#Febuwhump 2024

[febuwhump]

FEBUWHUMP 2024 PROMPT LIST

this year's prompts were chosen through a suggestion poll (in which we recevied 2,281 prompts) and a subsequent vote, where over 1,000 people voted for their favourites. the top 29 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular - and this blog's personal favourites - have become the alternates

i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, please check out the blog's faq before sending an ask, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog!

please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

FEBUWHUMP 2024 PROMPTS:

DAY 1: helpless

DAY 2: solitary confinement

DAY 3: "bite down on this"

DAY 4: obedience

DAY 5: rope burns

DAY 6: "you lied to me"

DAY 7: suffering in silence

DAY 8: "why won't it stop?"

DAY 9: bees

DAY 10: killing in self defence

DAY 11: time loop

DAY 12: semi-conscious

DAY 13: "you weren't supposed to get hurt"

DAY 14: blood-stained tiles

DAY 15: "who did this to you?"

DAY 16: came back wrong

DAY 17: hostage situation

DAY 18: too weak to move

DAY 19: "please don't"

DAY 20: truth serum

DAY 21: unresponsive

DAY 22: "you weren't meant to be there"

DAY 23: presumed dead

DAY 24: "i'm doing this because i care about you"

DAY 25: waterboarding

DAY 26: "help them"

DAY 27: left for dead

DAY 28: "no... not like this"

DAY 29: not allowed to die

ALTERNATE PROMPTS:

is there a specific day’s prompt you don’t want to fill? here are ten alternatives you can switch them out for!

ALT 1: human shield

ALT 2: "i love you"

ALT 3: found footage

ALT 4: human weapon

ALT 5: cpr

ALT 6: immortality

ALT 7: last words

ALT 8: killing game

ALT 9: lightning strike

ALT 10: last man standing

RULES:

SOFT RULES:

prompts should be answered in the form of whump

creators can produce whatever kind of media they want

you don’t have to complete all the prompts! you can create however much you want to

you can use the prompts after the event ends and can complete them in tandem with any other event

you can post on any platform you want, however this blog will only be sharing those posted on tumblr

if you want to be featured on the hall of fame then you have until the 3rd of March to inform this blog that you completed all the days

if you have questions consult the faq before asking

HARD RULES: (specifically for being featured on the blog)

when uploading febuwhump content to tumblr, please use the tags:

febuwhump (i’ll also be checking febuwhump2024)

the relevant day’s tag e.g. febuwhumpday1, febuwhumpday2…

nsfw (if relevant)

and any trigger warnings that may be important!

you can also tag the blog, @febuwhump

i cannot guarantee your work will be archived on the blog because I have no idea how many participants there will be. a random selection of works tagged in accordance to the rules above will be reblogged every day of february.

[cupcakeslushie]

Trying @Febuwhump!

Day 1: Helpless

[maesonc-artistic-adventures]

Doodlin

[teejaystumbles]

Febuwhump Day 1 - Helpless

I christened one of my new sketchbooks and did more traditional painting then I've done in years - so glad I did! 😊

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 12: Semi-conscious

Content warning: Delirious whumpee

They found Whumpee in the hospital parking lot, curled up in the backseat of an empty car.

It was unbelievable how far they'd gotten. With no shoes, a system addled with enough painkillers to leave someone twice their size seeing stars, and fresh stitches in their stomach, Whumpee had managed to avoid a dozen nurses and sneak out undetected. Nobody had even realized they were gone until Caretaker had come to visit them. The entire hospital had been in a panic looking for them ever since. 

If Caretaker hadn't just spent the last half hour frantically looking for them, they might've been impressed.

Carefully, Caretaker approached the side opposite Whumpee, knocking gently on the glass in hopes of not starting them. Whumpee flinched hard, eyes darting to the source of the noise. For a long moment they stared, pupils blown so wide their eyes looked black. They kept staring, even as their shoulders slumped, fear in their eyes consumed by a hazy listlessness once more. They didn’t move to get out of the car.

Consequences of barging into a stranger's car be damned, Caretaker opened the car door and slipped inside, scooting close to Whumpee. Whumpee simply watched then. 

They looked Whumpee over, sagging in relief when they saw that, beyond a few smugges on their hospital gown, they were unharmed beyond their previous injuries.

Whumpee didn’t speak, only stared with glassy eyes. Caretaker broke the silence. 

"So," they started, trying to sound casual. "Why'd you leave the hospital?"

Whumpee’s gaze slides off of Caretaker, unfocusing. “I…It was…bad in there,” their words were slow and trailing, as if they were struggling to follow their own train of thought. “They wanna hurt me.”

Caretaker reached over and took hold of Whumpee’s hand, rubbing circles into bruised knuckles. They gave the hand a squeeze, silently urging Whumpee to calm down ."Hun, everything's okay, you're just a little confused right now. The doctors want to help you, and they can't do that if you run away."

Whumpee only shook their head. The movement, it seemed, was too much for them to handle. They slowly tilted to the side, body slumping to rest limply against Caretaker’s side, head still faintly shaking. They let out a pathetic whine.

Caretaker had no idea how they’d managed to escape the hospital in their state. Gently, they moved Whumpee’s head to rest more comfortably on their shoulder, using their free hand to text a message confirming they’d found Whumpee in one piece. 

They looked over to Whumpee, slumped limply onto their shoulder. They were bruised and battered, eyes clouded and unfocused, but they were alive. They were safe, and if it took them time to realize it, then Caretaker would give them that time. 

"We'll stay in here until you're ready, okay?"

Whumpee murmured something in response, eyes fluttering shut. 

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 27: Left for Dead ♡

@febuwhump

< Prev

Content: Guns, death threats, kidnapping, low-key suicidal whumpee

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

As dawn lights up the abandoned warehouse they’ve been sitting in all night, a newly stitched-up Whumpee tilts their head at Whumper with a smug little smile. “Told ya they wouldn’t show.”

“Why do you look so pleased? Your friends abandoned you. Left you for dead.”

“Cause I win.”

“You’re chained up. Completely at my mercy. I’m the only reason you haven’t bled out yet. You haven’t won shit.”

Whumpee sighs. “Can you just let me have this?”

“No.”

Whumper packs up their things, not missing the way Whumpee tenses expectantly when they pick up their gun to put it away.

“You’re not gonna shoot me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Nope.”

“Then shut up.”

Whumpee continues to run their mouth for the entire drive to Whumper’s place. Whumper turns up the radio to drown them out. Whumpee sings along.

They really would do the responsible thing and gag their captive, but it’s a long drive and they just don’t want to make any stops.

At Whumper’s hideout Whumpee is deposited in a cell while Whumper goes to their room to pass out. Whumper doesn’t visit them again until the next morning.

“You’re healing quickly,” Whumper says as they reapply bandages to Whumpee’s wounds. “I’d like for you to fill your end of our deal today.”

Whumpee puts their shirt back on, wincing as they lift their arms above their head. “What deal?”

“You know. I don’t shoot you. You give me some info on your friends.”

“I didn’t shake on that.”

“I’ll get my gun, then.”

Whumpee flops back on their bed. “Okay.”

Whumper pauses, incredulous. “‘Okay?’” they mimic. “What is wrong with you?”

“I accepted my fate the second you grabbed me. Just make it quick, please.”

No wonder Whumpee’s team didn’t come for them. They’re a walking disaster. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

“Then shoot me?”

“Wouldn’t you rather just answer my questions?”

“Not really. I don’t know what gives you the idea that I’d tell you anything.”

“Aren’t you mad at them?”

“Sure, yeah. But not enough to let you hurt them.”

“God. You are just…” Whumper shakes their head, at a loss for words for once. Something about Whumpee drives them crazy, but the thought of putting a gun to their head makes Whumper cringe internally. There’s potential here. They can’t waste it.

“The worst? Yeah, I’ve heard that one.”

“Pathetic.” That’s the word.

Whumpee shrugs, drawing blankets around their body and curling up as well as they can without disturbing their stitches.

“I’ll give you three days to think about it. After that… Let’s just say you’re going to tell me what I want to know whether you want to or not.”

“Can’t bring yourself to kill me, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

@the-art-of-trepetnoi @unicornbeck

[serickswrites]

Why Won't It Stop?

Warnings: explosion, head injury, blood, bloody nose, unconsciousness

Caretaker staggered out of the burning building, Whumpee following closely on their heels. "Why won't it stop?" Whumpee whined.

"What?" Caretaker couldn't hear out of one ear.

"The ringing. In my ears. It's so loud. Why won't it stop?" Whumpee stopped walking and clamped their hands over their ears. "It's so loud, Caretaker."

"Whumpee, we were just in a major explosion. It's normal to have some tinnitus."

"Some what?" Whumpee let their hands drop. Caretaker could see blood trickling from their right ear.

"Tinnitus--ringing in your ears. I'm sure when my hearing comes back in this ear," they pulled on their left earlobe, "it'll be ringing and ringing and ringing."

Whumpee screwed their face up. "It's so loud."

"I know, Whumpee. I know. If there's something the medics can do, they will. Are you sure that's the only thing wrong?" Caretaker stopped and really looked at Whumpee.

Whumpee's hair and clothes were coated in a fine layer of dust. Both ears had blood slowly trickling down--both ear drums had probably ruptured in the blast. Whumpee's face was pale, but Caretaker wasn't sure how much of that was dust. They were sure they looked just as bad as Whumpee.

"'m fine. Why?" Whumpee stopped and stared at Caretaker.

"Because your nose is bleeding," Caretaker said as they patted their pockets for a tissue.

"Hmmm," Whumpee muttered as they took a stumbling step and listed sideways. "I....I....I'm gonna be sick."

Caretaker had a moment to register Whumpee's words as Whumpee dropped to their knees and collapsed forward. "Whumpee!" Caretaker tried to rouse Whumpee. But as Caretaker turned Whumpee onto their side and placed Whumpee into the recovery position, Caretaker's stomach dropped. Blood dripped in a steady flow from Whumpee's nose and had begun to drip from Whumpee's mouth. "HELP!" Caretaker roared hoping someone would come. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

[simpforchuchu]

The One

Prompts: DAY 6 - “you lied to me @febuwhump Characters: Yasushi x reader Fandom: High and Low Summary: Yasushi escapes from hospital before the fight and reader finds out…

A/n for prompts: Hello guys! This is my first time trying a prompt challenge. I hope you like the short fics I wrote. I will finish them by writing some of the requests I have. I love you 💜

Sorry for the grammer or spelling mistakes.English is not my main language so...

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: mention of fights, injuries, blood but mostly fluffy

“Yasushi!”

The young girl's scream echoed throughout the school. Oya boys had just returned from the fight with Housen. They were all injured and tired. But one person should definitely not have been in that fight.

Yasushi Nishikawa. Yasushi, who was injured in his head after the Kidra attack and had to be in the hospital…

Oya's leaders turned their gaze towards the sound coming from the stairs. Yasushi knew very well who was coming. He sighed and waited for his girlfriend to appear at the door.

As soon as Y/n stepped through the rooftop door, she found her boyfriend in front of her. The young boy's gaze softened as soon as he saw the worried girl and he smiled.

“Y/n! I wasn't expecting you!”

Y/n angrily stepped towards him and stood right in front of him. She looked at the bandage on his head, stained red with blood, and shouted in fear.

“You bastard! You lied to me!"

When everyone looked at the girl screaming in surprise, Yasushi was calmly waiting for the young girl to scream.

“You were supposed to be in the hospital! You said you were staying with your mother! But I heard you went to a fight! Have you lost your mind?!”

The young girl was angry. But she was more afraid. She didn't know how she ran to the hospital after they attacked Yasushi. And that damn boy escaped from the hospital.

“Do you have any idea how worried I am, you idiot?!”

Yasushi hugged the girl in front of him tightly with the young girl's trembling voice. Although Y/n was suddenly startled and surprised by the arms surrounding her, she calmed down with the voice whispering in her ear.

“I'm okay, I know you're scared. But I'm okay.”

The young girl tightly wrapped her arms around her boyfriend's body while the hands wandering through her hair calmed her down.

“I will kill you…”

Yasushi smiled.

"I know."

The young girl whispered reproachfully

“I hate you.”

“No you don't.” The young boy objected and smiled. He kissed the young girl's hair and hugged her tighter.

He knew she was the one…

HnL taglist : @straysugzhpe @tiddly-winx @ninamarie1994 @thatpoindexterpixy @koala-yuna @star2fishmeg @little-miss-naill

[kybercrystals94]

Embroidered Skulls

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 20 | Prompt 20: Truth Serum

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tech narrows his gaze.

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

“Echo,” Hunter groans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Echo! Stop talking,” Hunter cries.

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

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

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“Yes!”

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

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

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

“But Tech…”

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

Hunter hesitates. “Yes?”

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

“Tech, this isn’t funny!”

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

“You can’t tell them!”

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

Too quickly.

Crosshair smirks. “What did you do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me your best guess.”

“You will not like it.”

“Tech!”

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

“No! You’re lying!”

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

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

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

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

“No!”

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

“Shut up, Cross.”

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

Hunter decidedly keeps his jaw locked shut.

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

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

Hunter’s eyes widen, and Echo swallows.

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

“Where does Hunter keep his art projects?”

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

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

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

“Echo!” Hunter gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

END

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!✨

Taglist: @amorfista @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @arctrooper69 @proteatook @the-little-moment @nagyanna424 @groguandthebadbatch @mooncommlink @merkitty49

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 12: Semiconscious (Warriors & Time)

Ao3

CW for poisoning, vomiting, blood and injury, and a near death experience

————————————

He stopped seeing clearly long ago.

His surroundings are no longer distinctive shapes. No, they are mere colors now, smeared and edged in the glare of lantern light. It is as though someone poured oil out on the street and left it to be trampled.

Warriors stumbles over something substantial and nonexistent. Another wheezing breath tears out of his lungs. Everything tips sideways and he goes with it, tripping over his own feet. He collides with a lamp post, frightens a blurred figure, garners murmurs of “inebriated” and “not right in the mind.”

He doesn’t care. Not much is bothersome, he’s quickly realizing, when you can’t breathe.

Wildly, he glances around. The buildings lean right, then left, their glowing windows seeming to leer at him. The inn…he has to find it. That is where his brothers await, that is where he can get help.

Warriors gulps in air and gains nothing from it. The ground tilts. He goes down, bile rising in his throat. He has already vomited up everything his stomach contained. But his body is desperate, desperate to rid itself of whatever is killing him.

So, it tries again.

He comes up feeling no less dizzy, no less sick. If anything, it is worse now. When he shoves to his feet, his vision goes abruptly dark. For a moment, he is certain that this is it. This is when he collapses, surrendering to the bitter embrace of oblivion. But then it screams back into a mirage of shifting shapes and nauseating shades of vibrancy.

“Captain?”

Warriors blinks rapidly. Someone is standing before him – a woman he thinks. The visible edges of her expression convey worry.

“Are you well?”

He grins and it feels wrong. Lopsided, clumsy, sharp…a grimace more than anything else.

“Not to worry. ‘M fine.”

“Oh.” She frowns now. Or at least, he thinks that she does. Drunk, her silence screams. Irresponsible. “O-oh alright, then. Goodnight to you.”

It’s good a thing, his mind assures him, as Warriors gazes dazedly at her retreating form.

It’s a good thing that they think you’ve drank too much. Better than them knowing. Safer.

…yeah. Safer.

He is certain he’s going to be sick again. His lungs rise and fall, and nothing comes of their efforts. The ground churns like the sea in Wind’s Hyrule. If only it were warm here like it is on that beautiful beach. But no. Here it is icy cold.

He shivers, stops the failure of his equilibrium with a nearby wall.

Just find them. Find…find your brothers.

Darkness tinges his vision again, spreading like an ink blot on cloth. It grows from left to right, and he lists sideways, drifting towards it. Something catches his boot on the way over. He stumbles, fails to catch himself, crashes down in a tangle of long limbs and thick fabric.

“Oh, look what we’ve got here!”

Giant forms move in the borders of his waning sight. Warriors stares up at them, icy heat prickling the back of his neck and head. Everything smells and tastes of iron. Everything hurts.

“It’s the princess’s favorite little errand boy!”

Something flat and harsh connects with his cheek. Warriors’ head snaps sideways. He chokes, coughing blood onto the pavement.

Get up! His instincts screech. Get up and fight!

He ignores them. It’s so easy to do that now. They are usually so loud, so boisterous and unignorable, hardened and loudened by years of experience.

It’s nice to silence them for once.

“He don’t look so good. Looks like somebody already got a hit on ‘im.”

“Poison?”

“Seems like it. He reeks of something rancid and it ain’t whiskey. His breathin’ ain’t right either.”

“Well, then.”

A hand fists in his collar. The next thing he knows, the ground is falling out from beneath him. He hovers somewhere above it, gazing obliviously at the space before him. Something is there – or maybe someone – but he can’t make out their features.

“He’s all lonesome out here. Might as well finish what they started. It’ll be easy.”

He should be afraid. He’s not.

Warriors feels nothing now except pain. Well, pain and the curious sensation of drowning. Strange, he doesn’t remember seeing water anywhere around here. But maybe he’s simply floating in it, unknowing, unseeing. That would certainly explain how cold he is.

His body slams back into the ground, and what little wheezing breaths he had managed to garner abruptly flee. Dull panic slices through the haze for a split second – just long enough for him to grab a wisp of air. Then, it’s back, a fog as thick as the stuff hovering over Time’s Lost Woods.

Unavigatable. Unbeatable.

For once, he can’t win this battle. For once, he has an excuse to succumb.

And he’s not one for giving in – his stubbornness is practically unmatched – but throwing in the proverbial towel now…fills him with relief.

“Go on boys! Gut him!”

The words reach his ears, but he hardly hears them. And he certainly doesn’t comprehend. Everything is so very far away…

It’s odd how without oxygen the world grows soft.

His head flops sideways. Lazily, he blinks into the indistinct expanse of Castle Town. The colors run together more than ever now. He can hardly tell them apart anymore.

Its beautiful, he thinks, with a loopy smile. Like Arty.

The soft shink of deadly metal surrounds him. Pain streaks through his abdomen. He coughs. Blood spills down his chin and drapes his tunic in crimson. It is wonderfully warm.

Again, metal strikes. More blood, more warmth. More pain.

His eyes flutter. There is not much to see now. But darkness is beginning to be replaced with dazzling light.

It is as beautiful as Castle Town…maybe even more. It beckons him, envelops him like a hug.

Come, it whispers, in the voice of his mother, come to me, dear child. Rest.

Somewhere, someone screams.

Warriors smiles and it is a soft, gentle thing. He starts to step forward.

“No!”

Hands grasp his wrist, as small as a child’s yet, much too calloused to be. Warriors dares to glance over his shoulder.

Mask stands there, his green clothing even more vibrant in the world of white. Tears have turned his large blue eyes the color of Warriors’ scarf. His lip trembles, despite the way he has it between his teeth. And while his grip is strong, his expression is a rapidly crumbling wall.

Warriors feels the tug again, the call from the endless light. He needs to go. He wants to. Sweet Hylia, he wants to.

“Sprite…”

“You-you can’t!” Mask shouts, stepping closer. He is shaking, Warriors realizes. The child who has faced monsters larger than himself armed with nothing more than a cocky grin and a slingshot is shaking. “You can’t leave me!”

The tears fall and smudge the markings that have now appeared on his face. Shades of blue and red trickle down his cheeks.

Warriors blinks and suddenly, the child’s hands are drenched in blood. He gasps, stumbling back. But Mask holds on.

“Sprite, I’ve got to go,” he says, desperately, because he must see that he can’t remain here. It’s time…isn’t it?

“No. It’s not.”

Mask ducks his head, as a sob tears at his tiny body. Salty water plunks onto the ground. It sounds like raindrops.

A downpour on a sunny day. A child curled beneath his scarf, grinning mischievously. A beautiful woman laughing, face upturned to the sky.

A tear slides down Warriors’ own cheek.

“Oh, Link…”

“Please,” he croaks, soft now, vulnerable. Broken. “Please, don’t leave.”

A single eye meets Warriors’ two. A face marked by a war god crumples, every year, every battle, every loss written in the tears streaming down it.

The captain moves closer. The light seems to dim now, lessened by the aching in his heart. Time…Time should never look like that. If he could reach him, maybe he could make that pain go away.

Time drags in a trembling breath. Crimson-drenched fingers fist in Warriors’ scarf like he did so often as a child.

“I need you, big brother.”

Warriors take another step and another and another. He can’t stop now. The decision seems plain. Whatever is behind him, wonderful though it may seem, is not yet for him. Not when Time is looking at him as though he is his entire world and then some. Not when he can hear them now — the faint pleas of the other heroes.

His brothers. His family.

He reaches out, fingers brushing Time’s cheek. The hero’s breath hitches as he leans into his touch.

“I’m right here, Sprite,” the captain promises. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

With a sob, Time falls into his arms. Warriors closes his eyes and buries his face in his shoulder. And as they cling to each other, the endless white surrounding them comes crashing down.

[bokettochild]

Day 8 - "Why Won't It Stop?"

Took me forever, but this one is one that I am VERY pleased with. Part two will follow in later days

Wordcount: 4,847

Rating: Teen

Summary: An effect of abusing a god's power is that the soul of the deity is now bound to Time's own, and sometimes it has more power than he'd wish. usually, he can tame it, but learning the fate of the worlds he's left behind have made him slip, and the deity is intent on purging their legacy.

Written by request of @sweetlemonad

-

“It’s not like heroes can die anyways.” 

The uncomfortable silence that follows those words is not something Time is particularly keen on learning the source of. The boys have all been in a rather good mood for most of the day, and currently Wind and Legend are trying to see who can outlast the other by remaining balanced on the rail fence that abuts the pathway on their right. He thinks Wind dared Legend or maybe the vet just got bored and Wind decided to follow. Either way, the elder is currently strolling along with his arms behind his head while Wind walks, precariously balanced and failing a bit here and there.. 

Balancing at sea and balancing on land are apparently exceedingly different. 

He’s not particularly sure who’d started the conversation, but he thinks it was Warriors. The man has been a bit more stressed than he’d like these last few days, and the worry that something bad will happen to them definitely sounds like something the captain would express in order to keep the rest on their guard. The sudden way Legend falters, perfect balance suddenly failing and sending him flailing, is more telling than the silence that follows Wind’s words, and he finds it only right to offer a steadying hand to the younger man to stop him eating dirt. 

Sky’s eyes settling on the sailor, confused, are just as telling. 

“Right?” Wind looks between the vet, whose caught his balance and looks at the youngest with pricked back ears, gnawing his lip, and the chosen one who won’t meet their eyes. “Wait,” the kid glances back and forth again, as though to be sure, “they haven’t, right?” 

The vet’s hand slips out of his own, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “Wind, did you receive an education?” 

“What’s that have to do with anything?” Hyrule asks, sounding a little miffed. They all know the boy’s lack of formal teaching is a bit of a sore spot considering the apparent circumstances of everyone else. Had he the right, Time would maybe let slip that the captain was entirely illiterate before his enlistment, but he’s not sure that exposing that would actually help anyone. 

Their chosen hero and vet share a glance at the question though, some silent conversation slipping between them for a moment before Sky gives an encouraging look that seems to indicate Legend ought to be the one to handle this. It makes sense, he supposes, considering Legend is the one with purportedly the best education out of them, or at least the most up to date between himself and Sky. 

  “Alright,” the pink haired hero slips down to a seated position on the rail fence, and the rest of them take the cue to stop, themselves sitting or leaning against the railing as well, save the captain, who stands at something almost like parade rest as he listens. “So, I suppose it’s lost to time for most of you, but there was a hero- a couple actually, who fell to the enemy.” 

“How?” Hyrule demands. “I thought our whole existence was based off some heavenly power calling us so evil was always stopped?” 

Murmurs of agreement sound from the rest, but the vet shakes his head, although he’s also very clearly avoiding eye contact. “I wish it was that straight forwards. No, actually, there are two heroes, to my knowledge and as of my era, that are quite famous for dying in their efforts against evil.” Dark eyes lift to Sky. “One was the first hero, the one who fought beside Hylia herself.” 

“Sky’s going to die?” Four breathes, utterly horrified. 

The boys almost all turn to their skyloftian but are quickly assured by a sharp ‘no!’ from Legend and a soft “not me, guys” from the hero himself. “It was my predecessor,” Sky says once they’ve all stopped looking so horrified, “the one who crafted the Master Sword and sealed Demise away, ages before my time.” 

“So you knew.” He finds himself asking, and his question is answered with a slow nod. 

“I did.” He knew about fallen heroes. He knew that the only other hero to exist before him had died. Suddenly Sky seems all the more brave to the scar-faced leader; he couldn’t imagine going into his adventure knowing all the others who undertook it had died. 

“The first hero,” Legend begins again, hesitantly, “is said to have sealed Demise away, but succumbed from his injuries shortly thereafter, leaving the heavens to call another hero after his passing: Sky.” 

There are a few hums, and Twilight looks like he’s half a second from taking notes. No doubt, the rancher hasn't heard this bit of Hylian history before, and while his pup is certainly less interested in the history of the kingdom than he is in the workings of things and understanding the dark magics, the dear lad is, all the same, what Mido would call “a nerd”. He finds himself smiling at the thought, watching as his boy absorbs every bit of the knowledge the vet is sharing, and what little Sky uses to back him up. 

“What about the second one?” Wild asks, staring at Legend oddly.  

Abruptly, he finds himself realizing that the cub himself has also died at the hands of the enemy, and though revived through some magic he couldn’t explain, the fact that it happened at all means that he too belongs on Legend’s list. Would that mean that the vet follows after the champion in the course of things then? Good gracious, would that make Legend the same to Wild as Wild is to Twilight? As Twilight is to him? 

The vet, unknowing of their leader’s thoughts, drops his gaze a bit, fiddling with the bracelet on his hand but eyes clearly on the mark of the triforce he still bears on his left hand, just as most of them do. “He was my predecessor.” 

Deku Tree bless, is he right? 

  “A hero called from the forest and trained to the blade since childhood, only to fall when forced to face Ganon.” The vet’s face twists up in something between sorrow and frustration. “He was prepared the best anyone could try, but for nothing. Ganon ruled Hyrule for almost a decade before the rebellion that sent the fallen hero managed to amass enough power to strike again and seal him into the sacred realm.” There’s a pause where Legend takes a heavy breath that’s neither sigh nor resignation, but maybe just the slightest bit sorrow for their fallen brother, and the rest keep quiet for it too, as though in mourning for a hero they’ve never met. But that’s when the vet says it. “If not for the sages and Skeik, I’d never have gotten a chance to defeat the monster that killed my predecessor, but with the aid of the Hylian Knights, they managed to seal him away for nearly four-hundred years.” 

Sheik. 

He knows, from the war, from meeting Warriors and watching people of all eras amass, that Sheik isn’t especial to his own time. The captain’s own princess had taken on the disguise herself in order to take a more active role on the front lines, but even so, the name catches him off guard, as does the association with the sages, which he’s only ever heard Wind talk of before. 

The sailor doesn’t miss the reference either, the sharp little whip that he is. “What were the sages called? Do you know?” 

The vet blinks, staring and clearly confused, but rattles them off all the same. “Zelda, Impa, Nabooru, Saria, Ruto, Daruna, and Rauru?” 

The sailor nods, but the ground feels like it’s being swept out from under Time’s feet as the words sink in and that sunshine bright gaze is turned to him. Wind already has some eager words on his lips before his face falls, horror written across it as the truth of the vet’s words sinks in fully. “Holy shit.”  

By virtue of simply not wanting to be met with the captain’s ire, he keeps the loud cursing within his own head internal, rather than letting it escape and being fixed under The Look. Even so, he’s half a second from slipping and repeating the sailor’s words in far more colorful language.  

“Time...” Wind’s eyes are growing somehow wider, as though they weren’t just a bit too big to begin with, “....oh crap.” 

It’s Twilight that makes the connection first, he thinks. He knows his story is forgotten to the world he’d returned to, the one the rancher is a product of, but if there’s one thing his pup is, it’s clever. Picking up on the clues in the exchange as well as what Legend’s said up to now, he can see for himself as realization dawns in midnight blue eyes and Twilight’s face falls. “Sweet Ordonia.” 

“What?” Legend asks, glancing about between them, just the same as the others, save Hyrule who looks like he’s rethinking some matter of his own, no doubt what little history has been passed to him now bears reviewing. That doesn’t matter to the rest of them however, because those who know are now gaping, those who don’t are demanding answers, and the captain, who’d met two of the sages for himself and heard their tales, is shaking his head with a sigh. 

Time did not sign up for this. Learning that’s he’d split time is one thing, but knowing that somehow, in some way, he’d done so to the extent that not only are his fears about creating multiple timelines actually a reality, but apparently there’s one that spun so far off that not only had he failed, but he’d died at Ganon’s hand and left the burden of defeating the demon to someone else. Two timelines, each resulting in a child being called to do a man’s work, just the same as he had. How old was Legend? Was he the same age as both he and Wind had been? Older? Does he resent the man who left him behind as some people in the sailor’s time do? Like Wind, does he respect his predecessor? Despise him? Curse him? Praise him? His thoughts are spinning and despite not using it, his right eye throbs. 

As though sensing his distress, the deity awakens. 

It doesn’t happen often. Without the mask, it isn’t nearly as powerful as to accomplish what they can with the aid of the power of the thing. Since abusing its power as a youth though, their magics are enough interlocked, souls enough intertwined, that even removing the cursed thing does not fully displace the deity’s presence from his mind. It is a silent thing at most times, but much like the mask it is sourced from, it awakens when he is in greatest need or fear, and more than once he’s allowed the modicum of its power that now lies bound to his own soul to overtake him in order to escape one situation or another. Such power does not present itself now, but the rumbling voice and the accompanying pulsing pain is enough to shift his focus towards quieting both, attention slipping from his boys and inward to the deity. 

Despite managing to gather himself and the boys, to start forwards again on the path, he does not manage to silence the deity. He does, however, manage to ignore it for the time being. 

He can only ignore it for so long though. 

Sitting on watch after the boys have all gone to sleep, the rumbling thunder of the deity becomes impossible to ignore in the stifling silence around him. The deity will not be silenced, and try as he might, he can’t block-out nor forget the words spoken within his own mind. 

“Failure follows in your legacy.” 

As though he doesn’t know. It’s been bothering him all day, and despite the rest who hadn't pieced it together asking, he couldn’t bring himself to look, to say anything it was hard enough just putting one foot in front of the other. Wind revealing the split in time had shaken him, but at least he’d known how such a timeline came to be. The vet comes from a world where he’d died. How many of the other boys come from a world, an era, split off from time by his actions? How many timelines did he create? 

How many of them have such dark fates as that of Legend’s own? 

“He is an heir to failure,” the deity growls, “a scion of death.” 

Time shakes his head, voice soft so as to not wake his slumbering team-mates. “No. He’s a hero.” 

“To a world that ought not be, that ought to have perished.” 

No world ought to perish, especially not because of the actions of one person. Still as he watches the vet sleep, curled up tight around his sword, the voice of the deity continues to ring about in his head. Turning his eyes away to the others doesn’t help though. The deity is truly set off and harsh whispers and growls sound, wondering, just as he does, how many of their number are born of his mistakes, his actions, in a world separate from his own because of actions he hadn’t realized the truth depth of. 

He’d turned back time so many times, in both his first and second adventures. Are there timelines born of each time? What of his time in Termina? How many timelines did he create there? How many had seen the moon fall and everyone perish? 

Time groans, running a hand over his face, rubbing at the scars and markings left by the deity’s power. Warriors would be so disappointed if he started scratching again, and the scars on either side of his face have finally faded enough to not be as noticeable as when he was a child. There's no mask to tear off, even if the sensation of one lingers as the deity speaks. He doesn’t want to wake up to the captain’s worried stare in the morning at the sight of scars made fresh again. He doesn’t. 

Still, he wishes the deity would stop talking. 

It doesn’t though, because of course it doesn’t. It hisses in his dreams, whispering as he watches worlds fall and two little figures, he thinks are meant to be Wind and Legend running about, facing the monster he remembers, as well as dark, shapeless figures he doesn’t. They look so small, so young, and despite his heart crying one thing, the deity hisses another. Where he mourns their innocence, the demon screams for their end. 

Come morning, he’s a wreck. He manages to go through the motions, washing up with the rest with water from a well on the roadside, shaving and running a hand through his hair enough that it’s not a total mess. The captain was always strict about hygiene and basic care of their appearances. They’re Hyrule’s finest, not to seen wandering around like vagabonds and scamps. Still, the motions feel hollow, like a puppet moving at the command of another, and it feels like a chore to get ready, to strap on his armor, to gird his sword, and to step out onto the path with the others. 

Wind and Legend return to walking the fences, apparently determined to do so until the railings give way to open country again. Usually, he’d find that endearing, a proof that despite everything his boys have faced, there still remains a childlike whimsical side to them. Now though, it means that every time one slips or Wind fumbles and yelps, he can’t help but look up and the deity’s words start up all over again. 

Failures. 

Never intended to exist. 

Ought never have come to be. 

Proof of the cruelty of the goddesses. 

It’s painful. They're good kids, bright young men and skillful, admirable, talented, smart, sharp, kind, and he hates that such dark thoughts invade his mind at the mere sight of them, at even the smallest sound of their voices. It's not their fault that they exist, nor their fault that their worlds are a product of his actions and his mistakes. They don’t deserve the deity’s ire for simply existing. 

Yet the roaring of that horrible voice in his mind continues, pulsing through his head and aching at the eye that the demon controls. 

He wishes it would stop. Why won’t it stop? 

- 

“Time, hey, Time!” He comes back to himself with a blink, head shaking slightly as he raises his good eye to find the captain staring at him. They’re still on the path, still just walking along, still with nothing and no one else in sight, although the rail fence is nowhere to be seen anymore and blessedly means that the two younger heroes are back on the path with the rest, back in their normal places behind him, out of sight and away from the ire of the deity. 

“Yes?”  

The captain’s face is creased with worry, lips pursed, and gaze guarded. “You blanked out.” 

Not blacked out, not fainted, not lost consciousness. No, it’s something rather different, and based off the familiar expression of the other, the soldier is well aware of what it really was; a slip. When stress or pain or emotion are too much, it happens. It’s been less common since he’d put away the mask for the last time, but during the war it happened frequently from overuse of the thing, the deity exercising control in the absence of his own will to. 

“I’m alright,” he tries to assure, careful not to look behind him, even though he can feel the worry from the rest, “just tired.” 

“We can stop for a rest.”  

The captain’s halfway towards turning towards the other, already drawing a breath to call a halt to the rest, but Time stops him with a hand to his arm and a shake of the head, eyes carefully closed to avoid the sight of bright blue or crimson. “Don’t. It won’t help.”  

Sleeping isn’t the problem, it’s his mind running away with him in a thousand directions, he doesn’t want it too. Sitting still will only make it worse. Stil, the captain regards him with worry. “Tell me if you change your mind.” 

He nods. He won’t, but if he did, he’d tell the other There’s no worry of that though because sitting still right now sounds like actual torture. Just sitting there, a prisoner to his thoughts, to the deity’s thoughts, to wonderings and fears he doesn’t wish to address now or ever; he wouldn’t wish such things on anyone. 

Except maybe Ganon. Screw him and everything he’s done to them. He deserves to be tortured by guilt. 

Warriors lets it go, but not without a final worried look, and every so often he can feel heavy blue eyes settling on him, reading him, watching for any tick or sign that e’s in need of a break. He appreciates it, and focusing on the captain’s worry is an escape, because the deity has nothing ill to say of the soldier, in fact, he thinks it might even respect the other man, not that it will ever admit to such a thing. 

- 

In some ways, it gets easier, but in others, it’s worse. Focusing on his pup, his cub, turns his attention away. He can laugh and tease and watch them tease each other. Having Warriors standing beside him, talking about this thing or that, about paths and courses of action, is almost soothing. Sky’s smile and warm laughter is a balm, and Four’s quiet presence an assurance. 

The moment Legend or Wind come into view though, even if his focus isn’t on them, or even what they’re doing, the growl of the deity rises again, a splitting pain in his head. 

They know too. Wind’s hurt expressions and confusion are clear, and while Legend doesn’t appear to care at first, after a few days of such treatment, the vet tries to pull him aside and demand what has him treating Wind like a plague. He's not even noticed that the treatment is extended to him, but they all know of the vet’s soft spot for the sailor. He won’t stand to see their leader, whom the kid respects and admires so much, treating the sight of the boy like it’s painful. 

But it is. It’s a rush of thoughts and twitch of his hands. It’s the hiss of the deity demanding he purge his namesake of all the dark twists it’s taken due to his actions. It’s images of children fighting demons and worlds falling due to his own failures. 

He can’t bring himself to apologize, because that would mean looking at them, speaking to them, and thus hearing the demon scream for their blood to right the wrongs they represent. 

Legend gives up in anger. Wind closes off, quiet and pensive. He doesn’t miss the veteran’s hand on broad little shoulders, a silent comfort when he passes by. Doesn’t miss the soft questions whispered from younger to elder, or the harsh glares from violet eyes as begrudging tones reply that they have no answers. He hates it but can’t do anything about it. For their own sakes, ignoring them is kinder than risking letting himself slip and do far worse. 

- 

When next they face the shadow, it’s nearly a relief. Finally, he can pour the aggression of the deity into his motions, into the swing of his sword and the roaring of his magic. He can let the demon loose, just a little, just enough to destroy and wreak havoc on enemies that deserve his wrath, on creatures who’ve earned his ire and hatred. 

It’s freeing. 

There’s no need to hold back, and maybe, just maybe, he let’s himself slip into the background, lets the deity have just a little more power than he’d planned. It’s fine though, it’s fine because maybe this will exhaust the thing, grant it the blood it’s so thirsty for, quench that hunger enough to make it fall silent again. 

Once the battle is over, and the deity silent, maybe now he can talk to Wind. Show the boy a smile and apologize, tell him he’s had a migraine that’s impacted by the sailor’s magic or some such thing. Legend or Hyrule might call bull on that, but maybe he’s willing to abuse the fact that Wind’s hero worship of him means he’s more likely to be believed. He’s not telling the kid the truth though, not burdening him with the weight of the horrible thoughts and impulses that wreck his mind, but he’ll give an answer that’s half true, give him something, maybe even sit down and talk about nonsense together to assure that he doesn’t hate the kid. He doesn’t. Wind’s a good kid, and he deserves the world. 

He just needs the deity to wear itself out. So, he drops his guard, lets himself fall to the backseat and lets the demon take the reins, sweep over the field with full fury and power unleashed, hoping to exhaust his magic enough that the demon will be silent.  Enemies fall like wheat to a scythe, a cloud of black and purple smoke rising in his wake as the deity rampages, blade moving uncommonly fast as he darts to the captain’s side to assist him for a moment, springs over to Twilight to aid him as well. 

The deity’s voice rumbles, laughing, savoring the bloodshed and reveling just as much in fighting beside their “true heir”, beside the “dragon of war”. He doesn’t understand that, not entirely. Still, he can guess what it means, and while a dragon does seem to suit the man he’s watched wield flames with the same proficiency as a blade, calling Twilight their “true heir” seems like a direct jab, like spitting in the face of the two other heroes that follow in his wake. They’re just words though. Just more words from the demon god’s mind. They don’t matter. They’re not his thoughts. 

Except that when the enemy is dead, when the shadow fled, when the battle over, those words still play in his head, an echo of the deity’s thoughts, and when he tries to take back control, he can’t. 

He can’t control his own actions, can’t control even his words, can’t do anything no matter how much he desperately tries to retake control of the body that’s stalking towards where their veteran is wiping his sword off in the grass, can’t do anything as he hears the deity’s thoughts echo around him, watching as his body becomes but a puppet to the still raging demon. 

“If Nayru will not prune back the dead branches, it falls to me.” 

He wants to scream, to say anything, to catch his own hand as it raises, blade lifted high, but he can’t do anything. 

Legend turns at the last second, eyes sharp and blade sharper as it lifts, catches the weapon descending towards him, pushes it and the strength of the deity away and slips himself back, flips over them and perfectly executes a helm-splitter, stopping seconds before their leader’s skull is cleaved in two, voice sharp as it demands to know what’s wrong with him, what he’s doing. 

The deity doesn’t care, simply springs back and away, Time’s body swinging his sword at the younger hero even as Warriors shouts something unintelligible and Twilight snarls something sharp, something terrified as their “true heir” rushes towards the scion of death, the heir to failure. 

The others aren’t fast enough to stop the deity though, aren’t strong enough to stop the blade clashing, lifting and falling and lifting and falling. He can see, although he can’t do anything else, as the force of the blows rattles up the veteran’s arms. Sees the way his teeth set and his body shakes as he responds, holding the deity puppeteering Time’s body off, but only by backing away, driven slowly further and further from the others who rush and hurry. 

Twilight throws himself at them, but the deity catches him by the pelt. All ire fades in favor of fondness as the demon’s thoughts turn sorrowful. He can hear them, a sadness that their true heir will have to see this, a confusion of why the pup does not understand their intent. He knows, if Twilight understood, that he would never condone the actions of the demon, but he can’t say as much even to his own mind as the deity lifts and throws their boy out of reach. Not harsh, not meant to harm, but fully intending to distance the boy from their fight, to stop him interfering. 

He flinches, as does his body, as the rancher hits the ground some yards away. 

In the opening left by the action, Legend’s tempered sword strikes, blood gushing as the blade rips free of flesh, but the blow does nothing to stop the assault of the demon In fact, it only provokes him further, and the little control Time felt finally fall into his hands is ripped away as his body returns control to the thing that will protect it, to the demon that will not let them be harmed. 

Legend is the next to go flying, but not with the care and sorrow granted to Twilight, and instead with blood dripping in his wake as the biggoron sword finally lands a blow. 

The shouts of the other boys sound, and there’s the snarling of a wolf beside them. 

When his body turns from the broken form of the felled vet, he’s met with the sight of drawn swords and bared teeth as the wolf launches at him. He’s not sure when or why Twi has shifted, but the teeth closing on his arm hold him back for a moment as Warriors throws him forwards as well, attempting, no doubt to seek some weakness. In the war, he’d learned to rip the masks free from his kid’s face when he must, but there’s no mask for the captain to tear away this time, and despite the affection of the deity for “the dragon of war”, the demon god still tosses the captain away, plunging through the hesitant and terrified heroes. 

Time’s heart drops when he realizes the goal of the demon: the sailor, eyes hard and blade raised, even as terror and confusion have the kid’s body shaking, voice doing the same as it demands ‘why’. “Time, what’s gotten into you?” 

The cry of his heart at the veteran’s fall echoes again as the blow of the deity comes down on the sailor, and while the boy dodges, he’s not fast enough to escape injury. 

Blood paints the earth, paints blue fabric and darkens crimson. Pain clouds in violet eye sand in the ocean ones of their youngest. 

A roar, like nothing the deity can manage, has him turning. 

The last things Time sees are Sky’s blazing eyes and the matching gleam of the Master Sword. 

[febuwhump]

the febuwhump 2024 prompt poll is now open!

open: 16/december

close: 27/december

get your votes in now! top 29 prompts will feature in the 2024 febuwhump. the rest... well sucks for them i guess

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist

Day 1 - Helpless: Dean x reader

Day 3 - "Bite Down On This": Dean x reader

Day 5 - Rope Burns: Beau Arlen x reader

Day 6 - "You Lied To Me": Jensen x reader

Day 7 - Suffering in Silence: Jason Teague x reader

Day 8 - "Why won't it stop?": Beau Arlen x daughter!reader

Day 8 - "Why won't it stop?": Dean x reader

Day 10 - Killing in Self-Defense: Beau Arlen x reader

Day 12 - Semi-Conscious: Soldier Boy x reader

Day 12 - Semi-Conscious: Dean x reader

Day 13 - "You weren't supposed to get hurt" - Dean x reader

Day 14 - Blood-stained Tiles: Beau Arlen x reader

Day 14 - Blood-stained Tiles: Dean x reader

Day 15 - "Who did this to you?": Soldier Boy x reader

Day 18 - Too Weak To Move: Dean x reader

Day 19 - "Please don't": Dean x reader

Day 21 - Unresponsive: Beau Arlen x reader

Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you": Jensen x daughter!reader

Day 26 - "Help them": Endverse!Dean x daughter!reader

Day 28 - CPR: Dean x reader

[occasionallyprosie]

"Hiding Behind Plaster and Ceremics"

Chapter 1

Legend had one job the second time he was dragged on a quest that involved time travel and ancestors, and the second time a quest involved meeting other heroes: Don't get attached. Thankfully, the other heroes seemed to believe the mask he wore, and most of them didn't bother with him as a result except to argue, especially Twilight and Warriors. Now, if only someone could tell the kid behind the mask to stop reaching out to the brothers he lost after Hytopia, that would be great. And if they could stop the frigid downpour so Legend wouldn't get even sicker, that would also be great.

Febuwhump 2024 | Prompt 13: "You weren't supposed to get hurt"

Next>>

Event Masterlist

Read On AO3 Warnings: mild swearing

Legend knew the role he was playing.

His whole life was just one role after another, his main one of "the hero" constantly being reprised, but changing with each installment.

His first casting, he had been a terrified child, doing his best, trying to fulfill his uncle's last words. His second, he was an excited, bubbly child gaining two older brothers who shared separate yet similar pasts. His third was a kid with too big a heart and a burn to protect, giving everything he had including the clothes on his back to a dimension traveler who helped him in turn. His fourth and fifth was of a kid in a new land, wearing his heart on his sleeve, helping everyone he met even when it burned him. His sixth was the turning point for his role, he began it as the sweet kid and ended it heartbroken and begging to never feel such pain again.

His seventh was starring him as a broken teenager doing everything he could to fix things, to do the right thing and help people, without getting attached and heartbroken again.

Like any other tragedy, that teenager failed in the end and Ravio went back to Lorule, their worlds closing.

The next reprisal, lucky number eight, was of a slightly older teenager who was determined to get through this without opening his heart to a single soul, even if it hurt those around him.

So that's the role Legend played. He was the hoarder, but he coveted items and people were a danger to those belongings, he was the scholar, providing information to those who asked, who found solace in books and scrolls, and he was the veteran, tired and done with the lives they led.

The longer it went on, the harder it was for Legend to suppress that terrified child who just wanted to help out. The longer it went on, his mask was trying to crack from overuse.

It's a shame for that mask that he was a hoarder and always had something to hold it back together.

It was also a shame for the excited, bubbly child inside to watch as his older brothers failed to even recognize him with the mask he wore and the many new years he bore.

Legend recognized Ocean and Forest immediately, the moment his eyes landed on them, he knew who they were. Ocean hadn't changed much, but Forest was taller, bigger, more muscular and he had face tattoos interestingly enough.

He met their eyes and saw not a flicker of recognition appear in theirs, he supposed that was fair, he looked different and he had changed. He'd be surprised if they figured him out by anything but the fact he wore the same tunic.

They went weeks into this adventures, Legend doing whatever he thought helped him maintain that distance, strengthen that wall, that kept the other heroes out of reach of his internal child and kept his heart safe.

He couldn't do Ravio again, or, he supposed, this was more like Raven all over again. He refused to do that again.

But that child really wanted out, it was begging to be released, to call out to the two heroes he once called brothers.

No, Legend reminded himself. They don’t even remember us.

So he shut up and kept to his corner, he stitched and bandaged his own wounds and snarled at anyone who dared to approach. Especially the ones who he knew he would trust easier--the Sailor, the Rancher, the Traveler, and the Skyloftian.

Legend was sick. He knew he was and he blamed that cold storm they'd got caught in not two days ago for it. When they'd made camp, most of them bundled by the fire but Legend had stuffed himself away out of stubbornness and pride, using his fire rod for heat and wrapping an extra blanket around his soaked self.

He wasn't surprised by the turn of events, but he wasn't certain how to approach it.

Clearly, as they walked and he focused hard on keeping steady steps and maintaining pace with the others that he'd missed the entirety of Wind's story, he wasn't great. He usually listened, even if he feigned otherwise, it was a good distraction and he liked stories. It was the only thing he granted to himself, listening to Ocean ramble on about events he'd already heard the stories of. Now he was struggling and normally he would've stayed in the cave from the other day or even backtracked to it to rest and maintain a safe space, but that wasn't much of an option.

The cold of Warriors' Hebra region was piercing, and darkened clouds still rolled overhead but didn't open for much more than a sprinkle. Though humid, all the humidity did was prevent their clothes from drying, it didn't further soak them. Frankly he preferred the cold storm over a blistering, tropical hot storm.

But goddesses, he needed to take a break or he'd pass out and he didn't know how to say that. His mask was cracking, he knew it, and he was running out of energy to fix it while also trying not to stumble and fall in the mud.

To his luck, Sky called for a break, explaining the wet air was getting to his high altitude lungs. Legend didn't bother trying to understand that, which was rather telling. Instead he followed to the side they'd went to and tucked himself under a tree, letting his eyes shut and block out the painful, headache-inducing light.

Too soon, someone called to him.

"Hey Hoarder, get off your ass and let's go," Warriors snapped at him.

Legend dragged up his energy to shoot a glare at the knight. "You'd know all about sitting back on your ass, wouldn't you, soldier boy?" He snarled, pushing off the tree. The rest was helpful, but not sufficient. He really hoped he wasn't assigned a watch tonight, he wouldn't stay awake.

"One of these days, you’re going to get what's coming to you and that goddess-awful attitude," Warriors warned him.

Legend rolled his eyes. "Whatever comes for me for "this attitude" is going to get the exact same treatment as everything else that has come for me. A sword through its heart."

"Oh right, how could I forget, the Hoarder just kills everything that comes near him," Warriors spat.

Twilight got between them, shoving his way in and accidentally helping Legend hide the flinch that broke through from Warriors' words.

"Alrigh', that's enough. We have a lot of ground to cover and not enough patience to deal with you two."

Legend scoffed and he trudged off after the others who had already began to leave them, probably at Twilight's suggestion and Time's agreement. His boots threatened to get stuck in the mud and he feared his dwindling strength would have him unable to pull them from the sucking sludge, but he had the strength for now.

He heard Twilight mutter to Warriors. "Look, yer not wrong, the Scholar's f'r sure quick t'fight an' his whole personality leaves much to be desired, but none of us wanna listen t'ya two hurlin' insults no matter how much truth is with them."

Warriors groaned lowly. "You better not even try to lecture me, Rancher. I won't start a fight, but I'm not going to just take it."

Twilight backed off, surprisingly. Those two were at each other's throats just as often as Legend was with either of them.

The bubbly kid held back a sob hearing Twilight's--Forest's-- words. Legend trudged through the mud and plastered over the crack in his mask.

He wouldn't let them see how much that hurt.

He didn't kill everyone who came near him, he thought to himself pleadingly. Then names flickered through his mind and the plaster cracked too.

He was too exhausted from the growing fever to actually try and fix it back, it began to pour again and he had to keep moving.

Keep going, Link. He told himself. Keep going, then when they finally say stop we can rest. It'll be fine, just hold out a little while longer... please.

They couldn't make camp early enough. Hyrule found a cave again and Legend went as deep as he could until Time told him to not go that far. He came a bit closer and rolled out his bedroll.

He tucked his two fire rods in the blankets, then promptly collapsed, ignoring the others set up their camp.

He never usually helped, helping meant interacting and interacting risked attachment.

He wouldn't risk getting attached. He just had to hope the heat of the fire rods and the blankets would burn out his growing fever before dawn. With their chatter, they didn't seem to hear him down a health potion before passing out without dinner.

Dawn came and he felt no better, but he wasn't worse. It took way too much energy to get up when he heard the others rousing, it took too much focus to realize the sounds he heard was the others rousing.

He dragged himself to his feet, packed his things away and pulled on his mud covered boots. Nobody bothered him aside waiting at the entrance until they were all gathered, him included, to leave. Sky, as usual, greeted him with a good morning and Hyrule tried to fall into step with him, but a glare and a snap had the other hero retreating to Wild reluctantly.

It was raining the moment they left and continued to rain throughout the whole time.

He wasn't the only one slipping and stumbling through the mud, Four was struggling bad, as was Wind and Sky. Wild seemed to stumble but had a certain step of understanding, like he'd had to do this before, and Hyrule was similar though struggling far more. The three tall heroes, Time, Twilight, and Warriors, still slipped a bit but the knee deep mud for Legend was only halfway up their shins.

He lost his battle with the sickness and he nearly fell, barely catching himself and kneeling.

Distantly, he was aware of someone calling for him to keep moving over the roar of the heavy downpour.

He couldn't stand. His vision was bad and his body was trying to give out. He couldn't stand. He couldn't hardly move.

Come on, Link. Just a couple more hours, you've made it through worse!

Except the worse was fighting Ganon with an infection blossoming. Except the worse had adrenaline pumping through his veins and Raven at his side to help out. Except right now, one step took as much energy as a whole spin attack back then.

He had to stop. He had to breathe--

A hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched, but it tightened before he could fall back.

"Hoarder. Get up," Warriors ordered and it sounded like he was underwater. "There's no way with how much you slept you’re this tired, even the Skyloftian and the Sailor are handling."

Legend wheezed softly. He knew that. He knew he had to stand.

His body wouldn't cooperate, but he managed to smack Warriors' hand away and push against his knees to painstakingly stand.

The blur of green moved away, Warriors going on ahead. He tried to drag a foot ahead again but collapsed again. This time falling face first into the mud was a near thing, only barely avoiding such a fate.

Stand, damnit! He wanted to cry. He couldn't get his body to move, he couldn't find safety. This was why he took sanctuary whenever he got sick, so he wouldn't be a sitting duck.

He hated this. He hated it all. He hated them, those damned heroes, their stupid, stupid idea of correct and good. He hated everyone who left him, everyone who'd abandoned him. He hated himself for being so damned soft and attaching himself way too easily to others.

It wasn't supposed to hurt. Loving people wasn't supposed to hurt. He wasn't supposed to get hurt for caring.

Yet here he was, close to tears because he couldn't stand. Because he couldn't admit to weakness, because being weak meant needing help, and needing help meant letting people come close.

And he was too soft, to quick to care, to let anyone come close and not get attached. He couldn't get attached again, he couldn't lose someone again.

He glanced up briefly, just enough to know none of the blurs were approaching and were in fact moving away. He shakily took out a green potion, took way too long to uncap it and drink some, and used the forced energy to stand again and keep moving.

He'd never had to drink a green potion to keep moving before, but as it turned out, this whole quest was just a mess of "do this" so they wouldn't notice him, so they wouldn't get close, so he wouldn't get attached.

Goddesses, being alone wasn't supposed to hurt.

Legend genuinely didn't know how he made it through that day, but what he did know was that he wasn't getting up from where he had collapsed in the wet cave they'd once again made camp within.

He pressed his burning head against the cold stone and just let out a shuddering breath, eyes slipping shut and staying shut. He had made it to the back of the cave again and Time hadn't yet made him move closer.

He just needed to rest. He had to rest. His whole body ached, his insides twisted, and nausea rolled in his stomach and wound around his throat. He could hardly inhale through his mouth without wanting to throw up, but he couldn't breathe through his nose either, so this was what he had to deal with. He didn't even try with getting out a blanket or his fire rods for some heat, just curled up and hoped to the goddesses it passed tonight because he wasn't getting up until it was.

He slipped asleep quickly, but was startled back awake.

A haze settled over his mind but that didn't prevent the world from shaking and then someone grabbing him, or maybe it was the other way around and the grabbing shook him? He didn't know.

All he knew was that the light of the fire was gone, his body hurt, and he had been tackled or something by someone.

There was talking--no, yelling but he couldn't bring himself to actually process the words.

He just blinked dazedly up at the darkness and the barely-visible silhouette above him, they were shaking him. His brain rattled in his skull and the shaking grew painful fast.

"--t! Link! Come on, wake up--"

He whimpered. "St'p... 'urts."

"Oh. Link, hey--" cool hands brushed his face and he inhaled sharply, only to exhale softly. The coolness pulled away fast and he whined at the loss. "Oh Ordona, yer burning up."

The cool hand returned and he managed to lean into it.

"Sweet Ordona, Link, how long have you been sick?" They said, and the sound echoed almost painfully. He tried to curl back up into the ball he had been in before he'd been disturbed.

He slipped back asleep, finally just resting, finally letting the exhaustion take hold.

They'd made camp in a cave again, and Twilight was a bit relieved by that. He was tired of the rain and mud, the hard rock walls was a boon.

They'd made a fire, Wild was just beginning to start it when the ground trembled.

"The ceiling's caving in!" Four yelped, his eyes flashing purple. How he knew that, Twilight really didn't need to know nor did he care to.

They all moved fast, but Twilight spotted Legend still unmoving and curled up deeper into the cave.

"COLLECTOR MOVE!" Hyrule screamed, clearly having seen the same.

The cave ceiling began to break. Twilight ran and he managed to pull Legend deeper into the cave as the ceiling in the area they'd begun camp in collapsed.

Thankfully, the cave in ended far enough back that Twilight got them far enough away. He just had to hope the others got out on the other side.

To his absolute surprise, Legend had barely startled at the tackle and was currently limp beside him. Twilight's night vision was improved due to being attuned to his wolf form, but it was not perfect.

Legend's eyes fluttered open part way, half lidded and looking dazedly.

"Collector?" Twilight prompted, hoping the other hero didn't have a concussion. "Collector!" He called again when he didn't even respond, shaking his shoulder. "Link! Come on, wake up--"

A whimper, an actual whimper escaped the other hero and Twilight faltered as he heard the quiet plea for it to stop, that it hurt.

"Oh. Link, hey--" Twilight tried to move his bangs to check his eyes, to look for a concussion, but the skin he felt was far too hot for the frigid caves and storms they've been in for the past three days. He'd jerked away from the unexpected heat on instinct before it set in what was going on.

Suddenly it made sense, how quiet Legend had been the past couple days, the way he had struggled to keep up and stand. Twilight had taken it as just having a restless night and being tired, he'd clearly been exhausted the other day with how quickly he'd gone to sleep and he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been caught unable to fully rest with how soaking wet and cold it had been. However this just... Why didn't he expect someone to get sick with how cold and wet it's been?

"Oh Ordona, yer burning up," he breathed. He placed his hand on Legend's forehead and the collector leaned into it. "Sweet Ordona, Link, how long have you been sick?"

He watched Legend's eyes slip shut and then not open. He'd passed out, oh that was not good.

Twilight tug the smaller hero closer and picked him up. He... He never realized how small Legend was until he had the Scholar curled up in his arms, shaking like a leaf and whimpering.

He delved deeper into the cave, hoping for an escape or at least for the cave to get warmer.

Light Spirits, was he so blind by his own judgment and dislike of a person as to not notice them get so sick they had struggled to stand?

He didn't find an exit but did find an underground river but a dry shore, probably a lot higher of a shore than it normally was considering the amount of rainfall. He managed to set out enough blankets, decently dry, that he thought he could bundle the collector up.

Muttering an apology, he stripped Legend of his soaked clothes, leaving his shorts, and wrapped him tight in four dry blankets. He did take the time to try and clean both their boots of mud, but was careful with Legend's precious Pegasus boots, he knew the Hoarder would kill him if he messed any of his items up.

Then he settled on the dry rock, Legend's bundled form in his arms as he tried to provide what heat he could to lessen the amount of shivering the other hero was doing.

He let himself fall asleep at some point, only to wake up a few hours later with an inkling of light above.

He looked up and there turned out to be an opening in the ceiling, rainwater a steady trickle into the cavern. From what he could tell, he could probably hookshot out, but definitely not with Legend.

So he waited.

Legend was remarkably warmer but he woke up, with the light Twilight could actually see his glassy red eyes fill with confusion.

"Where..."

"It's alright," he murmured on instinct, if Legend was more coherent he probably would've been hit. But as it stood, he had someone small and sick in his arms so he acted instinctively, pulling them closer and promising safety. "It'll be alright, just rest, kid. I got you."

Legend twisted a bit, dazed and distant eyes settling on his face. He frowned, and Twilight was struck by how much younger Legend looked when he wasn't glaring and snarling at anyone who neared like an injured animal.

"Oh..." he muttered and he went limp again, curling willingly into Twilight's chest. "It 'urts," he mumbled and Twilight felt his heart constrict.

"I know," he promised. How sick was he? Why didn't he say anything? Was it out of pride? "It'll be alright."

"Where's Ocea'?" The hero in his arms asked and Twilight froze.

Oh goddesses no.

"Apple?" Twilight croaked.

"Mm... yea?"

No, no, no.

"F'rest?" he called, voice weak, and Twilight struggled to breathe out a response.

Legend hummed. "M...M'kay."

No. Twilight felt his blood run cold, his heart beat too fast and too hard, because suddenly everything went extremely wrong. Legend --the group's Collector and Scholar, the harsh, rude, snappy, violent one who had nearly bit Hyrule's head off only that morning-- was Apple, the kid that had broken his leg in Hytopia after slipping off a roof that he'd climbed on a whim. The nine year old kid who sang songs, hummed tunes, who fooled around while Twilight and a younger Wind who they nicknamed "Ocean" did the walking. The same kid who earned his keep and, when given the chance by the two older heroes, absolutely slaughtered any monster in his path so long as he had a blade and a magic rod in his hands.

Legend, the distant, snarling, cold, bully of a hero... was his sweet little brother. Legend was the same kid that had asked Lady Maud nicely to not make Styla wear clothes she didn't like, because he said it was mean to make people do things they didn't like even if someone else was doing something to you that you didn't like. That kid was Legend?

For a moment, Twilight couldn't believe it. There was no way that Legend could be Apple.

Then, he looked at the hero in his arms and the fact he had to be at least ten years older had probably embarked on a third quest after Hytopia...

Twilight's own quest changed him for the better, he'd been a prideful brat of a teenager and became... well he wasn't sure, but he hoped he was a better person now. So who was to say Legend's didn't turn him from a bright kid to a violent and harsh man.

"You weren't supposed to get hurt," Twilight croaked. "You were supposed to go home and be happy."

Legend didn't respond, after all, the collector was out cold. He couldn't give Twilight any explanation for why he was so jaded and... and so angry, why he was so harsh.

"You weren't supposed to get hurt," Twilight repeated weakly, because that sweet, bright little kid was supposed to go home to that aunt he spoke the world of and be happy, not go on another adventure or whatever had happened that turned him into this... broken, cold, harsh hero.

Next>>

[larkle00]

(i know i know. theyre handcuffs. not rope.) but... pure vessel/hollow knight gijinka!! world's most tragic bugthing

today's update for those interested in The Housing Saga: yesterday i got an email form my college saying "whoops we underestimated how long it would take to do repairs and you wont be able to go back to your dorm until thursday." lol. lmao, even.

@febuwhump

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 6: "You lied to me"

Content warning: hospital whump, (arguably) bad caretaker

“You lied to me.” 

Those were the words Caretaker was greeted with when they entered Whumpee’s hospital room. They looked small and sickly in their bed, medical equipment seeming to engulf their thin frame. A sickly blush covered their face, looking almost like a rash on irritated skin. Their eyes were still glassy, but far more alert than when Caretaker had last seen them. 

Caretaker hadn’t expected them to be awake yet. Let alone sitting upright in bed. Let alone glaring at Caretaker with so much venom that they nearly took a step back in shock.

:”Baby, what–”

“You said you’d never force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. You lied.”

“I–,” the denial died in Caretaker’s throat before it formed. Whumpee was right, technically. Caretaker had known they would refuse to go to the doctor. The only reason they’d gone before was because they’d been unconscious, and even then they’d demanded to be released as soon as possible. They would never willingly decide to go to the hospital.

Caretaker knew all that. And so when Whumpee, already struggling to recover from what they’d endured under Whumper, had fallen ill, Caretaker knew they’d never agree to see a doctor. 

And so Caretaker hadn’t bothered asking. 

It’d been easy to slip something into their food. They usually would’ve noticed it instantly, but illness had dulled their sharp mind and left them half delirious with fever. It’d been easy to bundle their limp, far too light body in a blanket and tuck them into the car. It’d been easy to ignore the look of betrayal in their half lidded eyes, and pretend their slurred objections were just incoherent mumblings. 

Some part of them had hoped Whumpee wouldn’t remember it. 

“I had no choice,” they said instead. 

“You had no choice?” Whumpee laughed, humorless and unpleasant. “You drugged me and dragged me to the hospital. Who forced you to do that?”

“I had to, Whumpee. You weren’t getting better. You were sick, and injuries from–...from before–,” Caretaker hesitated, stuttering. 

Whumpee did not. “From Whumper? You can say it. I’m not going to fall apart.”

Caretaker nodded, swallowing thickly. “You were already hurt, your body couldn’t handle illness alongside that. You may not remember but–,” the memory of the coughing fits that left Whumpee struggling to stay upright, the unfocused and cloudy eyes staring dully at nothing, the ever rising number on the thermometer, flashed through Caretaker’s mind. “--it was bad. I was worried you’d die. I just wanted to help you, and I knew you wouldn’t let me.”

“So it’s my fault now?,” Bitterness dripped from every word Whumpee spoke. They tried to lift themselves into a more upright position, arms shaking from the effort, and Caretaker had to resist the urge to rush over and help them. “It’s my fault I don’t get to make decisions for myself anymore?” 

“I never said that.”

“You think you just have a right. Because you ‘care about me’, you have the right to ignore every single thing I want. Because you’re smarter, because you know better.” 

“Just listen–”

“No, you listen,” the words came out in a growl. Whumpee’s hands gripped at the bedsheets, shaking. “Everyone’s always–always deciding shit for me! Treating me like I can’t be trusted anymore, like I’m some little kid who can’t think for themselves! Whumper thought the exact same thing, but it’s fine when you do it, right?!”

“Stop it.” the words came out more harshly than Caretaker had expected. Whumpee flinched back as if they’d been hit, falling silent. “Don’t compare me to them. I’m trying to help you, and you’re fighting me at every turn! We just got you back, and it’s like you’re trying to leave again,” the words spilled out of Caretaker, half angry, half pleading. “I’m not going to sit by and let you hurt yourself.”

The two fell into silence. For the briefest moment, a look of fear flash over Whumpee’s face. They shrank back, and in that instant the guilt Caretaker felt nearly sent them to their knees. Whumpee’s look of resentment returned only a moment later, but the anger that had fueled it seemed snuffed out. They wouldn’t look Caretaker in the eye. 

The beeping of Whumpee’s heart monitor, insistent and far too fast, felt like a condemnation in Caretaker’s ears. 

Caretaker let out a shuddering sigh, a hand coming up to rest in their hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Whumpee was silent for a long moment, not turning their gaze upward. When they finally spoke, their voice was quiet, drained of energy. “Just leave.”

“Please, just let me explain–,”

“Please. Don’t make me beg.” 

“I’m sorry.”

Whumpee didn’t respond. They didn’t look up when Caretaker left.