#Febuwhump day 21

[leaperfr0g]

Febuwhump Day 21, Put On Display

@febuwhump

Master list (Click for better quality and detail)

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Side Note,

The champions will always have my heart. I wish we could have had more memories of them and their personalities and how they were!

I always had a specific order I hung up the champions weapons! I hated breaking their weapon since I felt bad, so I hardly used them except when I go to fight Ganon so that it felt like they were there! I put Urbosa's sword by the sheild rack so her sword hung by her sheild, Mipha's trident is at the far left because It felt right to put it there! Revali's bow goes beside Mipha's trident and Daruk's boulder breaker goes in the middle!

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Febuwhump 2025 ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Day 21 || “Put On Display”

TW: Brainwashing, nudity, alcohol

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

The day couldn’t have been more beautiful.

The weather outside slowly had begun to tilt from the smooth humid weather of autumn, leaves of all shades littering the ground, into the frozen wasteland known as winter, ice creeping along the bark of trees. But despite this, the temple seemed to still be stuck in June. Soft light floated from the rafters above Alastair as he stood, soaking him with a summery warmth. Laughter and pleasant conversation surrounded him, sounds of pure bliss emanating off the walls. Yet Alastair, standing in the midst of it, couldn’t be more horrified. 

Because sitting only mere feet away was Atlas, wrapped in the arms of someone else. No, not just someone else—

Kazuya Inoue.

The very leader of this horrid temple, with its sparkling golden draperies and white-marbled pillars, squirming naked bodies found in nearly every room Alastair stepped in. He was the man behind it all, the one they’d been sent to dispose of, the person pulling the strings. The person they were supposed to be fighting. 

And there Atlas sat, unaware of it all. 

The months trapped inside Kazuya’s temple had begun to have an effect on his appearance. Gone were the shocking green streaks in his hair, the choppy cut he had worn before replaced by luscious beach waves, similar to Kazuya’s own hair. Alastair wasn’t sure if the Cardinal had been the one to do it for him, or perhaps Atlas had chosen it for himself, his obsession with the man replacing all ideas of individuality. It didn’t matter either way, when none of the thoughts he had truly were his, the control Kazuya had over him replacing his wants. His true wants. 

But the hair wasn’t the only change. He’d shed off the clothes that Wren had forced Alastair into lending him, a plain black tuxedo suit that Alastair had very secretly thought made him look all the more gorgeous, giving him a rather distinguished appearance. Now he could be found in a transparent, revealing robe, the curves of his muscular figure all the more obvious, the fabric pulling around his body in a way that made Alastair flush red all over. 

He even seemed to be doing his makeup differently. Before – back at the base – he’d gone for a more messy style, with thick black eyeliner and smudged, dark eyeshadow, giving him this sort of mysterious, sultry look. 

(Not that Alastair had noticed or anything. Well, of course, he had noticed, but not noticed-noticed. It wasn’t like he was staring or anything.)

But now… He wore softer tones, blush and mascara that made his eyelashes pop, the swirling violet of his iris somehow more enchanting than it already had been. But despite it, the change made Alastair sick to his stomach, the complete erasure of everything he knew Atlas to be more haunting than anything else. 

Atlas was grinning wide, appearing to be happier than Alastair had seen him in months as Kazuya murmured something into his ear, lips just grazing against his skin. He leaned in closer, head resting on the crook of Kazuya’s neck, as he pressed a kiss into the man’s skin, hands roaming across his chest. 

Alastair wasn’t sure how much more of this he could handle. 

It was of course at that thought that Kazuya finally took notice of his stiff presence across the room, those dark brown eyes of his locking onto Alastair as if he was a target – a piece of meat for him to enjoy. He gave the younger man one of his usual alluring smiles, beckoning him over. “Ah, Alastair, how kind of you to join us.” 

Alastair felt as if he had no choice but to oblige. 

He stumbled forwards, movements stilted as he fought back the growing urge to run as far away from the Cardinal as possible. That of course, wasn’t an option. Not with Atlas here, defenceless. Atlas, who was counting on him. 

He bit his lip as he came to a stop in front of the couple, eyes warily searching Kazuya’s face for some sort of hint at what game or trick he was trying to pull today. The Cardinal’s smug expression offered none. 

“Hey, Alastair,” Atlas breathed out, distracting Alastair momentarily. He, for once, did not have the excited puppy-dog stare in his eyes, instead blinking lazily up at his friend, gaze faraway and glassy. The very image was horrific enough, without Kazuya combing his fingers through Atlas’ hair, showing him off as if he were some sort of trophy, a toy for sale at the convenience store. It was disgusting. 

“Hello.” Alastair whispered back, choking down a barely-constrained sob. Being around Atlas had not been comfortable since the last shreds of Alastair’s humanity had been torn from him, replaced by something monstrous. A sudden tension had befallen the two, one Alastair was sure was a break he would never mend. But it was especially now, watching Atlas in Kazuya’s embrace, that Alastair felt truly terrible about being in his presence. 

He needed to leave. 

“You look nervous.” Kazuya continued. “Care to join us for a drink? I know that always makes me feel better.” 

Alastair’s gaze flickered briefly to the glass in his hand, a dark substance sloshing around inside as he swirled the cup in circles. The stench of the alcohol was so overwhelming inside the temple that Alastair would have almost managed to get used to it, if not for the migraines and nausea it brought on. At the sight of the drink, Alastair had to fight back the bile from rising yet again, a sort of disgust seeping into his very core.

“No.” He said forcefully, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. “Thank you.” 

“Suit yourself.” Kazuya flashed him a knowing smirk, taking a long sip, and Alastair forced himself to glance away, wanting very much to shrivel up and die. 

It was then that Alastair’s eyes landed on Atlas again. 

He had shifted in his position at Kazuya’s side, face tucked away out of view. That suddenly didn’t matter very much, because it was now that Alastair had a full view of his exposed body, the fabric of the robes loosely hanging off his form.  

Oh. 

“I should- um, I need… I need to go.” 

Alastair could not help but stutter, his lungs seeming to deflate in on themselves, air suddenly a struggle. He spun around quite suddenly, face aflame. He hated it here he hated it here he hated—

The sound of Kazuya’s giggles followed him the entire trip back to his room. 

masterlist || next

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

taglist || @febuwhump @ohagi505 @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @fangedcinnamonroll @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @seastarblue @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @iamheretohurt @corinneglass @melodxi @thebookishkiwi @lancedoncrimsonwings @sugaredparchment @cepheusgalaxy @fizzydreamz @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @nosebleedgirlpunch @sunflowerrosy @charlachan @cacophonyofwords

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[serickswrites]

Meant to Be

Warnings: gun, gunshot, gunfire, gunshot wound, blood, bleeding out, mcd, hurt/no comfort

By the time the gunfire had faded to a loud ringing in Caretaker's ears, they knew it was too late. By the time they managed to crawl across the bullet strewn room, they knew it was too late. By the time they managed to pull Whumpee's limp and bloody body into their lap, they knew it was too late.

"Whumpee, Whumpee, please, Whumpee," they sobbed as they tried to rouse Whumpee. Whumpee was unresponsive as Caretaker tapped their cool cheek. Unresponsive as Caretaker tried to wake them. Unresponsive as Caretaker pressed on the large gunshot wound in their chest.

"Please, Whumpee. You weren't meant to be there. You weren't meant to be there. You weren't meant to get hurt. Please, Whumpee, open your eyes. Whumpee!"

Caretaker had carefully laid the trap to catch Whumper off guard. Laid the trap carefully so that they could stop Whumper. Laid the trap carefully so that Whumpee would be far from the action. So that Whumpee would be safe.

And it had all gone to shit.

Caretaker didn't even know how it had all gone so wrong so fast. They only knew that they had been pinned down by Whumper and their goons, each side trading shots, but not hitting anything. Until Whumpee walked in. And then Whumper had a target.

Caretaker had yelled to warn Whumpee off. Yelled to get Whumpee to leave them. But Whumpee didn't listen. They took careful cover, keeping low to the ground as they slowly made their way over to Caretaker. And just as Caretaker thought that maybe Whumpee would be safe, maybe everything would work out, Whumpee tripped, stumbling forward and into the open.

The bullet struck the left side of their chest, spinning Whumpee with a spray of blood. Whumpee went down hard and lay unmoving as their blood began to pool around them. Caretaker couldn't tear their gaze from Whumpee. The one person they had tried to protect. The one person they would have done anything to keep safe. The one person they couldn't bear to see bleed out on the floor only a few yards away.

But Caretaker couldn't go to them. Not until Whumper had been neutralized. If they had any hope of saving Whumpee, they had to stop Whumper. They couldn't extract Whumpee and get to safety if Whumper was still shooting at them.

And so Caretaker stayed hunkered down behind their cover, trading shots with Whumper until at last the gunfire ended. But it was too late.

As Caretaker sobbed into Whumpee's hair, cradling Whumpee's head in their hands, Caretaker decided it wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth waiting for the gunfire to end. It wasn't worth making sure Whumper had been stopped. It wasn't worth any of those things because Whumpee had bled out before Caretaker could get them to safety.

"You weren't meant to be here, oh God, Whumpee. Please. Open your eyes. Whumpee. I can't. Please."

But Whumpee didn't respond. Didn't take a shuddering breath. Didn't blink their eyes open and flash Caretaker their warm smile. They just lay boneless in Caretaker's arms, growing colder by the minute. Caretaker held them close and sobbed harder and harder. Held them and begged them to come back. Held them, refusing to let go, even as help arrived. Caretaker held Whumpee and refused to let help support them. They had failed and they didn't care what happened next because the one person that mattered, the one person that made them do all of this, was gone. And nothing else mattered anymore.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive

Content warning: whipping

Watching Whumpee call Caretaker was one of Whumpee’s greatest pleasures. It was why they always kept their phone with them, always offered to interrupt whatever they were doing to Whumpee to try another call. And sometimes, if Whumper was lucky, if Whumpee was desperate, Whumper would get to dial that number and hand the phone over.

It was the tension in Whumpee’s body Whumper loved. How they’d clutch the phone to their ear like they were terrified of missing Caretaker’s voice. How they’d flinch at every ring, eyes squeezed shut. How they held that phone like a cross, prayers on their lips.

But Whumper’s favorite part was how their breath hitched when the ringing stopped, when a voice finally came through…

“Hey! Sorry I missed your call. Just send me a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can…”

…and Whumpee’s face fell, the stupid little hope they’d been harboring stuck down with a single blow.

They watched as Whumpee sunk to the floor, legs turning boneless beneath them. Their eyes were wide, red-rimmed and teary, the screen illuminating their look of heartbreak. The phone slipped from their limp fingers.

Whumper grinned. “Aww, that’s too bad. Seems they missed you again.”

Whumpee only responded with a sob.

Whumpee took their time getting ready. They dug through their drawers, carefully pulling a cloth bag free. They pulled a whip free, giving it an experimental flick. It cracked through the air like thunder. Whumpee flintched, mouth trembling with a swallowed plea.

“On your knees, Whumpee. You know the deal.”

A low, desperate wail slipped between their lips, but they knew better than to beg. Through sobs, they obediently brought themselves into position. They turned towards the wall and dropped onto their knees. They propped themselves up against the wall, palms pressed flat against the bricks. Their back was exposed for all to see, baring a canvas of scarred flesh for Whumper to use.

Whumper watched them for a moment. Shoulders hunched and trembling, tears flowing freely. They didn’t try to move, didn’t try to get out of their payment. Whumper drank up the sight.

They let the whip crack through the air again, just to watch Whumpee flinch.

They brought the whip down, and the first scream of the night tore through Whumpee’s throat. Another mark, fresh and already threatening to weep blood, was added to their back.

Whumper kept going, each strike cracking through the air before finding its mark. By the fourth, Whumpee was openly sobbing. They’d pressed their body fluslh against the wall to remain upright, mouth open in heaving breaths.

Another lash. Whumpee’s body jumped with each strike. The fear of disobedience was the only thing keeping them from fleeing.

Another lash. The hit landed on an already open wound. Whumper smirked as Whumpee’s wails reached a new peak.

Another. Blood dripped from their back like tears. Each strike sent droplets of crimson flying.

By the time Whumper was satisfied, eight stripes had been carved into Whumpee’s back, blood flowing freely. The only sound remaining were Whumpee’s meek, pathetic little whimpers. The wall was the only thing keeping them upright.

Whumper grabbed the phone forgotten at Whumpee’s side, noting with satisfaction that it had recorded everything. They ended the call, sending the message to Caretaker’s inbox. It was only then that Whumpee went slack, dropping to the floor.

Whumper took a moment to take in their sight. Whumpee laid on the floor, blotchy faced, exhausted sobs sending tremors through their body. They didn’t even have the energy to curl inward or protect themselves. They laid limp like a ragdoll, stuck in the same position they’d fallen in.

Whumper took a quick moment to snap a photo. “Do you want to leave another message? Maybe they’ll answer this time.”

Whumpee didn’t respond, shoulders shaking with their tears.

Whumper only shrugged, pocketing their phone. “Oh well. Maybe you’ll try again tomorrow.

They left Whumpee there, crumpled on the basement floor, a broken, bloodied mess. Whumpee did not move as the door shut, leaving them in darkness.

Whumper took their time getting ready for bed. Taking a nice, long shower to loosen sore muscles, eating their favorite meal for dinner. Each indulgence felt better knowing that Whumpee was denied it.

When they were ready, they slipped comfortably into bed, and grabbed the phone plugged in by their nightstand. They opened the screen, a picture of Whumpee and Caretaker, smiling hand in hand, greeting them.

They lazily flicked over to the phone app, checking Caretaker’s messages.

17 missed calls from Whumpee, and 17 corresponding messages Whumpee and paid in blood to send.

Whumper opened the most recent message and was greeted by screams.

[comfort-questing]

21. put on display

til sunset - that was the word of it, anyway.

technically, it was probably about a quarter-hour after the sun had dipped below the distant horizon between the hills that one of the guards bestirred himself in an unhurried fashion from the guardhouse door and made his way to the platform in the center of the square. they weren't counting.

by this time, Ren didn't look like he was counting either, really - slumped against the post, eyes closed, arms cruelly stretched upward as he'd knelt to rest his legs at last. the rags of his shirt and the clotted blood on his back looked more or less inseparable.

only a few folk in the square paid much attention at this point, the bustle of the day quieted, most tavern-goers more interested in their suppers and their drinks than the current miscreant. the curiosity and grotesque spectacle of a whipping had been greater, earlier; that of a silent, half-conscious prisoner far less.

the guard gave Taggen a sharp look as he darted forward to the base of the steps.

"friend of yours?"

"yeah."

"ought to get better taste in friends."

there really wasn't anything to say to that, and Taggen spent a moment staring blankly at the guard as he unlocked the cuffs around Ren's wrists. then as Ren collapsed bonelessly to the platform in a heap, all thoughts of a clever retort vanished, and Taggen climbed the steps instead and shrugged his friend's arm over his shoulder.

"c'mon," he said.

"don't - get - in trouble - for me." Ren's voice, a breathless whisper, almost too weak to hear.

"don't care. we're going."

and somehow, they got down the steps without falling, which took enough concentration that they didn't have to pay attention to the guard's expression anyway.

the trip back home was going to be a long one, though.

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump day 21: Unresponsive.

Title: his hidden sorrows

Words: 566

Summary: Tony find Stephen nearly dead, barely breathing, an empty bottle of painkillers just out of reach.

~~~

“Strange?” Tony Stark asked, knocking on the Wizards door. “You good in there?”

Normally, Tony wouldn’t be worried. Strange was a grown man, he could do what he liked. It wasn’t Tony’s job to keep tabs on the Wizard, especially with his day job that Tony absolutely did not know of. But Strange was staying in his quarters at the Avengers Tower after a long battle. From the little Tony even saw of Strange (totally not FRIDAY’s constant monitoring), he had a set schedule.

He trained at 6 in the morning (Tony still didn’t understand why he was up that early most days), had breakfast by himself at 7:30 but would visit with the team when they came down at 8. He disappeared, then returned around 1:30 for lunch. He ate dinner with Wong at the New York Sanctum around 9.

Strange had missed every meal with the team that day and Tony refused to admit that he missed the Sorcerer’s presence. He chalked up his concern to the fact that Wong called him, telling Tony that Strange had been acting weird the day before and mere hours before he dropped off the face of the earth, he had completely blocked the mental link between him, the Sanctum, and Wong. He had put up so many defenses that no one could find him unless they were familiar with his energy signature, and that signature had never left the Avengers Tower. So Tony was knocking on Strange’s door.

“Strange… we’re worried about you. You haven’t been down all day and Wong’s worried.” Still, no response. “Strange- Stephen. Come on, open the door!” More silence. Tony took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weird, sinking feeling in his chest. Nothing was wrong, right? Strange could have had an emergency and left without a word or he got back late and was still asleep.

“Stephen. If you don’t open your door, I’m going to break it down.”

Utter silence. Tony swore he could hear a pin drop (if one were to drop right then). Tony waited for another few seconds before sighting.

Tony tried the door, only to find that it was unlocked. Huh. 

Strange’s room was dark. The bed was made, the desk in the corner of the room stacked with dusty books. Tony had never been in Strange’s room, but even he thought it looked unlived in. There was nothing on the walls, not even a single picture. The only thing that marked it as Strange’s room was the books. Unread (probably), and forgotten (less-probable).

“Stephen?” Tony whispered. There was no response, but Tony felt like he needed to check the bathroom.

This time the door was locked. Tony was about to turn away, but something told him he needed to at least check .

All it took was a thumbnail and a few seconds of jiggling, and the door swung open to reveal Strange himself, laying on his stomach, barely breathing, an empty bottle of NSAID inches from his outstretched hand.

Shit .

Before Tony could fully process the situation, he was kneeling beside Strange, trying and failing to wake him up before demanding FRIDAY to pull up his vitals and call Doctor Cho. From what Tony could understand, Stephen was alive, but barely.

Another 10 minutes and he’d be dead. Tony didn’t want to lose anyone, especially Stephen.

Not after losing everything he loved.

Ao3

[keldrakey]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Merlin (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Merlin (Merlin) & Everyone, Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Knights of the Round Table (Merlin) Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2024, Last Man Standing, Blood and Violence, Stabbing, neck breaking, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Kidnapping, Fighting Rings, Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Panic Attacks, Flashbacks, suffocation, Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Heavy Angst, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Knights (Merlin), Good Friend Leon (Merlin), Leon & Merlin Friendship (Merlin), Shock, fight to the death, Until one person is left, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending Series: Part 20 of Febuwhump 2024, Part 134 of Merlin Summary:

Merlin gets kidnapped, when the gang finally find him hes covered in blood and in a state of shock

[fanfictasia]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Bad Batch (Cartoon) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hunter & Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) Characters: Clone Trooper Hunter (Star Wars), Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Clone Trooper Tech (Star Wars) (minor), Clone Trooper Wrecker (Star Wars) (minor) Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Canon Compliant, Omega Needs a Hug (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Panic Attacks, Family, Depression, Febuwhump, Febuwhump 2024, Prompt: Unresponsive

Summary:

Omega has never liked closed spaces. Well, no one does, but after being kidnapped, and after Kamino, she's starting to find them... difficult to focus in.

Read on:

https://www.wattpad.com/1424096207-the-bad-batch-one-shot-collection-febuwhump-day

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14329977/1/Febuwhump-Day-Twenty-One-Unresponsive

[one-real-wrimonkey]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: RWBY Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Ironwood & Winter Schnee, Weiss Schnee & Winter Schnee Characters: James Ironwood, Weiss Schnee, Winter Schnee (RWBY), Jacques Schnee Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2025, Volume 4 (RWBY), Fall of Beacon (RWBY), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jacques Schnee Being an Asshole, Good Sibling Winter Schnee, James Ironwood Has a Heart, Past Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Weiss Schnee Needs a Hug, Galas, Atlas (RWBY), Atlas Ball (RWBY), Bad Parent Jacques Schnee, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective James Ironwood Series: Part 12 of Greys Febuwhump 2025, Part 18 of My RWBY Fic Collection Summary:

James Ironwood is pretty sure he's the only person at this entire charity concert actually listening to Miss Schnee's lyrics, which was probably for the best. He loathes events like this one, but he is the General, so he doesn't have much of a choice. . Febuwhump Day 21- put on display.

[kkydoimos]

Chapters: 2/3 Fandom: League of Legends RPF Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Bae "bengi" Seong-ung & Lee "Faker" Sang-hyeok, Bae "Bang" Jun-sik & Bae "bengi" Seong-ung & Lee "Wolf" Jae-wan, Bae "bengi" Seong-ung/Lee "Faker" Sang-hyeok, Bae "Bang" Jun-sik & Lee "Wolf" Jae-wan & Lee "Faker" Sang-hyeok Characters: Bae "bengi" Seong-ung, Lee "Faker" Sang-hyeok, Bae "Bang" Jun-sik, Lee "Wolf" Jae-wan Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, soulslike AU vaguely based off of the vibes of elden ring, Angst, Worldbuilding, Magic, Hurt No Comfort, its also soulslike inspired so idk what to say, nothing much happens in the first chapter, at least. I think, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Febuwhump, Febuwhump 2025 Series: Part 5 of Febuwhump 2025 Summary:

Before the steps of the Cathedral waits the Forgotten Guardian, loyal to the very end. Seongwoong, if he really cared anymore, might protest the "Forgotten" part. But the stone that had kept him alive all this time seeps into his heart, and all he can really do is wonder if Sanghyeok had cared at all.

Or: A Soulslike-inspired AU. Febuwhump 2025 Days 13, 14: “I don’t trust anyone else”, becoming the monster

[biromantic-nerd]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: One-Sided Lucifer/Sam Winchester Characters: Sam Winchester, Lucifer (Supernatural) Additional Tags: Febuwhump, Day 21, Day 21: Put On Display, Implied Slash, Minor Lucifer/Sam Winchester, One-Sided Attraction, Creepy Lucifer (Supernatural), Forced Feminization, Feminized Sam Winchester, One Shot, Set mid season 5, After s05e12, Post-Episode: s05e12 Swap Meat (Supernatural), Non-Consensual Touching, is this an excuse to put Sam in a dress? Maybe., Kidnapped Sam Winchester, Febuwhump 2025, Objectification, In a way, Put on Display, Objectified Sam Winchester Series: Part 10 of Unconnected Febuwhump Fics Summary:

"There we are." Lucifer pulled away with pride in his voice. As if Sam were a showing at a debutante ball. "Oh, lovely."

(Febuwhump 2025 Day 21 Prompt: "Put On Display" + Sam Winchester)

@febuwhump

[fletcherwilbury]

@febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive

Warning for Overworking, exhaustion, illness, coughing, wheezing, pneumonia, physical abuse, child abuse, medication

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Febuwhump - Day 21

Pairing: Beau x reader

Prompt: Unresponsive

Warnings: language, severe head injury

_______

“Beau.” I glanced up from my desk, Jenny and Pop wearing grim expressions. “Uh, Y/N’s the unresponsive female that got called in.”

“What?” I said, shooting to my feet. “What the hell-”

“We don’t know. ER doc says she has an injury on her head.” I grabbed my coat, heading for the door. “Beau-”

“You’re in charge. I’ll be back later.”

____

“I don’t understand,” I said again, slower this time. The doctor sighed, running a hand over his mouth before he pulled me further away down the hallway. “When’s she going to wake up? It’s been hours.”

“Sheriff Arlen, as I said before, Y/N has an extensive head injury. She should be waking up but she’s not, which means it’s entirely possible she doesn’t.”

I shook my head, the doctor giving me a sympathetic look. “She’s not in a coma. She’s just knocked out. She-”

“She is in a coma, Mr. Arlen. Good news is she’s breathing on her own but at this point, brain damage is highly likely. Even if she were to wake up, she may not be the same. We need to do more scans.”

“She can’t…” I trailed off, the doctor gently pushing on my back.

“Go sit with her. We���ll do everything we can but you have to prepare yourself for the possibility of some hard decisions in the near future.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll discuss those with time. Someone will check on her soon.” He left me at the entrance to Y/N’s room. White bandages wrapped around her head, wires stuck in her. I barely got my feet to move over to the chair by the bed. This couldn’t be happening. She had to wake up.

She had to.

“Come back to me, Y/N,” I whispered, grasping her hand, holding it to my lips. “Fight it out in there and come to me. Please. I don’t know what to do without you.”

But I got no response. Only the beeping of the monitors telling me she was still alive, if barely.

_______

[silvrash-797]

Febuwhump 2025 - Countdown

Read on ao3

Chapter 1: Pinned down

In all his visions of the past and future, in all his prophetic dreams, Sky had never once imagined he’d ever see something so horrible.

He strained against the ropes and men holding him fast, shouting incoherent threats through the gag in his mouth at the Hylian monsters who dared touch his brother.

It took ten men to keep Twilight still: two men held each limb in a bruising grip, one extremely large man wrapped powerful, crushing arms around his chest, and the final man hung doggedly from his neck. Even still, Sky could see them sweat as Twilight fought to free himself.

“ENOUGH!” A male voice roared behind him; Sky shuddered as the keen edge of a dagger pressed tight against his throat. “Stop resisting, or your friend dies!”

Twilight glared, eyes as proud and fiery as Eldin Volcano. His breath came in harsh pants, blood dripping from a split lip and a laceration near his hairline. He spat at the ground, then glanced toward Sky.

Sky had no idea what expression he wore; whatever it was, it made Twilight back down, albeit begrudgingly. 

“Much better.” Now that the voice wasn’t yelling, Sky could hear an accent, cultured and refined, like some of the Chains' Zeldas had. “We can be civilized, I trust?”

“What d'you want?” Twilight snarled.

“I was told you know of a wolf, a domesticated wolf, and I want him for my collection. I’d pay you handsomely for him, of course.”

Twilight scoffed. “That wolf ain’t domesticated, and even if he were, he definitely ain’t for sale. No deal.” He sounded confident, but Sky knew him well enough to hear the fear hidden underneath.

Sky choked on a scream as the knife left his neck, only to plunge into his upper arm. The gag was suddenly too much, too tight, too close. Sky grew dizzy from the pain and from the insufficient oxygen.

“Stoppit!” Twilight cried, “Leave him alone!”

The man behind Sky tutted in disappointment. “I tried to be civilized,” he sighed, walking toward Twilight. All Sky could see of him was the fine, calf-high, deer-leather boots and a long, dark green coat made of a rich velvet. 

The noble nodded at the men holding Twilight. Two of them kicked the back of the Rancher's knees, dragging him to the floor and pinning him there. The man crouched nearby.

“Here’s how this will work,” he said, all business. “You will bring me the wolf within the next three days.”

“Or what?” Twilight bared his teeth in fury.

“Or I’ll have your friend killed.”

Armed guards rattled into the room, surrounding Sky with swords bared

Sky met and held Twilight’s eyes, doing his best to convey yes, I’ll be fine, go get the others and make a plan.

Twilight searched his face for a long moment, brows furrowed with worry, distorting the tattoo that rested there. Finally, he sighed and hung his head.

“Fine,” he said, defeated. “You win.”

The noble patted his cheek condescendingly. “Good man.” He turned back to Sky. “Take him to the cage. And somebody bind up that wound, hmm?”

Sky flinched as one of the guards removed the dagger from his arm. The last thing he heard as the guards dragged him away was the noble's falsely sweet voice.

“You have three days.”

[tina-mairin-goldstein]

The Hurt Within These Halls - Chapter 21 - Tina_Mairin_Goldstein - Doctor Strange (2016) [Archive of Our Own]

Day 21: Put On Display

Chapter Summary:

After being called out by a master, America is feeling down.

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: Multi

Fandom: Doctor Strange (Movies)

Relationships: Ancient One & Hamir the Hermit (Marvel), Kaecilius & Wong (Marvel), Kaecilius & Karl Mordo, Daniel Drumm & Kaecilius, Daniel Drumm/Kaecilius, Stephen Strange & Wong, Ancient One & Stephen Strange, Adria/Kaecilius (Marvel), Kaecilius & Stephen Strange, The Cloak of Levitation & Stephen Strange, The Cloak of Levitation & Kaecilius, Ancient One & America Chavez, America Chavez & Stephen Strange, America Chavez & Wong

Characters: Ancient One (Marvel), Hamir the Hermit (Marvel), Kaecilius (Marvel), Wong (Marvel), Karl Mordo, Daniel Drumm, Stephen Strange, Adria (Marvel), The Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), America Chavez

Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2025, Major Character Injury, Injury, Blood, Violence, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt, Emotional Hurt, Angst, Whump, Everyone Needs A Hug, Sign Language, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon timeline is there but adjusted to my needs, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mind Control, Medical Inaccuracies, Mentions of Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Necromancy, Demonic Possession, Grief, Guilt

Language: English

[comfort-questing]

21. unresponsive

"don't be worried," they had told her, "he's still recovering. he'll wake soon."

every morning the healers came, with their magic and their potions; every visit left the bruises a little fainter on his pallid face, his the tawny skin undertoned with gray. it had been almost a week now, the servants helping her tend him, the sorrowful and guilty looks on the faces of his knights almost too much to bear.

(you did all you could, she told them. that he lived till his return - that's your doing. the accident wasn't. the fall wasn't.)

she would have to be kind to them so, for many years to come, if he never woke again.

so she sat in the old chair by the window, watching the light cross his face where he lay in the bed, curling her arms around her drawn-up knees in old childish habits returning. she told him of the reports from the guards, and the news from the villages, and the misadventures of the chickens and the hunting dogs, because if he could hear he would surely rather hear something cheerful than only the cautiously measured words of the healers and servants and knights. sometimes she was a little rough, accidentally, with brushing his hair and redoing the braid behind one ear, and would watch his mouth and eyelids closely to see if he felt it.

in the nighttime it was the worst, with the fire burning low and the wind singing its old sad songs in the chimney: because then it seemed most likely to her that she would have to lead his people alone, without him, a lady by marriage and courtesy and not one of their own mountain folk. and they would be kind to her, as she was kind to them, but it wouldn't be the same. it could never be the same.

(wake up, she told him, bitterly around a throat full of tears; don't leave us all. we need you.)

but on the morning of the eighth day she woke, joints askew and sore where she knelt half-slumped against the bed, and felt a hand on her head, ghostly light and bone-thin; and hazily half-awake she murmured his name, and realized that she wasn't alone after all, after everything.