#febuwhumpalt9

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Day 25: Lightning Strike

@febuwhump prompt Alt 9: Lightning Strike

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Cadet Hunter (C-9931), Cadet Crosshair, Ninety-Nine Cadet Batch as featured in my WIP fic 'Pieces of the People We Love' - haven't read it? This is a retelling of a scene from Part 1 from Hunter's POV. All you need to know is that Hunter is younger than Crosshair; they are from separate batches of enhanced clones and haven't been introduced yet. Word Count: ~2385 Click here to read on AO3

Synopsis: Struggling with how a Kaminoan lightning storm affects his enhanced senses, a young enhanced clone cadet makes an unexpected friend

Hunter is about 8/9, Crosshair about 13 in this sequence

Ninety-Nine stopped and listened for a moment, swopping the food tray he carried to his left hand and raising his right to palm open the door.

As soon as he hit the keypad he braced himself.

The cadet inside came barrelling towards the opening, scraping past the door before it was wide enough to permit his skinny frame proper passage. Ninety-Nine caught him with a practiced flourish, turning the boy around and guiding him back inside.

"Hey, Three-One," he greeted with a genial smile. "Did you know it was me?"

The boy merely nodded, plastering himself to Ninety-Nine's side in a way which impeded both of their passage across the room. Ninety-Nine rolled his eyes and let the boy be dragged along, eventually laying the tray down on the table.

"Sit up and eat your lunch," he instructed. "I'll tidy up."

Not that there was much to do. Three of the four bunk beds were stripped and bare. The last occupied bunk was a nest of tangled blankets, but other than that 9931 was a relatively tidy resident of the room.

He didn't have any belongings to make a mess with.

Still, Ninety-Nine folded the blankets down neatly and did what he could to plump the thin pillow. It was more to show the kid he cared than because it was necessary. Maker knew the other maintenance clones were at a loss dealing with this solitary enhanced cadet.

When the youngster had finished eating – he was picky about what he had, and the plate was still half-full – Ninety-Nine creaked his bent body down onto the bench opposite.

"What have you been up to, Three-One?" he asked, nodding enthusiastically to encourage the boy to talk.

9931 slipped from the table and darted to a storage locker, coming back with a datapad.

"Unconventional warfare," he said, his quiet voice just for Ninety-Nine's ears, a hand curling around Ninety-Nine's sleeve as he spoke. It was such a difference from the boisterous cadets in the main halls, or even the other small groups of enhanced cadets.

He sat with the boy for a while, letting him flick through diagrams of ambush tactics and environmental traps. Then he reached for the tray and its half-finished meal.

The change in 9931 was instant. He dropped the datapad and clung onto Ninety-Nine instead, a desperate look on his face.

"You can't go."

"I have to, Three-One," he said resignedly, offering the boy a smile even as he peeled the grasping fingers from his arm. "I have other duties."

The boy looked distraught. "There's a storm coming."

Ninety-Nine looked out the window at the overcast Kaminoan ocean - grey but calm. He huffed a small smile. “You’re always right about these things,” he acknowledged, glancing back at the cadet. "Are you scared of the lightning, Three-One?"

No answer. Ninety-Nine wondered what the Kaminoans had done to enhance the 99-Threes. It certainly wasn't the same as his brothers' enhancement.

Regretfully he extracted himself from 9931's clinging grasp and heading for the door. Three-One trailed him for a moment before darting ahead.

"Don't go," repeated the cadet, and now an edge of demand entered his voice. Skinny arms and legs splayed in a star, blocking the door. “Don’t.”

Ninety-Nine sighed and rested a hand on the boy's shoulder, crouching down to his height to speak to him.

"You're lonely, I understand" he said, the softness of sympathy in his words echoing in the quiet space between them. It was unfathomable to him that, a fortnight after his last batchmate was decommissioned, 9931 was still alone in his barracks. Ninety-Nine felt sure this clone should be fostered into another group of enhanced cadets, but nobody cared what a defective maintenance clone thought.

Slowly he creaked back to his feet, reaching over Three-One's head for the door controls.

“I’ll see you again next time I’m on rota in this part of the city,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice.

9931 turned into a ball of desperate fury, clawing at Ninety-Nine’s clothes and arms, struggling to get past him to the doorway. Ninety-Nine gripped him firmly, pushing him back into the room, shoving head, arms, legs, arms again, back from the rapidly shrinking gap as the door hissed closed once more. Three-One’s wordless noises of distress could be heard until the last, when Ninety-Nine snatched his hand back to stop it being trapped in the door.

He sighed as he reached up and activated the door lock. Then stood and started at the red light for a long moment, thinking.

On the other side of the door he could hear the thump and slide of the lonely young cadet slumping against the door-frame, the quiet snuffling of tears that followed.

Hesitantly, glancing round to make sure he wasn’t being watched, Ninety-Nine deactivated the lock. There. If anyone asked, he could blame it on forgetfulness, or mis-keying the code. Nobody expected much of defective clones anyway. And it wasn’t like he was leaving the door open. Just leaving it unlocked so that if Three-One tried the controls from the inside, it would work.

*

C-9931 paced circuits of the room, trailing his fingers along the wall and the thick transparisteel window which protected the near-empty bunk room from the roiling ocean outside. The slide of his fingertips across the smooth surface was barely enough to ground him, trying to keep his thoughts in his body as the swell of the storm grew outside.

9931 could feel the electromagnetic potential even through the insulated walls of the Kaminoan city. It felt to him like a vast pressure building, an intangible force pressing against a sense he had never adequately described to anyone but had realised early on he didn’t share with most of his brothers.

As much as he hated the daily susurrus of the city’s power-systems tingling at the edge of his heightened perception, the planet’s storms were worse. The build and sudden release of energy whipped through his senses with such force that it was akin to pain, a deep-seated ache that clouded his mind and couldn’t be escaped. There was nothing to do but wait it out.

He needed this sense. He knew it in a way that brought little comfort. The Kaminoans were so pleased with him because of his enhanced senses, thrilled whenever he stretched his awareness to the edge of what was possible. Congratulated themselves on the way he could sense the EM flow of the city, the labs, the training rooms.

He had seen brothers decommissioned because they didn’t share the sense that made him so useful.

He had seen brothers decommissioned because they couldn’t handle the pain that came with the overwhelm.

The sudden, sharp increase in pressure in his head let him know what was coming. He flinched, hands going to his head, cringing as the storm finally broke outside with the first snap of lightning forking down towards the turbulent ocean.

The discharge of the lightning strike brought with it a lessening of potential, but 9931 knew it was temporary. Kamino’s storms could last for hours; days. It might be mere minutes before the next strike. That familiar build-agony-release would constrict his mind again, and again, until the storm blew itself out.

When he was small, he’d had a brother who understood. One from his batch of five who shared the sense. 9934’s EM sense had been even greater than 9931’s.

Too sensitive. 9934 had been decommissioned when they were eighteen months old. Now 9931 was three, and desperate to survive the fate which had befallen each of his brothers.

The storms had been easier to weather with them. Even if they didn’t share his senses, their presence had been a welcome distraction. They could coax him through the worst of it if they were in training, or simply hold him so he could ground himself in their presence if they were on downtime.

Now he was the last one left, and he wouldn’t let the Kaminoans know he was struggling. Couldn’t afford to. Not when he knew what awaited a failure to fulfil expectations.

Another build of pressure. Another snap of pain as the storm’s potential discharged in a flash of lightning. 9931 spun into the wall, crushing himself to the surface, tears leaking from eyes squeezed shut. His fingers clawed uselessly against the hollow of the door-frame, seeking any sensation to drown out the ache of the storm’s fluctuations.

A beep as his fingers passed over the touchpad. The door whooshed open.

Startled, 9931 jumped back and stared warily at the now unbarred entry. No-one there. Just an empty corridor outside; somewhere to flee to, to explore, to try and seek out anything to distract him from the storm.

Tentatively, on muffled steps, he left the room and started down the long hallways of Kamino.

*

For a time, the exploration distracted him. Many of the doors were locked, but even a narrow storage nook was a good hiding place for a small clone cadet. It was easy for 9931 to avoid anyone in the passageways – his enhanced senses meant he knew they were coming long before they were at risk of finding him and ending his freedom.

The storm still blew outside, the build-snap-ache pressing at his mind with the lightning even if he could no longer see out into the roiling sky. Before long the stabs of pain it brought to his head were too intense to ignore.

9931 knew he should find his way back to his own room, but now his vision blurred with the pain and he wasn’t sure how far he had come. Palming open the nearest door, he stumbled into a familiar-looking but odd-smelling room. A bunk room, like his, only filled with the scattered detritus of living and the scent of other clones.

Too tired to question or explore further, 9931 stumbled to the nearest bunk and crawled into it, dragging the blanket around himself. He folded the fabric up over his head, letting it scratch against his skin, taking a deep breath and surrounding himself with the reassuring smell of other clones.

Other clones. Cadets like him.

It wasn’t being held by his brothers, but it was better than wandering alone back to his room. His aching body sagging into the thin mattress, 9931 closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift.

*

The door opened. 9931’s attention snapped sharply back to the room outside the cocoon of the blanket, straining to listen. The electromagnetic fluctuations of the storm still trembled against his enhanced senses, but for now he tried to pay attention to what his normal senses were telling him.

Someone was moving about the room. 9931 stuffed his hands into his mouth, almost holding his breath, praying he wouldn’t be found.

The storm was building to a spike again. A sudden crescendo of pain, and he squeaked out a whimper of pain, hoping it was muffled by his hands. Outside the blanket, the sky flashed bright with lightning.

Then the blanket was whipped back, an older clone cadet glaring down at him. Before he really thought what he was doing 9931 launched himself at the bigger boy, arms going round his waist, burying his face in the boy’s chest.

“What are you doing?” snarled an irate teenaged voice, and a hand clamped round 9931’s upper arm and tried to push him away.

9931 tightened his grip, shuddering as another wave of pressure scraped over his raw senses before the flash-snap of lightning and thunder. A clone. Another cadet, and 9931 drank in his presence before, “Let go of me!”, the other boy’s fist twisted in the collar of his cadet reds and he was thrown roughly to the floor.

For a moment their eyes locked, 9931 gazing up into familiar dark brown eyes in an unfamiliar lean, narrow face. The teenaged cadet had a shock of silver-white hair which almost shone in the stormlit room, and a thin tracing of ink outlined his right eye.

The older cadet’s top lip curled in a snarl. “What’re you doing in here, reg?” he hissed, eyes narrowing to a fierce glare. His displeasure was clear, and 9931 would have shrunk away if not for the fresh strike from the storm which made him flinch, clamping his hands over his ears at the peak of pain.

The boy scoffed a laugh. “You little idiot,” he said, folding his arms. “It’s just an electrical storm.”

More lightning. 9931 couldn’t think, tangling his fingers into his short hair and tightening his grip to try and ground himself.

“I get it. You don’t like the storm,” came the unsympathetic comment from the silver-haired boy. He scowled down at 9931, fierce and unyielding. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

9931 said nothing. Silent tears tracked down his cheeks, and he wasn’t sure if they were from the pain of his ragged senses or the way the cadet had pushed him away with such aggression.

For a long moment he waited, afraid to make the next move, afraid also of what the irritable older boy was going to do.

“Oh for crying out loud,” the teenager muttered, and he hauled 9931 to his feet. Relief flooded through 9931, and he immediately pressed into the boy’s chest again, shivering and twitching as lightning struck and sent flinching stabs of pain through him.

“My head hurts,” he mumbled, all he could think of to say to explain his presence. “The storm makes my head hurt.”

His face buried in the warm darkness of the older boy’s shirt, 9931 felt a hesitant hand settle on his head. Nails slowly scraped against his scalp, and the sensation brought an odd relief as the older boy combed his fingers through his tangled hair.

“Have you… told anyone about that?” he was asked, and now the boy’s tone was softer.

Without looking up, 9931 shook his head. “Didn’t want to get decommissioned.”

The boy’s chest moved in a sigh. It sounded almost sympathetic.

Then, “Get off me.” 9931 found himself pushed away forcefully and held at arm’s length, looking up into the intense, tattoo-framed gaze of the older cadet once more. “I’m going to order you some painkillers. You’re going to take them. Then you’re going to get out of here. Understand?”

9931 nodded mutely. He sat back on the edge of the bed, pulling a corner of the blanket towards him and toying with it. The other boy stalked to the com panel by the door, summoning a medical droid with a handful of button punches.

He wasn’t being nice. That wasn’t the right word for it. His posture was still defensive and angry as he leaned by the door, waiting for the pain meds to arrive. But in 9931’s short life it was one of the first acts of unprompted kindness that had been directed his way.

Despite the storm he kept his gaze fixed on the older boy, memorising every inch of his face.

When the meds arrived the older boy brought them over, dumping the tablets unceremoniously into 9931’s curled hand and glaring until he had swallowed them.

“Thanks,” said 9931, no more than a whisper.

He wished he could press against the older boy again, just to feel connected for a few moments longer. He didn’t risk it. The boy looked ready to shove him away again even at this distance.

“Get out of here,” came the rough command. “Don’t tell anyone you were here.”

9931 nodded miserably, dragging himself to his feet, pulling the blanket with him before releasing it at last. He fidgeted a moment, trailing to the door before glancing back into the room.

“Get out,” the demand was repeated, and 9931 fled.

*

The storm passed. Another seven-day passed. 9931 thought about the tattooed, silver-haired cadet every day.

“C-9931, given the circumstances we have decided to move onto a different phase of your training. There is plenty for you still to cover from basic training, but without a squad of batchmates at the same developmental stage this is going to be difficult. We plan to take you off-planet to hone the use of your enhancements.

“Don’t worry, C-9931. Once you’ve mastered the role you will play as a trooper, we will assign you to a squad. You won’t be on your own much longer. This short training stint off-world is going to be good for you.

“I’m sure it won’t be long. The sooner you master using your enhancements in the field, the sooner you will be assigned to a unit.”

Ninety-Nine saw him off as they escorted him to the shuttle.

“Take care, Three-One,” he said with a sad smile.

9931 thought about telling him of the silver-haired boy who had found him during the storm. He wondered if Ninety-Nine knew who the other boy was.

He didn’t have chance.

He was placed into the shuttle and taken to the next stage of his training.

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2023

Alt prompt 9

Day twenty five: Natural disaster

—

Tiny whumpee is running through short grass trying to make it back to the house when they are picked up by bird. At first they have no idea whats going on, only that their feet are swept up from under them and they’re descending into the sky. Its when they feel the birds talons dig deep into their shoulders that the fear truly strikes them. They’re about to be devoured alive, and even if they managed to wiggle free now the fall would surely kill them. They struggle for their dagger and just pray that they can get away when the bird lands with them…

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Not So Friendly Fire

Febuwhump 2022: Alt 9. Friendly Fire (for Day #17)

Fandom: DC, The Suicide Squad, Rick Flag

Word Count: 1344

TW: Reader death, gun violence, blood, guilt

Thank you to @loverhymeswith for beta reading and all your wonderful comments!

@febuwhump, @lacontroller1991, @fairchildflag, @heresathreebee, @babblydrabbly, @reysorigins

Colonel Rick Flag was used to losing people under his command, especially since he took over Task Force X. After all, it wasn’t referred to as “the suicide squad” for nothing. However, this time was different. You weren’t just another one of the prisoners assigned to his team. You were a comrade in arms, a fellow soldier, a friend, and, Rick often hoped, maybe something more. So, when you were captured during a mission, he had very nearly lost his mind. He had struggled to reach you as you fell under the attack of five of the enemy soldiers, but the distance and chaos between you was too great. By the time he managed to reach your last position, you had vanished without a trace.

Now, two weeks later, he had finally tracked down where you were being held. Waller had initially denied Rick’s request for an extraction mission, citing lack of resources and funding, but once he had called in every favor he had, she finally allowed him to take Harkness for a stealth rescue attempt. Not that the Aussie would have been Rick’s first choice for a covert mission, but he knew the man had a soft spot for you as well, so he had reluctantly agreed.

Sneaking onto the fortified compound hadn’t been as difficult as either man expected. They had gotten very lucky, and most of the guards were away at the moment. However, that didn’t mean it was a walk in the park either.

As soon as they cracked open the door to the main building, the two of them found themselves under heavy attack. Bullets whizzed by their heads and one managed to graze Harkness’s shoulder. As the adrenaline coursed through his veins, Rick felt himself shift back into soldier mode. He fired again and again, barely looking at his targets as he took them out one by one, the only thought in his mind was getting to you.

Finally, it seemed like there were no more assailants. Everything had grown still and quiet. Until suddenly, a lone straggler in a large jacket and baseball hat pulled down low quickly stumbled into the room, heading straight for Rick. Without hesitation, he fired off another shot and the person collapsed to the ground.

Stepping over the body, Rick ducked into the fortified rooms that lined the back of the building. He didn’t see any signs of you until he reached the room at the very end of the hall. Inside he spied your favorite jacket, ripped and bloody, lying in a crumpled heap in the corner of the room. There was also a small puddle of blood that had pooled underneath a set of chains attached to the wall. It was still fresh which meant that wherever you were now, you hadn’t been gone long.

Harkness approached Rick as he examined your jacket. He muttered, “Oi! Boss, we gotta get outta here. Backup’s probably already on its way.”

Rick took one more look around the room and nodded. They had missed their chance and now there was no telling where you were.

Moving quickly, he and Harkness reentered the main room and were headed towards the front door when Rick heard something. As no more than a whisper, he could have sworn he heard his name. But after a second, he just shook his head and chalked it up to wishful thinking. However, as his hand rested on the door handle, he heard it again this time a little louder, “Rick.”

He would know that voice anywhere. Turning around, he scanned the bodies that littered the floor. As his eyes landed on the spot where he had dropped the last assailant, only a bloody trail leading into the next room remained. Following it, Rick gasped as he rounded the corner to see the person he had previously shot sitting propped against the wall, hand desperately trying to stop the blood flowing from their side. Now that the baseball cap had fallen off their head, Rick could clearly see the face of the person who had been hidden beneath it and there was no mistaking their identity.

You smiled up weakly at him, blood trickling out of the corner of your mouth, “Hey…. you came.”

Rick instantly dropped to his knees beside you, face horror-stricken as his hands hovered over your wound, unsure of what to do. “Oh my god. Darlin’, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…I didn’t….I…”

You scoffed playfully. “I always knew you were a shit shot, Flag. But, hell, what kind of kill shot do you call this?” You wince as a tremor of pain shot through you, “Well, I guess it’s still doing its job.”

Rick began assessing your damage, his fingers lightly trailing over your skin. He saw in addition to his bullet lodged in your gut, you had other wounds scattered across you. Your wrists were bloody and raw, assumedly from where you had been held by the chains he had seen in the other room. Dark bruises were strewn across your face and your throat with a particularly nasty one on your left cheekbone. There were large shadowy bags under your eyes, and you looked much thinner than you had before being captured. But despite everything, a bright smile still shone on your bloodstained lips.

Harkness rounded the corner to see what had happened to his commander. His face blanched as he took in your injured form. “Ah, hell,” he muttered under his breath.

“Hey, Boomer. Good to see you. Thanks for coming to save me,” you said with complete sincerity.

“’ Course, love. We weren’t gonna leave you trapped here,” he said flashing you a forced smile before he turned and looked pleadingly at Rick. In a hushed whisper, he asked, “What do we do? This looks bad, mate. I-I don’t know if we can fix this.”

“You can’t.” Both men’s eyes dart to your face. “It’s okay, there’s nothing more you can do for me. But you need to go. Now. The rest of the men should be returning at any moment, and you have to be out of here before they do.”

“You’re coming with us, darlin’. I’m not leaving you here. We’re gonna get you some help and then you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

Reaching up, you ran a hand gently down Rick’s face, leaving a sticky trail of blood in its wake. “Rick, we both know that’s a lie. So, stop trying to fool yourself and get going before it’s too late.”

“You will not die on me, do you hear? That is a direct order from your commanding officer!”

You smiled sadly at him. “I’m sorry, sir…But I’m afraid, just this once, I’m gonna have to disobey your command.”

Rick bowed his head to hide the tears forming in his eyes, but you lifted his chin until he was once again meeting your gaze. “Listen to me. It’s alright. I needed out and I didn’t care how. These last few days… when I managed to escape my cell, I knew I wasn’t ever making it out alive. I knew they would stop me before I made it halfway… But I preferred death over the hell they were putting me through….I knew this was always how it was going to end………But at least this way………I got to see you…………one last time…….”

Your hand dropped from his face as you took a large, shuddering breath. “Rick……”

He could see how much you were struggling to hold on, to stay with him. Brushing your hair out of your face, he softly shushed you. Then in a shaky voice, he quietly murmured, “It’s okay, darlin’. Close your eyes. Everything will be better soon; you’ll be at peace.”

And as Rick Flag watched your eyes flicker slowly shut for the last time, he prayed that wherever it was you ended up, that he was right. And that, somehow, someway, you could forgive him for what he had done, even though he would never be able to forgive himself.

[the-great-lightwood-bane]

Choices and Self-Sacrificial Tendences

Malec | Rated general | tw canon-typical violence, blood, demonic possession | febuwhump alt prompt 9: friendly fire

Summary: Magnus strode toward Alec, magic crackling at his fingertips, eyes a demonic black as though the pupil had swallowed up the iris, the whites of his eyes.

Or, Magnus is possessed. Alec doesn't want to hurt him.

@febuwhump

Read it on AO3 or below the cut.

Magnus strode toward Alec, magic crackling at his fingertips, eyes a demonic black as though the pupil had swallowed up the iris, the whites of his eyes.

Some might have said that Magnus’s real eyes, those gorgeous golden slit-pupiled eyes, were demonic. Alec knew better, of course; they were no more demonic than Magnus himself was — that is to say, not at all, despite their provenance.

These black eyes, on the other hand, were eerie. Frightening. Not Magnus, which made sense, since the demon currently inhabiting Alec’s husband’s body was very much not Magnus.

Alec didn’t know how the demon had managed to get inside of Magnus, past all his wards. They’d been in the park, outside of Magnus’s heavily-protected apartment, but Magnus certainly had heavy wards on his own body. It didn’t really matter how — or rather, it would only matter if they made it out of this, if there was any chance of it happening again. How it happened was a matter for later.

Now, Alec ducked to avoid the fireball the demon in Magnus threw at him, ducking behind a tree for a moment before stepping out again, a feint at Magnus though Alec would never actually hurt him, dodging the next fireball. He couldn’t keep this up forever, but fortunately the demon had only gained part of Magnus’s skills and abilities, and Alec could keep on defending himself a bit longer.

How long, though? And he would eventually get tired; he could already feel exhaustion creeping up on him, and the demon was making sure that he didn’t get a chance to call for backup. He wasn’t even sure if he would call for backup, if he could — they might hurt Magnus, and Alec couldn’t let that happen.

For a moment, Alec was distracted, and that was enough for a blast of Magnus’s magic to slam into him, knocking him back against the tree he’d so recently ducked behind. His ribs screamed in pain, but he forced himself to roll to the side to avoid the demon’s next attack.

“It’s not you, Magnus,” Alec managed to pant out, forcing his injured body to dodge away from the next attack, because he knew that his husband would be beating himself up for hurting Alec — if, that is, he was awake in there. “It’s not your fault.”

“He can hear you, you know,” the demon replied, Magnus’s lovely voice twisted into something wrong. “He’s trying to fight me, but I’m stronger. You’ll be dead before he manages to beat me, unless you work up the courage to kill the both of us — he’s begging you to kill us, you know. Pleading.”

“It’s okay, Magnus,” Alec said, ignoring the demon’s words, scrambling backward as best he could with his aching ribs as the demon in Magnus’s body advanced toward him. “I forgive you, not that there’s anything to forgive.” He thought of the seraph blade still sheathed in his belt, going unused because he would never hurt Magnus. He couldn’t kill Magnus.

The demon laughed, and Alec hated the way it sounded wrong, because it was Magnus’s laugh from Magnus’s lips but it was the demon who was doing the laughing. “No matter what you say, he’ll blame himself. He’ll be heartbroken once you’re dead. That’s what Asmodeus wants, you know. That’s why I’m here — to show Asmodeus’ son that love makes him weak.”

Alec blanched, horrified, because it all made sense now — Asmodeus would have been able to get past Magnus’s wards, could easily have sent the demon to possess him. And Alec knew, or at least he hoped, that Magnus wouldn’t go to Edom — but Asmodeus and the demon were right that it would leave Magnus heartbroken if Alec died at Magnus’s hands. Alec knew what it felt like to wake up from possession with blood on your hands, though for him it had been Jocelyn’s blood. How much worse if it had been Magnus’s?

The demon was still coming toward him, throwing fireballs almost lazily, black eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight. The light caught on Magnus’s glittery eyeshadow, too, and the gleaming buttons of his coat. Another fireball missed Alec by inches, but the demon didn’t seem to be trying all that hard to hit him; they were drawing it out intentionally, because they were certain that they would win. “You know what,” the demon said almost thoughtfully, “I think I’ll make him rip out your heart. How do you think it’ll feel for him, holding his precious lover’s heart in his hands?”

The seraph blade in Alec’s belt bumped against his broken ribs as he moved to the side again, trying to avoid another fireball. (Really, could the demon do nothing but throw fireballs and occasionally toss Alec around? Magnus was much more creative.) Still, there was no way that Alec would ever hurt Magnus; he would rather die—

But, Alec realized suddenly, which one would Magnus prefer?

Alec knew that if he stabbed Magnus in the leg with his seraph blade, it would force the demon out of Magnus’s body, hopefully long enough for Alec to kill it. And Alec knew that if their positions were reversed — if Alec was the one who was being forced to kill Magnus — he would much rather have Magnus stab him than kill Magnus.

It was Alec’s instinct to give his life for Magnus, because that was what he’d always been ready to do — to protect his siblings, to protect innocents. He’d long believed that his life had little value, aside from the good he could do for others. Magnus had been the one to teach him that no, his life was worth something, and it would hurt those who loved him if Alec gave his life away. Your self-sacrificial tendencies are admirable, Alexander, but please remember that I — well, all of us, really — need you, Magnus had told him once.

That instinct to sacrifice himself wasn’t the right choice here. Letting the demon inside of Magnus kill him would hurt Magnus far, far more than if Alec stabbed him.

The demon was in front of Alec, now, black eyes glaring down at him. Alec’s ribs were burning, but he ignored them in favour of reaching for his seraph blade. He drew it even as it activated, burning white, and the demon’s black eyes widened, but Alec was faster and he swung the blade into Magnus’s leg.

A scream — Alec knew it was the demon screaming, but it sounded like Magnus — and black smoke was issuing from Magnus’s mouth, pouring out of him. Alec thrust the seraph blade into the mass of darkness, and the demon seemed to collapse in on itself, nothing more than ichor and ashes.

Magnus slumped to the ground, and Alec dropped the seraph blade to catch him.

[clotpolesonly]

FEBUWHUMP - ALT NINE

gunpoint

[thethistlegirl]

One.

Two.

Jesse’s brain tried to process whether Suit was the type to count down and then shoot, or shoot on the count of three itself. He couldn’t quite remember what the kid had done at the firing range last time.

He was just going to have to hope for the best.

Three.

Jesse went boneless in the robber’s grip at the same moment an impossibly loud gunshot cracked through the store.

A robbery-turned-hostage situation means Jesse has to ask Suit to do something he wasn't ready for, and may not ever really recover from.

For @febuwhump alt prompt "Friendly Fire"

[callaeidae3]

Febuwhump Day 28: "You have to let me go" + Alt 9: Gunpoint

'Just look after Yuuki.'

@febuwhump

[you-go-kaboom-i-go-kaboom]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298804

Hi hello, day five is late but here. I’m gonna try and catch up if I can!

[tiamat-zx]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: The Mighty Nein & Nott | Veth Brenatto Characters: Nott | Veth Brenatto, Yasha (Critical Role), The Mighty Nein Additional Tags: Febuwhump, Febuwhump 2022, Won't Regain Consciousness, Episode: c02e030 The Journey Home, Aftermath of Torture, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Guilt, Nott | Veth Brenatto Needs a Hug, Mighty Nein as Family, Self-Doubt, Realization, Friendly Fire Series: Part 13 of Adam’s Febuwhump 2022 Works Summary:

The things one can accomplish in twenty-four hours. It can be quite overwhelming to think about. It’s so much to process for Nott. -- @febuwhump 2022 Day 13: Won't Regain Consciousness BONUS PROMPT ALT 9: Friendly Fire

Just a quick 1,000 word fic about the long rest following the Sour Nest battles. Poor Yasha still not waking up. And poor Nott feeling overwhelmed about it all. I also wrote this just for Nott to think long and hard about the time she shot Beau with the Bolt Blaster... and not realizing at the time that Beau was legit terrified, especially when they literally lost Molly a day or two before, and Nott was too excited to process it. Thus why I also included the "Friendly Fire" prompt.

Anyway, feel free to leave comments. Hope you like this one.