#Febuwhump day 5

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: day five

Prompt: Rope burns — @febuwhump

Tw: intimate whumper, blood, rope burns, helpless Whumpee, vomiting (mentioned/described), violence, creepy whumper, scary Whumper

This was all that came to mind when I thought of this prompt! It was fun

*~*~*~*~*~*

Whumpee was carried through the lavish halls of the ostentatious mansion. Whumpee couldn’t really take in the extravagant detail except for the red carpets blurring by on the ground because their head was too heavy to lift. Coarse rope bit into their wrists, the skin raw around their wrists from where they struggled.

Now they were quite happy to let their body hang like dead weight in the arms of two very strong looking henchmen who were more than capable to carry Whumpee to wherever they were going. Whumpee couldn’t really remember where exactly, though they’re sure they were told. The details became fuzzy after the particularly nasty henchman slammed Whumpee’s head into the wall.

Whumpee blinked and immediately wished they hadn’t. When they opened their eyes again the world swam in a blur of colours and a warm feeling crawled up their throat.

“Fellas, if we could make a detour to a toilet…” Whumpee said then gagged. “Or the nearest potted plant at your earliest convenience.”

“I will break your fucking jaw if you speak again,” Nasty henchman said.

“Suit yourself,” said Whumpee. They made sure to aim at Nasty henchman’s shoes when they spewed their lunch over the nice floor. Henchman let out a cry of disgust and Whumpee was suddenly thrown to the ground, taking the brunt of the impact on their shoulder with a grunt.

Whumpee chuckled as they rolled onto their back, and groaned again when they put weight on their hands their arms sore from the sudden movement.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Nasty henchman bellowed, storming over to Whumpee who grinned up at Henchman. The taste of vomit still on their tongue slightly spoiling the moment, but not enough to take the smile off their face. Nasty henchman sent a swift, brutal kick to Whumpee’s jaw that sent them sprawling again with a groan.

He would have gone again too if Nice henchman hadn’t got in the way, putting a hand on Nasty’s chest and said something quietly to them that Whumpee couldn’t really hear. Whumpee blinked, groaning at the ceiling as their hands started tingling. It was detailed with beautiful carvings made out of some glamorous stone that Whumpee didn’t know the name of. Whumpee tightened their hands into fists trying to speed up the process, but it was taking too long and their hand stung more than tingled now.

Nice turned back to Whumpee and reached them in two short strides. Whumpee planted their foot on the ground trying, and failing, to push themselves backwards away from them. Nice reached down all the same and grabbed Whumpee under the arm, yanking them up with one strong pull.

Nice grabbed Whumpee’s chin and tilted it up and down, side to side. “Can you hear me, Whumpee? Henchman didn’t beat you up too bad did he?”

“Awfully bold of you to stand so close after I just threw up,” Whumpee replied.

Nice smirked, then turned Whumpee and pushed them forward. “Yep. You’re fine. Walk.”

Whumpee took a step and their knee buckled, their leg folding under them. Nice caught them before they fell but that was as far as their kindness extended.

“You can walk, come on.”

“I much preferred being dragged.”

“Well if you much prefer being alive you should be happy that I sent other Henchman away.”

Whumpee hissed as their numb legs were forced to wake up with every movement. “Can we wait until I get feeling back at least?”

“Nope,” said Nice, though Whumpee was starting to think they should rename them in their head. “You wasted too much time struggling, and then vomiting, and the boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Mmm,” Whumpee hummed, glancing over their shoulder at Not-so-nice. “Who is your mysterious boss anyways?”

Not-so-nice smiled and said, “spoilers.”

They abruptly stopped at a large set of dark wooden doors, Whumpee felt a need to say mahogany but that was only because they didn’t know any other dark wood types. There was a hint of red running through it, very dark and beautiful.

“The craftsmanship of this house is amazing,” Whumpee muttered. Not-so-nice chuckled behind Whumpee and reached in front of them, grabbing the golden handle and pushing the door open.

Not-so-nice pushed Whumpee through the door until they were inside enough that they could close the door properly. While he did, Whumpee glanced around, trying to spot the boss but their vision was still a little spotty when their eyes moved too fast and the room was huge.

It looked as official as the Oval Office except with more class and style. Arched windows ran vertically along the back wall that was shaped like a triptych, allowing a view of the gardens that took a more haunting quality to them in the moonlight. It was all shapes and blurs, the stars like splotches in the midnight blue sky.

Not-so-nice pushed Whumpee into the room, along the red carpet that went from the door to the giant, dark-wooden desk that Whumpee guess would have weighed more than two-hundred-pounds and vaguely wondered how the floor could hold the weight of it.

“You were right,” said Not-so-nice to the room. Whumpee blinked, trying to wipe their eyes with their shoulder and failing miserably. “They were snooping.”

“I don’t snoop,” said Whumpee, off-handedly. “I’m not a snooper. I am a perceiver of hidden information.”

“A spy,” said Not-so-nice, still pushing Whumpee forward. God how long was this room?!

“Not… mmm. No, I don’t like that either. More like—”

“A curious mind,” another voice offered. Whumpee and Not-so-nice henchmen stopped before the desk where Not-so-nice let Whumpee go and stepped back. Whumpee turned their head to the source of the voice.

A man stood in a white dress shirt tucked into tailored trousers that wrapped tight around his waist, the bottoms tucked into a pair of boots. He looked like a prince from a story book and Whumpee frowned. Something prickled in the back of their mind telling them that they should probably know this man.

This beautiful man. Too beautiful. His face looked as if it was sculpted from marble, as pale as the stone itself. He had shoulder length dark hair that looked a bit too perfect to be natural.

Whumpee should know this man, why won’t their brain just work damn it. Whumpee cursed the violent henchmen in their brain for hitting their head too many times.

“Sure,” said Whumpee. “A curious mind.”

“They’re impressed with the architecture of your house,” said Not-so-nice henchmen. Whumpee whipped their head over their shoulder, glaring at the henchmen for divulging their comments so freely.

“Are they really?” the handsome man asked drawing Whumpee’s attention back to him. He finally looked up from his book at Whumpee and he took Whumpee’s breath away. Prince was the right name for him.

Whumpee felt their heart flutter in their chest, and fought the blush rising from the realisation of how attracted they were to this man.

Wait… did Henchmen say your house to the handsome man? Then that meant… Whumpee’s eyes widened in realisation. That meant that this beautiful man was the host of this lavish party, in this ostentatious house, with the beautifully carved ceilings and imported wood that Whumpee didn’t know the name of.

Whumpee’s heart started beating for another reason now. Dark eyes settled on Whumpee’s face, taking in every detail and cataloguing every piece of damage on it. Prince turned their body towards Whumpee and stepped over to them with graceful, precise steps. Whumpee moved a foot behind them to step back, but Prince reached them before Whumpee could back away.

Prince reached up and cupped Whumpee’s face in their cool hands. He moved Whumpee’s face to right, tilting their head to their light to get a proper look at them.

“Mmm, Violent henchman did some damage to you, didn’t he?” Prince asked, pressing their thumb into a bruise on Whumpee’s cheek. Whumpee sucked in a breath and tried to step back but Prince didn’t let them. His black eyes seemed to be bottomless, dragging Whumpee further and further into them. Whumpee had a sudden realisation that being the center of this man’s attention was not somewhere they wanted to be.

“They struggled a lot when we caught them, sir.”

“They also made sure the rope was tight enough to cut off my circulation,” Whumpee said, their words biting. The ghost of a smile flashed over Prince’s beautiful face. “Be a dear and loosen them for me, would you?”

Prince ignored them and let go of their face. He stepped around Whumpee and nodded at Not-so-nice Henchmen. Whumpee turned with him, not wanting to let him out of their sight.

“Thank you Henchmen, would you mind guarding the door for me? My guest and I need to have a little chat.”

The words felt like a knife in the chest, puncturing Whumpee’s lung. They didn’t want Henchmen to leave… even though they weren’t exactly nice they weren’t as violent as other henchmen and at least they didn’t give off a terrifying aura that Prince did.

Whumpee caught Henchmen’s eyes, begging them silently not to leave. Henchmen nodded, inclined his head to Prince as he said “yes sir,” and turned to go.

“Wait!”

Henchman turned to face Prince, eyebrows raised into half arches. Prince turned to face Whumpee, all eyes in the room on them. Whumpee blinked.

Did they say wait?

“Uh…” Whumpee said, reaching for something. Their mouth moving much faster than their brain, as usual. If it would keep up now then it would be ideal. “I like you a lot more, Henchman. I think you should stay and we should chat, and Prince, you can go! Then everyone’s happy.”

Henchman and Prince shared a look then looked back at Whumpee. They both spoke at the same time.

“You like me more?” Henchman asked, at the same time Prince said, “did you just call me Prince?”

Whumpee blinked at them both.

“On second thoughts, how about we all stay and chat? Wouldn’t that be more fun? So then there’ll be no more awkward pauses or whatever…”

Prince smiled at Henchman. “Thank you henchman, you can go.”

Whumpee swallowed as Henchman nodded again. Then he turned his back and walked towards the door. Whumpee lurched forward only to be caught by their wrists by Prince who yanked them backwards.

Whumpee let out a gasp of pain, the ropes rubbing raw against the thin skin around Whumpee’s wrists screaming at them to stop moving, to freeze every struggle.

Whumpee was abruptly spun by their wrists to which Whumpee cried out. They stomped a foot backwards, hoping to land a solid kick on Prince. Instead a hand went to Whumpee’s neck and shoved them down until Whumpee’s cheek met the wooden table top.

Whumpee struggled, trying to yank themselves free, or kick back at Prince, but Prince put his leg between Whumpee’s and stepped closer leaving Whumpee’s legs useless. Whumpee grunted with the effort before seizing their struggles altogether, letting out a huff of a breath onto the cool wood.

Whumpee flinched when Prince’s thumb started to draw soothing, slow circles over the nape of Whumpee’s neck. It felt wrong— too intimate, too uncomfortable and there was nothing Whumpee could do but go stiff. They wanted to struggle but their arms were aching, so they just swallowed the lump in their throat. No words would even come to them because they didn’t have the first clue about how to handle this situation.

Mercifully, they heard the door to the office shut and Prince stepped away from Whumpee, breaking all contact from them. Whumpee didn’t move for a minute, their heart racing frantically in their chest. Maybe, they thought, if they stayed still Prince would leave them alone.

“Please,” said Prince from the other side of the desk. Whumpee straightened, half to hide their flinch and half to keep as much distance between themself and Prince as they could. Whumpee caught Prince’s brown eyes, so dark they were basically two pots of ink and stepped back away from the table when Prince smiled at them. “Sit down.”

Whumpee stared at Prince who had already sat down, reclining comfortably in his throne like chair. “I’m happier standing.”

“Did I ask you to do as you pleased?”

“How about you untie me and then I’ll sit down?”

Prince let out a mirthful chuckle, hands lifting in a shrug, gesturing to the air. “You really think you’re in a position to negotiate?”

Whumpee swallowed but didn’t reply. Prince cocked a brow at them and shrugged, placing two hands on the table and standing.

“Alright, if you want to stand we can stand,” said Prince and moved to walk around the table to Whumpee.

Whumpee didn’t think. “Actually, now that you say it my feet are tired, sitting would be wonderful.”

Prince smiled a knowing smile. “Wonderful,” and he sat down again. Whumpee did too, wincing at the awkward angle they had to hold their arms at in the chair.

Prince clasped his hands together on the desk and Whumpee frowned. “You’re bleeding,” they said. Prince’s brows raised in surprise and followed Whumpee’s line of sight to his hands.

He grinned at Whumpee and said, “oh no. That’s not my blood. You’re bleeding. Too much struggling I’d wager, the ropes must have cut into you.”

“Well the sooner we chat, the sooner you can let me go,” said Whumpee with a forced smile, leaning back in the chair onto their hands and biting the inside of their cheek to stop themself from grunting at the sharp sting from their wrists. “Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

“Why were you away from the party?”

“Oh, you know,” Whumpee said with a half-shrug and cursed themselves for doing it. “These parties are such a great way to meet new people, hit it off, sneak off to another room for a quick chat away from all the loud mus—”

“Henchman said that you were alone when they found you.”

Whumpee forced a smile on their face. “Yes. Well if you’re trying not to make it obvious what you’re doing you let one person go back to the party first and I was to follow after. Just as I was making to leave your delightful henchmen found me and beat me and tied me up and now I’m here.”

Prince’s smile took on something else, a twinge of something darker. He didn’t believe Whumpee.

“An innocent mistake?” Prince asked. There it was again. That tone that sent Whumpee’s fight or flight into overdrive, that told them they should get out of here as fast as they can.

“Yes, yes. A giant misunderstanding,” Whumpee replied. “So you see this is not how I wanted my night to go at all and I really would love to get—”

Prince interrupted Whumpee again. “I think you’re lying to me.”

“Well, difference of opinion. I was there, you were not. I know my intentions, you do not.”

Prince stood from his chair and Whumpee shrunk back in their seat. “I— I think I would very much like to leave now.” Prince didn’t react in any way, he just walked around his table and leaned against it in front of Whumpee with that dark shadow over his smiling face.

“Would you like to know what I think you were doing?”

“Not particularly,” Whumpee said with a shrug before they could stop themselves. They couldn’t suppress the flinch when Prince slammed a hand out to rest on the back of Whumpee’s chair, right beside their head as he bent lower so their faces were only inches apart.

“I think you’re way in over your head,” Prince said, voice dipping lower. It prickled something primal in the back of Whumpee’s mind that screamed at them to run. His voice sent a shiver down their spine. Prince brought up his other hand, pushing Whumpee’s hair back from their forehead. He trailed his finger down the curves and contours of Whumpee’s skull. “I want you to know, that these parties can last for hours and hours into the early morning, darling. The music in full swing, far, far away from my personal chambers and home.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened at the threat, turning their head away not wanting to look into his dangerous eyes. They tried to push themselves further into the chair to get away from Prince, but he grabbed Whumpee by the chin and tilted their head back to face him, a strange smile on his lips.

“What I’m saying is,” the Prince continued in that low voice. Then he paused and tilted his head. “What is your name?”

Whumpee didn’t trust their voice to speak, which suited them just fine because they didn’t want to reveal their name to this guy anyways. Prince’s grip tightened on Whumpee’s chin and Whumpee bristled, pulling uselessly at the ropes tying their wrists together, willing them to come apart.

“Your name,” Prince said again, his voice far more authoritative, or else went unsaid.

“W- Whumpee,” Whumpee whispered, then licked their lips to get some moisture back into their dry mouth, hating how much their hands were shaking behind them.

“Hmm, Whumpee. What I’m saying is, Whumpee,” the Prince said, his eyes following his hand that went down to Whumpee’s throat instead of their chin. He squeezed it a little in warning, but it was enough for Whumpee to freeze in their seat. “Nobody is going to hear you scream. While there’s a party happening outside, we can have our own private party in here, can’t we?”

Whumpee shook their head, but quickly stopped when Prince cut off their air supply. “No. No. Please. I wasn’t doing anything, I swear!”

Prince’s eyes flashed up to Whumpee’s and held them captive there, locking them into his shark like gaze. His smile felt like a cut to Whumpee’s lungs, cutting off air supply.

“I guess we’ll just have to make sure, won’t we?”

[serickswrites]

Rope

Part 2

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture (unspecified), catatonia, blood, scrapes, hurt/aftermath

Whumpee sat in the passenger seat where Caretaker had placed them. Sat and hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't done anything but breathe. And stare at the raw rope burns on their wrists.

"Hey, hey, it's ok, Whumpee," Caretaker said as they rummaged through their trunk to find the first aid kit. "It's ok. We'll fix you up, good as new. I promise."

Caretaker tried to sound happy, to sound relieved, that they had Whumpee back. But they were afraid they had arrived too late. They had found Whumpee bound to a chair in Whumper's compound. Their collar was bloody and their wrists were raw and actively bleeding around the rope binding them. But Whumpee didn't say a word. Didn't look at Caretaker. Didn't look at anything but stare at the ground in front of them.

"I'm here, Whumpee. I've got you," Caretaker murmured as they freed Whumpee and dragged them from the room.

But Whumpee didn't say anything. They stared at their hand as Caretaker pulled them along. What had Whumper done? "It's ok, Whumpee. I've got you. You're ok." Caretaker said as they pushed Whumpee to sit in the backseat.

Maybe Whumpee still needed time. Maybe once Caretaker got them home they would realize they were safe. Maybe then they would realize they were free. Maybe then they would talk again. Caretaker repeated these thoughts over and over as they got behind the driver's wheel and drove home. Whumpee just needed time. It had to be that.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 5: Human Weapon (Hyrule)

Ao3

CW for vomiting, blood and injury, and references to captivity

-----------------------------------------------

Hyrule runs.

The ground is slick and slippery beneath his feet. Mud splashes up, sullying his boots and trousers. Rain pelts his head, burning his eyes, blurring his vision, sticking his clothing to his skin. It draws at the blood that seeps from his wounds, diluting it, trying to wash it away.

But no sooner has it managed, more bubbles up. It oozes out of him, constant, traitorous. A danger to everyone and everything he has fought so hard to protect.

He slips and falls, sprawling in the chilled mud with a grunt of pain and surprise. He only allows himself a moment to lie there, panting, trying to ignore the scream of his aching body. And then he’s up again, tearing past trees and through shrubbery, ears ringing with the eerie laughter that echoes around him. 

“Come here, little hero. We won’t hurt you.” 

“Where’s that cursed brat? Doesn’t he know how vital he is to the plan?”

“Hurry! He can’t have gotten far!”

Another burst of paper and magic. They are growing closer. Hyrule pushes his legs to go faster. 

His breath comes in ragged half-sobs that scream through his throat. Panic slices at his very soul. The ground itself seems to rise and roll beneath his feet. The sight of it reminds him of the Wind’s Great Sea during a thunderstorm — all furious, churning foam and gray-green waves that leap up to the sky. 

The sky still weeps and the trees bend beneath the weight of its grief. It courses into his eyes, turns his hair sopping, runs into his mouth and nose. Even the river is overwhelmed by it. It begins to breach its banks, belching filthy water into Hyrule’s boots.

He stumbles once more, feet flying out behind him, carried by the treacherous tides of the forest. His knees hit the ground and agony streaks up his thigh. He bites down hard on his lip to keep from screaming. 

They can’t hear him, they can’t catch him again.  

Desperately, Hyrule reaches for his magic, dragging it through his veins. It screeches in agony as it follows his call. There is so much within him, waiting to be let loose, begging to be. It has been building these past days, caged behind a wall he cannot tear down. But all that comes is a strained trickle, hardly enough to heal his wounds.

If anything, the attempt makes matters worse. The cuff on his left wrist sears into his skin, fiery and fierce. Even the rain cannot wash away the scene of burnt flesh. 

With a choked cry, he retreats. His power slides from his grasp, as slippery as a serpent and as helpless as a mouse caught in a trap.  Pitching sideways, he retches. Blood and bile splatter into the puddles that he has collapsed into. 

More laughter. The sound of it turns his stomach more than any pain.

“I hear you, little hero. You can’t hide forever.”

Come on. Hyrule grits his teeth, rising on trembling limbs. He is so, so tired. But now is not the time to stop.

If his brothers were here, perhaps, he could afford to rest for a moment. They are halfway across Hyrule, however. He cannot even be certain that they’ve noticed his absence yet.

He coughs up another mouthful of blood. Crimson-tinged fingertips slip in the mud. The very environment battles against him. The greenery surrounding him swims and swirls sickeningly. Cackles echo from all sides.

Get up. Fight. Don’t ever let them catch you.

He manages to get his legs beneath him, groaning at the exertion it takes to do so. And then he’s up again, stumbling forward as the soil moves in reverse. He struggles to remain conscious; struggles to stay alert to his surroundings even as they blur into blobs of subdued color.  

A sudden burst of red erupts before his eyes. The deadly shink of unsheathed metal pierces his ears. 

“Going somewhere?” A Yiga assassin croons.

Hyrule scrambles backward, terror turning his extremities numb. But several more assassins explode into existence. They surround him and close in, windcleavers and vicious sickles gleaming in the eerie grayish-green light.

“I don’t know why you’re running,” one of them hisses, cocking his head. The white of his mask is almost translucent from the torrential downpour. If Hyrule squints, he can see the outline of his features – a large nose, wide eyes, and a mouth framed by thin lips. Human. Natural. But in this moment, they hardly look so. 

“Don’t you want to help us?”

Another throws back her head as she laughs. “It’s such a noble thing, isn’t it? To give your life for the Demon King.”

Hyrule sends them all the most severe glare he can muster.

“I won’t,” he grits out and his voice is hardly audible over the thundering rain and his pounding heart. “I won’t let you use me. I won’t…won’t let you bring him back.”

More cackling, cruel and harsh. He hates the sound of it with every bone in his body. 

“Oh, little hero – ”

One of the assassins steps closer. Through his mask, Hyrule can see that he is grinning.

“ –  what made you think you have a choice?”

His weapon howls like the wind it commands, as he raises it high above his head. The other Yiga back away, giving room for the blow that will incapacitate the hero once more.

They’ll drag him back once he’s unconscious, no doubt. He won’t even need to wake up for the ritual. All they need, after all, is his blood. 

He tries to evade, slipping and sliding in the slop. But the sword comes down faster than he can run. A blast of wind hits him, sharp as a dagger in his ribs. And the world goes upside down.

He hits the ground with a splash, lungs heaving for the breath that has been stolen from them, limbs spread-eagled and oddly shaped. There is a fire in his chest, flames in his veins. His muscles feel as though claws of iron have clamped around them, turning them tight and leaden.

But he tries anyway, to move, to fight. Desperate, he reaches inside and draws at his magic once more.

Please, he begs as it screeches and screams, held back by his bonds, help me.

He only needs one spell to take them all out. Just one.

And still, his magic struggles against him. Still, the cuff sears into him, branding its raised edges into his pale skin.  

Cackles swell around him. Shapes bob around, harsh crimson against a blurred backdrop of green. Hands pull him up, as he chokes, blood bubbling from limp lips.

He’s slipping, he realizes, dully, in the part of his mind still capable of thought, and with him, his magic. 

They’re going to win. They’re going to bring Ganondorf back from the dead so he can raze Hyrule, so he can bathe the world to darkness.

Hyrule blinks, slowly, lazily. 

They can’t win. He won’t…

The world explodes. His eyes drag closed. His magic cries out, gives one last buck, and breaks free from his clawing fingers. Someone screams his name. 

And darkness claims him.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 5: Rope Burns

Content warning: none

The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the earth unforgivingly, heating each grain of sand to an unforgiving degree. It was sweltering, without a hint of civilization for miles. There was nothing but a dirt road in front of Whumper, the sound of hooves stopping through the dust beneath them, and the unrelenting sun above. And the sound of ragged breaths behind them. 

Whumper huffed, licking at the sweat collecting on their lip. They pulled their hat low and, one hand firmly on the horse’s reins, turned to look at their newest catch. 

Whumpee was walking behind the horse, brace brisk despite the exhaustion written on their features. They had no other choice; their hands were bound before them, the rope’s other end leashing them to the saddle. They’d be coming along regardless of if they cooperated or not. The dirt clinging to their skin, the bloody nose left to dry unwhipped on their face, showed exactly what standing still would earn them. 

They’d been walking for hours now, and the strain was clearly wearing on them. Whumpee’s once defiant glare had turned glassy, lethargic. They looked like a starved, overworked dog, mouth open in a half pant, dragged along by an unrelenting master. Even from their place on the horse, Whumper could see where Whumpee’s wrists had been rubbed raw, and bloody from where the rope had irritated the skin. 

If the sheriff ever asked, Whumper would swear up and down they only dragged prisoners along for purely practical reasons. To avoid putting either themselves or their horse in danger, to keep prisoners too exhausted to be a threat. But in the privacy of their mind, Whumper wouldn’t deny that they mainly did it for the entertainment. The life of a bounty hunter wasn’t all shootouts and excitement after all. 

Whumper smirked. 

“Ya hangin’ on back there?”

Whumpee flinched as they were addressed, expression souring as their defiant glare returned. They opened their mouth to speak, but only a dry, hacking cough left their lips. Whumpee stumbled, barely righting themselves in time.

“G-go to hell,” they finally stuttered out, voice weak. 

“I’ve had plenty of folks tell me that, but none of ‘em ever managed to send me,” Whumper chuckled. “Now don’t you worry none. I’m sure the sheriff’s got a nice, cozy cell with your name on it. You’ll have plenty of time to rest there.”

Whumpee opened their mouth to retort, a scowl on their face. At that very moment, Whumper urged their horse forward. The horse hastened its pace, jerking Whumpee forward. Without their hands to protect them, they fell face first into the hard dirt, pulling a startled gasp from their cracked lips. The horse kept moving, pulling a squeal of pain as Whumpee as they were dragged across the hard, burning road. Whumpee struggled to regain their footing, scrambling to right themselves against the force pulling them unrelentingly forward. 

“Watch your step now,” Whumper called, turning back to the road with a grin. 

[comfort-questing]

5. "rope burn"

"I thought I'd lost you."

they were still shaky where they sat cross-legged on the ground, huddled into their oversized jacket and their friend's grasping arms, but still gave a weak smile upwards. the sunset light struck brilliant from across the valley edge, catching the dampness on their cheeks.

"I had hold of the rope all the time. I wasn't going to fall."

"I didn't know that. all I knew was..." their friend swallowed hard, tightening their embrace as if to defend against the ragged brink of the cliff not far away. "you slipped. I ... I felt it. I thought..."

"yes. but - I'm all right." this time their voice was a little stronger. "you held on and so did I."

they opened and closed their fists at the cuffs of their coat, wincing, a grimace crossing their face.

"all right? what was that then... let me see - "

their friend reached out, then jerked back as they yelped in pain, pulling their hands clear.

"come on, don't be silly."

they let their friend's gentle fingers unfold their unsteady fists, then, to reveal the long raw streaks across their palms, bloodied at the edges and driven with dirt.

"you did slip," their friend murmured, eyes wide.

"but I didn't fall."

"but - "

their friend took a deep shuddering breath in, then, and reached for their pack. "let's get those bandaged, all right? and... no more climbing tonight. we'll... we'll see about tomorrow."

they turned up their ruined palms to their friend's gentle touch, trying not to wince at the splashed water from the canteen, casting now and again a frightened glance back at the cliff edge in the fading light. but then they leaned back into their friend's arms again, closing their eyes, and tilting their face up to the last of the sunlight.

"yes. tomorrow..."

[azucar-skull]

@febuwhump day 5, "Rope Burns"

Check out Feral Casey AU, releasing this spring!

Day 4 << Day 6 >>

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Human/Yokai technology is amazing!

They have doors, not made of teeth, but metal or wood. Control panels, not made of nerves, but wires and circuitry.

But they also have vines, not made of Kraang flesh, but some kind of thick straw.

It's called...rop? Roop? Ro-pé? Roh-pah-eh?

They are very versatile. They tie things, hold stuff together. They make nets and tether. They can hoist, they can drag, they can close up a bag

...

They're not fun to swing down though.

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I gotta remember this is meant to be whump so here is Casey getting an ouchie lol.

Also I guess I'm not making oneshots now but poetry. I don't even know how poetry works, I'm just going with a vibe. Cjdjdjdkf

[chrysochroma]

Black skies change to blue

@febuwhump day 5: rope burns

@badthingshappenbingo: tourniquet

Rating: Teen And Up

Words: 1,280

Fandom: Varian and the Seven Kingdoms

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Rope burns, Tourniquets

Read on Ao3

title is from Dear Fellow Traveler by Sea Wolf, Bryselle is pronounced as bry-sell

Varian knew that this was a bad idea as soon as Hugo had mentioned it. 

He said that he had gotten a tip from a “reliable” source of his, saying that the the seventh, and final key to Demanitus’s enchiridion was in some underground cavern in Bryselle, hidden away to keep it secret. It was stupid—it must’ve been Varian’s giddy excitement that caused him neglect to do his usual investigation of the claim. He was so ready—too ready—to finally achieve his goal, to unlock Demanitus’s final discoveries and help Nuru, to help his mother. And that excitement had almost cost him everything. 

Filled with anticipation and determination, Varian led Hugo and the others into the winding, seemingly endless cave system that supposedly led to the final key. Not long after that, the first disaster struck. 

Varian and Hugo decided to take the lead together, with Yong and Nuru trailing behind them, so it was already too late when they heard an earthy cracking noise from behind them. They both turned to see a wall of cloudy yellow-green crystal jutting up out of a small, now cracked pot, which Yong has just taken his foot off of. Yong jumped forward, towards Varian and Hugo as the crystalline magic spiraled further up, cutting Nuru off from the rest of the group. They made eye contact with each other, each sharing similar expressions of fear. Then the crystal pierced the ceiling, ripping the group apart. They tried, desperately to yell through the stone to Nuru, to make sure she was okay, but they couldn’t hear any response. They tried to break the wall down with everything they had, to no avail. Eventually, they gave up and continued, the voices in their heads pushing them further, regardless of the worry eating at their hearts. 

It hadn’t even been five minutes before Varian noticed emerald green sparks falling from the ceiling. The trio looked up to see lines of emerald magic spiderwebbing out from another small pot embedded in the ceiling, spanning the top of the cave and burning cracks into the stone. They looked back down as chunks of rock started to fall, crashing into the ground between them. Yong jumped back as the rocks stacked up to the ceiling, separating a member from the rest of the group once more. Again, Varian and Hugo tried their hardest to communicate with Yong, but ultimately failed. There was something unnatural about how the sparks seemed to completely block any sound from passing through, but their minds hardly lingered on the subject, consumed more with panic instead. And so, the pair continued further into the darkness, almost disproportionally determined. 

Like clockwork, just a few minutes later, Varian saw green sparks out of the corner of his eye. This time, though, he was ready. He managed to tackle Hugo out of the way, just as a rippling spear of green light shot up from the ground, exploding into waves of fire as it hit the ceiling. He and Hugo fell to the ground, but neither of them were dead. At least not yet.

“Are you okay?” Varian asked.

Hugo paused. “I don’t think so.”

“What?”

Hugo’s face was racked with pain as he lifted his arm up. A huge gash cut across his flesh, so deep that Varian could see the bright glint of bone, surrounded by dancing green sparks. 

Varian’s face fell. “No …” 

“Hey, it’s fine, right?” He gave a faint chuckle, then winced.

“It’s not.” Varian surveyed the wound, his face covered in concern. “Hugo, if we don’t do anything, you’re going to bleed out.”

“Ah.”

“Could you at least try to sound a bit more worried for yourself?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Hugo looked at his arm, watching his blood pour out onto the ground below, forming a rapidly growing puddle. “It’ll … definitely be fine.”

“No, it will not, Hugo.” Varian protested. “We need to do something about this.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

Varian gave a small frown, then ripped off a chunk of his pants leg and folded it. “This is going to hurt.” 

He pressed the piece of the cloth to Hugo’s wound, hard. Hugo’s resulting scream seemed to echo in Varian’s mind, unable to let it go. Still, Varian watched as the cloth in his hands became completely soaked in Hugo’s blood, staining it and his hands a deep red. Hugo’s breathing grew more and more ragged as time passed, more and more of his blood leaving his body.

“This isn’t working,” Varian muttered. 

“Try something else.” Hugo spoke quietly, more whispering than not.

Varian hesitated. “A tourniquet? But I don’t really have anything to make one with. Unless-“ He started to unwrap the piece of rope around the bottom part of his staff, armed with a new sense of determination. 

“Varian, wait, what-“

“Hugo, shush.”

Hugo would’ve looked almost offended if he hadn’t been in so much pain.

Varian finished unwrapping the piece of rope, then grabbed Hugo’s arm and set it on his leg, frowning at Hugo’s small yelp of pain. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” He breathed, trying to conceal the pain in his voice. 

Varian started to wrap the rope around Hugo’s arm, positioned. few inches above his elbow, where the gash started. He tied a knot, pulling it tight and making Hugo flinch. 

“Sorry,” he muttered again.

This time, Hugo could only nod in response. 

Varian paused and looked around for a second, trying to find something to tighten the tourniquet with, and his eyes landed on the small, sheathed pocket knife on Hugo’s belt. He unclipped the whole sheath, deciding that it was best to not have the possibility of Hugo being cut again. He placed the knife on top of the knot he had tied, then tied another knot, keeping the knife in place. Finally, he took a deep breath and started to twist the knife, forcefully pulling the loop of rope tighter and tighter. Hugo gasped at the pressure, but Varian continued.

Then, just as Varian was about to tie the knife in place, the tourniquet slipped down Hugo’s arm, tearing bright red, screaming burn marks in the trail that it made. Hugo screamed and ripped his arm away from Varian, sticky, deep red liquid once again pouring out of his wound. 

“I’m sorry!” Varian apologized.

Hugo cradled his arm, blood covering his clothes, and stared straight down at the ground, his breathing startlingly shallow. He didn’t respond.

“Hugo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ Varian repeated, frightened, eyes wide. “Please, let me help, I can fix it. Please,” He held out his hands.

After a few seconds of silence, Hugo let Varian take his arm.

“Thank you,” Varian whispered, and once again got no response.

He started to work again, this time trying to be as delicate as he could as he loosened the tourniquet and pulled it back up. (Hugo shuddered as the rope passed over the angry red burn marks that it had left earlier.) Varian tightened the tourniquet again, slower this time, then secured it in place. Then he sat back, watching pain flicker over Hugo’s face until he finally seemed calm. 

“You can’t come with me.” Varian said.

“Yes, I can, and I will.”

“Hugo, don’t be ridiculous, half of your blood is on the floor, you’re in no shape to-“

“Yeah, that’s not going to stop me.” There were still traces of agony in his voice, but, using his unharmed arm, Hugo pulled himself off the ground, out of the puddle of blood. “I’m not letting you go on alone.”

Varian frowned at Hugo’s arm, coated in red, but he nodded.

And so, delusionally, they continued.

[theshiaxartist]

When your ammo runs dry and all you have are your fists to fight monsters made of living metal, you’re bound to earn a few new scars.

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Febuwhump 5: Part of the Job

Fandom: Grishaverse: Six of Crows Summary: Jesper comes back after nearly a week without being seen. Warnings: Injuries, kidnapping, and heavy mental angst Word Count: 2,182 Ship(s): One-sided polycrows

Archive link!

The streets were always damp at this time of year. Jesper quickly reminded himself that ‘this time of year’ actually meant all year. Implying that there was a time when the streets were actually dry was something that the tourism board did to try and bring in more people during the Summer months when the squalls would hit and soak them only momentarily instead of for hours.

Jesper wished that he could be so lucky.

He staggered through the dark backstreets of the Barrel so that he could be left alone. If he was walking in front of the tourists then they would turn their curious eyes towards him, which would result in some of the other gangs noticing him. He didn’t need them paying so much attention to his body when he already felt more disconnected from it than he had in his entire life. He didn’t even register that he was walking even though he could feel the press of his bare feet to the ground below him and the cold seeping throughout the rest of his bones.

The dark, dampness of the streets around him was almost a comfort after everything that he had just been through. He hadn’t been able to see anything in the room that the other gang had kept him in, but he knew that it was one of the ones with less money because of the creeping, damp sludge that had dribbled down his back every time that he had neared one of the walls. Walking back into the light when he had first emerged from the basement after having his fill of being kidnapped was something that he would never forget. The space, fresh air, and light had almost drowned him when he had discovered it all at once. Slipping back into the dark shadows that he had spent the last full week in was something of a comfort, so that he could wade back into the comforting warmth of light slow enough to actually adjust to it.

His entire body ached the longer that he walked. He knew that he hadn’t slept in almost thirty six hours and he hadn’t had a single stimulant to keep him up, only the adrenaline of the attack. His wrists and ankles burned painfully with every twitch that the muscles made, his back throbbed every time that his hips tilted with a step forward, and his stomach gnawed at itself in its desire for water and food. He had nothing to satiate the need for warmth so that he could rid his body of the chill of night. He had nothing to eat or drink so that he could soothe his starving insides. He had no balm or medical knowledge with which to fix the myriad of injuries that littered his once glorious body.

He would find them all eventually, he knew that he would. No one in the Slat would bother with him when he came back, no one had even noticed that he was gone. He was sure that they hadn’t because he was no one to them. He may have been someone that was dragged along to the Ice Court heist, but he didn’t have the skills that Inej, Wylan, and Nina did. He wasn’t even a scary body to have behind them when they were doing a deal like Matthias. He was a nothing and a no one, proficient with guns and bad at cards.

The ache of remembering what had been done to him mentally as well as physically was enough to make him want to collapse. The one thing about Jesper that everyone seemed to forget, though, was that he was a stubborn asshole. He never gave up when there was something that he wanted just within his sight but without of his grasp. That was why he had longed after four people in a relationship and one son of a Mercher that had never even looked in his direction.

Jesper was unwanted and yet he was too stubborn to die. He had taken the beating of a lifetime that made it impossible for him to walk without limping. He had dealt with a rival gang screaming at him to let him know that he wasn’t even useful as a hostage, that their note had gone unanswered for the time that they had kept him. He had dealt with that and so much more because it would take an act of the gods and ancestors combined to bring him down.

He lifted his foot and then let it fall down to the pavement again. Each step felt like the hardest thing that he had ever done, yet he persevered. If he was going to die then it was going to be because of something far cooler than being kidnapped by a bunch of lowbrow thugs.

The moment that the Slat came into view felt like the best moment in his entire life. He stumbled over to the warmth and light that was emitting from the windows and slumped against the wall. His breath came out in short pants as he tried to stem the pain that was echoing through his body. He was exhausted and in pain, but they hadn’t managed to do any damage severe enough to be truly concerning. It was nothing that a nap and some first aid wouldn’t be able to fix.

He set his mind to what he had to do next and then stepped through the doors. A couple of people were gathered in the living room area off to the side of the main entrance, but he didn’t even turn his head to look at them. There would be no point to trying to get the attention of another person when no one had even bothered to look for him. As foolish as they were for kidnapping him instead of someone better, the gang was right. Jesper was nothing to anyone important, even to the people that he loved with his entire heart.

He stumbled to the staircase and then nearly collapsed down onto his bruised knees. The wounds around his ankles ached something fierce, to the point where he could almost begin to feel the blisters there burst. Jesper grasped the banister with both of his hands so he could keep himself stable and then let his eyes fall shut. He took a deep breath in through his mouth and let it out through his nose so that he didn’t make a massive sound.

The first time that he had come back to the Slat when he was injured, he had let every hurt whimper and scream of pain leak through his lips and into the open air. He had woken up half of the house and it had resulted in people being mad at him for the better part of a week.

Given what he had just had to endure, he wasn’t sure that he would be able to put up with that again. So he focused on raising one foot onto the step and then pushing himself up the staircase. He was so glad that Kaz had left the banister on the stairs for Inej to slide down as he walked, he wasn’t sure that he would be able to stand on his own without it. He was relying more and more heavily on the wooden beam with each step that he took, each foot that he got closer to his own room.

The hallway that led to his bedroom was blissfully empty. He didn’t need to be faced with the reality of everyone’s surprise when they noticed that he was back. He was sure that no one had missed him or even noted his absence, not when it had taken them far less time to notice where Inej was being kept. When she had been taken after the Ice Court heist, the thing that had taken the longest was the plan to break her out safely instead of the actual search. Jesper wasn’t being kept anywhere as conspicuous so he should have been found much faster, if anyone had been looking.

“No one cares,” he muttered to himself as he walked down the hall. His shoulder banged into one of the doors as he stepped wrong and then nearly tumbled down to the ground. He managed to catch himself on the handle of a door, which resulted in it opening. Jesper couldn’t bring himself to care about the person that he had just disturbed when he was so close to the comfort of a room that he was familiar with. 

He took another step and then finally found the door that had lead to the only kind of respite he ever got when he was in the Barrel for so long. He reached towards the handle and then wrenched it open with a fluid movement. He walked inside in the least graceful movement that he had ever made in his life and then collapsed down to the ground.

Something about being somewhere cold and dry was so much better than being somewhere cold and wet. He could feel the material of his shirt clinging to his skin now that it was pressed against him, damp from the rain and the sweat leaking from every pore on his body. He could feel the aching from the rope burns on his ankles and wrists even more now that he wasn’t moving, like they had waited until some semblance of stangance to remind him that they were still very much there and very painful.

He whimpered and rolled onto his side when the wet material of his shirt began to catch on the scabs that covered his back, which he had unfortunately given to himself. He hadn’t realized that falling back against the slimy walls of the basement where he was being kept would result in him being that injured, but it had. He just wanted all of his pain to end, for someone to come looking for him.

Slowly, he placed his hand on the table that he had turned into a storage shelf and then wrenched himself into a standing position. His hands were shaking with how cold he was as he removed his belt so that he could get his clothing off. Most of the buttons on his shirt landed on the floor with a loud clatter that he couldn’t even be bothered to pay attention to. “Fuck,” he breathed when the wounds on his body were finally open to the world around him.

Jesper reached for the pitcher of water that he kept near the window of his room. He knew that he should have gotten something fresh, that the water had been there for several days, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that either. It was cleaner than the canal and warmer than the rain, which was the only thing that mattered.

He doused the rag in the water and then began to scrub it over his body. He paid no attention to the pain that it brought him to clean the wounds on his wrists and ankles, trying to make sure that every bit of infection was removed before it could hurt him further. 

As soon as he was clean, at least somewhat, he dumped the rag down onto the table and began to search for the bandages that he kept for an instance such as this. Usually he came back to the Slat with an injury because he had gotten in an argument with someone about his gambling, whether that be from the bouncer or another player. He had never been this hurt before, but he certainly couldn’t go and ask someone else to help him.

He had to deal with this on his own. He was a nuisance to those around them and he was sure that the people he loved were going to regret the fact that he had come back. But he wouldn’t let that be the end of him, not when he could keep loving them from afar.

He sat heavily on the edge of his bed and pulled on a pair of smalls so that he wouldn’t catch a chill as quickly as he would have if he were naked. He then grabbed the rag again and began to clean the wounds one last time before he wrapped a bandage around his left wrist, then the right. He moved down to his ankles and did the same. He was hoping that the tightness of the fabric would pop some of the blisters that had formed within the burns and encourage their healing.

He left the bruises and scabs on his back alone as he collapsed down onto his bed and let his eyes slowly fall closed. He was so tired, so hungry and thirsty. He would venture down to the kitchen to find something remedy the latter two after he had slept.

Just as the dream world began to take him away from the pain that his life was filled with, he heard Inej’s sweet voice ask, “Jesper?”

[serickswrites]

Sew

Warnings: captivity, torture, wounds, blood, cruel whumper

Whumpee hurt too much to struggle. Hurt too much to flinch back even. Whumper had been merciless in their torture. And had been very meticulous in making sure that Whumpee hurt everywhere. 

And they were tired too. Tired from being forced to stay awake for far too long. Tired from being in pain. And tired from all the blood they had lost. 

“Stop your crying,” Whumper ordered as they leaned over Whumpee. “It’s not even that bad.”

“S-S-Sorry,” Whumpee whispered back as they tried to swallow their tears. They couldn’t do this. Couldn’t endure the pain for much longer. 

Whumper probed the wounds on Whumpee’s arms. “That’s going to scar,” Whumper said as they rubbed a particularly painful wound. “Long. Deep. Doesn’t need stitches though.” Whumper almost sounded disappointed. 

Whumpee’s eyes fluttered around the pain as everything whited out, a small cry escaping their lips. Whumper had probed a wound on their abdomen a little too deeply. “Please,” they rasped out as Whumper continued to press the wound, a sadistic glee in their eyes. 

“Oh, does it hurt? Good.” Whumper held up a needle and thread. “This is going to hurt, too.”

Whumpee whimpered and cried out as Whumper slowly, painfully, sewed their skin back together. Whumper took their time with each wound that needed stitches, taking time to press each one, draw blood at each one. 

“Can’t have you dying just yet. We’re having so much fun,” Whumper said darkly as they finished. 

Whumpee was shaking and everything was fuzzy. “Pl-pl-pleaseeee,” Whumpee whispered. They couldn’t endure this. It was too much. 

“I will do whatever I please until I am done.” Whumper leaned over Whumpee, face inches away. “And you’re going to have to live with it until you don’t.” And Whumper thrust their finger into a wound they had just sewn shut. Whumpee’s world went white and then they knew nothing. 

[arecaceae175]

Febuwhump Day 5: "That's gonna scar" (Wild)

AO3 link. Warnings: discussion of wounds, infection, burns, and stitches

This one is kinda strange, I'm not sure how I feel about it. It's also still not whump. Only one of these has actually been whump so far lol. This is turning out to be more of a h/c event than a whump event.

Wild sat quite impatiently on the log as Twilight finished dressing the wound on his back. The battle was a long one, at the end of a rough week, so their healing supplies were running dangerously low. The gash on Wild’s back was ugly, but by no means life threatening. 

Twilight was taking his time to dress it properly to prevent infection, and Wild was vibrating in his seat. He got the wound pushing Four out of the way of a sword. It had been aimed at Four’s throat, so Wild acted fast and took the blow instead. He didn’t have time to survey his surroundings, and he pushed Four right into a fire chuchu. 

Four was across the camp, fists clenched, eyes tightly shut, and teeth grit in pain. Against the backdrop of Legend’s half-hearted protests, Hyrule was draining his magic to try to heal the extensive burns on Four’s sword arm. Hyrule was being completely supported by Legend. He was pale and looked ready to collapse. 

Warriors knew the most about burns out of all of them. He’d taken one look at the burn and said that if it went untreated it could affect Four’s ability to properly wield a sword. The last of their health potions had been used to stabilize Time’s stab wound, so Hyrule had volunteered his magic. 

Wild’s insides roiled with guilt. This was his fault. Time and Warriors had lectured him countless times about battle strategy, being aware of everything happening on the battlefield at once. Wild could pinpoint every sound in a forest, he could take in every visual cue and make split second decisions, but while fighting his focus honed in on his opponent and the locations of his companions. Nothing else. 

His single-minded focus had gotten him through his solitary adventure. Working with a team was something Wild was completely unaccustomed to. He was getting better at it, they all were, but Wild’s progress was slow. 

A stick broke, and Wild’s head shot up. Warriors was staring at him from across camp with an unreadable expression. Wild bit his lip and dropped his gaze. Honestly, he wished Warriors would just get it over with. He knew he screwed up, and he didn’t need to keep being reminded of it. He would make it up to Four, then he would work on being better. He didn’t need Warriors to tell him that. 

Warriors’ gaze made something in the back of his mind itch, but he barely registered the feeling over his buzzing anxiety. 

Twilight pat Wild’s shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. “There you go. It’s gonna scar, but at least it won’t get infected. Do you…”

Twilight’s words faded into a high pitched ringing. The edges of Wild’s vision went white.  

It’s gonna scar… infected…

Wild felt his body go lax as his vision blurred, and all of a sudden the hero was gone.

“It’s going to scar, there’s nothing I can do about that. It went too long untreated. We’ve taken care of the infection, though. It should heal within a week,” the nurse reported. Their voice was quiet and clinical, and their head was bowed as they gave their report. 

The Royal Captain had his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Behind him, a curtain was drawn around another medical bed to protect Princess Zelda’s privacy. Guards were stationed at each entrance and exit from the medical tent. 

“Good. Thank you. You’re dismissed,” the captain said. The nurse nodded, gathered their supplies, and scurried out of the room. The captain’s eyes were fixed on Link the whole time, and Link had to fight with every fiber of his being to keep his back straight. 

Link wished he would just get the punishment over with. He knew he had massively screwed up protecting Zelda, and he knew the captain and the King wouldn’t be able to let that go. But he was tired, and he was in pain, and he worried about Zelda.

“I spoke with the Princess,” the captain began. Link’s eyes dropped to the floor as shame and guilt burned through his body.

The captain laid a hand on Link’s shoulder. Link couldn’t help his flinch, and he looked up at the captain with wide eyes.

“You did a commendable job protecting the Princess. I’ll make sure the King hears about it. Now, get some rest. The sooner you’re back in fighting shape the better,” the captain said. He nodded to Link, and Link pushed through his haze of confusion to nod back. The captain pushed aside the curtain and left the tent. 

Link stared blankly at the captain’s retreating form. He was expecting, at the very least, a thorough reprimand. Honestly, he was expecting much worse, but he had been sure he was going to be punished. 

The curtain ruffled again, and Link rapidly straightened his posture. He hissed in pain as he felt the stitches pull on his back. To his surprise, Zelda peeked through the curtain. She glanced to each side then rushed into the room and to his bedside.

“Link, for goodness sake, what are you doing up? You should be resting!” Zelda said, and immediately tried to push him down onto the bed. Link blinked up at her and let himself be lowered onto the bed, mind too fever-addled to come up with a rebuttal.

Once he was laying on the bed, Zelda pulled a blanket over his legs and chest. She looked very pleased with herself. “There,” she said, and lowered herself to sit on the foot of his bed. Zelda bit her lip and dropped her gaze to her lap briefly.

“The captain didn’t give you too much of a hard time, did he?” Zelda asked quietly. Link shook his head no. His confusion must have shown on his face, because Zelda quickly continued.

“I told him you risked your life to protect me. I know you don’t agree, but I told him the truth. You did absolutely everything you could, and you’re the only reason we made it here alive,” Zelda said. Link felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. He tore his gaze from Zelda’s face and it landed on the wrappings on her sprained ankle and bandages on her leg. 

“Oh, Link. This is nothing, truly. You’re in much worse shape,” Zelda said. 

Zelda’s mouth started moving again, but Link couldn’t make out the words. He was floating, and he was nowhere and everywhere. The world reduced to a blinding white light and a high pitched noise reverberated in his ears. 

Wild came back to himself with a gasp. He closed his eyes, let his head drop into his hands, and focused on taking deep, even breaths. Emotions swirled through him faster than he could recognize. There was a pressure behind his eyes, so Wild brought his fists up to rub them harshly.

“Cub?” Twilight asked softly. 

“I’m back,” Wild whispered, voice raspy and uneven. 

“Are you alright?” Twilight asked.

“Is there a scar on my back?” Wild asked. 

“Uh…” Twilight’s voice faded off uncertainly. Wild shook his head.

“Is there another scar near the one I just got?” Wild asked. 

“Yeah, actually. Right next to it,” Twilight said. He gently traced the scar through Wild’s clothes. Wild shivered involuntarily. He pulled his cloak over his head and let himself relish in the comforting weight while he reoriented to his surroundings. 

The sun had set completely, and the moon was nearly at its peak. He had been gone for hours. The campfire crackled just to his right; Twilight must have moved him closer at some point. All the other heroes were asleep. 

“How’s Four?” Wild asked. Four was swaddled in Sky’s sailcloth and curled up into the chosen hero’s side. Sky had one arm around Four and one gripping Wind’s blanket on Four’s other side. 

“Hyrule managed to heal most of the burn, so he should recover just fine,” Twilight said. 

Wild nodded and sighed in relief. He felt too drained for much else. He was glad his actions wouldn’t have lasting consequences, at least.

“He doesn’t blame you, you know,” Twilight said. Wild didn’t answer. “Might wish you had looked before you pushed, but you saved his life.”

Wild felt something clench in his chest. His brain felt full of fog, and he couldn’t quite figure out what the feeling meant. 

“Get some rest, cub,” Twilight said. He wrapped his pelt around Wild’s shoulders and Wild greedily grasped the soft fur. Twilight pushed Wild down onto his bedroll. Wild was asleep as soon as his head hit the cushion.

[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), Omega & Wrecker (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo & Hunter & Omega & Tech & Wrecker (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) Characters: Clone Trooper Hunter (Star Wars), Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Clone Trooper Wrecker (Star Wars), CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo, Clone Trooper Tech (Star Wars) Additional Tags: POV Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Canon Compliant, Missing Scene, Omega Needs a Hug (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Family, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Febuwhump, Febuwhump 2024, Prompt: Rope Burns

Summary:

Omega's brothers attend to her injuries after Fennec nearly kidnaps her.

Read on:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14324573/1/Febuwhump-Day-5-Rope-Burns

https://www.wattpad.com/1420167781-the-bad-batch-one-shot-collection-febuwhump-day-5

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump day 5: “That’s gonna scar.”

“You’re always picking fights with Hero, but when they finally fight back, you run like a coward?”

Villain didn’t bother looking towards the flying Sidekick, too busy dodging the relentless attacks their nemesis threw at them. Sidekick wasn’t totally wrong. They liked fighting Hero, mocking their nemesis as they caused chaos within the city. By the way Hero always had to suppress laughter at their jokes as they fought, they knew it was a mutual enjoyment. They had a system, and it worked for them. Villain never seriously hurt anyone, and Hero never tried too hard to imprison them.

But this was different. They liked fighting Hero, not whatever blank faced, mind controlled puppet was chasing them down now. If Villain could spare the breath, they’d tell Sidekick exactly what they thought of this new power they’d pulled out of their ass. But they didn’t have time, because Hero was fucking fast.

Villain turned down another alleyway, narrowly dodging Hero’s fist as it slammed against the wall, cracking it. Their chest burned as they pushed forward, legs burning from the effort. They didn’t know how long they could keep going, but stopping wasn’t an option. 

They turned another corner, only to be met with a dead end.

Crap. Crap. Shit. Fuck. Why the hell didn’t they have a power that could help them here?! For once in their life, Villain wished they had a generic, boring power. Like flying, or invisibility, or–

Their panicked thoughts were cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps. Hero had caught up to them, with Sidekick hovering close behind. Shit.

Villain lifted their hands in surrender, giving their best innocent smile. “Y’know,” they wheezed to Sidekick, not even bothering to try talking sense into the mind controlled lump of muscle walking towards them. “I don’t think mind controlling heroes is super heroic of you.”

Sidekick scowled. “Do you know how much time Hero wastes on little league villains like you? Too. Damn. Much. If they got serious, if they really used their powers, we could drop crime to nothing within a week. I’m showing them that!” They lifted their arms in frustration, as if they were repeating an argument they’d had hundreds of times.

“So, what’s the plan?”, Villain questioned, hoping to buy enough time to think of a way to escape. “You’re gonna keep Hero all mind screwy forever, just using ‘em like a weapon? What happens when people find out? What about the other heroes?” Sidekick didn’t respond, simply glaring and clenching their firsts. Villain grinned. “You didn’t think this through at all, did you? God, you’re really just a kid. You don’t have a single plan outside of catching m–”

Villain only had an instant to regret their choice of words before Hero’s eyes glowed red. A shearing pain bloomed in their shoulder, taking their breath away. They lurched back, instinctually bringing up a hand to cover the wound. Villain could feel two wounds burned into their skin, the material of their outfit melting around the area. The air smelled like burning flesh.

They stumbled backwards, but Hero was faster. They couldn’t pull back before Hero grabbed their shoulder and squeezed. Villain screamed. 

“Well,” Sidekick said, looking smug, “That’s gonna scar.”

[notquitehuman-creations]

//

"rope burns"

@febuwhump day 5 - rope burns

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump day 5: Rope Burns

Title: Home Robbery (part two || previous)

Words: 496

Summary: Stephen comforts Wong after the robbers leave with their easiest $1200. Wong is in shock and Stephen is ready for murder.

~~~

With the steady hands Stephen was known for shaking just slightly, he silently untied the knots, slowly but surely freeing his love. “You’re okay. They’re gone. You’re going to be fine.” Stephen whispered, fighting back the tears pricking his eyes.

Wong didn’t respond, burying his face in Stephen’s chest when he was free.

“Hey, hey, let me take a look.” Stephen gently grasped Wong’s hands, inspecting them. They were red and angry, the skin broken. It would definitely bruise.

Stephen was interrupted by the soft sound of someone trying to muffle their sobs. He looked down and found Wong crying into Stephen’s chest. Stephen adjusted his hold and cradled his partner to his chest, wary of his injured wrists. Stephen wanted to hunt these men down and make them pay for what they did.

As Wong cried, Stephen could only whisper sweet nothings in his ear, rubbing his back and comforting him. Wong’s cries quieted down and his breathing began to even out.

“No, not right now. I know it was scary, but we need to clean your injuries before we go to sleep.” Stephen whispered.

Wong nodded, blinking wearily as Stephen helped him up, leading him towards their kitchen. Stephen could understand Wong’s breakdown, he felt like he was going to burst into tears himself any second. He had already had a stressful week and then watching his beloved go through what he did, finding out that they weren’t safe – their house had been targeted and the occupants had been stalked, then finally face to face with an armed robbery and the trauma of being held at gunpoint would make anyone want to cry.

The water was cool on his fingers when he helped Wong put his wrists under the stream. Wong winced, but didn’t say anything as Stephen cleaned and dressed the wounds.

“I hate seeing you hurt.” Stephen muttered.

“Scary.” was all Wong could muster up. Stephen nodded, the poor man was likely in shock.

“I was so scared. It was terrifying. We’ll pick out the latest alarm system tomorrow. We have the money for it."

Wong nodded. “Don’t keep cash in the house. 100, at most, if we have too.”

Stephen agreed.

“Need you. Hold me, please.” Wong muttered. Stephen’s heart broke. Usually, the roles were reversed. Wong was the dominant one, his presence steady and demanding. But now, Wong was quiet and reserved, much like he was when Stephen first met him at Columbia, short and stocky, hiding behind his books in the library.

It was understandable, Wong had just suffered a traumatic experience, but it still hurt to see his strong, independent partner so withdrawn.

In bed, Stephen pulled Wong against his chest. It felt awkward to be the big spoon when Wong was predominantly spooning him . Stephen sighed. Wong would heal. Things would get better, they’d get a new alarm system and leave less money lying around the house.

Stephen buried his face in Wong’s short hair and sighed. It was going to be okay.

Ao3

[butshedidnotknow]

Inescapable

For @febuwhump 2024 Day 5: Rope Burn

Summary: Jonathan Sims' many failed attempts to escape from The Circus of the Other result in a lot of bruises, blisters, and rope burn. Nikola is, predictably, unimpressed.

---------------

Jon was almost capable of convincing himself that he was almost there—that if he tugged a bit harder, if he yanked his wrists or his ankles in just the right way, he would be free, and he would never have to see another mannequin again in his life.

He had been attempting to convince himself of this for the past three weeks, and even though there were no signs of him getting remotely closer to his goal, that didn’t seem a fair reason to him to stop trying—both to escape and to believe that it was possible.

When he jerked his right hand forwards as hard as he possibly could, he wheezed at the pain that jolted through his entire hand. It was too much work to scream anymore, after three weeks. Besides, they’d gagged him as soon as they realized just what he was able to do with his voice. Unfortunate, he thought, because maybe if he was able to speak, then he could at least attempt to compel himself to believe in the possibility of escape. Though ideally, he would simply be able to convince them to just let him out in the first place.

It had been a bad idea trying to free his right hand first, Jon decided. Even though it was his dominant hand, the burn that Jude Perry had left across all of his skin was still raw and unhealed in its entirety, and the ropes agitated it more and more with every passing day, despite Nikola’s best efforts.

So he tried again, this time his left wrist. And again, and again, and again.

It must have been an hour of nonstop twisting and writhing, trying to do anything to loosen the bonds on his skin, but no matter how hard he bit down on the gag between his teeth, no matter how hard he worked to not-scream, no matter how hard he sometimes did cry out when it hurt too badly not to—he was no closer to his goal.

“Oh dear, oh, Archivist,” a voice called from behind the curtains. The perpetual shadows that he was kept it made it difficult to see anything more than silhouettes, but that voice was unmistakable, and so were the deliberate, stilted footsteps that accompanied it. “Oh, Jon! You wouldn’t be trying to escape again, would you? And so close to moisturizing, too? How silly!”

All of his muscles seized up for a moment at that, and then Jon resumed his frantic pulling, though it hurt more than he could say, his right hand fully on fire again at the rough cords that bound him. It didn’t matter if he could escape or not, he hardly cared at this point, but he wasn’t going to let her have an easy time, and he wasn’t going to just lie there while her horribly, waxy, plasticky hands ran their way over his skin.

He wasn’t going to let her believe at any point that she had won. Because if she believed that…well, then, he just might start to believe it himself.

But a moment later a hand touched Jon’s wrist, and he yelped, the sound muffled.

“Oh, come now, Archivist, don’t be ridiculous,” Nikola told him cheerfully. “You must know you won’t be able to get out of here, and look! You’ve undone all of my hard work, tsk tsk.” Without the slightest bit of gentleness she undid the knots that tied his right wrist down, and he flexed his fingers, feeling the blood return to them. Ever so slowly, she began to unwind the various dressings across his hand, across his wrist. The skin graft was healing well—better, Jon had to admit, than it would have if he alone had been caring for it. Nikola had taken quite good care to get quality lotion for his skin—with vitamin E and a custom silicone mixture, she informed him, that would be quite helpful for reducing scarring—and seemed to take no small measure of pride in the fact that she was well-versed in caring for skin grafts.

Jon did not want to think for a moment about how or why that was the case.

“Now, Archivist, we’ve talked about this!” Nikola said, voice light and airy with disapproval. “You simply must stop tugging at these restraints, why, aren’t we just so lucky that this hand is all bandaged up so that you can’t hurt it any more than it already is! But you seem quite determined to make certain that your other limbs are not so, and, why, that’s just very inconsiderate of you. Why, look! We’re running out of places to move the ropes, and it would be such a shame to have to take alternate measures—which, of course, we would have to if that were the case.”

Jon stared at his left arm as she treated his right, and tried to ignore the feeling of the firm, circular motions she used as ever to moisturize the skin, taking great care around the edges. Both Nikola and the physical therapist had explained the ways in which a graft would often be particularly tight at the places where it met healthy skin, that it was important to take both early and consistent care to ensure that wouldn’t be an ongoing problem, or at least to minimize it.

He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear Nikola’s chatter; he shuddered at her touch; he stared at his left arm and the many, many bruises that laced it, the abrasions all up and down his skin. Every time he tried too hard to escape and the ropes broke the skin, blistered and burned and bruised, Nikola would inevitably return, and she would tut tut at him and his escape attempts, and then she would undo the ropes and treat the rope burn beneath, reminding him all the while that she wouldn’t be able to wear his skin if he got infected blisters, because that would simply be gauche, and embarrassing to boot. And then she would re-tie the ropes, just far enough up or down his arm that they wouldn’t slip and continue to irritate the cuts, and leave him to his silence. And once again, he would do his best to escape, even when it meant attempting to dislocate his fingers to pull them through, even when it meant making Jude Perry’s burn worse, even when it meant bruises and scars and rope burns across his entire bare chest. It didn’t matter, because Nikola would simply return and treat them with her antibiotic creams and her aloe-based creams and her aromatic creams and her scar-reduction creams and her acid-formula creams and anything that she had.

Jon could hardly hear her voice anymore, even as he felt the ropes being re-tied around his right arm, and he turned to look at that side instead as she moved to his left. He felt Nikola’s touch as if he were three feet outside of himself, and did his best to think of the Institute, and the people there. No, it wasn’t good, there was little love lost for him from the other staff there, but…he didn’t have much else to hold onto, not at this point.

And so he thought about that. And even if he couldn’t escape, even if he couldn’t get out and get back there, back to them…

Well. At least he could do his best to make the Unknowing a bit embarrassing for Nikola.