#febwhumpday12

[dragonsarecool]

Febwhump Day 12 - Used as Practice

A/N: Not everyone is satisfied with Julian being allowed to keep his registration, despite being genetically engineered. Set after 'Doctor Bashir, I Presume'.

Julian dreaded leaving the infirmary these days. Although his medical staff had given him their full support, he couldn't shake the feeling that they didn't truly mean it. They assisted him when needed and never asked any unnecessary questions, but stepping outside of his safe haven meant having to face the rest of the station without any defence.

Everywhere he went, he could feel their eyes on him.

Judging him. Inspecting him. Scrutinising him.

The man who had lied to everybody, who had done more than enough to earn a prison sentence, and yet was allowed to keep his commission.

So when the hand clamped itself over his mouth after he left the infirmary for the night, he realised he should've anticipated this. He offered no resistance as a thick piece of adhesive was forced over his mouth and his hands were tightly restrained behind him. A hand appeared under each arm and he was pulled along through the barren corridors, the majority of the station having fallen asleep hours ago.

He could feel the end of a phaser poking in the back of his spine, but he didn't need the motivation to comply. Part of him was slightly relieved.

Maybe they can finish the job so I don't have to.

He barely had time to register what section of the habitat ring they were in before they disappeared inside an empty set of quarters, the doors being manually locked behind him. One of his captors guided him to the living area before pushing him roughly into the couch, snatching his collar to stop him from completely falling over.

Two human males stood before him, the majority of their features masked with dark-coloured scarves. The taller of the two stepped forward, clasping his hands proudly. Even from this distance, Julian could make out a decent-sized scar running through his left eyebrow, the corresponding eye cloudy and unseeing.

"Doctor Bashir," His eyes crinkled, his smile hidden beneath the fabric. "What a pleasure to finally meet you."

"We've heard so much about you," The second man added. "Granted, none of it was good."

"But any publicity is good publicity, right?"

Julian gave no response. He sagged into the couch and blinked tiredly. Finish your monologue and get on with it.

Ignoring Julian's flat demeanour, Scarface looked at his partner. "Definitely the quietest one we've met."

"Most of the time they're screaming," Shortie commented. "We hate the screaming. Makes the job more unpleasant."

"Hence the gag."

"Can't have our concentration disturbed while finishing our task."

"Otherwise we'd never get anything done."

Are you guys assassins? Bounty hunters? I'm so confused…

"But you're a unique case for us, doctor," Scarface folded his arms across his chest. "It's not every day that we do a job out of the goodness of our hearts."

"Goodness might be stretching it," Shortie snorted.

"True, true. Let me rephrase it: we don't do jobs on our own accord very often."

"I'm a bit out of practice too, so this is a bonus."

"We love bonuses."

"You realise that you are just the beginning? Soon people'll start asking questions," Scarface slowly walked towards Julian, leaning over him intimidatingly. "They'll revisit the laws and rules that we've had in place for over two hundred years. People will say we should give it a second chance."

"'We're smarter now. Our technology has advanced. A second Khan won't be possible,'" Shortie mimicked sarcastically. "They'll see you as an excuse to start practising again. To start messing with nature despite there being plenty of reasons why it was outlawed in the first place."

"And we can't let that happen. Not again."

Scarface reached behind the couch, producing a standard Starfleet medical kit. His pleasant demeanour was dampened when he saw Julian's emotionless face. "My God, he really is a placid one after all. Where's the muffled screaming and desperate struggles?"

"It's almost as if he's waiting for us to kill him."

"How disappointing. I was hoping for a more dramatic performance. Anyway, it doesn't matter," Scarface opened the kit, nonchalantly looking through its contents, "because we're still going to kill you."

"In more ways than one." Shortie spoke dramatically, cocking his eyebrows.

"Now before you start panicking, we're not just gonna slit your throat and leave. That's not our style," Scarface rambled casually.

"It's too messy as well, believe us."

"My partner and I here believe in poetic justice. Khan escaped justice through death, you escaped through Starfleet; therefore death is not a fitting punishment for you. Can't have two genetic freaks sharing the same fate, especially considering you didn't kill anyone," Scarface retrieved what resembled a laser scalpel from the kit, fiddling with the settings. "But despite having clearly broken the laws around genetic engineering, Starfleet decides to let you keep everything. Your rank, your medical license, your position on this station, your freedom. All of it, and without so much as a slap on the wrist."

"And we don't agree with their decision," Shortie took a seat next to Julian, leaning in close enough to whisper in his ear. "No one should have that kind of immunity."

For the first time since he'd been grabbed, Julian finally felt a sense of panic. He tried desperately to regain control over his increased work of breathing, but knew it was failing miserably. There's no need for any torture, gentlemen! I've suffered enough as it is.

"You'll serve as a perfect example to Starfleet of how the people feel about this," Scarface's proud voice was sending chills down Julian's spine. "The doctor with spliced and manipulated genetics gets to experience it all over again. His flesh torn and his body twisted beyond recognition, so that no one knows what nature originally intended it to look like."

"And if he dies, that's a bonus as well," Shortie remarked, patting Julian on the shoulder, "for he will have truly lost everything."

Now accepting of the fact that he was fully panicking, Julian tried to push himself upright, only for his torso to be forced back into the couch with an elbow to the stomach. Shortie took the opportunity to climb on top of him, his legs and surprisingly-heavy weight effectively pinning Julian to the furniture.

"Hold his head back." Scarface instructed.

A squeak of protest escaped Julian as Shortie yanked on his hair, his throat pointing almost directly into the air. Scarface filled his entire field of view, which rapidly closed as his captor drew closer.

The familiar buzz of the laser scalpel made him nauseous.

His eyes were watering.

Please…Make it quick…

****

He'd lost feeling in his limbs hours ago. Blood flow was probably compromised too, but his head was too fuzzy to calculate exactly.

Something sharp was sticking into his chest. He realised they'd left his combadge attached.

Mutilated, bloodied and bruised, Julian lay his head down and allowed the fatigue to win. Might as well get some sleep before people come looking for me.

Something wet and warm trickled down his face. Part of wondered if his tear ducts were still working.

Maybe I'll die before they do.

[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 12 - Used as Practice

“Oh come on Etho, you can do better than that!” Gem’s voice was one of gentle teasing, but the words still dig into Etho’s chest all the same. He pressed his palms into the dirt, his arms shaking under his own weight as he attempted to right himself. They gave out from under him, his face dropping back to the ground, only making the headache pressing at the back of his eyes worsen. He groaned, trying once again, this time managing to make it to his feet. Gem smiled at him playfully, tossing his wooden sword back to him. Etho fumbled to grab it, only adding to the bloodstains on the ‘fake’ weapon.

His blood.

He wiped his forehead with the back of a gloved hand, moving his feet into something resembling a fighting stance before giving Gem a small nod. She began her approach, keeping her own sword close to her body in contrast to Etho who had his sword arm stretched out far in front of him, as if hoping Gem would just impale herself out of kindness.

Instead, Gem leapt forward, punching the pommel of her sword into Etho’s stomach, causing him to double over and drop his blade. When Etho looked up again, he found the tip of Gem’s sword pressed against his throat.

“I win!” The words were cheerful as Gem pulled away, smiling. “At this point, I might have to find someone else to spar with. You really are washed up.” She cocked her head slightly, laughing at her own joke.

Etho retrieved his own sword, trying to catch his breath. Since when had it been so hard to breathe? His hands came to grab at his throat, half coughing half choking. Gem finally seemed to notice. “Are you alright?” Concern, but still half teasing.

As Etho’s vision began to darken, Gem closed the distance between them. And, in one swift yet gentle motion, took a finger and pulled down Etho’s mask, patting him on the back with her other hand. At first, Etho barely noticed other than being grateful for the sudden rush of fresh air. Something flew out of his mouth, and once Etho could fully see again, he couldn’t help but cringe at the new glob of blood on the ground.

“There you go, that’s better.” Gem continued to pat him on the back, talking to him as one would a baby. Instinctually, Etho reached up to adjust his mask, only for his hands to be met with skin, not fabric. He scrambled to pull it back up, scratching his cheek as he did so, gripping the fabric like he was holding on for dear life.

Still holding the mask onto his face, Etho turned around, only to find Gem smiling behind him. Despite his exhaustion, through the sweat and blood and pain and aching, Etho’s eyes spoke of murder. Gem either didn’t realize, or chose to ignore the source of his anger.

“That’s the fight I’ve been waiting for! You ready to go again?”

[circus-complex]

burn me up with your fire

Rating: Teen+

Characters: Shen Jiu, Luo Bingge

Tags: Timeline What Timeline, Whump, Post-Endless Abyss, Body Swap, Past Child Abuse (it doesn't talk about it but lbh is in sqq's body and sqq has old wounds)

@febuwhump day 12: Alt 4 - Body Swap

Luo Binghe could feel tears welling up behind his eyes. But it burned like the endless abyss, it burned like someone poured acid into his eyes. If felt like apple seeds were blooming in his stomach. He let out a a strangled cry, but his throat felt as though it had been shredded to pieces.

Or: Luo Binghe and Shen Jiu body swap.

Also on AO3

Full work under the cut

Luo Binghe had never had a qi deviation before. While Xin Mo had always threatened to tip him over the edge into madness, it stabilized his qi. But now, he felt like his veins were being shredded from within. His bones creaked and groaned and shattered and knit themselves back together. He could feel every air molecule; and yet his nerves were fried, no electric signal between brain and body.

His vision was over saturated and blurry. Colors blended into white, before fading out to black.

Luo Binghe stared into the mirror. His Shizun’s face stared back.

The pain from qi deviating slowly faded, and yet-

Luo Binghe’s — Shen Qingqiu? — skin didn’t feel right on his bones. Bones that had been broken more times than Luo Binghe could tell — and healed ever so slightly wrong.

His muscles ached, ached from having to hold this decrepit body together. His teeth pulsed, after years of pressure and mistreatment. Joints groaned with every movement, rubbing against one another.

And when he turned around, he saw his own face.

“Shi-,“ Luo Binghe started, desperate for release from this excruciating pain. But he stopped, face barely moving. The skin was too tight, from years of roughly healed scars.

“Don’t speak like that.” Shen Qingqiu sneered. He quickly schooled his disgusted expression, but Luo Binghe could still see it in the down turned frown and tense eyes.

Luo Binghe could feel tears welling up behind his eyes. But it burned like the endless abyss, it burned like someone poured acid into his eyes. If felt like apple seeds were blooming in his stomach. He let out a a strangled cry, but his throat felt as though it had been shredded to pieces.

“That face is unsightly with you’re expression.” Shen Jiu turned his nose up. He grabbed a light green fan from his side table and threw it towards Luo Binghe.

It clattered to the floor — Luo Binghe was unused to Shen Qingqiu’s long limbs and thin fingers.

When he reached down to pick it up, his fingers didn’t quite grasp the wooden fan. They were too stiff from breaks that didn’t heal quite right. Looking closer, he saw them perpentually bent.

Luo Binghe fineally grasped it between his fingers, and gingerly brought it to his face.

“Shizun,” Luo Binghe finally gritted out.

“What do you need, beast.”

Luo Binghe turned his head to face Shen Qingqiu. But he cried out again as a sharp pain stabbed him in the neck.

“You’re pathetic.” Shen Qingqiu scoffed, “You survived the abyss, and yet you can’t handle this?”

The abyss had hurt, yes. It burned your skin and cut you open till tears and blood were one and the same. But those wounds would heal with naught but a scar.

This pain was sharp, internal, and persistent. It set into his very being, intertwined with his life.

A shoulder that cried anytime he moved. A knee that shifted after standing for too long. Hips that felt like they were scraping.

Luo Binghe shifted. There was no way to move without it hurting, no way to sit without the silk robes making his skin catch fire.

Shen Qingqiu scowled down at his disciple. He had cracked open an old wound, and now blood was seeping into expensive robes.

But he didn’t offer his hand, didn’t open his mouth to reassure. He stood by and watched, because no one with that face deserved anything good.

[crowleychild]

DAY 12: DIE A HERO (ALT 5 used)

Fandom: Star Wars

Rating: G

Warnings: Character's death

Vader guesses he should have died on Mustafar.

Even better yet, he should have died on that ship, so many years ago, when he and his Master had rescued Palpatine. That way, he would have been remembered as Anaking Skywalker, Jedi Knight, a hero.

But instead, he had lived, and he will always be remembered as Darth Vader, a monster, a murderer, a Sith.

He had been all of that, of course. He had committed atrocities, killed thousands of people, he had enjoyed destroying a planet. He had done everything the Emperor had told him, and he didn’t let himself anything but hate.

And pain. Indecible pain.

And now, at his end, he keeps feeling pain.

Pain because he remembers everything he has done (How could he forget). Pain because he had his daughter just in front of him and he tortured her and blew up his planet, his family, his future. Pain because he almost killed his son.

He guesses that everything has always been about the people he had loved.

He turned to the dark side for Padme and he returned because of Luke. How poetic.

Luke looked at him, and Anakin was looking at him back.

It was not an easy thing to understand now, right after his life, full of horrors, had passed through his eyes, but he knew he had always been Anakin.

He had tried all his life to convince himself that he had killed him, but the reality was that Anakin did all of those things. He had done it. At first, it was all for Padme, then, because of his anger, and then, because he didn’t remember anything other than seeing red and causing pain to others to alleviate his own. During all that time, he had kept the thought of being anything but Darth Vader in the bottom of his mind, locked there.

Now he understood that Anakin hadn’t died a hero because he was a monster, he was Darth Vader,

But maybe, that could change now.

And he couldn’t imagine a better place to die than in his son’s arms.

link to my ao3 work

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62684071/chapters/161313202

tags: @febuwhump

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2023 - No.12 - "Can you hear me?"

[sisters-sideblog]

Day 12, Alt 4: “I dreamt you were alive.” (Four)

Everyone knew portals gave Four nasty headaches, sometimes to the point of stumbling around as if drunk or blind. They kept a distant but watchful eye, only stepped in when necessary, and Four was grateful.

But it wasn’t the headaches themselves that really got to Four. It was the way light flickered, shadows moving in ways they shouldn’t. The way he swore sometimes he could see things. Small and pink for Legend, blue flame for Wild, bristling and full of teeth around Twilight.

He knew Twilight’s wolf form to be real. That’s part of what made this so difficult.

Shadow grinned at him. Flickering, full of teeth, not quite there.

It’s not real, Four reminded himself. He’s gone.

Now if only his heart would believe it.