#febuwhump no 2

[fletcherwilbury]

@febuwhump Day 2: Alt Prompt 9: Lightning Strike

Warning for Illness, fever, medication, pain, exhaustion

[serickswrites]

Solitary

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, solitary confinement, small spaces, sensory deprivation

"SHUT UP!" Whumper growled at Team Leader. Whumper had, for the better part of an hour, been trying to hurt Teammate One, but each time Whumper raised their hand, Team Leader began to scream. Scream at their top of their longs, breaking Whumper's concentration.

Team Leader didn't relent. They couldn't. As long as Whumper wasn't distracted, they wouldn't hurt any of the team. Team Leader wouldn't let Whumper hurt their team.

"If you do not shut up, I will make you." Whumper said as they stalked away from Teammate One.

But Team Leader didn't stop. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Their throat was ragged from screaming, but they wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop.

Whumper stalked forward and boxed Team Leader's ears, disorienting them quickly. Team Leader's scream faltered as they listed sideways from the blow. Whumper took advantage and began to drag Team Leader out of the room. "I will have my way with your team. I will. There is nothing you can do to stop me."

Team Leader opened their mouth to start screaming once more, but Whumper shoved a filthy rag in their mouth. "You will not spoil my fun."

Team Leader began to struggle in their restraints, trying to free their fingers enough to rip the rag out of their mouth. Whumper quickly pulled a blindfold down over Team Leader's eyes. Team Leader struggled violently against being blinded, but Whumper boxed their ears once more before lifting them into the air.

"You will not spoil my fun," they growled in Team Leader's ear as they dropped Team Leader.

Team Leader's heart fluttered as they had no way to gauge how long they would fall. Their fall was broken abruptly by cold metal. They were enclosed on all sides by metal. They thrashed against the sides. They had to get out of the box.

"Let's see how you do with some time alone with your thoughts, Team Leader." Whumper whispered in their ear before shoving something thick and cottony in both their ears.

Team Leader was cut off from their senses. Cut off from the world. Cut off and in a tight space. Cut off and unable to help their team. Cut off and unable to do anything but try and calm their breathing.

Time passed. Or didn't. Team Leader had no way of knowing. Had no way of knowing anything. They only had their hope that Whumper would come for them soon. And then they would have their revenge.

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Wild's Wolf: Febuwhump Day 6 -- "You (They) Lied to Me."

Tw: Implied child abuse, medical whump, human experimentation.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Wild knew what was coming by now, when he heard the metallic chime that preceded the opening of that metal door. The hazy memory of rough hands and voices, fear and violation, and above all pain, pain, pain sent his heart racing.

Beeeeep! The door swung inwards with a slow fwoosh! 

Wild backed himself into the furthest corner of his hiding spot underneath the bed, nearly sick with anxiety, as he eyed the man that stepped inside. That in and of itself was odd—these strangers usually dealt with him in overwhelming groups, so that any defense he tried to mount against them was easily crushed. The man even looked different—he wore not the universal white coats common to all of his tormentors, but instead a beige turtleneck sweater and black leather jacket. He was a lot taller than his regular tormentors, too, and broader, though he still had those rounded ears that Wild was learning to hate. The door hissed shut behind him.

He must be worse than all of the others combined, Wild determined, if he was willing to step into the room alone. And he was already coming towards him. Wild raised his shoulders, bracing himself for another fight for his life, a fight he already knew he’d lose like all the ones before it.

The man’s tall boots stopped at the edge of the bed. Then he crouched, stooping down to peek under the bed, and his single eye met Wild’s two. His singular eye. His other had been gouged out, signified clearly by the neat scar that ran over the closed eyelid. Vibrant, blocky tattoos streaked harsh angles across his face, and more climbed the column of his neck and poked out from the hem of his long sleeves. He was obviously strong and battle-worn, and he was coming for Wild.

A shiver of fear ran through the kid. A feral growl left him, and he scrambled back further into the little cranny made by the bed, ready to kick for all that he was worth as he bared his teeth. Oh Hylia, he wasn’t escaping this, he thought faintly.

The man blinked his singular eye owlishly at the response, then bared his teeth back in a wolfish smile. “Hey there, kid,” he said lowly, maintaining an intentionally jovial tone. “What are you doing under there?”

The professor’s voice crackled through the speakers. Behind the one-way glass, the researchers turned up the sound, tuning in through their earpieces.

The kid, of course, gave no response. Those odd long ears of his pinned themselves back against his head similarly to those of a wary cat. Time could see, now, the stark bruises left by cruel hands blossoming underneath the pale skin of his wrists and arms, the deep bags hanging underneath his terrified eyes. The hospital gown he wore hung loosely over his skinny, shivering frame. They hadn’t been kind to him.

If that was true, they’d be here for a while. He might as well make himself comfortable while he tried to earn a bit of the boy’s trust. Time lowered himself to the tile floor and sat against the wall with a groan, which prompted the boy to growl, louder that time. “Oh don’t be dramatic, I’m not threatening you, I’m just old,” Time said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m sure you’ll be making all these sounds too, one day.”

Those long ears flicked forwards curiously. A bit of the defensiveness left the boy’s coiled up posture at his tone, and the snarl on his face faded into something softer. Then his shoulders raised as he seemed to remember himself, and he shifted back again, hugging his knees to his chest as he looked away. He warbled something that Time couldn’t even begin to decipher, though it sounded familiar—and those researchers were right, that was not a human language—but given the fearful edge to his young voice, he could translate with mild confidence all the same. Who are you? What are you going to do to me?

“I’m not going to hurt you, kid, don’t you worry,” Time said soothingly. He reached into his pocket. “In fact, I’ve got a little treat for you.”

Time withdrew the crinkly aluminum packet in his pocket, and out of that a jabber nut. They were disguised as regular candy—chocolate covered walnuts would be a good comparison—so believably so that they’d been okayed by the researchers without a second glance. He offered one to the kid.

The boy gazed at the candy sitting in the center of Time’s palm, reaching hesitantly out to take it, then flicked his eyes back up to Time’s face. Whatever he saw there made him go pale, and he moved back, resolutely turning away. Still, he snuck childish glances at the piece of candy, like the refusal hurt him. His stomach audibly rumbled in the cold, silent room.

“Oh come on, drama queen, it’s not poison or anything. I know you want it,” Time said with fond amusement. He popped the jabber nut into his mouth, and he made a show of chewing and swallowing in demonstration before he fished out another for the kid. “There, I ate one. Not poisonous, see?”

The kid frowned up at him, looking between the jabber nut and Time himself like he was trying to figure out whatever trick was hiding there. He put his hand forwards as if to take it, then drew it back to his chest, his face clouded with indecision.

“Go on, it’s okay, kid.” It was like feeding an untamed, flighty cat—like one of the ones Malon kept out in the barn, who even after months of progress could be sent scrambling with any sudden move—but Time was nothing if not patient. He kept an easy grin fixed to his face and the lines of his body intentionally open and non-threatening as he scooted a little closer, shoving the offered piece of candy forwards with a little inviting thrust. “It’s for you, you can take it.”

The boy seemed to have a sort of debate with himself as he eyed the candy in Time’s hand, his hands twitching at his sides. Finally, the boy's face screwed up, and he snatched the candy out of Time’s palm. He shoved himself back into the corner of the crawlspace just as quickly—knocking his head against the bedframe in the process, which made Time wince in sympathy—and hunched over the jabber nut, turning it over and over between his fingers. Time only just held back a laugh as he took a long deep sniffffffff of the treat, then darted his tongue out to sneak a taste of the chocolate coating. He jerked back from it with a delighted sound, his long ears waggling similarly to an excited puppy’s tail.

This… was odd, Time thought, eyeing those too-familiar ears, the ones he hadn’t seen in decades, maybe even lifetimes. The researchers had contacted him on the basis of getting his help in establishing communication with some feral child they’d discovered living in the forest. They’d spun a tale of a child raised completely divorced from any other human civilization before now, a golden opportunity for linguistic advancement in the study of him that Time just couldn’t pass up. But they’d mentioned nothing of the obvious otherworldliness about the kid, though the picture they’d sent him had spoken magnitudes, and once he arrived, they were talking about differences in species.

Details were being withheld from him intentionally, it seemed.

Finally, the kid put the chocolate in his mouth, biting down on the jabber nut inside with an obnoxiously exaggerated crunch! Time smiled to himself and tapped at his watch, timing out exactly minute.

Time didn’t even have to wait for that long for the boy to grow bolder. He edged forwards until he was nearly at the edge of the bed, holding his hand out in clear request.

“I’m sorry, you can’t have another one. It's not good to eat more than one at a time.” Time shook his head pointedly, then shot a glance back at the one-way window at the opposite side of the room. The researchers had said that he’d eaten nothing since they’d “gotten” him what seemed to be days ago, poor kid. “Maybe we can request some food for you, huh?”

The kid muttered something back darkly, his disappointment clear in his pout. Time glanced down at his watch. 15 seconds.

“Y’know, I wasn’t always a language professor. If you know what a professor is, I don’t know if you have ‘em where you’re from,” Time began conversationally. “Before that I was certified as a child speech therapist. Turned out to be a good thing when it came to my dissertation, because they’re really the best when it comes to the model of language learning. Y’know, one of my favorite projects, they have this dialect of ancient Mayan out in the really rural parts of Central America, way down south from here, and anyways my youngest went out with me that trip, his mother was a nervous wreck, but I told her that we just had to go, especially since they put us up in one of the nicest hotels down there…”

It was always funny to watch a jabber nut kick into effect. The boy uncrossed his arms, furrowing his brow and frowning as Time continued to prattle on—talking at length was one of his strengths, he knew, whether or not there was something worthy of being discussed. The boy scrubbed at his eyes and pressed his hands over his ears before lowering them again, his expression a perfect picture of bewilderment.

“Wha…?” the boy managed to get out, his eyes wide. “...you can…?”

“Magic,” Time whispered with a conspiratory wink—a blink, really—and a grin. The researchers watching would see nor hear any of their conversation—to their ears Time would continue to speak English, and the boy Hylian. He tapped away at his watch again, setting another timer for 10 minutes. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy bit his lip until it blanched between his teeth, studying Time’s face as if trying to determine his trustworthiness from sight alone. “...I’m… I’m not supposed to tell my name to strangers,” he said at last, dragging his fingers along the grout lines of the tile floor. 

“My name’s Time Forrester. I have a wife, Malon, and a couple of kids of my own about your age,” Time answered. “We’re not strangers now, are we?”

The boy shrugged, shifting uncomfortably, but he finally offered up with a touch of shyness in return: “My… my name’s Wild.”

“Well, Wild, would you mind coming out here so that we can hold a real conversation?” Time said smoothly. “I don’t know about you, but my back’s getting all cramped, and there are two perfectly good chairs over there."

Wild shook his head, murmuring something about how they’d come back and hurt him that Time clearly wasn’t supposed to hear.

Time paused, chewing over that phrase. Then he spoke. “I know this is all confusing for you,” he said as diplomatically as he could manage. If he kept talking, he could almost pretend that his voice didn’t tremble. “I don’t know a lot, but I’ll do my best to answer any questions that you have, if you’ll answer mine in return, I promise. Is that all right?”

Wild nodded. And when Time stood, stretching out his aching back, then extended his hand down to him, Wild only hesitated for a second before he took it.

First Chapter >> Previous Chapter >> Next Chapter Coming Soon!

[forgotten-daydreamer]

I think I might be able to post two prompts tonight if my brain decides to snap out of it and stop throbbing (I gotta study first but I should be done by 7 pm tops so in like 3 hrs). So yeah check out the first eight days of Batfam Febuwhump 2024 while I go do that, and don't be shy, my inbox is always open (anon too) so if you have questions / suggestions / anything regarding my fics don't hesitate!!

Edit: not only I'm going to post two of them in the next few hours (I'm still writing), but one of them (day 9!) is way longer than any other work in the series. Don't get used to it though!!

Edit 2: I promised you, didn't I? Over 4k words! Of! Pure! Angst! Ft Good Sis Babs! Good Dad Bruce! Pit Mad Jason! Trauma! Check out Batfam Febuwhump day nine (alt.): found footage on AO3, yaaaaay!!

[jedi-lothwolf]

Februwhump Day 2: "I Love You" (Alt Prompt 2)

Fandom: EPIC the musical

Summary: Polites fell in love with his captain. The problem is Odysseus is happily married. So he'll just love his from the side.

    Polites knew this wouldn't end the way he wanted it to. He knew when he had started to develop feelings for his captain that it would end badly. Polites had never been good at hiding his feelings. He knew that Odysseus would never love him the way that he loved him.

    The war was over. It ended when the city of Troy burned. Ten long years had passed. It felt longer and shorter than it really was. Polites hated watching Odysseus suffer. He knew he missed his wife and son.

    On the ship, the man paced around the deck. He wounded what to do about his feelings and how he would manage them. Telling the caption would result in the end of their friendship and that was so dear to him that he couldn't risk it.

    Odysseus was his best friend. He was more than just his best friend. Polites saw a different light than the rest. He couldn't help but love him. There was just something so, imperfectly perfect about him.

    When Odysseus had told him to come with him to the island to scout for food, he panicked slightly. But the two left regardless. It was dawn and the sky lingered with the colors of the sunrise. the light shown of Odysseus in a way that made Polites freeze.

    They walked around the island. They walked over a river using a tree that had fallen. There were willow trees and large clearings filled with flowers. But somehow Polites couldn't take his eyes off of Odysseus.

    Polites had started to talk to his captain. He told him about how greeting the world was a brave thing to do and how kindness could help them. He talked about how he knew he was suffering and how he didn't want him to do so in silence.

    Then they met the Lotas Eaters. Odysseus slowly got the message of kindness and faces them with words not violents. Polites was proud. He smiled as the Lotas Eaters told them about a cave that was east of them and how to get there. They thanked them and were in their way.

    The man hated how being in love with someone you could never have felt. Polites didn't hate much, but this, this he hated.

    The two stopped at a willow tree to rest. It seemed their conversation about greeting the work with open arms helped. Odysseus placed a birds nest that had fallen out of the tree back within the branches.

    "I love you" Polites whispered. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. He watched as Odysseus paused as he stood and how he turned around to face him.

    That was it. Of course he had to go and say something stupid. Of course he opened him mouth. Now he wouldn't have him at all. It was better to be friends then nothing. He didn't want to lose him.

    "What?" He asked.

    "I didn't, I didn't mean-"

    "Polites, I-"

    "Don't" Polites smiled softly. "I already know what you're going to say. I didn't mean to tell you. I'm sorry."

    Odysseus just stood there. He wasn't sure what to say. He turned around to make sure the bird's nest was safely in the tree. "I love you, just not how you want me to."

    "I'm fine with being friends. I didn't want to fall for you captain. It's like you tripped me" Polites chuckled. "I don't want to lose you."

    Odysseus turned around and walked  close to Polites. He stood not even a foot away. He looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

    "It's okay. It's good actually. I'm glad your wife has you. She deserves someone like you."

    "Polites" he looked away for a moment. This hadn't happened before. Ever. He had never had a man in love with him. Let alone his best friend.

    Polites pushed himself on his toes and grabbed Odysseus's cheeks. He pulled his head down a little and kissed him on the forehead. "Let's get back to the ship. The men are waiting."

    Then he walked away. Odysseus followed him. "Polites let's talk about this."

    "Captain there's nothing to talk about. I love you and knowing that you love me in some way is enough for me. I'm not asking you to love me back."

    "I know. I'm sorry."

    "For?" Odysseus stopped him.

    "For not loving you the way you desire, the way you deserve." He sighed. "Friends?"

    Polites smiled softly. It hurt more than he had thought. Nothing could have prepared him for his captain's reaction. He felt so bad for not loving him. He wasn't mad or disgusted. "Friends."

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 2: Solitary Confinement

Content warning: implied self harm and finger gore (not shown, but implied to happen in the future), manipulative Whumper

It had started out easy enough.

“Cut a lock of your hair for me, any size will do, then throw the scissors out of your reach,” Whumper had ordered. And it was barely an order at that. There was no command behind their tone, none of the threat or menace Whumpee had expected when they’d walked in. They were almost polite. They almost seemed innocent, as if they weren’t the one holding Whumpee captive.

It was bizarre, and that itself should’ve been terrifying. But the apartment toothlessness had given Whumpee a surge of confidence they wouldn’t have had otherwise.

“I don’t-…N-no. I won’t…” their refusal was just as weak as Whumper’s command. Hesitant and flinching, waiting for the moment Whumper dropped the facade of politeness and lashed out. They clutched the scissors they’d been given, dull and harmless as they seemed, like a weapon.

The consequences they expected never came. Whumper didn’t hit them or lash out, didn’t so much as glare. Whumper only frowned, soft and disappointed, and nodded. “I perfectly understand. Take your time; I can wait until you’re ready.”

And then Whumper had left. And they didn’t come back.

Whumpee had been relieved at first. Anything was better than the looming presence of their captor, and silence simply meant they weren’t being hurt. They’d be safer alone. Why would they want to see Whumper?

They spent several days alone in their cell. Searching for a way out, praying someone would find them. They’d hoped that they could use the socors to their advantage, to pry the cain on their leg off, then somehow break the hinges of the door. But the scissors only clinked uselessly against the metal, too dull to do anything.

After days of solitude, Whumpe had nothing to show for it. They only had a dark, empty room and themselves.

Whumper still did not return. Food simply…appeared, slipped through a slot in the cell’s door while they were asleep. It was always the same meal; a loaf of bread and a single bottle of water. They’d never managed to catch Whumper doing it.

They were only able to remain terrified for so long. Without stimulation, boredom quickly eroded away at fear, pulling their attention away from a desperate need to escape to a desperate need for something to do. But there was nothing to do but wait, each second an eternity.

It was boredom, not threats or torture, that ultimately broke Whumpee’s defiance. Nearly a week into their captivity, Whumpee submitted to Whumper’s demands. Feelings of fear and relief rushed through their mind as they snipped a lock of hair, the scissors trembling in their grip.

Less than ten minutes later, the door opened. Whumper did not return to them with self satisfied smugness, nor anger at the extent of Whumpee’s resistance. Whumper simply smiled. An innocent, kind smile that almost made Whumpee forget why they’d been dreading seeing them again.

Whumper brought food. Actuall food, warm and filling like Whumpee hadn’t enjoyed since they’d been taken. Whumper served it with a smile, handing Whumpee a bowl nearly overflowing with thick broth, meat, and vegetables.

Whumper sat on the floor across from Whumpee, eating their food with polite, small mouthfuls. Whumpee could only resist temptation for a moment before doing the same.

The first bite was so delicious Whumpee nearly cried.

The pair didn’t sit in silence for long. Whumper spoke to them, pleasant, inane chatter that soundly nearly heavenly after days of silence. Whumpee found themselves clinging to every word. Not because they cared about the topic, not because they trusted Whumper. But because it was something different. It was something to do.

When the food was gone, Whumper began collecting their bowls, tucking them away in the now empty pot. They were preparing to leave, and that fact made Whumpee’s stomach drop out from underneath them.

Whumper handed them something before leaving. A dog collar.

“When you wish to see me again, click this around your neck.”

And then Whumpee turned without another word. Leaving Whumpee in the darkness, alone.

“Wait!” the words burst out of Whumpee before they could think. Whumper turned, already halfway through the door.

The collar burned in Whumpee’s hands. They hesitated.

Whumper frowned, shaking their head sadly. “Whenever you’re ready to see me again, you can. Remember that obedience brings reward. I’ll be waiting.”

And then they left. And they didn’t return until four days later when Whumpee clicked the collar shut around their throat.

It became a cycle after that. Whumper would make a demand, Whumpee would refuse, and then they’d both wait until solitude broke Whumpee’s resolve.

Whumper never threatened them. They only frowned when Whumpee refused, so sad and disappointed that Whumpee nearly felt guilt each time. But they were never forced to obey. It was only the fear of nothingness that convinced them to. It was only the offer of human company, a kind voice after weeks of silence, that compelled Whumpee to obey.

Soon, obedience felt like a small price to pay.

“Call me master.”

Six days. Whumper’s smile when they returned lit something warm in Whumpee’s chest.

“Remove all of your clothing and throw it out of your reach. Yes, all of it.”

Eight days. When Whumpee gave in, the replacement clothing Whumper offered was even warmer than what they’d thrown aside.

“Here, take this pill.”

Twelve hours. Whumper had brought them a blanket, warm and big enough for two. They snuggled together as Whumpee laid boneless in Whumper’s embrace, mind pleasantly numb. They never felt more content in their life.

Nearly twelve days ago, Whumper had given them another demand.

“Pick a finger of your choice, any will do,” Whumper had ordered, that kind smile still on their face as they handed Whumpee a butcher's knife.“And cut it off.”

Of course they’d refused. Of course they did, and they had every right to. It was an insane request. Utterly unthinkable. And yet Whumper’s frown still sent a jolt of guilt and terror through them.

They were shut into the darkness again. Each second felt like agony, knowing that relief was simply an action away. And the longer they sat, the heavier the knife felt in their hand.

They could feel themselves considering it, feel reason buckling under the threat of silence. For the briefest of moments, they considered tossing the knife out of reach, removing the temptation. But they couldn’t.

Whumpee turned the blade in their shaking hands, and they considered which finger they’d be willing to lose.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 2: Solitary Confinement (Green)

Ao3

CW for burn wounds, torture, vomiting, blood and injury

——————————-

Being alone isn’t something Green is accustomed to. Not often is he without someone beside him. He has Grandpa and Dot now, just as he always has. And before that Ezlo and the other Minish, and even Shadow for a short time before he had sacrificed himself.

Then, of course, there is the fact that he is one of the four divided emotions that make up his full being. Nothing like being four in one to ensure a person is never lonely.

And maybe the Shadow knows that about him. Maybe that’s why he has his own cell, separate from Vio, Blue, and Red.

He lets his head fall back against the cold, stone wall with a sigh. The same drip, drip, drip he has been hearing for forever grates on his ears. His chains feel impossibly heavy, too large for his slender ankles and wrists.

He isn’t sure how long it’s been since he woke up here in the dank darkness, broken body screaming with pain. But it feels like it’s been quite a while. The headache dancing behind his eyes likely isn’t helping with that.

Vio probably knows, he thinks, absently. Knowing him, he’s figured out how to calculate the exact hours, minutes, and seconds since we were dragged into this rancid dungeon.

The thought draws a pained chuckle from him. It only worsens the incessant ache encompassing him. He lets out a low groan, shifting to try and gain some small comfort. There is none to be had, however.

The new position awakens his slumbering legs, allowing him to feel the pain of countless cuts and bruises. And the movement allows more chilly dampness to slip through his tunic. It slices through his skin, icy and harsh, freezing his blood in his veins.

Green shivers. For what must be the hundredth time since he awoke, he twists in his bonds, attempting to find some small weakness. But even yanking at them does nothing. They are as strong and immovable as ever.

He leans back again, sighing through slightly chattering teeth. More waiting is in the cards, apparently. More moments spent worrying about the other colors and his brothers too. He can only hope they weren’t captured as well.

Especially Wild. After all, the hero had been the only one on patrol with him when the monsters had shown up. And though Green hadn’t seen him fall in the moments before a moblin’s spear had taken him out, that doesn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

But there isn’t much he can do about that now. Not unless, by some miracle, he can break free. Which, if Green is correct, won’t be happening anytime soon. So, he settles in as comfortably as possible and tries to ignore the ball of fear situated heavily in his gut. And he waits.

Time slides by at the speed of a sluggula. There is no window through which to see the sun or the moon, no cracks for light to filter through. The only thing that differentiates one moment from the next is the amount of feeling he has in his limbs.

He has just begun to give up on his fruitless battle against slumber and drift off when the screaming starts.

Green jolts up with a gasp. His heart skips a beat, blood flooding to his head and pounding in his ears. The room blurs for a moment, then clears, rights itself. He hardly sees it happen. All of his attention is on straining his ears to catch the next sound. Because he might be imagining things — though he’s almost certain that he isn’t — but that sounded an awful lot like Red.

It comes again, agonized and terrible. This time, it sends shock waves of blunt force shooting through Green’s skull. He grits his teeth, as pain drives down on him. He tastes blood on his tongue.

Red cries out once more not a few seconds later and again pain hits Green with breathtaking force. This time, he can feel the blood. It runs down his abdomen, in warm, sticky rivulets that stain his emerald tunic a deep maroon.

With shaking fingers, he drags up the shirt, wide eyes searching for a visible wound. Sure enough, there it is — a jagged gash that runs across his stomach.

Green stares at it for a moment. Then, he pitches sideways and vomits.

He hardly has time to recover, however. Another scream rings out (Vio, he thinks) and he crumples, crying out as the bones in his leg shatter.

His breath comes fast and ragged. Spots explode before his eyes.

Again, comes a wave of agony. This time Green’s scream joins with Blue’s. Iron floods his mouth and he gags on it.

He doesn’t hear the door slide open, doesn’t see the advancing swath of lantern light. All he knows is the roar of blood in his veins, rushing traitorously to the wounds that tear him apart. All he knows is the visceral terror gripping his mind.

“Your turn you little runt,” someone grunts nearby, breath hot on Green’s neck.

He hardly has time to comprehend the barely audible words. The monster (or perhaps man? Green has certainly never heard a keese or boko speak before) hefts something in its hands. Then, it brings it down in a screaming streak of metal and flame. It collides with Green’s back, hissing as it devours tunic and flesh alike.

He can’t hear his cry of agony, nor those who join it. He doesn’t feel his fingernails tear on the worn stones beneath him. When he throws himself into a desperate roll, he hardly realizes his own actions. Everything has narrowed to this moment and the flames eating away at him.

When, at last, they go out, leaving behind the nauseating scent of seared flesh and singed hair, Green goes boneless. He clenches his hands into trembling fists, dragging in desperate, sobbing gasps of air. Bile presses at the top of his throat and he chokes it up, heedless of the way it dribbles down the side of his face.

Harsh laughter pierces his ears, followed by the sound of screeching iron. He should be concerned, he realizes distantly. But he is too weak to care.

“No, no,” someone sneers in a voice that sounds awfully like the Shadow, “do not touch him again. He has suffered enough. They all have.”

Clawed feet round his body, padding soundlessly upon the hard floor. Green stares dazedly at them, seeing but not perceiving.

“Come now, little one.” A talon skewers his chin and lifts it. Something long and slim and silver lowers into his line of vision.

Green inhales sharply. It’s his sword.

The Shadow smiles and there is no warmth in it. “You are lonely and hurting. It has been days since you were last whole. It has been weakening you, I know. So, take your weapon. Reunite the broken pieces of yourself.”

Green gazes at the blade. His reflection wavers within it. Hairband askew, eyes wide and feverishly bright, streaks of tears and blood on his cheeks – a clouded and distant portrayal of a broken boy. With trembling fingers he reaches out, enraptured by the promise of freedom and fight.

Of being himself once more.

If he can just become whole, he’ll have a chance.

His hand closes around the blade at the same time as footsteps come thundering down the hall.

“Green, stop!” Wild bellows. And Green screams.

Magic flows within him, setting fire to his veins, and sapping the last of his strength. But his body offers it readily. It needs to be one, yearns to be. Slowly, agonizingly, desperately, the pieces of himself crawl back to each other.

When he slumps to the ground, he is Four once more.

[apollo-likes-writing]

Febuwhump Day Two: Solitary confinement.

Characters: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: He's been stuck in there for days. Weeks. Months. He doesn't know. All he knows is that he is not making it out alive.

Word Count: 2,088

Tags: Whump, torture, imprisonment, graphic depictions of violence and injury, death, hallucinations (sort of? if you squint), guns/gun violence, slight gore, mentions of rape (literally one word, nothing graphic or blatant).

Authors note: Day two! Finished this at 11:20 at night lol. Hope you enjoy :)

@febuwhump

Day One | Masterlist

In his eighteen years of life in the military, John Price has seen some serious shit. He has successfully ripped a hole in hundreds of plots against the best interest of the people he strives to take care of. That said, he has also ripped a hole in the lives of the people who happened to stumble across his path; be it a terrorist in the East; a high-ranking officer in the West; or even the people he’s closest to. He’s torn children from parents, brothers from sisters, husbands from wives; and has hardly batted an eye at it. He has remained the stoic, strong, unshakable man he is for nearly two decades. 

Or so people think. 

Little do they know about the dreams (or rather, the nightmares) that this man runs from. The ghosts of his past constantly haunt him, deepening his eyebags and creating an impenetrable wall between himself and those he loves. Sometimes, they follow him from his subconscious into the living world; a sight that makes the stoic, strong, unshakable man quiver in fear.  

The 141 know. Of course they do. The worried glances he gets from the Sergeants and the annoyingly observant gaze of his Lieutenant make that very apparent. They don’t say anything, though; they wouldn’t dare. If they did, they would be hypocrites. All three other members of the 141 have their own nightmares that haunt them. Nonetheless, that does not stop the strange looks Price receives as he walks past them with ever-deepening purple under his eyes. 

Price is old. Or, at least, old in military terms. He’s 42, and with his age comes experience and with experience comes maturity and wisdom. He’s dealt with dozens of plots against the people he cares about and has done so quickly, efficiently, and with the power of a man seasoned in his craft. 

So, if you take away a man’s power, where does he stand? 

Not on his feet, if that’s what you’re considering. 

He’s currently crumpled on an uncomfortable cement floor next to claustrophobic cement walls under a suffocating cement ceiling. His wrists are pulled upwards by wrought iron handcuffs that are attached to the wall behind him that dig into his skin and turn his arms into a mixture of blue and purple. His legs are twisted strangely under his body, but Price doesn’t dare shift them to be more comfortable in fear of reopening recent wounds. 

John is sure he looks like a mess. He can feel the grease in his hair sticking to his scalp and the swelling on his face that forces his eye to close after so many beatings. He’s been here for, what, days? Weeks? Months? There are no windows in the cramped room, so the passage of time is practically non-existent to the captain. He can only sort-of know when it’s daytime due to his (consistent?) kidnappers entering his prison and forcing bread and water down his throat, only for John to throw it up again after they decide to “interrogate” him again. 

Despite the circumstances, John is as stubborn as always. Whenever the grizzled fighting-age men come into the room to try and pull answers out of him, he never speaks. He would rather they kill him than reveal information that could put his section at risk. He only glares and spits until a gnarled hand is clamped over his mouth and he’s punched and kicked in the stomach until the only thing he can spit is blood and broken teeth. 

It becomes repetitive. John is left alone for hours, sometimes days at a time, with only the mold on the walls and fleeting amounts of haunted sleep to keep him occupied; the monsters from the shadows slowly creeping closer to him whenever he closes his eyes. Then the kidnappers - which he assumes are Russian due to their thick accents – come in, shove food down his throat then beat him before leaving him crumpled and in more pain than he was before. 

He’s been through worse. The thought of such is what keeps his wits in order. He’s been shot, stabbed, beaten, raped, waterboarded, thrown off buildings, and every other horrific thing under the sun. That’s what comes with eighteen years of service in Special Forces; a metric shit-ton of mental and physical scars. Despite it all, the thought of his boys – Simon and John and Gaz – safe and looking for him keeps the monsters in the corners of the room and makes them stay in the corners of the room. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but if he were to guess by the number of times he’s been fed, he’d say it’s been a month – maybe two, because they haven’t exactly been giving him food consistently. A starving prisoner is better than a dead prisoner, after all.  

He’s taken up the habit of tracing the edges of the rickety iron door with his eyes. Round and round his pupils' flick as he attempts to keep his mind occupied. It’s on the sixty-seventh round where the door opens and John’s eyes snap to the ground, not wanting to willingly give his captors the privilege of looking into his eyes. He expects his head will be yanked forcefully backwards by his hair and borderline waterboarded when given his daily (?) glass of water. That doesn’t happen. Instead, the sound of struggling and the thud of something human falling on the cement ground reaches his ears. John doesn’t look up despite his curiosity. He just hopes and prays that it isn’t anyone he knows. 

Well, I suppose God is on vacation, as his prayers are clearly not answered. 

“Do you know this man?” one of the captors asks. John doesn’t look up. Angry, the same man stomps over to him and grips him by the hair and yanks his head upwards. Price attempts to turn his head, but his jaw is grabbed roughly and turned so he’s forced to get a good look at the newcomer. 

The man has been stripped of any combat gear he may have worn previously. He’s left in his cargos and a ripped black shirt that clings to him as if he had just been thrown into water. A concerning splotch of something spreads into the shirt around his lower torso, which Price quickly deduces is blood. He’s held down by three other kidnappers, spitting and swearing at the men above him as he tries to escape from them practically sitting on him to keep him still. Limbs are pinned to the ground and knees are shoved into his back as the man’s eyes flick between the men in the room to Price’s own; back and forth as realisation hits him like a truck. 

The kidnapper who spoke previously now leans closer into Price’s ears, his voice spitting venom as he talks. “I will ask you a second time. Do you know this man?” 

Of course he does. He’s one of his most trusted confidants. One of the three men that has been with him through thick and thin and probably knows Price better than he does. 

They can’t know that, though. John would rather cut his own tongue off than reveal that information. He stares at the man, blue eyes meeting brown as the newcomer fails to grapple with the men above him. The feeling of his hair being pulled out snaps Price out of his train of thought and he shakes his head. No, he doesn’t know him. 

“I can’t hear you,” the abductor states gruffly, his Slavic accent stabbing Price’s skin like daggers. He’s punched in the stomach and pulled back against the wall when he doubles over in pain. 

“No. I don’t know who that is.” His voice is hoarse - broken after months of disuse. A look of betrayal, followed by a look of understanding flashes over the face of the man opposite him. If we are to live, we need to pretend we don’t know each other.  

“He speaks!” The man that holds Price laughs and releases him, letting his head drop for a moment. “Is that so? How interesting. Let’s jog your memory, hm?” he steps over to Price’s singular ally in the room and gestures at one of the men that holds him. Something is passed between them, then that same something is thrown at him. It lands on his chest then falls onto the floor. John knows what it is, but he forces his face to remain neutral as he stares at it. He stays like that for a while before he glares into the eyes of the man standing above him. 

He nods his head in the direction of Simon’s mask. He winces as he does so, the movement causing his muscles to scream out in pain. “I don’t know what that is, nor do I know who that man is. Let him go, you bastard,” he spits. The kidnapper laughs. 

“Do you really believe you’re in the right position to give orders?” he asks, snickering. “Maybe you need some more persuasion.” He waves his hand and Simon is pulled up to his knees, facing Price. One captor holds his left arm, the other his right, and the final grips his shoulders tightly. 

“Get a good look at him. Maybe all this time has made you forget things, old man. Are you sure you don’t recognise him?” Simon is pushed forwards and to the ground, his head smacking against the ground only a few feet away from Price’s knees. John shakes his head. 

“What a shame. I suppose he has no use to me then,” the man continues dismissively, reaching a hand into his holster and pulling out a pistol, shoving it roughly against Simon’s temple. 

“NO!” 

The captor grins a wolfish smile. “No? Why not? If you don’t know him, there is no need to keep him alive,” he replies calmly, cocking his pistol back. Price looks at Simon desperately and the man simply shakes his head. He has always been difficult to read, both with the mask on and off. Now is one of the times where he can just open his brain and see what he’s thinking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the pistol-wielding man slowly start to squeeze the trigger. His eyes continue to lock with Simon’s, but then the main kidnapper speaks again. 

“Hmm, how about this?” It’s then when the same pistol that was pushed against Simon’s head seconds ago is shoved against Price’s own. “What about you? Do you know who he is? He’s getting boring. Tell me or I’ll shoot his brains out.” Simon’s eyes widen fractionally as he’s thrust into the exact position Price was in moments ago. They continue to lock their eyes, and this time it’s John’s turn to shake his head slightly.  

“I don’t know who he-” the pistol is struck against Simon’s jaw, causing his head to whip back and the men holding him to struggle to keep him up. 

“Пиздец (Damn it). Why does everyone keep saying that? I know you know each other, but you’re making me consider shooting you both to be done with your bullshit. Pull him closer.” He gestures to the three men holding Simon to bring him closer to Price’s face. “Now, what you’re going to do is look at each for a long time. Think about your friendship; the amount of time you’ve known each other. Acknowledge that, then acknowledge that if you do not tell me what I want to know, I will kill one of you.”  

If Price was in any other situation, he would have laughed. He did so happen to be a victim of the circumstance, so he didn’t laugh. He simply looked at the man in front of him. His eyes met Simon’s unsteady and slightly dazed eyes and the two seemed to come to an agreement. An agreement that they would not tell the men around him anything about their, work, their comrades, or anything about their work.  

“Very well.” 

The last thing that Price hears is the sound of a trigger being pulled, followed by the scream of Simon. The last thing that Price feels is regret and fear for his Lieutenant, as well as the hope that he may survive and live on after this. He simply hopes that the men who took them have the compassion to throw his body away and not leave him in there, festering, in the same room as Ghost. 

[triforce-of-mischief]

Febuwhump Day 2: Solitary Confinement

[Notes: I headcanon Four to be a system. If headmates/alters leaving (cannot for the life of me think of the word) is a trigger for you, you may want to avoid this one.]

****

Dark Link loomed over Four, a presence made all the more foreboding by the fact that Four was chained to the wall, unable to flinch away. A harmony of rainbow voices told him to stay strong, even as Dark Link twirled the Four Sword in his hand.

“So I hear your strongest suit is teamwork,” Dark Link said, silvery and smooth as a pool of mercury. “I wonder what would happen if I were to… change that.”

Dark Link’s thumb brushed over the gem nestled in the hilt of the sword. He tilted the blade, admiring how its iridescent sheen caught in the dim light.

Without any warning, the villain’s hand tightened, shattering the gem with a nasty crunch.

They didn’t have a chance to scream.

It all just… stopped.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Four reached out for anything, any sign of them.

There was nothing.

Red’s warmth, Vio’s calculation, Blue’s anger, Green’s desperation-

It was all gone.

They were gone.

It was just Four, but was he really Four?

He was alone.

He was faded.

He was weak.

His shoulders screamed at him, unable to collapse as he was, his wrists chained to the brick high above his head.

He didn’t know whether to scream or cry or just stare, empty, as Dark Link smirked and turned to leave.

The Four Sword clattered to the floor, as dull and lifeless as he felt, a shattered gemstone leaking from the hilt.

[kybercrystals94]

Grounded (Part 2)

Read here on Ao3!

Read Part 1 here on Tumblr

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 12 | Prompt 12: Semi-Conscious

Rated: T | Words: 824 | Summary: Hunter refuses to leave an injured brother behind. [Character Focus: Hunter, Crosshair]

“Almost done, vod,” Hunter says, beginning to wrap Crosshair’s leg in gauze, striving to stabilize the fracture. While it’s an injury he knows about in theory, he’s never had to address it. What he wouldn’t give for Tech’s boundless knowledge right now.

As if Hunter’s words flip a switch, Crosshair suddenly falls completely still, rigid body going limp. Panicked relief overwhelms Hunter as he realizes that his brother is again unconscious. Hunter finishes dressing the injury, cursing under his breath at the red stain already blooming through the white bandages. He takes the knotted fabric Crosshair had been biting down on out of his mouth, tossing it aside.

The adrenaline that has kept Hunter upright since the accident evaporates, and he slumps forward, bracing himself with his elbows on his knees. Taking a few, steadying breaths, he works to regain his composure. It had hurt, seeing Crosshair in a state of sheer hysteria. Trying to talk him down from it while quelling his own sense of dread felt impossible; however, he’d managed it somehow.

And now he is alone again, trying to figure out how to get Crosshair to safety without further compromising the mission. The mission always comes first. An order drilled to the depths of their artificially bred core. And yet, Hunter found it an easy directive to step around when the need arose. Not often. They are elite soldiers, able to withstand more than the average clone trooper; however, not every cause and effect can be accounted for.

Like Crosshair being shot out of a tree and stricken with a compound fracture.

With another breath, Hunter sits up. He knows what he must do first.

Getting to his feet, Hunter makes sure that Crosshair is adequately hidden in the undergrowth from any enemy eyes or probes that might still be in the area. He checks Crosshair’s vitals one more time before he starts off for the place of the accident.

If he knows there’s one thing Crosshair would never forgive him for, it would be leaving his sniper rifle behind.

The tree Crosshair fell from is only a two minute, hurried pace from their cover. Granted, trying to carry an unconscious and injured brother the distance had taken a bit more time. He quickly finds Crosshair’s abandoned rifle and kit in the brush he’d shoved it into before circling back.

He returns to find Crosshair awake. He puts the weapon and pack down next to his own before going to Crosshair’s side. “How’re you feeling?”

Crosshair makes a face, as though the question disgusts him. “Guess,” he deadpans.

Hunter chuckles in spite of himself. At least Crosshair is coherent enough to be his waspish self. “I’m guessing you’ve been better?”

Crosshair huffs, but Hunter doesn’t miss the grimace of pain that flashes across the stoic’s face. They are both quiet for several long minutes, listening to the silence uninterrupted by war. If Crosshair weren't injured, it would be peaceful.

”You should go,” Crosshair says suddenly, weakly, shattering the illusion.

Hunter looks down at the sniper. “What?”

”You have to make the rendezvous point,” Crosshair says,voice thin.“You can come back for me.”

“No, I’m not leaving you here like this. End of discussion.”

Crosshair glares up at him, but the effect is dampened by his ashen face and the sheen of sweat across his brow. Hunter takes off his glove and presses the back of his hand to Crosshair’s forehead. “You have a fever.”

“There’s antibiotic hypo in my kit,” Crosshair mutters, averting his gaze to glare at something else behind Hunter.

Hunter goes to retrieve it, ignoring Crosshair when he says again, “You have to complete the mission.”

He brings back the hypo. “This it?”

Crosshair nods, and Hunter quickly injects it.

“I’ll be fine,” Crosshair insists. “There’s nothing else you can do for me until comms are back up and Tech can set up an extraction.”

“And what if the patrols come back through and find you? You can’t move. And you’re in no position to defend yourself,” Hunter argues.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“And I’m not!”

Another moment of stillness, but there is no peace in it now.

“I would leave you,” Crosshair murmurs, “if the roles were reversed.”

Hunter knows that’s not true and refuses to rise to the bait, to allow Crosshair to prod him into a heated reaction.

“We don’t leave our own behind,” Hunter says instead.

“You’d come back.”

“Why do you want me to leave you?”

“I don’t, but there isn’t any other choice.”

They finally meet one another’s eye, and Hunter sees the fear there, reflecting his own.

“There is,” Hunter says, reaching out and grasping Crosshair’s wrist. “I’m making it. I’m not leaving. I have faith that the boys will figure this out without us. Once comms are back up, we’ll get an extraction plan.”

Crosshair swallows, nods, and looks away.

They don’t leave their own behind.

END

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[arecaceae175]

Febuwhump Day 2: Flinching (Time)

This one is inspired by my all time favorite thing ever: this comic by @wolfy1298. This fic is not exactly what happens in the comic, but it has some of the same scenes and the same vibes and I was seeing it in my head as I wrote this. AO3 link.

Warnings: none.

The full moon shone brightly, illuminating the camp in its pale glow. Warriors stretched his arms above his head and allowed himself a moment to wake up before he moved. 

Judging by the moon’s position, it was well past his turn for watch. Warriors lifted himself up from his bedroll with a yawn and curled his scarf tighter around his shoulders to ward off the chill. He glanced quickly around camp, doing a quick headcount, before he carefully walked over to Time.

Time was perched on a rock, sword drawn and placed over his knees. He was staring at the moon with an unreadable expression on his face. Time’s hands were loosely clasped together and two fingers were on his wedding ring, twirling the band in lazy circles.

“Time?” Warriors asked in a whisper. Time didn’t react. Warriors glanced back at the other heroes sleeping, then back to Time’s motionless form. Very gently, he placed a hand on Time’s shoulder. 

Time flinched. It was a small movement, and he took control over his body nearly instantly, but Warriors didn’t miss it. He pulled his hand back and left it to hover anxiously above Time’s shoulder. 

“Old man? You with me?” Warriors asked. 

“My apologies. You startled me,” Time said. He moved one hand to rest on the hilt of his sword. 

Warriors hesitated, then asked, “Are you okay?”

Time sighed deeply, his eyes moving back up to the night sky. “I’m alright. I was just… thinking,” Time said in a quiet voice. 

Warriors narrowed his eyes, taking in the bags beneath Time’s eyes and his white-knuckled grip on his sword. As if he noticed Warriors’ gaze, Time heaved another sigh and relaxed his grip on the sword.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Captain. I’ll be alright,” Time said. 

Warriors huffed a laugh and flicked one side of his scarf over Time’ shoulders. “It’s far too late for that,” he said with a smile. 

Time returned his smile, and Warriors could have sworn he saw a faint blush cross Time’s cheeks. Warriors unwound his scarf and settled it more securely around Time’s shoulders. He moved Time’s sword to rest against the rock then lowered himself down onto the rock next to Time.

“It’s my watch. Get some sleep, sprite,” Warriors said. Time’s lips quirked up and he dropped his head onto Warriors’ shoulder. Warriors chuckled.

“I meant in your bedroll, you gremlin,” Warriors said.

“Same thing,” Time mumbled, pulling Warriors’ scarf tighter around his body.

Warriors shook his head and tried with all his might to keep from smiling. He wrapped an arm around Time’s shoulders, a content and nostalgic feeling in his heart. 

If this was what Time needed to feel safe tonight, Warriors would happily act as his pillow for as long as he needed.

[serickswrites]

Two for Flinching

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: captivity, restraints, gags/muzzle, knives, forced to watch, torture

Team Leader snarled and strained against the chains that kept them bound to the chair. I’m going to rip you apart, Whumper. With my bare hands. 

Whumper laughed at Team Leader’s impotence. “You can’t get me, so why fight?” Whumper circled Smallest Teammate, running their hands through Smallest Teammate’s hair. 

Smallest Teammate squeaked as they flinched back from Whumper’s touch. But Whumper fisted their hair and kept them still. 

“LEAVE THEM ALONE!” Team Leader roared. 

“Why in the ever loving fuck would I do that? They are so pretty,” Whumper said as they caressed Smallest Teammate’s hair once more. 

“STOP IT! STOP IT!” Team Leader yelled as they watched the tears roll down Smallest Teammate’s face. 

Suddenly Whumper stalked over to Team Leader, their face inches from Team Leader’s. “Stop. Ruining. My. Fun.”

Team Leader spat in Whumper’s face. “Fuck you.”

Whumper glared down at Team Leader as they wiped the spit off their face. “You’re going to regret that.” They nodded at Accomplice. 

Accomplice quickly crossed the room and pressed a blade to Smallest Teammate’s throat. Smallest Teammate stilled, their eyes wide with terror. 

“Don’t hurt them! Please! Don’t.” Team Leader begged instantly regretting their display. Please don’t hurt them. Hurt me. Not them.

“I need you to be still. And quiet.” Whumper growled. “And stop ruining my fun.”

Team Leader nodded. “I will be quiet. And still. Just hurt me. Please. Leave them alone.” 

“Oh I am going to hurt you, Team Leader. Just not yet.” Whumper lifted a muzzle from the table of instruments nearby. “But I’m going to make sure I don’t hear your fucking voice any time soon.”

Team Leader’s heart was in their throat. They would not let Whumper muzzle them. They couldn’t. They started to struggle again, but froze as Accomplice pressed the blade once more to Smallest Teammate’s throat. 

Whumper smiled. “Very good. Maybe you aren’t so stupid after all.”

Before Team Leader could respond, Whumper was wrestling the muzzle onto their head. It was tight and prevented Team Leader from making any sound. They tried not to cry as they realized they wouldn’t even be able to offer comforting words to Smallest Teammate. 

And that this was all their fault. 

“Perfect,” Whumper cooed. “This will be fun.” And they waltzed back over to Smallest Teammate, a twinkle in their eye and a pep in their step. “Don’t worry,” Whumper said as they looked over their shoulder, “it’ll be your turn soon.”

[larkle00]

sanitized agent 3 FUCKING DIES

@febuwhump

[keldrakey]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Merlin (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2024, "I love you", Post-Magic Reveal, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Arguments, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Misunderstandings, Angry Merlin (Merlin), Angry Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling Series: Part 133 of Merlin, Part 19 of Febuwhump 2024 Summary:

After Merlin's magic is revealed, Arthur has a hard time believing anything they had was real

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Febuwhump 2: Isolation

Fandom: Grishaverse: Six of Crows Summary: The Crows always knew that they would end up in jail, but separating them is probably worse than caging them. Warnings: Anxiety attacks, PTSD, canonical backstories, mentions of child abuse, and isolation Word Count: 2,967 Ship(s): Kaz Brekker/Inej Ghafa/Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik/Wylan Van Eck/Jesper Fahey

Archive link!

Jesper turned his head to look down the hall just as the door closed and locked him inside. The person that was closest to him was Matthias, in the cell across from him. The others were being brought to the others further down the hall. He could see Wylan quivering while the other three kept their bodies firm and their heads held high to prevent the others from thinking that they could possibly be scared.

The cell that they had marched him to wasn’t the worst one that he had ever been in, though that was kind of a low bar. He had been detained in a number of bars and transport vehicles when he had been caught in the streets being a little too drunk or hadn’t been able to pay his tab. The walls were dripping with moisture from the storm outside, but there was a bed that seemed relatively dry. The bucket was going to be the least pleasant part of that experience.

He collapsed down onto the firm structure that made up the cot and then stared at the window. He could see the flickering of the sconces on the wall and if he really focused, he could also hear the others. The doors swung shut one after he other and cut him off from them. The inside of the cells was made out of stone and wood, things that he hadn’t worked with enough to be able to track with his powers. He would never admit it to the others if they asked, but he had been following them using his Grisha abilities since they had gotten arrested.

Jesper wondered for a moment if Nina had been doing the same thing, if she still was. It would be just like her for her to reach out with her abilities and keep track of their heartbeats while she wasn’t able to see them. Then again, the walls of their cells were really thick so it was possible that she wasn’t able reach them. 

The entire world began to feel hollow as he realized just how far awya they were from him. Even if he was able to warp the lock of his own door, there was no guarantee that it was going to let him be free. With his luck, he would just end up sealing himself inside so that they could never get him out. Just the mental image of that was enough to make it feel like the walls were closing in on him.

He jumped up and began to pace as he tried to quiet the rapid beating of his heart. The only thing that he could do to get himself out could just as easily seal his fate and keep him trapped from his partners forever.

Matthias turned around just in time for the door to close in his face, the same way that it had when he had first come to Hellgate. He knew that this prison was different, that this one was used for smaller crimes like the petty theft that Kaz had planned for them to get caught for. 

Just remembering the plan that they had concocted for their newest heist made him wonder about his motivations. He wasn’t sure why he had agreed to this, after everything that he had been through the first time that he had done it. Back then he had been trying to get his freedom so that he could reunite with his brethren and go back to the life that he had known. Now he was so deeply in love with people that were dangerous, both to others and to those that held their hearts. 

The walls of the cell smelled like the ones in Hellgate had, but without the burn of the salt. Everything in Kerch seemed to be wet, other than the apartments that Kaz kept for them to live in. The cell walls dripped with moisture that collected from the stones, seeping into the blanket and mattress that made up the bed they had provided for him.

Matthias paced the length of the cell as he heard the other doors slamming shut and locking the others inside. He knew that this wasn’t exactly what they had thought was going to happen since they didn’t know this prison as well as they had known Hellgate. Kaz had to have a plan, though, he always had a plan.

Being back in prison reminded him of what he had been before they had broken into the Ice Court. His first visit to Kerch was less than ideal and had resulted in him feeling like he was completely isolated from the world. No one had spoken his language, he had barely been able to speak theirs. His religion was the one that everyone made fun of or knew nothing about, which meant that he was unable to pray on the holy days.

Before he had gotten thrown into Hellgate, before he had betrayed from the one person he thought was capable of understanding him, he had been surrounded by people that were exactly the same as him. They had all trained and learned together, they had grown up alongside one another, they all thought the same way.

Coming to Kerch was the best thing that had happened to him because it taught him that he had been indoctrinated and that the way that he was taught to live was wrong. He knew that he had hurt people and almost caused the downfall of an entire people. He knew that and yet he still longed for that sense of community that he had never been able to replicate outside of the Druskelle. His partners helped, giving him a feeling of family amongst a people he at large did not understand. It was never going to be quite the same, though.

The lock clicked into place as soon as Inej stepped into the cell. She was a slippery one, she had already removed her hand from one of the cuffs. The guard that was leading her must have been able to tell that she was prepared to bolt at the first sign of her freedom ahead of her. She would have, if she had been able to get his brutish hands off of her arm.

She and Kaz had talked about what they were going to do if they were separated into male and female holding cells like they would have been in Hellgate and had been in the Ice Court. Unfortunately, the town that they were running their heist in happened to be small enough that there was no such thing. They tried everyone that they caught for a crime the next day, which meant that they all had to be in a single cell so that they wouldn’t colaborate together and come up with some kind of plan.

Overall, it was actually the smart move to make. It was going to be much harder for them to slip away from the prison and continue going about their business now. They were where they wanted to be but they were alone.

The cell was only big enough for her to lay down flat either way, though there was another two feet in the back along the bed. She couldn’t imagine how cramped the others had to be feeling given the walls closing in on her. 

She had loved enclosed spaces before because that as what the top of the tent became, what her wagon was when she was burrowed in her bed, what the caves and brambles that she and her brother discovered while they were playing.

That was until she had been stuffed into the hull of a ship. They had kept a piece of cloth over her eyes and the top of her head the entire time that they were transporting her, but she had still been able to tell how tightly packed she was to the other bodies. She had heard her brother crying out or her but they were all jammed into a back compartment of a boat meant to look like it was transporting vegetables. It had stunk something fierce, like illness and unwashed bodies and waste.

It was worse than when she was kept on the Eil Komedie, cramped in a dark room that had a single vent. She still had dreams about the both of them, that she was being kept immobile inside of the hull of a ship or moments away from getting stuck and dying inside of a vent, just moments away from freedom.

Her heartbeat was already picking up in her chest as she manuevered the bones in her wrist around so that she could remove her hand from inside of her cuffs. She had to be free, she had to get away. She couldn’t do this any longer. She couldn’t be trapped again.

Wylan was no stranger to small rooms, but he was a stranger to prison cells.

The door clicked and locked behind him with a noise so loud that it rattled through his head. He always thought that something was louder when it was supposed to be keeping him in a certain place. He had grown very attuned to the sound of a door closing after his father had discovered that he was going to be unable to read for the duration of his life.

 A door slamming meant that his father was upset, that he had to run and hide underneath his bed or in the back of his wardrobe. A door closing quietly meant that one of the maids was coming to let Wylan know where his father was and what was expected of him. A door clicking at the normal level was the entrance of his tutor and the promise of an aching, bleeding wound on his back. A door closing just barely above the normal level was usually his father on a good day, come to make fun of him and reiterate why he was such a disappointment. The worst noise of all was when a door closed while he was staring at it, the lock falling into place like the slowest thing in the entire world.

That was the sound of the door closing behind him now, reminding him just how doomed he was. He didn’t have Inej’s lithe body and grace, Kaz’s tricky fingers and hidden lockpicks, Matthias’ strength and brute force, Jesper’s ability to warp metal and wood, nor did he have Nina’s charm.

He was only himself and he had never once been able to escape from a locked room.

He turned himself around in a circle as he examined all of the things that they had left him. The walls were damp from the storm outside, there was a single bucket in the corner, and the bed was nothing more than an alcove in the wall that held a single woolen blanket. He supposed that at least he could stand up and walk around, so it wasn’t the worst place that he had ever been in.

The worst had been when his father had come in to hear him trying to read with one of his tutors. He had actually liked her too, she was patient and kind. She listened to him struggle and then tried to help him with the noises that she thought were harder for him to do than the others. Then his father had gotten frustrated with his inability to get the sounds out as quickly as he wanted.

He had grabbed Wylan by the back of the neck and dragged him all the way down to his study. Wylan had stood as still as a deer in the headlights as he emptied out his bureau and then shoved his son inside of it. That was the worst locking sound known to man.

Nina didn’t turn around as they closed the door. She had been told not to flirt with the guards so that she could get out of her bonds. She was supposed to wait for the others to come and get her. Then again, the plan had also been for Inej and Nina to be locked up in the same cell. They hadn’t anticipated being separated from each other.

She felt almost like she had when she had been thrown into the bottom of a Druskelle ship. She had her hands pressed together instead of the special Grisha cuffs that separated them, but that brought her no comfort. She couldn’t reach out to her partners if she wasn’t able to see them, that was the one thing about her powers that she didn’t like.

Nina had dealt with many kinds of isolation in her life. She had been a stranger to her family before she had been moved to the orphanage after they had passed away. She had been an enigma when she was at the Little Palace because she strongly disagreed with the forced service that they had to do for the king. After that, she was the youngest and most naive person that had been on the missions with Zoya. She had then been a stranger in a land that she didn’t understand with customs that she didn’t approve of. 

She had spent the majority of her life holding opinions and feelings that other people didn’t agree with. She should have been used to being alone, trapped with her thoughts and nothing else. She supposed that it was different that she had found people that she loved now. She had Matthias, who had been the first person to really touch her soul as they walked across the endless expanse of whiteness. Then she had met Inej and Jesper who had also come from somewhere else and were able to teach her the way of the land so she felt less alone. She had Kaz and Wylan to keep her company when she was conducting business below and above board as well.

But now they were all trapped in rooms around her. She also realized, with a crushing wave of panic that threatened to pull her feet out from underneath her, that she had never been alone with this kind fo quiet before. The walls were thick enough that she wasn’t able to hear their heartbeats. That had been a constant presence in her life unless she had specifically gone somewhere that didn’t have any people. She knew that her partners were around her and yet the silence was threatening to drown her.

She felt as though she was suffocating on it, how alone she was. She didn’t have the thrum of their pulses to calm her down, she couldn’t hear their breathing like a distance echo, she had nothing. She was well and truly alone this time, not even just metaphorically.

Kaz’s first time in prison was when he was in ten. That kind of thing was expected for a boy that knew nothing about the Barrel and the way of life that it demanded. He had gotten too greedy too quickly and was caught before he could learn how to avoid that. The next couple times he had gotten caught and arrested, he had learned and then made sure to never make the same mistake again.

By the time that he was an adult, he had vowed that he would never get thrown in another prison again. That, of course, immediately went out the window when it was called for in a mission. He didn’t value his work over everything else in his life the way that he had when he had first gotten together with his partners, but he did put a priority on his work over his own vows to himself.

He knew that he would be able to escape from whatever cell they threw him into. He knew that the picks digging into his cheek would result in his escape, but he had to worry about the others as well.

Kaz had spent much of his life alone, in one way or another. He had been the youngest person on the farm that he had lived on and thus spent a lot of his days playing on his own. It was a lonely childhood, but he had been joined by Jordie when they went to Ketterdam and promised many friends. 

That had of course before he had opened his sick-veiled eyes and found that he was floating on the barge meant for only the dead. He had been alone there and yet not, at the same time. He had been surrounded by the bloating, sick bodies of the dead and his brother’s voice had been screaming at him in a way that he would never forget. He had never been truly alone since, Jordie’s ghost had been snapping and snarling at him in the back of his head for the rest of his life.

It had been silent since he had found his partners and started the new area of his life, though. He had found a couple moments where he had been truly alone the same way that he was when he was a child. It had let him rest, let him find the joy in his own thoughts more than just trying to keep one step ahead of his own manufactured demon.

Now, that voice was back. Telling him that he had doomed his partners, that he had gotten them stuck in a place that was going to bring back so many bad memories for all of them, that they hated him now. Most of all, it was telling him that he had once again failed in the promise that he had made to Jordie. He had put Pekka Rollins away and gotten their revenge, but he had never become the man he should have been.

[madpencil]

Febuwhump 2024

Day 2: Solitary Confinement

Words: 597

Characters: Crosshair, other mentioned clones (The Bad Batch)

Description: Crosshair got put in solitary confinement on Tantiss. It goes about as well as you could guess.

At the least the walls weren't bleach white like Kamino. Crosshair thinks they would've hurt his eyes if they were. Instead, the walls were a bleak grey. The same bleak grey he'd seen everywhere around this dreadful place.

However, unlike everywhere else, Crosshair was truly alone here.

Solitary confinement. He had landed himself in solitary confinement. It wasn't a long, complicated story really. He had tried to figure out where exactly they held Omega. She had told him a general area during a vent visit, but hadn't been able to find her before being caught. If only there was a vent down here she could climb through.

It was lonely, to say the least. He slouched with his legs over the end of a metal cot. At least Cross could deny his loneliness when there were people around. Using his own logic, it was hard to be lonely with useless chatter around him it was flawed logic and he knew it, but it helped a little. With a lack of people there was no useless chatter. There was nothing to distract himself with so he could hide from his loneliness. There was nowhere to hide from anything really.

No sound except for his own breathing. Nothing but four cold walls, a cold metal cot, and a cold ex-imperial. He started to figit with his hands, the slight shake of them becoming apparent. How could he shoot if his hands shook? He was a sniper, without steady hands he was useless.

He shouldn't let his mind wander. If he did he'd loose it in here. Abruptly, Crosshair stood up and began to pace. They hadn't told him how long he'd be in for.

"One, two, three, four..." The man started to count. To him it was idiotic, but it was also the only way he could think of keeping his mind from wandering. He kept pacing throughout the small room, counting aloud to himself.

"Forty-six, forty-seven , forty-eight..." Plan forty-seven was a plan Crosshair and Hunter had created. It's purpose was to surround a group and either capture or eliminate them. It didn't matter now, did it? Keep counting.

"Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two..." Eighty-two was "the shockwave." It was one of Wrecker's personal favorites.

"Eighty-seven, eighty-eight..." He started to slow and shake at eighty-eight. The seeker. The last plan he called on their old comm channel. Whatever. It's fine.

"Ninety-eight-" The man didn't want to say it. Why had he decided to count?

"Nine... nighty-nine..." Plan ninety-nine. A plan involving the member who called it to sacrifice themselves for the good of their brothers. The plan that Tech had carried out. The one that killed him.

"One.. one.. oh whatever! What's the point?!" Crosshair stopped in the middle of the room with a huff. He tried to breathe.

Tech was dead, Mayday was dead, both Omega and him were trapped, and he had no idea if anyone was coming for them. There was nowhere to hide from this. No war, no missions, no useless chatter, and no one could save him from finally confronting the truth. He wasn't ready.

Cross lowered to the floor gently. His breath catching in his throat as the beginning of tears stung his eyes. Soft sobs panged off the walls of the room. He brought a knee up and slid to the closest wall. Once upon a time the cool metal on his back would've brought a sense of comfort, but there was no comfort here. There was only a prison with four grey walls, a metal cot, and a brother with an aching heart

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@febuwhump