#febuwhump day twenty

[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 & Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) Characters: Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Clone Trooper Hunter (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Wrecker (Star Wars), CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Omega Needs a Hug (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), POV Omega (Star Wars: The Bad Batch), Febuwhump, Febuwhump 2024, Prompt: Truth Serum

Summary:

In an universe where the Empire recaptures Omega and successfully takes her back to Kamino, after her brothers finally rescue her, they deal with the fallout.

Read on:

https://www.wattpad.com/1424071953-the-bad-batch-one-shot-collection-febuwhump-day

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14329597/1/Febuwhump-Day-Twenty-Truth-Serum

[shih-coulda-had-it]

FEBUWHUMP | NOT ALLOWED TO DIE | WC: 695

a/n: speculative ficlet on the end of bnha. manga spoilers.

//

His whole body ached. This was nothing new to Tomura, who had been plagued with an awareness of bodily discomfort since he was conscious enough to register it, but unlike before, there was no way he could relieve himself of the pain.

He could not lift a limb; he could barely turn his head.

Beside him on the torn-up battlefield, Midoriya wheezed and wept dry, rasping sobs. He looked even more of a mess than Tomura, and the insides of Tomura were still churning with the stupid, indigestible truth that deep down, he was a pitiful child wanting to be saved. The ghosts had been ruthless in their excavation.

“Shut up,” Tomura managed, and his lips curled weakly to bare his teeth. “Just--would you shut the hell up and kill me already?”

Midoriya twitched. Unlike Tomura, Midoriya was laid-out flat on his back, face turned to the sky and all four limbs stretched out like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard. The kid didn’t even bother twisting his neck. He just side-eyed Tomura with unwarranted incredulity.

“A hero wouldn’t hesitate. Not after all I’ve done.”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do,” Midoriya said, unsteadily, “for the past hour?”

“You’re trying to be the good guy. ‘There’s always someone to save.’ Ugh.”

The doctor had subjected him to intense electric shocks, conditioning his body before the transfer of All for One, and the Quirk still hadn’t integrated peacefully. Star and Stripes tried to smother him in the ocean and obliterate him altogether. In neither of these cases did Tomura cry.

Tears were beading up now, threatening to spill over and soak the ground. Tomura crooked his fingers against the dirt, seeking Decay in the fiery ruins of his veins, and tasting blood when all he turned up was more pain.

“I can’t do this,” he gasped. “I can’t look at--at all their stupid faces--and listen to them tell me that I was wrong--”

Unbelievably, Midoriya wrenched himself to the side and reached over to grab a fistful of Tomura’s hair. He said, “You don’t get to die.” He sounded like a hero; he sounded like a maniac who would see Tomura thrown into some asylum for ‘recovery’ when all it would really be was an indefinite term of drugged incarceration. “One for All didn’t go away so you could die. I told them I’d save you, and I will.”

“You and what Quirk?! You think you count for anything now? Even All Might’s word doesn’t mean shit!”

“You’re Quirkless too, now!” Midoriya fired back.

Tomura clenched his jaw. Maybe if he ate enough dirt, he’d throw up, choke on his own vomit, and die before any medical assistance reached them. Like being unable to use a Quirk mattered to the terrified, paranoid judicial system. He’d dusted both of Overhaul’s arms up to the elbows and they booked him in Tartarus anyway.

“I won’t let you disappear,” the boy swore.

“Moron,” Tomura spat. “I’m telling you over and over again, it doesn’t matter what the hell you want. You’re gonna stand against the heroes when they drag me to prison? You’re gonna ask them to go easy on me with the sentencing? It’d be more merciful to just kill me!”

Midoriya yanked on Tomura’s hair, and Tomura wailed a long, despairing cry into the dirt. Would anyone else help him? Dabi--useless. Toga--useless. Spinner--gone. Mr. Compress--imprisoned. All Tomura had left was Midoriya, and he hated Midoriya, but not enough to suppress Tenko’s needy want for a friend. 

“If they take you, I’ll find you. I’ll ask All Might to find a safehouse in the country. I’ll make sure you have dogs to take care of.” Midoriya released Tomura and rolled himself completely to his stomach. His eyes were red-rimmed but dry. Exhaustion weighed on him as heavily as the hurt did on Tomura. “Don’t you want to live?”

This was the final straw, amidst the many final straws that had edged their fight further and further in Midoriya’s favor. Tomura had no desire to voice Tenko’s want, so he scrunched his wet eyes shut and screamed into the shattered earth.

Next to him, Midoriya waited.

[livmightlive]

Lu Boys Death Lineup

I was feeling a little edgy, a little angsty (perchance). I wanna say, this is based a little bit on canon and a lot a bit on vibes. Maybe this can be my (low effort 😔) febuwhump. Anyways, in order from first to last here it is.

Four - Four is in his mid-twenties when he gets called to help investigate with the resurgence of dark magic in the palace of the four swords. He goes in not expecting much, he’s used to being called to help aid in small things, like monster uprisings or in this case something to do with dark magic. He doesn’t expect things to go so wrong. It’s dark magic alright, but so much of it that it’ll overcome the land immediately if something isn’t done. Ganon is trying to return and Four is the only person in the way. So, he gives everything to seal it away. This effort fractures Four again, but not in the way it did before. This time the colors don’t reunite with each other but instead Four’s physical body is vaporized and his soul tears in to four pieces, each absorbing all the leftover darkness that Four couldn’t stop. Dot has no choice but to seal the palace completely.

Hyrule - When the chain’s journey ends, Hyrule doesn’t return home to a peaceful era. His journey continues and despite his and both princesses’ efforts things start to get worse. The cult has grown in an huge way and Hyrule soon knows no peace, constantly traveling to avoid them. They’re grasping at straws and with each year that passes since Ganon’s death they get more agitated. By his late twenties he’s more than exhausted. Hyrule no longer knows rest. He can’t return to the castle or any town, not even, especially not even, the ones that had been kind to him. The cult would find him. They burn would burn down buildings, cut down people, and even trample crops just to get to him. Unrelated to Hyrule, they destroy new growth forests and scar any attempts by the earth to heal. This has to stop. He goes to the cult and finds Ganon’s ashes himself. He makes sure that there isn’t anything left this time. The fire he creates, his last spell, burns for years.

Twilight - Twilight’s body is never found. Everyone who had known him had been greatly concerned for him for a few years now. It seems that he had been slowly going mad ever since he had turned 30. He had grown more and more restless, walking circles in his house until the carpet wore down. He withdraws for weeks, emerging with untrimmed hair and wild eyes. He holds a great sorrow at all times that cannot be quelled. He starts disappearing into the woods for weeks at a time. One day it all stops and it seems that he’s calmed down. His mind has returned to him. He begins tending to the ranch again, he smiles more, laughs more. But… There's an everlasting air about him that just feels like he’s waiting for something. A great storm descends on Ordon one day. It brings some destruction with it. Floods wash away buildings built too close to rivers and trees fall from loose soil. In its wake, it’s as if the world was shining silver. Twilight is nowhere to be found.

Wild - Wild is almost 40 when he leaves his and Flora’s shared home to go on a little expedition. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for this time but he craves fresh air and adventure. He’s on a well worn path, just leaving from a stable when he drops as if he were a puppet with all of its strings cut loose. And that’s it for him. Of course other travelers and stable hands try to check up on him, but he’s gone. There’s not a lick of life left in him. Purah runs a series of autopsies and can’t find anything wrong. He was in perfect health when he left and the people interviewed at the stables claim he was acting normal, or as normal as Wild can act. Purah decides that he must’ve thrown a blood clot or something, he probably had a left over brain injury from Hylia knows what, but both she and Flora know that’s a lie. They wonder if the shrine of resurrection only had so much to give Wild. They wonder if they have timers too.

Time - Time is almost 50 when he returns to battle. There’s a returning darkness that must be quelled. He prays that this won’t turn into another failure of his, that the mistakes he makes now won’t hurt his successors anymore than he’s already hurt them. His ocarina stays home; it’s buried deep under a floorboard beneath his and Malon’s bed. He takes some peace of mind from that. His fight takes him back to the lost woods where he never returns from. It’s decades later and Malon is old. Her hair has long been grey and she has grandchildren to keep her company. How she wishes Time could’ve met them… She’s called to the castle one day and asked if she recognizes skeletal remains of a Hylian body that was found downstream from the lost woods. She does. She prays that with a proper funeral her love might find rest, but she knows that he won’t.

Warriors - When Wars returns to his era, his work doesn’t end. He finds himself training the next generation of warriors and then the one after that. Wars never stops working as there is always work. There is always something he can do to make his home safer, to keep his people happier, to make them stronger. He’s still working by the time he’s halfway through his 70s. His friends and family beg him to retire, even Zelda has passed the throne down to her heir, but there’s still more to be done. He takes lunch one day in castle town and goes to his favorite pub. Despite the castle nurses banning him from eating overly rich food and beer until he has a less stressful lifestyle (it’s way too hard on his heart), Wars still likes to sneak a treat every now and then. What’s it gonna do? Kill him? He never finishes his last pint. 

Wind - Wind dies by complete accident. It happens when he’s in his 80s. He’s chatting with his mates while cleaning one of his old swords. He hasn’t had to use one in decades but he likes to keep them in good shape just in case he has to. Somebody tells a HILARIOUS joke. Wind doubles over in laughter, but as he does so he impales himself straight through. As he’s rushed to the newly opened hospital, Wind can’t help but continue to laugh. Oh boy is this stupid. He tells the nurses not to tell Tetra. She’d never let him hear the end of this. One of them starts weeping. Through tears she tells Wind that he won’t survive this. When they remove the sword he will bleed out unless he drowns in his own blood first. He cringes and tells them to DEFINITELY not tell Tetra. He’s a little annoyed when she and their closest friends and family come rushing in. She berates him. In between curses he can tell that she’s crying. He spends his last hours cracking jokes and sharing stories and gossip with those closest to him. When he starts struggling to stay conscious, they all bid goodbye and Tetra pulls out the sword. A year later, to her embarrassment, Tetra dies the exact same way.

Sky - Sky passes away peacefully in his sleep a week after his 100th birthday party and he KNEW it was coming. Sky knew for months. It started as small comments like at breakfast where he’d be like “Hylia willing I will see the solstice celebrations next week…” and his grandkids, and great grandkids, would be like “Grandpappy don’t say such things!” And he’d relent but it escalates to him asking his family members and friends which of his possessions they liked most. If they fall into his trap and answer, Sky tells them to write their name on it so they can have it after he passes. Nobody does this to his disgruntlement. Eventually they stop believing him because it gets to the point where every other dinner Sky mentions that his time to join Hylia draws near. Just in case they make his birthday a grand event. Somehow everyone, but Sun, is still a little surprised when he goes. She’s like *shrug* “he did mention it”. Like lovebirds, Sun follows him shortly after.

Legend - Nobody in the royal family knows how Legend is still alive. Some say it’s his great spirit, others claim that it must be courage, and those that know him best claim that it's sheer spite. If they were to actually ask Legend himself he’d spit. “The bitch goddess won’t let me.” He makes his opinion of his long lasting life obvious. No longer is Legend asked to attend prayer services or holidays in celebrations of Hylia. Not after the last dozen… incidents. Legend stopped counting how old he was after the passing of his dear sister and dear rabbit. The nurses who do frequent checkups on him mention that he is 121 years old. He rolls his eyes. Legend wants to go and he brings this up frequently, usually over dinner. He has great great great grand nieces and nephews now. He cares little to meet the next coming generation. Still, despite his fits of anger and general grumpiness, he is well loved. He lives in the castle now, not trusted to take care of himself. The kids love him best. “Grunkie Link tells the best stories <3.” He always makes sure to press treats or old rings into their hands when they pass. It’s a stormy night when the castle is thrown into pandemonium. Legend has gone missing from his chambers. Honestly, how hard could it be to find a wheelchair bound 121 year old man? They find him outside, screaming at the heavens. “Take me you HAG!” Screaming turns to pleading. “I want to see them again.” Before anybody can get close, lightning strikes from the sky and smites the hero. Nothing is left behind but ashes.

pls lmk what you think! Feel free to argue if you have a different idea <3

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Febuwhump - Day 12

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Prompt: Semi-Conscious

Warnings: drugged

__________

You shoved through the double doors, the gas mask on your face the only thing stopping the toxic nerve gas from killing you outright. Soldier Boy was out cold on the floor. Well, he was moving as much as he could, trying everything to stay awake.

He jerked when you bent down, dazed eyes recognizing you.

“You gotta…go,” he mumbled, resting his head on the hard concrete. “Be here any…”

He trailed off, struggling to find the words. Shit. You were hoping he wouldn’t be so out of it but it didn’t look like you were that lucky. 

“You so owe me for this.” You squatted down and grabbed an arm and leg, pulling him into a fireman’s carry on your back. It was a struggle to get to your feet but you managed thanks to the adrenaline in your veins. You took a deep breath and headed out the doors, Soldier Boy grunting against you, large body draped over you. “Soldier Boy. Ben. How we doing?”

“Drugged me,” he grumbled, body still way too lax. “Shot of…novichok.”

“What? I thought your skin was impenetrable,” you whispered, taking a break in a small alcove, checking for any soldiers.

“Liquid novi…down my gullet,” he panted, fist gripping your pants. “I’m fucked for at least twenty min…”

“So I have to get us out of here is what you’re saying. Awesome.” You sighed, readjusting him on your back.

“Don’t let me go back there,” he breathed out, his breathing shaky against your back. “Y/N.”

He’d never called you by your actual name before. Shit, he really was scared.

“You’re not going back.”

But you knew you needed him to get the two of you out. 

Fuck, you really hoped you could last another twenty minutes on your own.

________

[peachy-panic]

Febuwhump Day 7: Alternate Timeline

When I saw today's @febuwhump prompt was AU, I said SIGN ME UP.

Have some alternate universe Jaime & Sebastian, in which they are closer in age and this night in college goes a lot differently.

HEAVY TW for alcohol abuse, emetophobia, past noncon, implied attempted noncon, implied drugging

Jaime is too tired to be at this party. 

Derek, who convinced him to come party with the team in the first place, disappeared upstairs with the goalie from the women’s team twenty minutes ago, leaving Jaime sullen, sober, and alone in the crowd. The adrenaline from tonight’s win against USC has long burned out of his system, and they have practice early tomorrow morning. He doesn’t want to be here, with all these drunk strangers knocking into him as they dance. He wants the comfort of his dorm bed, a tall glass of water, and an audiobook in his headphones, lulling him to sleep.

Fuck Derek and his apparent new girlfriend. Jaime is going home. 

He doesn’t bother trying to find any of their teammates to say goodbye, and he doesn’t text Derek that he’s leaving. He can text Jaime, if he even cares to. 

Some part of him knows he’s being a little selfish, a little reckless. A little jealous. He’s too tired to investigate those feelings too closely. 

The back door is through the kitchen. Jaime elbows his way through the crowd until the exit is in sight. But something else catches his eye before he can bolt.

Someone is at least halfway passed out at the kitchen bar, a shock of red hair spilling out over the marble. His head is lolled onto his arm, his eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. He’s not quite unconscious, Jaime sees as he slips into the room. He still has enough dexterity left to keep himself atop the barstool, even if the position is precarious at best—one foot propped on the wooden rung of the chair, the other extended out to the floor to keep him balanced. 

The man is alone in the kitchen, with the exception of one other person. A face Jaime knows well. 

Matthew is on the soccer team with him, but Jaime has made every effort to avoid him all year. He never told anyone about the incident in the locker room during the first month of practices, but the memory glows red in his memory like a warning sign as he watches Matthew slide his arm around the half-unconscious stranger’s waist and coax him to standing. 

The man is tall, maybe even a little taller than Matthew, though it’s hard to tell with the way his body slumps as he’s guided toward the back door. Jaime doesn’t recognize him, but he recognizes that this isn’t right, and he won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t intervene. 

“Hey.” Jaime’s voice comes out firmer than he expected. 

Matthew stops in his tracks, head whipping back to him. His eyes narrow, and Jaime wonders if he realizes it’s the first time they’ve spoken off the field since the night he cornered Jaime and put his hands where they didn’t belong.

“Quinn,” he says pleasantly. “Not like you to show up to one of these things. Did Derek drag you out?”

Jaime ignores him, nodding toward the man who is struggling to stay upright at Matthew’s side. “Who’s your friend?”

Matthew’s jaw twitches like he can read the accusation in Jaime’s eyes. Good. “I’m helping him back to his dorm.”

That doesn’t answer the question, asshole. “You know him?”

“Do you?” Matthew’s eyes narrow again, annoyed this time. 

Jaime takes a calculated risk. “Yeah,” he lies. “He’s here with me.”

This quiets him for long enough to make Jaime think he’s won, but then Matthew’s mouth curls into a sneer. “You must be pretty shitty company if your date is leaving with another guy.”

The “date” in question is starting to slip, his knees buckling, and Matthew has to adjust his grip to keep him upright.

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Jaime snaps. Anger simmers beneath his skin, fists curling at his sides. This interaction with Matthew has given new life to the rage Jaime has spent two months pushing down, ignoring, talking himself out of. 

Matthew’s eyes scrape up and down his body, either in a lewd attempt at intimidation or possibly sizing up what kind of physical challenge Jaime poses. Whatever conclusion he reaches makes him laugh, a curt, dismissive sound.

“Stay in your lane, Freshman.”

Then he makes another move for the back door, his victim in tow. 

Jaime is moving before he has to think about it. He pushes past him, shouldering in as a barrier between Matthew and the door. “Let go of him,” he says.

Matthew’s amusement gives way to a flicker of anger now. “It doesn’t look like he’s putting up much of a fight.”

“He’s barely fucking alive.” Jaime nearly shouts it, but the music keeps his voice from bleeding into the crowd. It is enough, however, to rouse the intoxicated stranger. 

“Who’re y… ‘m not…” is all he gets out, broken and slurred alongside a quick flutter of green eyes, before his head lolls back against Matthew.

Jaime feels sick watching Matthew’s hands on him. He can’t stop himself from reaching out and trying to take the man’s weight, forcefully if necessary, away from him.

Matthew resists. Of course he does. Fingers dig into the man’s side hard enough to look painful, and it makes Jaime falter his grip. But before he can attempt anything else, the jostle of movement stirs the stranger again, but this time it isn’t words coming out of his mouth. The man’s body crumples entirely, dragging down Matthew’s side as he falls to his knees and retches on the kitchen floor. 

The sound coming out of him is one of pure misery, one that drowns out the sound of Matthew’s groan of disgust. Matthew steps back—though not in time to save his shoes—and shakes off the man’s weight from his leg like he’s a stray animal. Jaime manages to crouch in time to catch the stranger’s shoulders before he can fall into his own vomit. He steadies him through the worst of the sickness, knelt awkwardly on one knee at his side. By the time it’s over, he looks up to find the kitchen empty. Matthew left.

There’s another flare of rage, but the moment is quickly stolen by the sound of crying. He looks down, alarmed to see tears tracking down the man’s face. His green eyes look so sad and maybe a little afraid as he gazes up at Jaime, body swaying. 

“I think I threw up,” he says quietly. 

Jaime nods, ignoring the rather damning pile of evidence in front of them. “I think you might be onto something,” he agrees. “Maybe we should go outside for a minute? Get some fresh air?”

He doesn’t get a response. The man is already starting to fade from awareness again. 

“Shit,” Jaime mutters. He doesn’t waste precious seconds of the man’s partial mobility, hooking his grip underneath his arms to hoist him to his feet. “Come on,” he whispers, trying to sound gentle and encouraging as he kicks open the back door, narrowly stepping around the vomit on the floor. “Just a few more steps.”

The cold, November air is a sigh of relief against his skin. He manages to keep his new friend on his feet long enough to reach the porch steps, where he sits him down long enough to retrieve his phone from his pocket. A rideshare back to campus will cost him the whole of his fun money for the week, but he can’t imagine a world in which he leaves this stranger to fend for himself tonight. 

He opens the app and hovers uncertainly over the search bar.  “Can you tell me where you live?” he asks softly, crouching down next to the man, who barely lifts his head from the railing. 

“At the college,” he slurs, pointing vaguely to their left, in the opposite direction of the university. “It’s over there.”

“Right,” Jaime says. “Okay. Do you have an ID?”

“Mhm.” The affirmative answer is not accompanied by any attempt to retrieve his wallet.

“Can I see it for a second?”

The man manages to get as far as pulling his wallet halfway out of his pocket before his limbs go limp, his head tilting back against the railing. “I don’... feel good. ’m sorry.”

Jaime hates how sad he sounds. “It’s okay,” he promises. “I’m just going to grab your wallet out of here, okay?” 

There’s no answer, not that he’s expecting one, so he pulls the wallet the rest of the way out of his pocket, careful not to touch him without his permission. When he flips it open to the ID card, he’s greeted by the photo of a man who is barely recognizable as the person next to him. His smile is self conscious but handsome, his eyes wide and bright. Sebastian Tate, the name says. 

Jaime knows it was a bit of a gamble, that most college kids keep their parents’ address on their license until they move off campus, but he recognizes the address on Sebastian’s ID as one the dorms. One small bit of luck.

He enters the address on his phone, wincing at the price tag before he accepts the ride. 

When he looks over to let Sebastian know that a car is on its way, he sees tears on his face once again. 

“We’re gonna get you home,” Jaime promises. 

****

Sebastian is mostly deadweight by the time Jaime gets him into his bed. 

The other half of the dorm room is sparsely decorated, with a bed that looks mostly untouched. Jaime wonders if Sebastian has one of those roommate situations where they only really see each other on moving day. It’s a positive in the sense that Jaime isn’t barging in uninvited on a stranger tonight, but it does leave Jaime with a bit of a dilemma. He can’t imagine leaving this person alone tonight. 

Jaime helps himself to a cup on the sink in the corner of their room—it looks mostly clean, he thinks—and fills it with water from the tap. 

“Hey,” he says, giving Sebastian’s shoulder a gentle shake. He stirs blinking up at him, and Jaime holds the cup for him to see. “You should try to drink something.”

A groan of displeasure rumbles deep in his chest. “Tired,” Sebastian argues. 

“I know. But you really should try to drink some water before you fall asleep.”

Sebastian peels his eyes open again. Jaime wonders if throwing up back at the house was the best thing he could have done for himself. His gaze is starting to look a little less glassy. Maybe he had gotten some of the alcohol—and whatever else he might have ingested, a dark voice whispers in the back of his mind—out of his system before it could really take root. 

“It’s okay,” Sebastian tells him.  “I’m a doctor.”

Jaime furrows his brow. “I don’t think that’s true.”

But Sebastian nods sagely. “I will be,” he says.

“Oh.” Jaime blinks. “Are you pre-med?” A nod. “Well, then you should know all about the detriments of dehydration and alcohol poisoning, Dr. Tate.”

His head lifts from the mattress at the name—not without what appears to be great effort. He blinks a few times and squints up at Jaime like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Nobody’s ever called me that before.” He sounds so awed, Jaime can’t help but laugh. 

“That’s probably because you’re not a doctor yet,” he says. “Sit up, please?”

It takes a little bit of support on his end, but he finally gets Sebastian to an upright position and helps him steady the cup as he brings it to his mouth. Jaime takes his time, waiting patiently until he’s downed the whole glass in tiny sips. 

“Good job,” he says. “I’ll get you more to keep by your bed. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

As he gets up to refill the glass, he hears shuffling on the bed behind him. Sebastian is already laying down again when he turns back to him, but this time his eyes stay open, tracking Jaime across the room.

“I don’t know who you are,” Sebastian observes aloud. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Jaime says. “I’m just helping you get home.” 

With a completely straight face, Sebastian looks at him and says, “You’re like an angel.” Then, blinking slowly, “You’re so pretty.”

“Oh my god,” Jaime bubbles out a startled giggle. “That’s… I—Um, thank you.” He feels his own cheeks redden. “That’s nice. I think you’re very drunk.”

As if Jaime’s words serve as a reminder, Sebastian’s face falls again, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t feel good.”

Jaime’s face falls, too. The tear tracks are still visible on Sebastian’s face from earlier, a tangible reminder of the darkness shrouding these circumstances. 

“I know,” Jaime says. 

“Are you angry?” Sebastian asks, eyes still pinched. 

“Not at you,” Jaime assures him. 

“Okay.” Sebastian swallows, then moves his mouth like he’s trying to find his tongue. When he does, he asks, “Are you going to leave me here alone?”

Jaime stiffens. “Do you want me to?”

He is pretty sure the movement of Sebastian’s head against the pillow is supposed to be a no. 

“If you want me to stay with you tonight, I will,” Jaime says. It’s not like he’s in any hurry to watch Derek stumble into his dorm at four in the morning, with or without his one-night-stand. 

“There,” Sebastian slurs, slipping closer to sleep by the second. He raises a finger to point vaguely in the direction of his roommate’s side of the room. “That thing. Folds into a bed. Comfy.”

Jaime turns and spots the foam chair in the corner. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

He kicks off his shoes, pulls a spare throw-blanket from the foot of Sebastian’s bed, and unfolds the chair into a thin mattress on the floor. When the lights are off, he feels his own exhaustion crashing over him. He stares up at this stranger’s dorm ceiling and lets himself drift closer to the darkness that pulls at him from behind closed eyelids. 

Before he can slip away, a tentative voice rouses him back to the surface. 

“What’s your name?” Sebastian asks into the darkness between them. 

“Jaime,” he answers. 

“Jaime?”

“Yeah.”

“Jaime, I feel very sad, I think.”

Jaime swallows, wishing he was better at offering comfort to someone who so obviously needs it. “Yeah. I know,” he says instead. “You’ll feel better tomorrow, though.”

“You promise?” Sebastian asks.

But that’s not a promise he can keep. Jaime doesn’t know anything about this man, other than that he had come close to something very bad happening tonight. Tomorrow, likely, he will be sick and shaken, probably regretful, probably confused. But there was one sure truth Jaime could offer this stranger for now. 

“Go to sleep, Sebastian,” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

*AGAIN THIS IS FULLY AU, BUT I'LL TAG YALL JUST IN CASE YOU WANNA READ*

@whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline 

@anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain 

@thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings @melancholy-in-the-morning @insaneinthepaingame 

@skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world 

@inpainandsuffering @cicatrix-energy @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @extemporary-whump 

@the-whumpers-grimm  @thebirdsofgay  @firewheeesky @whumperfully @hold-back-on-the-comfort  

@termsnconditions-apply  @cyborg0109  @whumplr-reader  @pinkraindropsfell  @whatwhumpcomments 

@honeycollectswhump @pirefyrelight @handsinmotion  @alexmundaythrufriday @scoundrelwithboba 

@starsick1979 @b0rgid@whumps-and-bumps @bilightningwhumper @technicallydeliciousdeer

@taterswhump @shit-people-probably-didnt-say @roblingoblin285 @hellodecisionparalysis @shinmich

@anonfromcanada @morning-star-whump

[silvrash-797]

Febuwhump 2025 - Countdown

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Read on ao3

Chapter 3: Put on Display

Humiliation burned, hot and sharp, as Sky stared out from the bars of his cage. He hadn’t thought the noble meant a literal cage. But here he was, in a literal cage, on display for anyone to see, in just his trousers since they’d shredded his shirt to bind the wound in his arm.

His skin prickled constantly as people looked on curiously, but every time he tried to make eye contact, or plead for help, they immediately turned away, ashamed.

He thought he’d known loneliness, on the Surface at the start of his adventure, or as he took on temple after temple.

He thought wrong.

Even the guards, who brought him his meals and fresh water, refused to engage with him. All he had to interact with was a ball, small and bouncy (Wind would love it no, don’t think about them), a sandy floor he could draw patterns in, and a rainwater puddle in one corner. His eyes ached as he tried not to cry, to remain strong.

He couldn’t imagine condemning Wolfie to this existence.

Day passed into night into day again. More people, openly gawking behind concealing hands, shivering cold as it rained for a spell, hot sunlight, worse than the Lanayru Desert, burning his skin, the silent guards bringing a slight meal and a splash of water…

Insanity sounded pretty good, now.

The second night passed slowly, so slowly, as Sky fought tears, aching loneliness, and the insidious thought of maybe they won’t save me.

The morning of the third day dawned chill and bleak, reflecting Sky's mood. He stared listlessly at his surroundings, not focused on anything. It took him a moment to notice the dark green blob on the other side of the bars.

The figure tutted, and Sky looked up. The noble from before stared down at him. “Not a single word from your friend,” the man pouted, “and not a single rescue attempt, either. One would almost think he doesn’t care for you.”

Sky sighed and looked away, shame bubbling in his gut – he’d begun to think the same thing. They’ll come, he wanted to say, but his voice failed him.

He felt the noble's eyes crawl across his skin for another eternal moment, then the man clapped his hands. Sky startled at the sudden noise. “Well,” the noble said, “my guards say they’ve found a rather unusual specimen of rabbit wandering outside the gates, with the most luxuriant pink fur, can you imagine! I was going to put him with the other rabbits, but something so special deserves a place of honor, right here with my other prize.”

Pink…rabbit?…could it be…?

“Think of it as a gift, if you will,” the noble rambled on, unaware of the tentative hope unfurling in Sky's chest, “a comfort for your last twenty-four hours.

“I hate to have to kill you, you’ve brought such a crowd to my little menagerie, but I am a man of my word. If your friend hasn’t arrived with his wolf by morning, you will be executed in the main square.” He snapped his fingers, and a guard brought forward something small and wriggling. Another guard unlocked the cage and opened the door just far enough to let the first toss the thing inside.

Distantly, Sky heard the lock snap shut again, the noble's false platitudes and condolences babble in the background as he bid farewell.

All his attention honed in on the bundle of pink fur sorting itself out on the sandy floor, right where he’d drawn a picture of Sun. Long ears twitched and twisted, following the noble's departure and the guards' paths; violet eyes, sharp and intelligent, peered knowingly into Sky's own.

“��Le…Lege…end…?” Sky croaked, voice hoarse from disuse. His breathing picked up, an immense, unnamable emotion threatening to drown him.

The sharp eyes softened, and the tiny head tilted gently. “Hi, Sky.”

“Legend!” Sky gasped, tears spilling from his soul as he scrambled to his leporine brother. It took everything he had to not crush the tiny body in his arms, shivering at the warmth that spread from his chest into each limb. He sobbed and held Legend close, reveling in the thrum of his heartbeat, the soft paws stroking comfortingly along his chest, the whispered words of assurance.

“Hush, Sky, I know. I’m sorry it took us so long, I’m here now.” Legend stretched in Sky's arms, placing his paws on either side of his head, kneading the tears from his cheeks. “People are coming, don’t cause a scene; we can’t make anyone suspicious.”

Sky nodded and gulped a few choking breaths, fighting to contain his swirling emotions. He buried his face in Legend's soft pink fur; the Vet grumbled a bit but allowed it. Slowly, the shuddering sobs ebbed, grounded in the warm relief of having his brother nearby.

“’m sorry,” Sky finally murmured, exhausted. “I thought…” He stopped, suddenly ashamed.

“Thought what, Sky?”

“I thought…no one was coming,” he admitted hoarsely, bracing for an angry retort.

It never came. Instead, Legend flopped into his chest, settling close. “That’s a fair assumption to make,” he said. “It took longer than we liked to come up with a plan to get you out. But it’s in motion now, and with some luck, you’ll be out of here before dawn.”

“What’s the plan?” Sky asked.

“Nope, not saying. Call it superstition if you like, but until it’s done I’m not saying anything.” Legend looked up at him, sincerity bright in his eyes. “I will say this: look around today. You’re not as alone as you think you are.”

And of course, he was right. Now that hope had sharpened his senses, he saw his brothers everywhere.

A little mouse-like creature that wore a distinctly-patterned tunic scurrying past.

A fairy glowing green and gold that flitted through the bars of his cage and spiraled around his injured arm, chiming a soft “Take heart!” before flying away.

A person with long blond hair and Gerudo Vai clothes walking casually through the menagerie exhibits.

A boy with sun-bleached hair and tan skin running amidst a pack of other children.

The guard who brought him his food, with his signature jaunty smile even if his scarf was missing and his hair was somehow darker, who told him “Don’t eat that” under his breath.

The pink bunny, who never once left his side.

By the time night fell, Sky felt dizzy with euphoria. He tried his best to hide it from the departing crowds and the circling guards, but he couldn’t help the quiet tears that dripped from his eyes.

A pair of guards took up their position outside his cage. It was hard to tell in the flickering torchlight, but their builds seemed a perfect match for Twilight and Time, although their faces were somehow clear of any tattoos.

With their arrival, Legend stretched and shook out his coat. “That’s my cue,” he whispered, hopping a few paces away. He rummaged through a tiny pouch hidden in his fur and pulled out a lustrous pearl. With a quiet shimmer of magic, a Hylian stood where the bunny had been moments before.

With the pearl clutched tight in his hand, Legend rummaged in his pouch one more time. When he pulled it out, he held a single key. Its handle was shaped kind of like a remlit, if the large ears were replaced by a mane of hair surrounding the head.

Legend strode to the cage door, reached through the bars, and fit the key into the lock. A short moment later, the lock sprung open.

“Holy Hylia, it worked.” Legend sounded surprised, but shook it off quickly. He stowed the key back in his pouch, took something from the taller guard on the right, and walked back to where Sky sat, dumbstruck.

He placed a lopsided gray mask onto the sandy floor of the cage and extended his free hand to Sky. “C'mon,” he prompted gently. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Taking Legend's hand, Sky rose, wobbling slightly from the lack of exercise and malnutrition. He leaned on Legend until his balance stabilized.

Once he could stand on his own, Legend picked up the mask and handed it to Sky. “Put that on,” he said. “I’ll turn back into a bunny, then you can carry me out. Time assured me it would hide us both.”

Sky obeyed, movements slowed like he was under water. At the same time, anticipation tingled all across his skin. The cage stood wide open for the first time in three days, freedom beckoning. Another shimmer of magic in the corner of his eye, then Sky stooped to pick up the pink bunny, cradling him close to his chest.

He walked to the cage door. Stepped outside. The rustle of grass under his feet, the fresh breeze blowing his sweaty, dirty hair from his face, the snap of the lock behind him…Sky shivered, overwhelmed.

Time and Twilight's gazes slid right over him, as if he didn’t exist. They nodded anyway, then continued to patrol the menagerie. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them away.

“Where to?” he whispered hoarsely.

The furry bundle in his arms shifted minutely. Sky twitched as long ears brushed across his chest when Legend looked around.

“To the right, to the end of the cages, then straight on through,” he finally said.

Sky walked in a daze, beating exhaustion back by sheer force of will. Each slow step took him closer to the main gate, unmanned despite the hour.

“Can you tell me what the plan was, now?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

Legend chuckled in his arms. “Wild made a mild sedative that Four and Hyrule added to the food the guards and staff ate from all day. Wind snuck in and stole a pair of guard uniforms for Time and Twilight. We had Twilight’s shadow crystal, my Moon Pearl, Hyrule’s Magic Key, and Time's Stone mask, then fused a few of Four's kinstones for luck. Wars should be out there with your clothes and gear.”

They stepped outside the town walls, into the waiting circle of the rest of the Chain. Legend reached up and prodded at the mask until it fell away from his face. Immediately, Warriors strode forward and wrapped Sky in his own sailcloth. “You’re safe now,” he said gently.

Legend hopped from Sky's arms, returning to his Hylian form in a shimmer of pearl and shadow. He pulled a cord from around his neck and handed it to Twilight, who pushed forward and pulled Sky into a deep hug.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I never shoulda left you there.”

Sky melted into the embrace, fading fast. “’S okay,” he mumbled. “Glad…you’re…safe…”

Twilight's throaty chuckle was the last thing Sky registered before the wings of sleep closed over his mind.

Gathering his sleeping brother in his arms, Twilight led the way down the road, leaving the town behind as the fourth day dawned.

[oros-ash3s]

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

Day 5 || “Not Trusting Reality”

He hadn’t meant to step inside the bookshop.

Peter rarely allowed himself inside human establishments. He couldn’t stand to be around other people – couldn’t stand to hear the laughter and chatter of humans, couldn’t stand to feel them brush up against him, sweaty and disgusting, couldn’t stand the absolute mess that the crowds brought on, burying the earth in their garbage.

And the city was full of them: just a cesspool of filth, run-over by humans. It made Peter sick.

So he didn’t visit often.

It wasn’t really like he could, anyway. He was a deserter. He had no place there anymore, not after what had happened. He didn’t belong, and especially not to them.

He didn’t belong anywhere. He was untethered, hopping from place to place, glancing behind his shoulder for every town he found himself wandering through. He had no home. As time wore on, he began to wonder if he ever really had one to begin with.

He wasn’t alone though. No, never alone. The dead always made sure to visit.

Their whispers along his neck never left, not even when the months had faded from the slight chill of spring into the unrelenting ruthlessness of winter and back into the damp, sunny days of March. The faint echoes of the wind, mirages flickering in the dark, flashes out of the corner of his eye. They were always there.

They had consumed him, taking over his thoughts, his mind, his body, until there was nothing left. Until he had nothing left.

Functioning was barely possible now. The whispering, their taunting, had overcome him. The man that stood now was not the good-natured, charming second-in-command of God’s Army. He was no longer the shining victorious soldier, triumphant. He was unrecognizable, his once confident and self-assured aura crumbling into nothing, reducing him into a shuddering, trembling mess.

The bloodlust was all he had left. The numbing bloodlust, never leaving his thoughts, always burning, a dull flame, in his chest. That, and the exhaustion.

God, the exhaustion.

He was so tired. Tired of the endless missions, tired of fighting for a cause that would never win, not in the end. Tired of the grief and the war and the all-consuming hate. The hate that never stopped, that never allowed him to rest. The hate that had driven his whole life up until now.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t gone for revenge like he usually would’ve, or why he hadn’t bothered to join the resistance, hadn’t bothered to rebel as the only home he had known for nearly twenty years crumbled to ashes.

He had been worn down by it all. The fighting, the bloodshed, the misery. It was too much to handle, too much to continue to live in.

He just wanted a fucking break.

That was why he ended up here, really. He usually wouldn’t have, he shouldn’t have, he vowed himself to not get up in any human matters – he wouldn’t make that mistake twice. But as his twentieth month on his own drug on, the nights so impossibly cold he had been sure that he wouldn’t still be around by morning, he had needed some sort of breather. A reprieve from the ever constant struggle that came from being on the run, pulled from place to place with no sense of direction, forever disoriented.

The city was on the smaller side, not like the ones where the streets were flooded with those foul animals, not a second of peace for the broken man’s roaring mind, silence not a concept to the hundreds of bustling citizens.

No, this place, it was on the nicer side. Barely anyone littering the sidewalks, only a slight rumble from the few cars that were braving their way through the ice and cold. Most of the shops lining the street were already closing down, lights flickering off as the night pitched the sky into a deep midnight blue.

Peter couldn’t remember how he got here. That seemed to be happening more often, too. Blanks in his memory, his mind slowly cracking away from him, too tired to continue.

Peter was shaking as he stumbled through the snow. His hands were frozen over, every inch of exposed skin burnt by the whipping wind coming in from all directions. His fingers had begun to turn blue. If he kept up at this rate, he’d be dead by the time morning came.

And it was with that thought that he found himself staggering inside the bookshop.

The place was small, hidden in the bend of the road. Most people would walk by it. The sign on the door was nothing fancy, the display on the window not too eye-catching or flashy. But it was nice. Homey.

As he stepped inside, a sudden warmth washed over him, soothing his many aches – and it wasn’t just because of the many heaters positioned inside the shop. The entire place, it was just so… calming. Winding bookshelves making their way through the room, filled to the brim with books of all sizes, the colours all washing over Peter, a welcome change from the barren wasteland of white he’d been accustomed to outside. The lights were dim, casting a faint yellow glow over everything, and there were several potted planters in the front, giving the shop a bit more life.

It felt like home.

The most shocking thing inside the shop, however, was not the wide variety of books and soft view that was easy on his tired eyes. The most shocking thing inside the shop was not an object or material good, not at all. No, it was a man, and a rather surprised man at that.

Peter stopped dead in his tracks.

He was slouched over in a chair, desk set up right near the front, the perfect spot to greet any new customers or shivering stragglers coming in from the blizzard outside. There was an orderly pile of books set out in front of him, a few miscellaneous items placed beside the cash register on the corner of the desk. He had a paperback in his hands, though his attention wasn’t on it. He seemed to be just as surprised as Peter, gaze locked onto the man stopped before him, green and hazel eyes meeting brown.

Peter could have sworn he was staring into the face of his dead best friend. For a split-second, his eyes convinced him he was. The man in front of him was not that much different, an illusion of the man he had known. Although his face was longer, his nose hooked, hair lighter in colour and wavy.

He didn’t have half the thought to even notice how the man’s face was marred, burn scars stretching across the left side of his face, his hands black as ebony and clawed. He didn’t think about the shadows that clung to his figure, cracks forming along the scarred pale akin. He couldn’t think about any of it, not when he was staring at the boy that he had heard so much about, had seen the photograph of in nearly every room inside that damned apartment.

Peter’s vision blurred with tears.

It was… it was….

“Alastair?” Peter’s breath caught in his throat, words choked out with an unfamiliar sort of hesitance, his voice hoarse from going so long without use. The two men were in a standstill, gawking wide-eyed at each other, frozen in time itself.

“Are you… real?”

masterlist || next

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Credits go to @ohagiwrites as she helped come up with this storyline and Peter Rangi and Alastair belong to her ੈ✩‧₊˚

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

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

✩ Send me an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist ✩

[minyard-05]

Febuwhump Day 9

Prompt: Major Character Death

Except they're one game– one damn game– into the season, and it's already a shitshow. Nobody expected the Foxes to win their first match of the year, and they'd certainly delivered on that front. Then, they'd spent six hours on the road to Raleigh at fuck-you-o'clock in the morning, just to watch some Arizona rookie run his mouth on live television and succeed beautifully in pissing off a twenty-year-old with a bad tattoo, who both Kevin and Andrew seemed to consider an actual, genuine threat.

So here they are, spending the night at Eden's, like usual. And Aaron's a little fucking tired.

taglist: @bsideheart @you-know-i-get-itt @millportisntreal @absolutely-existing @sunriseabram @tessasilverswan @andrewsleftarmband / @phosphorescentdreaming @givemethedamnflowers @pink-hydrangea

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: Day twenty-two

“You weren’t meant to be there” - @febuwhump prompts

TW: winged Whumpee, explosion, explosion after effects, coughing, choking on smoke, failed escape, exhausted Whumpees, multiple Whumpees, multiple whumpers, intimate Whumper, non consensual touching, non consensual touching of wings,

Almost done!!! A week left! I am determined to finish all the prompts before the end of Feb, fingers crossed!

*~*~*~*~*

Superhero flew from the explosion carrying a semi-conscious Hero in their arms. Another wave pulsed from the explosion and sent them surging forwards. Superhero hissed as their felt their wings singe and smoulder, throwing them off balance. Shit… they weren’t going to make it. A third pulse and Superhero cried out, aiming for one of the nearby rooftops. They crashed more than descended, falling like a comet from the sky.

Their grip on Hero loosened as they rolled away, coughing out the smoke and soot from their lungs. Superhero pushed themselves up to their hands and knees when they finally stopped, groaning at the pain in their wings. They burned, and Superhero curled them around them to inspect the damage for themselves. It seemed only the outer primaries had any damage. It was fine, they could shed them they would be fine.

Their gaze flicked to Hero across the way who was coughing the smoke from their lungs, gasping on air.

“Hero…” Superhero mumbled, trying to push themselves up to a standing. They faltered when they stood, as if someone had kicked the back of their knee but they stayed up. When they put their bad leg down again they hissed, pain splintering up their calf from their ankle. Shit… they must have twisted it on the way down.

Another round of coughs attacked their lungs as they slowly limped closer to Hero. Hero was trying to roll over but their body seized in pain at the slightest movement and they fell onto their back again.

“Hero,” Superhero said again, louder this time. “Hero can you hear me?”

Hero groaned in reply. Okay, that was enough to push Superhero on.

A portal opened up behind Hero and Superhero paled, eyes going wide. “Hero!”

Villain stepped out of the portal, eyes bored as they saw Superhero across the roof, limping towards them. Villain walked towards Hero.

“Don’t touch them!” Superhero spat, desperation gripping their heart with fear. They can’t have gone through all this to have Hero taken from them.

Supervillain stepped out next. Superhero froze where they stood, swallowing hard.

“Superhero…” Supervillain said, their voice carrying over the sirens and flames that still emanated from the blast site. “Look at yourself sweetheart, you’re a mess. Make this easy on yourself.”

“You’re not taking Hero,” Superhero said.

Supervillain glanced back at Villain with a sigh. Then nodded. Villain crouched and grabbed Hero with one arm under their neck and the other under their knees and hoisted them up. Hero groaned but didn’t protest further.

“Don’t take too long, Supervillain, we’re still on a time crunch,” Villain chided before stepping back through the portal with Hero in their hands.

Superhero lurched forward, batting their wings and cried out as pain ricocheted through their body. They cursed as they tried to catch their breath and right themselves, to stop the world from spinning and get their vision back.

“Oh darling,” said Supervillain softly. They were standing before Superhero now, a hand going to Superhero’s chin, pinching it between their thumb and index finger, forcing Superhero to look at them. Superhero poured all their hatred into their glare. “You did your best, but you disrupted my plans.”

Superhero grabbed Supervillain’s wrist and pried their hand off them. “What?”

“It was going to be an easy, casualty free kidnapping of Hero. You weren’t meant to know. You weren’t even meant to be there, but when you showed up to be a hero… well, we had to go with plan B.”

“A bomb?! How is that—” Superhero cut themselves off when Supervillain ran their fingers through Superhero’s wings sending an involuntary shiver down their spine.

“Your poor pretty wings,” said Supervillain softly. The worst part was that it sounded so genuine his sadness. “This could have all been avoided if you just stayed where you were meant to, Superhero.”

Superhero gasped and jerked forward as Superhero plucked one of their primary feathers. They bunched a hand in Supervillain’s shirt, and shoved them back. Superhero saw their feather, one of the singed ones that had burnt slightly at the top. An uneven charred line black with soot was about an inch or two from the top.

Supervillain twirled the feather between their fingers and sighed. “Will you stay put or do I have to put you down?” They asked, eyes cutting into Superhero with a deadly promise.

Superhero didn’t answer, they just lunged. They didn’t very far. Supervillain brought their knee up to meet Superhero’s chest and Superhero seized up, curling around the knee in their chest as Supervillain ran their fingers through Superhero’s hair and yanked them up. They drove Superhero down again onto Supervillain’s knee, not letting them have a moment between them before finally slamming Superhero’s chin down on their knee.

Superhero crumbled to the ground, wheezing and gasping for air.

“You can never just take the easy way, can you?” Supervillain tsked. All Superhero could do was watch as Supervillain walked towards the portal where Villain had taken Hero and rasp out a soft: “no.”

“It was a valiant effort,” said Supervillain, looking at Superhero over their shoulder. “But this is bigger than us, old friend. You’ll thank me one day.”

The portal closed when Supervillain stepped through. Darkness swirled Superhero’s vision and they passed out on the roof.

[fanfictasia]

Febuwhump Day 20

“I did good, right?”

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Everything Will Turn Out Just Fine

“Hey, kid. You said you had something unusual today?”

“Oh. Mr. Stark.” Peter scrambles to his feet. He actually doesn’t look so good, either, and unspoken alarm instantly flickers up in Tony’s chest. “I – uh – I found this gang, and I got up most of them, and the police got the rest, but it turned into a bit of a shootout, and –”

“Were you hurt?” Tony asks, alarmed.

“No, no, no, it wasn’t me! It was one of the people who was being arrested. I mean, he was a criminal anyway, but I think he died, and…”

Ah. Typical Peter. Beating himself up over something he had no choice in, trying to give the world more good than it’s worth. Because things like this happen all the time. Tony has seen it before, too. He’s grown numb to killing, but Peter’s a kid, and that’s a weight of being an Avengers. ‘Cuz sometimes death is gonna happen.

The kid’s not ready for that.

“But I did good, right?” Peter asks anxiously.

“Yeah. Yeah, you did,” Tony promises, “It’s not your fault some people are just total jerks.” He understands now, how Steve could’ve been willing to walk out just for Wanda, because when he looks at Peter he feels that, too, that desperate overwhelming need to protect, a sort of pride that he doesn’t think anything could ever diminish.

But as for that, it does very little to help him see that there is a world past what Peter can control.

“It’s just, if I hadn’t gotten involved, that guy would still be alive, and he had a family.”

Tony gets that.

Peter does, too.

Both of them lost their parents.

So, yeah, being responsible for doing the same to anyone else isn’t something Tony likes. They all do what they have to, y’know? But that doesn’t mean he likes it. And if Peter brought it up to him, it’s because he’s far more bothered than he’s letting on.

“Hey, that’s not on you. He chose to be a criminal; he knew the risks.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, “But I just – sometimes wonder what if… I mean, the Vulture got into this cuz he was dragged into some sort of money crisis from the attack on New York, and I just wonder how many other people are still hurting form that, y-know?”

The Battle of New York. Tony exhales exhaustedly. Not like he’s hiding the world’s greatest Supervillain in his house. Nope. Definitely not.

Peter pokes his shoulder, and Tony actually jumps. Oops. “Whoa, sorry! Just you’re unusually quiet is something wrong, Mr. Stark?”

“Tony,” he requests – he’s known Peter long enough to count him as family. He doesn’t want formalities between them.

“Tony,” Peter repeats. “Sorry if this is a bad time, I –”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s perfect,” Tony vows. He actually wanted to get out for a while. But what would Peter think if he knew what was happening? Because Tony knows very well that he ought to be arrested, too. He should’ve turned Loki in. But he’s Thor’s brother, and Bruce’s friend, and Tony won’t do that to them.

And what about everyone else? They deserve justice, too. Some people are still struggling, six years later, in the aftermath of what Loki did. It’s crazy how bad he wants to tell Peter about this. Best if the kid doesn’t know.

Yeah, a voice in his mind snarks, don’t tell him. Have him wake up one day hearing you’re in collaboration with a global criminal and he’s lost and left alone again.

[thatsmygirl6612]

FEBUWHUMP DAY TWO: HOLDING BACK TEARS

CONTENT WARNING: ALCOHOL USE

“I’ve n ‘dea for a game.” The new leader of the Purple Dragons slurred. He took a gulp from the bottle in his hand, wiping his mouth sloppily on his sleeve.

Leonardo sat up straight, reaching for weapons that weren’t there.

“‘M bored ‘a you lot sittin’ on your asses doin’ a whole load’a nothin’.” He grumbled. “An’ I want payback, too. You’re borin’ in tha’ cage.” He repeated.

A low, but quiet growl rumbled in Leonardo’s chest. His left eye twitched.

The Purple Dragon took another swig from the bottle. Upon realising it was empty, he threw the bottle across the room. It hit one of the men watching in anticipation. 

“Ge’ me another one. Now!” He roared.

The loud sound woke the younger turtle from his uneasy slumber.

“Leo, what’s going on?” Michelangelo whispered, instantly alert.

“I don’t know,” Leonardo answered tersely. He curled his hands into fists, dropping into a protective stance.

Michelangelo didn’t argue, mirroring his older brother. 

“Grab me on’a them.” The man ordered, opening his new bottle. “I don’ care which one.” He paused for a second, a sadistic grin stretching across his face. “Actually, grab the blue one. I’ve got plans for the orange one.”

Two tall and blocky men that were indiscernible lumbered over. Leonardo pushed his brother behind him.

“Leo,” Michelangelo protested, but Leonardo motioned for him to be quiet.

One of the goons produced a small key from his pocket, and slid it into the lock, twisting it open. 

The two brothers tensed, like a spring being held down.

As soon as the door was open, just an inch, Leonardo flung it the rest of the way open, knocking one of the men down. He bent to sweep the other off his feet, but somehow, unexplainably, he managed to catch the turtle’s leg and lift him into the air. With his other arm, he slammed the door shut and turned the key.

“Got one, boss,” He grunted. Leonardo tried to kick him in the face, but he simply held that leg as well.

“Mm.” The ‘Boss’ set down his bottle. “So, who wants to give this one a lesson?” 

There was a loud roar of approval from the watching crowd.

“You.” The Boss gestured vaguely to his right. “You can start.”

Twenty or so Dragons rushed forwards, waving their arms around in the air. Several of them held baseball bats or bottles of beer with varying amounts of liquid in them. One of them even brandished a desk lamp. 

“Leo!” Michelangelo cried, shaking the bars.

The wave of dragons piled on top of his oldest brother, yelling loudly. There was no system as to who had a turn, instead, they shoved each other aside, occasionally hitting each other, causing several small fights to break out. 

The crowd cheered at Leonardo’s beating.

They were��cheering.

Michelangelo backpedalled, his shell bumping against the bars behind him. His eyes pricked with tears, and a choked sob escaped his throat.

“Stop!” The Boss commanded. The large mob in the middle of the room slowly parted, leaving Leonardo exposed to the teary gaze of his youngest brother.

Michelangelo’s eyes widened.

Leonardo was in a terrible state. He was covered in bruises, and hadn’t, as Michelangelo would have, retreated inside his shell, because Leonardo would never do that.

Sometimes, Michelangelo wished he would. If he had escaped into the safety of his shell, he would’ve escaped at least two broken bones, from what Michelango could see, and probably a nasty concussion, too. 

The youngest turtle brother’s tears flowed down his face.

“I wouldn’t do tha’ if I were you,” The Boss chuckled. “Tha’s wha’ the game is.”

Michelangelo narrowed his eyes at him.

“Every time you cry,” He waved in his general direction, “We add another ten minutes to the clock.”

To what clock? Michelangelo thought. 

“You son of a bitch.” He said, with an iciness very unlike him.

“You jus’ cried, so, ten minutes it is.” The Boss shrugged. “You lot’s turn now.” He pointed to the other side of the room. Reluctantly, the Dragons in the centre of the room trudged back to their seats. The next group surged forwards, eager to get their hands on Leonardo. 

Michelangelo couldn’t see Leonardo’s face, but if he had, he would’ve seen his eyes open, pain glazed as they were.

He would’ve seen the way his brother flipped off the gang leader, eyes fixated his face.

He would’ve seen the way he mouthed ‘You will regret this’ at him.

But Leonardo’s back was turned to Michelangelo.

He didn’t see anything.

But as the mob covered his view, he made a pledge to himself and his brother, willing for him to somehow telepathically hear.

I won’t cry. When Donnie and Raph come to save us, I won’t cry.

If it allows you to survive,

I won’t cry.

I won’t. Cry.

And he was going to keep that oath. Even as tears built up behind his eyelids, he bit his lip, and willed his tears to dry up.

Because the three of them without their fourth was something he wouldn’t allow.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Febuwhump - Day 1

Pairing: Dean x reader

Prompt: Helpless

Warnings: language, kidnapped

________

You were a damn good hunter. An amazing hunter. The number of times you’d been in bad situations was countless. But it was so rare to be…helpless. It made your skin crawl, sent shivers down your spine. 

There was something about being trapped with no hope for escape on your own that made you want to scream.

Demons didn’t scare you but twenty of them? Twenty high-ranking demons where no less than five had their black eyes on you at any given time? 

You had no choice but to sit on the hard cold concrete and pray Dean could come up with some way to save you. 

“Your little boyfriend wants to talk to you,” said the head demon, strolling in the room with an annoyingly stupid smirk. You narrowed your eyes, catching the phone when he tossed it over.

“Dean?” you asked, a breath being let out on the other end.

“Are you okay? Where are you?” he asked, the demon slowly stalking over and staring down at you.

“I’m fine. I-I don’t know where,” you said, the demon crouching down now, much too close for your liking.

“Can you get out?” he asked quietly.

“No.” 

“Shit,” he mumbled, noise in the background. “He wants us to do something for him. He says he’ll give you back if we do but you know he’s probably lying. There’s no chance of you making a break for it?”

“There’s too many,” you said, looking at your lap so you wouldn’t have to face the demon. “What do you-”

“It doesn’t matter. Just do what they say unless you think you can make it out but not unless you’re sure. Y/N…the things he said they’d do…hell wasn’t even that bad.”

“Find me then,” you said, jerking back when the demon stole the phone away. He grinned, holding it up to his ear.

“I take it we have a deal?” he asked. “Perfect. You know what I want. Contact me when you have it.”

You glared as he stood up, cocking his head at you.

“He sounds pissed but at least he’s not a complete idiot. Now be good and stay put. We wouldn’t want to find out what happens when you piss me off.”

With that he left, leaving you stuck in a room with twenty demons, every single one of them poised to rip you apart if you so much as moved wrong.

“Please hurry, Dean.”

_______

[myarmsaretoolong]

february recs

happy spring! ive both read quite a lot and not much at all this month so here's what ive got for you. feel free to add recs of your own as well!!

After the house of horrors by evelynIttor

Febuwhump 2025 prompt day 20 "I did good right?" Andy thought Owen would be done with him as soon as they left the house of horrors. He didn't expect Owen to make sure he was seen to.

a really sweet owen & andy fic, highly reccommend!

The Space Between Seconds by erosophic

Jack Harkness makes it twenty-four hours before he breaks, seeking out the Doctor to beg for something he never thought he’d ask for—a moment, a chance for Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato to see something beyond Torchwood before their inevitable deaths. The Doctor, after some hesitation, agrees to the trade, offering Jack five days with a changed Owen and Tosh in exchange for letting them go.

tosh and owen go on adventures with the doctor, whats not to like!? featuring great writing to boot

Another Like Me by UniverseOnHerShoulders

Clara Oswald had never had much interest in Torchwood. They were too loud, too brash, too heavily armed, too rogue. Only then she finds herself passing an idle day in their Archive, reading about Owen Harper - a man who is, like her, both alive and dead. Finding her curiosity piqued, she makes a trip to Cardiff, but she can't escape the inevitable.

beatiful prose, opened my eyes to the potential of clara and owen in the same room as each other

Like Flesh Meets Soulless Steel by HoloMew151

- @brittasfan

The Nethersphere was a device designed to hold the dead until such time as they can be downloaded into an army of desecrated Cybermen husks, at least if one had died before 2014. Ianto Jones, Owen Harper and Toshiko Sato, former members of Torchwood 3, were dead by 2014.

twists and turns galore, kept me on my toes the whole way through

Febuwhump 2025 by Jackdaw816

- @shejustcalledmeafish

In which I whump John 28 times (again) because I love him <3

*the* place to go for john whump

A Parallel Christmas Invasion by By_Gray

- @by-gray

“Don’t wanna hear? Door’s that way.” Jack indicates. “Surprised the Doctor hasn’t shown you the door,” Mickey grumbles. Jack’s heart halts in his chest. Mickey must have x-ray vision. He observes it. “What?” But Jack can’t say it. Nothing is revealed until Mickey deduces it for himself. “Oh my God. He’s shown you the door.” An AU where instead of flying away from Satellite 5 straight away, Jack and The Doctor have a toxic talk on the Tardis. The Doctor makes it clear to Jack right there and then that he's possibly immortal and that he isn't welcome. If only Jack's love wasn't secret.

technically not torchwood, but it is jack and its so worth reccing! exactly as it says on the tin and such a great read

(january recs)

[stardustandash]

Ooooh for the Febuwhump prompts, "used as practice" for Cal? (I don't think I even fully know what that means, but I am excited to see what you come up for it!)

I had several ideas for this one and once I got going I just couldn't stop! Excellent suggestion, thank you!!

Fighting Alone

Febuwhump Day 12 - Used as practice

Fandom: JFO Words: 2323

From up on high in his observation tower Sorc Tormo grinned wickedly down at Cal in the arena. He didn’t have to picture the expression as the man had a fifty-foot holo of himself projected overhead. Cal reached for the Force to try and get a read on him, but was once again met with emptiness. The binders on his wrists were more than just a tool to keep his hands pinned. Whatever they were made with, it cut off his connection to the Force. Trapped in Sorc Tormo's arena once again, Cal must survive his fights until the rest of the Mantis Crew can come and rescue him.

Ao3 Link

The binders were too tight around his wrists. There were other things Cal needed to worry about, like whether or not BD-1 had made it back to the Mantis before the bounty hunter found him and if Cere, Greez and Merrin had made it off the planet okay. And if they were looking for him. That last part was probably important but all Cal could think about was how his fingers were getting colder with the lack of circulation. He also knew asking for the binders to be loosened would only get him laughter and insults. Nobody on this station cared about his comfort. In fact, all of them were there for the entertainment the exact opposite of his comfort would bring.

From up on high in his observation tower Sorc Tormo grinned wickedly down at Cal in the arena. He didn’t have to picture the expression as the man had a fifty-foot holo of himself projected overhead. Cal reached for the Force to try and get a read on him, but was once again met with emptiness. The binders on his wrists were more than just a tool to keep his hands pinned. Whatever they were made with, it cut off his connection to the Force. After finally regaining his connection to the Force to have it severed like this felt awful. Everything felt off balance.

“Well well well. Look who’s decided to grace us once again with his presence! The littlest Jedi, back again,” said Sorc. His voice echoed around the arena with the help of several loudspeakers.

There was no audience in the stands today, though something told Cal there were cameras around recording whatever Sorc Tormo had cooked up. He glanced around, trying to find some kind of weak point or escape route. Nothing stood out to him. He shifted his weight, trying to look bored and nonchalant while taking the pressure off his ankle. The bounty hunter that brought him in had used a rather nasty snare that left it bruised and the joint strained.

“After your last performance in the arena it became clear to me that the Haxion Brood has some work to do if we want to play with the Jedi. And I don’t mean you, little Jedi, I mean the real deal. The Generals of the Republic now in hiding. So what better way to train up than with you?”

Cal frowned. He did not like where this was going, especially with the kriffing binders on his wrists. He resisted the urge to tug his wrists apart. He’d already tried that with little results other than some fresh bruises. Instead he readied himself as much as possible for whatever was about to come. The arena was open, with slick walls that stretched up nearly twenty feet. Unless Cal spontaneously developed the ability to fly, he wasn’t getting out that way. He’d been lifted up from his cell through a hatch in the arena floor and could guess that anyone else would enter the same way. Less chance of him being able to break out through a gate. There were no pillars to hide behind nor anything that could be used as a weapon.

Still, Cal could work with those odds. Maybe. At least he could hold out until the Mantis made another dramatic entrance and he could once again make a daring escape. Maybe this time he or Greez could manage to take out Sorc Tormo in the process.

“Alright, enough dancing around, let’s see how our Jedi fares against our first round of bounty hunters desperate for some practise,” said Sorc Tormo, getting louder with excitement.

A buzzer rang shrilly as the floor shuddered then out of two different hatches four bounty hunters armed and armoured to the teeth rose up. Cal had barely a moment to brace before blasters were trained on him and firing. At least he could still run, even if his ankle hurt. He ducked and ran to the right, ignoring the sounds of blaster bolts slamming into the wall and floor just behind him. Those weren’t stun bolts. If he stopped, he was dead.

With no plan or means to defend himself, Cal did the first thing that came to mind. He ran in circles around the bounty hunters, trying to outpace their blasters while getting close. When he was within ten feet he made his move, launching into one elbow first and taking him to the ground. There was a quick flurry of movement as they tried to stand back up but Cal had spent most of his life learning to be quick and part of it learning to fight dirty. He jammed his knee up towards the crux of the bounty hunter’s legs and tore the blaster out of his hands as the hunter curled up with a groan of pain. He brought the butt of the blaster down on the bounty hunter’s helmet hard enough to crack it before spinning to shoot his partner.

Two down, two to go.

Cal had to duck as the other bounty hunters didn’t seem to care if they hit their allies and fired blindly. He rolled away, coming out of the roll on his feet in a sprint. He hoped the Force would grant him luck as he charged the other two intending to employ the same strategy.

It almost worked. Just as he was closing in he felt the sting of blaster fire graze his thigh. He stumbled, his weak ankle rolling at the awkward movement, and he crashed into the first bounty hunter with less force than he intended. The two of them rolled across the ground anyway, though this time the bounty hunter landed on top. He pinned Cal’s hand with the blaster beneath one knee as he took aim between Cal’s eyes. But Cal had looked down the barrel of a blaster before and this was hardly terrifying compared to staring down the clones under his command. He growled and twisted, unseating the bounty hunter from above him and freeing his hand enough to fire into the man’s side. It worked. The bounty hunter slumped and slid away. Instead of detangling himself from the man’s legs Cal simply shot the other bounty hunter before he could fire at Cal.

For a moment the arena was quiet. Cal pushed the dead man aside and scrambled to his feet and gulped down large lungfuls of air. He hated this part. Seeing the people he’s killed and knowing he did it. And with a blaster. At least he knew which end to hold and to squeeze the trigger. He had no aim, and he knew in a show of skill he would be the loser.

Before Cal can completely catch his breath there’s a round of tinny applause through the speakers.

“Well done, Little Jedi. But That was just your warm up round. I think these next ones might prove a little more difficult. And hey, just for you, I’ll give you your precious toy back,” Sorc Tormo goaded over the loudspeakers.

Cal wished he could fly up to the observation tower and toss Sorc Tormo off it. Why he had it out for Cal was a mystery. Anyone else who got their ass, arena, and bounty hunters handed to them so solidly the first time around would probably have backed off, but not this guy.

A small hatch in the floor opened halfway across the arena and Cal’s lightsaber appeared through it. Seeing it was a comfort, even if not being able to feel it was disquieting. At the same time another group of Haxion Brood bounty hunters appeared through another hatch. Cal barely spared them a glance as he ran for his ‘saber. His fingers closed around the metal hilt and even though he couldn’t hear the kyber singing inside, the shape of it in his hand was enough to bring at least a little peace to his mind. He couldn’t get both hands around it properly with the binders in place, but he had his lightsaber and when he ignited the blade it felt like a chance at victory.

Unfortunately for him, he was still at a disadvantage and the bounty hunters included two droids this time. He hated fighting those kriffing droids. But they weren’t going to hold back so neither would he.

Cal focused first on the two humanoid hunters. One had a flamethrower, the other a blaster rifle. Both annoying, but he’d dealt with ones like them before. He rushed in, lightsaber ignited and ready to strike. It was awkward using one handed techniques without being able to balance with the other hand, but it was better than nothing. He slid under the bolts from the rifle and sliced its barrel in half before pivoting to cut down the man behind it. His ankle protested loudly through the turn and he stumbled through the swing, but it connected with enough force to do the job. The one with the flamethrower barely had time to get their weapon readied before Cal was on them. A quick jab through the chest and they weren’t going to get up again.

One of the droids faced him with its blaster at the ready. Cal shifted his grip on his lightsaber and readied himself to dodge and strike when he heard a loud, metallic thunk from behind him. The other droid. He forgot about the other droid. Cal only made it halfway through turning and raising his lightsaber in defense when a metal arm came down on him. It caught him in the shoulder and the weight of it made his bad ankle burn and buckle and sent him sprawling to the ground.

Cal could hear the other one’s blaster firing up and knew he had to move. He groaned and rolled, but not fast enough. A spray of blaster fire peppered the ground where he’d just been, but he wasn’t far enough to escape entirely. Another blaster bolt found its mark through the meat of his bicep. Thankfully not on the side that was holding the lightsaber but enough to make him grunt with pain and know that his time was almost up. He had to dispatch them quickly or he’d be done for. Granted if Sorc Tormo had another round lined up for him he’d be dead anyway.

Again, he hoped that Cere and the others would find him soon.

He brought up his lightsaber in an arc to slice through the closer droid’s heavy arm. The hole in his bicep screamed with the movement but he had to ignore it if he wanted to get out of this. The droid sparked and hissed, and Cal took the opportunity to drive it through where he was pretty sure its central processors were. It gave a pitiful whine before its joints groaned and buckled with the loss of power. One more left.

The droid fired at him again. The blasterfire landed around Cal though luckily none managed to hit him this time. Cal was slow to dodge. His ankle and leg burned with the effort of keeping him upright, let alone moving. He couldn’t close the gap between himself and the droid before another round of blaster fire was directed at him. Moving on instinct he spun his saber in a circle in front of him, movement slow with the wound in his arm, and managed to deflect the shots. The ground around him smoked with fresh scorch marks and Cal bit his lip. He needed the cuffs off. He needed the Force to help.

The second droid was a bit more crafty. It jumped out of the way of Cal’s first strike. It landed with a ground-shaking slam that almost knocked Cal off balance. He had to take a few steps to regain his footing and in that time the droid had cocked back its arm and begun a swing aimed at Cal’s head. He ducked just in time. It was close enough Cal could feel his hair move with the wind. As he dropped he twisted his lightsaber backwards in his hands, jabbing behind and slamming it into the droid’s side. It missed the processors, but he heard the thing’s leg joints hiss and wheeze against ruined mechanics.

This was his chance. Cal darted further behind the droid and brought his lightsaber up across its back with a vicious diagonal strike. It shuddered and tried to turn even as its body failed it, slowly collapsing onto the arena floor with a metallic thud.

For a moment Cal could take in nothing but the sound of his own ragged breathing. Then slowly the adrenaline faded and pain crept its way in. His arm burned, it and the graze in his thigh pulsed with every heartbeat. His ankle shook with the effort of keeping him upright and Cal knew if he tried to take another step he’d fall. And he wasn’t sure if he would be able to get back up.

“Well look at that! Little Jedi survived round two. But uh oh! Looks like he took some damage. Can’t have our bounty hunters training against wounded prey. Someone knock him out and fix him up for me,” said Sorc Tormo over the loudspeakers, his projected image full of delight.

Cal glared up at it, which was as much as he could do as a soft click and hiss echoed around the arena. White fog slowly spread its way towards him from vents in the walls. There was nothing Cal could do as it reached him but try and hold his breath as long as possible. It didn’t help. Eventrually he had to breathe in the bitter-scented gas. Almost immediately he felt lightheaded and made himself sit before he could fall without being able to catch himself. He hoped Cere and the others would be there soon. He didn’t know if he could last like this.

[macknus]

FEBUWHUMP 2025

Master-post:

17/28 prompts completed XD

Prompt One: Vocal cords

Prompt One Tropes: Hero team dynamics, Whumpee/youngest, non-con body modification, male whumper, nb Whumpee

Prompt Two: Holding back tears

Prompt Two tropes: Female whumpee(s), war whump, intimate male whumper, threats to loved one

Prompt Three: Pinned Down

Prompt Three Tropes: winged whumpee, failed escape, male whumpee, male whumper, intimate whumper, noncon touching of wings

Prompt Four: Hivemind

Prompt Four Tropes: hero whumpee, Supervillain Whumper, betrayal, emotional whump, hero captured, bad day at the office

Prompt Five: Not Trusting Reality

Prompt Five Tropes:

Prompt Six: Forced to Stay Awake

Prompt Six Tropes: superhero whumper, Villain whumpee, male whumper/whumpee, sleep deprivation(obviously)

Prompt Seven: Pick Who dies

Prompt Seven Tropes: masquerade, heroes and villains, male whumper, female whumpee, multiple whumpees, supervillain whumper

Prompt Eight: Bleeding Out

Prompt Eight Tropes: hero x villain, angst, emotional whump, war, demons, villains and heroes working together to face world ending threat, monsters, magic, fun times

Prompt Nine: Necromancy

Prompt Eleven: Demonic Possession

Prompt Twelve: Used as Practice

Prompt Thirteen: “I don’t trust anyone else”

Prompt thirteen tropes: Future Self sacrifice my beloved

Prompt Fourteen: Becoming the Monster

Prompt Seventeen: Power instability

Prompt Eighteen: Living Weapon

Prompt Nineteen: Death wish

Prompt Twenty: “I did good, right?”

[ninjadeathblade]

Febuwhump Day Twenty Eight: (Alt. Prompt) Last man standing

Warnings: Being sick, combat training

Word count: 602

Author's notes: The one and only thing I have written for The Bad Batch this month, happy Season Three Episode Four.

Crosshair ducked down behind the ledge of the tower, barely avoiding the bolts of fire that went past not a second later.

“Tech? Hunter? Wrecker?” He hissed into his comm. “I could use a distraction right now.”

Silence echoed back over the feed and he risked a quick peek down onto the field to spot where Wrecker had been swarmed by droids and his other two brothers seemed to have been tagged.

Right, stupid training regulations.

If you were tagged you were effectively dead and couldn't respond to comms.

And Wrecker was clearly too busy to reply.

“Useless di’kuts,” Crosshair sighed, quickly dodging a few more bolts.

The young clone swung his training rifle up with him, quickly sniping the droids that had been firing at him.

An overdramatic shout rang through the room and Crosshair rolled his eyes as Wrecker lay down on the floor.

That left him.

Last man standing.

He quickly sniped a few of the droids that were more sluggish about moving away from Wrecker before cursing as a bolt of training fire zipped past his helmet.

Crosshair wasted no time with picking off the last few before scaling back down the tower as the buzzer that signified the end of training sounded.

Wrecker clapped a hand onto his shoulder, jostling his skinnier brother. “Awright Cross! Nice job!”

The sniper kept his expression blank as he tugged his training helmet off, Maker forbid his brothers’ tease him. “I would have appreciated it more if you didn't go down so easily.”

“In my defence, ”Tech stated, a throaty sniff punctuating his words. “I am not functioning at usual standards due to the strain of the influenza virus I have picked up after you decided to drag us into a fight with a group of regs that had just returned from another planet.”

Crosshair shook his head before fixing Hunter with his piercing gaze. “And your excuse?”

Hunter shifted, averting his gaze. “Tech’s sniffing and coughing kept distracting me.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Crosshair dragged the word out, trying to highlight his disbelief - at Hunter's obvious lie - and annoyance to his brothers.

“Tech, I'm going to harass a medical droid to get you something to take. Hunter, you are clearly having migraine symptoms so I'm also gonna grab your painkillers, di’kut’ika. Wrecker, get Hunter to his bunk and then try to be quiet, however hard for you that may be.”

Wrecker mock-saluted before flinging their brother over his shoulder, Hunter's screeches of protest making Crosshair snicker.

After those two were gone he turned to Tech. “You look like you need to puke.”

Tech's nose scrunched. “I will inform you that I do not need to regurgitate our first meal, I am perfectly fine.”

Crosshair looped an arm around his brother's shoulders, guiding him towards the exit their other batchmates had taken. “Y'know, you really don't have to phrase it that way. Also, you definitely do, I've never seen you this pale aside from that one time when I mixed some of your rations into your drink.”

Tech gasped, turning to him with knitted eyebrows. “I was certain it was you! Why you-”

Crosshair quickly stepped back as Tech doubled over, proving Crosshair correct.

The silver-haired clone gently rubbed his brother's back, trying to give off an air of indifference.

When Tech straightened back up he adjusted his goggles with one hand, using the other to wipe the edges of his mouth.

“Yeah, I'm definitely going to harass a med droid.”

“That would be appreciated Crosshair, thank you.”

“Sure, whatever, just go back to the barracks and try not to throw up again.”