#Febuwhump day 4

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 4: Obedience (Link/Midna)

Ao3

CW for blood and injury, torture, and mild body horror

——————————-

Midna is no stranger to the sound of screams.

Her people had cried out when Zant had taken the throne and transformed her beautiful kingdom into something dark and twisted. Their cries of agony and anguish had echoed in her ears as she fled, a hideous imp, humiliated and furious. And they have remained with her all this time, spurring her onward toward salvation and victory.

But the noise that fills the air now is terrible in its own right. It pierces her skull and sets her heart racing erratically in her chest. And it feels as though it has been going on for eternity.

In reality, however, it has probably only been a few minutes. It doesn’t matter though. Midna has never derived joy from seeing Link suffer. This time is no different.

“Midna,” Zant’s leering voice reaches her ears once more, cascading smoothly over the waning sound of the hero’s hoarse screams. “Be an obedient dear and lend me your power. Do so and your precious, little human need not suffer further.”

Midna’s gaze travels down to where Link kneels mere feet away from her. His body is rigid, held in place by invisible bindings. His cap has fallen a short distance from him; his tunic and pants are splotched with mud, sweat, and blood. Tears stream down his ashen cheeks and well in his eyes, turning their gray the color of a stormy sky. But there is fire in them.

“Don’t,” he gasps, voice painfully ragged. “Please, Midna.”

Zant flicks a hand and the hero tenses further, an agonized whine breaking free.

“Quiet, dog,” he growls. “Count yourself lucky that I have allowed you the dignity of this form rather than letting the twilight have its way with you.”

“Lucky?” Midna shrieks, unable and unwilling to restrain herself. The nerve of this man! Calling himself her king, banishing her from her kingdom, demanding her aid…and now, hurting the hero. Her hero. “Being a human in a twilight realm is excruciating and you know that full well!”

“Come now, Midna,” Zant purrs, rounding her once more. His attempts at sweetness are as sour as his breath. “Calm yourself. This…human is pathetic in comparison to us. He has enjoyed the fruits of his people’s cruelty for far too long. It is time he felt some small portion of what we have endured.”

Midna is seething now. If only she were in her true form. If only she had that shadow crystal. She would rip this monster’s limbs off and cast him into the light-filled world he so detests.

“What we’ve endured?” She spits. “What about the things my people have suffered by your hand? You call yourself their king while you turn them into disgusting beasts!”

She kicks out, struggling against her bonds. But they hold fast, as suffocating and restrictive as this world.

“I have made the kingdom what it long should have been,” Zant replies, tone darkening. “You would have had it fall into obscurity and disrepair. You would have had our people forget all that they have endured because of the light dwellers.

“But you evade the question, my fallen princess. Will you help me or not?”

Link’s eyes find hers. He is breathing hard, shuddering beneath the weight of his own form. And yet, he smiles. It is only the slightest upturn of the lips, like a thread of twilight stretching bravely into the world of light. But Midna sees it all the same.

“Never.”

The word when she speaks it, shatters the momentary silence. She doesn’t have to see him to know Zant’s expression has turned murderous.

(Though, if she’s being honest, does it ever not look murderous? The man is vile.)

Her eyes, however, are only for Link. He is looking at her with pride in his gaze, pride and…maybe the beginnings of something else? She can’t be certain.

Whatever it is, she doesn’t deserve it.

“No?” Zant laughs and it seems to echo in the cavernous space. “Well then. You truly have fallen far Midna, to conspire with light dwellers in such a way. It nauseates me!”

Power surges through the air, a projectile of pure darkness slicing its way toward the hero. The energy it emanates is so dark, so sinister the air reverberates with it.

Midna gasps as she realizes what is about to happen. With an enraged screech, she struggles even harder than before. But she is helpless to stop it.

Darkness, fierce and sharp, collides with Link’s chest. It keeps going, shoving aside flesh and muscle and bone to burrow deep into his heart. His eyes go wide, blood bubbling from his lips as he chokes on a cry.

“This light dweller pretends to care for you and your world,” Zant sneers. “Perhaps, then, he will enjoy internalizing the shadows you inhabit.”

A skull-shattering scream pierces the air. Link thrashes, fighting desperately to get loose. Streaks of black crawl across his skin now, craters of molten obsidian amongst bloodless white.

“I wonder how much he can take before he breaks,” Zant muses.

He twists sleeve-hidden fingers and abruptly, Link crumples. Shadows dance in the air around him as he transforms. And then a beast lays twitching on the ground before her.

“No, stop!” The shout breaks free before she can restrain it.

But Zant doesn’t seem to even hear her. He is too enraptured by his own sadistic glee at Link’s agony.

The shadows around him grow thicker now, more potent. The obsidian marks spread like jagged lines of ink and blood oozes in their wake. They mar the hero’s lush gray coat, trickle into his once-bright eyes.

Midna inhales a ragged breath. If she doesn’t stop this, if she doesn’t act Link will die. That cannot happen.

She needs him to help her save her kingdom and her people. She needs him to save that little country town of his, and the kids who gaze at him like he is the sun itself, and the family he adores despite how they so violently despised his wolf form. She needs him to save the land Zelda has sacrificed so much for, the land Link looks upon with wonder.

She needs…she needs him.

So, she takes a deep breath and focuses. There is a crack, she realizes with a spark of hope, in the magic Zant is using to restrain her. She isn’t certain how she didn’t see it before. Perhaps, it wasn’t even there before.

It doesn’t matter. All that’s important is the way she can exploit it.

Midna forces her hands inside it, pulls it wider and wider until it is a gaping hole. Then, she shoves herself through, shattering her bonds as she does so. And when she opens her eyes once more, she is free.

She hits the ground with a dull thud and scrambles up. Zant whirls to face her, a screech of indignation ringing out as he unsheathes his swords. But she is too fast for him.

Fiery locks fly free, scooping the still-shuddering hero into their silken folds. Magic surges through her panicked and quick. And with a burst of sharp shadows, they are gone.

She lands them in Hyrule Field, for lack of a better place. It is far from most villages at least, with their mindless terror and ready torches. Gently, she lowers Link into the blades of green grass.

She can only hope that the teleportation wasn’t too much for him. But what other choice had she had?

“Link.”

Midna reaches out, ghostly fingers brushing his cheek. The word hitches in her throat, traitorous emotion struggling to break free. Fiercely, she shoves it back down.

“Come on, you idiot! Wake up!”

As if in response, his breath stutters. Gray-blue eyes flutter open, flitting about in a panic before they land on her. He shifts, brushing his nose against her immaterial form. A low whine echoes in his throat.

Midna lets out a shaky sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. He didn’t touch me. Worry about yourself like you should.”

Link huffs a breath, seeming indignant. But his efforts are weak. His usual snark is gone with his strength, sapped by the madman who had sought to use him.

Shaking her head, Midna turns to gaze at the castle that bravely rises past the horizon.

“You just hold on, Link,” she murmurs. “I’ll get you the help you need.”

And after that? She’ll find the might necessary to hurl Zant into the sun.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 4: Obedience

Content warning: loss of autonomy

Whumpee didn’t like their new collar. Well, they hadn’t liked the old one much more, this one was somehow worse.

It was thinner than the bulky chain that had weighed their head down previously. It felt almost fragile in comparison, almost ignorable. Whumpee had to admit that it was far more comfortable than what Whumper had previously forced them into. Maybe they’d finally get a good night’s rest. 

The problem was that the new collar felt alive. It squirmed, pulsing like a second heartbeat against Whumpee’s neck. It was distracting, it was annoying, and the clearly unnatural nature of it put Whumpee on edge. If not for the glowing, ethereal chains Whumper had summoned to bind their limbs, Whumpee would’ve torn the thing off. 

Whumpee hated magic. 

They refused to let their discomfort show. Instead, they gave Whumper a sharp smile, teeth bared. “Is this a gift? I’m flattered, but you’re not my type.”

Whumper didn’t respond. They continued flipping through the spellbook in their hands, their face in a perpetual frown. 

Whumpee gave a theoretical shrug. ”So sorry to disappoint, but you’re just not my type. I just prefer my dates to be, you know, decent human beings that don’t use me to test their freaky magic. Sorry.”

“Are you incapable of being quiet?” Whumper finally grumbled, and Whumpee’s grin widened at the annoyance in their voice. 

“I’ve been told my mouth is my best feature. It’d be a shame to leave it unused.”

The book in Whumper’s hands slammed shut. The mage waved their hand, and the collar around Whumpee’s neck briefly flashed with light. They felt the squirming against their throat intensify  as whatever spell Whumper was crafting was finally completed. They tried to ignore the sensation. 

A moment later, their restraints vanished with the same light. Whumpee made a show of rubbing at their wrists, trying to return circulation to numb limbs. “Finally. See, maybe we could–”

"Stand."

Whumpee stood. "--get along if you–...what?” their snarky comment was immediately drowned out by a wave of confion. They looked down at themselves, and Whumpee found they were standing at attention like some dignified soulder. It wasn’t a position they’d ever take, let alone for Whumper.

They tried to sit back down, but their legs wouldn’t move. Whumpee’s smile fell. 

The collar pulsed with life.  Whumpee reached a hand towards their throat–

Whumper’s voice echoed through their cell. “Stop.”

Whumpee’s hand froze, hovering in the air mere inches from the collar.

Whumper continued. "Unless given explicit permission from me, you're not allowed to touch or otherwise attempt to remove the collar around your neck. You are not allowed to let anyone else touch or attempt to remove your collar, and you will take any action necessary to ensure your collar is not removed.”

Of course Whumpee tried to fight it. Grunting in effort, they tried to brush against the collar. Their hand merely trembled in the air, refusing to complete the movement. It was if they were a child struggling to reach the top shelf, like their arm was physically too short to make contact. The feeling was unnatural, nauseating. No matter how they strained, their hand simply would not complete the movement.  It was only a moment before Whumpee’s hand fell limp at their side, panting from the effort of attempting to disobey.

The blood left Whumpee’s face. The collar suddenly felt choking, like Whumper’s hand itself was wrapped around their throat. “T-this isn’t funny you bastard–!” Whumpee hissed, voice shaking. “You can’t do this–”

“Be silent,” Whumper ordered. Whumpee’s lips instantly snapped shut. 

For a long moment, the two simply stared at one another, Whumper’s calculating eyes meeting Whumpee’s panicked glare.. Eventually, Whumper broke the silence. “Did you think I’d suffer your impudence forever? Since you’re so inclined towards disobedience, I’ve decided that you don’t deserve the privilege of choice,” Whumpee could’ve sworn there was something like humor in Whumper’s eyes, though their expression never changed. “Perhaps this will encourage you to make better decisions in the future.”

Whumpee opened their mouth, curses on the tip of their tongue. But their voice wouldn’t obey them. 

Whumper turned away, walking towards the prison’s exit. “For the time being, you’re allowed to move freely within your cell,” at the command, Whumpee felt the tension forcing them to stand release. They stumbled, falling to their knees. “You are not allowed to leave this room under any circumstances unless I give you permission to do so. If anyone attempts to free you, you are to stop them by any means necessary.”

They couldn’t find the energy to stand, limbs shaking and heart pounding in their chest. They’d never seen magic like this. They’d never imagined Whumper could circumvent their will so easily.

Their heart was pounding in their chest. Whumpee wondered if Whumper could command it to stop. 

Whumper left without another word. They did not lock the cell door. Whumpee couldn’t follow them out. 

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 4 - Obedience ♡

@febuwhump

This is a bonus scene from my pet whump series, 'Ripe, About to Fall." Takes place near the beginning of Ventis's time with Athos.

Series

Content: Conditioning, intimate whumper, beating, dehumanization, suggestion of non-con oral sex, master/pet dynamics

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Down.”

Ventis sinks to his knees where he stands. Back straight. Chin angled down.

“Good. Come here.”

Ventis stands and walks over to Athos.

The older man stares up at him from his chair, disapproval evident in his eyes. Ventis is confused for a moment. He’d done as he was asked, why-

Pain sears through Ventis’s knee as Athos’s cane collides with it.

“I didn’t tell you you could stand.”

Right. Shit.

“Sorry.”

The cane hit him again, this time in the ribs. He doubles over with a gasp but quickly straightens again.

“I am sorry, master,” Ventis corrects himself.

Athos pinches his brow, looking far too tired for the one who hasn’t been practicing kneeling for the better part of an hour. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty. Go back. Try again.”

Ventis returns to his place a few feet away from Athos.

“Down.”

Knees. Back straight. Chin down.

“Come here.”

Don’t stand. Crawl.

“Good.” A hand in his hair. “Now open your mouth.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵ (fin)

ventis would be so bad at simon says lmao

Ventisposting taglist (aka a list of people who i want to bake cookies for):

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump

[serickswrites]

Two for Flinching

Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: captivity, restraints, gags/muzzle, knives, forced to watch, torture

Team Leader snarled and strained against the chains that kept them bound to the chair. I’m going to rip you apart, Whumper. With my bare hands. 

Whumper laughed at Team Leader’s impotence. “You can’t get me, so why fight?” Whumper circled Smallest Teammate, running their hands through Smallest Teammate’s hair. 

Smallest Teammate squeaked as they flinched back from Whumper’s touch. But Whumper fisted their hair and kept them still. 

“LEAVE THEM ALONE!” Team Leader roared. 

“Why in the ever loving fuck would I do that? They are so pretty,” Whumper said as they caressed Smallest Teammate’s hair once more. 

“STOP IT! STOP IT!” Team Leader yelled as they watched the tears roll down Smallest Teammate’s face. 

Suddenly Whumper stalked over to Team Leader, their face inches from Team Leader’s. “Stop. Ruining. My. Fun.”

Team Leader spat in Whumper’s face. “Fuck you.”

Whumper glared down at Team Leader as they wiped the spit off their face. “You’re going to regret that.” They nodded at Accomplice. 

Accomplice quickly crossed the room and pressed a blade to Smallest Teammate’s throat. Smallest Teammate stilled, their eyes wide with terror. 

“Don’t hurt them! Please! Don’t.” Team Leader begged instantly regretting their display. Please don’t hurt them. Hurt me. Not them.

“I need you to be still. And quiet.” Whumper growled. “And stop ruining my fun.”

Team Leader nodded. “I will be quiet. And still. Just hurt me. Please. Leave them alone.” 

“Oh I am going to hurt you, Team Leader. Just not yet.” Whumper lifted a muzzle from the table of instruments nearby. “But I’m going to make sure I don’t hear your fucking voice any time soon.”

Team Leader’s heart was in their throat. They would not let Whumper muzzle them. They couldn’t. They started to struggle again, but froze as Accomplice pressed the blade once more to Smallest Teammate’s throat. 

Whumper smiled. “Very good. Maybe you aren’t so stupid after all.”

Before Team Leader could respond, Whumper was wrestling the muzzle onto their head. It was tight and prevented Team Leader from making any sound. They tried not to cry as they realized they wouldn’t even be able to offer comforting words to Smallest Teammate. 

And that this was all their fault. 

“Perfect,” Whumper cooed. “This will be fun.” And they waltzed back over to Smallest Teammate, a twinkle in their eye and a pep in their step. “Don’t worry,” Whumper said as they looked over their shoulder, “it’ll be your turn soon.”

[triforce-of-mischief]

Febuwhump Day 4: Obedience

Warnings: Cia being a Creep with a capital C (aimed at Chief, not Wind), blood, implied MCD

Chief is from @thatbrokenpromise by @batrogers

****

There was a child. An honest-to-goddess child, traveling with the other group of heroes as one of their own. The Hero of the Wind was capable, as Outset had proven time and again, but this one was too young. Younger than Chief himself had been at the start of his first quest, and without any of the experience an extra ten years would bring.

There was more blood than Chief ever wanted to see, pouring from a gash in the child’s chest.

He didn’t see what had injured Wind- arrow or blade, it didn’t matter yet, not until Chief reached him. He had done this too many times, dealt with injuries that would give him lasting nightmares, so that wasn’t even the problem. An invisible wall materialized between them, between one blink and the next, and it was now that Chief started to truly panic. He was so close, the kid needed his help- He spun on his heel, desperate to find a new path through this sinister maze.

Wind was screaming, in agony and terrified because he had lost sight of the medic.

“I’m coming!” Chief called, running and weaving through walls of hedges and brick. “You’re gonna be okay, I-”

He turned yet another corner, coming face-to-face with Cia.

That wide, calculating grin was horrifyingly familiar, yet the witch didn’t return any recognition of him. This Cia knew Warriors, not Prince- but knowing her, it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

“Not so fast, darling,” Cia purred, her confidence an act that played all too well in her favor. “The Hero of Wind won’t be receiving any help today. This is where his story ends. I’ve seen it, and I can’t let you change that.”

Chief tried to argue, but Cia had already wrapped a paralyzing spell around his body. He made a strangled sound, glaring at her with equal parts fury and desperation.

Wind’s voice was getting weaker with every second that passed.

Cia stepped closer, burying her hand in Chief’s hair and giggling cruelly when he whined. “Here’s what I know will happen: the Hero of Wind is going to die here, alone and unaided. And you, my dear, are going to obey me.”

[comfort-questing]

4. "obedience"

"we won't be long," she said, her eyes on the distant hills where they melted into mist and cloud.

"don't tell me it's not dangerous," they said, from under the edge of the blanket they were sharing across their shoulders. "going out beyond the fort line always is..."

"yes," she said, simply, and huddled closer, against the fine spitting rain from above. the uneven stone of the wall beside them made partial shelter from the wind, but the warmth of another body was worth far more than that, and for more reasons. "but you know, that's what we're here for, after all."

they sighed. "but come back to me," they said, into her hair, drawing her closer. "come back to me, all right?"

"I will."

-

two weeks later, the autumn rains had deepened, filling the low creekbeds among the scrublands to overflowing; the last of the leaves on the wind-twisted trees had withered or fallen, brown among the grasses.

they weren't the only one waiting, nervous and jumpy as the days went on. fourteen days, fifteen, more. but in the end the shout did go up from the folk on watch, and the trailing line of packhorses and scouts winding their way through the foggy valley drew nearer.

there'd been trouble. even before the gates opened that was clear to be seen, their pace slow on the march homewards, folk leaning on their comrades or riding with assistance on the backs of the horses, the quiet in the front courtyard turned to sudden tense activity, hurrying to help the injured, to take count of the missing, to hear reports of whatever had gone wrong.

they couldn't find her. they couldn't find her, their eyes going from place to place frantically across the chaos; and then suddenly they did, a familiar flash of auburn hair, of a faded green hood slipping back as a limp body was handed down from one of the riders.

they were there in a moment, by her side, taking over at the head of the stretcher she was laid on. her eyes were closed, the bloodless pallor of her face contrasting horribly with the red-stained bandages wrapping her arm and shoulder.

"wake up," they begged her, on the way to the infirmary. "wake up." but she didn't answer. not then.

-

not till later did she answer - hours later, in the dim hours between day and night, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes in a face drawn with pain. her eyes found their face above her, her fingers tightening on theirs atop the blankets.

"you woke up," they said, numbly, "you came back - "

"of course I did," she murmured, "you told me to, didn't you."

[theonlymoongirl]

Beloved

The Boys Febuwhump 2024 Day Four: Obedience

“I’m not a dog,” Hughie ground out. His face was flushed red, his stomach churning as though its contents were gravel. “Now, that’s not true,” Homelander purred. “You’re Butcher’s dog, aren’t you? He tells you to jump and you don’t even think. You just do as you’re told.” Homelander crouched in front of Hughie, head cocked, a soft smile on his face. “That’s what I like about you, Hughie. You’re so… obedient. You’re just obedient to the wrong man, that’s all. Now, let me help you put this on-“

read on ao3

angst, hurt no comfort, forced puppy play, rape/non-con elements, forced orgasm, forced fingering, butt plugs

[theshiaxartist]

It was always an interesting to think about how Torn would have handled Jak turning into Dark Jak and going into a rage. Would he be able to subdue him? Hard to slit a man's throat when he's the next best thing you have to a friend.

[arecaceae175]

Febuwhump Day 4: Knife to the Throat (Warriors)

AO3 link. Warnings: a bit of body horror, blood, vomiting, panic attack, negative thoughts about self.

This is very thematically similar to my whumptober about Warriors. There's just something about him that makes me want to give him so much PTSD. Poor lad.

breathing as much as he could, but his chest was heaving. Panic was beginning to set in. He gripped the hilt of his sword tighter and pushed his body as far as it could go. His legs weren’t cooperating, though. He should be able to go faster, but he felt like he was moving through thick mud.

Swords were flying all around him. Most flew past and embedded themselves in the walls, only to be returned to the hands of his pursuers. Some pierced his skin, digging through his body and coming out the other side in a mess of blood and destroyed tissue. He didn’t feel the pain, but each wound forced more terror into his mind.

It was only a matter of time until he couldn’t keep running. It was only a matter of time before his soldiers caught up to him. They knew, they knew the things he’s done. They’re angry and seeking revenge and Warriors knew he deserved it but still he ran. 

A hand touched his shoulder. Warriors spun around, pinning the soldier to the wall and bringing his sword to their throat. The figure cried out in surprise.

“Wars! It’s Four!” 

Four? That’s not right… Warriors thought. Four was never there.

Warriors blinked and his senses slowly began to clear. He heard the crackling of the campfire, Twilight’s loud snoring, and Four’s face slowly came into focus. Four had his hands held up in surrender, wide, frantic eyes locked on Warriors’.

There was a small drop of blood sliding down Four’s neck where Warriors had a knife pressed to his throat.

Warriors gasped. His shaking hands dropped the knife and he stared at it in horror. Four’s blood shone brightly in contrast to the dull metal of the blade. Warriors was suddenly overcome by nausea, and he lurched to the side and emptied his stomach. Four rubbed gentle circles onto his back as he heaved for what felt like a lifetime. 

Warriors finally pushed himself away from the sick with shaking arms. His vision was blurry with tears as he accepted his waterskin from Four. He quickly rinsed his mouth and wiped his face. Shame and embarrassment roared within him like a flame, and he turned guilty to Four.

“Are you alright?” Four asked. Then, before Warriors could respond, he continued, “That was a stupid question. I’m sorry I touched you. You weren’t waking up.”

Warriors felt his still racing heart skip a beat. “Don’t apologize, please. I’m sorry, I-” Warriors’ voice broke, and he ducked his head in shame. 

“Hey, Wars, it’s okay. I’m alright, look. You barely broke the skin, it isn’t even bleeding anymore,” Four said. Warriors glanced up at Four’s neck. There was a very thin red line, and a drop of blood gathered in one corner. 

All Warriors saw was red. All he saw was the blood of his fallen brothers in arms. All he saw was the blood on his sword, on his hands, on the walls, pooled on the floor, the blood of his soldiers that he put there-

“Captain!” Four called. One hand was on Warriors shoulder and the other was gripping his wrist. Four pulled Warriors hand up to his chest, and Warriors could feel Four’s heart beating and his lungs moving with each breath. 

“Follow my breaths, okay? In, and out,” Four said. 

Warriors tried to copy Four, and realized he was hyperventilating. It took a long time and a lot of effort, but eventually Warriors had his breathing regulated and his heartbeat back to a reasonable level. He slumped against the tree behind his bed, utterly exhausted. He kept his eyes open, though, not yet willing to see the horrors that lay behind his eyelids. 

“You with me?” Four asked.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay,” Warriors said quietly. His throat felt scratchy and his voice was rough. Four put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Warriors felt himself leaning into the touch. 

“I’m sorry,” Warriors said.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Four said. Warriors strongly disagreed. 

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Four asked, uncertainty clear in his voice.

“No, you shouldn’t have to worry about me,” Warriors said, shaking his head.

“It’s far too late for that, captain,” Four said with a chuckle. “I care about you, of course I worry.”

Emotions swirled through Warriors mind; guilt for making the others worry, shame for being unable to cope with his past, horrified that he hurt Four and, most of all, terrified that he might do it again. He swallowed thickly and shoved the emotions into the box at the back of his mind labeled ‘examine at a later date.’ 

“I’ll take the rest of your watch,” Warriors said. “You can get some rest.”

Four stared at him with a blank expression, determined gaze meeting Warriors’ eyes. Warriors dropped his eyes to the floor and willed away the flush coloring the tips of his ears. After a moment, Four huffed and settled himself next to Warriors, opening his book without a word. 

“Uh,” Warriors said. 

“You’re obviously not going back to sleep, and I’m not going to leave you by yourself, so,” Four said, not taking his eyes off the page.

“Are you… are you sure? What if I-”

Four smacked Warriors in the arm with his book. Warriors yelped in surprise, a hand wrapping around his stinging arm. 

“What was that for?” Warriors asked.

“You’re not going to hurt me. I’m staying up because I like you, end of discussion,” Four said. He opened his book and leaned back against a tree. Warriors blinked in surprise. He could feel his anxiety fading the longer he was awake, and he could admit that it helped to not be alone. If he did fall back asleep, which he knew from experience was unlikely, he could trust Four to have his back. 

“Thank you, Four,” Warriors whispered, a small smile on his face.

“Anytime,” Four said.

[ironstrangle]

FebuWhum Day #4 - Obedience - Ed & Izzy

Just a short one today.

CW: Kraken Era Ed, Non Ship

“I don’t expect anything from you.”

Izzy could not describe the pain those words caused. He had been stabbed multiple times in his life and that was the only thing that was even sort of comparable. Being stabbed was a pain that hurt suddenly, without warning and your body took a few moments to adjust through the shock. Then the pain penetrated deep. This was a different kind of stabbing. 

“Edward…”

He had been trying for weeks now to calm the storm that he, himself, had set to raging. This had been what he wanted, right? A return to Blackbeard, a return to the ruthlessness of old. This had been what he had been aiming for and now here they were, staring at each other and wishing the other was dead.

“I don’t expect or need anything from you, Izzy, except for your obedience. You wanted to be my old attack dog and nothing more. So, that’s what you are. There is no room for argument there, or we’ll switch to the other foot. Got it?” 

He took a step back, flinching as Ed stepped forward and tangled a hand in his shirt. 

It was a bit too late to realize his mistake, wasn’t it? He had wanted things to be as they were, when that hadn’t been possible. He had wanted to go back in time when nobody could do that, not even him. He let out a sigh and then disentangled himself from Ed’s grip. Maybe he’d cut something else off, maybe he’d hurt him, but it would be worse than this feeling.

He used to pride himself on his obedience. He was just an attack dog, after all. That was what he did best. It used to make him feel so satisfied. He had asked for this. Why was there a desire for more? Why did he want anything else?

“I got it,” he said, a grimness falling over him that made his heart ache. He had chosen this. This was what he was doomed to be. “Obedient, sir. That’s me.” 

[chrysochroma]

Starting with Them

@febuwhump Day 4: ALT 1: human shield

Rating: Teen And Up

Words: 1,046

Fandom: The Owl House

Warnings: Possession, Blood, Violence

Read on Ao3

This is like a slightly different version of s3e1 of the owl house

Belos smiled, laughing, as he watched the trio of witches fall back to the ground, knocked out of the air by his strike. Then, as he was still focused on the witches, he felt the human, Luz, teleport next to him and clamp her arms around him, in what he could only describe as a futile attempt at restraining him. 

“I know you can hear me, Hunter,” She yelled. “Fight him off!”

He grabbed her and started to throw her off him, then stopped himself. He grabbed Luz’s wrist and pulled her up, then wrapped an arm around her shoulders and slid his claws under her chin. “Stop!” He shouted, his voice a scattered mix of his and Hunter’s. 

The three witches whom he had knocked out of the sky were getting up as he shouted, ready to charge at him, but as soon as they saw Luz, they skidded to a stop.

“Drop your staffs.”

Amity’s eyes were wide in terror. “Luz!”

Belos raised his voice. “Drop them! Now!”

Worry and fear in their eyes, Amity and the others all did as he said. 

“Luz! Are you okay?” Amity called out. 

Luz responded, flinching at the pressure on her skin. “Amity! I’m fine! It’s okay!”

“No it’s not!” She looked up at Belos’s glowing turquoise eyes in Hunter’s skull, and her voice broke with rage. “Let her go!”

Belos smiled. “Give me the Titan Blood, and I will.”

Amity started to respond, but Luz cut her off. “No! Take it and run! Go home!” Below dug his claws further into her flesh, just barely drawing blood, and she winced. 

“I’m not leaving here without you!” Amity’s hands were clenched into fists, and she was almost trembling as she yelled across the lake.

Tears started to well up in Luz’s eyes. “No, Amity, it’s okay, I promise. Go.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Small rivers of Luz’s blood ran down Belos’s claws as he stabbed them further into Luz’s throat. “Give me the Titan Blood,” He repeated. “Or she dies.”

Then, Hunter’s staff, which Luz was still holding onto, transformed back into Flapjack and flew at Belos. Flapjack almost hesitated, but he sunk his beak into Belos’s eye, shattering that piercing blue light coming from deep inside it. Belos cried out in pain, scowling, and his arm shot up and plucked Flapjack from the air, leaving a thin cut on Luz’s jaw in the process. Belos slowly started to crush Flapjack, smiling as cracks covered his wings, leaking bright green sap. 

Then his smile slowly faded, and his expression got closer to that of uncertainty. The light in Belos’s remaining eye flickered, then faded back into magenta. Hunter gasped, breathing heavily, and threw himself forward onto the ground. He looked up at the others across the water, dozens of emotions in his eyes before they lit up, completely turquoise. The deep green and brown sludge that coated his skin started to rip itself off of him, materializing into a looming figure behind him. As the last of the sludge removed itself from his body, Hunter collapsed, unconscious. 

Belos’s glowing turquoise eyes opened once again. He stood, still clutching Flapjack and Luz. He took a glance at the wounded, bleeding, palisman, then tossed his body at Hunter, careless. To his surprise, though, the glowing green sap bleeding out of the cracks in Flapjack’s wings slowly began to absorb itself into Hunter’s body. A few seconds later, Hunter blinked himself awake, and Flapjack’s body dissolved into golden sparks, rising slowly into the air. 

The people across the lake were all shouting, but Hunter payed no attention to them. His expression was filled with rage as he pushed himself to his feet, determined, desperate for vengeance, but he stopped himself when he saw Luz. “Belos, let her go.” he demanded.

“Give me the Titan Blood.”

“For the last time,” Amity said. “We are not giving it to you!”

“Take it. Please.” Luz urged.

“No, Luz, we are not leaving without you!”

“I’m not coming with you, Amity!”

Silence crashed over the lake. “… What?”

Luz’s voice broke. “I’m not going back to the Demon Realm. I’m staying here. Forever.”

“Luz, what? No, I can’t let you stay here, I-“

“It’s my choice, Amity, and I’m staying here! I-“ She took a breath. “Everywhere I go, I just cause problems, and that’s too dangerous. So I’m staying.”

“Luz-“

“Amity, please. It’s okay.” She gave a faint smile, tears flowing freely.

Amity’s voice was covered in anger, hiding the betrayal she really felt. “No!“ 

“Stop it!” Belos yelled. “Give me the Titan Blood, now.” He looked at Hunter. “Hunter. Get it for me.”

“No-“ Luz started to object, but Hunter cut her off. 

“Luz, it’s fine.” He glared at Belos, the single line of blood dripping form his eye looking more like a tear than anything else. 

Everyone watched in silence, in frozen anticipation, in terror, as Hunter walked over to the edge of the water where the blue, glowing vial lay. He picked it up and clenched it in his fist as he walked back to Belos, whose hand was held out, expectantly. Hunter held the vial over Belos’s hand, then looked at Luz. 

Pure dread filled her eyes and ran down her face as she silently begged Hunter not to give Belos the vial. Hunter looked back at Belos, stared him straight in the eye, then tightened his grip. The vial shattered under the pressure, coating his hand in the blue liquid and stabbing shards of glass into his palm. 

Belos scowled and dug a claw into Luz’s throat, slicing a gash across it. He reached out and ripped the vial from Hunter’s hands before throwing Luz to the ground. 

“No!” Amity screamed. 

Everyone ran to Luz, terrified of the worst. 

Belos reached up, the broken vial in hand, and smeared the Titan Blood on the frame of the portal. It swirled to life, opening a window to the Demon Realm.

Belos turned back and looked upon the group of people all trying to help their fallen friend. “This is for the good of your souls. You’ll thank me later.”

Then he turned back and stepped through the portal. It flickered once, then faded out of existence. No one said anything.

[iztarshi]

Febuwhump - Knife to the Throat

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

There’s a knife to Donnie’s throat, cold metal right against his carotid artery and a too warm hand touching his windpipe. The other hand is over his forehead, pushing his head back to keep his throat exposed, disarranging his mask. He can feel the rough paw pads, even through the mask, as the yokai holds him still and warm breath like a cat’s breath gusts over his face.

The buildings seem to press in on him, the giant skeleton that would otherwise be normal Hidden City architecture disorienting him, leaving him unsure how big he is. How far away anything is. His brothers are standing at the end of the alley, all three of them staring at him in distress, but they could be miles away.

He hates how stupid he feels, how helpless. The battleshell on his back does nothing when the knife presses too close for him to pull his head inside his shell. The mechanical arms wouldn’t have room to deploy with a body pressed up against his back - there’s a body pressed against his back warm even though the battleshell - or time to grab his assailant before the knife could cut. Even his ninpo - his ninpo should - should - he should be able to imagine something, but his mind seems to be focused on the knife, on the heat of his blood below his skin.

“I told you, we don’t have the amulet,” Leo is saying, somewhere far away, his voice distorting like it’s echoing around the sewers, bouncing across water. “Yes, we stole from Big Mama’s auction but we didn’t steal that. We have no idea who did.”

Another yokai, one standing behind Donnie where he can’t be seen, where Donnie can’t make a guess at the body attached to the rasping voice, says, “Then you’ve got nothing to trade so we might as well finish the hostage and go.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Back that train up a bit,” Leo says. He shoots a frantic glance at Raph and Donnie can see the helplessness his brothers’ eyes, the same helplessness he feels himself. We could attack. But could we attack fast enough?

“Give us the amulet,” the yokai says.

Leo steps back, he says something into Raph’s ear. The yokai holding Donnie presses the knife a little closer to Donnie’s neck and says, “Speak up.”

“I just had to check with my big brother,” Leo says, suddenly too light, carefree, and Donnie never thought he’d be so glad to see the telltale signs of Leo having an idea. “But it’s good now. I can give it to them, right, Raph?”

“Right.” Raph’s voice sounds so sure, so grounded, and Mikey, out of the loop but picking up on the change in mood, is stepping back a little, readying himself to secure an escape route.

Leo reaches down to rummage in his pouch and what does he have? His swords are uselessly on his back where any movement towards them would get Donnie’s throat slit, but… a shuriken, perhaps? The yokai holding Donnie shifts his grip from Donnie’s head to his shoulder without moving the knife, getting ready to swing him around and use him as a meat shield.

Leo pulls something from his pouch, the flash of silver in his hand the only thing Donnie can identify about it. “Catch.”

The silver of a teaspoon is briefly visible before it elongates, becomes a sword spinning through the air. Even here, even now, Donnie wonders whether one of the scabbards on Leo’s back is now empty, or whether it contains a trowel.

Donnie is whipped around, the knife scoring a shallow line under his ear, the walls of the alley whirling around him, feet scrabbling under him to support his weight.

The sword hits his battleshell with a dull thud, and Donnie feels the thin line of searing warmth where it’s broken through to score his shell.

There is blue.

Leo is standing in the yokai’s hands with a knife at his throat, grinning like he just pulled off the four-forty, and Donnie is stumbling against Raph as Raph pulls the sword out of Donnie’s shell.

Donnie’s heart hangs suspended between beats. Leo stands there, so pleased with himself to see Donnie safe. The alley feels just as long from this end, Donnie’s brother just as far out of reach. It’s worse than when it was him, because it’s Leo again, again, somewhere they can’t get to fast enough.

“You know, I’m a big fan of card tricks,” Leo says. “You guys ever play three-card monte?”

The yokai holding Leo looks down at him with distaste. “That’s always rigged.”

Leo’s grin twists upwards into his nastiest smirk. “Yeah,” he says. “It sure is.”

A flash of blue.

Then red.

Raph is in the yokai’s hands, but barely there before his ninpo glows around him, pushing the knife away from his throat as it expands. Hands made of red light scoop up yokai that look suddenly small and throw them at the nearest building, following it up with punches to make sure they stay down.

Donnie droops against Leo’s shoulder. “Leo,” he says.

His tone must say more than he has the words for because Leo’s face immediately creases in sympathy. “I gotcha, hermano. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, once Raph had the sword I was fine.”

Mikey wraps his arms around Donnie’s waist, and if Donnie’s mechanical arms have been useful for nothing else today at least he can pat Mikey with them while still holding on to Leo.

It’s not until Raph arrives, with arms that can wrap around all of them at once, that Donnie feels the cold line of threat lift from his neck.

[mixsethaddams]

Knife To The Throat

Day 4 for @febuwhump. (Yes I know I’m late I’m catching up as best I can. I’ll add all these to ao3 soon too, I might end up just bulk posting them all there by the 28th instead of on tumblr.)

Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Jim Hopper, Joyce Byers, Murray, Enzo

Words: 1166

Warnings: The title should be treated as a red flag. PTSD. Implied murder-suicide.

Steve never truly recovered from everything that went on in the Upside Down. 

None of them did, to be fair. They had their mandated therapy sessions and various hospital appointments to make sure their core temperature wasn’t showing any signs of harbouring a parasite. Everyone else seemed to be able to move on though, and that’s where Steve fell down. 

He listened to Hopper tell a story about the war once. The Chief detailed the emotions that still overwhelmed him when he thought back on it, how he struggled to fire his gun to protect himself because it reminded him of being right back there in the dark, surrounded by enemies and with no way out. Hopper spoke of nightmares, of sudden flashes of moments he thought his life was over, of losing his friends. Steve listened with wide eyes and it felt like his own thoughts were being read aloud by someone else. But Steve wasn’t a solider, so it couldn’t be the same thing, right? He was probably just being dramatic, so Steve never mentioned how he felt to his therapist either. He didn’t listen to any of Hopper’s war stories after that. 

Steve kept it buried as well as he could. He didn’t always manage to be entirely subtle about his reaction to the little things that triggered whatever it was he was going through. Sometimes he was already in the middle of grabbing the nearest weapon by the time he snapped out of it. Passing it off as a joke to the right person was easy, Tommy Hagan thought it was hilarious when Steve picked up a rock and threw it at a particularly large black labrador. The dog was fine; Steve managed to abort the throw just in time. Steve was not ok, however. He couldn’t help but think how awful it would have been if he actually hit the poor dog. 

“Steve, you need to listen to me,”

Steve never lost the control he worked so hard to keep. Well, almost never. He punched one of Jason Carver’s friends in the face at a memorial service. He was out cold immediately and it took three people to stop Steve from kicking the poor boy in the head when he was on the ground. Fuck that guy. He deserved it. He should never have said that Steve couldn’t protect Max from Eddie Munson. Didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. Sure, the reaction was a bit bigger than what most people would have had, but Steve protected his friends as best he could, and that prick made Lucas cry by talking about Max. 

“It’s ok, it’s all ok, you don’t need to- Can you please look at me?”

His feelings of being a total failure were already high in his throat, and it boiled over right as he was being dragged away from the memorial by someone speaking fucking Russian. 

He screamed at them and wriggled out of their grip, falling heavy onto the ground as they finally got him out of the building. Hopper and Murray stood with their hands outstretched, palms up, placating him. Another man Steve didn’t recognise stood with them, eyebrow cocked in stoic concern. As he asked the others if this boy is ok, he looks like he is having heart attack maybe?, his accent made Steve’s blood run cold. No, no. They were not letting him go back into that bunker, they were not handing him right back over to the enemy. Steve’s vision swam as he turned and ran, ignoring the shouts behind him. 

It didn’t take long for a small group to find him in his parents’ kitchen, backed into a corner with one knife pressed to his throat and another swinging wildly to stop anyone coming too close. Blood from his neck dripped down onto the white shirt he wore to the earlier ceremony. 

“I’m not going back there,” he hissed, slicing through the air in front of him as Joyce tried to approach. 

“I know, I know,” she soothed, taking a step back and holding her hands up in surrender. “We’re going to stay right here, okay?”

Steve’s eyes flew around the room, looking for escape. He was boxed in. Hopper and Murray were in the doorway, Robin blocked the back door. The Russian was standing near Murray. Too close to Robin. She was exposed. He couldn’t protect her like this. 

Steve lunged forward and grabbed Robin, spinning her around so her back was against his chest. He held her tight and moved one of the knives from his neck, to her throat. She gripped tight to his forearm, trying desperately to pull it away. Steve was strong from years of sports and fighting, much too strong for her to compete with. She couldn’t move him. 

“Steve please-” she gasped, feeling the already blood-warmed metal against her skin. 

“I won’t let them take us,” he whispered into her ear. “They won’t get us,”

Steve glared over Robin’s shoulder at the tight faces around him. Hopper moved towards them and Steve spun around to slash a knife in his direction. Robin’s fingers tightened even more around his arm and the blade dug into her skin, adding her own blood now to the mess. Joyce’s eyes went wide as she watched Jim try get close.

“None of you are taking us back down there, do you understand me?” said Steve, his voice far too calm. Hopper felt a panic rise up in his gut at the deadpan tone. 

“Steve, Steve, sweetheart, please,” said Joyce softly.

“I kill us both first,” said Steve, bringing the spare knife back to rest just below his adam’s apple. “You won’t get either of us,”

“They don’t want us,” cried Robin gently, her feet kicking out as she tried to stay on her tip toes to avoid the pain of the tool digging into her neck. “They’re our friends,”

Steve kissed the side of her head and buried his face in her hair. His wild eyes glared out sideways at the others in the room. 

“Shhh, shhh, I thought so too,” he said shakily, pressing his back harder into the wall behind him. 

“Please kid, come on,” said Hopper, one hand on his gun and the other stretched out in front of him. The Russian already had a gun trained on Steve. Murray was frantically dialling a number on the phone that hung on the kitchen wall. The knife against Steve’s neck flew out to point at Hopper briefly before returning to squeeze against his already torn skin. “Put them down, and we can talk,”

“No!” snapped Steve. Everyone froze as his hands visibly tensed around each of the handles. 

“Love you Rob, you hear me?” said Steve. “I have to keep you safe, it’s the only way,”

“Not like this,” she pleaded. “We’ll find another way to escape,”

“Put them down, Steve!” called Hopper, now pointing his gun.

Steve planted another kiss to Robin’s temple. 

“No,”

[siderealdei]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2023, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Naboo Crisis Happened Differently, Post-Battle of Naboo (Star Wars) Series: Part 4 of Febuwhump 2023 Summary:

Febuwhump Day 4: Knife to the Throat

A Mandalorian tracks down Obi-Wan in order to lodge a complaint.

[composereggwrites]

Helpless - Febuwhump Day 4

Prompt: Knife to the throat

Ao3

Rating: T

Warning: Choose Not To Warn

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Additional Tags: Episode 91: The Coming Storm (The Magnus Archives), The Buried Coffin, Angst, Character Study

Summary:

Daisy’s knife against his throat cut. Lungs shot from the free fall, still burning for air, but he dare not breathe too deep. Through the voice box indeed.

A look at trauma.

Ao3

[fanfictasia]

Febuwhump Day 4

Knife to the Throat 

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Chosen Twins

Alema Syndulla

Behind me, Wrecker gets the end of his blaster stuck full of a vibroblade. I’ve never felt such fury from someone, but with how blurred over and deranged Wrecker’s mind is, I shouldn’t be surprised. And that’s the moment I realize exactly how big he is, because of how easily, almost without even trying, he wraps his hand around Hunter’s neck and lifts him off his feet, crushing.

I’m about to lash out at him with the Force, just to something – anything, but I don’t have time before a blaster shot tears through my shoulder. I stumble, yelping, nearly falling to my knees, but I push myself up, jaw clenched. That burning, searing pain at least is something I’m used to. That’s the one good thing that came from Krell.

Everything right now is playing out in slow motion.

Behind me, Crosshair aims his blaster again.

I stumble upright unsteadily, swaying a bit, but hands clenched firmly over my lightsaber hilt.

Wrecker throws Hunter to the ground and reaches to pick up the fallen vibroblade, hurling it at him.

“Wrecker, snap out of it,” Hunter rasps, gasping for air.

I’ll never be able to get there on time, so instead, I do the only other thing I can. I reach out with the Force, freezing the blade mid-air, merely inches from impaling Hunter. I sense Crosshair’s blaster aimed at me. I can feel it, and I can’t help sparing a glance at him. His hands are shaking. He’s a sniper. His hands shouldn’t shake. Unless he’s fighting it that hard, and I don’t think about it a moment longer, because Wrecker is probably about to throw Hunter’s blade right through my head, so I reach out with my other hand – what’s the saying about killing two birds with one stone? – and rip Crosshair’s rifle out of his hands, throwing it at Wrecker.