#febuwhump day twenty

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: Day Twenty

Truth serum— @febuwhump prompts

Is it Whump? If you squint, your honour.

TW: needles, fear of needles, needle phobia, being injected against will, restraints, kidnapping, grogginess, fainting, consent issues,

*~*~*~*~*

Journalist didn’t wake to their alarm or their phone ringing, both of which were the only things to rouse them from sleep. They groaned as they woke which, to be fair, was a usual thing because it meant they had to get up and work or meet a deadline or something equally groan worthy.

What was not usual was waking up strapped to a metal table. That was a new one, even for journalist.

I bet i am restrained, they thought, then tugged their arms for good measure. Oh, yep. Definitely restrained.

Cliché.

Which meant—

“You’re awake,” said Villain, a smile in their voice. Journalist craned their neck awkwardly trying to see Villain but groaned with the effort and the weight of their head like it was filled with lead. “Oh, yeah, no. Don’t move.”

“Got it,” Journalist groaned as their brain rattled in their head, making the room spin. “Uh, why am I here?”

“We need to have a little chat.”

“We had a little chat like — two days ago,” said Journalist with a groan. “It was far more civil and less dizzying.”

Villain finally came within view of Journalist and they had three heads. That was very different than last time they saw Villain, but alas, who was Journalist to judge.

“It’s actually about something we talked about,” said the Villains. Then they smiled coyly. “And Darling, get your facts right, we spoke three days ago.”

“Fuck,” Journalist whined and pulled at their restraints that clicked taut. “My boss is gonna be pissed—“”

“It’s fine,” said Villains with a shrug, now there was only two of them, the third having left the conversation. “Just tell them you were kidnapped.”

“Oh no, I mean pissed with you,” said Journalist. “You can so goodbye to any more favourable articles.”

Villain snorted then disappeared from view again.

“They will!” Journalist told them earnestly. Villain then reappeared beside Journalist’s left arm. Only one of them now thankfully, and a giant fucking needle.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Journalist shrieked, kicking their feet against the table trying to get away from whatever the fuck Villain was about to do. The sound of the restraints clacking against the table didn’t do anything to ease their panic. “Wait! Wait! Wait! Villain please, I’m— oh god, I’m terrified of— I can’t—”

Villain’s eyebrows furrowed as Journalist descended into a panic attack. They quickly lowered the needle out of sight but Journalist’s eyes were already rolling to the back of their head and their body went limp.

Villain stared, stunned. Then brought the needle up again and while Journalist was passed out injected them with the contents, thumbing down the plunger. Villain set the needle down on a table faraway from Journalist and sighed.

They should have known Journalist had a phobia of needles. Idiot, but… it had to be done. Villain had to know once and for all.

They walked back over to Journalist and lightly tapped their cheeks to wake them. Journalist moaned in protest, but then blinked up with bleary eyes at Villain.

“Relax,” said Villain softly when Journalist’s eyes widened again. “It’s gone. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Shit, I’m sorry for fainting on you,” said Journalist with a breath, relaxing back against the table. Villain chuckled lightly at Journalist.

“You’re such a polite hostage,” said Villain and basked as a red blush climbed its way up Journalist’s neck and spread to their cheeks. “You’re blushing!”

“Shut up,” Journalist said with a huff, with no real malice behind the words. Villain hummed and stepped closer, brushing the stray hairs from Journalist’s forehead. They loved the way Journalist’s eyes shuttered at the movement. When Supervillain said the truth serum made people putty in your hands, Villain wasn’t expecting this.

Villain ran their hand lightly through Journalist’s hair as they began their gentle interrogation.

“Journalist?” Villain asked. Journalist hummed in response. Villain smiled. “I need to ask you a question, and I need you to be 100% honest with me.”

Journalist hummed again. “Okay Villain.”

Villain licked their lips, suddenly nervous. Here it was. This was it. Journalist was right here in front of them, injected with truth serum ready to spill their secrets and Villain was hesitating?!

“Are you…” Villain began then cleared their throat. “Are you Hero?”

Journalist smiled dreamily. “No.”

Villain paled. “No?”

“No,” Journalist said again. Villain’s hands froze in Journalist’s hair. Journalist let out a small keen in the back of their throat, whining at Villain’s pause. Villain resumed more out of shock than anything.

“You’re not Hero?” Villain asked again. They were almost certain…

“No, I’m Journalist.”

Villain blinked. Okay, they weren’t expecting this. Hero wasn’t Journalist? Then—

“But our conversation, you said your source was 100% about Hero?”

“Yes,” said Journalist with a smile. “It was.”

“Your most trusted source?”

“Yes.”

Villain frowned, something like jealousy settling in their throat. “Is Hero… your lover?”

Journalist giggled, actually giggled at Villain’s question. “No.”

“Then who is your most trusted source?” Villain demanded.

“Me,” said Journalist. “The best person to validate facts is yourself, Villain. So I had it on good authority that my information was correct.”

Villain frowned. “But how did you—”

“I’m the Hero/Villain liaison for the city news, Villain, I don’t just have late night rendezvous with you.”

Villain deflated. They really didn’t expect this conversation to go like this, but this— they thought, they were a fool. They should have never done this, curiosity killed—

“But you are my favourite.”

Villain’s heart leapt in their chest. “I am?” Villain asked, their voice coming out in a whisper.

“Yes,” said Journalist. “You’re always kind with me. Hero’s too serious and annoying.”

Villain snorted again. “They are. So… you’re really not Hero?”

Journalist giggled. “Villain, don’t be so cliché. I’m not Clark Kent.”

Villain smiled softly at Journalist. “Though, I don’t like the way you kidnapped me. My boss is gonna be so mad at you.”

“I know, Journalist.”

“And stabbing me with a needle? Not a great look for you, you can’t just do that without consent.”

Villain laughed. “I didn’t even need to give you truth serum did I? You say whatever is on your mind anyways.”

“No time to think up lies, Villain. I’m a busy person.”

“You are,” said Villain.

[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.

[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.

________

[bilightningwhumper]

Belonging to Nightmares

-A "12 Dancing Princesses" inspired story-

Rating:

Mature (with some Explicit scenes throughout)

Summary:

Thirty years ago, the wife of the king's favored scientist passed away, taking their unborn child with her. Twenty-five years ago, twelve girls were made and born to the scientist, both in honor and the image of his beloved wife. Nearby, another girl was born, but she was unimportant, unworthy of note by any other than her adoptive parents in celebration of the grand miracle. Now, in the present day, our story starts five days after the scientist's death. Only one daughter, Minna, the one their father kept closest, does not grieve him. Neither does she grieve the loss of freedom taken from her sisters and her. She barely grieves in any way. After all, she does not feel. Not like her friends and sisters do. But she does love, she thinks. And that love is what keeps her going. And so, her fate is sealed. She is the protector of her family. Hidden away in the dark walls of the castle, Kyrie fights to change her fate. After her family's slaughter, she is now a concubine for the king. A king who is unpredictable, ever-changing in what she and others can do to please him. But please him she must, so she can find a way to be with Minna again. Or die trying. All main characters 18+ unless I specify otherwise (ie, certain flashbacks).

MCs:

Minna Palore- Clone 3 of 12, autistic and semi-verbal through echolalia/reading (communicates mainly by writing/visuals) Kyrie Erinsky- Minna's best friend turned girlfriend/lover, adhd and hyperverbal

Basic Premise:

-Medieval with some modern/steampunk-esk twist; partially dystopian or post-apocalyptic in quality -F/F romance -MCs are female whumpees with various whumpers and various caretakers

Types of whump/general warnings:

-lab+medical whump -possessive+manipulation whump -familial whump -discrimination+ableism -nsfwhump (in moderation) -explicit lesbian smut/nsfw content (consensual) I do not condone Rape/Noncon irl. This is purely a way to vent and cope. Take care of yourselves!

(* for mature/18+ posts)

Character List (and mini lore dump)

MC Portraits for "Belonging to Nightmares"

Character List for "Belonging to Nightmares" prequel- "The First Ones"

Main Work:

(alternating PoVs; Minna first, Kyrie second, repeat)

Meet Minna

Meet Kyrie [tbd]

Minna- The Year Before [tbd]

Kyrie- The Year Before*

Meet the Sisters [tbd]

Meet Cyrus [tbd]

Flashbacks before Separation (chronological order; Not Spoilers):

Sharing Clothes- Minna, fluff [January, tbd]

First Kiss- Minna, fluff [tbd]

First Kiss- Kyrie, fluff [tbd]

Flashbacks set during "The Year Before" (chronological order; Semi-Spoilers):

Silent Night- Minna, whump [tbd]

Dish Fit for a King- Kyrie, whump [tbd]

A Father's Disapproval- Minna, whump

Secret Meeting- Kyrie, whump [tbd]

Excerpts/Drabbles (chronological order, subject to change; Spoilers):

Finally Reunited (For Now)- Kyrie fluff/angst

Midnight Visitor- Minna (Kyrie whump) [Multiple versions of this one: Version 1, Version 2, Version 3-in progress]

Sharing Clothes- Kyrie, fluff [January, tbd]

The Perfect Gift- Minna, fluff/angst

The Perfect Gift- Minna pt 2, fluff [tbd]

The Perfect Gift- Minna pt 3*, fluff/nsfw [tbd]

The Perfect Gift- Kyrie, fluff/angst

The Perfect Gift- Kyrie pt 2, fluff [tbd]

The Perfect Gift- Kyrie pt 3*, fluff/nsfw [tbd]

"May I have this dance?"- Minna, fluff [tbd]

"May I have this dance?"- Kyrie, fluff [tbd]

Writing Events using these MCs:

Feveruary 2025 [coming in February! Planned daily postings tbd]

Febuwhump 2025 [coming in February! Planned daily postings tbd]

Femslash February (using hollie47's prompts) [coming in February! Planned daily postings tbd]

Related answered asks:

Writeblr Library- Browsing: What's something your character is looking for? Will they ever find it? (answered with Minna)

Writeblr Bakery- Cake: How does your character celebrate? Could be for holidays, special events, or general celebration when they are excited/happy? (answered with both MCs)

Writeblr Gym- Stretches: What is your character's final goal? What are they reaching for? (answered with Kyrie)

Let me know if you want to be on the taglist, but no pressure, as always.

[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.”

[staycalmandhugaclone]

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Febuwhump Day 1 Part 5

Touch-Starved – Crosshair - Fed up with Crosshair's dismissal of her help after a nearly disastrous escape, Doc finally snaps.

Warnings: Maybe light arachnophobia? Cursing, yelling, brief mention of injection

WC: 2,622

If not for the delicate sensors flashing across the overlay of my visor, I would have lost the others miles back, legs burning as I sprinted through the dense underbrush of the ancient forest. Fun. Yeah. I swear, next time a commanding officer called a mission either ‘fun’ or ‘simple’ or ‘easy’ I was going to strap the 70Ib medpack to their shoulders and let them see for themselves how fun it was to go racing through overgrown foliage so thick you could only hope it wasn’t concealing the massive trunk of one of those towering trees while being chased by dozens of ten-legged, very hostile carnivorous insects taller than Wrecker.

‘Scout the area for future outpost locations.’ ‘No known Separatist forces in that area, so should be an easy hike for you guys… have fun.’ That pompous old man better hope I didn’t stumble across him in a deserted hallway…

“Doc, eyes up!” Hunter’s voice barked over the com. I didn’t hesitate, body instantly responding by jerking both pistols toward the dark canopy. Those massive beasts blended in perfectly with the mess of bark and leaves, but my visor emphasized their movement and synced with sensors in the armor stretching down my arms and hands to guide my aim. From this distance, however, the handful of bolts that struck it from my rapid barrage of shots was only just enough to dissuade it from charging, sending the thing retreating to whatever web or hollow hid beyond that impenetrable layer of plant life to lick it’s wounds.  

Hunter and Wrecker were holding back the brunt of the assault behind us while Tech had raced ahead to ready the ship. Echo was somewhere near me, the ceaseless sound of his pistol the only thing granting me any certainty that I hadn’t strayed, and Crosshair laid in perfect stillness somewhere up ahead, blue bolts appearing like magic the instant one of those creatures got too close.

“There appears to be another wave incoming from the north. I suggest you hurry.” I briefly muted my com to release a violent string of curses on painfully quick, panted gasps even as I strained to force myself to move faster, hands training from one creature to the next at the relentless alerts chiming from my targeting system. In barely the span of a single heartbeat, I noted the glint of metal beneath one of those alerts, and my chest seized.

“Crosshair! Five o’clock!” The words tore from me in a panic. He was well beyond the range of my pistols; too far for any of us to do more than watch as he rolled hazardously over the branch he’d perched atop in an instinctual rush to avoid the sudden charge of the spider-like beast. The ancient tree shuddered beneath the assault, the terrible creaking of its moss-covered limb screaming over even the chaos of battle raging all around me.

“Crosshair!” Hunter’s voice boomed over the intercom just as the wood shattered. Even as he began to fall, Crosshair leveled the elegant barrel of his rifle at the creature and, with a single flash of light, sent it tumbling limp to the forest floor below. The instant he pulled the trigger, his hand darted out behind him, and I could only guess toward the desperation with which his fingers clawed into the sleek, moss-covered bark for any whisper of purchase. “There’s a vine twenty feet below you!”

The sniper barely glanced down before angling that lithe body against the massive trunk for whatever traction it might offer, rifle clasped carefully in one hand. The renewed frenzy driving me forward numbed the fire burning through abused muscle, diverting without a second thought from the path to the Marauder to sprint toward Crosshair, eyes locked on his rapid descent. I barely noticed the thin vine until his free hand snatch it midair, lower body arching forward like a pendulum for the half-second it held his weight. His mic just picked up the tiny hitch of his breath, and the rest of the forest went suddenly mute beneath it, beneath the fear in that flutter of air breaking over clenched teeth. Hand still locked around that traitorous vine, he began to fall.

Barely a dozen strides separated me from the base of the tree when his body suddenly snapped to a halt arm jerking above his head. I’d only just made out the loop of green caught around his wrist before his hand slipped free he crashed the final handful of meters to the ground.

Pistols already thrown into my holsters, I snatched the scanner from the side of my pack and slammed to my knees beside him. Before even coming to a full stop, my fingers darted out and slipped under his bucket to find the rapid dance of his pulse hammering just beneath his jaw as my other hand began the scan. Ignoring the listless flail of his arm trying to push me away, I maintained that position for just a few fleeting seconds, monitoring the rhythm while reading over the flashing text scrolling over my screen, trusting the others to cover us.

“‘M fine – get the kriff off me!” He snapped, movements gaining more strength as he finally wrenched my hand away. Beyond a sprained wrist and some bruising that would bring all manner of unsettling colors to his back, his armor seemed to save him from the worst of it. Ignoring the sharp words, I forced my arm beneath his shoulders and, with a surge of power fueled more by adrenaline than strength, hauled him up against me. He staggered beside me for barely a single stride before pushing away and racing forward on his own.

He said nothing as we ran, but I noted with painful clarity the way his right hand tucked slightly against his chest. Even if the damage was relatively minor, the pain was clearly severe enough to still even an attempt to use it. Cringing at the fresh hurt that surely tore through the limb with each stride, I tried to force my attention back to the encroaching wildlife, but the wave of fire from the others was finally beginning to allow us some breathing room.

“I want everyone strapped in now! Tech: we’re thirty seconds out.” Hunter ordered barely seconds before the top fin of the Marauder came into view. Nearly the instant my feet touched that ramp, we began to hover, and I had just enough time to throw myself into a crash seat, followed almost immediately by the others, before we were rocketing through the trees.

The quiet beneath five sets of heavy breathing offered frightfully little comfort, attention already turning to Crosshair. He glared blindly through the flooring beneath his feet, hand carefully limp inches above his thigh, jaw tensing beneath absent attempts to shift his fingers. As soon as the worst of the turbulence eased, I quickly freed myself from the mesh harness and trotted toward him.

“Try not to move it. Let me-” I started, already reaching for the swelling limb, but he quickly pulled away from me.

“I didn’t ask for your help!” He snarled, “You want to get all touchy-feely with the others, fine! But stay the kriff away from me!” For a brief moment, I was too shocked to reply, barely noting the grimace weighing heavily over Wrecker’s face, nor the annoyance in Echo’s glare as the man stalked quickly from the cabin.

“I’ll talk to him.” Hunter offered wearily, but that only fueled my rage.

“Don’t you dare.” The quiet threat in my words instantly drew his attention. Eyes shifting between me and the retreating form of his brother, his brow slowly raised in something between sympathy and skepticism. I merely narrowed my eyes before throwing my pack down and starting quickly after the sharp-tongued sniper. As soon as Crosshair saw me storm into the bunk room after him, that glare hardened into something dangerous, lips twisting into a snarl.

“No! You’re going to shut that karking mouth and listen to me!” I barked in the split second before he could unleash whatever retort boiled over his tongue.

“Or what? You’ll make me?” He challenged, shoulders rolling back as his head tipped forward, looking at me with those sharp eyes.

“Oh, grow up!” I spat, stalking forward until barely an inch lay between us. “You want to act all better-off-alone? Fine! You want to insult me and push me away? Kriffing go for it! But you have exactly three options right now!” Despite the fleeting space, I brought a hand up to count off, “Keep up this damn tough-guy osik, and I put you on med-leave until that wrist heals on its own.” I held up a second finger, “You walk into medbay and take a very painful bacta injection between your scaphoid and trapezium carpal bones.” My voice lowered only slightly into a growl as I raised the third, “Or sit your shebs on that karking cot, and let me do my job.”

He offered no retort to that, fury burning in those brilliant eyes as he stared me down, but I didn’t move, unflinching beneath the intensity of his rage. How long did he stand there, mind working for some alternative; any excuse to ignore me, to prove me wrong, before, finally, his teeth clicked from the way his jaw ground, gaze sliding reluctantly to the wall just behind me. Shoulders painfully taut, he sat heavily on the bed beside us. I’d apologize to Hunter later, but his was the easiest to access at that moment.

I didn’t try to catch his gaze as I kneeled before him, once more reaching for his hand. I just caught the way his lips pulled into a slight grimace at that first contact, muscles tensing beneath the instinctual drive to pull away; to flee, but he forced himself still. Without a word, I pulled the vambrace from his forearm before carefully beginning to ease the glove free. I could feel the slight twitch steal through his arm, but, again, he fought it.

Already, the joint looked painfully inflamed. I didn’t bother requesting he focus on his breathing or offer quiet conversation to distract him as my thumbs swept lightly in tandem along his palm both to trail over each bone in search of any hidden soreness as well as to begin pushing the swelling out of the angry tissue. I could feel his gaze carefully trained on me, eyes following my every movement with a violent distrust that robbed me of my earlier rage.

Pointedly ignoring the heat burring into me from his glare, I merely focused on my own movements, softly testing the sensitivity of the apex of the sprain and surrounding tissue to map out what I had to work with. Touch dragging back to the tips of those long fingers, I carded my fingers around each digit in turn. With a meticulous calm, I dragged the heel of my palm up his, swept the pad of my thumbs along the lines of tendons and over the ridges of bone until some whisper of that tension began to ease.

I was careful not to risk looking at him fully, but managed to catch a brief glimpse of him as my touch roamed delicately over his wrist before working into the lean muscles of his forearm. That rage was beginning to fall away, something so near to fascination just touching those eyes that left me holding my breath. This wouldn’t fix the sprain; not really, but the simple act of pushing the swelling from the injured tissue would greatly help with the pain and quicken its healing. In conjunction with the bacta patches stashed in one of the pouches lashed to my waist, I was hopeful that he would be nearly back to normal before reaching Kamino.

As I began dragging long, leisurely movements from the tips of fingers carefully supported against mine, up his palm, touch growing delicate over the swelling mound around his wrist, before firmly sweeping up the length of his forearm, he finally began to lose himself, eyes drooping as his head gradually sank lower toward his chest with each laxed breath.

I felt my movements slowing, reluctant to let him go for fear of never being allowed this moment of stillness with him again. Selfishly, I found myself returning to already blissfully limp muscles, working over each joint just once more, granting myself endless excuses to warrant a half dozen final adjustments before, with a slow, reluctant breath, reaching for the kit at my waist.

Only a whisper of that tension returned to him, eyes following me almost lazily before quieting upon seeing the basic madpack, and I tried to justify that quiet in the gentleness of my movements as I carefully secured the bactapatch against his wrist with meticulously applied bandages. I didn’t pull away from him once I’d finished, hesitating a moment before finally letting my eyes find his. That stillness lingered for a long while as he passively took in the gratitude burning through me, the silent plea screaming beneath my certainty that, the instant either of us moved or spoke or simply remembered the existence of a reality beyond this room, this moment of trust would vanish.

My arm seemed to move on its own, carefully resting his bandaged hand atop his thigh before just beginning to reach for his other one, palm held open in a quiet invitation as I let just the faintest glimmer of hope touch my gaze. He glanced briefly to my open hand, mind slowly returning to some level of awareness, and I felt that cold flush of defeat wash through me as his eyes shifted pointedly away, brows just tensing before his jaw clicked shut.

Without a word, he quickly pushed himself to his feet and stalked passed me. My hands sank back to my thighs, body deflating beneath the blanket rejection as the unapologetic hiss of the door closed behind him, leaving me too aware of the isolation that left me in. Fighting back the threat of guilt and regret at the harshness of my earlier words, I resigned myself to continued dismissal from the final member of this squad I was still trying to embrace as mine and thoughtlessly reached for the discarded wrappers around me from the used medkit.

Just as I’d begun calling some bit of motion back into my limbs, ready to finally force myself to my feet, the door opened once more. Expecting a kind word of sympathy from Echo or quiet reassurance from Hunter, I didn’t bother turning to look, unwilling to let them see the lingering hint of sadness I hadn’t yet managed to force back. The shock that tore through me when Crosshair dropped heavily back onto the cot, pinched glare turned pointedly to the far end of the room as he nearly thrust his other hand toward me left me staggering, lips just parted in a tiny gasp.

If he heard the way my breath caught as I let out a long, barely controlled sigh before reaching almost reverently for the offered limb, he made no show of it. I couldn’t begin to force back the smile, the lightness that burst through me as I gently eased the gear from his arm, overcome in that flood of relief. I knew this didn’t mean he truly trusted me, nor even that he more than tolerated my presence, but it was a start, and, as the smooth motion of my hands working over his gradually lulled him back into that blissed calm, I let myself finally begin to feel some hope that, just maybe, I could find my place here.

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[em-writes-stuff]

"who did this to you?"

day 15 of @febuwhump

hero and villain

540 words

warnings: implied abuse

part two here

~

Villain lands one last blow to Hero’s chest and she collapses to the ground, hands coming up to protect her face. She whimpers and tenses up, waiting for him to hit her again. After nearly ten seconds of waiting for a hit, she peers through the gap between her arms and shifts slightly. 

“What are you waiting for?” She asks, hoping her voice wasn’t making her sound as weak as she felt. 

Villain’s head tilts, “I’ve won. I’m not going to hurt you more than needed.” 

Hero blinks in surprise and wraps her arms around her legs. She pulls her legs close to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. 

Villain sits down in front of her and takes a deep breath. “Are you alright?” 

“What?” 

“You’re slow today. It’s barely been five minutes and I’ve beaten you. Normally you’re good for at least ten.” he says. “Don’t even blame school because I know you’re out for spring break.” 

Slowly, he inches closer to her and cranes his neck to look at her. She pulls away uncomfortably and pulls her shirt down to cover her stomach.  

“What are you looking at?” she asks accusingly. 

Villain pulls her hand away from her shirt and reveals her bruised torso. 

“What happened?” he asks, lifting the shirt up more. 

She swats his hand away and pulls the shirt down. “None of your business.” 

His face softens and he backs away from her, imitating her position. He rests his chin on his knees and laces his fingers together in front of his legs. Hero stays quiet, waiting for him to say something. 

“Who did that to you?” he asks. 

She scoffs and lifts her head. “It’s almost like I was just fighting someone.” 

“Those are a few days old.” he retorts. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but don’t act like I’m not right to be worried.” 

“Why do you care?” she asks, pulling her legs closer against herself. 

“Because you’re a kid trying to save the world. And if I can’t help you see that Superhero is using you…the least I can do is stop him from killing you.” 

“Again with this thing with Superhero?” she snaps. “Last time I checked, he had the support of the city. And all you have is yourself.” she looks away from him and adds under her breath, “And I’m twenty.” 

Villain bites the inside of his cheek and takes a deep breath. “You’re not the only person he’s taken in. And it never ends well. Ever wonder how he’s still alive after this long? It’s because he sends his soldiers out instead.” 

Hero shakes her head, “No that’s not true. He and I have fought together-” 

“When he knows he can win.” Villain interrupts. 

Hero stands up and shakes her head, “I won’t turn on him. He’s given me too much.” 

She walks away, then under her breath, barely loud enough for Villain to hear, “Training is supposed to push you. I wouldn’t gain anything from it if he went easy on me.” 

Villain lets her leave, knowing that he won’t be able to change her mind if he pushes her too hard. Maybe one day, she’ll realize and maybe…she won’t.  

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 21 - Unresponsive

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 1332

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Time-activated quirks are rare. Izuku knows, he’s studied many. He was fascinated by the logistics the first time he read about one in the news. The quirk usually being transferred by some physical touch or substance from the user- slowly dissolving into the victim like a pill. 

Pro hero Buzzkill has a quirk that gives its victim a bee sting-like welt every four and a half minutes. The vigilante Combo Breaker has a quirk that breaks one of its victim's fingers every two minutes. 

And apparently, the villain he’d been fighting on patrol also shared this unique quirk factor. 

The debrief had said the guy was quirkless, but one look at the shoes on his feet told Izuku otherwise. 

Now, four hours and twenty-five minutes later, he’s lying on the floor of his kitchen unable to move. 

His nose is pressed at an uncomfortable angle, mere inches from where his coffee mug was smashed to pieces when he dropped it. 

He’d felt this odd pain in the base of his spine when he got off of patrol, and after his post-shift nap, it had only been higher up on his back and twice as intense. 

Apparently, when it got to his head, he was due to lose all motor functions. Great!

The good news is that Katsuki should be home any minute, and he can pull Izuku out of this cold, black coffee puddle. Maybe he’ll even put him back in bed if he’s feeling generous. 

He’s not sure how long he waits. His eyelids have drooped close, though he couldn’t open them if he wanted. He spends a while trying to determine if he’s breathing or not, but his whole body is so uncomfortably numb that he gives up. 

Soon enough, the door opens and Katsuki’s gym shoes are kicked off into their cubby. 

“‘M home.” He grumbles, probably not expecting an answer because Izuku is usually still napping when Katsuki gets back from his morning gym run. 

Izuku isn’t sure what Katsuki notices first, maybe his socked feet lying on the ground, or the bits of red, blue, and yellow ceramic that probably skidded across the room. 

“Deku? Did you fuckin’ fall?” His husband scoffs, rounding the corner to see Izuku sprawled on the floor, “Oi, get up dumbass.” 

Izuku mentally winces, not prepared for the absolute earful Katsuki is going to give him later. 

Katsuki walks closer, nudging the broken pieces of mug away, “Izuku?” 

Ah, he’s anxious. 

Izuku might’ve predicted this issue if he had thought a little harder. He’s not in any real danger, so there’s no need to worry-

“Izuku?!”

But he doesn’t know that. 

“No come on,” Katsuki mumbles out loud, trying to reason logically like Izuku knows he does when he’s scared, “he hit his head and passed out- no, there’s no blood. He was tired? Maybe he wanted to sleep on the floor…”

Katsuki comes up behind him and drops to his knees, rolling Izuku over. 

Light flashes in front of his eyes, but he’s powerless to blink at the sudden flash. Katsuki curses when his head flops back and smacks the tile. Stars fly across the black of his eyelids. 

“Izuku, wake up.” Katsuki presses his fingers under Izuku’s jaw and curses. 

There’s no way this quirk stopped his heartbeat- right?!

Katsuki pries one of his eyelids open. The cool air burns but he doesn’t flinch. 

His pupil must not react either, because before he knows it Katsuki is tugging him into his arms with a frantic whimper and launching himself across their living room. 

Katsuki places a leg in between Izuku’s own and wraps one of his arms under Izuku’s shoulders so he can use the other to propel them into the sky. 

The wind whistles by Izuku’s ears as Katsuki wastes no time getting them to what he can only assume is the hospital a few blocks away. 

The strain his arm must feel right now can only be extremely painful but Katsuki makes no sign of it. 

Izuku can feel them descending, just as Katsuki’s grip on him begins to slip. Katsuki stumbles a bit on the ground, lurching forward but being sure to keep Izuku’s body in his solid grip. 

“HEY!” He shouts as soon as they step through the sliding doors of the emergency bay, “I NEED A DOCTOR NOW!”

“Sir please don’t-”

“Pro hero Dynamight!” Another nurse interrupts the first, rushing towards them, “What are his vitals?”

Izuku feels himself get flipped onto a gurney, lying face up on the cold, thin fabric. He can feel everything down to his hair follicles itching to form goosebumps. 

He hears the nurse gasp as soon as his hair falls out of his face. 

I might be wearing pajamas, but I’m still the number one hero, he figures. I’d recognize All Might in his pajamas.

“Is that-”

“Someone who needs a fucking doctor?!” Katsuki growls, “YES.” 

The nurse barks a few orders at her coworkers and, from what Izuku can tell, sprints with him down the hallway. 

“Vitals?”

“No.”

The cart shudders when she briefly trips, “N-No? What do you mean-”

“I mean he wasn’t fucking responsive. I came home and he was on the fucking floor. No pulse, no breathing, no pupil dilation.” Katsuki’s voice moves to his other side, and there’s more movement before Izuku is lifted over to a different bed. 

The nurse hooks a machine up to him to start pumping his chest while she darts around him, checking various other vitals. 

“Shit.” She whispers to herself, pressing her warm hands into his wrist harder. 

Someone slams open the door, running to Izuku’s side. His hearing blurs while they yell orders at each other, pricking Izuku with various needles. 

“C’mon.” A new, higher-pitched male voice grunts in his ear as what he can assume is a shot of adrenaline is pumped into his fresh IV. 

“You said you found him like this?” Another female voice asks, farther in the corner of the room where he figures Katsuki is watching. 

“He passed out, there’s no obvious trauma. I have no fucking idea why.” Katsuki grunts, voice warbling. “He was on patrol a few hours ago but there was nothing in the report that would warrant this.”

“It’s not looking…” She pauses, “It’s not ideal, but we can’t rule out the possibility of it being a quirk.”

“Nothing is rousing him. We can keep the compressions going, but his body isn’t showing postmortem symptoms. I think, truly, if he comes back it will be regardless of what we do.”

Katsuki sighs, “I’m going to call his mom. Take the machine off him, she shouldn’t see him like this.”

Izuku’s head jostles as they remove the machine, his chest already feeling the ache and forming bruises. 

The nurse clamps a heart rate monitor onto his finger and leaves his side, rolling whatever monstrosity of a contraption they had waiting for him on a cart out of the room. 

It’s completely silent for a few minutes, not even the usual steady beep of his heart that he associates with the hospital to keep him company. 

The door swings open and footsteps move towards his side. 

He knows it’s Katsuki as soon as their hands touch. 

His husband’s warm hands cup his own, rubbing circles into his skin. 

“If you die on a random ass fucking Thursday morning when you’re not even working I’ll make sure they send you to whatever hell exists for idiots like you.” 

Izuku laughs inwardly, enjoying Katsuki’s touch. 

“Shitty prank. You broke your favorite mug.”

Ah damn, he forgot about that. 

Katsuki’s hair tickles his forearm as the man presumably leans down, pressing his lips to Izuku’s inner wrist, “If you leave me I’ll never forgive you.” He stretches a hand over Izuku’s stomach, resting it on his soft sleep shirt. “I love you, I don’t tell you nearly enough.”

“Come back to me, Izuku.”

And Izuku wishes more than anything that he knew how.

[jinxedruby]

Febuwhump Day Twenty-Four: "I'm doing this because I care about you"

Featuring Four and Legend. Probably at least half of the reason I picked Four for this is because it's day twenty-four. I missed my chance at four and fourteen, so here we are lol

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

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Four staggered under Legend’s weight as the veteran leaned heavily against him. They half-stumbled, half-ran through the woods, Four’s boots slipping in the wet grass. He took a misstep and nearly lost his grip on Legend, the older boy groaning while his steps dragged. Four gasped, trying to get a better grip on Legend’s tunic, arms aching from supporting him for so long. He risked a glance over his shoulder, trying to see through the lashing rain. He thought he saw shadows move in the distance, weaving through the trees toward them. He turned back around, trying to run faster.

Legend’s boot caught on a root and he toppled forward, bringing Four down with him. Four yelped as he landed flat on his stomach, mud slicking the front of his tunic. He dragged in a breath and forced his trembling muscles to cooperate, trying to haul Legend to his feet. The veteran groaned and swatted at him, mumbling something incoherent. Four paused, pushing a hand beneath Legend’s bangs to feel his forehead. It burned under his palm despite the rain and Four cursed, looking behind them again. A monster screeched, far too close. He threw a desperate glance around. Legend was in absolutely no condition to fight and Four wouldn’t be able to defend him against so many monsters. Tall, thick evergreens stretched high overhead, the needles only blocking out some of the rain. Shrubs grew between the trees but none were big enough for Four and Legend to hide in. A monster cried again, closer, hunting. Four bit his lip and shook Legend’s shoulders.

“C’mon, Vet, please,” he hissed, fingers digging into the red tunic. Legend batted weakly at his hands, mouth twitching in a frown as he shook his head, soaked bangs falling in his eyes. He did nothing to help Four walk. Four looked around again, heart slamming against his ribs. Then he spotted a fallen tree, a massive tangle of roots sprouting from the upended base. Making a hasty decision, he wrapped his arms around Legend’s armpits and hauled him backwards toward the tree. Legend squirmed, attempting to dig his heels in the mud as he clawed at Four’s hands. Four felt a sharp sting as Legend’s nails scratched across the back of his hand but he ignored it. He finally managed to make it around the roots and he dragged Legend up against the trunk. He dropped Legend then shoved him as far up behind the roots as he could without hurting him. Legend immediately tried crawling back out so Four did the first thing his panicked brain could think of and sat on the veteran’s stomach. Four could hardly be considered heavy and in any other circumstance, Legend would have been able to shove him over easily. But Legend’s fever-addled brain could hardly string together a sentence, let alone come up with the coordination needed to get out from under the smith. He tried once or twice before a whine left his throat, head thudding back against the ground in defeat.

A screech sounded close by and Four leaned over Legend, staring out through the roots with wide eyes. The roots only hid them so much. He hoped desperately the monsters didn’t pass too closely on that side of the fallen tree. He caught a flash of armor and a green tail through the roots. He hunkered down further, nearly flattening himself against Legend. The lizalfos slowed, bowed its head to examine the ground more closely. Abruptly remembering all of the mud, Four’s eyes darted out to where he’d stepped. Gouges lined the mud where he’d dragged Legend, but patches of grass threw off the trail and it didn’t lead to where the two hid. He stared at the lizalfos, breathing slowly through his mouth and remaining as quiet as he could.

Legend let out a whimper and the lizalfos stiffened.

Four whipped his head around to see Legend shaking his head from side to side, expression twisted in discomfort.

“Le- lemme go, I did’n… did’n do it…” he mumbled.

Four clamped both hands over Legend’s mouth, breathing picking up as he looked back toward the lizalfos. It stalked in their direction, tail flicking back and forth.

Pain burst in the blade of Four’s hand and he sucked in a breath, yanking his hands back. Blood welled in teeth marks in his skin, the same blood staining Legend’s teeth. Legend squirmed beneath him, shoving at the smith with renewed vigor.

“Lemme go,” he groaned, louder.

“Vet, be quiet, please!” Four whispered, grabbing Legend’s wrists to keep them from pushing him over. Legend responded with a high-pitched whine. Four cursed, glancing back. The lizalfos continued making its way toward them, picking through bushes and growing ever closer. Four forced himself to take a deep breath. He slipped a hand into his bag as Legend whined again, fighting weakly against Four. He glanced down at Legend’s mud-streaked face and sent a mental apology to him. Then he grabbed a roll of gauze and stuffed it into Legend’s mouth.

Legend’s eyes widened and he immediately grabbed at the makeshift gag, yelping into it. Four held his wrists fast so he couldn’t take it out. Between the gauze and the rain, Legend’s vocalizations were hardly audible, but his fighting caused too much movement. The lizalfos would be able to spot them with Legend’s stark red tunic and Four’s multicolored one. Four set his jaw, forcibly jamming his empathy into a corner of his mind. With a shove, he pinned Legend’s arms to the ground and lay flat against him, holding him still. Legend writhed beneath him, abdomen rumbling against Four as he tried to yell. Four bit his trembling lip, narrowing his eyes against the tears. You have to, he told himself firmly. You have to, you’ll both die if you don’t.

Legend’s heartbeat thudded rapidly against Four’s ear as the smith turned his head to get a look at the lizalfos’s position. He caught flashes of it creeping through the shrubs, head sweeping back and forth as it searched. It moved closer to the tree, but didn’t look directly at them. Legend suddenly bucked beneath him. Four jerked, panic spiking in his mind. He shifted, digging a knee into Legend’s gut and pinning him down. He barely made out a muffled whine from the veteran. The bridge of his nose burned, vision growing blurry as hot tears welled in his eyes. You have to.

The lizalfos stopped on the other side of the roots, mere feet away. Its forked tongue flitted out of its mouth, lashing at the air briefly. Four stiffened, all too aware of his bleeding hand. Rain pounded against the ground and trees in a quiet roar and he could only hope the water was enough to smother the scent of blood. The lizalfos stood there, head twitching from side to side, eyes darting around, tongue tasting the air. Four breathed silently through his mouth, Legend’s heartbeat deafening under his ear. Legend continued to squirm, voice muffled by the gag. The lizalfos blinked, licked the air. Then it turned and darted back the way it came.

Four listened to it slink through the underbrush, the sounds growing fainter. He waited a long moment, then another. Then he sighed, going limp over top Legend. Legend twisted. Then he wrenched his arms free of Four and punched the smith in the jaw.

Four yelped, head snapping back. Before he had a chance to recover, Legend grabbed him and threw him to the side. Four hit the ground with a grunt, blinking raindrops from his eyes as he pushed himself up. Legend collided with him and sent him back to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs, head smacking painfully against the dirt. Legend untangled himself from Four and vanished a moment later, hurried footsteps receding behind the rain.

Four coughed, rolling onto his side. He looked to where Legend had run only to see nothing but trees. His eyes widened. He scrambled to his feet, head throbbing as he spun around. He barely managed to stop himself from calling after the veteran, cognizant of the monsters that probably still lurked nearby. He jogged a few steps in the direction Legend ran, blood roaring in his ears. His gaze darted to the ground, trying to spot Legend’s footprints in the mud. A few gouges scattered unevenly about the mud here or there, but not enough to get a good sense of where the veteran had gone. Four’s heartrate picked up and he ran further, looking around every tree and bush. Where- how did he get so much energy all of a sudden? He’d barely been able to move and then-

Four took a breath to call out, stopped himself again. He ran faster despite the exhaustion pulling at his legs. He had to find Legend. He had to, if Legend ran into a monster in his state- Four forced the thought from his head, running faster. He’d find him first. He had to.

(Continued here)

[milkyplier]

For your letter ask game: Y

Y - IAU Legend Gets Stabbed but Different

This one is clearly set in @skyward-floored’s Incredibles AU XD it was one of many attempts at writing a gift (which is still in the works) for her. It was an attempt at a sequel to her Febuwhump Day 14, Bloodstained Tiles, in which Legend gets stabbed after sneaking out and Wild and Wind help him. I tried this approach more than once before deciding it wasn’t going to work out XD a few other letters have been assigned to some of these other attempts :)

I also just thought this wasn’t very well written, hence I abandoned it. I struggle to continue things I perceive as done badly. Here’s the entirety of this snippet:

When Malon wakes up in the morning, Legend has caught whatever Hyrule had, and Hyrule was worse than he was yesterday. At least, that’s what it seemed like. But a cold did not really account for how weak and shaky Legend was when he got up. It was also strange that it seemed to have come out of nowhere, with no sore throat, no sniffles or coughs or reluctance to eat. In fact, Legend was starving, and thirsty. Oddly enough, she also finds several of her towels in the drier, and the bathroom has a just-cleaned shine. Four, Wild and Wind all have circles under their eyes. She asks them all what happened, and they claim Hyrule was really sick last night. Like, super sick, and he threw up a lot and they didn’t want to bother her or Time and just cleaned it up themselves. Malon is inclined to believe it, especially when Hyrule seems to get similarly sick later that same day. So she brushes it off, and forgets about it—an easy feat in a house of eight people. For a while, at least.

- some years later -

A nightmare wakes Malon. She tries, to no avail, to fall back asleep for perhaps twenty minutes before she acknowledges the lingering anxiety from the dream and decides a cup of chamomile tea will settle her nerves and help her get back to sleep.

Careful not to jostle her husband too much (though it hardly mattered, the man slept like a rock), she slipped out of bed, wrapped herself in her silky robe and tucked her feet into her worn slippers before shuffling quietly into the kitchen.

The house is silent, a fact which in itself makes Malon feel better. Once upon a time, such silence unnerved her, but nowadays, she knows it means all her boys are asleep, safe and warm in their beds and there is something comforting to her about that. She doesn’t quite know why, but she doesn’t complain and keeps going towards the kitchen. When she gets to the kitchen, however, she’s surprised to see someone already there.

She thinks one of her sons must have gotten a snack—Wild is known to get the munchies at night—but the figure’s build doesn’t match Wild’s. On top of that, Wild’s midnight snacks usually consist of whatever ancient, long-lost things he finds in the pantry. When she finds him in the kitchen at night, he’s haunched over an expired bag of animal crackers. Not haunched over the sink, murmuring to himself and apparently playing in the water by the light of his phone’s flashlight.

A bad feeling rises in Malon’s stomach. She doesn’t know why.

“Legend…?” She says softly, able to recognize her son even in the terrible, low light. He freezes, glances over his shoulder at his mom.

“Mom! Hi,” his voice is slightly strained. “What are you doing awake at this hour? Are you alright?”

She frowns. She knows that tone, the inflection. He’s amping up the concern, trying to distract her from him by acting extra sweet. It’s something all her boys do when they don’t want her noticing something. It has worked very few times without her allowing it to. This won’t be one of them.

“I could ask the same of you,” she says. She keeps her words firm, but light, so he knows he won’t be getting out of this but she isn’t angry.

“Uhh…” he hands shift nervously in the sink water. He doesn’t say anything.

She approaches him, flicking on the kitchen lights. She looks into the sink and sees his super suit, submerged in cloudy reddish water. Legend’s arms are covered in cuts and bruises, and he won’t look at her.

“Legend. Look at me.”

His shoulders are tense. After a second, he turns his face to look down into the sink water, rather than at her. It’s enough to get a visual on what she wanted—a blossoming black eye, split lip and other minor nicks on his face.

“You went out, didn’t you.”

His silence is answer enough.

“Legend…” Malon struggles to find the words, caught between worry and anger born of worry. “Legend…I—“

“I know the risks.” Legend cuts in. “I know. I know what you and dad said. I’m not stupid, or deaf. People need help. And I can help them.”

“…That’s not—“

“I do help them, in fact, I saved a dozen lives tonight. And I didn’t die, I can hold my own. I don’t need to be babied or anything, I can handle my own consequences.”

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: Day Twenty-Four

“I’m doing this because I care about you” @febuwhump prompt

TW: imprisonment, non-consensual restraints, non-con inhibition of powers, stripped of powers, destructive love, toxic relationship, doing wrong for the right reasons, emotional Whump

*~*~*~*~*

Hero woke up in bed with a groan. Their mind was foggy, something niggling in the back of their mind seemed too far away to be urgent so Hero ignored it promptly and opened their eyes.

They frowned at the ceiling.

That wasn’t their ceiling.

This wasn’t their bed, or their pillow.

Oh god, Hero thought. I have no idea how I got here, please say they were hot— how much did I drink last night? Did I go out last night? Maybe to cool off? But no—

Hero couldn’t recall anything from last night which was only slightly concerning.

They rolled their lips into their mouth, ready to face the music, or the morning.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Hero froze, eyes slamming close on instinct. Was it too late to pretend to be asleep?

“Hero. I know you’re awake.”

Wait… Hero knew that voice. Hero frowned and sat up in the bed to a melody of rattling chains. Hero ignored Villain who sat at the end of the bed in a cosy looking armchair and immediately threw the covers off of them.

They followed the length of chain from their wrist that disappeared over the edge of the bed with fear slamming their heart faster in their chest. When they tried to move to see under the bed to where the chain went, the chain holding their other wrist in a metal cuff pulled taut.

Hero’s wide, panicked eyes went to Villain. “What is this?”

Villain raised their hands, showing Hero their palms a placating gesture. “Hero—”

“Villain. What is this?!” Hero asked, pulling at the chains harder. Hero kicked the duvet off their legs to find their ankles chain in the same heavy duty cuffs their wrists were encased in. “This is a little kinky, even for me.”

“Hero, I’m doing this because I care about you.”

Hero’s nostrils flared. “Let me out, Villain.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?!”

Villain raised their head a little higher in the air. “I won’t. Supervillain is making his move today and I refuse to let you get caught up in it.”

Hero blanched. “What?”

Villain stepped around the bed closer to Hero but Hero shook their head, pushing themselves back as much as they could. Until the cuffs around the ankles protested.

“Don’t come near me Villain! Not unless you’re going to release me this instant!”

“I can’t let you die, Hero,” Villain said, their voice quiet and soft.

Hero swallowed the lump in their throat, then schooled their features into a neutral expression and said very matter of factly: “this is the last time I will ask you nicely, Villain. Release me. Now. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Villain ran a hand down their face, cupping their cheeks in one hand as they blew out a breath. Then they shook their head, half turning their body away from Hero and shoving their hands into their trouser pockets.

“You can’t,” said Villain with the same soft quietness.

Hero frowned. They didn’t have time for this. “Then I’m sorry, Villain.”

Hero clicked their fingers and nothing happened. Villain tipped their head down to stare at the floor in front of them. Hero clicked their fingers again, picturing the chains snapping and setting them free.

Nothing happened.

Something looked large in their gut like panic, threatening to overwhelm Hero because why couldn’t they summon their magic to them at that time?

They clicked their fingers again. And again. And again.

Then they cast their burning eyes to Villain in question.

Villain held up a small bottle with a cork stopped in its neck. “Villain… what did you do?”

“What I had to,” said Villain. They shook the bottle gently, then looked over at Hero, their face the picture of heartbreak. “I knew you’d try to leave anyway.”

“What did you do, Villain?!” Hero demanded, their emotions threatening to run away with them. “Supervillain commissioned a promising young chemist, a graduate who needed a job if you can believe it, to make a chemical compound that would inhibit your powers for a while.”

It felt as if Villain had just stabbed Hero in the chest. “How long is a while?” Hero demanded, tears prickling the back of their eyes and threatening to fall. “Villain! Look at me!”

Villain’s eyes flicked to Hero’s, their shoulders hunched and resigned. “A little under a week.”

Hero’s heart dropped into their stomach. “What?”

Villain approached quickly, climbing onto the bed and reaching for Hero but Hero backed away until the chains pulled taut and they couldn’t go any further.

Villain’s eyes were glazed over, their chest moving far too quickly to be okay, blubbering excuses at Hero.

“I had to, Hero. Supervillain said that if I didn’t get you out of the picture that he would kill you!”

“I’d rather die trying to stop him than—”

“I know you would!” Villain yelled over Hero, stunning them into silence. Hero was trembling on the bed, seeing the helpless, desperate fury in Villain’s eyes… Villain had never raised their voice at Hero. Not once. “I know you would give your life to save someone else’s but who is looking out to give their life for yours, hmm?! Tell me! Tell me and I’ll let you go!”

The tears fell silently down Hero’s cheeks, not a single name coming to mind that would sacrifice themselves to protect Hero.

Not one except— “you.”

Villain’s shoulders wound tight, setting their jaw as they looked away from Hero.

Hero blinked and a new wave of tears fell. “Villain what did you do?” Hero whispered in a voice that wasn’t their own. It was too frail, too helpless and scared. Too childlike. “Villain.”

“I made a deal with Supervillain,” Villain choked out, tears falling freely down their cheeks and onto the bed as well. “I can’t—” Villain met Hero’s eyes with such conviction, such loyalty that it curled a hand around Hero’s lungs and they let out a soft breath. “I won’t let you die. I won’t. Don’t ask me to. I don’t care if you never forgive me, just as long as you’re still breathing… that’s all that matters to me.”

Hero shook their head, but when Villain placed their hand on Hero’s cheek they didn’t flinch, or wince , or pull away.

“I would let the world burn rather than sacrifice you to save it. They don’t deserve you. You don’t deserve to die for them.”

Hero’s hand reached up to cup Villain’s. “They never asked me to, Villain. I wanted to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

“I don’t care,” said Villain. “I’ll be the bad guy. I’ll keep you here forever if I have to. That way you won’t hate yourself when Supervillain makes their move. You can hate me instead, I’ll take the burden from you.”

Hero stared at Villain, completely at a loss for words. Isn’t this the love everyone would die for? An all consuming, unwavering loyalty? Unconditional and destructive? Heart wrenching and all too much, overwhelming and sickening?

Hero hated the twisted feeling in their gut that craved that love; the love so hot it threatened to burn both Hero and Villain, but in that moment… there were no words that Hero could say. Nothing they could do because they know if the roles were reversed Hero would have done the same for Villain.

“I hate you,” Hero whispered, their shoulders shaking as they leaned into Villain’s hand.

“I know,” Villain said.

“I hate you so much,” said Hero. Villain crept closer, their other arm wrapping around Hero.

“I know.”

“How dare you take that choice from me,” Hero blubbered, sobs wracking their chest, eyes burning. “How dare you!”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Hero leaned forward into Villain’s arms and sobbed into their shoulder. Villain wrapped their arms tighter around Hero, sniffing back sobs as well. They didn’t deserve to cry, they needed to be strong.

Hero and Villain fell asleep in each other’s arms, salt stained tear trails stuck to their cheeks. It took Supervillain four days to topple the Hero agency and assume control of the city. For now though, the lovers held each other close in their sleep, the guilt would be waiting for them when they awoke.

[fanfictasia]

Febuwhump Day 20

Alt. Time Loop 

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from an unnamed fanfic

The Dark Side burns through him, eagerly lapping up his constant pain and anger and hatred – he no longer thinks he’s capable of feeling anything else. He doesn’t need to feel anything else, to be a Sith. (So why does he still want to?) He crosses the ground swiftly, towards where he can feel it strongest, drawing the Force to him. He always has to move fast – or he’ll never want to keep moving again. If he stops or starts walking too fast, there’s a very high risk he’ll throw off his balance and snap his leg off.

It’s only been two years since… everything happened, and he’s still fully adjusting to being like this – this thing. If that’s even possible.

(He looks like the monster he is. He doesn’t actually know what he looks like. Doesn’t want to.)

The Force suddenly surges, and a creature starts rising out of the ground in front of him. She’s squid-like and creamed-colored, with long tentacles extending from her body instead of limbs… and hair.

Her presence screams with wrongness in the Force, the same way it did a lifetime ago. It feels as though he’s in a time loop, reliving something that’s bringing back his pasts when he least wants it.

(Except this time he’s here to face it alone. Last time –) But before, he never had the Dark Side as his ally.

“You,” Abeloth hisses, swinging a tentacle for him, and he activates his lightsaber in a flash, slashing at it. Drawing the Force to him, he hurls at her, sending her skidding backwards across the ground… at least a short distance.

The Force whips around her violently, crashing into him, throwing him back before he can stop it. He hits the ground painfully, instantly trying to clammer back to his feet, but it’s nearly painful enough to make him stop breathing entirely – not that that would be his choice, but it’s taking a moment too long.

“You were gone,” Vader intones, as he drags himself back to his feet, sensing more than seeing her advance. (His eyes doesn’t work the way they used to, anymore.)

“I was,” she agrees, voice coming out more as a hiss, “And now I am not. The galaxy will burn for what they have done to me, and this time you will not stop me.”

[shade-pup-cub]

Febuwhump 2024, Day 2: Time - Solitary Confinement

Fandom: LOZ/Linked Universe

Summary: Time is ambushed in his shared Inn room with Warriors, dragged away and thrown into a lightless room. Majora sympathizers do not hold back their abuse and they have no other motive outside of they just want Time to feel as much pain before he was killed. Their idea of irony is him dying at the hands of the Fierce Deity... Fierce Deity has plans of his own.

CW: Torture, description of torture, injuries, slight blood, revenge thoughts, person on fire

The rattle of chains was the only noise outside of the ones that slipped from his own mouth as he readjusted his position. He wished he had lost count of the days he had been stuck in the black pit he was placed in, but he unfortunately was blessed by the Goddess of Time, a constant internal clock ticking in his mind.

Nineteen days.

Nineteen days, twenty two hours, four minutes and thirty seconds of pure darkness. His captors had used a flash bomb filled with a mixture of bleach and rubbing alcohol, setting it off in his shared room at the inn, locking the door so he and Warriors were forced to breathe it in. They both hit the floor within the first minute of the fumes entering their lungs.

Time woke in the darkness, hands bound in metal cuffs, a chain from the ceiling keeping him stretched onto the balls of his bare feet. With the absence of light, he had to rely on his hearing for when his captores entered the room, or were they always there just stalking like he was prey?

The first week it was a swift punch to his ribs that told him that they were near him, but where one punch came there was sure to be many following. His ribs were the easiest target and took the blunt of the abuse. It didn’t take long for the first one to crack, then break, constricting his breathing to gasps. The ones holding him had no care, they were wanting one thing and that was for the Hero of Time, the savior of Termina, to suffer in any way they felt like giving it. Time just wished they would show their faces.

He prayed that his boys were close, that they weren’t held in similar conditions, that Warriors wasn’t dispatched while unconscious, that Twilight and Wild didn’t go rogue to find him, but most of all he prayed that they couldn’t hear him. That they wouldn’t have the regret that came from not being able to stop his screams of agony as knives were slowly opening skin just enough to make him bleed and not bleed out. The screams from when a white hot iron was brought in and laid on his skin after his tunics were cut off of him. They poured salt into wounds to make it burn, but turned to pouring alcohol since it gave them more of a reaction. His boys didn’t need to hear any of it.

The one thing that Time refused to do, was beg. He would not give the satisfaction of it. It wasn’t because he was a hero too prideful to ask for mercy, but the fact that he wanted to look into each of these peoples eyes as he repaid them for their ‘hospitality’. He wanted them to look not into the ten year olds eyes that saved Termina, no he wanted them to look into his one blue eye, one solid white eye and tremble in fear knowing that they picked a fight with a man who wasn’t afraid to use his hands to kill.

Now, nineteen days ago he wouldn’t have these plans of horrendous acts. He would never entertain or act on the whispers that stirred at the back of his mind where the small part of the Deity latched onto him. He would always find a better way to handle things, to serve justice in the way his position of power asked him to do. With age came wisdom and it wouldn’t have been wise to seek out a haunting, stocking revenge.

But that was nineteen days ago. That was before his boys were threatened, and himself abducted. That was before his captors carved the word ‘Coward’ into his left forearm, ‘Murderer’ into his right and ‘Oni’ on his chest as they chanted them. That was before a knife was slipped between his ribs in the back, perfectly placed to not kill him. That was before they taunted him and spoke of revisiting his boys or delivering his body to them.

That was before the silence of the darkness took over his mind after the last week of not a word from his captors. He had almost missed the injury inflicting hands if it just meant he wasn’t alone. But in that darkness of solitude, something new was born. Something dangerous. Time worked his muscles through the pain of using them, to strengthen them as best as he could with his arms stretched above his head. His mind hadn’t been this calm in years and it should have scared him, but it didn’t.

The door to his prison quietly opened, causing the air to shift around him. His eyes had long since adjusted to the lack of light, allowing him to see what he needed to. His ears flicked as two people walked next to him. When the third person stepped into the room, a cold chill ran down his spine. White eyes were glowing along with blue and red markings. They found the mask.

When the Fierce Deity stood only a few steps away, Time could feel the raw power radiating off of him. Though pupiless, he could see the white eyes scanning over him, taking in the damage done to him. Every scratch, cut, bruise, burn and lash was taken note of. This was not the corrupted mask he had grown to respectfully fear, but the almost father-like being that casted protection over him when he was a child.

One of the others spoke, “How fitting it will be to have you die at the hands of the one you once wielded. It will be a pleasure to watch.”

“Kishin…” Time spoke the Fierce Deity’s true name in a breathy whisper.

The rumbling growl that came next from the Deity’s chest told Time a different story. With the speed of a god, the Deity had the other two captor in his grip, squeezing off their airways and ultimately strangling them to death.

“You try to use me against the one who has never used me for his own personal gain? The one I have grown to protect from the time he was a child? I will make you and everyone else in this forsaken place pay for this.”

Smoke rose from under the mask, bringing the smell of burning skin with it. The Deity’s hands came up to the mask’s edge under his chin, screams slipping past the seem, but the Deity forced his own hands back down, resisting the host's demand to be freed. A fire so hot that it left the person behind the mask as nothing more than ash, blazed for a matter of a few seconds, then the mask fell into the pile of ash.

Time sighed in relief, taking a moment to collect himself after witnessing what he had. He focused on the mask in front of him, reaching out his left foot to bring it closer. The somewhat closed wounds pulled and tore, making him holler in pain, but didn’t stop until he had the mask right where he wanted it. If he could just get it into his hands…

He steadied his breath, then used every muscle in his body to balance the mask between his bloody feet and lift it up off the ground. His body was screaming in protest with each shift of position. He didn’t stop. He slowly bent himself at the hips, raising the mask closer and closer to his hands. Time held himself there, inches away, white hot pain engulfing him, black spots covering his vision and when he was sure that he was going to pass out, his fingers found the smallest bit of the edge. He let his legs back down slowly, trying desperately to stay awake. He looked up at his hands, adjusting the mask. He let it fall, landing on his face, followed by a flash of white and blue blinded him. He slumped in the chains, barely hanging on.

“My child, what have they done to you to make you this way?”

Time felt the rage of the Deity grow as he felt through the physical damage and the mental trauma of being in that place.

“These people like toying with others, like a cat plays with a mouse. Let’s repay the favor of their torture with a game of our own. A game of hide a seek, with a deadly twist. Then I will return you to your sons.”

Time relaxed into the heaviness of his tired body and mind, letting the Deity do as he pleased for once. The last thing he heard was the timber tone saying the most terrifying thing he had ever heard.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Time smiled.

[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.”

_______

[such-a-random-rambler]

Febuwhump - Day 25

John’s been staring at the shower for twenty minutes, sitting with his back against the bathroom wall. Gathering the courage to turn it on.  

He could call for Scott, he might understand.  

But John feels ridiculous. He knows he’s perfectly safe. There’s no cold concrete here, no slightly tilted table, no shackles. No cruel men with crueler bosses who want something he has.  

He has soft towels, three types of shower gel and speakers in the ceiling so he can catch up on a podcast while he washes.  

But he still can’t bare the thought of water on his face.