#echo pov

[kybercrystals94]

Fine

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 18 - Prompt: Loss of Identity

Rated: T | Words: 511

Fives and Echo. 

Echo and Fives. 

Now, it’s just Echo. 

Echo. 

Echo.

Echo. 

“Echo,” Rex says, sitting down next to him, “How are you doing?” 

Awful, terrible. Everything hurts, soul deep to the surface of my skin. Even my missing limbs ache, and they aren’t even here anymore. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense…

“Better,” Echo says. He smiles, because if he doesn’t he’ll cry. He holds up his arms, the sleeves of the shirt he borrowed from the big clone – Wrecker? – far too long and drooping at the ends. “Although, I feel like a cadet in these.” 

Rex chuckles. “We’ll be able to find you something with a better fit once we’re back to the base.” 

It’s supposed to make him feel better. He knows it is. He knows. He knows. But the thought of trying to find something that will fit him, the way he is now instead of the way he was…there’s no comfort in it. He’s lost the muscle mass he’d gained, and gained cold metal where he lost his limbs. 

No, he has to change the subject before he spirals to depths he won’t be able to climb out of. 

Echo glances at Wrecker, snoring loudly in a crash seat across from the pull down cot he’s sitting on (they had tried to get him to lay down, to rest, but closing his eyes is the last thing he wants to do, the glare of ones and zeroes still seared to the inside of his eyelids). “Tell me about them. What’s their story?” 

Rex follows his eyeline. “Clone Force 99? I don’t know much about them myself. Cody called them in. As capable as they are insane, that lot.” 

“I assure you, insanity has nothing to do with it,” Tech says, coming into the hold, eyes trained on his data pad. “To properly answer your question, Echo, we are an elite squad of clones developed to have desirable mutations. Therefore, we are uniquely qualified for high risk missions given our advanced skill set.”

Rex sighs. “That’s exactly what I was going to say,” he mutters to Echo.

“Liar,” Echo murmurs back. 

The attempt to lighten the mood almost works, and Echo pretends it does. Because, if he pretends long enough, that he’s fine, that everything will be fine, he’ll start to believe it. Because this is his new reality. A world separated by then and now, connected by a bridge long since burned that he can’t cross back over. And he will be fine. He isn’t dead. 

Fives is dead. 

Rex didn’t have to tell him, Echo didn’t have to ask. 

But Echo will be fine. He’s already decided. 

What’s two missing legs and an arm? What’s internal organs replaced and spliced with cybernetics? What’s a brother lost forever, his last word to you, your own name? 

Rex bumps him with his shoulder, and Echo bumps him back. 

“I’ll be fine,” he says, voice so soft it is almost just an exhale, answering the unspoken, reiterated question. 

But what if I’m not?

END

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[bookalicent]

yeah so this was insane

[woooogs]

Damn new Zelda game looks fire

[m00ntunaart]

Stop asking Echo about his hairdryer.

[creatively-cosmic]

I pray, despite how I've wronged you, I am not beyond forgiveness.

Is it selfish to wish I could try again?

Is it true that our accursed blood is stronger than water?

Do you still hold any love for me in your heart?

I hope you hear me when I tell you I am sorry.

[cloned-eyes]

*giggles in gay panic*

based on this post by @nika6q

[1driedpersimmon]

Hello Haurchefaunt, Bye Haurchefaunt

[yukipri]

Before the Bad Batch S2 premieres tonight, sharing what I hope happened after S1:

Echo is fixing AZI, and notices some wiped memory data. He offers to restore it, and sees—

~~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, TRANSLATE, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART. To share, please reblog! Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!!!

❀ You can see the rest of my art through the Masterpost pinned to the top of my blog!

[diaswarriorcats]

[utterlyazriel]

"You fight like you're bigger than you are." Straightening up, you pant lightly and peer around the edges of your wings back at Cassian—who apparently isn't done talking at all. He nods to you, in reference the maneuver you've just performed. "That is a move usually far better suited for someone of a larger stature." You clear your throat, wings curling in a bit closer around you. "Yes. Azriel, he- he was trying to rectify that. There's only one way to train Illyrians, as I'm sure you know." Cassian nods, lowering the sword to hang at his side. "That I do. However, I feel Azriel may have been taking the wrong approach given... the information he was not privy to at the time." Your brows knit together, something wrong twisting in your chest. "Because I'm..." Female. "Not a male?" The words come out sharp without meaning to.

snippet from chapter ten of whom the shadows sing for which is coming soon! thanks for sitting tight my lovelies <3

[kybercrystals94]

There's Always Hope

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 29 - Prompt: "Who said you could rest?"

Rated: T (for mentions of blood/injury) | Words: 297

He will not lose another brother. 

Not again. 

However, fate does not give weight to conviction. 

That is why he is sitting next to a dying brother in a still smoldering crater on a battlefield. He cradles Crosshair’s upper torso in his arms, calling for backup. But help isn’t coming. Not in time. 

Not another brother. 

Crosshair coughs, an awful wet sound in his lungs. “Echo?” he chokes out. 

“Hey,” Echo says, pulling Crosshair closer, “Don’t worry. Help is coming. Tech will know what to do. He always does. That’s what his big brain is for, right?” 

“Can’t…” Crosshair begins, but he coughs again, cutting himself off. 

Echo shakes his head. “Don’t talk like that.” 

Crosshair blinks up at him sluggishly, eyes dull. 

“No, no,” Echo growls, shaking him as gently as he can while still rousing the man, “Who said you could rest, yet? We’re still on the field. You have to stay awake. Got it?” 

“‘M already dead,” Crosshair breathes, his distinctively sharp voice blunted. 

“Stop,” Echo tells him, ARC voice low and threatening. “Don’t give up.” 

“Imma lost cause,” Crosshair continues weakly, a humorless smirk twisting his bloodstained lips. “No hope for me.” 

“There’s always hope,” Echo says hoarsely. “Look at me. I was dead too, wasn’t I? You boys saved me, and we’re going to save you too.” 

Crosshair laughs, the sound morose, spiteful and damp. “Better get to it then, reg,” he spits out, blunted voice now sharpened, dripping venom. 

**

 Echo wakes with his arms empty, his brother lost. 

He tries to steady his breathing, so that Tech, sitting across from him, won’t notice. But the engineer’s focus is entirely consumed by the device to locate their inhibitor chips.

To locate Crosshair’s chip. 

There’s always hope. 

We’re going to save you too.

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[superlarva]

Modern AU kid Domino Squad! Cutup (back left), Hevy (back right), Fives (front left), Droidbait (front middle), Echo (front right). I felt the need to make them all look different since quintuplets would be a bit out of place in a modern AU, so Cutup, Hevy, and Droidbait are adopted.

Okay, I know it's been a few weeks, but I promise I'm still here and still working on Raising Dominoes. Life's just been super busy and I had to put in extra hours at the lab these past few weekends.

Anyways, here is Chapter 11 - Memories. And on a Saturday, not a Sunday! :)

Prologue: 00 Previous chapter: 10

Summary: Rex battles guilt and Echo recalls the events leading up to his hospitalization.

CW: Child abuse, death, death of children, guilt, missing limbs, hospitals, explosions. Heed the warnings on this one, friends. It's not a fun time for the boys.

Chapter 11 - Memories

Rex woke from an uncomfortable sleep as the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the hospital room. He had not had the heart to separate the twins while they were sleeping, so he had hunkered down in the chair by the boy’s bedside for the night. Now his neck and back ached and he had pins and needles in his legs.

A quick look at the boys and he could see they were still sleeping. In the night they had drifted away from each other. Fives was now sprawled out on the bed, lying on his stomach like a starfish, leaving Echo a tiny sliver of space, and even that was invaded by Fives’s elbow.

Rex smiled to himself and gently moved Fives’s arm to his side so the boy would not accidentally take out one of his brother’s eyes. Luckily the kid was out cold and did not stir at his touch.

Now that he was up, Rex stretched and lazily strolled across the room to the window. Cody would have loved the view. The sun peaked between skyscrapers, casting the streets below in harsh shadows and warm light. From the way the whole city was bathed in orange it looked like a mild autumn morning despite the frigid temperatures Rex knew were on the other side of the glass.

He did not know how long he stood there, staring out the window and watching the cars march by in the lines of morning traffic like ants. He let his mind wander freely, enjoying the peaceful quiet of dawn. His brain had been working in overdrive constantly the past four days, always worried or planning. It felt nice to turn it off for a few seconds, doing a hard reboot and getting himself back on track.

Eventually the sound of the door opening caught Rex’s attention. Kix nodded to him from the doorway and strode over to the bed to change out Echo’s med bag.

“Hey,” Rex called softly, abandoning his post by the window and moving to stand beside the doctor. “Shouldn’t you be at home? It’s Saturday.”

Kix shrugged, focused on checking up on Echo, “I guess I picked up an extra shift.”

“What about Dogma and Tup?”

“Jesse’s got them,” Kix shrugged again, his tone nonchalant. He scrawled something quickly on his clipboard and then turned to Rex and nodded to the door, “Let’s talk outside.”

Rex followed Kix outside Echo’s room without complaint, and sat when Kix motioned to a bench in the hallway.

Kix sat next to him, sighing heavily, and running a hand through his intricate buzzcut, “Echo’s doing really well. Even better since you and Fives arrived.”

Rex nodded.

“If everything continues to go well, we should be able to discharge him this Wednesday. We have to ween him off the meds and make sure he won’t be in too much pain when you take him home. At this point, that’s really all he’s here for. The medication, sterile environment, and so that we can monitor the healing process.”

“So, he’s going to be okay?”

Kix smiled, leaning back, and resting his head against the wall, “That’s one resilient kid you got, Rex. It’ll take time, but he’ll be alright.”

“Good…” Rex trailed off his mind already whizzing over a million different questions. What if he was not? What if he healed physically, but could not mentally or emotionally? What if he hated him? What if he’d never be able to gain the kid’s trust? What if-

“Rex,” Kix laid a hand on Rex’s violently bouncing knee, and Rex instinctively jerked away from the touch. Kix frowned, retracting his arm, “More importantly, are you going to be alright?”

“‘More importantly?’” Rex scoffed. He turned his head away from Kix, choosing to focus on the checkered floor pattern instead. Echo was the one in the hospital, not him.

“Yeah, ‘more importantly,’” Kix hunched over, bracing his elbows on his knees before lowering his voice and continuing, “Listen to me, Rex. I don’t know a lot about what those boys have gone through, but if it’s anything half as bad as my boys—and I’m confident it’s worse—you’re going to need to be strong for them.”

Kix’s eyes flicked over to Rex to ensure his friend was still paying attention, “You’re going to have to show them they can trust you over and over and over again. And once you think they finally do, you’re going to do something that’s going to mess it all up. You’re going to have to start from square one.”

Rex was about to interject, but Kix held up a hand, “Listen, I’m telling you this because I want you to be prepared. I want this to end well. For that to happen, you need to show them how to be strong and learn to trust again. You won’t be able to do that if you let yourself get overwhelmed.”

“I-” Rex stuttered, voice caught in his throat, leg bouncing erratically again. He shook his head as if to shake unpleasant thoughts from his mind.

“Please don’t live in the past, Rex. Please. I don’t want that for you, and I don’t want that for your boys.”

Rex turned to Kix, eyes full of desperation, “How? How can I not live in the past? Look at what she did to them! Look at what I did to them! I should have been there. If I had been there-”

Rex broke off, hands trembling in his lap, a pained smile stretching across his face.

“You have to understand it’s not your fault. I know that’s hard, but what happened to them is not your fault. It’s not.”

Kix paused for a second, letting Rex meet his eyes before continuing, “What will happen to them will be. So, let’s make sure that it’s your fault that they smile. That they laugh and play and miss you when you’re gone. Make sure it’s your fault they’re happy.”

Rex shook his head, “And if I can’t?”

“You can. I know you can. And Cody and I will always be here to help, okay?”

Rex shrugged.

Kix nudged him in the arm, a slight smile spreading up the corners of his mouth, “Heck, even Jesse wants to help out. He’s been complaining that he’s the only one that hasn’t met them yet.”

Rex let out a clipped chuckle at the idea of his twins meeting Kix’s younger brother, “Yeah, okay.”

Echo woke to an aching pain coursing through his body and a familiar white light as he blinked himself awake. He must have overdone it during training yesterday. Must have hit his head too with the way it pounded.

He could feel the warmth of Fives’s body next to his left side just like every morning, but the space on the cot to his right was cold and empty. Where was Droidbait?

Echo reached out to feel for his younger brother but retracted his arm when all he found was a fistful of air.

Gone.

The world pitched around Echo. He blinked trying to block out the blinding light and sinking feeling in his gut and focus. He felt sluggish and fuzzy like he had been sedated, but he could not remember doing anything wrong. No, if he had done something bad, he would be in isolation. It would be cold and dark, and Fives would not be beside him.

Then Droidbait must have been in isolation. What could his youngest brother have done? Why could he not remember?

His head, right. His head. He must have hit his head.

Echo reached over to Fives, about to shake his twin awake when he stopped, pulling back his arm as if it had been burned.

Something was not right.

The light was slowly turning from the intense white to a warm orange as his eyes adjusted. It looked like sunlight. But that could not be right. There were no windows in their room, just a single exposed bulb that’s harsh light reflected on the white floors and walls.

No. This was wrong.

Echo tried to sit up, tried to look for Droidbait, Hevy and Cutup as his eyes gradually focused on the room around him. Tried to make sense of the bed he was on and the machines surrounding him.

He could not. Could not sit up. Could not see his brothers.

Then he could not stop himself from remembering.

Remembering Hevy’s plan.

They were going to escape. Going to climb over the wall during their morning drills. He had thought it was a bad idea. Mom told them not to go near the citadel walls. She had warned them bad things would happen. Cutup said she was probably lying. He had said she would not be watching. Echo did not agree.

She was always watching.

Droidbait was scared. He had said over and over that he did not want to go. That he was afraid. That they would not make it over the wall. That she would find them even if they did.

As soon as the drill started Hevy had grabbed him. Dragged their youngest brother after him. Cutup had followed just behind, leaving Echo to wake up Fives.

Fives never woke to the alarm. Echo thought the flashing red lights and the incessant ringing would have been enough to wake a dead man, but Fives never so much as stirred. Echo had to shake him.

Fives had not been sure about Hevy’s plan either. He had said that even if they cleared the wall and made it down to the other side, what would they do next? Where would they go? But when the time came, he was on board. If Hevy and Cutup and Droidbait were doing it, so was he.

If Fives was doing it, so was Echo.

They had run down the hall and out through the normally bolted shut doors. The doors outside only opened during morning drill. Echo knew. This had not been the first time they had tried to escape.

By the time he and Fives had made it out into the yard, his adopted brothers were already scaling the wall. Cutup was nearly at the top and Hevy was helping Droidbait a few feet below.

No one had stopped them.

Fives ran to the wall. Echo followed.

They were doing this now.

No turning back.

About halfway up Echo heard the first explosion. He heard Droidbait screaming Cutup’s name. His voice had been laden with fear and grief. He heard Hevy yelling at Droidbait, begging him not to move. He heard Fives whimper quietly next to him.

When Echo pulled himself up onto the top of the wall he saw Hevy crouched next to Droidbait’s foot. He saw his youngest brother’s eyes wide with terror, staring at the place where the explosion had been. He saw the pile of rubble. He saw Cutup’s eyes staring blankly up at the sky from under the settling dust.

Hevy had turned to him and Fives and moved aside so they could see the dark olive cylinder resting under Droidbait’s foot. Droidbait stared at the rubble, repeating Cutup’s name over and over, his voice hollow and quiet.

Hevy had hesitated looking from their baby brother’s foot to his lost expression before turning back to the twins.

“You take him and you go,” Hevy had ordered.

Echo watched as he yanked the mine out from under Droidbait’s foot and curled his body over it in one fluid motion. He had been trying to stop the explosion from harming anyone but himself.

It had not worked.

Hevy was blown back towards the twins, a mess of blood and flesh. Droidbait was pushed backwards from the force and teetered on the edge of the wall.

Fives screamed and rushed forwards, reaching out a hand.

He had not been fast enough.

Droidbait fell.

Echo remembered the sound it made when his little brother hit the ground.

He doubted he would ever forget.

Echo did not remember much after that. He must have stepped on one of the mines as well, considering the state of his body. He looked over at his brother, making sure his brother really was as unharmed as he had seemed the day before.

Fives seemed fine, and Echo closed his eyes again to block out the too bright light before they flew open in surprise as the door to his room creaked open.

That man was standing there, the one who had brought Fives. The one named Rex. He looked like the other one—Cody—but with shorter blond hair instead of the longer dark curls that matched him and his brother.

Cody had come a lot to visit. Echo barely remembered much from the past few days, but it seemed every time he woke, he had been there, sitting at his bedside, quietly reading a book of some sort. He had thought Cody was his dad at first. It made sense, they looked just like each other, and why else would anyone take an interest in him.

When Echo had asked, Cody had smiled and said that his dad was taking care of Fives, that he was his uncle, that his dad’s name was Rex.

Rex.

His dad.

The guy had seemed nice enough yesterday, but Echo knew better than to believe his charade. Besides, Echo did not want a dad. He wanted his brothers back.

Echo must have let his face show too much disgust when Rex came into his view, as the man quickly rushed to his side, “Are you okay?”

Echo narrowed his eyes. Rex sounded like Fives any time Echo or one of their other brothers got hurt during drills. His voice was soft and gentle, even caring, and Echo was taken aback. It sounded genuine.

“Fine,” Echo mumbled, voice scratchy.

The man hovered awkwardly by the side of the bed for another moment before nodding and sitting slowly in the chair, “Your brother’s still sleeping, huh?”

Echo nodded, waiting for the command to wake his twin and rob him of a few more precious minutes of sleep.

It did not come.

Instead, Rex passed a small book to Echo, and pressed a finger to his lips, “We’ll have to be quiet, then.”

Echo watched as Rex took out a book of his own and flipped to a page in the middle, his head bowed as he read silently. The boy looked down at the book clutched in his hand. It appeared to be some sort of fiction book based on the colorful cover.

Echo snuck a glance at the blond man. He was still engrossed in his novel. The boy cautiously opened to the first page, chancing another look at Rex. Just because he was handed the book did not mean he was allowed to read it. The blond man looked up at the sound of the page crinkling, met his gaze for half a second, flashed a quick smile, and then went back to reading.

Echo followed suit.

Maybe his dad was not so bad.

Just maybe.

@marierg @stressed-cherry @ffdemon @renton6echo @bambambunny @tearfulsolace @rndmpeep @brokenphoenix99 @nerdy-valkyrie @xylionet @tazmbc1 @eyayah123 @the-bad-batch-baroness @sarcastic-nebula @ihaventpickedausername @sexysmeagolshitposting @emma-1409 @marcadamia

[sacredwrath]

P7. Hot Stuff

This part was supposed to come like directly after the last part. Planned to post em on the same day. But no, apparently, had to rewrite the whole thing. Better late than never i guess

Torture, burning, graphic burns, nausea, vomit mention, stress position, sexual innuendo, implied sexual sadism, taunting almost kinda entering self harm territory.

Sweat soaks Adrian's body, running across his skin in cooling rivulets. He breathes hard, forcing air in and out of straining lungs.

Each breath fights screams.

It's pointless, of course. Everyone screams. Eventually. But he fights it anyway, knowing all too well the helplessness waiting for him on the other side. Once the fight goes out of him, he'll scream. He’ll scream himself hoarse and then into helpless silence. His body will hang limp and lifeless, like the dead thing it is, able to do nothing but take it.

His tormenter paces, heating the knife to a molten glow before pressing the flat of it into Adrian's ribs again.

The blade sizzles and spits. Blood and fat charing to black ash before the man slowly pulls the blade away.

Adrian is sure he can feel each raw nerve tearing. He writhes against his chains, strangling wails, managing to compress them into a single gurgled whimper. Not quite stoic silence, but as good as he can manage

"Had enough yet?" The man asks

"Why? You getting tired?" It'll never be enough.

The man sets his knife and torch down, turning back to him with a raised brow. He moves to undo the tie on Adrian's sweatpants.

"Ooo" He taunts. "This is new, if you wanted to see me naked, you should've taken me to dinner first."

"I brought you dinner." He gestures to the cans strewn across the floor. "You didn't eat it"

"Hey, that was for you buddy. You want vomit all over you? Torture isn't easy on the digestion ya know." He watches the man stiffen slightly at the comment.

Still feeling guilty? He can't quite identify the emotion.

The man doesn't respond, pulling Adrian's sweatpants off over his feet.

He stops, taking in the scarring here too. Adrian fights the urge to recoil as he runs a thumb over a brutally ugly patch spreading up his thigh.

"Another hero did this?"

"Why does that surprise you? You think your knife won't leave scars?" Again, tension crosses the man's face. Too easy.

"I want it to leave scars" He growls

"Of course you do, so did they." He hesitates, "we get off on shit like this, ya know." He watches the man's face, surprise, disgust, anger, revulsion. He grins.

The man doesn't take the bait, instead grabbing his instruments from the floor and flicking the blowtorch on. Adrian let's his eyes drift closed.

For a fraction of a second the knife feels ice cold against his skin, but then the familiar sickening agony flashes up his leg, eating into him. He groans, fighting off sobs.

His rapid breathing drags in the acrid stench of his own burning. No matter how many times he's smelled it, the scent brings with it a bleak animal terror that turns his mind to panicked mush

When the knife pulls away he manages to contain everything but a whimper, vile, pathetic, disgusting-

Stop

"Another beginners mistake." He blurts, stalling, waiting for his head to clear, he opens his eyes, the man is heating the knife again "burning on top of scar tissue," he continues, "less nerve endings there. Doesn't hurt so bad."

"Well you're not exactly a blank canvas are you?"

Fair enough. He watches the blade turning slowly red "I did this to Jesse you know."

The man freezes, lips compressing to a thin line.

"Not very original. Thought you said something about ten times worse? You'll have to step up your game, 'm not even winded."

"Stop saying their name." The man's voice is hard and unamused

"Why?"

"Because I'm the one with the knife."

The metal presses against Adrian's knee and he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut.

The man drags the blade across his kneecap and down the front of his shin, leaving seared fleah and pain. He growls, long and low in his throat, he can't keep this up much longer

He doesn't open his eyes, focusing on breathing. He can't watch it coming. Each burn sends waves of fever radiating through him with sick, dizzying intensity. Even his sweat feels hot

The next burn explodes against the side of his knee. Blade digging its point deep into muscle, scraping against bone. His traitorous body finally shrieks, shattering his focus. Threads of panic race up his spine, a spider web of cracks in his control.

The blade twists away viciously, widening the cracks. He tastes the all too familiar ice seeping seeping through, grazing against him.

He waits for his breathing to steady enough to speak, patching over the cracks with random words, "It's these in between parts that's the worst... The anticipation, the fear. Can you feel it?" He opens his eyes, wanting to see the man's reaction. "Can you feel my fear?"

The man is watching him, face contorted in disgust. "I can" he snears, "I love it."

"I bet." Adrian means it as a taunt, but it comes out heavy with resignation

He burns the other knee worse even than the first. Adrian loses track of himself, screaming until he remembers he's trying to stay quiet. The cracks widen and he can taste cold, unreasoning panic waiting patiently on the other side. He fights it.

A long time passes, too long Adrian opens his eyes. The other man is standing back, watching him. He looks almost concerned. Pathetic, disgusting- he needs to kill this man, hurt him-

He licks his lips, "What's wrong baby? Where'd you go? I can last longer than that." He smirks, "come on back, finish me off."

The man's eyebrows shoot up, soothing him. He claws at the sense of control.

"To be honest, your inexperience is adorable. Don't let my screaming stop you we're just gettin to the good part."

"Who said anything about stopping?" The man scans him up and down “you said you did this to Jesse right?

"Ask them to show you their feet sometime." He winks.

"Their feet." The man repeats softly. It makes Adrian's lip curl back

"I made them walk on it." He snears "If they couldn't make it across the cell they'd get another. I kept going till they couldn't get up no matter how many times I-"

Not bothering with the knife the man storms across the cell igniting the torch. He holds it to Adrians knee and he starts screaming.

He loses track of himself again, the cold edges of panic bringing with it memories. Different burning, different pain entirely.

There are hands on him, he can't remember who's.

Something cold and flat pressed against his face, against his whole body, it feels good against the burning. Cold.

Ice.

But then the pain fluxes, twisting with new life

He remembers he can open his eyes,

There's polished wooden planks beneath his hands, dirty cement, white tile, clean cement. He flexes his fingers. Jesse, he's in Jesse's cell, no, Jesse's basement, relief floods him.

"Come on, up you get" and there's an arm around his waist, guiding him to kneel. He wants to cry out at the increased pressure, but bites his tongue.

The man reaches for his cuffed hands and Adrian offers them on instinct. The man raises them over his head then pulls him up so all his weight is resting on his burned knees.

"Fucking shit hell!" Adrian hollers, trying to pull his leg forward to get to his feet. It jerks against something solid. He looks over his shoulder, seeing his feet chained to one of the basement support beams. He groans in understanding.

"How's that for creative?"

Adrian tries not to cry, hoping his painful grimace looks like a defiant grin.

"Nicely done..."

"Wait, not yet. Who said I was done?" He shakes a bag in front of Adrian's face who only barely manages to suppress a sob.

"Thought you'd know what this is." He takes a pinch of the stuff and pops it in his mouth.

"Salt. Rock Salt to be specific. I thought table salt would be too... amature for you."

He dumps some on the floor at Adrian's knees and he closes his eyes to ward off tears.

The man's hand slides beneath his knee and lifts it off the ground, spreading the salt beneath. He lowers it slowly, almost gently and Adrian bites his tongue. The sharp pebbles cut into his open wounds as if kneeling on fresh burns wasn't bad enough. The man repeats the process with his other knee, hands too cautious, too gentle for this work Adrian tastes blood in his mouth.

"Good of you to help me with that." He spits blood. "I would've made them do it themselves."

He can't keep tears from welling in his eyes, so he squeezes them shut. He's been through worse, he reminds himself, but the thought does nothing to numb the pain.

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Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them @kiichu @whatwhump

[akirakirxaa]

E2! E2! E2!

"After everything she's already done still you people would ask for mo-mph!"

"Sorry, don't mind him, please go on." Or, Hades thinks people should leave Akira alone and Akira has a problem with telling people no, especially people that sailed halfway across the world to ask for her help.

[valodia]

Eerie music stops

[good-beanswrites]

Fe Aspec Week Day 1: Coming Out

WOO It's aspec week time!! 💜💚 To no one's surprise I'm starting off with Lukas :3 I know we have the wonderful support convo when he and Python sort of come out to each other, but I was always curious about the loose ends that it brings up -- how he comes out to/is treated by his family, the woman he's left behind, his fellow nobles, etc. This drabble doesn't really answer any of those questions sadfsadf but it's coming from that thought 😂

Father,

I am writing to you now, so soon after my previous letter, as there is something I have yet to confess. It may be difficult for you to hear, but

The sentence stops abruptly, a small dab of ink at the corner of the ‘t’ where the pen had rested a moment in contemplation.

A man sits back at his at a desk. His candle illuminates the page, displaying a few brief lines at the top. He dips his pen in ink time and time again, but the page remains mostly empty. 

At first, the man believes his problem to be a lack of words. No title exists for men like him. He’s well-educated and well-connected in the army; he has an extensive vocabulary for how the upper and lower class categorizes its people. Whether it’s a scholar’s dull terminology, vulgar common language insults, or the carefully chosen phrasing of a gossiper, none of the usual descriptors fit him. All he has are the distantly connected criticisms he’d heard his whole life: “heartless,” “cold,” “detached.” 

When the candle burns lower, however, he realizes the real issue. He has far too many words.

Where would he even start? Should he describe his contentment with his life here? How not one of his fellows ever brought up the lack of a woman at his arm, or how dinners with the King and Queen themselves were filled with pleasantries that never touched on his romantic endeavors? Whatever his father had been preparing for, it had never come.

Or should he begin earlier, when he was first accepted by this group of people? He wasn’t sure if he could properly convey all that he experienced on that fateful night, speaking softly with the unit’s archer – a man he’d come to call one of his truest friends. The man had heard for the first time in his life that there were others like him. He heard that they were content. They were whole.

He could go back further and describe the moment that the realization first hit him. How his father had been right in a sense. Just as he said, one day when the man was grown, he would be in the arms of another, and everything about himself would suddenly make sense. There was only one difference. He’d been forced to bury that clarity, since it wasn’t the same kind that everyone else came to.

Or should he start even further back? He could recount all little hints that haunted him across his youth. His dreams for the future never quite aligned with those of his peers. Nothing ever seemed to align. His choice of stories to read, of games to play, of jokes to make. He wouldn’t ever claim he was mistreated as a child, but everyone would agree that the signs had appeared even then.

The man sighs. Where is the beginning, when one has always been this way? 

The clock strikes on the hour. It is late, and he will need to be at his sharpest tomorrow for drills and meetings. He has no more time to fret over words about his past. 

The man tries a new method, and wonders what his friends may write about him. He can’t resist a dry smile. He knows that he can never, under any circumstance, allow them to exchange any correspondence with his family. 

But the exercise gives him an idea.

He writes out a single statement. Then he blows out the candle and heads to his bed. 

there is nothing broken about me.

Cordially,

Lukas