#star wars febuwhump

[jedi-lothwolf]

Febuwhump Day 22: Can't Scream

Fandom: Star Wars

Timeline: The Clone Wars

Warnings: Body horror, graphic depictions of violence, and mentions of suicidal thoughts

Maul could be quite creative. When he kidnapped Obi-wan and Cody he offered the Jedi a deal; if Obi-wan sat through the torment without screaming then maybe they could live. If not then Obi-wan would have choice but to watch as Maul killed yet another member of his family. Then he would also circum to the cruel fate of a slow and painful death.

With no other options Obi-wan took the deal. Cody was chained to the wall, forced to watch as the man he loved was brutally tortured.

Obi-wan was forced to the center of the room. He pleaded that his lover be taken someplace else but Maul could care less. The sith knew it would only make matters worse as the two would try to help each other.

When Maul brought the vibro-knife out Obi-wan closed his eyes and hoped they would be alright. The knife slide carelessly across his back. Holding back the deathly noise the Jedi clenched his jaw. Right after the knife would mirror the previous wound.

Obi-wan's breathing speed up and tears crawled out of his eyes. Crying was allowed so he didn't worry himself with it too much. Cody however did. He pulled desperately at the chains that kept his from his loved one. Not knowing if he was included in the no screaming deal the commander talked at a normal level when trying to comfort his partner.

Maul moved to put the knife down to grab a different tool. Obi-wan conjured a way to keep quiet. Eventually screaming would be inevitable as it was a bodily reaction to pain. The only way he could think to avoid screaming was to damage his vocal cords. But how could he manage that? Was there a way to do so without killing himself? Should he just kill himself? That would protect Cody. No, the pain that would bring may be too much for the man.

Finally it hit him. He gently raised his hand slightly. He looked over to Cody and spoke softly, "I love you dear."

"Don't do this." This couldn't be happening. Was Obi-wan really going to?

The force worked in strange ways. Usually a Jedi was not to use the force for violence but this time an exception could be made. Of course Obi-wan could not use the power against Maul; he wouldn't risk it not working. The feeling of his vocal cords being ripped apart was not a feeling the Jedi ever experienced to feel. Sometimes the uses the force could be used for scared him but this time despite the terror he was glad it could be done.

Blood leaked into Obi-wan's throat and escaped out his mouth. Maul stood stunned, debating his next move.

Cody couldn't see straight. Tears blocked his vision as he tried to figure out what happened. "Dear what did you do?" He started "Obi-wan what did you do?"

Obi-wan looked up at Cody. Now he wouldn't scream. He secured their safety, sure but now he wouldn't speak again. How was he supposed to be the negotiator if he could speak? How could he lead his men into battle if he couldn't yell? All the questions that flooded his mind would have to be answered later.

Maul chuckled, "smart move Kenobi but I'm not done." The torture would continue. By the time Maul was done Obi-wan could hardly breathe. The general's left leg had been sliced off, his right arm crushed, the other arm would have to amputated up to his elbow as well as the foot on his right leg. The man's ribs had been broken; his back littered with large and small lacerations. To accompany the cuts, colorful bruises covered his body. To finish off, Maul grabbed Obi-wan by the neck, strangling him. Trying to stop the sith was pointless.

As it seemed death was going to claim him Maul threw Kenobi's pain stricken body to the ground. Afterwards he unchained Cody and allowed him to take care of his lover.

From there the focase was keeping Obi-wan alive. Maul kept up his end of the deal and dumped the two off at a nearby star port. Some EMTs would quickly arrive at the scene and take him to the hospital. There all the necessities of his care would be met. Cody would get in contact with the Jedi council who would send Anakin out to retrieve the two.

Never did Obi-wan think he would be so thankful for the pain the force could inflict on an individual. His voice would be a small price to pay. Never screaming meant he could never raise his voice at the people he cared for. No harsh words could be yelled in aggravation. However not being able to yell could lead never being found when trapped or to alert others of danger.

Metal would replace lost limbs and stitches would keep torn flesh together. Obi-wan's vocal cords could be fixed but it would take time. Most surgeons would wait at least a year before attempting to fix the seemingly permanent damage.

At the end of the day at least the two were alive. Yes the sacrifice Obi-wan's voice had been necessary but what now? How can you lead if you can't yell? How will the soldiers under his command know what to do? Time would only tell.

[mystical-salamander]

Febuwhump Day 7: Suffering in Silence

How many sleepless nights do you think Zeb has? How many nights does Zeb spend trying not to wake up anyone on the Ghost as his survivor's guilt stirs and flares, and eats him alive?

[arctrooper69]

Helpless

Hello friends! I'm gonna try to get through a good chuck of Febuwhump this year!

Prompt #1: Helpless @febuwhump

Warnings: Imperial!Tech. Mentions of needles and implied torture.

--------------------------------------------------

It wasn't the fact that you couldn't move that frightened you the most. Neither was it the blinding lights of the laboratory, nor the frigid metal table that chilled your naked skin. It was the goggled clone who entered into the room behind Dr Hemlock.

"T-Tech?" The words were barely a whisper.

Dr Hemlock chuckled, "I'd like to introduce you to my new science officer. You will be under his care from here on out. I suggest you comply with his direction or things could become rather unpleasant and I don't think any of us want that."

Your heart pounded, chest tightening, threatening to choke you with every beat. You glared, the initial fear quickly succumbing to rage. "Kriff you! What did you do to him, you monster!?"

Hemlock seemed unaffected by the outburst, and simply pressed a small button.

A cry of pain wrenched itself from your lips, jaw snapping shut as a burst of electricity coursed through your body. It was over as soon as it had begun, leaving muscles to twitch as you gasped for breath.

He tutted, "Like I said, cooperate and things will go much easier for you."

He turned to the clone, "Report to me immediately if you find anything useful."

"Yes sir."

Hemlock nodded and briskly turned and walked out of the room.

"Oh Tech..." You sighed with shakey voice, unable to stop the tears running from the corners of your eyes. A mixture of horror and guilt settled deeply in your gut, threatening to poison every thought. "What did they do to you!?"

Tech was silent. He turned to a console across the room.

"Subject is alert and attempting to use emotional appeal to influence the decision making of the chief science officer." He spoke to himself, typing something into the console in front of him.

"Tech!" You shouted, tugging at the restraints,

"Answer me, dammit!"

He was silent for a moment. "Subject appears to be agitated and aggressive. Cooperation will need to be coerced if behavior continues."

"Please talk to me..." The anger seemed to melt, flooding you with a warm, heavy helplessness and heartbreak as he turned to you.

This was not your Tech. It couldn't be. That curious light behind his eyes now deadened into a steely emotionless logic.

"Please..." You pled quietly once again, "Don't you remember me?"

He pulled a metal tray beside him filled with various tools and instruments.

Gloved fingers palpated your inner arm drawing a silent gasp. For a brief fraction of a second your heart jumped at his touch - a body's hopeful instinct seeking that physical connection. Those hands had touched you before, but never so callously - never so cold.

"Relax, this will not harm you. I simply need to collect a few blood samples."

If you closed your eyes, maybe you could imagine that you were back on the Marauder. Maybe you could send yourself back to remember how Tech's fingers passionately caressed over your skin - anything to dull the cold precision of his current examining.

You jerked, pulling against the restraints that held you back. The needle didn't hurt as much as much as the look of indifference in his eyes.

"You used to love me, Tech. Don't you remember?"

He entered something into a datapad and looked up.

"This will go a lot easier if you cooperate."

You pulled against the able again, attempting in vain to rid yourself of this prison.

He regarded you cooly as he walked back to the tray beside the table. "I would advise against that."

"Please!" You pled, tears once again running down your temples, "Use that big extraordinary mind of yours to realize this is wrong!"

He was silent again. You tried to meet his eyes but he simply turned away, grabbing something off of the tray.

"Tech, please!" Your wrists were sore and raw, stinging and burning as the restraints bit at them once again, "I won't let you do this!"

He turned back to face you.

"I do not need your cooperation to gather these results. Fighting me will only make this more unpleasant for you. It is your choice."

He paused, allowing you to consider the options. Anger won over the sorrow.

"Kriff you."

He sighed, "Very well."

A barred restraint snapped across your shoulders and chest and another across your forehead. You felt them tighten - squeezing and pulling - until they allowed not even the smallest wiggle.

"Tech!" You gasped, "Please! You know me! Please don't do this!" Your voice cracked, "Please!"

"Relax, and I will be finished shortly."

"I love you, Tech. Whatever you do to me.... Just remember it isn't you."

A moment of hesitation. A fraction of a nanosecond. A tremor of a hand. One blink and it was gone. As you looked up at him, perhaps there was just a glimmer of sorrow - a single tear unshed and hidden far away. Hope that maybe with time, all could be saved.

--------------------------------------------------

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[kybercrystals94]

Embroidered Skulls

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 20 | Prompt 20: Truth Serum

Rated: G | Words: 1092 | A slight mishap leads to some honest answers. [Character Focus: Tech, Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Wrecker]

I am steeling my little heart for season 3…so light hearted whump is being served here today ^_^

“Ah, you’re back,” Tech says, glancing up when Hunter and Echo clamber up the ramp of the ship. “Wrecker and Crosshair should be returning in short order as well.”

Hunter and Echo exchange glances, wordless communication flashing between them in microexpressions Tech cannot read.

“Did the extraction go according to plan? Were there any issues?” Tech asks.

Echo stiffens at the question, and Hunter turns away to drop the small crate of serum on one of the crash seats.

“It…went. It was fine,” Hunter says, his back still to Tech. “We’re fine.”

“We’re fine,” Echo agrees with a sharp nod.

Tech narrows his gaze.

“I mean…” Echo continues, looking uncomfortable. “We’re not injured. But there was a mishap.”

“Echo,” Hunter groans.

“A mishap?” Tech presses. “What sort of mishap?”

Echo shifts from one artificial leg to the other. “Well…”

Hunter spins around, pushing Echo aside. “We lost one of the vials. That’s all. It was destroyed.”

“One of the truth serum vials?” Tech keeps himself carefully composed. “Were either of you exposed?”

Hunter huffs, crossing his arms. “Were you exposed?”

“That is not a logical response,” Tech says, deadpan.

“Yeah, well,” Hunter sputters, “Why aren’t you answering the question?”

Tech rolls his eyes. “No. I was not exposed because I wasn’t there. I’m going to assume that you both were exposed which explains why you are behaving erratically.”

“You can’t tell Wrecker or Crosshair,” Echo pleads.

“Echo! Stop talking,” Hunter cries.

“You stop talking,” Echo shoots back. “You’re the one asking Tech if he was exposed to the serum you dropped half a klick away!”

“That’s because someone didn’t make sure the second latch on the crate was secure!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“Yes!”

“At least we now know that the serum is effective,” Tech sighs, picking up the crate of drugs to stow away before Wrecker inadvertently causes more mayhem.

“Tech,” Hunter cries, trailing after him, “is there an antidote?”

“The effects should wear off on their own with no detriment to your health.”

“But Tech…”

Tech locks up the crate and turns to his brother. “Hunter, do you honestly think I have an antidote to a newly discovered truth serum just lying around in the med kit?”

Hunter hesitates. “Yes?”

“That was a rhetorical question, but I appreciate your honesty,” Tech says with a barely concealed grin as he brushes past Hunter back into the main hold.

“Tech, this isn’t funny!”

“That entirely depends on which side of the argument you’re on,” Tech says. “And I’m sure that Wrecker and Crosshair will be on my side.”

“You can’t tell them!”

“I won’t tell them anything. The two of you on the other hand…”

“Maker, Tech, you have to help us,” Echo says.

A distinct voice bellows outside the ship, “We’re back! Did you miss us?”

Hunter and Echo give Tech an beseeching look, and he almost pities them.

Almost.

Wrecker comes bounding into the ship followed by the much more sedate sniper. Crosshair hits the control to close the door before turning on the group still crowded in the hull. “Is something wrong?” he asks, taking off his helmet.

“Why would something be wrong? Nothing’s wrong,” Hunter says quickly.

Too quickly.

Crosshair smirks. “What did you do?”

Hunter’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Crosshair’s gaze slides to Echo. “What did he do?”

“Hunter broke a vial of the truth serum,” Echo says.

Crosshair’s face goes slack with surprise for a moment before a wicked grin curls across his face. “Did he now? That’s unfortunate.”

“What does that mean?” Wrecker asks, looking concerned as he glances between the color drained faces of Echo and Hunter.

“It means that loose lips crash starships, Wrecker,” Crosshair says.

Wrecker looks puzzled for a moment before it clicks, and he smiles broadly. “Ah, I get it.”

“There’s nothing to get,” Hunter snaps. “Tech, get us out of here. We have a mission to complete.”

Tech nods and heads for the cockpit, Echo following closely behind him.

“If you think I’m going to help you not inadvertently answer incessant questions, you are mistaken,” Tech says, settling into the pilot’s chair and flicking switches for the startup sequence.

“How long will it take for this to get out of our systems?” Echo asks.

Tech sighs. “I may know many things, Echo, but even I have my limits. I would need access to the research and chemical makeup of the drug to accurately answer your question.”

“Give me your best guess.”

“You will not like it.”

“Tech!”

“I would estimate that you and Hunter will experience the effects of the drug for approximately one standard week.”

“No! You’re lying!”

Tech smiles. “At least one of us can.”

Echo drops into the copilot’s chair with a growl. “You’re the worst.”

Tech gets them situated in a hyperspace lane before a tangle of cajoling voices approach the cockpit, and Hunter enters followed by Wrecker and Crosshair. Hunter sits down, and turns his chair away from his siblings.

“C’mon, Hunter,” Wrecker says, “Don’t you want to tell us?”

“No!”

Crosshair chuckles. “He’s telling the truth.”

“Shut up, Cross.”

“But really, Hunter, we need to know…where’d you learn how to embroider skulls onto your bandanas? Or do you have them done somewhere? And if that’s the case, then where?”

Hunter decidedly keeps his jaw locked shut.

“It would be more effective if you asked the questions individually,” Tech offers. The look of utter betrayal Hunter shoots him is heartbreaking, but the engineer simply shrugs. “This is a research opportunity I am unwilling to pass up.”

Echo chuckles, drawing Crosshair’s attention. “You know something about this, don’t you?” he asks, pointing at the cyborg accusingly.

Hunter’s eyes widen, and Echo swallows.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking,” Echo says, evading the question carefully.

“Where does Hunter keep his art projects?”

Echo scoffs. “Hunter doesn’t do art projects,” he says, looking relieved. A fatal mistake.

“Where does Hunter keep his embroidery kit?” Tech specifies.

“In a box under the nav computer. There’s a hollow behind the main hard drive,” Echo says.

“Echo!” Hunter gasps.

Crosshair and Wrecker exchange thrilled glances before racing out of the cockpit. Hunter goes after them, ordering them to leave his stuff alone.

“How did you find out about Hunter’s sewing project?” Tech asks wryly.

“Eh, I found it one day when I was doing repairs.”

The two are quite a moment while they listen to the indistinct squabbling and laughter behind them.

“But really, Tech, how long until this stuff wears off?”

END

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[solrika]

For Febuwhump Day 3, "Bite down on this."

Set this in the vampire!Kallus AU because I think he's got the best chance of standing up to a lasat's grip strength.

[ninjadeathblade]

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

Warnings: Being sick, combat training

Word count: 602

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

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

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

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

Right, stupid training regulations.

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

And Wrecker was clearly too busy to reply.

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

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

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

That left him.

Last man standing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be appreciated Crosshair, thank you.”

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

[giotanner]

Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi for @febuwhump 2023 - day 15 "Self Sacrifice"

Flowers? Yes. Hanahaki is the disease of flowers, when you know or think you are not reciprocated in romantic feelings.

As the Jedi are inspired by Japanese culture (samurai) Hanahaki is also a Japanese myth. IF we tie it to the world of users of the light side of the Force we can consider Hanahaki as a "getting sick in the Force, that's why attachments are also avoided." In the year Obi-Wan was on the run with Satine Hanahaki hit him hard. He was ready to leave the Jedi, to sacrifice his ideals and his beliefs, she however knowing how important the Jedi were to Obi-Wan refused to tell him that she loved him.

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[lamaenthel]

Human Shield

[read on ao3][masterlist]Febuwhump prompt: human shield

Darman could smell rain on the wind that gently blew their bedroom curtains. The sun was just beginning to rise, clouds filtering the pink light into cold gray. He buried his face in Etain's hair and took a deep breath.

Characters: RC-1136|Darman Skirata/Etain Tur-Mukan

Wordcount: 876

Darman could smell rain on the wind that gently blew their bedroom curtains. The sun was just beginning to rise, clouds filtering the pink light into cold gray. He buried his face in Etain's hair and took a deep breath.

"Morning." She shifted uncomfortably. Her belly had officially reached massive status, though Darman would cut his leg off before saying it to her face. "Mm. Lemme just…" She flung a sleepy hand in the direction of the window, closing it with her Force powers.

Darman chuckled and kissed the back of her neck. "You could have just asked me to close it, you know."

"Why get up when I can…" She wiggled her fingers. 

Darman took another deep breath of her dewberry blonde hair; she insisted it was brown, as though she'd never seen her own hair in the afternoon light. Her shampoo smelled like sunshine and had some sort of cactus he didn't recognize on the front of the bottle. "I like doing things for you."

"I know you do." She struggled to turn over in his arms. "You don't have to wait on me, Dar. You're not subservient to me."

"I absolutely am." He kissed her neck, and ignored the scowl that popped up in favor of gently biting the thin skin over her pulse point. "I'm your riduur. You're carrying my child. I am subservient to you in every way imaginable, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"You're incorrigible," she grumbled.

He laughed. "And how are you feeling this morning, ner Et'ika?"

Etain looked dolefully down at her giant stomach and sighed. "Enormous." 

Darman kept kissing her neck, considering it the smarter option over confirming her opinion. "Do you want a massage?" he mumbled into her skin.

"Maybe later." She caught his hand and guided it to her belly, smiling. "Do you feel your son?"

He nodded, his throat going tight. There was a fluttering pulse under his palm. "He's kicking," Darman said in awe.

"Yeah he is." Etain adjusted herself again and frowned at her big belly. Darman sympathized with her. He'd jumped out of more than one larty hauling more in equipment than what his runt of a wife weighed soaking wet and seven months pregnant.

"He's feisty. Like his mama." Darman kissed her cheek.

"He's a pain in my shebs like his daddy," Etain corrected him. 

"Oh, you know I love it when you speak Mando'a, ner cyar'ika." Darman said, nuzzling her neck. He blew a snozzberry in her throat and made her laugh. "Ner jet'ika, ner mesh'lane cyar'ika, gar dinui ner runi mirjahaal. Ni kartay'li gar darasuum."

"I love you too," she sighed, lacing their hands together over her stomach. "I'm sorry, Dar."

"About what?"

"That we never got to do this." She blinked her big, sad green eyes at him. "We deserved this, but we never had it."

"What are you talking about, Et'ika?" Darman sat up, confused.

Etain just looked at him patiently. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I…" Darman couldn't draw a full breath.

"It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong, my love."

"I…" Not my girl! Not my girl!

"Hey." Etain pulled his face close, pressed their foreheads together. "It was my fault. I've been using a lightsaber since I was four years old. I knew better than to try and stop one with my body."

"Then why did you?" Darman whispered, shaking. "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't." She laughed softly. "I wasn't thinking, Dar. I acted on instinct and made a stupid, stupid mistake that cost me my life. I'm sorry you had to watch."

"I miss you." Darman squeezed his eyes shut. "I miss you so much, Etain. I wish you could see Kad. He's… he's like you. He needs you, but he doesn't have you."

"Lucky for him, he has the best dad in the whole galaxy." She kissed his fingers. "I love you, Dar. I will always love you. Ni kartay'li gar darasuum, ner riduur." 

"Etain," Darman said frantically, "Etain, wait—"

"Daddy?"

Darman shot up, instantly awake. He'd never lost that ability, even though it'd been four years since he'd seen active combat. The smell of Etain's shampoo lingered in the air. "Kad?" He held out his arms to the silhouette in the doorway. It was early; the sun had just barely risen, the gray rainclouds above Kyrimorut bleaching the pink dawn into cold gray.

His son dove into his arms eagerly. "You okay, Daddy?" he asked, getting situated.

"Of course, ad'ika. Just a sad dream." Darman fluffed his son's dewberry-blond hair, the same as his mother's. "Let's get some breakfast. Daddy's hungry."

"Was it a mama dream?" Kad didn't seem eager to leave his arms.

Darman sighed. "Yeah. It was a mama dream."

"Well, that's okay then." Kad smiled. "That just means she misses you. That's what she says when I have mama dreams. She comes and sees me 'cause she misses me so much."

Darman didn't want to cry in front of his son, but it was a damn close call. He forced himself to smile instead and threw off the covers. "Come on. Let's make some waffles." He reached up to close the window he'd left cracked the night before and paused.

It was already closed.

Mando'a Translations riduur: spouse ner Et'ika: my little Etain shebs: butt ner cyar'ika: my sweetheart ner jet'ika, ner mesh'lane cyar'ika, gar dinui ner runi mirjahaal. ni kartay'li gar darasuum: my little jedi, my most beautiful sweetheart, you give my soul peace. i hold you in my heart forever ad'ika: child

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics

[blackkatmagic]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Depa Billaba/CC-10/994 | Grey, CC-10/994 | Grey & Kanan Jarrus Characters: CC-10/994 | Grey, Kanan Jarrus, Depa Billaba Additional Tags: Whump, Febuwhump 2024, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery Summary:

“Please,” Grey begs, pulling at the chains, but the anchors in the wall won't even budge. “Caleb, please. I can help. Just let me help.”

[holdingonforheaven]

Febuwhump Day 3

Or as Cody and Obi-Wan would prefer to call it, Fluffbruary Day 1

Day 3: "Bite down on this"

Cody is injured. Obi-Wan provides first aid

[jedi-lothwolf]

Febuwhump day 1! Touch starved

Fandom: Star Wars

Time: A few years after Order 66

  Obi-wan Kenobi had been alone for a long time. He misses many things. Many things. These feelings often came in waves, sometimes all at once. Missing his family, his life, his happiness. The feelings both mental and physical were the things he craved but understood he could never have again. 

Obi-wan glanced at the window. He noted the shades of orange he loved so much. They reminded him of his commander, his lover, his Cody. Of course he didn't really know if he could or should still call him that. However Obi-wan chose to believe that Cody had his reasons to do as he did, to try to kill him with no known reason to him.

    Walking outside Obi-wan would watch the sunset. The warmth reminded him of the warmth he felt from long embraces. But of course the sun would set and long hugs would end.

    Walking back inside Obi-wan closed the door with a sigh. He walked a very short distance to his bed and laid down. The thoughts of his former lover stayed with him. He began to think how he missed being greeted with short hugs and soft kisses when entering a room that the two were alone in, how cuddles after long, cold missions felt, the warmth of being so close together and feeling so safe with each other. He found himself missing the warm feeling of fingers running over scars.

    Of course the thoughts of Cody couldn't stay loving for long. Obi-wan was reminded of the order. This would remind him of the jedi. the Jedi he had been friends with.

    There was Plo Koon, a very gentle and sweet man who treated everyone kindly. He remembered Plo giving him a long and caring hug after Qui-gon had died. He could swear Plo gave some of the best hugs in the galaxy.

    Qui-gon. Qui-gon knew exactly what to do in most many scenario. When Obi-wan was stressed Qui-gon would rest his hand gently on his shoulder and reassure him everything would be alright. Now Obi-wan just wished for any reassurance at all.

    Qui-gon would spiral into thoughts of Anakin, his brother. Anakin was always a very touchy person. He constantly would poke at Obi-wan when he needed something or simply wanted his master's attention. Anakin's hugs had always been something he looked forward to. Anakin liked giving people physical affection. Obi-wan suspected that it was from never receiving much when he was younger.

    With thoughts of Anakin came thoughts of Ahsoka, Rex, Padme, and the twins.

    Obi-wan sat up trying to shake the thoughts of his past family but he knew he wouldn't be able to. Standing up he walked towards the door. He opened the door and as the somewhat chilly air hit him the thoughts went to the back of his mind. He didn't need to think of the people he knew and loved. The people who rather betrayed him or died. 

    Being outside didn't help for very long as the thoughts creeped back in. Ahsoka had also enjoyed Physical affection. She liked piggy back rides and often got them from Anakin and Rex. Of course Obi-wan had given her a few over the years. Ahsoka was a very kind soul, one who was done so wrong by the times and by the jedi. He hoped she was still out there somewhere, wishing to see her again, to give her one last piggy back ride or to have one last hug but he understood it simply wasn't possible.

    Obi-wan knew he needed sleep. Trying to stay outside and brush off the thoughts of loved ones simply wouldn't work. Walking back inside he thought of old friends now all gone. Closing the door he walked back towards the bed, laying down again. He grabbed his own hand and held it. It didn't help much but it was something and right now he needed anything. Well he needed his family, his friends but he couldn't have those. Not anymore.

    Tears began to run down his face as he curled himself into a ball. He wished he had someone who could be there to comfort him. But no one would come. The only thing that would come would be the suns in the morning telling him it was time to leave. Maybe just maybe his thoughts would leave with the night.

[mamuzzy-creates-stuff]

CW: VIOLENCE

FEBUWHUMP 2024, Day 6 - "YOU LIED TO ME" @febuwhump

This basicly was the prompt that inpsired me to even start this whole challenge. I just looked at the line and... yup. That's Darman.

That scene from Order 66 was really powerful to me where Darman just loses his shit over Kal's betrayal and over-protective/overly cautions secrecy. And then immediately regrets it.

But probably the most comforting thing was for me that Kal didn't cease to love him despite his violent outburst. Really. This scene meant so much for me. My ideas for these prompts are really spontainous right now but maybe I will do a sequel to this art for Day 14 - Blood stained tiles depicting the scene after this one.

[arctrooper69]

Dark is the Night

Imperial!Crosshair x Reader

Febuwhump Prompt #2: Solitary Confinement

(sorry I'm behind on these already) @febuwhump

Warnings: Sensory deprivation and claustrophobia

--------------------------------------------------

It was dark, that much you knew. Dark, cold, and silent.

"Tech!?" You called out, "Hunter? Wrecker? Anybody!?"

Not even an echo of your own brittle and broken voice made it back to your ears. The pleas fell flat and muffled like the room was designed to trap any sound - mute every scream.

You weren't sure how long you'd been here, bound to a chair in the middle of nowhere - a room? A hallway? A cell?

Maybe it had only been minutes. Maybe hours. Maybe days. It was impossible to tell.

It felt like years.

The walls seemed to shrink inwards as you struggled to breathe. It made it hard to think when the darkness threatened to smother you with the terror of nothingness. You would almost prefer physical torture over this.

A door slid open with a hiss and the darkness withdrew it's claws only to be replaced with the assaulting daggers of ruthlessly bright artificial light.

"Ready to talk so soon?" Sneered that deep gravelly voice you used to know so well.

Crosshair.

He seemed to appear as a shadow - void and empty as if consuming all the light in the room like a black hole. Impossibly nothing. But it wasn't fear that wrapped it's cold fingers around your chest now, it was the heavy fist of heartbreak.

"Crosshair please..." The fragility of those words slipping through ruined vocal chords surprised you.

Whatever happened to fighting interrogation with silence? You'd had enough of silence.

"Funny," He paused, watching you curiously, "I would've put my credits on you lasting longer than this."

It was funny. Funny how much his voice brought you comfort despite the insults he spewed. Funny how much you craved his attention despite the horrors he'd committed.

Funny how your heart still ached for him.

"Tell me the location of Clone Force 99 and I'll have you moved to a different cell."

Something about his voice seemed less threatening than before. Less intense. The light still burnt your eyes to tears, but somehow his lean form was coolant.

"I... I can't. You know I can't, Crosshair. I'm sorry."

A pause, punctuated with a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry too."

The light shut off and once again, darkness closed in.

--------------------------------------------------

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[kybercrystals94]

Left Handed

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 15 | Prompt 15: “Who did this to you?”

Rated: G | Words: 574 | Summary: Echo doesn't want to disclose his attacker after an altercation. [Character Focus: Omega, Echo, Tech, Hunter, Wrecker]

“Does it hurt?” Omega asks, leaning over the back of the copilot’s chair she is standing on.

Echo almost tells her that chairs are for sitting not standing. However, Tech chooses this exact moment to touch a swab of antiseptic against the cut split across his cheekbone. Echo hisses a curse before remembering his audience. “Maker! Warn a guy, Tech!”

“Apologies,” Tech responds automatically, not sounding remotely apologetic.

Omega drapes herself further over the back of the seat, arms dangling. “What happened? Were you in a fight?”

“Something like that,” Echo grumbles, avoiding eye contact.

“What was the cause of this altercation?” Tech asks, digging through the med kit for an appropriately sized bacta patch.

“Not important,” Echo says.

Tech hums, unconvinced. “Obviously your attacker is left handed.”

“Oh, because he was punched on the right side of his face?” Omega asks.

“Precisely,” Tech says. “That narrows down the suspect pool considerably.”

“There is no suspect pool!” Echo declares.

“Why don’t you want us to know who it is?” Omega asks. “Is it someone we know? Someone from Cid’s?”

“We don’t know anyone at Cid’s who is left handed.”

“True. But maybe they just used their left hand to throw us off.”

“As far as we know, this was not a premeditated attack,” Tech counters. “In the heat of a fight, I doubt the perpetrator would take that into consideration.”

Echo sighs. “I promise, this is nothing you need to worry about.”

“I disagree. If you have made an enemy, I think that we should know who in case they feel the need to retaliate,” Tech argues warmly.

Hunter and Wrecker come into the cockpit then, back from their supply run.

“Omega,” is the only warning Hunter has to give to make the girl sink into a sitting position, but spinning the chair around with a kick to face her brothers.

“What happened to you?” Wrecker asks, leaning forward to inspect Echo’s injury for himself before Tech can cover it with a bandage.

“Someone punched him in the face!” Omega supplies eagerly.

“What?” Hunter asks, sounding alarmed.

“It’s not–” Echo begins.

Wrecker cuts him off. “Who did it? We’ll go teach ‘em a lesson!”

“Echo refuses to disclose that information,” Tech says disapprovingly, applying the bacta patch to Echo’s face.

“But we know they were left handed,” Omega puts in.

“Wait, listen…” Echo tries again, but Hunter interrupts him this time.

“This isn’t something you should keep from the team, Echo. You of all people should know that,” Hunter says gravely.

Echo stands, throwing up his arms in frustration. “There was no attacker!”

A beat of silence.

Omega scrunches up her face. “Then how…?”

“I ran into a wall, okay? I wasn’t paying attention when I turned a corner, and this,” he indicates the wound with a dramatic splay of his hand, “happened.”

His brothers and sister stare at him. Then, Omega cracks a tiny grin and in a small voice asks, “Do you want us to beat up the wall for you, Echo?”

One of the brothers snorts a laugh. Echo isn’t sure which one. He just sighs and walks out of the cockpit, face burning.

“You just tell us which wall it was, and we’ll take care of it!” Wrecker calls after him. This officially sends the four siblings at Echo’s back into hysterics.

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t turn around, hiding the fond smirk that creeps across his face.

END

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[solrika]

Late for Febuwhump: BEES and the DavidO!Kallus challenge from @nicki0kaye

Inspired by my "Hanahaki but BEES" fic.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Identity Pt 6 (Extra Scene)

Part (6) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

There are two people in particular to blame for this chapter. You know who are are, and I love you for it.

Warnings: Big emotions in this - rage, guilt, blame, and the like. There do be a bit of fighting, but it's not gory. Brief description of water torture. Profanity

WC: 2,032

No one moved, breath nearly trapped in their chests as they watched the pair steadily make their way out of the hanger. Crosshair noted the stiffness in her movements, the slight hitch in her step, and his teeth ground at the certainty that her shoulder was only a small part of what she’d suffered.

“What the kriff did you do?!” He snarled at the group of regs still staring toward the now empty hallway. He’d half-expected Hunter or Echo to growl some half-hearted warning for him to back down, but they seemed just as eager for answers as he was, and the unspoken permission that granted him, the justification in loosing his rage on the remaining members of the 104th left him near shaking, face twisted with the full display of his fury.

“We followed our orders; just like she did… Things just… got complicated.” The one with the double oval on his forehead replied, and the dejection in his voice only worsened Crosshair’s anger.

“The hell does that mean?” His voice ground between gritted teeth, body innately taking a half-step forward.

“It means there were unforeseen circumstances that caused problems, and that you lot aren’t cleared to know anything more.” The clone bearing a wolf-head emblem said, not shying from the very real threat in the sniper’s posture as he tread forward to place himself pointedly between his men and the enraged squad before him.

“I don’t give a Sith’s tit about your mission. The kriff happened to her, and why didn’t any of you stop it?!” He spat, shoulders pulling back as he towered over the Sergent.

“No time.” Another reg replied gruffly from behind the telltale helm of a pilot. “When everythin’ went down, we were all too far away to do anything, an’ they had her whisked off to the other side of planet before we could reach her.”

“She was alone?!” Echo nearly shouted from behind him. Crosshair didn’t question Hunter’s silence thus far, assured that his brother was listening, calculating; that he could smell the cocktail of adrenaline filling each of them and was comparing their heart rates, their body language, the tension in their every taut muscle to figure out just how far they could be pushed before snapping, how much information they might glean from tongues loosened by shame and guilt.

“There wasn’t supposed to be any combat where she was.” The last one sighed, his head dropping toward his chest.

“Can’t help but notice not one of you has a damn scratch, so how’d she end up like that in a non-combat zone with you lot still looking like damn shinies?!” Cross shot back, disdain dripping from every word.

“That’s enough!” The pilot barked, moving stiffly forward to stand beside his brother. “Think you’re something special? That you’re all high and mighty just ‘cause you’ve got some damn crush? Well, how ‘bout we compare how many times she’s been hurt working with you than with us?!”

He nearly ignored the subtle shift of Hunter’s hand signaling him to back off, but caught himself mere heartbeats before throwing himself forward, fists clenched hard enough to shake.

“If you’re referring to combat ops, given the general nature of your missions, which tend toward community outreach and long-distance support, in addition to the fact that her most grievous injuries were caused directly by your commander’s intentional actions, statistically speaking, that comparison wouldn’t do much to support your argument.” The subtle note of annoyance in Tech’s retort was just enough to draw a huff of something too dark to be likened to laughter from Crosshair.

“Still haven’t given a reason why she was alone.” Wrecker’s voice was quiet, and that alone left Crosshair leaning slightly to the side lest he find himself between them should the massive clone decide he was done listening. “She’s a medic – can’t really do that if she’s not with you.”

“She wasn’t there as a medic.” The first reg explained wearily.

“Then why was she there? Why pull her from our unit at all?” Hunter asked, carefully masking his own anger with a feigned gentleness.

“Comet.” The Sergent called, helm shifting to stare pointedly at his brother. The silence that followed that warning only sought to fuel Crosshair’s ire while worsening the 104th’s collective remorse.

“We needed someone who could blend in with the Separatists.”

“Boost!”

The man who’d spoken drew a sharp breath at the reprimand in his brother’s tone, head snapping up to stare him down as he wrenched his helmet free.

“No! Dammit, Sinker, they should know what happened! You think needing to keep it a secret is going to do her any good?! Hell, that one’s clearly read plenty of our old mission briefs already!” Boost roared, hand snapping toward Tech. “Why the hell wouldn’t he read this one? The only difference between us telling them now and him reading about it later is how much time they’ll have to get their shebs ready to help her when she’s back.”

Despite his lingering urge to lash out, Crosshair found himself both quieted and unnerved anew at the man’s words, torn between wanting to berate them for their carelessness and appreciating Boost’s argument.

“I know…” Sinker replied, voice nearly breaking beneath the weight of remorse threatening to overwhelm him, “but that’s not our call to make.” Comet and the other one, the pilot, had both turned their attention from Crosshair and their brothers, as though waiting to see who’d cede first that they might be granted permission to speak freely.

“Then you go right ahead and report me, Sergent.” Boost spat.

“Our contact chose the location.” Sinker’s shoulders fell at Comet’s quiet whisper, but he offered no further dispute. “It was a gathering for high-ranking Separatists. The plan was her to get in, get a datachip, and monitor security while we broke into the gala’s database to get more info… get a little something extra for the effort. Apparently, our contact had ulterior motives, too. He planted a bomb. She got caught in the blast, and then she was blamed for it.”

Air hissed through Crosshair’s teeth; dread twisted through his chest at the knowledge of what a Separatist interrogation entailed.

“We got to her as quick as we could.” The pilot continued, arms crossing over his chest at the guilt clearly sown through his own words. “Beat up some guards, tracked all the outbound ships… finally had to hunt down the damn contact himself to figure out where they took her.” He didn’t need to look back to know his brothers stood as stiff as he did, waiting for that final blow of what exactly had happened.

“They had her for about eight hours.” Resigned, Sinker finally turned back to face him, movements weary as he also reached up to remove his helmet, and Cross couldn’t help but be slightly surprised to find that the man shared his silver hair color, a fact that instantly annoyed him further, but he held his tongue as he waited for the reg to continue. “We know she was unconscious most of that time, but when she woke up…”

“Enough with all the kriffin’ stalling. Just tell us wha’ happened.” Wrecker growled impatiently.

“She was drowned.” Comet stated bluntly, and Crosshair’s blood went cold. “They drowned her, brought her back, and waterboarded her trying to find out who was behind the explosion.”

He could feel his heart racing, felt his breath quicken, every thought screaming at him to fight, to forgo all fear of reprimand or consequence for the relief of even a moment’s outburst, because that was something he knew. He knew how to deal with the pain of raw knuckles and split lips. He knew the taste of disappointment his brothers would harbor in the aftermath of his rashness. He knew the sting of defeat and the empty pride of victory, and, in that moment, held no preference for either. He merely needed the distraction; that familiarity, because the ache in his chest, the way it threatened to cripple him and rend him into a frenzy too overcome with grief and guilt to think straight was something he didn’t know how to deal with, and that terrified him.

“I assume she’s been given appropriate treatment to prevent lung infections?” The emptiness in Tech’s voice robbed Crosshair of that lingering rage to which he’d been clinging, leaving him cold and void of the will to drag himself back to the forefront of a confrontation that no longer promised anything of the respite he’d longed for.

“Yeah.” Boost answered quietly. “She also has a burn on her calf… wrists and ankles got torn up from fighting the restraints… pretty sure that’s how she dislocated her shoulder, too. We got it all cleaned and bandaged, but… just keep an eye on it.” There. That last comment was all it took to rekindle his anger, and he grasped it like the fleeting lifeline it was.

“Think it’s pretty clear we don’t need your advice on how to keep her safe.” He drawled, head tilting just enough to portray the depth of his contempt.

“That’s it.” The pilot growled, throwing himself forward without further thought or warning. In that split second before they collided, Crosshair felt the very edge of his lips twitch up into a broken smile born of relief and ruined by a guilt he’d deal with later.

In an instant, everyone was shouting, and he thrived in that moment of chaos as the man’s fist crashed into his jaw. Already, several hands were grabbing for him, straining to wrench him back, but not before he landed his own strike, knee plowing into his stomach with enough force to wrench the air from his lungs despite the plates of heavy armor. Crosshair just managed a final punch to his assailant’s head before Wrecker forced himself between them, iron grip locked around the reg’s shoulder in a threat even the haughty pilot couldn’t feign ignorance to.

In the brief fray, he’d failed to notice the split second of distraction tear Hunter’s attention away from them, but he instantly froze as his brother hauled him near enough to whisper harshly into his ear.

“Cody commed me. It’s Doc.” Already, Hunter was pulling away from him, torn between ending the fight and answering the summons. “Don’t make things worse.” He added with a snarl forced into barely audible growl. Expression faltering into horrified dread, Cross merely nodded. Hunter didn’t hesitate before turning and dashing from the hanger, and then all Crosshair could hear was the heaviness of his own breathing, the way his heart pounded in chest beneath that rush of emotions resurging mercilessly in the wake of his vain attempt to escape them.

He glanced back to find his brothers studying him carefully, confusion clear in their eyes as they waited for some explanation, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak, not when the other squad stood watching him with that same attentiveness. Without a word, he merely nodded toward the hallway leading to their temporary bunkroom, sparing not so much as a glare back to the men he still sought to blame for all of this; for calling her away, for letting her get hurt, for reminding him just how easily he might lose her because of this Force-forsaken war.

He didn’t listen to the hushed voices of the 104th as he began walking away; barely let himself note the sets of footsteps voicing his own squad belatedly falling in line behind him. He couldn’t think beyond the fruitless need to know why Cody had called Hunter, what had happened in the debrief; mind demanding he find some means to force his way into that kriffing office in his brother’s stead, and his rage grew at the knowledge that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do but wait. All his training as a sniper, years of drilling the importance of patience into him, of forming that patience into a weapon honed to perfection; it was all useless against this, and he couldn’t keep himself from slamming his fist into the wall in a final fit of frustration as they neared the still foreign barracks.

Next Chapter

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