#this is febuwhump none of it is sweet

[majorproblems77]

Day 3 - Bite down on this

Day 3 of my Febuwhump sees us return to one of My whumptober projects, Pinned down was one of a few that I had requests to continue last year so here you are :)

[cutthroatcarnival]

Febuwhump Day 8: “Why Won’t It Stop?”

Tags/Warnings: None (?)

Warriors gets cursed to feel all the pain his fallen comrades faced. Sky and Twilight try to comfort him while attempting to hold themselves together.

Read it on AO3!

Captain’s Bane

Twilight nursed his jaw- it was likely bruised, the captain packed quite a punch- as he shared a helpless look with Sky, the Skyloftian equally as lost, torn between staying with him or aiding the rancher.

Warriors had collapsed after the battle. He hadn’t been hurt, not physically, but when Hyrule had checked him, he reported the presence of dark magic on him. They had gathered around the fallen captain in a panic before Time had called on them, entrusting Warriors to Sky and Twilight, as they followed the direction the enemy fled.

He had been expecting something like a sleeping curse, or one that would render him unconscious for a while, but not this. Sky had remained at the captain’s side, luckily managing to avoid the swings, and Twilight? Not so much.

Scooting closer to Warriors, more towards his head, Twilight sighed, feeling utterly useless as his brother writhed on the ground, clutching and scratching at his neck. His voice had gone hoarse from all the screaming, now expressing everything through anguished whines that thoroughly broke their hearts- never had they heard Warriors, the level-headed and steadfast captain, this vulnerable.

Warriors had gone still again, and on the dot, Sky swooped in, pressing his fingers against his wrist, sighing and hanging his head in poorly concealed relief- just another lull in whatever was happening. Twilight pet the war hero’s hair, pushing back the sweat-slicked strands carefully, purposefully ignoring the way his hands shook.

Curses weren’t fun, he understood that at the very least. His definitely hadn’t been at the start, but it had gotten better as Twilight lived with it, growing with it, learning with it, and wholeheartedly trusting the wolf that resided as part of his very being. These were on two separate ends of curses- Warriors laid on the malicious side, the one he was afflicted with purposefully casted to cause suffering. Twilight’s was a byproduct of his original transformation under Twili influence, a rather necessary curse to save two realms from crumbling.

A hoarse scream wrenched him out of his thoughts, his attention snapping to Warriors, whose eyes had opened. Twilight could tell he wasn’t completely there, his eyes were hazy. He nearly bumped heads with Sky as they leaned over the captain. Pain-riddled eyes met their’s, tears slowly sliding down.

“Why won’t it stop? I didn’t mean for them to die.” His voice was raw, both from screaming and unconscious emotion, every word spoken with such immense sorrow.

He could hear Sky heave a shuddering breath, clearing his throat to fight against the urge to cry, and he himself wasn’t faring any better, staring at Warriors- whose eyes had drooped shut- feeling his heart shatter into pieces. The lull had ceased, as the captain began writhing and twisting again, legs flailing as if trying to kick someone away- or run away- arms wrapped around his ribs, curling slightly with a whine.

The others needed to find that curser soon, and find them quick. Sweet Ordona, he didn’t know how much Warriors could handle. Sky was close to breaking, the other hero mumbling under his breath what sounded like counting, staying vigilant by the captain’s head. And Twilight could only stare. This wasn’t something that could be fixed with words and hugs- not until much later, that is- and he felt helpless. His chest ached at every small noise the captain made.

He joined the skyward knight at Warriors’ head, pressing their shoulders together. Ordona, hear his pleas, and let their presences be enough for their brother.

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 18 - Too weak to move

CW: panic attack, bad caretaker, threats of recapture

Previous | [Masterlist] | Next

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Lukas' knees were shaking with every outraged breath. No. No! This wasn't happening, Ben would knock on the door any minute.

His hands slapped against his face over and over until the numbness under his skin made space for pain. Good, he could focus better this way.

"My fault, that's my fault. I'm such a goddamn idiot!"

"You don't know if anything bad happened. He probably had the night of his life, I saw him leave with some ginger," Lukas' roommate was gesturing and smiling reassuringly, "Huge ass on that one. Huge!" 

"Shut the fuck up, Avery! How is this helping?"

Luke's hands wandered down his thighs, rubbing up and down the knees in a soothing pattern. He needed to calm down, he needed to think-

Avery's babble was no meaningful support. Just as useless as himself, god, why was he so against giving Ben a phone? No phone. No phone! Shepard couldn't track him, not that he knew how smartphones worked. Did he? Whatever, nobody understood, nobody saw Shepard for who he really was.

Luke did, though, he witnessed every sin. Ben was a gentle soul, he wasn't able to suffer their father's wrath alone.

"I have to go - or he will find me."

Lukas had to stop his self-loathing to pack his bags, throw a few shirts and a toothbrush together and get going. He did so before and if none of his friends were ready to help, he needed to pull through on his own. One of said friends desperately tried to made sense of the chaos: "Ben is such a sweet guy, he would never rat you out."

"My f-" Luke swallowed hard to get the letters down his throat and hopefully out of his mind, "he has his methods."

Shepard was on his way, Lukas felt it in every twitching fiber of his being. The next guest wouldn't be Ben. 

"Call the police, then." 

"It's not that easy! God, where's my fucking backpack?!"

Neither Reuben nor Lukas were registered in any system they would be missed by, so how were they supposed to report a missing person if nobody of interest had been lost? Lukas was isolated and helpless, just like Shepard wanted. Contacting the local authorities would backfire horribly, any officer would simply hand-deliver him to his father to save on the paperwork.

"I'll do it." Avery suddenly held his shoulders tight and made Luke flinch back, „Hey! I like the little freak too, okay? But I'm not letting you disappear into the night like this."

Quick to swat a helping hand away, Lukas once again tried to make his heavy knees stand straight, grappling with keeping himself steady. There was no time for this!

"We, uhm, take a quick trip to Heaven's Gate and if Ben is really there...we'll just steal him right back."

Nobody would ever tell him what to do anymore, not even Avery, not even if it was in his best interest. Lukas was free now, he had a life, he-

He hadn't noticed how the familiar numbness had spread throughout his body again, and with it the weight on his chest: "I can't go back, they're gonna- I can't!"

"Calm down, you sound like a maniac." 

"I shouldn't have left him alone, I have to- I'm so fucking stupid."

Avery was talking insistently near him, still sounding far away, as if Lukas was submerged in a cold puddle. 

He needed to- 

He had to-

Biting his quivering lip until he tasted blood, Luke clutched his fists to his chest where he wanted to hold his brother close.

As always, his actions had only carried misery into their lives.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[dismalzelenka]

Febuwhump 1 - Helpless

I'm gonna try this thing. :V

Day 1: Helpless Pairing: none? immediately post Gale/Mystra? idek man.

Read From Beginning || Previous || Next

By the time Gale realizes his mistake, it's far too late to turn back. The magic bites into his skin like knives wiggling their way through his veins. He thinks he's gone blind, the way his left eye seizes up and goes dark with an ache beyond anything he's ever experienced. The book in his hands falls to the floor with a muffled clatter, slamming shut on its own, but the gnawing black hunger between its pages is already devouring a part of him he understands implicitly he will never get back.

He wonders for a moment if his pride will even allow him to ask for help, but there is something about the agony bringing him to his knees that pries words from his soul he knows he has no right to anyway.

I didn't mean for this to happen.

Please, Mystra, help me.

I'm sorry.

Oh, he is a fool. And some part of him knows better than to expect a response, but the silence that meets him is magnified a thousandfold by the piercing hole in his chest that only seems to grow wider by the minute. It's an emptiness beyond compare. It is the stifling darkness of a moonless night, a gnawing absence that threatens to collapse his very bones with the way it consumes. His fist pounds on the floor as another wave shudders through him. He wonders who he hears screaming in the distance, then realizes dimly just how little he recognizes his own voice when he's brought so low.

It is an empty realization by the time the worst of the sickness passes. He slumps against the floor, cheek to cold, polished oak, as a weariness he hasn't felt in years drapes over him like a funeral shroud.

"Please," he croaks, a shuddering whisper swallowed up by the heavy silence that blankets the room. He doesn't know what he's begging for, only that he would do anything to quell whatever it is growing sickening barbs in his chest. He remembers how it felt the way the Weave cloaked him in sweet, honeyed rhapsody. He allows himself a sliver of hope that even in his greatest blunder he might deserve the smallest of mercies.

It doesn't come.

[spicywhumper]

febuwhump '24: 19. "please, don't" + @femslash-february bingo: unrequired

series: untitled | rating: mature | trigger/content: captivity, chained, implied future dub/noncon

Krystian isn’t sure when her life started to go wrong, perhaps when her twin brother had the audacity to die merely a week after his birth. Right when her father said “I need a heir, so I guess I don’t have a daughter”. That’s a simpler way to explain how she has never been this lucky (even if she does like the fact she never had to marry a man and carry his babies).

She sighs, captivity is even more boring when you don’t need to sleep.

She shackles aren’t heavy, but with the carved runes on the metal, they’re quite uncomfortable, the collar’s a lot worse .

For decades, now, she has been using her charm and mildly awkward flirting to get thinks she needed. A place to ‘rest’, supplies like clean clothes and warm bathing water, and blood. The unintentional thrill had helped her to get blood so many times, makes her miserable lonely life a little less miserable. Not very, but enough to make it bearable. She prefers a calmer way to get blood than hunting. The human dies anyways, but makes less of a mess and means she can stick around for a little longer.

Perhaps she should have followed her gut feeling when the woman smiled at her with too many teeth to not be dangerous, eyes with a predator glint.

She didn’t, she allowed the woman, call me Karr, dear, to take her into the inn. Vampire, cold-blooded, Krystian still likes warm rooms and soft beds. Maybe it’s the human in her, maybe it’s growing up as a Prince. She accepts the wine, like she forgot that humans are the most dangerous creatures on earth. The ones with poison on their voice are even more dangerous.

So, maybe it’s her own fault that she go herself in this situation, in a cage, it looks like the inn’s basement, shackled to the wall. She tested the chains multiple times, they’re clearly built to be unbreakable. Or they make a vampire weaker, she thinks that’s more probable, considering that whatever the woman has put on her wine, it took her out for long enough to be dragged down here.

Krystian hasn’t been in such an unpleasant situation in decades.

“When we met for the first time,” she looks up at the sound of her captor’s voice. “I suspected you’re not human, with those red-ish brown eyes.”

“So you gambled by giving me something that would definitely kill me?”

“No,” she tilts her head (it reminds her painfully of Savina and her carrying over wolfy ticks.”You don’t remember me.”

“Apologies, I’m an old woman.”

She steps even closer, Krystian feels the back of her throat burning, sweet metal pulsates under delicate-looking skin ,throught easily broken veins: “It has been a few years, feels longer for me than to you, of course. I was in the business of getting a couple copper coins for a night of pleasure.”

“I mean no offense, but I don’t exactly commit people ot memory. In general, really, not specifically sex workers,” she looks her up and down. She can almost feel her blood pumping in her veins, she wants to taste it. “I imagine you could still make some coins that way.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” she licks her lips, Krystian recognizes the lust in her eyes. A mixture of sexual and violence urges. “I’d enjoy it with you,” her predatory smile reminds Krystian of those weird older women in the court, the ones that really, really wanted ‘him’ to marry their daughters – nevermind the Prince already had a chosen bride.

“You’re quite attractive,” and she’s not lying, the woman might look like she’d be older than Krystian’s mother (if she was human), but Krystian not the type to lie about this. “But I’m not interested. Let me go before I make you acquainted with my fangs.”

“I’ve been looking for your for thirty years, that’s longer than the time you’ve been alive, correct?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Why not? You’re the last of your bloodline, that’s tragic, Prince.”

“I haven’t been a prince in a long time.”

“I thought it was a rumor, you know? The runaway prince’s a woman. Even a hundred years after the death of the disgraced king, people were still interested in the prince that has never been a prince.”

She grits her teeth, the rumor has started over an incident she’d like to forget: “Why don’t you come in, do whatever you want, and let me go?”

“Sex with a vampire is not nearly as satisfying if the vampire doesn’t want it.”

“You won’t make me want you if you keep tainting me about my past.”

“Oh dear, there are herbs and such for this kind of thing, aren’t you aware of that?” She leaves for a moment, only to come back carrying a simple metal cup, a glass vial with a brown-ish liquid and a dagger. “I promise you’ll have a good time.”

Krystian frowns, tries to find what that could mean in her admittedly small general vampiric knowledge. The woman enters the cage and kneels in front of her, just far enough that Krystian can’t try to reach her. She watches with apprehension as the cup is put on the floor, the woman pulls her left sleeve up, and thirst burns on the back of her throat, hot like an inferno, as the woman digs into her wrist. Blood flows easily into the metal cup. Not much, maybe two sips, perhaps a third. She’s not sure where the bandage comes from, but she sees that the woman wraps it around her wrist too easily to not have practice doing this.

Whatever’s inside the vial, it smells absolutely fool and she almost gags as the woman mixes it up with perfectly appetizing blood.

Then she remembers of stories about vampires bounded to humans, to witches or simply people that have minimal knowledge of the type of magic that does more harm than good. Vampires that get addicted to their captor’s blood and become their personal puppet, their sex slave more often than not.

That finally makes dread and fear.

She has escaped too many things to let it happen to her. Krystian pulls at the chains harder, so abruptly that the woman in front of her is startled by the noise. Krystian snarls at her, teeth coated with venom, eyes bright red.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

The woman snarls back. Faster than she appears to be, she grabs the chain attached to the heavy collar around her neck. She pulls back, the choking’s uncomfortable even if Krystian doesn’t need to breathe. And her body still responds like a human that does need to breath would. The woman adjusts the chain, pulling her closer to the wall, she did the same with the others chains, Krystian’s skin would be raw and bleeding if she was human by now.

“Don’t-” it’s half begging and half growling. “Please, don’t- I-” that’s way more pleading as the woman grabs her jaw and forces it open.

She begs again, sounding more pathetic than she has ever sound in her life, human or not. The liquid tastes foul, corrupted and wrong, it’s thick as it forces its way down her throat. It feels like ice, she wouldn’t be surprised if there’s frost forming on her neck and down her chest.

It hurts, she hates how it makes her whole body feel ice cold. The woman’s touch burns, her fingers are soft but they don’t feel right as they run through her hair.

“Shh, you’re mine now, you’ll be fine.”

[goth-automaton]

Because Febuwhump starts this week, I think it's a good moment to remind you, that I am capable of writing pure fluff. You know, before we all plunge deep into despair. ^^"

Fic links under the cut! 💜

And all the hills echoed (1808 words) by Necrotizing_Fasciitis Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games), NieR: Automata (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Marluxia/Xaldin (Kingdom Hearts) Characters: Xaldin (Kingdom Hearts), Marluxia (Kingdom Hearts), Lexaeus (Kingdom Hearts), Xigbar (Kingdom Hearts), mentioned other Org13 members, mentioned Accord (Drag-On Dragoon) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Mpreg, Fluff, Fluff with little plot, Swearing, let Marluxia say fuck, Bathing/Washing, Affection, Cuddling & Snuggling, Xaldin is so in love it hurts, title from a William Blake poem Summary:

Xaldin has never loved anyone as much as Marluxia. Especially now, when they were expecting their first child.

Sweet joy befall thee (1525 words) by Necrotizing_Fasciitis Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Luxord/Vexen (Kingdom Hearts) Characters: Luxord (Kingdom Hearts), Vexen (Kingdom Hearts), Zexion (Kingdom Hearts), mentioned other Org13 members Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Mpreg, Cute, Affection, Caretaking, Vexen is a workaholic, Luxord has none of that, they're in LOVE your honour, title from a William Blake poem Summary:

Even third trimester of pregnancy isn’t enough to stop Vexen from spending all his time working. Fortunately, Luxord is always there to make sure both his beloved boyfriend and their unborn child are well cared for.

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump day 4 - knife to the throat

read on ao3

word count: 903

TWs in tags

note: short but hopefully i got in everything i needed to say. <3

╞╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╡

“Creati! I’m ordering you to drop the weapon at once!”

Yaoyorozu looks straight ahead, expressionless, as she holds a dagger to her own throat.

Aizawa grunts, looking quickly between Jirou’s body strung limply on a chair in the corner and her wife.

Jirou’s death had been swift, little could be done to prevent her from firing the gun when they finally arrived on the scene. This… has been drawn out. Now that their attention has been caught, they’re being taunted.

He eyes Momo carefully. Sure enough, so faint he’d have missed it otherwise, her coal black eyes glint green in the dim light.

“Tsukauchi, I don’t think she’s in control of herself.”

“But you used your quirk-”

“I am aware.” He snaps, erasure activated at the knife even though it had long since been a part of Momo’s quirk, “If they’re being controlled remotely, there’s nothing I can do.”

Tsukauchi bristles, “You're not insinuating-”

“Don’t bring my son into this, detective, I’m simply theorizing.”

“Eraserhead,” Momo’s sweet voice calls, calling their attention to the thin line of blood that has been drawn on her collar, “Would it really matter if the love of my life is dead.”

“Creati, your son is in the hospital, you couldn’t possibly-”

“FUCK!” Momo shouts, squeezing her eyes shut, “Fine. God, you’re no fun. I never claimed to be an actor, BUT!” She smiles, dragging the tip of the knife until it points at her chest, “No worries! It’ll be over soon.”

Aizawa grits his teeth, letting his quirk go, “Gods what do you want us to do? Beg?”

Yaomomo continues to smile, teasing the hilt of the knife with her nails, “No, darling. But… I wonder. How do you feel knowing that the lives of your famous class A all rested in the hands of a single dart? And it only landed on Momo here,” The villain hums, gesturing to Kyoka, “the poor bitch here was just… in the way. I might get rid of their little boy, as well, just to do in with the whole family tree. To be productive and all.”

Shouta’s palm stings when his nails finally break skin. 

“So, what? You called us here for nothing?” Tsukauchi asks, sounding about as helpless as Shouta feels. 

Momo takes a hand off the knife to casually wave them off, “Nah jackass over there pressed some sort of SOS button under my nose before I took over. Slippery, that one, but it won’t-”

She winces, jerking her head to the side. 

“Shit I- What did you teach these assholes? Gods the whole time she’s been bitching in my ear, and now-”

Shouta grins, fuck, he knew Momo wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“No you whore, BUTT OUT! It’s none of your business!” The villain screeches, tears plummeting down Momo’s cheeks as they war with each other. “You- FUCK! ”

Momo heaves a huge, gasping breath, hunching over herself to vomit on the ground.

“Gods,” Tsukauchi breathes, one hand on his holster like he’s not sure whether to help or subdue her.

Finally, she regains her breath, stumbling forward blindly, right into Shouta’s arms. 

“I- sensei I couldn’t do anything-” 

“Creati do you know who it was? Are they still in your head?” Tsukauchi taps on his ear comm, relaying Momo’s status to their recovery team.

“No, he- I don’t think he’s there anymore. But why would he just give up? He said it himself, he was after me and not- Oh Gods, Kyouka!” She sobs hysterically, throwing herself off of Shouta and over to her wife.

“No, Gods please, Kyo- I’m so sorry baby. Please come back to me, please-”

Tsukauchi mutters something about a body bag, tearing out of the room when Momo’s cries only escalate

“Yaoyorozu, we need to get out of here in case he gets back in your head. It’s dangerous to leave you free for now.”

Her shoulders slump, her hands clutched at her hero suit. Her tears drip onto the concrete, barely audible but just as heartbreaking.

Shouta sighs, willing himself to keep it together, “Yaomomo, please?”

“I can’t leave her here alone, Sensei." She whimpers, one red-stained hand caressing Jirou’s face as she kneels in front of her.

Shouta sighs, stepping over to where Momo had dropped the knife. 

He looks down at the floor, bare except for a sparse smattering of blood.

She had dropped the knife… hadn’t she? When she got rid of the villain, he was sure.

Momo’s cries echo through the room, and he turns around slowly, drawing his capture weapon. 

Shit.

“Turn around, Yaomomo.” He orders, blood going cold when her shoulders abruptly stop shaking, “Now.”

The dripping continues, melodious and repetitive in nature. 

She does, her face settles when it comes into view.

Blood drips from the handle of the knife, the only part visible from where it’s lodged in her chest at a downward angle. A messy, grotesque gash trails down from her trachea, about six inches long. 

Shouta chokes, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.

Momo smiles at him, the same smile she would give him when she won a spar or got an answer right in class. The same smile she would give Kyouka that always made the other girl blush. And it’s so her but it’s not her at all.

Her eyes glint green in the dim light as blood trickles down her chin.

“Gotcha.”

[ordon-shield]

Febuwhump Day 22 (Can’t Scream): Trial of the Blade

ao3 link here

Link was ready to pull the Master Sword. He’d made his way across Hyrule, freed the Divine Beasts, and even recovered some of his lost memories. He’d been getting impatient, wanting to go fight Ganon directly, but he knew the Master Sword would only help. He’d known where it was for some time, so now all he needed was to face the trial the blade offered.

Stepping up to the plinth it had been placed in, he took a single deep breath before wrapping his hand around the hilt.

Pain. All he felt was pain, burning through his hand and up his arm, like he’d just gripped the edge of a fully-powered flameblade, or dipped his hand into the lava of Death Mountain. Pushing through the pain, he began to lift the sword, trying to ignore the burning in his palm.

With each inch of the blade pulled free, the pain increased, and he found himself holding back from screaming in pain, only gritting his teeth with it instead. He refused to cry out in pain. He didn’t know why the Master Sword refused to accept him when he’d wielded it before, but he would wield it again, even if he had to try again and again to draw it once more.

The pain was near-unbearable now, and he could feel his strength sap, his limbs becoming weak. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer, knew that even a moment more could spell his end. He kept pulling anyway, and with a final pull, he drew the sword, raising it high above his head as the pain suddenly stopped.

Slumping to the ground, exhausted from the trial, he let the sword slip from his fingers, their joints barely cooperating after how tight his grip had become. Squinting at his hand, he saw the mark left there by the sword, bright red and painful. He felt a small poke at his back and turned around to see a Korok holding up a fairy tonic it must have found in his pack. Thanking it for its help, he swallow half the small bottle in one gulp, the sweet sugary flavour on his tongue helping him focus. He carefully poured the other half over the wound on his palm, careful to not miss any part, leaving it for a minute before washing the sticky remainders off his hand.

The wound had mostly been healed by the tonic, but he was still left with a thick and rough scar across his palm, and a few marks on his fingers. Flexing his hand, he checked for any damage to movement, but found none. He glared down at the sword. It was lucky there wasn’t. Lifting up the sword once more, he realised that when he held it in his hand, the hilt matched up perfectly with the scar along his palm, like a perfect fit.

[fwitolei]

Febuwhump 2024 - Day 6: “You Lied to Me”

Fandom: The Bad Batch (Star Wars) Characters: Jaye N'Cante, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Omega Word Count: 661 Content Warning: None Previous // Next Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist

Summary: Hunter’s cryptic farewell leaves Omega worried

Omega raced through the spaceport, finally arriving at the Marauder to find Hunter and the Batch getting ready to leave. She watched as Wrecker and Tech took inventory, arguing about weapons and explosives. Wrecker’s grumbles rang throughout the port as he begrudgingly dropped a crate and walked off, leaving Tech shaking his head in disappointment. When the burly clone had told her about the mission, she had started to worry, wondering why she hadn’t been told about it earlier. Omega scanned the scene until she found Hunter leaning against a pillar a ways off, his arms crossed as he seemed to be talking to Jaye. 

“...I know, I know, but since Echo is off with Rex, I need you to take care of her while we’re gone,” Hunter murmured, rubbing Jaye’s upper arm with his thumb as she wiped her eyes. “We’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“Please don’t say that, we both know it’s not true!” Jaye shot back, her voice cracking as she spoke. A sense of anxiety spiked in Omega’s chest. What are they talking about?

The young clone’s shoes slapped against the floor as she approached them, alerting Hunter of her arrival. Jaye saw her and pulled away from Hunter, turning her back to them as she recollected herself.

“Hunter?” Omega asked. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”

Hunter kneeled before Omega. “We’re… going on a mission. It’s really dangerous, so you and Jaye are going to stay here.”

“But,” Omega started. She glanced at Jaye, who had pushed her hair behind her ear and was watching her and Hunter out of the corner of her eye. “You promised that you wouldn’t leave me behind.”

“I know, kid,” Hunter answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I need you to do this. We’ll be back as soon as we can, and as soon as we are, I’ll bring a big carton of Mantell Mix to celebrate, alright?”

Omega said nothing. She was still apprehensive, still confused on why it was so important she and Jaye stay behind. Hunter sensed her confusion, so he reached over and grabbed his helmet from a nearby crate and handed it to Omega.

“Hold on to this for me, will you?” Omega stared at the helmet, then at Hunter. He smiled half-heartedly as she took the helmet and held it close to her chest. Hunter stood, ruffling Omega’s hair before turning to Jaye. Tears continued to stream down her face as Hunter pulled her close, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Jaye buried her face in the crook of his neck, her eyes screwed shut. Omega's heart hurt at the sight. She didn’t understand what was happening, why Jaye was so devastated when Hunter promised he’d return. 

“Hunter!”

Omega looked to see Wrecker waving Hunter over, he and Tech already in the ship. Hunter glanced back at Jaye, who nodded through teary eyes. Hunter squeezed her hand before turning and hurrying to the Marauder. He ran up the ramp and glanced over his shoulder, meeting Omega’s eyes. Omega stood there, watching Hunter as the ramp raised, concealing him from view. She gripped his helmet in her hands as the Marauder took off, glancing at Jaye to see her still crying, a hand covering her mouth as she watched the ship disappear.

“Why…?” Omega cried, tears streaming down her face as she fell to her hands and knees. Stars from far away galaxies lit up the night sky, their glow drowned out by Ord Mantell’s light pollution. It had been weeks since Hunter and the Batch had left, only to hear from Tech and Wrecker that their brother had sacrificed himself for the sake of the mission.

Hunter’s helmet lay before Omega, practically untouched by the young clone as she waited for the arrival that never came. Omega wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed, her tears dissolving into the ground as she whispered, “Why? Why did you lie to me?!”

Previous // Next Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist Ultimate Masterlist

[djino04]

Secrets revealed

Day 6 of @febuwhump with theme : “secrets revealed”

Summary : It's Terra's turn to learn Saul's secret

In the OmegaVerse

POV Terra

I was surprised to receive a message from Uncle Saul, asking me to wait for him in the secret greenhouse room after school. We haven't had much time to talk since he returned to Alfea. I hope he doesn't need medical help or something. Everyone looks to me for that now, but I'm scared. I'm afraid I won't live up to their expectations or I'll make a big mistake. Dad is no longer there to guide me, although I know I can always call him if the need arises. 

So I wait for Uncle Saul to arrive, nervously tidying the room. I need to keep myself busy so I don't think about what could have caused this secret meeting. If it's not medical, is it related to the new director? That might explain the choice of location. I guess I'll find out soon enough. 

About two minutes later, Uncle Saul enters the room and my concern immediately increases upon seeing him. Even though he tries not to let on, it's not hard for me to see that he is nervous. I've known this man my whole life and even though he's a master at hiding his feelings, there are a few tell-tale signs, including his eyes and his finger going back and forth over his signet ring. But despite this, we exchange a few banalities and then we sit face to face before he gets to the heart of the matter: 

"Before we begin, you must promise me that nothing I say to you will leave this room. You can't repeat this to anyone, not even your friends, okay?"

I don't know if it's a good thing about new secrets. They kept the truth about Bloom, Rosalind and Andreas from us and we saw how that ended up. In fact, this is what I tell him: 

"No, I can't promise you that. You kept the truth from us for years about Rosalind and Andreas and look where we are now? Dad and Sam had to leave school, Aunt Farah died and you were almost exiled to Polaris. So, no, I refuse to keep a secret like that."

He looks at me, stunned for a few seconds. I know I've changed, I'm no longer the sweet little girl who obeys her authority figures without thinking. No, this little girl understood that they made mistakes too and that it was okay to not always agree with them.

Uncle Saul sighs at my answer but continues

"It's not those kinds of secrets. There are no other monsters hiding in the basement of the school. This secret is just about me, okay? But I can only tell you if you promise not to tell anyone."

"What if I promise you that I won't tell anyone unless telling them will protect someone, is that okay with you?"

Uncle Saul takes a few more seconds to consider my compromise. I guess it's not what he expected from me but he won't get anything better from me. But it seems to suit him because he replies: 

"Okay, let's go with that. But I want you to come and tell me if you ever need to tell anyone else."

"I promise."

I'm wondering more and more what this secret is and my curiosity is becoming stronger than my worry. Luckily for me, Uncle Saul doesn't keep me waiting: 

"It's not really easy to tell and very few people know about this secret. But maybe you have some doubts after the class of the other time. I mean, I hope not because if you didn't understand then not many people must have."

I look at Uncle Saul, surprised to see him rambling like this. Normally I'm the one who does this and he's the one who is very factual. My concern largely takes over from my curiosity. I start to imagine scenarios and none of them are very pleasant. So my heart beats faster as I ask him: 

"What's going on? Are you sick?"

"No, no. I mean, some would say it's a disease of sorts... What I want to tell you is that I'm not an alpha, Terra, but an omega."

I look at him, my mouth slightly ajar. How can Uncle Saul be an omega? In most people's minds, omegas, especially human omegas, are weak, they need protection, and they are dependent on their alpha. But I have never met anyone as strong and independent as Uncle Saul, except for Aunt Farah. If I have to use one word to describe how I feel when I'm with him, it's "security". He makes me feel like nothing and no one can touch me, that he will protect me no matter what. And it's hard to relate that to my image of an omega. 

Obviously my silence lasts too long because Uncle Saul continues: 

"You know Terra, it doesn't matter. I'm still the man I was before. The fact that you know this secret doesn't change who I am."

"It's just hard to imagine you as anything other than an alpha. Other than Flora, I don't know any omegas and she's a fairy so that's different. I... it's going to take me a while to figure this all out."

I see him nodding even though he's not looking at me anymore. I want to tell him it doesn't matter but I can't because I don't know. Even though Dad, Aunt Farah and Uncle Saul have tried to educate us to be more open-minded than most, it doesn't stop me from wondering. There must be some truth to the omega's weakness, right? I'm not saying that they are unable to take care of themselves, I see it clearly with Flora, but aren't they more dependent than the other categories? A little less able to make decisions? That's what I always thought. But now that I know Uncle Saul is, I wonder if it's not society that forces them into that position. It's easy to say that someone is incapable of being independent or making any decisions when they are not given the opportunity. Uncle Saul was given the chance to be the man he wanted to be and he is a damn good headmaster. I've never had any doubt about that, but it's even more true now that Rosalind and Andreas have taken over the school. 

Uncle Saul was lucky that Aunt Farah was the headmistress of Alfea, and besides, it makes me wonder if my dad knows her real class. That's why I ask him: 

"Does dad know about it?"

"No, he doesn't. Before this whole fiasco, only Farah and Rosalind knew about it. Sky and Andreas found out recently. The queen and a number of the guards know about it now, too. You can't tell your father, okay? His phone is probably tapped and if you tell him, it could backfire. In theory, you're supposed to tell on me now that you know, because I'm not allowed to be a specialist."

"But why tell me then?"

I'm amazed that Uncle Saul would deliberately put me in danger like this. He's very protective of all students, but that's even more true for those in his family. And I am one of them, I am his niece at heart, just as he and Aunt Farah are my aunt and uncle. We are from the same pack. In fact, I realize that for me they were always the alpha couple of our pack but obviously I was wrong. Maybe they were still a couple or not anyway. Sky always told me that there was nothing between them but friendship but I didn't want to believe him. Maybe he was right after all. Anyway, I'm rambling again but I don't have time to think more about it because Uncle Saul replies: 

"I found out something and I'm going to need your help. I won't tell you right away, you have enough to digest as it is. Take some time to think about it and if you agree to help me even if you know what I really am, I will tell you the rest. Don't worry, there are no other secrets like this, it's something to do with scapers. I'm going to need your biology skills, that's all. But as you can imagine, this will have to remain a secret too. Rosalind must never find out."

I'm about to open my mouth to answer him but he holds up a finger to stop me: 

"No, no. I insist, I want you to take your time to think this through. Send me a message when you're sure, okay?"

"Okay. I'll be in touch soon to let you know."

After a few quick goodbyes, I'm alone in the room again. I know I'm going to help him, no matter what. It doesn't matter if he's an alpha, beta or omega, he's part of my pack and my family. It's just strange to know that he's been pretending all these years. But that was my case not so long ago, right? I was trying to convince everyone, including myself, that I liked men because it was the "normal" way, the easy way. But now I can be myself and it's a real relief. Will it be the same for him at some point? Or is he doomed to live his life hiding who he is? 

I understand now why he is so calm, so measured. He has to keep thinking about his actions to see if an alpha would act like this. It must be exhausting. I hope he can find peace and live the way he wants to.

[whumpinggrounds]

Just As Sane As I Am

Short piece today because Covid fatigue. For @febuwhump day 19, “delirium,” Liam is getting a fever like me!

Tagging @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @brutal-nemesis, @deluxewhump, @whumpy-writings, @hearse-song, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @lonesome--hunter, @diyalogues, @warm-my-whumpee-heart

CW: male whumpee, big whumpee, little whumper, female whumper, creepy whumper, fever, delirium (duh), angst, noncon touch,

Liam knows when the fever starts. He doesn’t get sick often, but he vividly remembers his bout with appendicitis when he was thirteen. The itchy feeling under his skin. The heat. The tightness. The way his head aches, his tongue dries out, his whole body gets heavy as rocks. He knows a fever, and he knows when he starts to feel warm for the first time in Delilah’s cabin.

And then, too warm.

Still, Liam knows better than to say anything. He doesn’t want Delilah’s attention, even as he drinks more and more water, shivers hotter and hotter curled up on the couch. He holds out as long as he can, not wanting her to touch him. He’s not sure if she’s playing along, enjoying the sight of him getting weaker, or if she genuinely doesn’t notice his obvious weakness. He’s not sure which thought he finds more disturbing. Whatever the case, neither of them can ignore it anymore when Liam passes out cold on the cabin floor.

One minute he’s upright – swaying, sure, but upright – and the next, the dark rushes in. Black clouds sparkle across his vision, and his legs get fuzzy and weak. When he blinks back into awareness, he feels the chill of the cabin floor down his front, a faint ache in each of his knees. Over him, Delilah is cooing, her voice high and sweet and concerned, but the words come to Liam all bleary, confused. He lifts his head, but the room twirls around him as he does. Delilah makes a chiding sound. Surely, there are words in that blurred stream of sounds – but there’s no way that Liam could pick them out. Dizzily, he lets his head fall back to the wooden floor.

Time passes in a haze. Liam couldn’t tell if it’s minutes or hours slipping by, just that he’s hot and cold, he feels hands on his skin, he can’t see past the throbbing in his skull. He sees swirls, hears talking, singing, groaning. He doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not. He can’t focus on what he’s seeing or hearing, not past the crushing weight of what he’s feeling.

It’s not the itchy tightness of his skin, or the burning heat that alternates with bone-deep cold. It’s not the sweat wetting down his hair, nor the welcome chill of the cabin floor against his overheating skin. None of that bothers him in the slightest, not when he has other things to focus on. Not when he feels…not when he feels…

He feels someone cradle his head in their hands.

He feels someone pull him into their lap.

He feels fingers and hands, light little hands, and quick darting fingers, running up and down and down his chest.

He feels it all, over and over. When he twitches, or brushes distractedly at the touch, sometimes he realizes there’s nothing there. Sometimes there is – his fingers hit – and then it’s gone again, gone away, gone beyond reach.

Fingers. Hands. Touch. All over him, all over him. Some of it’s real and some of it isn’t – or all of it’s real and none of it isn’t – maybe none of it’s real, and all of it isn’t.

Liam doesn’t know.

He can’t find out.

He just lies on the floor of the cabin and shivers.

[cutthroatcarnival]

Febuwhump Alt Prompt 2: “I Love You” (AKA Day 16)

Tags/Warnings: None!

The Chain never gets to properly say goodbye to Malon before their adventure ends. Time brings home letters and gifts.

Aftermath of Day 12!

Read it on AO3!

Dear Malon

Malon sang as she led Epona out of her stall, smiling as the mare nosed and nudged at her, lipping at the pocket of her dress. Laughter broke her song as she gently nudged the horse’s head away, scratching behind her ear as she pulled the carrot out of her pocket.

She offered it to the gentle-tempered mare, starting her song back up as she took the carrot. Not bothering to grab the mare’s halter, Malon walked into the paddock and over to the fence where a brush box rested. Epona followed nosing at her hair and dress, stopping at the fence and nickering.

“My, what a sweet girl you are!” The mare snorted, nickering again as Malon picked up the curry comb, falling into the rhythm of brushing Epona’s chestnut coat. Her singing picked up again, and she swayed slightly to an invisible beat. Malon smiled as she realized the tune- a song she had heard Sky strumming that last time her husband and their boys were around.

It wasn’t unusual for them to be gone; hopping through time meant that time would be different, but they were never gone for more than two weeks. It had been four, and Malon feared that something had happened to them. Her singing petered out, an almost pensive air around her. With a sigh, she swapped the curry for the dandy brush, accompanying the strokes with pets.

Epona nuzzled into her shoulder, smacking their heads together, causing Malon to laugh. She brought a hand up to the mare’s face, scratching at her jaw. When she ripped her face out of her hands, Malon stepped back. Epona’s eyes were wide, and her tail was swishing rapidly, every muscle of her body was tense, focused on something on the horizon. What had she heard? Or seen?

The mare took off, startling Malon slightly. She placed the brush back in the box, turning back in time to watch Epona jump the fence and race off. With a sigh, Malon brought the brush box back into the stable; the chestnut mare would be fine, even in her older age.

Brushing Epona had been the last thing on her list until later in the day. Malon hummed as she waltzed to the farmhouse, directing herself to her favorite armchair and snatching the book she was reading. As she settled into the chair, her attempt at reading failed. Malon had the overwhelming feeling of something being wrong, she could almost equate it to a horse having a shoe that was just a little too loose, and it had grown ever since Epona had galloped away.

So absorbed in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the door open, nor the sound of boots and armor entering the room, “Malon?” Her head snapped up at the sound of her husband’s voice. Time stood in front of her, still clad in his armor. Malon rushed out the armchair to hug him, feeling him sink into her as soon as she had her arms around her. They pulled back, Malon cupping his cheek, finally getting a good look at him; his left ear was a little more torn than before, but the rest of his face appeared undamaged. His red eyes made her heart clench, swiping a thumb over a tear-tacky cheek.

“Where are the boys?” Time pulled his face away, looking away from Malon, “Link?” He was trembling, so she set a careful hand on his arm, moving to see his face. A hand rested on top of her’s, fingers brushing over her knuckles.

“They’re gone, they,” He swallowed, shiny tears forming in his eye, “It was time to go home.” Malon covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide as she felt her own tears prick at them. A sob tore out of her throat- she never got to say goodbye to them. She was pulled into a hug, burying her head into his shoulder; crying for the loss of eight heroes she had come to see as sons.

A gentle hand rubbed up and down her back, “They left some things with me, to give to you,” Time’s voice was thick with emotion, “It seemed they knew it was the end, and they wanted to say goodbye one last time.” Malon pulled away, swiping at her face to brush the tears away.

“Everything they wanted to give to you is in that bag,��� He gestured to the one sitting under the archway to the kitchen, “I need to clean up and get out of this armor. Will you be okay?” She nodded, leaning up to peck his cheek, before letting him go. On her way into the kitchen, she picked up the bag, carefully setting it down on the table. With a deep breath, Malon opened the bag, and reached in.

She pulled out a small box, stuck to the top was a letter that read ‘Twilight’. Malon slowly peeled the letter away, fearing damaging both the box and letter, and opened the box. Inside rested some sort of garment in the same color of her scarf. Gently, she pulled it out and unfolded it, taking the note that was wrapped in it.

‘This sash is part of traditional Ordon Village attire.’ Malon picked up the sash, feeling tears well in her eyes as she held up the garment; it looked exactly like the sash Twilight wore wrapped around his waist, albeit in a different color. She set it on the table with care, reaching over to the letter to read it.

Tears overflowed at every word scrawled in Twilight’s handwriting. Retelling his most memorable moments of the journey, accompanied by small doodles. She set the letter down and wiped at her tears, a small smile on her face. Malon gave a wet laugh- she’d be crying at all of the letters and gifts, wouldn’t she?

And she was right. Gifted to her were an intricate dagger, a detailed carving of the Lon Lon Dairy logo, a butterfly-shaped pendant, a Lon Lon Ranch snowglobe, a small wreath of flowers that seemed to not wilt, a scarf clip in the shape of Epona’s head, and what was undoubtedly an incredibly soft sweater interwoven with spells. After each gift, she had opened the letters, crying at the fondness the rowdy heroes she saw as sons had for her and the others.

Malon felt a hand rest on her shoulder and she leaned back, looking up at her husband, who wore a soft smile, “There’s one last gift for you.” She sniffled and smiled at him as he set a book down on the table in front of her. The cover read ‘Malon’ in swooping gold. She pulled it closer to her and opened it.

‘Dear Malon,

Thank you for everything you’ve done for us. You so readily invited us into your home, and treated us like your sons. We feel horrible about not being able to give you a proper good-bye, but we hope the gifts and letters suffice. Again, thank you, not only for your kindness and hospitality, but for being a mother figure.

We love you.’

Following the message were everyone’s signatures. Malon covered her mouth and sobbed, her heart was filled with both great happiness and sadness; she had become a massive figure in the lives of those boys, but now she would never see them again. Through her tears, she thumbed through the book, smiling at the pictures and captions, the margins were filled with notes from all nine of the heroes, making her heart fill with incredible fondness. Everything gifted would be cherished forever; Malon was incredibly proud of each and every one of them, and that pride would not waver.

[redrobinhoods]

“Take Me Instead” | Febuwhump 2021

TW: None

Summary: Obi-Wan embarks on a suicide mission

AO3 Link | Febuwhump Index

Cody twirled the stylus between his fingers as his eyes skimmed over the contents of the datapad. This was supposed to be Obi-Wan’s duty, but his general was nowhere to be found. So, it fell to Cody as second-in-command to look over the legion’s acquisitions. He supposed now that this was why Obi-Wan had been so sweet to him just before he left.

He almost missed Waxer’s arrival. “Sir, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Cody glanced up from the datapad. “Then tell me.”

“The mission you deemed suicide, General Kenobi is going to act on it.”

And the reason for the sweetness became clear.

Cody flew to his feet, the datapad discarded. “Where is he?”

---

The hanger fell silent as Cody stormed in.

“Ah, Cody.” Obi-Wan greeted him sheepishly.

“What are you doing?” Cody hissed at him.

“I’m afraid that we’ve been given an ultimatum by the Chancellor.” Obi-Wan grimaced. “We have no choice, we must destroy the Separatist compound.”

“And when was I going to be informed? After you left?” The silence that greeted him was answer enough.

“I have orders, Cody.”

“And who are you taking to die with you?”

Obi-Wan turned his head to Wooley, checking over the gunship, then back to Cody.

“No.” Cody shook his head. “Take me instead.”

“Cody. We can’t both be-.”

“What example would I set for our men otherwise?” When Obi-Wan had no answer, Cody continued. “Wooley, you’re dismissed. Someone tell Waxer that he’s in charge until we get back.” Cody made his way over to the waiting gunship before glancing back at Obi-Wan. “Come, we have orders.”

Obi-Wan sighed and reluctantly joined Cody in the gunship. Only after the doors had closed and the ship rose into the air did he speak. “I must confess, I am glad that you’re going with me.”

Cody stepped forward into Obi-Wan’s space and brought up a hand to cup the other man’s jaw, bringing him in for a light kiss. “I would be glad to die by your side.”

“I love you too.” Obi-Wan’s smile could take away all of Cody’s nerves.

“I love you.” He whispered back before drawing Obi-Wan into a last kiss. “So, this mission.” He kept his face before Obi-Wan’s, refusing to leave his space. “Same plan as before? Plant the bombs, hide, and pray to the divinity of your choosing?”

“That about sums it up, yes.” Obi-Wan admitted. “It’s not ideal, but it’s all the Republic has.”

“We serve the Republic.” Cody said almost unconsciously, the dogma drilled into his head by hours of training. “But if we live, I’ll serve you tonight.”

“Cody!”

---

“Cody!” Obi-Wan’s scream cut through the wreckage of the compound, burning at the edges of Cody’s mind as he fought to return to consciousness.

“Obi-Wan.” He whispered, the already soft sound lost to the screech of the building as it fell apart.

But as if he had heard him, Obi-Wan was there at his side. He fell to his knees beside Cody, grimacing in pain and tightening his hold on his side as he bent down over Cody.

“Are you hurt?” Cody whispered. This time, it was heard.

“Just a flesh wound.” The hand which did not clutch at Obi-Wan’s side reached out and gently smoothed Cody’s hair; his helmet had been lost somewhere between the explosion and when he had hit the ground. “Cody.”

Cody closed his eyes to focus on Obi-Wan’s touch, but with the loss of his sight, there was nothing to distract him from his harsh, rasping breaths and he opened his eyes once more.

“Cody.” Obi-Wan said his name again as if just by voicing the name he could heal the man he loved.

“Time to pick my divinity, right?” Cody managed to get out before the slab of duracrete across his chest shifted with the collapsing building and he let out a cry of pain that left him panting for air.

Reaching a hand out to rest on the slab, Obi-Wan tapped into the Force to raise it the few inches Cody needed to draw breath, then ever so slowly move it to the side, freeing Cody’s torso from the rubble.

Without the pressure of the slab, the pain was becoming more acute with each heave of his chest, but Obi-Wan could never knew that he had brought him pain. “Thank you.” With his vision slowly returning to normal, Cody turned his gaze back to Obi-Wan’s side, where his tunic was reddening. “You’re bleeding.”

“Just a flesh wound.”

“Obi-Wan.” Cody had been around the other man long enough to know when he was lying. “You need to stop the bleeding, you-.”

“Sssssh.” Obi-Wan’s hand fell back to Cody’s hair. “I need to be by your side.”

Cody knew it was wrong, it was selfish, to put his own wants before Obi-Wan’s health. But he feared that this could be the last time he lay eyes on his love, and he wanted to die without regret. “Lay with me?”

Obi-Wan nodded and moved to be closer to Cody’s side before laying down beside him, keeping his injured side out of the dust that settled around them on the ground.

Cody turned his head to the side to look into Obi-Wan’s eyes. He couldn’t move his body to hold him, but just the warm presence at his side was enough to bring him comfort as a deep exhaustion tugged at his bones. “Will you stay?”

“Until the very end, my love.” Obi-Wan promised him, leaning his head forward until their foreheads met.

Cody closed his eyes and imagined himself melting into Obi-Wan’s embrace as he gave in.

---

He awoke with a jolt, startling Rex.

One arm held the faint prick of an IV, the other didn’t. It was that free arm which Cody brought over to his chest, where the pain had been before. His own continuing mortality established, his gaze to Rex. “Where’s Obi-Wan?”

“Turn your head slowly, he’s in the bed next to you.”

Cody obeyed, though with the effort and pain that arose from the motion, he wasn’t sure he could’ve done it any faster. But the sight of Obi-Wan, still unconscious and still so beautiful, was worth the pain. “He’s okay?”

“He’s okay. You’ll be out of here sooner, but you’ll both make a full recovery.” Rex assured him, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “So, which divinity did you choose this time?”

Cody smiled and closed his eyes. “Him.”

[trekkiehood]

Black Eyed - SPN Fanfic

@febuwhump : Alt 10 - Black Eye

Title: Black Eyed

Fandom: Supernatural

Words: 2.3k

Setting: Pre-Series Brotherhood AU

Whumpee: Dean

Caretaker: Caleb

Ship: None

Ao3 Link

Summary: Caleb gets a call from Dean at school. There's more going on than any of the adults realize - Caleb included.

Trigger Warnings: Implied Child Abuse, Possession, General Injurt

Authors Note:

Dean is 17 Sam is 13 Caleb is 26

Full stop, this is not my favorite. I both like it and hate it. If you want some whump and sweet Caleb and Dean moments. You'll like this. If you want a well thought out and cohesive plot, this probably isn't for you. And I know that some of this is not accurate. At the moment I don't care lol.

Anyway, I do hope you enjoy.

---

"What." Caleb barked into the phone, still half asleep.

"Caleb?"

The voice brought the hunter fully awake.

"Deuce? What's wrong?"

"How fast can you get here?" There was an edge of panic in the teens voice and Caleb was already up and throwing his clothes into his bag.

"Jacksonville?"

"Yeah."

"Two hours."

A shuddering breath. "Kay."

"Where are you now?" He tossed his bag into the back and started his jeep.

"School."

One word answers weren't good. "What are we looking at here, Deuce?"

A pause. A whisper. "CPS."

Caleb held back a curse. Deep breath. "Do I need papers?"

"I... I don't think so."

"Is Sam with you?"

"No."

"Do you know where he is?"

"I've got to go."

"Dean-" the call ended and Caleb released the curse he had been holding back. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

He made the two hour drive in a little over an hour. He was stopped outside the office.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah, what's going on?"

The man frowned, looking him up and down. "Relation?"

"Uncle." He growled, trying to keep from getting violent.

"Do you have identification?"

He pulled out his Winchester ID and the man carefully looked it over.

"Do you know where your brother is?" The man said, handing the card back.

Dean hadn't given him any information on what exactly they were dealing with. He had no clue what stories had been told. He'd have to play it carefully.

"I know he travels a lot for work."

"Some of the staff had begun to wonder if he even existed." Was said with a tight lipped smile.

"Sounds like Johnny." Caleb returned the gesture. "Is that what this is about? A debate on whether my brother exists?"

"No, we're fairly sure he exists at this point." There was utter disdain in the man's voice.

Caleb felt a coldness creeping up his spine at the anger fueled thoughts racing across the man's mind. "What happened?"

"Go see for yourself." He said handing the ID back and motioning towards the door.

Caleb didn't waste any time going into the room. Dean was curled in a chair, swamped by a hoodie. He looked small and insecure, not even close to the normally cocky seventeen year old.

"Mr. Winchester?" Caleb's eyes darted to the man at the desk. Clearly the principal.

"Yeah, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

The man looked at him incredulously. "Am I supposed to understand that you're this boy's father?"

"Uncle. Caleb Winchester." He threw the ID down. "And you are?"

"Principal." The man frowned, checking the fake drivers license. "James Davis."

"Well, Mr. Davis, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

The man sighed, taking his glass off to rub at his face. "You should know we've already contacted DCF."

Caleb let out a breath trying not to panic. "For what?"

Davis motioned to the boy. "I mean look at him."

Dean didn't look up, his eyes fixed on a spot behind Caleb. His chin rested on his knees, an impressive feat for the nearly six foot teen.

"Deuce?"

There was no answer.

Caleb took a step forward, crouching down in front of him. "Hey, man, what's going on?"

The older man could finally see the black and blue starting at Dean's left temple and moving down the side of his face and covering half of his cheek. His nose didn't look broken but it was definitely off color.

"Dean? I need you to talk to me, man."

The teen still didn't answer.

Davis sighed, "He's been like this since he got off the phone."

Concern was growing by the second. This was very not good. He tried to pick up anything he could glean without going too deep.

Dean flinched slightly before bringing his shoulders up defensively. Caleb backed off but Dean kept the defensive posture.

"What happened?" Caleb turned to the principal with clenched teeth. This wasn't like Dean. Something had happened.

The principal sighed, "I wish I could tell you. He fell asleep in class. Teacher tried to wake him and he panicked. Stood up and passed out. Took him to the school nurse and," A shudder, "you think his face is bad?"

"What does Dean have to say about it?"

"That he got in a fight."

Okay yeah that was weak but there really wasn't a single good reason for looking like that. There really wasn't. Hunting caused bruises but the image he was getting from the principal's mind weren't clear, but he could tell that they were not normal hunting wounds.

"And is there a reason you don't believe him?"

Davis gave him an incredulous look. "Well beside the fact that he's been out of school for two days, it looks like he was shot."

"Shot?!"

"I don't know what it was." He sighed, "It's not like a bullet wound, it's like… little pieces of something. Rocks? Salt? I don't know."

Why would Dean have been shot with rock salt? John was a better shot than that and Sam didn't usually shoot the shotgun but even if he did he'd never take a shot that would hurt Dean. Wait, Sam.

"Where's Sam?"

"That's a fantastic question." The principal threw up his hands.

"You don't know?!"

"He was at school then he just… wasn't. We have people looking for him but… I have a feeling that if the kid doesn't want to be found he won't be."

Caleb sighed, "Yeah." He looked back at Dean. Can I have a minute with him?"

"I guess," Davis stood, "I'll be right outside if you need anything."

Caleb waited for the door to shut before turning his attention towards Dean.

"Deuce?" He said quietly, pulling up a chair. "Hey man, you're scaring me. You wanna tell me what's going on here?"

Dean didn't seem to hear him. Caleb hesitantly touched the teens knee. That got a reaction. His eyes snapped to Caleb, jerking back.

"Hey, hey, you're fine. It's me."

Dean blinked. His mouth opened. Closed. Then he let out a sob burying his face in his knees.

Caleb felt out of his depth. "Deuce, look at me man. What's happening? I need you to talk to me."

The response was Dean vehemently shaking his head.

"Please?"

Another shake.

Caleb ran a hand through his hair. Fallback.. Regroup. "Can you show me the, uh, the bruises? I need to know what we're dealing with. We need a plan before DCF shows up."

Dean looked away but then slowly, painfully, pulled off his sweatshirt. Then a flannel. Then a t-shirt.

Caleb remained silent, watching the boy struggle with pressed lips. He could help but that would likely cause more problems. Especially in whatever messed up place Dean's head seemed to be residing.

When the last layer was pulled off Caleb's eyes widened and he reached forward before stopping.

"Wha- what happened?!"

It was definitely rock salt. It probably wouldn't cause any long term side effects. Had to hurt like crazy though.

Dean shrugged away reaching to put his shirt back on.

"No!" Caleb snapped, grabbing his wrist. Dean froze, his eyes finally locking with his friend's. The teen relented, dropping the shirt to the ground.

Caleb took the small bit of ground that was given to him. He examined the arm he was holding, noticing bruises and what looked suspiciously like a rope burn. Moving down the hand he frowned, the concern and anger being momentarily overcome by confusion. A brotherhood ring sat on the first finger of his right hand.

"You get invited to the club and not tell me?" Something felt very off about this.

Dean jerked his hand back. "It's Dad's." he murmured quietly and Caleb was so relieved to hear his voice he almost didn't catch the words.

"Does the fact that you're wearing it have something to do with what happened?"

Another shrug. "It's for protection." Barely audible as he reached for his shirt and began to slide it back over his head.

Caleb wanted to stop him, better examine what had happened, but he was almost relieved not to look at the battered chest. It looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to him. He hated to admit it, but he couldn't exactly blame them for calling in the protective service. Something had clearly happened and if they couldn't find John… then at the very least they had neglect. Leaving a seventeen year old alone was fine. Leaving him alone when he looked like that with no reported hospital visit… something sketchy was going on.

"Protection from what, Deuce? What happened?"

Caleb was really getting tired of the shrug.

"You need to tell me what's going on because those bozos are convinced that your dad did this and lookin' at ya I'm trying and failing to come up with a better answer."

"It wasn't his fault." Dean snapped, voice coming out a bitter louder than before.

"Are you saying he did do this?!" He was going to kill him.

"This isn't on him, okay?"

"If he did, it is!" And the fact that Dean would disagree was a concern of its own.

"Look, it was my fault okay? He didn't want to, he had to."

"Deuce, you better start explaining. Fast." Because Caleb was about to help the cops track down one John Winchester and let him get what's coming to him.

Dean looked uncomfortable pulling into himself. "It wasn't like- it wasn't like that, okay? He didn't- it wasn't on him."

"So you've said."

"It was- it was my fault. I dunno how it happened but it wasn't- he did what he had to do."

He wasn't making any sense and it was stressing Caleb out. "Dean, what are you saying?"

Finally, a whisper "I got possesed,okay?"

Caleb felt ice fill his entire body. "What? How?"

"I dunno, man I don't really remember it. We were on a hunt, thought it was just a ghost. Guess it wasn't. Dad did what he head to do." There was a haunted look in Dean's eyes and Caleb didn't want to know what all that entailed. They didn't deal with demons on a regular basis but the few encounters he'd had… they were never pleasant for the Hunter, much less the person possessed.

"Wh-when did this happen?"

"Couple days ago? I think? It's all kinda blurred together."

"Do you- do you know what it wanted?"Caleb was seeing his father murdering his mother and brother before turning the gun on himself. He still wasn't sure what the demon had wanted.

Dean folded in on himself a little, "I don't know, Damian. I don't know anything. I think it wanted to tell Dad something. It didn't really let me… let me know what was going on."

And Dean just looked so young and hurt and traumatized and Caleb wasn't thinking he was just wrapping his arms around the kid and holding on for dear life.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. You should have called me, you should have called."

Dean let out a choked sob, not returning the hug, but melting into the older man. "I didn't want to come back but the school called and said if I didn't they'd make a home visit and I couldn't let them do that. I didn't know when Dad would be back and I just-"

"It's okay, it's okay, it's not your fault, okay? None of it is. We'll figure this out. We will. You're going to be okay."

"Dad will be ticked." He said, still pressed into Caleb. "He didn't want anyone to know."

"Yeah, Jim will love that."

Dean pulled back, "You can't- you can't tell. Dad would kill both of us."

Caleb frowned. "Looks like Johnny already got pretty close with you."

"It's not as bad as it looks." He pulled away. "Better than most people get." John had probably held back in an attempt not to kill him. Especially if the demon was specifically after John.

"So what happened earlier? You were completely zoned out."

"I- "Dean turned away then spun back, looking at Caleb with frightened and traumatized eyes. "I don't know. It's like- it's like I'm fine then my brain just- just shuts off and I'm running on autopilot and- I don't know. I know it's not… it's not still in me but sometimes… it's like I'm still not me."

Caleb was running everything he knew about possession through his mind. It could be an after effect. Or it could be the human mind not being able to properly cope. Very few people survived possession. Most demons burnt out the body or waited until a hunter was about to deliver the final blow before smoking out. He'd have to ask Mac about it.

"It's okay. We'll figure it out."

A humorless laugh. "Sure." He straightened, the traumatized look not leaving his eyes but his posture retuning at least mostly back to normal. "But the real question, what about them?" He nodded towards the door. "They're not going to let me just leave."

"Do you know where Sam is?"

"Safe."

"I figured."

A small smile. "Yeah."

He ran his eyes over Dean. The kid was clearly in pain, but they had to get out of here. "Bathroom have a window?"

And Dean actually let out a small laugh. "Yeah."

"I'll have the car running."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, see you in five." His smile dropped and a chill ran through him, his eyes momentarily going dark. Not… not possessed dark. Just… dead.

"Hey, we'll figure it out. I promise. It'll be okay."

"Yeah, I know. I'm always okay, remember?"

Caleb smiled a sad smile. "Let's just escape our current captors and deal with rest later, yeah?"

"Yeah."

~TH~

Like I said that was just an angst fest more than a thought out plot.

Have something else I'm going to post tomorrow.

Lemme know what you think - I need comments like I need oxygen.

God bless,

Jamie

[spicywhumper]

febuwhump '24: 17. hostage situation + frisky february '24: 07. drugged sex

series: crimson history (the war dog) / rating: explicit

trigger/content warning: dehumanization, it/its pronouns for a person, aphrodisiac drug, explicit sexual content and underage dub-con

The Dog’s body feels too warm, hot in a way It can recognize it’s from arousal.

But the… but the Dog doesn’t get aroused. Sure, Its body reacts to Master’s touches, to her hands knowing where to caress and where to prod to get a reaction out of her toy. It gets warm, It gets wet, and there’s that relief that It know means an orgasm (at least, a weak orgasm that always seem to amuse Master). 

This feels a lot more like what the girl feels (willingly or not), and it feels wrong in a way that makes the Dog more uncomfortable with the concept of being arousal for any reason than because, well, the Dog’s aroused. The clothes are too tight, too hot, It wants to rip them apart and find any relief. Just a little touch down there, any relief to clean the fog in Its mind so It can think of how to escape – the Dog knows better than to think Master will come save It when It has been trained in how to escape any possible situation.

A noise catches Its attention, a woman enters the room. The Dog would blush and avert Its eyes if t was supposed to have  actual reactions and everything. She’s starkly naked, carrying a small bag on her right hand.

“I heard you’re obedient,” the Dog nods, being compliant usually meant It gets hurt less. “Interesting. I know you can do impressive things.. are you feeling warm?” Another nod. “Don’t worry, it’ll pas soon enough. Feeling slug-ish too, I supposed. It’s a nice cocktail. Mostly a tranquilizer – it’s make a normal girl enter a comatose state, you passed out for not even an hour. And some, what can we call it? Aphrodisiac. Said to work wonders in hybrids like you.”

She steps closer, Dog can smell her sweet scent, hints of arousal, it sends shivers down Its back. The woman doesn’t hesitate in putting her foot against Its crotch, takes all of the Dog’s self-control to not hump on it.

“My friend  expected you to be male, you see, she has this kink that involves being bred by a demon spawn. Not even the strongest sex spell can make you fertile in such an unnatural way. Not permanently, at least,” her foot move from Its crotch to Its chest and pushes the Dog down, to lay on Its back again. “Will you bite me if I take off the gag?” It shakes Its head. “Good puppy.”

Don’t call me puppy! Jessica screams in her cage, in the back of the Dog’s mind. 

The gag is taken off none too gently, the woman wastes no time in placing a knee on each side of the Dog’s head and lowering herself closer to It’s mouth. The Dog takes a second to know what to do, that’s not a position Master has ever shown it.

“Don’t worry much, this is a fairly normal hostage situation. We’ll hold ya until the Head Magician of that barbaric cloven of yours come to take what’s hers. It’ll be pretty pleasant for your, being a sex demon at all.”

It's not pleasant if you’re going to rape me! Jessica never growls and fights like that when it’s Master doing anything. It’s normal, with her, she sees us as basically her wife but make it yug and obedient. It’s not a random woman. Does she even care that this is not only rape, but rape of a minor? Dog keeps staring up, answers in Its mind. It just a toy. A weapon. Jessica huffs but stays silently.

The woman tastes weird, It thinks, a lot sweeter, a lot gentler, than Master. (Master has decided to change Dog’s diet once their intimate training started, said something about taste, It imagines the woman has a better diet than It – not that It has ever actually tasted Itself.) Master has taught It how to do a respectable job when eating pussy, so the Dog tries Its best. Licking and sucking, the woman moans louder as It pushes Its tongue as deep as  It can – definitely deeper than the average human. 

There’s energy around them, an alluring energy, pulling It closer and closer to it. The woman smirks, pats Its head (feels too nice, It hates to like it).

“A little half-incubus,” she says. “Come take It, you’re supposed to feed off sexual energy.”

It knows, the urge’s constantly there when Master wants sexual services, but It has been whipped and burned more than enough to know that letting instincts rule Its service, Master will keep punishing It like a bad dog. 

But the woman keeps looking at It with understanding eyes.

The ropes snap easily, the woman yelps  when the Dog holds her thighs, keeping eating her out, and turns them around. It’s careful enough to not hurt her, reaching with an arm to not let her fall hard on the ground. She’s more than light enough that it can offer support with one hand. She looks surprised, than pleased a the Dog eats her out with vigor, like she’s the best thing that It has ever had.

She might be.

She might just be the first to give the control to the Dog .

(In the cage, Jessica laughs, see’s inherently more animalistic, more dominant, and she definitely enjoys having control in this situation even if she’s stuck back thee.)

Fingers enter the equation, curled. The Dog can feel the drug in Its bloodstream, making It want to get Its own pleasure too. However, the urges are to make Its partner cum first and then maybe have some to Itself. The urges are fine with not getting Its own orgasm at all.

Energy expands and the Dog can feel it burning down the paths were magic turns from and to Its core and the woman convulses in an intense orgasm, it’s more than enough to burn off the rest of the drugs.

But the Dog wouldn’t mid to stay hostage here for a little longer.

[morocosmos]

Febuwhump Prompt: 12 - Spiked Drink Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV   Characters/Relationships: Warrior of Light, Thancred Waters Trigger/Content Warning(s): Descriptions of being drugged

The mulled wine had tasted warm and sweet, with an edge of bitterness. Moro’a had thought it due to the spice, mayhaps a pinch too strong; he’d been too occupied listening to the maid’s earnest words until it was too late.

A simple sleeping draught. It'd done its job nonetheless, and he'd been none the wiser. First came the heaviness, and then his vision had swayed – dizzying and piercing as the loud buzz that tore through his ears. His body toppling to the floor as the maid had sent him off with gritted teeth.

This was never your fight. A vision of despairing mourners and cries for revenge, before Thancred was shaking him awake to a hound-blighted crisis.

Could he have stopped the guard from firing that fateful shot? Stayed Emanellain’s damned mouth? He’d been too sluggish to react in time, words half-formed in his head as he could only watch the peace conference fall apart. He'd barely held himself together afterwards, even as he’d healed the worst of Honoroit’s injuries and Emmanellain only continued to make a nuisance of himself. That Thancred had been the one to punch the harried lord and not him was by far the better outcome. Moro’a still felt the grip of seething anger, mixed into his dulled thoughts like curdling milk; he wanted to shake something, rend something into two.

Stupid. Stupid! 

Where Falcon's Nest had been abuzz with commotion not half a bell ago, there was now a stretched, empty silence. Moro'a stood at the perimeter overlooking the Western Highlands, leaning on the stone wall as he sullenly willed his head to clear. The insides of his mouth tingled, irritatingly so. The miqo'te shook his head, groaning with frustration when he only succeeded in exacerbating the pounding in his head.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you."

Thancred was walking towards him, his expression inscrutable. "I’m familiar with the sleeping agent that woman used. It'll be at least another bell before your head clears," he said in a tight, matter-of-fact voice.

Moro’a sighed. Excellent. “How long was I even asleep for?” he asked.

“Haven’t a clue. It all happened too fast – the protestors all struck out at once, and the guards were hardly expecting an attack from their own. It was all I could do to enter the mess hall before finding you slumped on the floor.” Thancred rubbed his one visible eye, before suppressing an exhausted yawn. “Godsdamned schemers planned for just about everything. Well, save for the fool lordling, who somehow managed to make matters even worse. Why is it always the younger ones…?” With a sigh of his own, the hyur turned to lean against the wall, folding his arms.

Moro’a stared up at the greying skies. Beyond the draught addling his senses, it was as though someone had taken his world and spun it by some unknown axis; everything felt off-balance, tilted and wrong. Where Ishgard should’ve been on its way towards restoration, instead they’d found yet more strife, yet more suffering. The peace conference, by all accounts, had been an utter disaster, so far removed from what Aymeric had envisioned.

Aymeric. Was he yet aware of what had transpired here? Chances were that Lucia had already contacted and informed the lord commander, but the thought of his friend receiving such ill news when he’d held so much hope was a crushing blow. “I have to go back to Ishgard,” Moro’a said abruptly.

“Now? I would hardly recommend travel – by teleportation or otherwise – in your current state,” Thancred warned. But Moro’a was already readying the spell, heedless of the hyur’s words.

The last thing he heard before the magic phased him through was a moody “At least you can teleport.”