#febuwhump survey

[febuwhump]

FEBUWHUMP 2025 WRAP UP SURVEY

the time has come! while the hall of fame completionist form is still open (deadline 3/3) and the ao3 collection is still open for submissions (deadline 5/3) and our upcoming febuwhump comment marathon is a week away (8&9/3) - it's about time to share your thoughts, feelings and opinions with the febuwhump blog!

if you completed even one prompt fill for febuwhump, your responses are valuable! i want to know what you enjoyed, what you didn't, and how you'd like to see febuwhump grow and change in future!

the wrap up survey will close on 7 march, right before our comment marathon begins - so please take 5 minutes from your day to answer some questions so future events can be even better!

complete the survey here!

changes made from 2024's wrap up survey responses under the cut

more reblogging posts across the month to aim for a higher likelihood of individuals appearing on the blog

more engagement with followers and on the discord (although i got messages claiming too much engagement, so it seems that i cannot win)

ao3 collection information was published multiple times; adding to the collection has never been easy because our tag "febuwhump_2025" or similar has never appeared in the dropdown menu (for reasons beyond me), so more references to it were posted

less dialogue prompts made it into the poll specifically so there would be less dialogue prompts in the final prompt list

less vague prompts

tried to have prompts that were less similar to each other than previous years, and not repeat previous years' prompts

you all seem to desperately want another mod but it's not happening

got yelled at for spam a few times but like. i have a full time job i reblog when i reblog if you don't like it unfollow or blacklist

fixed the discord sprint bot at long last

actually lowered the amount of discord moderators, although i am looking to get a new one for 2026 so i don't have to open the app as much

[insanitysilver]

Multifandom Fanfic Event Calendar

An attempt at aggregating the events I’ve seen. Not affiliated with any event organizers. Key: ☼ Writing - ♥ Reading. (Updated: 2/4/25)

JANUARY

All Month :

♥ - FaFiCoWriMo / Fanfic Comment Writing Month ( @faficowrimo ) Challenge: Comment on every fic you read during the month of January ☼ - Whumpuary ( @whumpuary ) Daily whump-themed writing prompts

Last Two Weeks of January :

☼ / ♥ - Genuary ( @genuary-fic-event ) Authors / readers share favored Gen fics on social media & add them to the annual Genuary AO3 collection

FEBRUARY

All Month :

☼ - February Ficlet Challenge ( @februaryficletchallenge) Write a 200+ word ficlet based of the daily surprise prompt. Comes with a yearly ao3 collection. ☼ / ♥ -  Femslash February Event celebrating femslash pairings. Participate by writing, reading, commenting on, and recommending femslash fics. Applicable works can be added to the open ao3 collection and tagged with #femslash february ☼ / ♥ -  Femslash February Celebrates Black Women Under the Femslash February umbrella, this event celebrates Black History Month and uses the additional '#femslash february celebrates black women' & '#ffcbw' tags. ☼ -  FebuWhump ( @febuwhump ) A month of creating whump works guided by a daily prompt list. ☼ - Feveruary ( @feveruary ) A month of sickfic-based writing prompts. ☼ - Kinkuary ( @kinkuary ) A month of kink-based creative writing prompts.

February 10th - 14th :

☼ - FicWIP's "Hey, Sweetheart" Challenge - ( @ficwip ) Challenge: Use the pet name "sweetheart" in fic or art.

February 15th :

☼ / ♥ -  International Fanworks Day / IFD Celebrates fanwork and has a new general theme every year. Hosted by the OTW, they usually run a week of events to celebrate which (can) include: essay calls, surveys, drabble challenges, games & trivia, along with the annual feedback fest post which solicits 10 fic recs based of the prompt of the year. Applicable works can use the ao3 tag.

MARCH

All Month :

☼ - FicWIP's Level Up Challenge - ( @ficwip ) Running through all of February & March, this challenge asks you to pick an aspect of your chosen creative craft you'd like to improve on and see that goal through. ☼ - Multiamory March ( @polyamships ) Create daily polyam-themed work with an optional prompt list and submit to the ao3 collection.

APRIL

All Month :

☼ - Angstpril ( @chaos-company ) Daily angst-themed writing prompts.

MAY

All Month :

☼ - Do-May-Stic ( @domaystic ) Daily domestic-themed writing prompts. Includes a yearly ao3 collection. ☼ - MerMay A month of mermaid-themed creative prompts. While perhaps more widely used by visual artists, AO3 has thriving yearly tags for the event. ☼ - Whumpay ( @whumpay ) Daily whump-themed writing prompts

JUNE

All Month :

☼ / ♥ - Gen Work June ( @genworkjune ) Authors / readers share favored Gen fics on social media & add them to the AO3 collection. Writing prompts also available. ♥ - Fanfic Summer Reading Program (Northern Hemisphere) ( @ao3commentoftheday ) A summer-long challenge to encourage people to read and interact with a variety of fics. Mostly self-guided, but comes with a number of attractive achievement badges.

JULY

All Month :

☼ - Fluffuly ( @fluffuly2024) Daily fluff-themed writing prompts

AUGUST

All Month :

☼ -AU-gust / Alternate Universe August ( @augustwritingchallenge ) Daily AU-themed writing prompts. Comes with yearly ao3 collection. ☼ - Fic WIP 5k - ( @ficwip5k ) Challenge: Write a complete AU for any fandom in 5,000 words or less. ☼ - Writer's Month ( @writersmonth ) Daily fiction writing prompts. Offers personalized badges at the end and has a yearly ao3 collection.

August 21st :

♥ - Fanfiction Author Appreciation Day A day to celebrate your favorite fic authors, customarily by commenting on their work, sending a nice message to their ask box, and/or mentioning them in a rec post with the '#Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day' & '#FFWAD' tags.

SEPTEMBER

All Month :

☼ - Sapphic September ( @sapphic-september ) Daily sapphic prompts with a yearly ao3 collection. ☼ - Sicktember ( @sicktember ) Daily sickfic prompts with a yearly ao3 collection. ☼ - Tropetember ( @tropetember ) Daily prompts based off popular fanfic tropes (5+1, one bed, etc.) with a yearly ao3 collection.

1st Week :

☼ - Trick or Treat Exchange (Begins) Annual fic/fanart exchange for hosted on ao3. Prep/sign-ups begin in September, and fics are revealed on Oct. 31st to the annual ao3 collection.

2nd Week:

☼ - Yuletide Secret Santa (Begins)( @yuletidetreasure ) Annual fic exchange for rare/obscure fandoms hosted on ao3. Prep/sign-ups begin in fall, and fics are revealed on Dec. 25th.

September 15th :

♥ - Comment Day ( @comment-day ) Pick 1+ fics and leave a detailed, personalized comment.

OCTOBER

All Month :

☼ [BLANK]-ober Daily Writing Challenges In the spirit of inktober, a drawing challenge that encourages artists to draw start and finish a small drawing daily, often guided by prompts, many creative-writing-centric events have sprung up. Some are more self-directed than others. ☼ - Fictober ( @fictober-event ) - general fiction writing prompts ☼ - Flufftober ( @flufftober ) - fluff-based prompts ☼ - Kinktober - kink-based prompts ☼ - OC-tober - Make art about your OCs daily ☼ - OTP-tober - Make art about your OTP daily ☼ - Whumptober ( @whumptober ) - whump-based prompts

Final Week of October :

♥ - Just Leave a Comment Fest ( @justleaveacommentfest ) Challenge: leave as many comments as possible. Each day comes with an optional reading theme. Mini-events are often run throughout the year. ☼ / ♥ - FicWIP's Ship Week - ( @ficwip ) Multifandom week of celebrating shipping. Includes a week of writing prompts and a support bingo board for non-writers.

October 31st :

☼ - Good Intentions WIP Fest ( @goodintentionswipfest) A day for celebrating/sharing/posting abandoned WIPS by submitting them to the ao3 collection. Let's give the dead a proper send off. ☼ - Trick or Treat Exchange (Revealed) Annual fic/fanart exchange hosted on ao3. Prep/sign-ups begin in September, and fics are revealed on Oct. 31st to the annual ao3 collection.

NOVEMBER

All Month :

☼ - Novella November ( @novella-november ) Challenge: Write 30,000 words. ☼ - Rough Draft Month ( @roughdraftmonth ) Challenge: Bring a creative project to completion alongside of other creatives doing the same. Comes with different levels of word-count goals and a flex goal option.

DECEMBER

All Month :

☼ - Hurtcember ( @hurtcember ) Daily whump-themed writing prompts ♥ - Zero Comment Challenge ( @polizwrites ) Challenge: Comment on one or more works with zero comments. ♥ - Fanfic Summer Reading Program (Southern Hemisphere) ( @ao3commentoftheday ) A summer-long challenge to encourage people to read and interact with a variety of fics. Mostly self-guided, but comes with a number of attractive achievement badges.

December 13th - 25th :

☼ - 12 Days of [Blank] Old fandom tradition of doing daily prompts in the 12 days leading up to Christmas. Some are more self-directed than others. ☼ - 12 Days of Christmas ( @12daysofchristmas ) - 12 days of holiday/winter-themed writing prompts. ☼ - Fluffmas - 12 days of fluff, #fluffmas ☼ - Kinkmas - 12 days of kink, #kinkmas ☼ - Smutmas - 12 days of smut, #smutmas

December 25th :

☼ - Yuletide Secret Santa (Revealed)( @yuletidetreasure ) Annual fic exchange for rare/obscure fandoms hosted on ao3. Prep/sign-ups begin in fall, and fics are revealed on Dec. 25th to the annual ao3 collection.

[repeatcubed]

Febuwhump Day 9 - Necromancy

I saw a prompt that inspired this idea, and I haven't been able to find it to tag, so I apologise to that creator. If I find it/if someone sends it to me, I'll be sure to edit again to tag them and the post.

TW: Death, mention of torture, kidnapping, undeath, experimentation

How long had it been since he was taken? Two months, three? And now, it was finally over.

They got the information they needed. To get there it had taken starving, beating, anything they could come up with. Of course the promise of release at the end had been a lie. It was always a lie.

They held him under water, watched and laughed as he kicked and flailed and tried to escape. All fruitless efforts, resulting in the next step. If there even was one.

Jason stood still, water dripping from his body. Everything was black, dark, cold, and he wasn’t sure exactly what was happening. Was he really dead? Or was it all just a dream?

He felt a sudden pull. It started in his chest, dragging backwards, from where he had been walking. Every section of his body started to tingle, buzz, and burn. The freezing water that had soaked through him hissed as it boiled off of him, his chest aching, limbs going tense.

He suddenly rolled over, not getting a moment to catch his breath before retching. Water spewed from his mouth, burning all the way up until it splattered on the floor. It tasted metallic, and mixed in with the disgusting puddle he could see clots of blood.

But it wasn’t pitch black anymore. He felt grass under his hands, a stone on his back. There was a moon, and stars, and a breeze. And a man standing over him.

“So you are aware.” The man smiled, in the midst of walking a thick tome into a satchel at his side. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

He sounded cheery, but the look in his eyes was far from comforting. Deep pools of black. Jason could almost feel the darkness that radiated from them.

“You’re a-” His voice failed for a moment, aching in protest from the previous onslaught to his throat. “You brought me back?”

The man above him hummed, kneeling down until their faces were mere inches apart. “My toys usually aren’t this aware when they wake up.” Did his mouth even move when he spoke? How was he so still?

Jason choked back a whimper, finally taking the time to survey his surroundings. It just looked like a field. Where were they? What did he mean by toys?

“You’ll be in pain for a while.” The man straightened up once more, removing the book from his bag once more. “But, after the fourth or fifth time, you’ll get used to it.”

“What?” Jason’s mouth went dry, his attention returning to the man once more. “Fourth or fifth time of-”

“My early toys never used to last that long, lost too much of themselves and became-” He paused, his lip lifting into a sneer. “Absent. Boring. But, practice makes perfect, I suppose.”

“No.” His voice was barely a whisper as he tried to push himself up, to run. “No, you can’t do this to me!”

The man suddenly called out a word, his voice tangled and distorted. Jason couldn’t understand it, but his body certainly did. He fell still, silent, and his mind melted painfully in content. What was happening?

“It’s hard to find a body in as pristine condition as yours.” The man grabbed onto his bicep, only requiring a gentle tug before Jason followed him to a house he never realized was there. “You’re going to be my perfect rendition. Welcome home, treasure.”

[apollo-likes-writing]

Febuwhump day 3: "Bite down on this."

Characters: Red Hood/Jason Todd, Nightwing/Dick Grayson, The Black Bat/Cassandra Cane, Signal/Duke Thomas, Red Robin/Tim Drake, Robin/Damian Wayne, Batman/Bruce Wayne (mentioned), Agent A/Alfred Pennyworth (mentioned).

Summary: A new variant of Jonathon Crane's Fear toxin has been rumoured to be released. When Jason gets effected, it feels like he's burning alive.

Word Count: 1,079

Tags: Whump, graphic depictions of pain and injury, needles/syringes, toxic gas/gas masks, depictions of fire/being burned.

Authors note: Wrote this when I was sleep deprived in about two hours. Enjoy! This has not been edited so expect mistakes.

Day One | Day Two | Masterlist

@febuwhump

The news had said that there was word of a new strain of Fear toxin out in the streets that felt like you were burning alive. Hell, maybe you were; in your mind. The news had also said that there was no cure to this new strain, and citizens were urged to stay inside and wear their state-funded gas masks courtesy of Wayne Enterprises. 

The news does not always speak the truth, though. There was a cure to this new version of Fear. It just hadn’t been developed yet. 

It currently is in the process of being synthesised in the lab of the BatCave. The last time Jason checked; the percentage was 24%. That 24% happened over the space of two days, so it’s safe to say that it’s taking a long time. The molecular formula of this strain is almost entirely different from its less potent counterparts, which makes the lives of both Alfred and Bruce much more difficult. So difficult, in fact, that the Bat isn’t able to leave for patrol at all, instead having to survey the development of the cure during all hours of the day. The gas is colourless, so you don’t know when it strikes you until it does. 

That leaves his many children to deal with the fallout. They’re out in the streets nightly, with their patrols sometimes prolonging until the sun is beating down on them from above. Damian and Tim had to put in their absences at school due to “personal family matters” so they were able to help as many people as possible. There’s not much that any of them can do, though. They can only jump at the sound of civilians screaming out in pain as invisible fire scorches their veins. They can only shove their gas masks over their faces and rush over to where the person writhes on the floor and take them out of the area; to the nearest Gotham Hospital that is steadily reaching capacity with beds overcome by shaking and screaming patients all witnessing the same thing. 

They’ve had to enlist the help of the police by cordoning off streets and buildings that are known to have gas. The colourless compound makes their lives even more difficult, requiring Oracle’s expert deduction skills to figure out where it has spread and when the wind changes. 

The family has dealt with it well! Dick has been pulled from Bludhaven to help and Jason has been less bitchy than usual (Tim’s words, much to the dismay of Jason). 

Well, at least until now. 

With the focus of the resident vigilantes on containing the gas, regular crime has been on the rise. They bag up the odd criminal when they stumble across them, but most of the time they’ve unfortunately had to go free. This threat is simply too large to spare any members of the Batfamily for the run-of-the-mill criminal on the streets. 

Unfortunately for one run-of-the-mill criminal, he happened to stumble across Red Hood while he was carrying the final civilian in a building out and away from the gas inside. The thug is the same size and Jason and appears to have similar muscle mass, so Jason might have his work cut out for him if he’s aiming to not kill the man opposing him. 

They land heavy hits on each other for a while. Jason headbutts the man and the tubes of the mask the other is wearing jiggle about a bit. Then the criminal lands a mean right hook across the jaw of his helmet, causing Jason to stumble back and nearly fall over. It’s only when he’s pinned to the floor when he’s distracted that he realises something is wrong. 

It starts as a warm feeling in his outer extremities, but soon crescendos into his legs catching fire and his clothing setting ablaze. It’s not real. Jason knows it’s not real; but holy fuck does it feel real.  

At this point the thug has scrambled away from the writhing man, realising he’s won and not wanting the repercussions that come with it. The sound of rapid footsteps grows quieter and is soon drowned out by the sound of Jason’s screams. Orange heat licks up his spine and makes him curl up and convulse in pain that isn’t there. His cries of agony bury the yells of his brother as the blue vigilante sprints towards him. He nearly knocks the poor man out when Dick throws his entire weight on Jason to keep him still, limbs flailing and screams of “Get away from me!” tear their way out of his throat. 

“Alfred! When is that antidote ready?” Dick yells into his comm link. 

“It is at 93%, master Richard. Bring Red Hood back to the BatCave so he can be treated.” 

That is a task easier said than done. Especially when you’ve got to lug a 200 pound brick shit-house from one end of Gotham to the other. It takes two tranquillizers to put Jason under, and even then, he can’t help but shake and convulse in his sleep. 

After what seems like hours, Dick, with the help of Cass, Tim, Duke, and Damian, manage to throw the agonised body of Jason onto the medical cot. His wrists and ankles are strapped to the bed and his torso is tied down with something that looks like duct tape, but probably isn’t. The percentage of the antidote is now 98%, so all the family can do is wait. 

And wait they do, until Jason wakes up and starts thrashing. around on the cot. The rest of the family seem to have underestimated Jason’s strength – especially under the influence of Fear toxin. The worst part of it all is that the man seems perfectly lucid. He’s conscious about everything that occurs around him, yet he’s hallucinating an inferno eating him up and spitting him out. Dick has to hold him down by his shoulders to keep Jason from breaking out of his restraints. 

“Here, bite down on this,” Dick states, holding a piece of cloth up to his brother's mouth for him to bite down on. Jason does; his teeth clamp down on the checkered item and his screams become muffled. It’s then when the ding of the antidote dispenser sounds, and the compound is immediately bottled and duplicated. It’s then pressed into a syringe and stabbed into one of Jason’s shaking arms. 

It works clearly, and as a result Jason falls unconscious, exhausted.  

-

AO3

[somer-writes]

still no pain meds today :( so i am probably going to end up writing a sickfic bc i want comfort in my life

thinking that during febuwhump just depending on class load i might be putting current large WIPs (A Breeze From the South, Twilight Prince) on hold if they're not done by then. i write on the fly tho so who tf knows how that will end up XD i feel like every time i say i wont work on something i end up working on it lmfao

my classes start next week so writing might slow down a bit?? who knows! french i had last semester so i know what that workload looks like. but im taking a reading heavy english course this sem in a very special interest area of mine (arthurian history) so that will likely (a) occupy more time and (b) influence my writing XD i feel like an arthur survey is going to give me lots of ideas for wars and wild.......

[across-violet-skies]

Febuwhump day 12: semi-conscious

Whumpee: Legend

Whump Rating: 4/10

TWs: violence, blood

Legend grunted as his sword clashed with a Moblin’s, the beast’s weight causing him to stumble. Still, he held strong, swiftly kicking at its ankles. The Moblin roared with pain, backing off just enough for Legend to shove his sword through its stomach.

The Veteran sheathed his sword, dusting off his hands as the Moblin dropped dead, black blood oozing out from the stab wound. It was weird to see only one Moblin– usually they hunted in packs.

Distantly, Legend heard a roar. He froze, ears twitching as he listened. Heavy footsteps– almost like a horse’s gallop– seemed to be getting louder. Nothing good could come from this.

“Fuck,” he murmured, glancing around with a scowl. The galloping was close now, and there was no way Legend could outrun a beast that fast. He drew his sword as well as his fire rod, slipping into a defensive stance.

A Lynel– one of Wild’s, because of course it was– burst from the treeline, rearing up with a ground-shaking roar. Legend snarled, blasting the beast with his fire rod. It stumbled back with a howl, furious eyes reflecting the blazing grass.

Legend taunted the Lynel, getting it to charge at him. The Veteran dodged, clutching one of the medallions around his neck as he drove his sword into the ground, causing a violent quake. The Lynel barely paused in its assault, snorting angrily as it regained footing. The beast leaped back, blasting fire breath at Legend. He dodged the first blast and pulled out his ice rod to freeze the second and third ones.

His eyes were narrowed as the Lynel ran at him with a thick axe, double-wielding his elemental rods to rapidly heat and then freeze the beast’s weapon, trading the rods for his hammer to smash the axe into pieces.

The Lynel howled, snorting as it galloped circles around Legend. The Vet scowled, blasting it with fire. The beast barely flinched, so he traded out for his ice rod instead, aiming for the Lynel’s legs. One large hoof froze, bringing it to the ground with a heavy slam.

Legend smirked, pulling out his sword. With those horse legs, it would take a moment to get up, so now was a good time to run in for some melee damage. As he swung his sword, the Lynel howled, grunting as it tried to unfreeze itself from the ground. Frustrated, it swung a large arm, catching Legend in the chest and throwing him backward with great force.

He hit the ground with a groan, skidding a short distance. His lungs heaved, strained from the effort to breathe. At this point, it might be better to retreat, however embarrassing such an idea was. But the Lynel was fast, and even with the pegasus boots boosting his speed, Legend would never outrun it.

Plan B it was, then.

Grimacing, Legend swung his magic cape over his head and shoulders, jogging away from the Lynel to try and find shelter. He wasn’t sure where camp was anymore, and he had no maps to help him navigate, so that was out of the question.

Behind him, the Lynel unstuck itself from the ground, snarling as it surveyed the forest around it. It turned in circles, failing to spot Legend. The magic cape turned him invisible, which was great– but it came with a cost. It drained his magic more than most items, and it did so constantly, too. And after using not only his magic rods, but his quake medallion as well, Legend was more than a little drained.

He panted heavily as his cape sucked the magic out of him, nearly exhausting his magic supply. Legend grunted, flipping the hood off his head as he collapsed, barely conscious as he lay in the dirt.

“Legend?” Twilight called, emerging from behind a tree. His brow was furrowed as he knelt by the Veteran’s side, shaking him gently. “Link? Are you hurt?”

Legend groaned, blinking out of sync as he blearily glanced up at the rancher. “Magic…” he mumbled, eyes slipping shut.

Twilight frowned. “Magic?” He repeated, confused. “Do ya need a potion?”

“Mhm,” the Vet hummed. “Gr’n.”

“Well, that’s a problem,” the Ordonian mused, sighing. “I don’t have a green potion on account of me not usin’ magic.” He paused, snapping his fingers. “But Hyrule’s around here somewhere. He’s gotta have a potion.”

Legend groaned, not protesting as Twilight picked him up, carrying him bridal style. His head lolled against the rancher’s chest, arms and legs dangling limply where they weren’t supported.

“Hyrule!” Twilight’s shout startled the Veteran, who groaned and shifted in his arms. “Over here!”

Hyrule ran to join them, eyes wide and hands glowing preemptively. “What happened?!”

“He needs a green potion,” Twilight explained quickly. “Do you have any?”

“Oh!” The traveler dug through his bag, producing a bottle filled halfway with sloshing green liquid. “Here!”

Twilight set Legend down carefully, and Hyrule fed him the green potion in small quantities. Slowly, the Vet began to recover, waking up enough to sit up (with Twilight’s help).

Hyrule shoved the empty bottle back in his bag, frowning. “What happened?”

“Lynel,” Legend muttered, holding a hand to his head. His hands trembled, despite his attempts to hide it. “Wild’s.”

The rancher frowned. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Legend waved it off, shaking his head. “No.”

“Really?” Hyrule tilted his head, squinting.

“Yes, really,” the Vet insisted, scowling. “I’m fine.”

Twilight and Hyrule exchanged glances, shrugging. “Well, let’s get you back to camp, then,” the rancher suggested. Over Legend’s head, he mouthed to Hyrule: ‘Does he need to be carried?’

The traveler nodded, wrinkling his nose. As someone who experienced magical exhaustion often (a little too often), he knew how Legend must be feeling. It took a lot out of a person, and half a green potion wouldn’t fix everything.

Twilight picked Legend back up, and the Veteran didn’t argue (although he did look a little annoyed). The rancher walked alongside Hyrule as they made their way back to camp, chatting and laughing. Even Legend contributed to the conversation, his encounter with the Lynel already pushed aside as he basked in the company of his brothers.

Deep in the forest, a beast streaked with fire and ice burns growled, eyes blazing. It would not give up so easily.

–> support me on ao3!

[pipwasreal]

Febuwhump Day 8: "Why won't it stop?"

Characters: Sebastian Moran, Jim Moriarty

Content warnings: migraines, depression

The apartment is suspiciously dark and quiet when Sebastian gets home.

He doesn't mind the quiet so much. Jim's collection of records and CDs is vast and... eclectic. Silence is infinitely preferable to disco played at maximum volume and double speed.

But the curtains are usually open so that Jim can survey his kingdom. Or, at very least, Mayfair.

"Don't."

Sebastian snatches his hand back from the bedroom light switch.

Jim lies curled up on the bed, pale hands tangled in his dark hair. His face is expressionless, black eyes staring blankly up at Sebastian, but his eyelashes are wet with tears.

"Ah fuck. Migraine?" Sebastian guesses. Hopes, really. The alternative is even more concerning.

Jim's lips twist into a wry smile, then he winces, eyes squeezing shut.

"Nothing helps," he says dully. "It just goes on and on and on..."

His eyes fly open, rage contorting his features. His hands tighten to fists in his hair and he shakes his head with startling violence.

"Ad fucking nauseum!" Jim roars. He curls up tighter, arms cradling his head and covering his face, whole body tense and still.

Sebastian lies down beside Jim, pulls him close as he starts to sob.

[tired-of-being-nice]

"help them"

febuwhump day 26! not much actual whump in this one, but it's very important setup for the next (and last :[) febuwhump writing from me, and also it's introducing a new character!! yay! ray uses he/him and she/her pronouns, alternating.

content: mentioned illness, mentioned....really really toxic workplace environments. that's about it

There's a loud hammering at Ray's door in the middle of the night, and naturally her first thought is fuck, someone's trying to kill me.

But...if someone was trying to kill her, or break into her house even, they wouldn't knock, would they?

While he's considering this, the knock comes again, loud and insistent, and Ray decides that if whoever it is isn't trying to kill them, they're going to want to if he doesn't open the door.

So he gets up, goes downstairs, takes a deep breath, and opens the door while also kind of hiding behind the door.

"Ray," Milo's voice says, and Ray relaxes for a second–oh, good, it's just Milo–before they continue, "Remember that favor you owe me?"

"Um." Ray slowly steps out from behind the door to survey Milo. They look...wow. Ray understands the meaning of the term looking like a drowned rat now. They're also carrying what he really, really hopes isn't a dead body.

"Remember all those favors you owe me?" Milo continues. "Remember just how many of them there are?"

Ray winces. "I'm guessing you do."

"I do," Milo confirms, "and I'm cashing them in. Now."

With that, they step into Ray's house and start heading for her couch. Ray hastily shuts the door and scrambles after them, yelping "Hey hey hey hey, I know I owe you a lot but I don't think it's enough to get me to help you hide a dead body!"

"They're not dead," Milo says, like Ray was supposed to know that somehow. "They're just sick. And I need you to help them not be sick."

"Why me?" Ray protests.

"Because you owe me the most," Milo says, and Ray can't really argue with that, so she just watches in sullen silence as Milo drapes the not-dead person onto her couch.

...At least, she watches in silence until she looks a little too closely at the person, and she notices their uniform, and their hair, which even soaked with rain is an aggressive shade of blue, and she blurts "Holy shit is that—"

"Yes," Milo says, "and no, I'm not explaining why they're here, and I shouldn't have to explain why you are not to tell anyone about this, and do you seriously think they're capable of doing anything to you right now?"

Ray looks at Coren—because that's Coren, holy shit, the Coren is on his couch—and has to admit that no, they don't really look capable of anything. He's seen them once or twice before, but only for brief seconds before he started running or trying to hide. In his memory, they're a lot more intimidating than this...tiny ball of misery currently dripping water onto his couch.

Ray drifts a bit closer, and closer again. It's just kind of fascinating to have them here, right in front of him. Most people don't ever get this close to it without it biting their arm off or something. He–

"Don't poke it," Milo snaps.

"I wasn't going to!" Ray, who was absolutely going to, says defensively. "Um, so– why didn't you just bring it back to its own company? Let them handle it?"

Milo sighs. "Ray, if you got sick, and you told our employers about it, what would they tell you?"

"Take an Advil and come to work tomorrow," Ray says. She sees nothing odd about this. She's heard them say as much several times.

"Right. And if that's what they'd say, what do you think they'd say at a company best known for literally physically hunting down any employees who try to leave?"

Ray considers this. Ray does not point out that the person responsible for said hunting is currently on their couch, but he considers that, too.

The two of them stand in silence for a bit. Considering.

Then: Ray flings her hands in the air and sighs in defeat. "Alright, well, if you're going to be here–for tonight only, may I add–then I guess I should go get some towels so you can stop dripping all over my couch. Stay where you are and for heaven's sake don't get any water on my rug."

He heads upstairs and doesn't look back, which is good, because it gives Milo a chance to finally stop holding themself upright and collapse ungracefully onto the couch, limp with relief.

tag: @whumpsoda

[febuwhump]

febuwhump 2024 survey results

has it been six months since febuwhump? yes. yes it has. nevertheless, here's the cold hard data (analysis) of the survey from febuwhump 2024: feb five.

firstly, this year was our most popular yet! with 1417 works in the official collection across 329 fandoms, we made (and shared) 103 fics more than 2023, and 770 more than my first year running febuwhump in 2021! this isnt even including all the art and fics posted to tumblr, or wasn't shared during the event, which would put our total so much higher!

the prompt list had 4000+ notes and i received 115 responses to the survey.

there were 62 people in the hall of fame, up from 51 in 2023.

the blog hit 2,683 followers, up from 1,946 at the end of the 2023 event.

across two independant check, based on the average word count of 2,000 words per fic in the 2024 collection, and aware of the multi-chapter fics (some of which were finished after the event), it is estimated that 2.8 million words were written for febuwhump 2024. which is just. fucking insane.

now, onto the survey results!

firstly: in what way did you participate in Febuwhump this year?

with extra write-ins not pictured, fanfiction was the overwhelming winner with 92 responses (82.6%), followed by original fiction (22.6%) and artwork (11.3%). interesting to me personally is the 4 responses who wrote poetry and the not-pictured 1 response who created web-weaving! which is very cool and i would like to see it.

fandoms

according to the survey:

the most popular fandoms written for were the star wars universe and legend of zelda universe (8/115 responses)

21 responses included original fiction

the majority of responses also referenced more than one fandom, meaning less people stuck to a single fandom or topic the entire time.

according to the collection:

21 anime/manga fandoms were represented

51 books/literature fandoms were represented, 12 being specific star wars subseries

24 RPF fandoms were represented, including bands and minecraft servers

the most popular fandoms written about in the collection were:

star wars (all media types) - 253 works

star wars: the bad batch - 80 works

torchwood - 66 works

original work - 56 works

my hero academia - 54 works

why and how

next, there were a lot of really lovely responses about why participants took part in febuwhump, a few favourite and repeated responses being that it seemed fun, they'd done it before and so wanted to do it again, and they liked to write about their favourite characters suffering. also, multiple people have been doing it for three of the four years i've been running it (of five total), and several were encouraged by friends!

the majority of participants discovered febuwhump through tumblr, the admin's tumblr, ao3 fics and discord servers. a handful said there's apparently a google doc floating around that houses a whump event calendar. i would be interested in seeing that if anyone's got it.

did you participate in Febuwhump 2020, 21, 22 or 23?

the majorty of respondants were new comers to febuwhump at 66.1% "no" to 33.9% "yes". the majority of comparisons to previous years referenced a noticably bigger community, more interaction on the blog, and the admin being more "confident" (oh, you guys), however several noted that the prompts felt more repetitive or samey this year than they did previously.

are you a Febuwhump completionist or participant?

a fairly even split, 51.3% of participants didn't finish compared to the 48.7% who did. however, only 88.1% of those completionists submitted to the hall of fame.

for those who didn't complete, the most common amount of prompts completed was 2 (13.6%), 3 (11.9%) and 12 or 6 (6.8%).

the most common place to share prompt fills was tumblr (74.8%), ao3 (72.2%), or choosing not to share at all (7%). several write-in responses said that they were planning to share in the future but hadn't yet. and while 76.4% of people submitted to the ao3 collection, those who didn't claimed it to be because the fics weren't ready to be shared on time, they weren't following the rules so didn't add to the collection, an inability to find the collection on ao3 (i swear i'm working on it) or shyness/fear.

what went well/even better if:

the only actual criticsm of the event received was that the blog was posting in a "spam"-like way, to the point that the participant almost unfollowed (and another suggested a reblog tag so it could be ignored easier if people didn't want to see the works throughout the month).

several comments asked for a later deadline for submission to the collection/hall of fame, which is going under advisement, but the current position is that by doing so, it makes the event a different event. there are no stakes to actually create once a day if, at the end of it, you actually get 2 weeks of extra time.

another couple mentioned there being too many dialogue prompts and vague prompts. this will be considered during the next voting period and prompt collation - potentially, if i allowed less dialogue prompts into the final 100 vote, less would make it through to the official 28, however the voting itself is out of my hands (unless voter fraud occurs once again).

the main suggestion for improvement (8 times out of 44 suggestions) was for an additional mod to help with reblogging more. (which imo flies in the face of the "spamming" from earlier, but there is surely a middle ground). this is likely to not happen, because i like running the event alone, despite the major burnout i receive every single year without fail. but thanks for your concern lol.

on discord:

31.3% of participants were in the discord server (which, this year, ignored the first year's 100 user cap and had 172 total users).

43.6% of people who didn't join the server did so because they hadn't heard of it, while the majority didn't join because they were either shy (the minorty) or don't use/like discord (the vast majority). i don't know if tumblr still does groupchats and if that would be a viable alternative, or if there is another forum/chat location that would work better (or to have in tandem), but i am open to suggestions.

of the people who were in the channel, most (33.3%) used it "rarely", followed by "most days" (25%) and "for half the month" (22.2%)

febuwhump 2025

the majority of responses wanted next year's colour scheme to either be red or green, but shout out to everyone who wanted orange, the person who said "children's hospital" and the other person who gave me this specific hex code: #4BEC13

which is vile, but also another vote for green.

finally, here are my favourite suggestions for febuwhump 2025's colloquial name. previously, we have endured febuwhump 2: electric boogaloo, febuwhump 3: tokyo drift, fourbuwhump and feb five.

febuwhump 6 suggestions:

fe6uwhump (which, i'll be honest, is a real contender)

"I don't know"

febuwhump 666

febuwhump: revenge of the sixth

"I don't know, sorry"

"febuwhump sex and make all the prompts kinky"

"??? i have been thinking about this for 10 mins"

febuwhump 6(9)

feBEEwhump

"i am bad at this"

"could not care less"

febuwhump feb five 2: electric boogaloo

apparently, i accidently made this a mandatory question and that made some of you mad :(

and that's the wrap up survey, six months late! any questions/queries/want to see some of that cold hard data? send me an ask. i'll actually respond to it i swear! (probably!)

[cepheusgalaxy]

Done! Febuwhump day 12, not exactly commiting to the prompt very well, but overall, very fun to write. Who knew medical(?) whump could be so fun? Cws for explicit language/swearing (a little), blood and injuries. If I lost anything, you can warn me!

Febuwhump day 12: Semi counscious.

“Miriam, are you sure you are fine?”

She dismisses his worry with a hand gesture. “Yes, yes, Zaire, I’m fine enough. Polaris went to get supplies and I can wait.”

Zaire did not quite believe her.

They were tired after running through a battlefield and had finally found a seemingly abandoned military base to rest, but Miriam had got injured, and, while Polaris went to survey the place, Zaire stayed with her to treat her wounds the best he could until Polaris found some first-aid kit.

He sighed.

“Come here, let me see it.”

Miriam hesitated, but then she laid her leg flat on the floor--Zaire didn’t miss how she winced--and let him analize it.

Her tight, as he’d thought, had a pretty concerning laceration.

“Okay”, he said, getting their extra water bottle and cleaning his hands. “How much does it hurt?”

She frowned. “Eight out of ten.”

He nodded and got a piece of clean--well, mostly clean--cloth from their bag and put her trousers out of the way. He pressed down. Miriam winced.

“Sorry.”

She shook her head. “M’ fine.”

“You pretend that’s true and I pretend I believe you, Miriam.”

She let out a weak laugh, but Zai was concerned. He could see her sweating, and she was pale. Zaire wasn’t completely sure if it was because of the blood loss.

He contined applying pressure and as the blood soaked the cloth he took out another one and put over it. Shit. When would Polaris come back?

“Lay down”, he told her. When it was clear she wouldn’t manage alone, Zaire freed one hand and helped her. “Remember to breathe, okay?”

Miriam nodded. She bit her lip.

Finally, the bleeding stopped. Zaire didn’t have much to help him cleaning the wound, nor a font of tap water near, so he just used the water from the bottle. He wished he had soap.

He made sure to keep the cloth there and talked to her.

“Water?”

Miriam nodded weakly. As he helped her take a sip, Zaire could see her fists closed.

“It’s gonna be alright, okay? Just try to focus on another thing.”

“O-okay, I’m fine”, she said.

She kept mumbling something, but her voice got lower and lower.

“Miriam?” His voice was an octave too high when he reached to her.

Zaire leaned closer and checked her wrist. Her heart rate was going up.

That was not a good sign.

“Miriam? Miriam, you think you gonna pass out? Miriam!”

“I’m--I’m good--”

Zaire was getting more worried by the minute. She was going to pass out either from blood loss or pain soon. Where was--

“Polaris!”

His blond head appeared from behind a corner.

“Is she okay?”

“No.” He answered.” Found something? First aid? Bandages? I’m accepting even alcohol at this point.”

“Alcohol?” He said, confused. Polaris handed him a white box with a green cross on it. First aid. Zaire sighed in relief.

“Got any clean clothes?”

Polaris nodded.

“Oh, my, Polaris, you’re great. Put the supplies there while I finish this?”

As Polaris got all of the stuff he’d got to a side and sat next to them, ready to help, Zaire got what he needed from the kit. Bandages, saline--and turned to Miriam. She was pale and didn’t seem too coherent.

Zai pressured her wound once more, then he cleaned it with the saline solution and blissfully clean cloth. He then applied antibiotic and bandaged her up.

“Polaris”, he said. “I need your help.”

“Yes?” He answered without looking at them. He didn’t like blood.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already taken care of it. No blood in sigh.”

Zai noticed when he relaxed.

“She’s fainted.” When he saw Polaris’ wide eyes, he added. “I don’t think it’s serious, but we should loose up her belt to help her circulation. Can you do that? We also have to check if she’s breathing and her heartbeat.”

He nodded.

--

After a while, Miriam woke up.

Zaire let out a sigh of relief and offered her a glass of clean water from the base’s water filter.

“Can we please not do this again?”

She gave them a tired smile.

“Yea, I’d like that.”

[reneesbooks]

febuwhump day 9 -- necromancy

there's actual canon necromancy in the raedoran cycle but it's uh. full of spoilers. so let's have some canon divergence! wheel of pain gave me keelan so blame it for everything that happens from here on out canon status: canon divergent (where this would happen in the timeline is. complicated. so let's just say after lacuna and leave it at that) pov: birdie and maura words: 5k

the raedoran cycle

Birdie brightens when she sees the fruit seller ahead of them. She grabs Fabin’s arm and he looks down at her, his scowl softening a bit. “They have figs,” she says. “They’re my favorite.���

He hums and shifts his stride towards the fruit seller. Birdie pulls her mud-covered braid over one shoulder and smiles at the merchant, surveying the fruit.

“Figs were always your favorite,” a soft voice says next to her, and Birdie nearly jumps out of her skin. A woman has appeared next to her, her cloak pulled up over her head despite the warmth of the afternoon. “Hello, duckling.”

“Who are you?” Birdie demands in a trembling voice. There is something so familiar about the woman’s aura, something that makes her chest ache and burn. Fabin’s hand is on his sword, but the woman lifts her hand out from under her cloak, golden threads of magic curling around her fingers, and he freezes. The woman tosses a few coins at the terrified fruit seller, picking up a bag of figs, and closes her fingers around Birdie’s wrist. Birdie flinches, the familiarity tightening in a band around her lungs.

“Whatever you came here to do, it doesn’t matter now,” the woman says, pulling Birdie towards a nearby alley. Fabin is still frozen in place behind them, his rage and fear burning against Birdie’s collarbone. “I need your help.”

“Stop!” Birdie tries to pull her arm out of the woman’s grasp, but her fingers dig painfully into her wrist. “I don’t even know who you are!”

The woman stops, having pulled Birdie into the dark alley, and takes the hood down from her cloak. Birdie inhales sharply, silver magic sparking at her fingers as Queen Maura of Raedora lifts her head and looks at her with sunken silver eyes. “I never thought Levi capable of such cruelty towards you,” she says softly, reaching one hand out towards Birdie’s face. “To make you forget everything...”

“Stay away from me,” Birdie manages to say, stumbling back a step. The queen’s eyes darken and her fingers curl against her palms.

“We don’t have time for this,” she hisses. “Keys needs you.”

Before Birdie can say anything more, golden light fills her vision.

----

Maura stares out over the lake, biting her lips until they bleed. Birdie should be back any minute, with her strange companions. The Fiero man she’d been with at the market had taken a lot of convincing, and the red-haired Fiero woman had pulled him aside for a long time before he agreed to come along. She’s not sure yet what use he’ll be to the spell, but he refused to leave Birdie’s side and she seemed hesitant to leave him behind, so Maura allowed him to come along. The thieves are the most irritating; knowing how much Keys had done trying to catch them and return to her side, allowing them inside the castle makes her skin crawl.

She turns away from the window, wiping the blood from her lips. Keys is laid out in the bed, the preservation spell shimmering over his skin. It gives him a falsely healthy glow, and he might be asleep if not for the gaping wound in his neck.

Rage and grief rise in her as she stares down at him, golden magic curling around her fingers. She hates herself the most, for getting him killed. The arrow had been aimed at her, and she didn’t know enough healing magic to fix the damage before he bled out. He’d died with his head pressed to her chest, his fingers curled into her skirts, and it had taken everything in her not to throw herself from the balcony.

The guards found the archer before she did, which ended up being a good thing, as now he is alive to be useful. She’s spent many sleepless nights in the dungeons with him, but she has to be careful not to get too carried away. If she kills him, he won’t be able to help her.

She senses Birdie’s presence before she sees her, turning towards the door. A soft knock echoes through the room and Maura throws one last glance at Keys before she pulls the curtains around the bed, hiding him away. What might he say, knowing that she tracked down Birdie and discovered that they were wrong about her motives? Knowing that she had gotten her sister back thanks to him, in the worst way possible?

She opens the door and Birdie immediately wraps her in a hug, smelling of lavender and woodsmoke. “Maura. How are you feeling?”

Maura stares at the wall over Birdie’s shoulder, wishing she could feel anything but the deep grief that’s followed her since their mother died. “Did you bring what you’ll need?”

Birdie pulls back, smiling sadly. “Yes. Emilia’s here to help too, she’s a healer.”

Maura makes a noncommittal sound of agreement and stands to the side, allowing Birdie and her companions to enter the room. The scowling Fiero man is there, unsurprisingly, as well as the red-headed woman. The chosen one of the red moon—it makes sense that she’s a healer. One of the thieves is the chosen one of the blue moon, and the other is a hollow child. She grits her teeth, feeling a spike of anger through her chest. All her attempts at changing fate failed; the moons will always get the better of her. And yet they managed to bring together every ingredient she’ll need. It makes her want to tear her hair out by the roots. At least the thieves are nowhere to be seen for now.

Birdie parts the curtains around the bed, inhaling sharply. “Keys...” she whispers. “He’s...”

“Dead.” Maura stares out the window again. “I know.” The Fiero man goes to sit by the hearth, his back to the bed, and she feels strangely grateful to him for affording Keys that small privacy. “It...I couldn’t stop the bleeding in time.” She pauses to suck in a shaky breath. “I need you to fix the damage before I can do what I need to.”

Birdie’s voice is cracked. “Maura, I...”

“I don’t have time for any more arguing or mourning,” Maura snaps. “The full silver moon is approaching, and we’ll only have one shot at this spell.” She closes her eyes, tears burning behind them. “You remember the story about the Three Sisters.”

Birdie sucks in a short breath. “That spell is a myth, a theory. Nobody can actually perform it.”

“You could.” Maura turns around, pinning Birdie in place with her gaze. “You’re the most powerful witch that Raedora has seen in centuries. The silver moon chose you, and I don’t give a damn about the fucking prophecy. I just want Keys back.” Her voice breaks, the tears welling up in her eyes without her permission. “Help me, Birdie, please.”

Birdie closes her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I...alright.”

----

“I don’t like this,” Fabin growls, his fangs poking into his lower lip. Birdie smiles to herself, marking down more runes on the spell circle. “How can we trust her?”

“I’m not asking you to trust her,” Birdie says, standing. She curls her fingers into the front of his shirt and he meets her gaze, his fear and worry flaring up against her chest. “I’m asking you to trust me. I don’t know what the moons are planning now, but I know that we have a chance to help Keys. I won’t let that pass me by.”

Fabin’s eyes are a storm of emotion that she can’t decipher. “The queen, Birdie.”

“I know.” She can’t hold his gaze, dropping hers to the lump of his necklace under his shirt. “Trust me, please.”

He sighs, his fingers curling around the back of her neck, and says something quietly in Draconic that she doesn’t catch. “You’re going to get me killed,” he says in Raedoran, half-joking, and she flinches.

“Are the preparations made?” Maura calls, and Birdie turns to see her standing next to her throne, surveying the spell circle on the throne room floor. “Levi taught you well.”

“We’ll be ready to leave soon,” Birdie says, stepping away from Fabin. “With your help and Jack’s amplification, we should be able to make it all the way to the cottage.”

“We couldn’t find a closer place?” Jack asks from where he’s lounging outside the spell circle, watching Arthur place careful markings along the edge. “Not that I’m not happy to help the crown, of course, it’s just the nausea—”

“There’s nowhere in Morbhard we can perform it,” Maura snaps, gripping a silver ring around her finger. Birdie feels the twinge of a lie in the words, thinking of the afternoons when Maura and Keys would disappear. Her mother would always smile when the guards reported the two of them missing, saying that she was sure they’d turn up eventually.

“There’s plenty of magical ingredients in the forest,” Birdie says, forcing a smile to cover her nerves. “We’ll have access to everything we need at my cottage, so it’s really the best place to do the spell.”

Jack grunts, accepting this answer, and goes back to watching Arthur draw. Birdie picks up her own chalk, finishing the last few markings on the spell circle. It takes a lot of energy to transport so many people so far, but with Maura’s help and the waxing silver moon, she should be able to do it without having to sleep for a week after. Probably only a day or two.

“Your Majesty,” a soldier says, and Birdie barely holds back a gasp when she turns to see two royal soldiers dragging a bloodied man in tattered clothes in between them. “The prisoner, as requested.”

The man is blubbering quietly, spit and blood dripping from his lips, and Maura’s lip curls. “Shut him up,” she says, and one of the soldiers knocks the man on the head. He goes limp in their hold, quieting, and Maura makes a dismissive gesture. “To the center of the circle.”

The soldiers lift the man over the chalk markings, careful not to disturb them, and let him collapse into a heap at the center of the circle. Birdie drags her gaze back to Maura, who is staring at the man with rage hardened into lines on her face. She calls the soldiers up to her, casting some spell on them before they leave, and walks slowly down the stairs to the edge of the circle. She looks at Birdie. “We’re all here.”

“Who is that?” Birdie asks, proud when her voice doesn’t tremble. Maura’s lip curls with disgust.

“The archer,” she says. She walks over to where Keys’s body is wrapped in his deep purple cloak and levitates it to the center of the circle, careful not to touch the archer. She glares at where Jack and Arthur are frozen in fear outside the circle. “It’s time to leave.”

They scramble to the center of the circle, standing as far from her as they can manage, and Emilia follows. She stands near Maura, her eyes darting down to the archer at her feet. Birdie and Fabin join them last and Birdie joins hands with Maura, inhaling deeply. Jack puts his hand on her shoulder and she nods at Maura.

Silver and gold magic erupts from the two of them as they start the incantation, filling the throne room with light. Birdie closes her eyes, feeling the ground shifting under them, and when she opens them, finds herself standing in the field behind her cottage. Maura stumbles, the circles under her eyes deeper, and Birdie feels the same exhaustion in her bones, lowering her hands. As quick as the spell was, she feels like she’s been channeling for hours.

Fabin’s hands steady her when she tips over and Maura looks at the cottage. “It’s lovely,” she murmurs. “We’ll need to rest.”

“Yes,” Birdie says, her eyelids fluttering. “Emilia, can you help her?”

Emilia lets Maura lean on her as she leads her to the cottage and Fabin swings Birdie up into his arms. “This is all very strange,” he murmurs to her, and she presses her face into his shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says, wishing she felt as confident as she sounds. Fabin’s fingers card through her hair; he’s not fooled. He carries her up to her room to sleep, and she sinks into the darkness.

When she wakes, Fabin is waiting at her bedside. He smiles when she looks up at him. “I was starting to worry,” he says, leaning back on his hands. “You can’t leave me with the thieves for so long unless you want one of them dead at the end.”

Birdie laughs, her mouth horribly dry, and he offers her a cup of water. “Is Maura awake yet?”

He shakes his head. “Still asleep. Emilia moved O’Leyne’s body to the same room as her and is waiting outside the door.”

Birdie nods, sitting up slowly. “How many days until the full silver moon?”

Fabin glances out the window. “Two.”

Birdie nods again. “We have a lot to do.”

----

Maura twists her ring around her finger, wishing she hadn't slept for so long. “We have everything we need.”

Birdie scratches a note into the margins of the book she’s reading. “We need Keys,” she says. “His ghost has to be here; are you sure he has a strong enough tether?”

Maura’s chest squeezes. “I’m sure,” she snaps, and Birdie flinches a little. Maura immediately softens, sorrow raising up past the anger. “I’m sorry, duckling, I just...”

“It won’t work unless he’s on this side of the veil,” Birdie says, her eyes pinned to the floor at Maura’s feet. “I want this to work as badly as you do.” That’s not possible, but Maura lets it slide. “We have to be sure. Did you...have you seen him?”

Maura closes her eyes, thinking of that horrible night, standing at the balcony staring at the rocks far below. The shivering mirage of him, blood still staining his clothes even in death, begging her to hold on.

The princess. His voice was barely louder than the breeze, his form dissolving as she reached out to touch him. You have to find the princess.

“Once,” she finally whispers. “The night he died.”

Birdie doesn’t say anything more, her quill scratching out another note. Maura wraps her arms around herself and tries to focus past the crushing sorrow and anger. She’s normally so good at pushing it down, but since Keys died she hasn’t been able to control the writhing ball of rage in her chest.

“I’m going to see the archer,” she forces out from between gritted teeth, and doesn’t listen to Birdie’s half-hearted protest as she leaves.

She cleared out Birdie’s toolshed for her prisoner, the door having a suitable lock. She throws the door open, some of the rage soothed by the way the archer cowers against the back wall, the bloody stumps of his fingers clutched over his mouth in an attempt to keep his cries in.

“You’ve done a good job staying quiet,” Maura says, shutting the door behind her. A golden ball of light illuminates the space. Keys’s face flashes before her eyes, blood spilling out of his mouth as he tried and failed to tell her something before the life left him. She digs her fingernails into her palms until they bleed. “The dragons apparently have exceptionally good hearing, and I would hate for your whimpering to disturb them.”

The archer flinches away as she approaches and she kneels in front of him, not caring if he gets blood on her dress.

“You should be grateful,” she murmurs. “Your pain will end soon.”

The archer peers up at her with watery eyes, lowering his hands from his mouth. Maura pets his cheek softly, her nails scratching along his skin. Then she digs her fingers into his temples, pouring magic into his head. The archer screams as she finds the memory of the pain she’s inflicted on him—the missing fingers, the missing tongue, the various other tortures she’d devised when researching the resurrection got to be too much and she needed something to release the crushing rage and grief. She pulls the memories all together and forces them back through his head, making him relive every torturous moment at once. His eyes roll back in his head and she digs her fingers into his temples harder, shaking him awake again.

“You need to feel this,” she snarls at him. “You need to know what I feel every day.”

The archer is sobbing silently, his voice finally giving out, and she lets him go. Some of the crushing weight in her chest has lifted. She kicks the archer to the side when he collapses on her feet.

“I will miss visiting you,” she says, opening the toolshed door. “You do always help make me feel better.”

She locks him back inside and stares up at the darkening sky. They only have one more night until the full silver moon. Until they attempt the impossible. She lowers her gaze to the rippling fields, wishing she would see Keys again. She doesn’t want to think about what it will mean for them if she’s wrong, if he’s not still a ghost on the mortal plane. She grits her teeth, pushing the doubts away. He has to have a tether. He has to be here still.

Emilia is standing at the back garden gate, her brow wrinkled in concern. “I heard screaming,” she says, and Maura shrugs.

“The archer and I were having a conversation,” she says, heading back for the cottage. “He’s horrible company.”

Emilia says nothing more, her gaze straying to the toolshed. Fabin is sitting at Birdie’s side when Maura returns to the cottage, and his dark eyes follow her as she passes through the kitchen towards the stairs, his gaze burning with rage. She understands his hatred of her—his parents were killed on her orders, after all. She wonders what his sister possibly said to him to keep him from running her through with his sword, but she’s grateful for it. She’s unsure what Emilia’s feelings towards her are, the red dragon far harder to read than her brother. She reaches the room that she’s been staying in and shuts the door, sealing the room off with a soundproof ward. The last thing she needs is the dragons hearing her conversation with the corpse.

She lays down in the bed next to Keys’s body, slipping her fingers into his. Birdie’s magic sealed the wounds in his neck, leaving behind only raised scars. If it wasn’t for how cold his fingers are between hers, Maura might believe that he’s only asleep.

“I’m sorry, Keys,” she whispers to him. “I should have protected you better.”

She imagines what he would say if he was awake next to her. That’s my job, my queen. I protect you.

Tears slide down her temples and she closes her eyes. “I miss you. I wish...I wish you had been here longer.”

Years without him, wasted on anger and grief. She still remembers the argument they’d had, the night she sent him to the Black Cell. The way she’d curled up alone in bed after banishing him, sobbing into her pillow and wishing she could take it back. She’d thought him lost to her forever, never to love her again, but he still came back. He loved her at her most unlovable. How is she meant to face the world without him?

She curls into his side, pressing her face into his cold shoulder and letting the tears come.

That’s where Birdie finds her, hours later when the sun is rising again. She manages to undo Maura’s wards and slips into the room, shutting the door and raising the wards behind herself again. Maura turns over, staring at her. She’s holding a bowl of steaming oatmeal, berries and spices piled on the top.

“I’m not hungry,” Maura says, and Birdie’s brow wrinkles.

“You didn’t eat dinner last night either.” She flicks her wrist and the curtains pull away from the window, dawn light spilling into the room. “You must be hungry.”

“I’m not.” Maura sits up, glaring at Birdie. “Leave.”

Birdie doesn’t seem fazed by Maura’s attitude, setting the oatmeal down on the table next to the bed. “If you want to be able to help me with the resurrection tonight,” she says calmly, “you’re going to have to be at full strength. If something goes wrong and you have to step in, your body won’t be able to handle the spell if it’s starving.”

Maura looks away, irritation rising in her with the knowledge that Birdie is right. She snatches the bowl off the table and eats angrily, tossing the bowl back onto the table when she’s done. Birdie is silently checking over Keys’s preservation spell next to her.

“Thank you,” Maura grumbles, and Birdie’s lips twitch into a smile.

“I remember when I was six,” she says, and Maura’s chest aches at the memories of six-year-old Birdie, her bouncing energy and smile. “You used to tell me a fairy would curse me in the night if I didn’t eat all my vegetables.”

“You believed many ridiculous things at the age of six,” Maura replies, leaning back on her hands.

“Perhaps,” Birdie concedes with a brighter smile. “But perhaps you could take your past self’s advice.”

“A lot has changed since then,” Maura says, staring at the floor. Birdie hums in agreement.

“I’m still here,” she says, slipping her hand into Maura’s. “I won’t let us be separated again, no matter what happens with this spell.”

Maura closes her eyes, tears welling up in them again. “I’m afraid, duckling. What if...what if it doesn’t work?” She gulps, trying to hold back the sobs that want to rise up from her chest. “What if he’s really gone?”

Birdie’s arms slip around her and Maura takes the comfort, trying to reach past the crushing grief and find the love for her sister that she knows she used to have. “We’ll get him back,” Birdie murmurs. “I believe it.”

Maura wishes she had that kind of confidence, but she supposes life feels more certain when you can see the future. She lets Birdie talk her into helping her around the cottage, slowly letting the hours pass by while she does chores by hand, relishing in the strange, simple pleasure of scrubbing a pot without magic. She thinks of the farmhouse, the nights she and Keys spent laying on the dusty wooden floor of the kitchen and whispering about the life they’d have. They’d run from the castle disguised as merchants and build a house on the edge of the forest. She’d wake up every morning with him by her side and they wouldn’t have to worry if anyone saw. They would be anonymous people somewhere in the world, free to be. But that was all a dream, long dead, belonging to children who didn’t know any better.

She throws the rag in her hands in a fit of sudden anger, startling Birdie. They’re folding the laundry in the parlor, rags and linens spread out around them. The sun is setting slowly through the window behind them. “It’s almost time,” Maura says without meeting Birdie’s gaze. “I’m going to go check on Keys.”

“I’ll get the others ready,” Birdie says. “The archer—”

“I’ll take care of him,” Maura snaps. “Just get everything else ready.”

She wraps Keys’s body in his cloak, levitating it down the stairs. Birdie and the thieves are laying out the spell circle with braided grasses while Emilia sorts herbs and Fabin watches in his dragon form. Maura feels a shiver down her spine at the sight of him, towering over the spell circle with his green feathers glowing in the sunset. She’s never been so close to a dragon. His glowing green eyes meet hers and she holds his gaze, her own eyes narrowing. He looks away first, towards Birdie, and Maura sets Keys down in the grass at the center of the circle.

“I’ll go get the archer,” she says. “Will everything be ready in time?”

“Yes,” Birdie says, looking like she wants to say more, but Maura turns and walks away before she can. The toolshed door slams open at her touch and the archer shrieks, covering his mouth with his hands quickly.

“I have good news for you,” Maura says. She reaches down to wrap her fingers around his bloody wrist. “Your pain is over.” The archer whimpers and she digs her nails into his skin. “All you have to do is walk out into the spell circle, and you will be free.”

The archer’s eyes are filled with tears and his gaze darts over her shoulder, at the garden and the field beyond.

“Don’t get any foolish ideas,” Maura snarls. She tightens her grip on his arm until he looks at her again. “You either walk into that spell circle or I drag out every minute of your miserable existence until you wish I’d killed you the night you killed Keys.” She pulls the archer close, whispering in his ear. “All the pain you have felt is nothing compared to what I will do to you if you choose wrong.”

She hauls the archer to his feet and he stumbles along behind her, following her to the spell circle. Birdie and the thieves worked quickly—the circle is ready and glowing faintly with silver light.

“He’s ready,” Maura says, shoving the archer forward. He collapses to his knees next to the spell circle. “Just tell him when he needs to move and he will.”

Birdie’s gaze on the archer is pitying, but she nods and gestures towards the others. They take their place around the edge of the circle and Maura takes a step back. She doesn’t want to get caught in any magical backlash.

“We’ll have to start just before moonrise,” Birdie says, her eyes darting to the horizon. “Or else the prophecy might interfere.”

Maura grits her teeth. If the moons interfere with this spell with their damn prophecy, she’ll find a way to rip them out of the sky.

Fabin shifts, his jaws opening and Draconic words spilling forth. Birdie shakes her head, apparently able to understand him, and he settles back down into the grass, watching the center of the spell circle intently.

“We have the body, now we just need the spirit,” Birdie says. She looks at Maura. “Someone needs to call him here.”

Maura grips the ring on her finger, closing her eyes. “Keys,” she whispers, putting as much magic into the single word as she can. It ripples outwards, rushing through the grasses like a wind. She feels a tugging in her gut and opens her eyes.

“Maura,” Keys says, his smile soft and sad. He’s the same as when she saw him last, bloodstained clothes and gaping wounds. His fingers reach out for her, but his image shivers when he gets too close.

“Maura?” Birdie’s voice breaks through the rush in her ears. “Did it work?”

Keys glances over his shoulder at the others and Maura blinks tears out of her eyes. “He’s here,” she manages to say.

“You’ve been busy,” he says, his voice warm with amusement, and Maura huffs out a half-laugh, tears streaming down her cheeks now. “You found Birdie.”

“It’s time,” Birdie says, and Maura reaches out towards Keys, flinching when he starts to dissolve. He turns towards the spell circle, surveying the scene laid out before them. “Maura, make sure to not get too close.”

“I’ll be right back,” Keys murmurs, and disappears as he steps into the spell circle. Maura sobs once, pressing her hands over her eyes as Birdie starts the spell. She can see the blinding silver light through her eyelids, hear the roar of magic in her ears, but she can’t bring herself to watch. The fear is rising in her, fear and grief and anger at herself for being so foolish as to ever let him stay by her side. She should have known she would ruin him, should have given him a chance to escape.

“The archer!” Birdie calls, and Maura’s eyes snap open. The archer is cowering on his knees at the edge of the circle, staring in at where Keelan is on his feet, purple cloak whipping around him as he stands at the center of a magical whirlwind. His green eye burns through Maura, his gaze never leaving her. The archer crawls slowly into the spell circle and Maura doesn’t even flinch when he dissolves into silver magic with a scream. She holds Keys’s gaze as the spell finishes, as the whirlwind dies down and the roar of magic quiets, the distant chirping of crickets replacing it slowly.

When he moves, taking a step towards her, she breaks, throwing herself over the steaming remains of the spell circle and collapsing into his arms. His hands run over her as he holds her tight against him, and she sobs without caring if the others see.

“I’m here, love, you did it,” he whispers in her ear. “I’m here. I’m here.”

She presses her ear to his chest and sobs harder as his heart thunders against it. He wraps his cloak around her, hiding her from the others, and kisses the side of her head. “I was so scared,” she admits in a broken voice, and he kisses her head again. “I was so scared you were gone forever.”

“You’ve never had enough faith in yourself.” His hand runs over her hair. “Let’s go home.”

taglist (ask to be added <3): @oh-no-another-idea @space-writes @k--havok @lyssa-ink

[fanfictasia]

Febuwhump Day 14

Becoming the Monster

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Forsaken

Hela stumbles to her feet, a little dazed, turning to survey the battlefield, almost unnoticing of the unexpected fear churning in her gut. She doesn’t have time to think past a something’s wrong before a flaming blade plunges through her gut. Hela gasps, looking down. It’s Elderstahl, the blade flickering with fire through her, the shock numbing the pain before it sets in all at once, white-hot and searing.

Loki’s scream mingles with her own.

Hela’s knees hit the rocky dirt.

“I can’t believe you fell for that.” Baldr’s voice filters in far, far away, mockingly.

She’s been stabbed before. She’s never been stabbed all the way through, never seen a blade stuck through her, never felt fire burning through half her organs. She wants to speak. All that escapes her throat is a strangled moan.

“I thought it’d be harder. Maybe I put it off for too long.”

“Hela!” Loki is running towards her, and she wants to yell at him to stay back, to keep his distance so he doesn’t get hurt, too, when Baldr raises the blade again, a blast of fire nearly incinerating her brother.

He ducks into a roll, dodging the blast and rolling behind a rock.

Monster.

Everyone knows Loki’s Jotun – fire is the one thing that could easily be used against him. It’s his greatest weakness, and from what she has gathered, Thanos used that, too, if how violently he flinches when he sees flames is anything with which to go by.

And Baldr just stabbed her.

He just stabbed her.

And tried to incinerate her brother.

They spent their entire life fighting each other, and now they’re trying to kill each other.

[kira-angel24]

Febuwhump 2025 Day 7

Alternate Timeline Self

      Her head ached. Kira looked around to find nothing. The nothingness reached out forever. She surveyed the area, her steps caused ripples to flow across the ground. Her feathers ruffled and she glanced behind her. The girl's eyes widened as something stood behind her. The vague shape was poised like her. Kira walked forward, the thing followed her. It was closer than before. Its eyes glowed an eerie pale white. She moved again, her eyes locked to the creature. It stayed stone still. Kira kept moving forward till she hit something solid. She looked up to find another thing shaped like her. It's eyes were blood red and the thing behind her grabbed her shoulder. It pulled her back and both of them stared at the girl. Her body trembled. The pale eyed one's arms showed only bone and a thin layer of skin. The red eyed one had blood dripping from its mouth and claws. Kira's body froze as they stood over her. She tried to push them away but they didn't budge.

      The girl screamed jolted awake. Her chest heaved as she looked around. The room was empty minus the bars on one side. The other side was empty, except the person from earlier. The one who took her from the market sat against the bars. They looked at her the angel silently moved closer. Her body tense and her feathers ruffled. They didn't move as the angel drew closer. Kira laid down next to them, her chest moving slower. "It's okay, it was only a dream," they rubbed a hand on the girl's head. "You're safe now, I promise."

[writtenbyariavargas]

Febuwhump 2025

Day 5 - Not Trusting Reality

Cw/tw - abduction, drugging, prisoner

I knew I wasn’t asleep, and yet everything felt like a dream. It felt as though time and space meant nothing as I took an unsteady step forward. I didn’t recognize where I was. The walls were white and had no decorations. Even the door I saw from the corner of my eye was white with a white door knob. This room didn’t feel real as I tried to survey it. There wasn’t anything in it other than me and a singular white chair I’d woken in.

“Hello?” I called out, my deep voice echoing against the walls.

I was so disoriented, like I had been drugged and was finally beginning to wake from it. My limbs felt heavy as I slowly moved towards the door. It seemed as though a lifetime passed before I was at the slab and trying to twist the knob. The knob jiggled slightly, but it felt locked. I swallowed hard and looked around again, only seeing the slight glint of cameras watching me.

This can’t be happening… I thought to myself and groaned, raking a hand through my dark locks.

“Let me out of here!” I cried out, anger and a little bit of fear seeping into my tone.

As soon as I silenced, I heard the hiss of something being let into the room. My muscles tensed, realizing that what it was had to be something in the air. I pulled my shirt to my face, attempting to block out whatever was released into this white prison. I wasn’t fast enough. I was already too groggy from the drug before, and now I felt my body give out on me. My legs stopped holding my weight, and I collapsed to the ground. I didn’t know what was happening, just that I was being drugged again.

A robotic voice spoke, almost having a feminine quality to it, “you are too agitated. You must remain calm while you are here. Otherwise, it will ruin the experiment.”

I clenched my jaw, unable to get up from the crumpled heap I was in on the white tile.

“Who are you?” I growled before my eyelids became too heavy to keep them open. I blinked, feeling the lids taking more and more time to open in between each blink.

Footsteps met my ears, and I recognized them. I furrowed my brows. Confusion began to set in, and I tried to make sense of what was going on. The door sounded as though it was being unlocked, and then it squeaked open. I tried to look up at who entered, but it didn’t make sense. This person was supposed to be my best friend, and yet I was here, drugged and vulnerable. I could see the evil smirk playing on her thin lips as she walked towards me with a clipboard in her hand.

“I see you’re starting to calm Oliver. Good. I don’t like seeing you so drugged up, but right now, it seems like that’s the only way to do this,” she murmured and knelt before me.

I winced and tried to flinch away but could not move. I couldn’t believe that someone I thought was my best friend had me like this. I hadn’t even thought she would be capable of abducting anyone. Eliza had always been so kind and upbeat, the thought that she wasn’t didn’t compute to me.

“Eliza? Why?” I asked.

“Oh Oliver, you’re so fun to study. You never caught on that I’d been doing it to you for years,” she giggled and I felt the blood drain from my face, “now that I have this ready, the fun will truly begin. I need to know how long it takes until you start to lose that mind of yours.”

I was in denial. This really couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. I was just dreaming. I had to be. I couldn’t have fallen for years of her doing whatever experiments she claimed she’d done to me, could I? No. It had to be wrong. I had to be dreaming. I tried to move again but I couldn’t.

“It’s cute you really thought I was your friend, the way I ‘took care’ of you should have tipped you off. I guess you weren’t as smart as you thought. Never mind that. You’re not getting out of here with that mind intact. You probably won’t even remember this.”

I could feel tears welling in my eyes. No. No. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Eliza is just a good friend. This is just a nightmare. It has to be. There aren’t such things as mad scientists, and that’s what she’s acting like. Her laughter broke me from my thoughts, and I trembled, still unable to move with any purpose.

“You truly don’t believe this, do you?” She chuckled and tucked a stray hair behind my ears, “a shame, really. I guess you’re just going to have to endure this. It really isn’t a dream. You’re in your new home.”

No, no, no, no, no no. No. This isn’t real. It isn’t.

I felt a sharp prick in my neck, and darkness flooded my eyesight. The last thing I remember passing through my mind was begging for it to not be real.

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

Only You

Click here for my masterlist.

Febuwhump Prompt - failed rescue attempt

Prompt - ‘I hate to make everything about me but what am I supposed to do without you?’

You were still half asleep as you stumbled onto the jet, flopping down into the seat next to Hotch, letting your head rest upon his shoulder. Hotch looked down at you, face softening as he watched you close your eyes. By the time the rest of the team had trailed onto the jet you were fast asleep against Hotch.

The plane ride was only a short one so by the time you were in the air Hotch was gently shaking you awake, you groaning as you turned your face further into his shoulder before pulling away and rubbing at your eyes.

“Morning princess.” Derek grinned, way too energetically for four in the morning. You glared at him as Hotch nudged you and pressed the tablet into your hands, information already loaded up for you just as Garcia’s voice filled the jet.

“Police just responded to the scene of another body, same markings on the victim.” She told you all, causing you to look down at your notes to see the markings she spoke of.

You raised an eyebrow as you saw each woman had three crosses carved into their skin, one large one on their chests and then small ones on each inner arm. As well as that there was a diagonally cut along their face starting from the temple right down to their jaws.

“The crosses seem to be done post mortem, they’re too clean and haven’t scabbed over whereas the cut to the faces seem to be done whilst the victims are alive if the jaggedness and blood pattern is anything to go by.” Spencer informed everyone as you continued to skim through the information.

So far three bodies had been found, four now including the latest victim, all found spread out in public places. You looked up just in time to see Rossi and Hotch glance at you before sharing a look with each other but when you raised a questioning eyebrow at Hotch he just shook his head.

“Tell them to leave the body as it is, Garcia, we’ll be there soon.” With that Garcia disconnected the video call leaving you all to look through the notes and talk about potential unsubs.

“Y/N I want you with me at the latest crime scene. JJ, Dave head down to the station and see what they have, Reid go with them and see if you can narrow down the geographical profile. Morgan, Prentiss go to the lab and see if they have anything for us yet.” Hotch instructed as the jet landed and you all headed your separate ways.

As you and Hotch walked the crime scene, trying to figure out how somebody could plant and position a body without being caught even considering the early hour, you felt uneasy. Your head whipped around as you surveyed the scene but other than the press and officers nobody was there.

“You ok?” Hotch asked as he watched you look around.

“Huh?” You questioned, turning back to him with a shake of your head, “Yeah, I’m fine.” You told him, forcing a smile on your face as he nodded and turned back to the body.

You glanced around once more before doing the same.

It wasn’t long before you were all at the station, nothing coming up from your walk at the crime scene, Morgan and Prentiss hadn’t found out much from the ME. The only person who had had some luck was Spencer who was gesturing to different places on the map and rambling on about the most likely places the unsub could be.

You felt bad for zoning it out but geographical profiles had never been your forte. Instead you turned your attention to Hotch who was listening to Spencer whilst rubbing his temple, trying to push away an oncoming headache.

You stood up and headed out of the room, Hotch turning to you as you did but you weren’t gone long, heading out to the kitchen area to pour yourself and Hotch a drink. Hotch shot you an appreciative smile as he brought the cup to his lips.

“So all we know is that the unsub is somewhere in that area and is consistent in victimology and that only gets us so far, short of looking the same these girls are as different as you could get.” Derek said as he threw his folder onto the table.

“He’s right, they never went to school together, never shopped at the same stores, hell I doubt these girls had anything connecting them.” Emily said.

“There’s something we’re missing, get Garcia to keep looking into them.” Hotch ordered as he stood up to take a call.

“Reid, are you able to pinpoint anything about where he’s finding these girls?” Rossi asked, leaning back in his chair and fiddling with a pen.

It was only hours later that you were informed of another body. You, Spencer, Derek and Hotch headed to the scene to see if you could find anything useful. It was more than obvious that the unsub was devolving, two bodies in one day. The crosses on the latest victim were clearly done when she was alive, all of them jagged and messy.

As Spencer and Hotch examined the body and Morgan interviewed the woman who had found the body you looked around and noticed an alleyway not too far from the body, it seemed like the only place that an unsub would have half a chance at not being caught from.

You glanced back to the others and saw they were still busy so shrugged and headed over, with the way this case was going it was probably just another deadend. But yet when you headed into the alleyway you got the same feeling you did at the last crime scene, you felt uneasy as the hairs on your neck stood up, a shiver running down your spine as you looked around but nothing was there.

As you turned to leave you came face to face with a man much taller than you and before you had the chance to scream or pull your gun he immediately smothered your face with a rag. You tried not to breathe in but were forced to and it wasn’t long before you slumped against the man who wore a sleazy grin.

“What do you mean she's gone?” Hotch snapped as Derek informed him you were nowhere to be found.

“I don’t know man, she’s not here.” He watched as Hotch stepped away, pulling his phone out and listening for a ringtone to sound from somewhere around him but it never came. The car was still here and there weren’t many places you could go.

“Get Garcia to track her location,” Hotch said to Derek, “Now.”

The tone of Hotch’s voice had Derek obeying the order instantly, no flirting with Garcia as he snapped at her to do what he asked.

“It’s off.” Garcia told him with fear running through her veins.

“What?” Hotch snapped into the phone that was now on speaker.

“It’s not on, I can’t track it.” Garcia repeated, her thoughts spiralling.

Hotch bit back a series of curses as his team and the officers looked to him for guidance and he hated that he didn’t have an answer.

They somehow ended up at the station, each of them trying to create a profile that would lead them to you. Hotch paced up and down an empty interview room, hair messed up as he continued to run his fingers through it cursing himself for letting you come along to the crime scene in the first place.

“You need to calm down.” Rossi told him as he entered the room.

“Calm down?” Hotch questioned with a look of disbelief, “Calm down?! It’s my fault she got taken and you want me to calm down?”

“It’s not your fault.” Rossi told him, voice even despite the worry he felt for you. Somebody had to keep a level head and it clearly wasn’t going to be Hotch.

“Not my fault? Dave, she matched the unsub’s victimology, I knew that and I still let her come to both crime scenes, I never shou-” Here Hotch cut himself off as he remembered something.

“What is it?” Rossi asked, following Hotch out of the room as he stormed over to the one the team had been given.

“Get Garcia on the phone.” He demanded and his order was fulfilled in seconds, Garcia’s worried voice filling the room.

“What can I do?” She asked.

“I need you to pull up video footage from the McAdams crime scene,” He told her, mind racing.

“On it, what am I looking for?” The sound of typing filled the room as Hotch thought back to the look on your face.

“The unsub was at the crime scene. Y/N knew it, she knew he was there.” Hotch told them.

“She knew the unsub was there?” JJ asked.

“She didn’t know who it was but she knew something wasn’t right. The look on her face-” Hotch trailed off as Rossi led him to an empty seat.

Nothing any of them said would stop the man blaming himself, not until he had Y/N back.

The team sat in silence as Garcia flipped through footage after footage desperately looking for anything that would help lead the team to you, trying not to think about what the man was doing to you right now.

It took near on forty minutes of scrolling through video feeds before Garcia found something. It wasn’t the clearest footage but the guy definitely gave her the creeps.

“Sir, I think I found him.” Garcia said, causing Hotch to sit straighter in seat as he stared at the phone waiting for her to continue. “If you’ll direct your attention to your tablets,” she said as she sent the blurry images to all of them. “I’m working on making it clearer and getting a face ID as we speak.”

“Fast as you can, Garcia.” Hotch ordered.

“Yes sir, I’ll let you know when I’ve got something.” Because she would get something, no way was she letting anything bad happen to you.

Hotch was a mess as he paced around the small room, setting everybody's nerves even further on edge, if it were possible. They hadn’t seen Hotch this worried for as long as they could remember. The only thing running through everyone’s mind was that they had to find you.

Everybody’s attention turned to Hotch as his phone pinged.

“Aaron?” Rossi asked, standing up as he watched his friend pale drastically. “Hey, whoa, take a seat.” He said, watching as the man’s legs turned to jelly and pushed him into a chair.

As he took the phone from Hotch he saw exactly what had caused the reaction, there you were, strapped to a chair with a cross carved onto your chest, blood pouring from the wound as tears fell down your cheeks.

“We have to find her.” Hotch said quietly, his own eyes filled with tears as the image of you burnt into his mind.

“We will.” Rossi told him before turning to the team, “Call Garcia, tell her to track the phone.”

With some luck Garcia managed to get a location on you before the phone was switched off again. The unsub was hiding away in an abandoned warehouse thirty minutes away from them.

Hotch drove like a mad man, with the way the unsub was going he wasn’t sure if you had thirty minutes. He pushed that thought out of his head as he blinked back tears and tightened his grip on the wheel.

He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t because then he’d have to think about everything he would regret, the number one thing on that list would be not telling you how he felt about you. How you were one of the few good things in his life and how he never wanted to be without you. He’d regret not taking the risk, not crashing his lips into yours.

He thought back to all the dinners the two of you had together or the times you spent the night at his place, nothing ever happening but sometimes cases got too much for you and you needed somebody safe. You had told him he was your safe place and he still hadn’t bit the bullet and kissed you. He should have told you then and there he was in love with you, how every time he pictured his future you were always there with him, at his side.

He swore to himself he’d tell you now.

He’d tell you now.

They arrived at the warehouse, blue and red lights lighting the place up as everybody stepped out of their cars, guns drawn as they split up and entered. Hotch had done plenty of rescue missions before but this one was different, this one was you.

They weren’t prepared for the size of the place, more rooms than they could count and you could be in any one of them. Hotch felt himself going crazy as they opened door after door only to find nothing.

“Hotch,” Derek’s voice sounded in his ear, “You need to get here quick,” He was told the room number and that was it.

Hotch practically sprinted across the warehouse, fear flooding through him as Derek refused to tell him whether you were ok or not. He pushed through the door, Spencer and JJ right behind him, before freezing, the other two barely stopping themselves from crashing into him.

Because there you were on the floor, medics surrounded you as they performed CPR in a desperate attempt to get any sign of life from you.

Hotch staggered backwards, knees giving out as he fell to the floor. Derek made his way over but what could he do? They all watched on as the medics continued working on you, the blood loss was way too much though.

One medic shook their head causing Hotch to let out a sob as two other medics brushed past the group and it wasn’t long before you were being carried out to the ambulance.

“I’m going with her.” Hotch said as he tried to climb into the ambulance but was pushed away by one of the medics.

“I’m sorry sir but you can’t.” She said with a sympathetic look.

“I’m going with her.” He repeated harshly, Derek placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down but he shook it off.

“Agent, I’m going to be honest with you she might not even survive the ride to the hospital, the only people in that ambulance are going to be her and the people who might be able to save her life, you wanna stand here and continue this conversation or can I go and save your girlfriends life?” She asked bluntly, she felt sorry for the man but there wasn’t time for this argument. “Meet us at the hospital.” Were the last words said before the ambulance doors closed and the sirens sounded.

“She has to be ok.” Hotch said to himself.

“It’s Y/N, she’s gonna be fine.” Derek told him but all that blood had him doubting his own words.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at the hospital, forced into a private waiting room and offered no information. Hotch couldn’t sit still and instead opted to pace the length of the waiting room praying to anybody that would listen that you would be ok, you had to be because he didn’t know what he was supposed to do if you weren’t.

Four hours later a nurse finally came out to see the group of anxious agents. Hotch immediately turned towards him begging for some good news but the look on his face had Hotch’s blood turning cold.

“I’m sorry,” he started and Hotch just about felt his world end, “She’s still in surgery. Her heart stopped three times but we managed to get a heartbeat. It’s still weak and unsteady but it’s there. I can’t make any promises to you but for the moment she’s stable and we’re doing all we can to help her pull through.”

Hotch didn’t know how to react and felt himself collapse into a plastic chair, the nurse giving him a sympathetic look before leaving.

“She’s doing well, Aaron.” Rossi said, taking a seat next to him.

“She died, three times. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.” Hotch said, his voice breaking as tears fell down his face because saying it outloud made it real. “I can’t lose her Dave.”

“She’s a strong kid, she’ll pull through.” Was all Rossi said before the waiting room fell silent again.

“Hey baby girl.” Derek said as he stood up to hug Garcia, both of them needing it right now,

“How is she?” She asked anxiously, sniffing slightly.

“No news yet.” Spencer said quietly from his seat.

“How’s he?” She asked just as quietly gesturing over to Hotch who sat alone in the corner of the room.

“He’s not doing so well.” Emily said, smiling sadly at her boss.

Everybody knew how Hotch felt about you, it wasn’t the best kept secret. Hell, even you knew how he felt and they all knew you felt the same. The only reason you hadn’t acted on it was because you didn’t know if he would be willing to start a relationship with you as his subordinate. As far as the rest of the team was concerned the two of you had been dating for years, you had dinners together, you slept at his place more than your own at this point and on rare days off you still spent your time with each other.

Everybody knew both of you were crazy for each other and watching Hotch not know if he was going to have the chance to tell you how he felt himself was breaking their hearts.

Fourteen hours later a tired doctor stepped through the doors of the waiting room. Everybody turned their attention to him as they waited anxiously to hear anything about you.

“She’s stable,” He told them, smiling softly at the collective sigh of relief that spread throughout the room. “You were told she flatlined three times, correct? Unfortunately she crashed once more but we were able to get a heartbeat. I can’t make promises but as of right now she’s looking good. Obviously we’re going to keep her for at least a week, though that could be longer if things go downhill but I’ll make sure you’re all kept up to date.”

“Thank you so much, doc.” Derek said and everybody else echoed the sentiment.

“Can we see her?” Hotch asked and the doctor gave him a sympathetic look, the man looked like he’d been through hell.

“One of you can,” He agreed, really nobody should but the man looked like he needed to see her and hear a heart machine confirm she was alive, “For five minutes.”

The rest of the team nodded at Hotch who mouthed a thank you to them before he followed the doctor out of the room and over to you.

When the doctor pushed the door open Hotch froze as he saw all the different tubes and wires attached to you, helping you stay alive. His eyes filled with tears as he made his way into the room and sat down in the chair next to you, carefully taking your hand in his and bringing his mouth down to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“You’re going to be ok, Y/N/N,” He told you, eyes on the heart monitor that showed a weak but beating heart rate. “You have to be ok because I have so much to tell you but the most important thing you have to know is that I love you,” He told you, tears falling down his cheeks, “I love you so much, baby. You’ve got to get better so I can tell you that.”

He looked up when he heard a knock at the door, the doctor giving him a sympathetic look. Hotch nodded at him before standing and taking one last look at you, gently leaning over and placing a barely there kiss on your forehead.

“I love you.” And with that he made his way back to the waiting room.

It was four days before there was any movement from you and then they wished they never heard anything. Alarms sounded and the team watched as a flock of doctors and nurses made their way into your room but despite the open door they couldn’t see what was happening.

“Chest compression now, she’s going into cardiac arrest!”

Those words sent a sliver of ice down everybody’s spine, Hotch staring wide eyed at the door, not daring to take his eyes off it like that would somehow help you.

“Defibrillator!” Another doctor called and then he was counting before they shocked you, “Nothing, again!” “Clear!” “Again!”

The words merged into each other as Hotch leaned against the wall for support, his own heart beating out of his chest as he heard them continue to shout how there was nothing.

“We have a pulse!” One doctor finally called and Hotch sobbed, Rossi barely catching him as his knees gave out and pulled him into a tight hug.

“She’s being transferred into the ICU,” the doctor informed them after several hours had passed, “we’ve put her into an induced coma to allow the body to heal but she should be awake in the next two days.”

Those two days seemed to drag, there was no news about you but at this point no news was good news. Everybody else left and came back to the hospital but Hotch had yet to leave once, refusing to leave you alone here even if you weren’t aware of where you were or his presence.

He barely slept and was on edge the whole time you were in the coma, dreading every time a nurse or doctor came close to the waiting room.

“Agent Hotchner,” the doctor greeted as he stepped in, it was still early and the others were back at the hotel.

“Doctor Smith, how is she?” He asked, dread filling his stomach but then the doctor smiled and he felt a weight fall of his shoulders at the words -

“She’s awake.”

Hotch just about kept himself upright as he was led to your room, letting out a sob as he saw you awake through the window.

“Before you go in there’s some things I have to tell you,” the doctor said, Hotch nodding as he did, “she’s going to be extremely weak and tired for a while, her body has been through a lot of trauma in a short space of time. Give her time. I can’t promise you she’s out of the woods yet but we’re doing everything we can. The only advice I can give you is spend as much time with her as you can.”

And with those comforting words the doctor patted Hotch’s shoulder and walked away.

Hotch took a deep breath before he stepped forward and entered your room, smiling at you as your eyes flickered over to him. He made his way around to the chair next to your bed, taking your hand gently in his, careful of the needle.

“It’s so good to see you awake.” He said, leaning down to kiss your hand.

He watched as you gave him a weak smile and a barely there squeeze of the hand. It was the best thing he’d seen in his life, he thought as he choked back a sob.

“I’m so proud of you,” He told you, “You’re doing so well.”

You felt your lip quiver as you took in his words, your body was aching despite all the drugs in your system. Everything hurt but Hotch was here, Hotch made everything better.

You slowly managed to squeeze his hand again, watching as he smiled down at your joined hands.

“You’re going to be out of here before you know it, yeah?” He asked, watching as you blinked tiredly at him. “We can go to that new restaurant that just opened and then maybe see if there are any good movies on?”

You tried to smile but you’re pretty sure all that happened was a brief purse of your lips but you watched Hotch’s face light up anyway.

Hotch continued to talk about all the things the two of you could do once you got better and you couldn’t think of a better way to fall asleep.

It was a while before you were finally discharged from the hospital, the rest of the team had been forced back to Quantico but Hotch took every bit of holiday time he had and used it to stay with you. Thankfully since your cardiac arrest you had been doing better though you still felt drained more often than not and had a few problems with dizzy spells but the doctors had explained how that was normal after both the cardiac arrest and blood loss.

You and Hotch had to stay in a hotel for three extra weeks as you weren’t cleared to fly until then. In the meantime Hotch and you shared a room, it was easier that way for him to check on you and honestly you didn’t want to be alone right now and Hotch was the only person you wanted to be with.

The two of you lay on the bed, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you rested your head on his chest. It was only early, around five pm, and despite the nap before you could still barely keep your eyes open.

“I’m so glad you’re ok.” Hotch murmured suddenly into the silence causing you to look up at him. “There were so many times I thought that was it, that you were gone and I just- I couldn’t-” He cut himself off, blinking back tears as he tightened his hold on you slightly.

“I’m ok.” You reminded him softly.

“You’re ok,” He repeated, “I can’t lose you, Y/N and this isn’t exactly how I wanted to tell you but I think we’ve waited long enough,” He told you with a chuckle, causing you to smile up at him softly. “I love you, Y/N, so much. I can’t picture my life with anybody else and honestly, I don’t want to, I just want you.”

Your smile widened as you listened to his words.

“I love you too, Aaron. I don’t want to picture my life with anybody else either.” You told him softly, shifting slightly so you were looking up at him and Aaron took that as all the permission needed to lean down and softly brush your lips together.

It was a kiss long overdue but neither of you rushed it, both content to show how you felt for each other in soft, slow movements, Hotch’s hands cupping your face as you smiled into the kiss.

When Hotch pulled away he didn’t go far, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I love you so much, sweetheart.”

“I love you too.” You smiled before leaning up to capture his lips again.

As far as rescue missions go, it wasn’t the greatest but the ending was pretty great.

___________

Hotch Taglist (click the link in my bio to add yourself!) - @canadailluminate, @filmsbyblair, @mrs-scottmccall, @j-cat, @cinderellacauseshebroke, @black-rose-29, @chickensrule, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @fanf1ctionwrit1n, @cassidymb121, , @grccnaway, @averyhotchner, @chaoticevilbakugo, @sia2raw, @cleardetectivechaos, @silverose365, @mystic-writings, @touchdeprivedwh0re, @ellevandeberg, @taecube, @alexxavicry, @battinsonn, @labellapeaky, @parkershoco, @father-violet, @lizamango, @leftmooninfluencer, @varshhyy, @urbestgrrl, @randomwriter1021,

[febuwhump]

wishing I was funny enough this year to participate beyond sending electricity (and all offshoots of) once every couple of days ⚡

(also, separate, I know I added apple (allergic reaction) once but it was just for attention).

oh i have read your submission only minutes ago it seems. electricity did intruige me