breath. He has a gun in a kitchen drawer, but that's too far. He knows somewhere in the living room there is a throwing dagger, but his ears are ringing, and he can't pinpoint where exactly, because the room is ruined. There is of course, his bow on the wall, that most people would think an intricate decoration. It's not.
And yeah, he has his own gun on him.
"Both, apparently," Alec says, pointing the business end at the other man.
The sun showcases the room, casting speckles through the broken shards that seem to be everywhere. Alec is momentarily distracted by how the lights hit the man at all the right angles. He is tall and fit, and his white shirt, stained with blood all over, doesn't ruin the look in the slightest.
Alec wants the man on his team so badly.
The rogue wipes under his nose with his sleeve, smearing blood over the lower part of his face. He looks down at his ruined shirt and pouts, his lower lip already puffed, then glances back up at Alec.
"Well, that was fun," he says hoarsely. "Ooh, are you going to shoot me, Alexander?"
That does things to Alec, and even though he doesn't have time to unpack it all, he does file the fact away.
"Don't move," he says. "I'm not after you to kill you, but I will hurt you."
"Oh, I do hope so," the man smirks looking almost manic because of all the blood. He doesn't move to shield from a possible hit, but neither does he raise his hands in surrender. "So, I'm Indonesian and have a tragic background," he straightens his ruined shirt. "Say my name, Alexander."
"Magnus," Alec says, and the word rolls off his tongue leaving behind an iron taste, "Magnus Bane."
The man smiles, obviously, only too pleased with the development. He cracks his knuckles.
"Alright, that's a first. Let's talk business, pretty boy."
welcome to day nine of the thirty-one days of horror! i’ve decided i’m going to include a quote from a song that you can listen to while reading for more of a spooky effect. the quote you read above is by fall out boy and is called my songs know what you did in the dark.
which, brings me right into the ninth prompts, hiding and fist fight. following reader and erin hannon from the office.
triggers: SHOOTING, a fight, fist fight, violence, near death, oc! luna, fear, and uh character deaths maybe idk nvm
it all started amongst how other things start.
jim and dwight.
you weren’t really a part of the debate that was going on, since you were on a coffee run with pam (who was eager to go running out with you, claiming mindlessly about “cece always keeping her from running around”).
all you know is that when you returned, you were pretty much immediately thrown into a giant fight and you were forced to pick sides.
on one hand, there was dwight who for sure did nothing to cause such a heated dispute to break out, and on the other side there was jim, who most certainly did.
so, of course, you sided with jim. but you didn’t say that to them. you said it in your head, or to erin while you stood at her desk, laughing at the two of them duke it out.
dwight had stood up with sticky notes all over his back, getting in jim’s face, who seemed unphased. luna, your best friend, stood chuckling, holding onto her boyfriend’s arm. “dwight, just calm down,” she said, coughing back a laugh.
“no, you calm down! you better stop this jim!”
“stop what?” he asked nonchalantly. “not my fault you’re in a sticky situation.”
and that right there, my friends, that send dwight shrute off the edge.
he growled, ripping off the sticky note that was on his chest and throwing it (and failing to) dramatically to the floor, before getting in front of jim’s face and pushing him.
jim feigned hurt, even putting a hand over his head. “oh, woes me. not that, dwight. don’t do that!”
dwight, unamused, growled before once again pushing him, this time over luna, who unsuspectingly tripped him and actually sent him down to the ground with a thump.
you jumped back in surprise, a hand over your mouth as you collapsed in giggles from the sight before you. it was when luna yelled out his name you realized that something went wrong.
“for fuck’s sake, dwight!” she shouted, helping him to sit on the floor, some blood on her hands. “he hit his head!”
“it’s fine,” he mumbled out, groaning. “i think i have to go to the hospital, though.”
everyone in the office screamed similar things: “dwight!” “idiot!” “what the fuck?” “did anyone see my candy bar?”
the latter was from kevin, of course.
“i’ll take him to the e.r.,” luna said, putting her hands up, “i can’t believe you did this, dwight. you went too far.”
dwight shook his head, “i just reassured my statement as alpha male.”
psh. as if. you knew jim was the real alpha male.
“whatever? who cares?” you asked. “just get him to the hospital! do you need help?” luna looked over to you, shaking her head as she rushed jim out of the room.
“thanks, y/n. we’ll give you an update.”
“drive safe!” screamed erin and pam at the same time, earning a small chuckle from dwight as he scoffed. erin turned to you, her smile faded. “you think he’s alright?” she asked.
“he’s fine,” you reassured with a smile. “another one of dwight’s things.”
“this is more than a thing,” she riposted, but quieted anyway. “anyway. are you gonna actually do work or just stand here?” she asked, her smile returning as the phone rang.
you rolled your eyes, walking back to your desk as your own smile came upon your face.
=-= timeskip uwu =-=
about four hours passed before people started to leave. it was stanley, as usual, that initiated it, and then andy (who, despite saying he would never leave before his employees, always does), and then a few others. you, however, didn’t leave until erin left, and some people liked to stay late for the extra pay.
currently, you were with erin, pam (of whom was waiting for the babysitter to get home from dinner with cece), angela, oscar, toby, and meredith.
you were right about ready to leave when it happened.
a loud bang that clouded your hearing and made you jump. for a minute, all of you just stared at each other, confused. and then there were haste footsteps up the stairs, followed by what you knew was gunshots.
erin jumped from her spot behind reception, standing and frozen like a deer in the headlights.
“was that--?” pam was interrupted by more gunshots, now closer than ever.
“close the door!” yelled oscar, instructing you. you jumped at the sound of his voice, running to the door to shut it.
your hands were shaking, your heart beating out of your chest. “were those gunshots?” you ask, shakily. you look up to toby and oscar, petrified.
“i need to get bandit!” cried angela, running to her desk. “he can’t hear this.”
“everyone, we need to go in the conference room,” toby instructed quietly, in a hushed whisper. as soon as he said that, there was a loud bang on the door and you realized that this situation -- as crucial as it was -- was very real.
you gasped, jumping back in the hindsight to scream before soft hands covered your mouth. “shhh,” erin whispered. “we need to go.”
you followed the group into the conference room, you in the middle of a breakdown, and following toby and oscar, who not only seemed like the most rational ones, but the bravest (which was odd, looking back at it).
“oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” pam ranted off. “there’s no way that’s a shooter. there’s no--.”
CRACK
in a loud and booming movement, the sound of the door being kicked open surrounded the office and clouded you in your adrenaline. meredith shut the door as silently and quickly as she could, ducking out of view from the windows.
“everyone, get under the chairs so they can’t see us,” toby instructed, and you did as he told.
“i don’t wanna die,” you whispered, wiping your tears, “this has to be a joke. this has to be dwight pranking us back.”
“shhh, y/n,” oscar demanded. you sharply shut your mouth, not even realizing you were still holding onto erin’s hand until you were both under chairs together, your palms connected, both of you on your stomachs hidden from view by the chairs.
you looked over at her, and she seemed petrified, but had no indication. it felt comforting to have her near you, but both your morale and your mindset wouldn’t allow you to think rationally for a moment.
when you noticed the others, they were in the same regards. horrified, scared, oscar pulling out his phone to dial 9-1-1 while pam put her knees to her chest from behind her chair.
toby was still, unmoving, and angela was holding onto bandit as if her life depended on it -- which, it very much could. under her breath she could be heard murmuring prayers, her eyes shut in her own personal talk with God. meredith seemed as content as could be, probably drunk and not even assessing the situation properly.
on the outside, you could hear the intruder rummaging through the office. knocking computers down, going through your stuff, and every now and then -- shooting a gunshot up to the ceiling.
you were in your own dilemma, praying, God, don’t let him come in here. you wanted more than anything for him to notice that all the doors were locked and for him to just leave on his own.
but you were scared.
you looked over to erin, and she locked eyes with you. your heart, beating out of your chest, just irrationality controlled your anxieties, prolonging them. you wanted to get out of this alive -- was that so hard?
everything you had ever wanted to do was coming in flashes. everything you didn’t see. everything you wanted to eat, to look at, to watch. every person you wanted to talk to, to be friends with, to love.
“i’m scared,” you whispered to erin in the hushest tone you could manage. more of a lip-synch, that she had to figure out. “erin, i’m so scared.”
“it’s going to be okay,” she whispered back, holding your hand even tighter. “just keep looking at me.”
“i don’t want to die.” you wept, choking back a sob. she readjusted herself, holding your chin so you locked your eyes on her.
“just. . . keep looking at me,” she instructed, more calming herself down than you. but you didn’t mind it, because even just staring inside of her icy eyes for however long could make all your anxieties turn to nothing but washed paper.
when you heard the sound of boots on the outside of the conference room, you held your breath, staying completely silent. erin’s breathing, even if it was misplaced and uneven, was comforting that made you want to drown in her.
without thinking, and partly out of fear, you leaned forward and kissed her slowly, tears streaming down your face.
you just wanted to feel something good, even if it meant you were about to die. you didn’t care anymore. you just wanted to do it.
she kissed back, and it made you happy, but you wouldn’t have felt regret anyway. fear makes you do crazy things.
you didn’t care about anything in that moment. not even the fear of dying. you were so ready to go, but if you were going to go, you just wanted it to be when you were connected in her arms, finally doing what you wanted to do.
you didn’t retract yourself from her, no matter how hard you tried. your eyes, swollen shut from tears, didn’t have to stay open to imagine her, and to see her, and to hold her. you were just there existing, kissing erin hannon.
and it was beautiful, and terrifying at once.
you didn’t stop until three minutes later, when you heard police sirens from outside the window and the sound of running from combat boots as they bolted out the front door of the office.
the scent of horror and despondency filled the already thick air, and just when you wanted to tell yourself it was okay to let go and that the bad person was gone, you couldn’t.
so she did.
when she pulled away, you could see red stains under her eyes from her own tears, her face drained from any colour and a plastered look of only trembles rolling down her features. to the side of you were the rest of your friends, all shaking and in tears themselves, angela still mid prayer by the time the police finally came into the office and knocked heavily on the conference room.
oscar jumped to his feet, glancing out the window a few times before he finally peered outside, creaking it open to see the serious and somber look of a man dressed in all blue, who instructed everyone outside.
you followed immediately, nobody daring to speak.
silently, you fell back into erin’s arms, collapsing as she held you, herself breaking down.
Kat sighs as she pulls up to the police station for... She doesn’t even know how many times she’s been here by now. Quinton has been getting in so much trouble; it’s a wonder no one has tried to kill him. Or maybe someone has and he simply avoided it somehow. She wouldn’t be surprised at either action.
She parks and gets out of the car, walking in. She gives the secretary there a tired smile. “Hi. I’m here for Quinton.”
“I know, Miss Hope,” the secretary answers, giving her a pitying, apologetic look. “Follow me.”
She follows them back to the holding cell, seeing Quinton sitting there alone, sulking. He has several bruises visible when he’s choosing to not be skeletal, and she exhales again as the secretary unlocks the door and lets him out. Quinton shoots a glare at them before walking out without even looking at Kat.
“Thank you. I’m really sorry about him,” she says to them, rubbing her face.
“I’m more sorry you have to deal with him,” they answer.
She doesn’t respond. “Do I need to get any money for bail or anything?”
“Nope. He wasn’t arrested-arrested, so you’re good.”
“Alright. Hopefully I won’t be here again.”
“For all our sakes, yeah.” They escort her back to the front doors. “Have a nice night, Miss Hope. Good luck.”
“Thank you.” She flashes another tired smile before exiting, seeing Quinton already leaning on the passenger side door. She unlocks the car and he gets in, and so does she. She doesn’t immediately turn the car on, though, instead turning to him.
She doesn’t start hurling ‘you need to stop this’es or ‘I can’t keep getting you out’s like she has on days where it seems she’s more like her twin than herself. Instead, she reaches out and gently touches a bruise on his face. He flinches away from her, slapping her paw. She pulls it back, resting it in her lap.
“Fist fight?” she asks quietly.
He doesn’t respond.
“I’m glad it wasn’t guns this time. I don’t know what I’d do if-”
“Like you’d care.” He turns away from her, staring out the window.
She watches him, feeling her heart ache. She doesn’t know how to get him to understand that she really does love him. She’s tried so hard.
So, for right now, she doesn’t try. She just sighs again and turns on the car, driving them home. He doesn’t say another word to her for the rest of the night, immediately going to his room once the car is in the garage - barely even parked.
