Russell Crowe In Mystery, Alaska

9-1-1 6x10 "In A Flash"

Part 1 | Part 2

The Outfit (2022): “The Wound Needs To Be Sealed. We Have To Stop This Bleeding.”

[PART 1] [PART 2]

so i said fine, ‘cause that’s how my daddy raised me if they strike once, then you just hit ‘em twice as hard but in the end, if i bend under the weight that they gave me then this heart would break and fall as twice as far

Merry Whump of May - Day 1

(The Man From U.N.C.L.E. 2015)

@themerrywhumpofmay

“You should not be here.”

This was the first thing that Solo said to Illya in two weeks.

“Too bad.” Illya whispered and finished uncuffing Solo from the metal chair. The dim bulb above made it hard to parse Solo’s expression, as did the bruises. 

“You should have left.” Solo stood slowly, arm wrapped around his chest. He leaned over and spat dark blood on the floor before speaking again. “Why didn’t they bring you in?”

Illya jerked his head towards the door, holding out a pistol.

Solo took it.

Illya took the lead and left the room. “They tried.”

He heard Solo wheeze out a laugh softly behind him.

They finally got outside and Illya led the way to the first car he spotted, halfway down the street from the warehouse. It was unlocked. But no keys. 

While Illya hotwired the vehicle, Solo eased himself into the passenger seat, groaning in pain.

The engine rumbled into life.

Illya slammed the door closed and caught sight of Solo’s face. His head was back against the headrest and his brows were furrowed. The harsh light of day brought the bruises into sharp relief. Yellowing greenish contusions that were healing. And darker, reddish purple for newer ones. 

Illya gripped the steering wheel hard and set his foot against the gas. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Good.”

They sped off into the sunset.

An hour later, sun down and surrounded by dark trees, Illya pulled the car to the side of the road.

“We have arrived at milepost-” Illya turned and noticed his companion was asleep. “Solo.”

No answer.

Illya reached out and just barely touched his shoulder when Solo gasped awake. He pressed as far away from Illya as the car door would allow.

“Solo.” Illya retracted his hand and filed that reaction away for later. 

“Y-yes.” Solo relaxed a little. “What?”

“We have arrived at milepost 8. This is where we start walking.”

Solo sighed. “That sounds like the last thing I want to do.” His voice was hoarse.

Illya left the car and circled around to Solo’s door and opened it. “Too bad.”

Solo unfolded himself gingerly from the car. “Where-” He stopped to breathe. “Are we going?”

“Remote cabin.” Illya retrieved two bags from the side of the road from underneath some bushes, damp with dusk dew.

Solo limped over and took the map, compass, and bag Illya held out to him. “How remote?”

“We will arrive by dawn if we make good time.”

Solo swore, coughed, and swore again as he slung the bag over his shoulders. 

Illya paused for a moment and looked his partner up and down.

“What?” Solo asked. Hunched over. Already panting. 

“Can you?”

“Can I what?”

“Make good time?”

Solo straightened up immediately. Even in the darkness of night, Illya could see his jaw was set. Eyes gleaming.

“No pain, no gain.” Solo grated out. 

“That does not make any sense. Follow me.” Illya led the way into the dark trees.

A few hours later, Illya stopped and waited for Solo to catch up. “Water.”

Panting, Solo nodded.

They both drank from the canteens in the bags and caught their breath. The forest was thick with trees and brush and the hillsides were steep with slippery pine needles and rocks. It was slow going. Slower than Illya had hoped. But it could not be helped. 

He watched his partner take out the map and compass. 

“Flashlight?” Solo wheezed.

Illya stepped over and flicked on his flashlight.

Solo took a small step back, map shaking in his hands.

“Th-this is the location?” He pointed at a small pen mark in the middle of the map.

Illya stopped where he was. “Yes.”

“Right.” Solo sighed, held the compass into the flashlight’s beam, turned a pace or two to the right. “We need to be going this way.”

“We should take a break.” Illya did not want to push Solo too hard. The way he was favoring his chest suggested a broken rib. Or more. And that could not be all. The point of rescuing Solo was not to kill him in the process. 

“Sit down.” Illya urged his partner.

“No.” Solo pocketed the compass and map again. “Sorry, but if I do that, I won’t get up again. We keep moving. Unless, you need a break?”

It was dark but Illya could hear a little smile in Solo’s last words. At least he felt well enough to needle Illya. 

“We keep moving.” Illya agreed. 

The first tatters of dawn were showing when they reached the cabin. They were cold and damp from a mist that had settled into hills. Feet wet from fording a few streams. They trudged inside. It was bare bones. Cool and musty. A fireplace. A table. Kitchen sink. Bed in the corner. 

“This is honestly worse than the warehouse.” Solo drawled, panting. He dropped his bag to the creaking wooden floor planks.

“Be grateful.” Illya sniffed and set down his pack on the rough table. “You are safe here.”

“Yes, safe from a hot bath.”

“There is a gas generator and well-water. This is better than most hotels.” Illya dryly said.

Solo edged closer to the kitchen windows and stripped off his jacket and damp shirt slowly and painfully.

Illya stayed across the cabin, despite how much he wanted to help.

Finally free of the shirt, Solo let it drop to the floor and looked down at his torso. In the dim dawn light from the grimy windows, Illya could see a mess of mottled bruises, the worst of it dark like thunderclouds over Solo’s ribs.

Illya realized Solo was falling before Solo did.

A brief moment. A sway. Eyes glazed. Eyelids fluttering.

Illya strode across the cabin and caught Solo as he went down, head hanging limply. The heat coming off Solo’s body was concerning. And he was slick with sweat. 

Solo’s faint only lasted a moment.

He began to thrash in Illya’s arms, pushing away. Frantic. A rough sob tore from his throat.

“Stop.” Solo’s voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t.”

Illya did not drop Solo to the floor but lowered him as carefully as he could as Solo struggled. And then he backed away.

“Sorry.” He muttered.

Solo propped himself against the kitchen cabinets, panting, eyes wide and wet. Tears threatened to fall.

“Sorry.” Solo coughed. “I don’t-”

“It is fine.” Illya cut him off. “They beat you. I know. I am sorry.”

Solo just breathed and shook then closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“You are safe now.” Illya knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would fix this. But he tried. “You rest. I keep watch. I will keep you safe.”

A few tears hit the wood floor, soft sounds, the only sound. 

“Thanks, Peril.”

Whumpril 2023 Day 18: “Take me instead.”

L.A. Confidential (1997)

Mediwhump May - Stitches

(BBC Merlin)

@mediwhumpmay

Merlin didn’t know how long he had been hiding in the thorn bushes. The shouts of the bandits and their crunching footsteps in the snow had long died away. But he dared not move. He could not move. 

The deep wound in his thigh made it impossible.

Merlin shivered. The sun was going down.

The frigid, wet snow has soaked deeply into his clothes, contrasting with the hot and sticky blood oozing from his leg. Merlin sighed. Closed his eyes for only a moment. Just a moment. He was so tired.

So tired.

Snow had begun to fall again.

“Merlin!”

Merlin was shaken awake, thigh throbbing with fire. He gasped.

Bandits.

They were after him.

His eyes flew open and before he really saw anything, he sprang away from whatever had grabbed him. He struck out and tried to twist away from the grip on his arm.

“You idiot! Stop it!”

Merlin stopped. The voice was familiar. His vision cleared and Arthur’s face swam into view, cheeks pink with cold.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur’s voice was entirely too loud. The bandits would hear. They would find them. And Merlin was too tired to protect Arthur.

Merlin opened his mouth to warn Arthur.

Prince Arthur stuck his torch upright in the ground and began to haul his manservant to his feet, dusting snow from his clothes. “We have been looking for you for hours. What are you doing napping in a bush? In the snow?”

As soon as Arthur let go, Merlin crumpled, pain flaring in his leg. He gasped as he hit the ground. 

“What is wrong with you now?”

“Leg.” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur didn’t try to pick him up this time but instead brought the torch closer to examine Merlin’s leg.

“You’re hurt.” A rough gloved hand probed the wound.

Merlin jumped and cried out. “Yes.” He panted. “Bandits… attacked me while I was-”

“Gathering herbs for Gaius.” Arthur finished, removing his hand quickly. “I know, he asked us to look for you when you didn’t come back. This is still bleeding, Merlin, we should- What should we do?”

Merlin saw Arthur looking at him for help, eyes wide, face white. Arthur was scared. Arthur didn’t know what to do.

Merlin swallowed and nodded, trying to focus. What would Gaius do?”

“I’m cold and-”

Before Merlin had finished speaking, Arthur had taken off his cloak and wrapped it around Merlin’s body.

Merlin smiled a little at the warmth and closed his eyes. 

“And?” Arthur prodded him. “What else?”

Merlin opened his eyes again. “The wound, I need to look at it. Either bind it or sew it. Got to… got to clean it.”

“Can’t I just get you back to Gaius?” Arthur frowned. “He can fix you up.”

“No.” Merlin shook his head, the world spinning a little. “No, it’s still bleeding. I might not get back in time.”

“In time for what?”

Merlin gave Arthur a look. 

Arthur met his gaze then nodded. “Right, yes, dying. Sorry.”

“Obviously.” Merlin sighed. He thought a moment more. “Can you start a fire?”

“It’ll be difficult with the snow.”

“I know.”

“I’ll do it.” Arthur got up. “I’ll get kindling. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

Merlin huffed out a laugh. “I’ll try.” He tried to put pressure on the wound and winced in pain.

Merlin drifted a little. Arthur came back pretty quickly and using the flint that Merlin carried in his bag, started a little campfire. Merlin finally began to warm, the feeling returning to his fingers and toes.

“Better?” Arthur asked, finally sitting down nearby.

Merlin nodded.

Arthur leaned forward. “Now what?”

Merlin swallowed hard. “I need to look at the wound, close to the light of the fire.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Arthur stood up again and helped Merlin slide closer to the fire. 

“Thanks.” Merlin grunted and looked down at the slit in his pant-leg, dark with blood. “Do you have a knife so I could-”

Arthur leaned forward and just ripped the pant-leg open, revealing Merlin’s thigh and the ugly, oozing wound.

Merlin sighed. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.” Arthur looked at the wound. “That looks bad, Merlin.” His voice had become tight.

“I know.” Merlin opened his bag and began to dig around. “I think-... I think I have to suture it.”

“Like sewing? What are you going to use for needle and thread out here, idiot? I should have taken you to Gaius.”

Merlin held up his small sewing pouch under Arthur’s nose.

“What’s this?”

“My sewing kit.” Merlin smirked a little.

“You carry a sewing kit everywhere you go? You are such a girl, Merlin.”

“A prepared girl.”

“You have me there.” Arthur admitted. 

Merlin unrolled the pouch and pulled out the roll of gut and a curved, sharpened fish bone. His trusty needle. He’d made it last summer and was rather proud of it.

Merlin prepared the needle and thread and sat up against his bag and Arthur’s rolled up cloak. This was the best view he was going to get of the wound. Merlin raised the needle.

“Wait, wait.” Arthur stopped him.

“What?”

Arthur gestured towards the wound. “Is that it? You’re not going to clean it? Or take something for the pain?”

Merlin frowned. “Arthur, Prince Dolt, we are in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing to clean it with. And I have no herbs for pain, nor any way to prepare them. My main concern is just not to lose enough blood that I die. So I will suture this. Bind it. And then we can get back to Gaius for the other things. Understand?”

Arthur had gone a little pale, but nodded. 

Merlin took a breath and began to sew.

The first suture was awful. The second was worse. 

Well, they were very neat. Gaius would be proud. But they hurt so much on top of the fiery pain of the sword wound. 

The third made sweat bead on Merlin’s forehead and upper lip. The fourth had him panting.

In the middle of the fifth, Arthur asked. “Does it hurt?”

Merlin didn’t take his eyes off his work and couldn’t really form words. He had just enough energy to grunt.

“Right, sorry.” Arthur kept quiet after that.

The sixth made the blood drain from Merlin’s face. He stopped counting after that. Or he lost count.

He tied off the last suture and cut the gut. Arthur pressed some strips of cloth into his hands and Merlin managed to bandage the wound, tying it with numb and blood-stained fingers. 

His whole leg throbbed. The forest spun around him. Merlin closed his eyes. 

A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other supported his knees. He floated away.

Whumpay - Day 3

Main Challenge - Mad Science - Made A Lab Rat Mini Challenge 3 - Torture - Branding Original Work - My Name is Evil

For twelve hours a day, every day, Evelyn had been tested.

They asked him to build from schematics. They asked him to design schematics. They immobilized him in the same chair and had him direct others to build machines.

They gave him drugs. A lot of drugs. They would dose him with something that made him nauseous and faint and dizzy and asked him to complete tasks. Solve equations. Answer their questions. Blindfolded. Ears plugged. Starved. Sleep-deprived. Sedated. Hot. Cold. Dizzy.

Over and over and over.

He was tested under every possible circumstance. Every possible test. Until now.

Evelyn winced as the needle probed beneath his skin and into a vein.

Evelyn wanted to pull away from the needle and the IV bag and everything they were about to do to him, but the restraints kept his wrists, ankles, and chest firmly pressed to the chair. He swallowed hard. The IV needle was taped to his skin and the nurse left the room without even meeting his eyes.

The door hissed and clanged shut.

Evelyn only had a minute or two to try and calm down before the door opened again and someone else entered.

The lady wore a strained smile and a nice suit. She sat down, keeping the table between her and Evelyn. And ignoring him, she began to shuffle through the papers she had brought. After what seemed like ten minutes or so, she spoke.

“My name is Ms. Brown, I am the Assistant Deputy Supervisor at the Bureau of Extrohuman Affairs and Regulation. I am here today to give your official status and category as an Extrohuman, witness your tagging procedure, and answer any questions you have. Do you understand?”

She never looked at him, not once.

Evelyn opened his mouth to speak.

The nurse came back.

Ms. Brown continued. “Evelyn Earl, your tests indicate that you place with the Enhanced Category, subtype Intelligence, archetype Crafter, division Mechanics.”

The saline was cold and Evelyn began to shiver. Of course he was good with machines. That was obvious. Why did they have to test for it? Why?

The lady continued. “Established legal precedents necessitate a procedure to display your status upon your person, this is sometimes called tagging. Once this procedure is completed, displaying this status mark will be used in conjunction with other identification you carry in order to comply with requests for identification. Please give verbal confirmation that you understand this procedure.”

The lady stopped talking and looked up at Evelyn. Staring at him.

Finally looking right into his eyes. Nothing in her expression indicated that she was looking at another human being. He may as well be another piece of paper that needed initials and dates.

Evelyn started when he realized he was meant to speak.

“Oh.” He licked his dry lips. “Right, yeah, I understand.”

The lady made another note on her papers. The room was so quiet that Evelyn could hear her pen scratching.

Eventually, the lady looked up and nodded at the nurse. “You may proceed.”

The nurse wheeled a cart with a machine closer to Evelyn. The nurse turned it on and the machine began to hum. Evelyn only began to panic when the nurse began to untie the front of his gown.

“What are you doing?” Evelyn felt his heart begin to quicken.

The nurse bared his chest and disinfected the skin over his heart.

The lady with the papers got up from the table.

“What is the procedure?” Evelyn asked, panic edging his voice.

“Identification.” Was all the lady answered.

The nurse leaned in close, holding something like a pen, which was connected to the machine by a cord.

“What is that?” Evelyn could not tear his eyes away from the strange pen.

The nurse turned and looked at the lady.

The lady shrugged.

What was tagging?

When the pen first touched his skin, Evelyn thought he had been cut. But when the smell of sizzling, burning, charred flesh filled his nose, he knew this was false.

Evelyn let out a scream and struggled to get away from the electrocautery device. But the bindings held him firmly.

The pain continued and amplified.

Evelyn thought he could hear the pain. Like barbed wire screeching through his ears.

He screamed again. And again. Evelyn felt sweat bead upon his forehead and roll down into his eyes, stinging and hot. He sobbed until his throat became raw. It went on and on, for what felt like hours.

Then, the hum of the machine ceased. The nurse moved away. A crinkling sound

Evelyn was left panting. He cracked his eyes open and saw the nurse was unwrapping bandages.

He could not stand it any longer. He needed to know.

Evelyn looked down to his chest, to the spot over his heart.

Shiny, bleeding burns. The smell of cooked flesh. Skin crackling.

A series of numbers and letters. They meant nothing.

But they were now branded into him. Into his flesh. Tagging. Identification.

Evelyn let out another sob.

Merry Whump of May - Day 6

“It's a long story.”

Knife Handle

Gagged

Under the table

(Original characters/story)

@themerrywhumpofmay

They awoke to pain. And drowning.

Omen opened their eyes, gasping, choking. Their eyes stung with water and their head throbbed. Skull felt split open. Can’t. Move. Can’t. Breathe.

Within a moment, Omen realized that their hands were bound behind them. Their ankles were bound together. And there was a gag in their mouth. 

They were wet but they weren’t drowning. Small mercies. 

Omen squinted up at the man holding a dripping bucket over them.

“Good.” He said and set down the bucket. “I was beginning to think that I’d bludgeoned you a little too hard.”

The man was dressed in a fine, dark doublet and hose that were stained lightly with travel. He moved to sit down at a nearby table.

Omen flexed their calf. He had missed the knife in their boot. Interesting.

Omen eyed the room. 

This was some sort of cottage. The floorboards creaked and were caked with dust. The fireplace had been lit but was belching smoke, meaning it hadn’t been cleaned recently. There was a lit lantern on the single table. And the window to the outside, beside the only door, spoke of midafternoon or late morning. The sun was bright and the trees swayed in a breeze, creating a shifting dappled effect on the floor. 

Omen could only hear the crackling fire and birdsong from outside. They were alone. 

Their possessions were tossed to the side, laying haphazardly on the floor. But nothing had been searched yet. Caey was safe. For now. 

Omen was laying on the floor, so that when the man sat down, he was still looming above them.

“I’ve been looking for you for a while.” The man took a swig from a waterskin. “You’re difficult to find, girl.”

Omen winced at ‘girl’. It shouldn’t have bothered them. That was the least of their problems right now.

The man continued talking. “I’d been hearing rumors for a while of a girl fighting in the False Queen’s little band. A girl matching the description of someone I killed several years ago.”

Omen’s belly turned to ice and they stopped breathing.

“I was contracted to kill a highborn lady suspected of aiding the escaped False Queen. And I did so. She was easy to identify due to a mark on her wrist, a brand. A very-”

The man roughly reached down and yanked on Omen’s bound arms.

They cried out through the gag. Arms pulled into a painful twist, shoulder sockets screaming.

“A very distinctive mark.” The man breathed, looking down at Omen’s wrist.

The wrist that bore the brand that he spoke of.

The man, the assassin from all those years ago, released Omen’s wrist, letting them fall back to the dusty floor.

“So, you lived.” He murmured.

Omen grunted around the gag. 

The assassin leaned down and pulled the gag out. “Where is the False Queen?”

“Fuck off.” Omen spat.

He popped the gag back in, wound back his foot, and kicked Omen in the stomach. Hard.

Omen struggled to draw breath. The wind was knocked out of them. Before they could recover, there was another vicious kick.

A blow to their nose. Stars. Blinding pain. Watering eyes. Blood streamed down their face and trickled into their throat. Metallic and hot.

Omen writhed, crying out through the gag.

They arched their back. Reached with bound hands into their boot. Felt the slim, bone knife handle, warm with body heat. Good. 

They grasped it and hid it behind their body, working on the bonds as best as they could.

The assassin paced around the cottage.

Omen sliced their fingers and hands. The knife was sharp. Blood made the process slippery.

“I’m going to ask you again.” The man circled back around to them.

The rope was cut. The bonds loosened. Omen pulled free.

“And if you say-”

Omen hurled the knife. It stuck neatly in the assassin’s shoulder.

He bellowed. 

Omen rolled away, under the table, and began to attack the rope that bound their ankles. Halfway through, the assassin came at them, their own bone-handled knife in hand. Omen scrabbled back with their legs untangled and the rope in hand.

They leapt on the man.

Spat blood in his face.

And it was quick work after that.

Several minutes later, Omen stood. Head throbbing, nose swollen and bleeding, and ribs maybe broken. They wiped off the knife and placed it back in their boot.

They limped over to their pack and belongings. With cut and bleeding hands, they prepared to leave. The diadem still lay within their pack. As soon as they touched it, Caey spoke into their thoughts.

“You look terrible. What happened?”

Omen snorted and spat blood onto the cottage floor. “It’s a long story.”

Mediwhump May - Day 6

"Needlephobic"

(Mystery Men - 1999)

@mediwhumpmay

“What was he wearing?” Roy limped over to the curb, Eddie guiding him by the arm.

“Shingles.” Eddie grunted as they sat down together.

Jeff shielded his eyes from the flashing blue and red lights across the street. “He had fashioned them into some kind of armor. My forks were nearly useless.”

Roy grimaced as he stretched out his leg.

“You got him eventually, right in the ass.” Eddie added. 

“True.” Jeff sighed as he counted his leftover ammunition. “He deserved it. Especially for the nails. Why does one decide to use a nail gun when interrupting a performance of Shakespeare in the Skate Park?”

“Roofing.” Roy grasped the long nail embedded in the meat of his inner thigh and pulled. It slid free, painfully, covered in blood. Roy let out a long whine and held back a sob. “His theme is roofing.” He rasped. 

“Oh.” Eddie nodded. “The shingles, the nail gun, the-”

“The rebellion against roofless theater productions?” Jeff finished. 

“So weird.” Roy sighed. “But dedicated.”

Eddie caught sight of the bloody nail that Roy held. “Oh no, Roy, you should have let the medics take that out.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Roy waved him off. “I’ve had worse. Besides, they’re busy with Mercutio.”

“I suppose-” Eddie cut himself off. “Oh come on, Roy, you’ve got one in your hand!” He grabbed Roy’s wrist and held it up.

The long nail had flown through Roy’s palm and the tip poked through the back of his hand. It wasn’t bleeding much, but that was because the nail was plugging the hole. 

Jeff frowned. “How many did he get you with, Roy?”

“I dunno.” Roy shrugged. He was tired and sore and thinking was hard. “ A few.”

“A few?” Eddie stood up. “How do you not know? Hang on, let’s do a count. I can’t believe I have to do this for you.”

“I can believe it.” Jeff stood up too. 

“Going to need a metal detector.”

“Come on, guys. I just wanna go home.” Roy whined. 

“Okay, so one in the hand.” Eddie ignored him and began to circle, looking for other nails. “One in the boot. Ouch, straight through your foot.” “Yeah, I was nailed to the stage for a minute.” Roy laughed weakly.

Jeff laughed as well then quickly stopped. “The one from his thigh.”

“Three so far.” Eddie nodded. 

“I think that’s it.” Roy grumbled.

“Let’s at least get you checked out.” Eddie offered his hand to help Roy up from the curb. “Also when was the last time you got your tetanus shot?”

“My what?”

Eddie looked over at Jeff, who nodded silently.

“Let’s go to the clinic.”

“Aw, man.” Roy whined.

Ten minutes later, they piled out of Eddie’s car and into the 24-hour clinic. It was quiet around midnight so the wait was pretty short. A nurse took Roy back, and Eddie and Jeff stayed in the waiting room. 

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Eddie asked Jeff, flipping through a sticky magazine.

“Oh.” Jeff thought for a moment. “Five minutes.” He answered.

“How about ten?”

“You’re on. I’ll watch the clock.”

Four minutes later, the nurse reappeared. 

Jeff stood up. “You owe me dinner.”

The nurse walked over. “Would either of you be able to accompany your friend? He’s…” She searched for a word. “Agitated.”

Eddie stood too. “We’ll both come back.”

The nurse led them back to the examination room. Roy immediately tried to leave as soon as she opened the door. 

“Eddie, I’m fine. Let’s leave. Get me out of here.” Roy spoke quickly in a low mutter. “Come on, Jeff, let’s go, let’s go.”

“Whoa, there.” Eddie gently corralled Roy back in, like a spooked horse. “They’re just going to give you a little check-up, Roy.”

“And a shot!” Roy’s voice almost squeaked. “I don’t-... I don’t like…” “Don’t like needles.” Eddie finished. 

Roy sat back down on the exam table, pale and sweating. “Yeah.” He whispered. 

“We know, that’s why we’re here.” Eddie reassured. “It’ll be really quick. You don’t want tetanus, right?”

“Lock-jaw, Roy.” Jeff chimed in, seating himself in a nearby chair. 

“That actually sounds better than the shot.” Roy said.

“You won’t even feel it.” Eddie said. “Besides, you’ve been stabbed before, Roy, how are you scared of needles?”

“I dunno. I’d rather be stabbed. Can they do that? Use a knife? For the shot?” Roy looked around. “Or a scalpel. Anything but…” He trailed off. 

“You know.” Jeff tapped his chin in thought. “This reminds me of the time we saved the blood drive nurses from the Blood Bandits and you lost so much blood that they just strapped you in the chair to give you blood with that absolutely enormous needle-”

“Okay, okay.” Roy hopped off the table. “I’m leaving.”

“I can’t let you do that, Roy.” Eddie stood in his way. “As your friend, I am going to make sure you get this shot.”

Roy laughed, pretended to back off, then feinted to the left, and made a dash to the right. He tried to get to the door. But he was full of nails and too slow. 

Eddie grabbed him. Jeff stood in front of the door. 

And then the doctor walked in. 

“What have we here?” She asked. 

All three of them stopped struggling. 

“Nothing.” Roy straightened his coat. 

“Nothing.” Eddie let go of Roy.

“Nothing.” Jeff picked up a fork he’d dropped. 

“I see.” The doctor put down her clipboard. “Well, which one of you is Roy?”

Jeff pointed at Roy.

“Thanks, man.” Roy sighed. 

“I will take a bullet for you, Roy, but not a shot”

The doctor sighed. “So Roy, you had an accident with a…” She turned a page. “Nail?”

“Nail gun.” Eddie corrected. 

“Okay, and how many nails?” “Three.” Roy sighed.

“We think.” Jeff added. 

“You think?” The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure.” Eddie admitted.

“Uh-huh.” The doctor paused for a moment, looked over each of them, then proceeded. “Well, let’s get those nails out, Roy. Then we’ll go from there.”

Roy nodded, almost green.

The doctor and an assistant bandaged the thigh wound and extracted the nail from Roy’s foot. The hand was last. Slowly, carefully, the doctor took the nail out and dressed the wound. She kept up a conversation with Roy the whole time, who was visibly relaxing. 

Once that was done, Roy sighed. “That wasn’t so bad. Could we save the-... the shot for another day.”

“No, we can’t.” The doctor answered. 

“Why not?”

“Because we’ve already done it.” The doctor stepped back. She had been blocking Roy’s line of sight of his other arm. 

The assistant was currently pulling a needle out of Roy’s shoulder.

“Oh.” Roy swayed. And fainted.

“There he goes.” Eddie sighed.

“He’s reliable.” Said Jeff.

Calling all lovers of darkfic, grimdarks, creepypastas, and scary stories! I had yet to see a monthly writing event themed around horror, so I made one! The event will occur in September, so you have plenty of time to get ready.

If you feel like participating, tag your fills with #horrortember2024, and I'll reblog as many as I can! Fanfic is strongly encouraged, but original fiction is accepted as well. And, depending on how many people join, I'll post a list of completionists or participants at the end of the month!

A written list of prompts is under the cut:

1. AND THIS HAS ALWAYS BEEN WHAT I DESERVE, FOR MY TEETH TO JUST FALL OUT: body horror, parasite, gore

2. BUT THEY SAW SOMETHING THAT’S REAL: pretending to be human, identical, visceral

3. WHO’S AFRAID OF THE BIG BAD WOLF: vampires, zombies, werewolves

4. IT’S ALWAYS BEST WHEN THE LIGHTS ARE OFF: music, silence, echoes

5. BURIED ABOVE THE GROUND: dust, overgrown, forgotten

6. WHAT HAVE I DONE: losing memories, possession, cursed

7. DREAMLESS SLEEP: sick, survivor, injury

8. NOW ONLY DOGS WILL FOLLOW ME: cannibalism, eaten alive, maggots

9. HAVE YOU HEARD THE STORY OF THE RABBIT IN THE MOON: meta, cosmic horror, forbidden knowledge

10. WE DIDN’T GO IN THERE ALONE: hunted, solitary, darkness

11. YOU CAN’T RUN FROM ME FOREVER: obsession, yandere, overpowering emotions

12. I WEEP AND SAY GOODNIGHT, LOVE, AS MY ORGANS PACK IT IN: doomsday, apocalypse, certain death

13. WHAT DO YOU KNOW: nightmare, prophecy, inevitable

14. I CAN MAKE THE WORLD SEEM SLOW: polaroid, motel, record player

15. DON’T KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE: doll, reflection, facet

16. NEVER SHALL WE DIE: immortality, decay, cyclical

17. WHAT DID YOU BURY BEFORE THOSE HANDS PULLED ME FROM THE EARTH: oops, self-made monster, playing god

18. SHE’LL SAY SHE LOVES YOU, EVEN THOUGH SHE ONLY WANTS TO STEAL YOUR SOUL: haunting the narrative, inseparable, devotion

19. ARE YOU ALIVE, AM I AWAKE: chills, hallucinations, paranoia

20. IN THE RED, YOU’RE BETTER OFF DEAD: hunger, craving, unconventional needs

21. HOW DO I BREAK YOU BEFORE YOU BREAK ME: unreliable narrator, serial killer, manipulation

22. THERE IS NO END: help isn’t coming, final girl, trauma

23. LIFE CAN BE LIKE A DREAM: gone wrong, descent into madness, distrust

24. HEAR THEM LAUGHING UNDERNEATH: hollow, below the surface, remnants

25. I’LL SAY GOODBYE SOON: timeloop, lesson learned, consequence

26. NO CURE IS COMING NEAR: animals, rabies, primal fears

27. WHY DON’T YOU LET ME BE FREE: hanahaki, soulmates, trope inversion

28. AND THEN HE STARTED LAUGHING UNTIL HE CRACKED HIS JAW: butterflies, roses, sunshine

29. WHERE LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL ALL THE TIME: man-made, perfection, out of place

30. YOU ARE CALLED TO THE TREES: climb, descend, mass migration