#febuwhump day 25

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump Day 25 alt: "I love you,"

Content warning: intimate whumper, very vaguely spice, strangling

Whumper was crouched over Whumpee’s body. Their hands were wrapped around their throat; Whumper gave a firm squeeze, and felt Whumpee’s pulse pounding underneath their hands.

Whumpee, of course, was fighting against them. Their teeth were gritted in concentration, both hands wrapped around Whumper’s wrists, trying futally to pull Whumper’s weight off of them. Even at a glance, it was obvious the effort would fail. Whumpee was too small, to frail, in too horrible of a position for any of their efforts to amount to anything. And yet they still struggled, even when it was hopeless.

“You only need to ask, and I’ll let you go,” Whumper’s voice was a purr. Their fingers rubbed into Whumpee’s bobbing throat, a caressing gesture that forced another choked gurgle from Whumpee’s lips. “Let me hear you beg, pet. I’d be so kind to you, if only you asked.”

Whumpee ignored them, of course. Their scowl remained defiantly in place, frail fingers prying fruitlessly at Whumper’s hold. Their expression was furious and terrified, like a cornered animal. But even with the fear in their eyes, there was no pleading. Simply hate, raw and bloody.

Whumper kept their pressure consistent, unwavering as Whumpee’s nails dug into their skin.

They watched as Whumpee turned pale, as spittle began to drip down their parted lips, as they gasped for breath they couldn’t reach. Their fingers danced over Whumper’s, looking for leverage they wouldn’t find, fighting overwhelming force they were quickly losing the energy to combat. Still fighting, struggling, even against infinite odds.

There was no dignity in their struggles. There was only desperation, mindless and rabid and furious.

It was their eyes that caught Whumper’s attention.

There was nothing but hate in their eyes, fury that went beyond pride or simple defiance. It was wild and undignified, an overwhelming hate that would push Whumpee to destroy themselves if only to spite Whumper. Even as their eyes grew distant, as fear twisted their expression, that anger never left. Whumpee hated them. Hated with every part of their being, hated so deeply that it consumed them.

And so they would never beg, even if doing so could save their very life. Defiant until the very end.

Whumper squeezed tighter, watching those beautiful, hateful eyes roll.

“God I love you,” Whumper whispered almost reverently, eyes unable to tear away from Whumpee’s fading gaze. Even as they began going limp beneath Whumper, that anger never left.

Finally, when they felt Whumpee’s heartbeat grow faint, Whumper loosened their hold.

Whumpee lurched forward like a drowning man, mouth opened in a desperate gasp. Their body lurched with the ragged inhale, and Whumper shivered as Whumpee unintentionally pressed their bodies closer together.

Whumpee flopped back to the ground, chest rising and falling desperately. For a moment, Whumper saw a vision of what could be. Whumpee, unravel beneath them, panting and shaking. Not fighting against Whumpee’s touch, weakened into submission.

And then Whumpee’s eyes focused. Their hands, shaking and weak, moved to pull Whumper’s fingers from their throat. Anger still burned in their eyes.

Whumer smiled, something hungry in their gaze. They tightened their grip once more. “I can’t wait to ruin you.”

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 25: Alt - Human Shield ♡

@febuwhump

Content: Blood, guns

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thinking about Whumper, cornered, grabbing Whumpee and using them as cover as they try to retreat. Do Whumper’s assailants stop shooting? Or do they just hope that at least some of the bullets hit the correct target and accept Whumpee as collateral?

Whumper holds Whumpee tight against their chest and at first Whumpee is yelling and struggling, but as more and more gunshots ring out Whumper can feel Whumpee’s body losing its fight. They start to slump against Whumper, their screams turning into broken gasps and whimpers as a puddle of blood grows under the two.

When Whumper finally makes it to safety they whisper, “Thank you. You were very helpful,” into Whumpee’s ear before finally letting them crumble to the ground.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[serickswrites]

Board

Warnings: captivity, restraint, torture, forced to watch, drowning, water torture, waterboarding

Team Leader screamed their frustration as they tugged uselessly on their restraints. They had been trying fruitlessly to break free of the cuffs that kept them standing at the far wall. Whumper had restrained them such that they couldn't sit and that they couldn't turn away from the out of reach center of the room. Turn away from everything they saw. Turn away from Smallest Teammate.

Smallest Teammate was sputtering and gasping from the tilted over chair, their hair just brushing the dirty ground, their face obscured by the filthy towel Whumper had slapped them with. They had initially tolerated the water torture with minimal crying. But all of their hard won strength and courage failed after Whumper had relentlessly continued the torture.

Team Leader had lost track of how long Whumper had been at it with Smallest Teammate. Had lost track of how long they listened to Smallest Teammate choke and gasp around the water being poured on their face. Had lost track of everything because they couldn't break free.

"I think that'll do for now, don't you think?" Whumper said as they let Smallest Teammate's chair drop the last few inches to the floor. Smallest Teammate let out a wordless shriek as they fell. They continued to shriek and sob as Whumper left the room.

"Smallest Teammate," Team Leader called, desperately trying to catch their attention. "Smallest Teammate."

But Smallest Teammate didn't reply. They continued to sob as they lay on the floor.

"You have to help them," Team Leader said hoping that the rest of the team could hear them through the broken communicator. Their headset had long broken, but they hoped that somehow the microphone and ability to transmit hadn't been damaged. Because they needed help. They needed the team to come and help them. They needed the team to come and save Smallest Teammate before Whumper graduated from simulating drowning to actually drowning Smallest Teammate.

"Please," Team Leader begged one more time, "if you can hear me, please come help them. I need you to come help them."

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: day twenty-five

Prompt — waterboarding ( @febuwhump prompts)

PLEASE BE WARNED THAT THIS SNIPPET IS VERY GRAPHIC, VERY TRIGGERING FOR CHOKING, SUFFOCATING AND GENERALLY VERY DARK!

TW: waterboarding (VERY DETAILED) interrogation, team Whump, leader whumpee, interrogator Whumper, nonchalant torturer, traumatic event, suffocating, choking, gagging, vomiting, spewing, dissociation

PLEASE AGAIN READ THE TAGS MIND THE WARNINGS

Henchmen led Whumper down into the basement where they held the Hero team. Whumper followed, hands in the pockets of their black combats, eyes skimming the cold stone walls as they waited for Henchmen to open the door.

“Supervillain said they refuse to talk,” said Henchmen to Whumper, looking back over their shoulder at them and frowning. “Said you’re the best interrogator in the city.”

“Yeah?” Whumper asked, tilting their head, tone bored. “High praise from Supervillain.”

“You don’t look like a good interrogator.”

Whumper let out a small hmph of a laugh which Henchmen went pale at. “I— I mean, it’s just— you’re young. You look younger than me.”

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Whumper with a shrug, half lidded eyes on Henchmen and the door. “I get paid hourly, so if you want Supervillain to pay me more, which I would appreciate—”

Henchmen shook their head and turned their attention back to the lock. “Right sorry.”

Whumper leaned their back against the wall and repressed a sigh. They weren’t a very patient person, which probably came with the job description but how many times had they had this same conversation with other employers.

The lock finally clicked and Whumper pushed off the wall, grabbing the door as they passed Henchmen. They met Henchmen’s eyes, looking up at them with the same blank expression they usually wore.

“Listen, henchmen, it gets pretty bleak when I’m interrogating. You sure you can stomach it?”

Henchmen nodded, though their face expressed their hesitance. “Supervillain said I had to accompany you.”

Whumper blinked, then glanced back at the stairs up to Supervillain’s house before sighing.

“Fine. If you want to impress him so damn much.”

Henchmen blushed, flustered. “I— I—”

Whumper was already walking down the stairs to the Hero team, ignored Henchmen’s embarrassment.

“You coming or what, sycophant?”

“Uh, yes!” Henchmen said and closed the door after them.

Whumper stood at the gate of the powered cell, frowning at the Hero team inside. Their eyes passed over each of them, Whumper knew some of them from the news. Especially the tallest one, Leader. One look at them and Whumper knew they wouldn’t talk if Whumper broke every bone in their body. The rest of them… well, Whumper had more faith in their own talents than the other member’s resilience.

Whumper’s eyes landed on a familiar face sitting furthest from the door, their lips twitching as they met Rogue’s eyes from across the room. Henchmen was getting to work opening the gate when Rogue spoke.

“Whumper?” Rogue asked, their voice a mix of confusion and fear. The rattle of chains as Rogue shifted forwards in the dimly lit cell, squinting.

“Hey, Rogue. Funny meeting like this, huh? How have you been?”

“Good,” said Rogue in that same guarded tone.

“Rogue?” Leader asked. “Who is this?”

“An old friend,” said Rogue, swallowing, their eyes going back to Whumper as Henchmen opened the gate and Whumper stepped through. “We grew up in the same neighbourhood.”

“Mmm,” Whumper hummed fondly. “In the Grouts of the city, eh, Rogue? How’s your mum?”

“She’s good.”

Whumper smiled. “Good, good. Tell her I say hi. She’s a lovely woman.”

“I will.”

“Good to see you, I hope you know this is all just business,” Whumper said gesturing to the cell and themselves with their hand.

“You don’t have to hurt us.”

Whumper’s smile melted from their face, eyebrows raising. “Oh? Your team are all loose lips, huh? You’ll just tell me about Superhero and his secret weapon?”

Rogue went quiet, so did the rest of the cell. A humourless smile crept onto Whumper’s face. “Yeah… I didn’t think this job would be that easy.”

“What do you want?” Leader asked. Whumper flicked their gaze to Leader who was on his knees, hands cuffed to a ring in the wall behind him like the rest of the Hero team. Yikes, what kind of sicko was Supervillain to have metal rings embedded in stone? Whumper supposed it didn’t matter.

“I want to get paid,” said Whumper, stretching their arms above their head. “Ugh, then I want to go home and watch TV. That sound good to you, heroes?”

“I think he meant… like what do you want with them,” said Henchmen quietly to Whumper. Whumper frowned and made a verbal “huh!” in exclamation.

“I just told them,” said Whumper. “Supervillain wants information on Superhero’s secret weapon, I’m here to get that information and get paid.”

Leader curled his lip back into a snarl. “Good luck with that.”

Whumper shrugged. “Thank you, Leader. However I am a professional, I don’t need luck. I’m trained to get stoic people chatty.”

“You really think Supervillain hasn’t tried? Torturing us, depriving us of food and water? Leaving us down here to starve and then when that didn’t work going back to torturing us? We’re built to endure,” said Leader with a mirthless smirk. “We don’t break.”

Whumper nodded. “Okay. We can do this the hard way then.”

Whumper turned to henchmen and asked them to grab a cloth and a hose to attach to the tap. “Oh, and a chair, please, henchmen.”

Henchmen left the room, their footsteps ascending was the only sound permeating the cell. Whumper walked over to the girl sitting directly opposite Leader. The only person on the Hero team that Whumper didn’t recognise. Maybe a new recruit? Leader lurched forward, but Whumper just cocked an eyebrow at Leader.

“What’s your name?” Whumper asked her. “This isn’t the interrogation yet, don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me. Just trying to diffuse the tension.”

Whumper looked at Rogue who kept their eyes trained on Whumper. “How long have ye been down here?”

“A while,” Rogue told them with a huff.

Whumper nodded. “Supervillain really starve all of you?”

“Yeah,” said Rogue, a little sheepishly.

“Nothing you’re not used to,” said Whumper with a little laugh. Rogue joined in, although a bit awkwardly. Whumper’s eyes scanned the other people in the room who looked a bit dazed at the flyaway comment. Then they reclined their head against the wall. “Oh. Sorry. You never told them.”

“It’s okay,” said Rogue with a shrug. “They were bound to find out eventually.”

Whumper nodded again. Then let out a sigh. “You don’t want to tell me Superhero’s plan, do you? Save you all some suffering.”

Rogue laughed. “Not a chance.”

“Well, god loves a trier.”

The door to the basement creaked open and Henchmen came down the stairs and left all the things Whumper asked for at the front of the cell, near the gate. “Ah. Wonderful. Thank you henchmen.”

Whumper stood in front of the team of heroes and cleared their throat while Henchmen attached the hose to the leaky tap.

“Okay. For my first trick, I need a volunteer. Leader?” Whumper asked with a smile. Leader scoffed but nodded. “Sure.”

“Excellent.”

Henchmen freed Leader from the wall, the cuffs staying on and led Leader over to chair that Whumper stood at.

“Sit down,” said Whumper. Leader obliged them, and Whumper grabbed Leader’s arms and brought them up over the back of the chair. It was all very gentle, very professional, as if Whumper wasn’t trying to hurt Leader. It sent warning bells off in Leader’s head, but all he could do was follow along with what Whumper was doing.

Henchmen handed Whumper another pair of handcuffs and Whumper thanked them. Whumper attached one of the cuffs to Leader’s cuff chain, and the other to the chair so Leader couldn’t move his hands away.

“Henchmen will you get the legs?”

“Of course.”

Before long Leader’s ankles were cuffed to the chair as well and Leader couldn’t get up from the seat.

“Alright, people. Last chance.”

“Do you worst.”

Whumper smiled. Then they tipped Leader’s chair back. Leader let out a soft oomph as the chair fell back the rest of the way until Leader was facing the ceiling, Whumper and Henchmen standing above him.

The last thing Leader saw was a towel coming down over his head. Leader would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared of what happened next. None of Supervillain’s men had taken his sight, or tied him to a chair just to force him awkwardly onto the ground. The top of his head was the only thing on the ground, that and his arms that were pinned beneath Leader’s weight on the chair, his legs in the air.

Another towel added to the initial one on top of Leader’s head, then another and Leader could feel his heart in his throat when he heard tape being ripped. The towels were wrapped in a single layer of duct tape over Leader’s eyes and another layer below his chin.

Leader swallowed, his hands balling into fists behind him that was already causing pins and needles in his arms.

There was a moment of silence: the atmosphere balanced on a precarious edge of fear and tension. Whumper nodded at henchmen to turn on the tap and picked up the hose.

“Any takers?” Whumper asked again. They weren’t usually this nice to the people they were torturing, but Rogue was an old friend. “No? Okay. Sorry Leader.”

That was all the warning Leader got before he was inhaling water. It was slow, trickling into his nose and Leader realised with a sickening beat that Whumper was water boarding him.

Leader held his breath on instinct, shaking his head, his arms trapped uselessly behind him. His legs were kicking at the cuffs that kept them locked to the chair.

“Leader?!” One of their team asked, voice shrill. Leader couldn’t tell who, and his lungs were aching with how much he was struggling to get the towels off his face, turning away from the hose that was relentless.

“Leader!”

“Wait! Stop! Stop!”

Whumper stared impassively at all the team members, eyes half-lidded, one hand in their pocket as they regarded them all as if they were all just waiting in line for a coffee.

“You can stop this,” said Whumper matter-of-factly.

One of the members beside Rogue spoke up: “Leader wouldn’t want us to.”

Whumper dropped their head, a sardonic expression crossing their features. “Are you serious? Do you really think Leader is thinking about his ideals right now?”

Leader gasped, unable to hold his breath anymore and he started gagging on the air, gurgling water and retching, his body spasming and limbs pulling at the restraints. Whumper didn’t even blink at the change.

“The instinct when being water boarded,” Whumper began, “is to hold your breath. Which Leader here just learned is a bad idea because eventually your lungs want air.”

“Whumper,” Rogue said in warning, yanking at the chains holding them back.

Whumper’s impassive eyes met Rogue’s. “Leader’s body needs air, except he was inhaling water which triggers his gag reflex and is effectively scorching his throat as we speak.”

“Stop it!” One of the members cried. “Stop narrating your torture!”

Whumper shrugged. “Fine. We can sit in silence if you prefer.”

Whumper did just that. They fell silent and so did everyone else. Leader was choking, convulsing, fighting, gasping, all very wetly, the water pooling around Leader’s head as his body tensed. Leader pushed against the chair, his body going stiff as he tried to tilt the chair back up to stop the easy onslaught of pain.

His brain was screaming at him, his body fighting and not understanding that he should stop trying to breathe but his mind wouldn’t let him stop panicking enough to let him hold his breath.

Leader threw his body weight into his legs forward and to his shock the chair went upright. Then Whumper caught the chair and Leader gasped in sweet sweet air, gasping, gasping, not getting enough air and started choking and spluttering on it.

“You had enough Leader?” Whumper asked, their voice matching their face that was a cold, emotionless thing.

Leader was still breathing in air, trying to get his heartbeat under control, drunk on oxygen.

“Leader?” One of the team asked.

“No… don’t—” Leader rasped, then descended into a coughing fit. “Don’t tell them anything.”

“Oh,” said Whumper, letting the chair fall backwards again. “Sounds like you got a bad cough there Leader. You need some water?”

“No! Wait!” Leader protested.

Whumper let the hose fall over Leader’s face again, and Leader held his breath again like an idiot. Whumper stared down at Leader’s chest, wired so tight, trying not to let drowning bother him.

Whumper looked back at the other members of the team. “This is the easiest way to get answers from people, in my professional opinion. Plus it’s not disgusting, no lasting damage on Leader or you guys, except you know, trauma and psychological damage, but you know what I mean.”

Four horrified expressions looked at Whumper. Whumper glanced back to Henchmen who stood at the tap, their jaw tight.

Whumper knew it was a professional, practical reason why they didn’t really react to inflicting pain on people, but at times like this, when even Supervillain’s right hand was uncomfortable with Whumper’s methods… that made them feel inhuman. Wrong.

Whumper’s eyes found Rogue’s that were burning into them from across the cell. Strangely, they were the only eyes that Whumper really cared about. So funny how the past can creep up on you.

Well, a job is a job at the end of the day, Whumper might as well do one that they’re good at. The people in this room were Heroes because it was their talent. Whumper’s talent was pressure point and pain, and knowing just how far to go to get someone to snap.

Leader gasped below Whumper, bringing their attention back to the writhing worm on a hook below them. “Ah. There we go. The inhale. Human anatomy fucks you everytime, huh, Leader?”

“You’re a sadistic bastard!” One of the team members screamed.

Whumper frowned. “I don’t enjoy this. It’s just a job. Same as you Heroes, and your Superhero. Ask yourself this, if Leader was in your position and you were in his, would he protect you or would he protect Superhero?”

“You’re a bastard!”

Leader wheezed, trying to push himself up again, but Whumper had placed a foot on the chair by Leader’s head. “Ah, ah, ah. Leader. You’re not breathing again until someone starts talking.”

Leader convulsed erratically under the water, trying to lift his head up to try and get some air in his lungs. He craned his neck up, but the air attacked his senses and Leader gasped and fell back again. The hose mercilessly flowed over his nose again.

Whumper looked up suddenly. “Hey, do any of you know if Leader has asthma? Cause if so you need to decide faster, this is not a good thing to do to people who are asthmatic.”

“And it’s a good thing for normal people?” One of them asked and Whumper scoffed.

“Semantics,” they said.

“We have to tell them,” said Rogue quietly.

“What?!”

“We can’t Rogue.”

“Listen,” Rogue said, their voice edging on desperate. “I know Whumper, okay?! They’re not going to stop until they get what they want. They can sit here all day and torture Leader and not feel a thing.”

“Rogue’s right,” said Whumper with a sigh. “I get paid by the hour, so really this whole debate back and forth is good for me. Financially I mean. Take your time. Leader, do you mind if they take their time?”

Leader gurgled and choked and spluttered.

Whumper smiled at the team. “See? He’s fine. Take your time.”

“Oh shut up, Whumper,” said the quiet girl. Whumper looked at her, the new one that sat opposite Leader and wouldn’t offer her name. When she looked at Whumper now her eyes burned with a sizzling hatred.

Whumper smiled at her, recognising that level of hatred as their own. Whumper remembers being where she was, powerless to stop bad things from happening to the people they loved.

It felt full circle, that moment, and it ignited something within Whumper that was a little feral, and broken, and wrong. Whumper’s eyes flashed at her, whose glare was unbroken and burning a hole through Whumper’s head, or it would if it could.

Below them, Leader was still spluttering and choking and gagging and wrenching and writhing but Whumper’s attention was fixed on the new girl now.

“Huh. You’re chatty now? Wanna share your name?”

“No,” she said. “I want you to die.”

“Thats a little forward, considering we’ve just met,” said Whumper, glancing at Rogue, whose wide eyes were fixed squarely on the girl. “They always like this, Rogue? Little rude for a Hero.”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t give a fuck what you think of me.”

Whumper hummed to themselves. They moved the hose away from Leader’s head and smiled wanly at the sounds of Leader gasping and coughing on air again.

“Still with us, Leader?” Whumper asked, not taking their eyes off of the angry girl.

“Go… go ffu—urself,” Leader wheezed between laboured breaths.

“Waterboarding is special, huh, Leader? You need breaks in between or it’s not as effective.”

“You—”

Whumper pressed the hose back to Leader and Leader immediately started coughing. Whumper smiled at the girl whose jaw tightened at Whumper’s blasé style of interrogation.

Whumper took the hose off of Leader again, to more coughing and spluttering.

“How’s the cough, Leader?”

“Ff—” Leader didn’t even get a syllable out before Whumper pressed the hose down on his nose again.

“Leader!” One of the other teammates exclaimed, but Whumper had their gaze trained on the girl. Watching her muscles tightening.

Whumper smirked.

Oh they just found the weak link. Maybe they had a special relationship with Leader.

Whumper told Henchmen to turn the tap off and dropped the hose to the floor. Things just got interesting.

“You can put Leader upright,” said Whumper to Henchmen as they walked to the angry girl. Whumper crouched down in front of her. She glared up at Whumper.

“Whumper,” said Rogue in warning. Whumper smiled down at the girl and said: “Rogue, if you try and dissuade me again I will have Henchmen gag you.”

The girl’s eyes flicked briefly to Leader who was pushed to an upright position. Leader spewed some water from his lungs onto the floor in front of him, head lolling forward and groaning.

“What’s your name, little Hero?” Whumper asked.

“Little Hero,” she replied, eyes hard as she stared at Whumper.

Whumper grinned. “Funny.”

Whumper got to their feet and walked over to Leader, purposefully. They ripped the towels from Leader’s head and grabbed one, coiling it meticulously into a shape resembling coiled rope. Then Whumper shoved it between Leader’s teeth, thankful that the towel was long enough to tie it behind Leader’s head and double knot it.

Leader groaned behind the gag.

“Okay,” said Whumper. “Because you all seem like good guys, I’m giving you a bonus last chance to tell me what I want to know before I really traumatise you all.”

Leader wasn’t even really there behind the eyes anymore, just trying to focus on breathing, on surviving. He wasn’t even pulling at the cuffs anymore.

“How can he answer?!” Rogue demanded hotly. “You just gagged Leader!”

Whumper’s smile seemed to suck all the coldness from the room. “I’m not asking him questions, Rogue. I’m asking all of you. Now then. We go again.”

This time, Whumper left the chair upright and just yanked Leader’s head back. Then Whumper grabbed the hose and grinned at everyone.

He stuck it on Leader’s nose. After a few seconds it was as if Leader was being electrocuted, his body convulsing violently against the chair to the cries of his teammates.

“Stop!”

“Stop it!”

“WHUMPER!” Rogue screamed, all of them struggling and pulling on their restraints. Whumper didn’t react. They didn’t even look at any of them.

“Stop please!” One of them cried wetly, oh yeah. Good. Tears meant they were almost there. On the verge of telling Whumper what they wanted to hear.

Leader’s hands and ankles were bleeding from how hard he was pulling and straining at the cuffs. Whumper had to commend the team, they don’t think they could withstand seeing someone they love and trust being tortured like this.

“THE WEAPON IS A PERSON!” Whumper pulled the hose away immediately, head swivelling to the confessor. Whumper grinned when they saw it was the little Hero. Oh, Whumper knew she would snap first.

Whumper smiled sweetly while Leader coughed and vomited water from his lungs pathetically. Whumper pulled the gag from Leader’s mouth and more water pooled out, Leader’s throat expanding and vomiting water onto the ground. Well, Whumper wouldn’t be a good interrogator if they let their leverage die.

“Who?” Whumper asked softly.

The entire team was shivering, chests heaving, emotion running heavy through them, as if they were all getting water boarded. Hero’s wide eyes were on Leader who had appeared to go unconscious. Whumper didn’t care.

“Who?” They asked again, more firm this time.

“Let him go.”

“Tell me who or I’ll slit his throat right now, Hero.”

Hero pursed her lips at Whumper, eyes burning.

“Oh,” Whumper said, glancing between Hero and Leader. “Oh… you’re not in love with him, are you? No. That wasn’t loving forlorn glances that was… that was guilt, wasn’t it?”

“Whumper please—” Rogue begged but Whumper held up a hand that effectively silenced them. Hero sniffed, eyes glued on Leader in the chair.

Whumper smiled. “Oh Supervillain is gonna laugh when he realises he had Superhero’s secret weapon locked in the basement this whole time.”

“Henchmen, will you be a dear and check Leader’s pulse for me?”

There was a few seconds of silence, the team waiting with bated breath that turned into a collective sigh when Henchmen said: “still alive.”

“Wonderful,” said Whumper. “We need to bring him upstairs with us—”

“No!” Hero yelled, struggling against her own restraints. “Leave him alone! It’s me you want, take me,” she pleaded, tears streaming freely down her face.

“To make sure he’s okay,” said Whumper pointedly. “When waterboarding goes wrong sometimes people get hypothermia, so we have to be careful. But don’t worry, Hero. You’re coming too.”

[needfantasticstories]

Wind, Water, and Four 

(DAY 25: Waterboarding)

Summary:

In Four's era, Wind meets Jago's gang.

Notes:

HUGE thanks to @somerknights and @estelian-01 and @hotcheetohatredwastaken for BETA reading.

Wind wasn’t often afraid of water. He loved the high seas with its open horizon and kaleidoscope of blues and greens. Not much felt so refreshing as a kiss of saltwater spraying on his face during a hard day of sailing.

But right now, he looked at the simple bucket of water beside him with genuine fear. A towel dangled in the hands of a strange man who stood over Wind. He was tall with short facial hair over his lip and chin, and an obnoxious smirk. Judging by the crooked smile, he was probably just as cocky as Warrior, but certainly not as friendly as the Captain. The man’s grang of rouges sitting on crates around the room muttered in excitement.

“It’s a simple question, kid. You tell me where Link left that sword, and we’ll have no issue. But if you want to make it interesting, I don’t mind playing a few games before you talk.” The gang of low-lifes around him laughed. 

Wind glowered and tried not to let it show how he struggled in his restraints, feeling for the knots that pinned his arms to the short end of the wooden bench.  

“No? You want to play the game? Fine. Let’s get started!” The man threw the towel over Wind’s face. Wind quickly drew in a breath and held it. 

Starting from the top of his head and creeping down came the pressure of water saturating the towel. It trickled down over his nose, then too quickly over his mouth and chin, sealing the dense fabric against his skin. There was no way for air to get through it now, except the tiniest waterlogged straw-suck of air if he was lucky enough for the towel to be old and worn. It did not feel worn. He tried not to think too much about it and held still. He could stay calm. His previous record for holding his breath was two minutes, and his shortest escape was 30 seconds, after all. Nevermind the longer ones, but there wasn’t time to dwell on that.

He picked at the knots, first the left hand, as pressure built in his chest. A drip slid from the rag into his nostril, and he tried not to panic. Hold hold hold . He thought and his nimble fingers worked into the coarse rope. 

One almost free! His face felt hot with pressure. His lungs burned. His heart raced. 

A punch to his gut ruined everything.

He gasped, but only sucked fabric and water in, and he choked as water tickled down his airway. He tried to breathe in again, and coughed out, but nothing came back in except more water. His mind felt washed in white. He arched his back as his legs thrashed and his arms jerked but he couldn't get a single breath, only more and more water dripping and sucked in from his desperate attempts. His neck ached from straining his arms and shoulders, his throat hurt, and his face burned. He’d lost track of which way was up and down, mind spinning even in his blindness. 

His thrashing grew weaker and weaker. 

The rag lifted, and he gulped in the precious air, a spray of water sent into his lungs along with it. His chest heaved like a boat in a storm, up and down. He watched it himself, aching and relieved and afraid.  

“Wasn’t that fun?” The man leered down at him. “Want to play again, or will you tell me where he keeps the blade?”

“What blade?!” Wind gasped. Right hand right hand right hand . The dim wood-paneled room looked fuzzy, all the light glittering too brightly from the water still coating his eyelashes. “Which Link? There are tons of people named Link!”

“What? Kid, there’s only one in this town, and everyone knows him. That bratty son of the Captain, he’s such a show-off it’s hard to miss. And you know that, I bet. You’re traveling with him. I bet he’s pissed you off a few times, eh? Why not give him a little taste of his own medicine? We don’t even want him . Just a sword he took from some shrine in the middle of nowhere. we just want to put it back. We’re like those, uh, what do they call them?”

“Archeologists,” a man in a red bandana supplied. 

“That’s it! Archeologists. That’s us, you see? Interested in ancient things. He’s stolen an old thing, and we just want to put it back. So what is it? Keep playing our game, or will you tell us?”

The man was like Warrior in more ways than one. He had this gang under his thumb, and didn’t take disrespect. “You can take that glass bottle over there and shove i–”

Down came the cloth, but Wind timed his last breath well. He’d be able to focus for a few seconds. He worked his fingers just right when a kick to his stomach threw his fragile plan off track, once again. He gasped, and floundered on the wood bench.

They let him get another taste of fresh air for a brief moment. Right hand right hand right hand . He wished he was as ambidextrous as Twilight. He hooked one finger in the knot and pushed in, wiggling and worming to loosen the knot. 

But all too quickly, his limbs flopped as the white fog clouded his mind again. He felt a strange, almost happy weightlessness. Then the rag was gone, and he gagged on a mouthful of water, spitting it out violently. 

A grumble at his side. He coughed and looked up. His captor was glaring, water all over his cheap cravat and grimey vest. 

A woman nearby laughed. “Oh, Jago doesn’t take being disrespected, lad!” 

Wind gave an exhausted smile of his own, and looked to the man's hip for a promising flash of silver, and he found it.  

Wind lunged. One fist closed over the handle of Jago’s knife, the other he fist swung into the man’s belly. Jago’s smirk shattered as he doubled over. 

Wind sliced the ropes at his feet, grateful the blade proved sharp, cutting them free in only a few slices. 

The ragtag criminals shouted and lunged first for their leader, and then for him, but it was too late. He’d already rolled off the bench and under their feet. 

The door was barred, but he hauled up the crossbeam and shoved it back into the crowd closing in behind him. Those in front fell back under its weight, forcing those behind to dodge around the fallen. Wind ducked under a grasping hand and hurled the door open. Narrowly avoiding the tackle of two scraggly criminals, he danced between the thin groups in the evening crowd, heading for the widest and most crowded roads he could find.

They chased him, shrieks and angry shouts bursting behind him, until at last he skidded into the crowded market. Lamps reflected in a beautiful fountain that he had too little time to appreciate. There were covered stalls everywhere. He ran into an alley near one, then turned and slid under the table of a silk merchant. Footsteps followed into the alley, and gruff curses soon followed, but Wind didn’t wait. He crawled under table after table, and at the end he made a run for the inn. 

“Wind!” Four shouted in relief as he ran into the end where the others had been staying. Twilight and Sky whispered prayers of thanks.

“Where are the others?” Wind asked.

“They’re out looking for you! What happened?” Four demanded. “Why are you all wet?”

Wind huffed, and glared at the irritation in Four’s voice, but it was all hitting him now. He blinked the shine of his eyes away and demanded, “Who in the High Seas is Jago?”

The door slammed open a second time, startling the other patrons who had already been staring at them in nosy interest. Warrior stood in the frame, tense as a bowstring, but when he saw Wind he sprung inside and grabbed the sailor by the shoulders. 

“Thank Farore. Time and I found those hooligans in the market. The knights are rounding them up.”

Four asked, far more gently, “Wind, what happened?”

“I’m fine!” He assured them both, though his coughing fit after made the others only look more worried. “It’s a long story. Can we get food first?”

[theshiaxartist]

Still before midnight so it still counts!

Wanna help me make a Jak and Daxter Tarot deck?

You can also vote on a big Jak and Daxter related poll!

[arecaceae175]

Febuwhump Day 25: Presumed Dead (Hyrule)

AO3 link. Warnings: blood, injury, torture, captivity, loss of consciousness, thoughts of death and grief. This one's a bit rough.

Continuation of Day 20: Knife Wound (Sky) for @wildsage00. Happy birthday my friend!!!! I hope you enjoy!!! Or that you feel pain, either way >:)

Part 2/5. Part 1. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

The roars of the monsters were nearly deafening. There were dozens, all growling and screeching and making as much noise as possible.

“Sky? Are you with us?” 

“Yeah… I’m awake.”

“You need to tell us what happened.”

Hyrule struggled against the binds around his wrists and ankles. The ropes were all pulled taut, stretching each appendage to a separate corner of a large stone slab. 

“They ambushed us. They came out of nowhere. It was almost like…”

“What?”

“It was almost like they were waiting for us.”

His head throbbed viciously. Every noise sent a spike of pain through his skull. The light from the torches was blinding, even as little as there was. The side of his face was slick with blood.

“They were smart. They separated us, first thing. Kept pushing him farther and farther away.”

“How did they know to do that?”

“And why?”

It seemed only the strongest monsters were allowed to approach him. They wanted to make it last, Hyrule guessed. They were enjoying themselves. Of the few he injured in the fight, they all bled black. Normal monsters had never been able to get him, but the intelligence of the infected monsters continued to increase.

“There were too many. There were just enough focused on me to keep me away from Hyrule. They overwhelmed him. There’s no way he could have fought them all off himself. If I had been faster, maybe-”

“None of that. There were too many for anyone. Those thoughts won’t help Hyrule.”

A moblin stepped up to the slab, a cleaved sword in its hand. Hyrule tried to squirm away, but the ropes were too tight. The moblin screeched, spit flying wildly from its mouth, then heaved the sword down into Hyrule’s thigh. 

He screamed. 

“They didn’t hurt him, they just knocked him out. Not a single drop of blood, it didn’t make any sense. They had the weaponry, but they only used clubs on him. As soon as they were sure I wouldn’t follow, they took him and left.”

Blood gushed from his thigh. The pain was muted, indistinguishable from the countless other wounds on his body. Hyrule desperately tried to look away, but the ropes around his throat constricted with every movement. He watched the blood trickle down the stone slab, splashing into the basin below the stone. It was slowly filling. 

“I might know where they took him. He told me once, about… We need to hurry.”

“I can lead us to where they took him. We can go from there.”

“You’re barely on your feet.”

“I can’t sit here while he’s in danger. There’s no time to argue.”

The next strike had his vision darkening. Hyrule grasped to the last strings of consciousness as hard as he could, but he felt himself slipping. Images flashed through his weary mind: burning fields as Ganon retook his empire, innocent people being slain in their homes, monsters running wild through towns.

The other heroes, his brothers, finding his body. Legend falling to his knees, too jaded to shed a tear. Wind having to watch another life be taken, a little more of his youthful innocence slipping from his eyes. Wild being forced to grieve yet another friend. Sky, overcome with guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” Hyrule muttered, and his eyes slid shut.

“We’ll find him, Sky. We’ll get him back.”

[keldrakey]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Merlin (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Hunith (Merlin), Will (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin) Additional Tags: Febuwhump 2024, Immortality, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Merlin Dies (Merlin), alot, But keeps coming back, Temporary Character Death, Poor Merlin (Merlin), Merlin Needs a Hug (Merlin), merlin whump, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Broken Bones, Blood and Injury, the curse of immortality Series: Part 23 of Febuwhump 2024, Part 137 of Merlin Summary:

Merlin discovers his immortality at a young age, it gets more curse like the longer hes in Camelot's walls

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Febuwhump 25: The Water Forgets

Fandom: Grishaverse: Six of Crows and Shadow and Bone Summary: Matthias is a trained soldier, but this is a lot to endure for anyone. Warnings: Waterboarding, torture, and threats of death Word Count: 1,203 Ship(s): Matthias Helvar/Nina Zenik

Archive link!

Matthias gasped for breath as the fingers tied into the back of his hair yanked him up. He struggled from side to side, trying to shake the freezing cold droplets of water from his form. It was futile and he knew it, there was no way that he was going to be able to move very far when his hands were bound to the back of a chair. Still, the slippery feeling of droplets of water rushing down his freezing skin was unbearable and he had to get it off of him.

The primal beast that had always remained awake inside of him was roaring for him to escape, but he couldn’t. His legs were bound to the chair the same way that his arms would, keeping his body able to move up and down but not able to stretch away from anything. His bindings were made out of metal, the same kind that he had once used for Grisha, so he was going to be completely unable to wear it down. He was also so very tired, they had been at this for hours at this point.

His mind was deprived of the oxygen that it needed every time that his head was dunked down into the water in front of him. Not only did it awaken the survival instinct that everyone got when their nose and throat filled with water, but it reminded him of the shipwreck where he had first been separated from his brethren. Every time that the water rushed into his ears and swallowed his eyes he could feel the beating of the waves and Nina’s hands clawing at his body. By the time that the full hour passed, he could almost feel the warmth of her magic slithering through his body to warm him.

Matthias was well aware that she wasn’t here, and he was glad for it. If this was something that they were going to do to a man that had once been one of their own, that had been the best of them all, then what had they done to the Grisha? Matthias had never made himself care back when he was an active member of the Druskelle instead of a deserter to his country and people. He had thought that people like his beloved wife and close friends were monsters, abominations against his god and the natural world. He hadn’t cared what had happened to them because they deserved any punishment that could be thought up for their crime of having been born different.

He was ashamed of what he had done before, but he was paying for his sins now. He knew that what he had done was actually wrong. He had put people to death when they had committed no real crime. He had murdered and hurt and robbed. He deserved to be punished, and this was the best irony that Djel could summon for him.

The fingers on the back of his head tightened. He took in another big breath to prepare for the next bout under water. If they kept going then eventually, the Druskelle were going to notice what he was doing. After the first half hour he had learned that if he took a breath before he went under and then released it while he was submerged, it made it appear like he was still struggling. He had yet to perfect the balance between stillness and movement to convince them he was struggling, but he was at least making part of the experience bearable. He supposed that did make it less of a punishment.

That didn’t really matter to him, not when he knew that he had to get back to Nina as soon as he could. He had to make sure that she and their family hadn’t been hurt. He couldn’t bear the thought of it, not even while he was hacking up the water that had flooded into his lungs.

Instead of submerging him back into the bucket of ice and water in front of him, the hand released and he was free to slump back into his chair. Matthias was confused for only a moment, before he saw that the door to the left side of him opened to the man he had once thought of as a father. 

Jarl Brum was a the biggest traitor that Matthias had ever faced in his life. He had the audacity to walk into the torture chamber where Matthias had been kept for days, looking just as he had the day that so many of his brethren had been lost to the waves simply because he wanted to push their boat faster than it should have gone.

“Where are the rest of your crew?” he asked. 

“I would never tell you.”

“Dunk him again,” Jarl said, as if he was doing something as asinine as deciding what he wanted for dinner instead of commanding one of his grunts to waterboard the boy he had raised from nine to seventeen. Matthias didn’t know how he hadn’t seen this before, the flagrant disregard for every other person in the entire world other than him. It was there and clear in front of his face, even as his eyes were once again burning with the tiny pinpricks of water while he tried to shut his lids.

He rose from the water and did the same thing he had every time before. He shook his head, gasping for the air that he was deprived of. This time, instead of fingers digging into his scalp, he felt the moving down the back of his head.

“You know that you are a traitor to your god and people, Matthias. You have no right to get to keep your hair, a symbol of your devotion to Djel. I’d be willing to change my mind if you simply tell me where the rest of these so called Crows are. If you give them all up to me at the same time, I will even let those pesky half breed children of yours live,” Jarl said, pacing around the bucket and Matthias like this was a training session.

“You can kill me before I will tell you anything,” he growled immediately. He didn’t even have to think about it. He would never give up any of the Crows for any amount of money or even his own life. Beyond that, there was no amount of drug, pain, or torture in the entire world that would make him give Jarl Brum the location of his wife and their children.

The man gave a single nod of his head and Matthias felt the knife slash through his long locks. He had worked for so long to get them back to what they were, to worship Djel in the way that he deserved instead of the bastardized way that the Druskelle did. It was gone now, sacrificed for his love the same way that it had been the first time. 

He would mourn it, but it didn’t matter. He had to keep his family safe against everything else. They could mutilate his body and fill his lungs with water but he would never give up his friends and family.

[chrysochroma]

Make a mercy out of me

@febuwhump 2024: Day 25: ALT 5: cpr

@badthingshappenbingo: cpr (card at the end)

Rating: Teen And Up

Words: 200

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Warnings: Drowning, Burns, Crying

This is based on @amethystfairy1's Traveling Thieves AU, particularly the works centered around Tango and Zed. I highly recommend it!!

read on Ao3

Tango was sitting on the driver’s bench next to Zedaph, gripping the wood so hard his knuckles matched the foaming water below him. Below the wood planks barely wide enough to fit their wagon, rushing white peaks of frothing water screamed through the canyon.

Then a crack cut through the noise. Then he was falling. Cool air rushed around him as his hands scrambled for purchase on anything, his mind frozen. Then he plunged into the water.

His skin, his lungs, his entire body screamed as the water invaded his system, drowning it in slippery, burning ice. It was too slick to latch onto, but overwhelmed him nonetheless, replacing every spark of oxygen inside him, until he felt a hand grab his wrist.

Zedaph dragged Tango out of the water and laid him down on the shore, his heart aching at the deep purple burns covering Tango’s skin. He interlocked his hands and positioned them over Tango’s heart, then pushed, with a rhythm much steadier than his own heartbeat, apologizing all the time. With each compression, both of them grew more hurt, until finally, Tango started to cough. Zedaph almost collapsed into Tango, tears flowing freely. “I’m so sorry, Tango.”

[iztarshi]

Febuwhump - assumed dead

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Notes: A raised by Draxum AU. He's a terrible parent, but he does care.

The Barracks is in its usual state of colourful chaos when Draxum enters. His weapons, his glorious creations, are, when off duty, the messiest creatures Draxum has ever had the displeasure of seeing. The floor is scattered with a layer of huge cushions, food wrappers, game pieces, and outlandish human skateboards. He drew the line at action figures — his creations will not exalt humans. The television itself was a mistake.

Despite this the turtles are standing in a perfect line, all wearing their black outfits and horned half-masks, weapons sheathed neatly. There’s been some squabble, though. Raphael’s fear stink is in the air and Michelangelo is shifting from foot to foot, flicking glances at Leonardo.

“Today, we will emerge in Central Park,” Draxum announced. “Michelangelo and Raphael will corale the puny humans for my oozequitos. Donatello and Leonardo will destroy any enforcers of law who approach.”

Leo leans his weight back on one leg, ruining the neat line as he twists sideways. “So, same as usual?” he whines. “Maybe I’d like a change, you know? Do some coralling, round ‘em up like a cowboy.”

Draxum huffs out a sigh and grabs Leonardo’s shoulders, pushing him back into his place in line. “You are my creation and you will fulfil your role as it has been assigned,” he barks.

Leonardo’s eyes meet his from behind the mask, glinting with something hard. “You’re the boss,” he says.

Huginn leans forward from Draxum’s shoulder, getting in the kid’s face, “Yeah, he’s the boss.”

Draxum steps away, the last thing he wants is Leonardo getting into an argument with one of his gargoyles again. That can go in circles for hours.

Draxum opens his portal and says, “Go. Conquer this petty park.”

The turtles go.

The crowd panics. This is usual, humans are panicky creatures, prone to fleeing at the slightest pain. Michelangelo’s chains and Raphael’s huge form are always enough to block them and turn back the tide.

Except this time he hears Michelangelo call, “LEO,” despite the volume without too much alarm, and when he looks there is a thin figure in black and gold, trying to move against the crowd. Draxum waits for him to make a portal, more frustrated that Leonardo has let this happen to himself than worried, and then the figure falls.

Draxum’s vines shoot out, pushing the crowd aside and he sees the turtle sprawled out on his back, leg bending at the wrong angle and head lolling, black clothes soaked with blood. Leonardo is not moving and that, more than anything else, is wrong.

The other turtles panic. Raphael’s projection and Michelangelo’s chains vanish in the same moment, while Donatello throws himself into the crowd in a way that only stirs it up to further madness, people trampling even over Draxum’s vines as they scramble away from Donatello’s drill.

One of the police officers has a gun trained on Michelangelo where he is standing, frozen. Draxum strangles the human with a vine before calling, “Retreat!”

The turtles charge through the portal he opens, Raphael dragging Michelangelo. Draxum stands in front of it, vines whipping the crowd aside once more. There is no body. Have the police officers now standing among the civilians taken it? Where is Draxum’s creation?

With one last roar of frustration he thrashes his vines through the park, heaving up the ground in jagged plates.

Then he turns and walks through the portal.

The mood in Baron Draxum’s castle is strange in the weeks that follow. He thinks his creations must be grieving, but if so they do not do so in front of him. They barely talk to him at all. Perhaps they blame him for the loss of their brother and perhaps they are right. Draxum had been impatient, had put his creations to work before they had even attained their full strength.

Leonardo will never reach his full strength, his full size. Draxum remembers when he was small enough to carry around in a pocket, when Draxum frequently did carry him around in a pocket because he was the best behaved little turtle imaginable as long as he was pressed against Draxum in some way. His sly and difficult Leonardo had been so easy as an infant.

The small shrine Draxum built to comfort the others is rarely visited by them but he finds himself there daily. He places blue flowers, Leonardo’s favourite colour, and remembers Leonardo trying to argue that his mask should be blue. Perhaps Draxum should have allowed it.

The turtles were made as obedient weapons, so why does he regret saying ‘no’ to them more than he regrets giving them leave to search dumpsters for movies and giving them all their gaudy cushions? Why does he regret putting weapons on the battlefield more than letting them enjoy their time away from it?

He rubs his eyes and pulls his mask on to hide his drooping ears.

“The plan has changed,” Baron Draxum announces. “Despite your strength and tenacity I was wrong to place you in battle before you had attained your full growth. We will not be attacking the humans of New York again until you are ready.”

“Isn’t it a little late to stop now?” Donatello asks. “Both the Hidden City police and NYPD are after us. Delaying the plan for a decade on our side won’t make them delay it on theirs.”

“Donnie, not helping,” Michelangelo and Raphael chorus in what they probably think is a whisper. Draxum can see the relief on both their faces and his heart squeezes hard in his chest for reasons he doesn’t understand.

“My decision is final,” he says.

Then he leaves them and returns to Leonardo’s shrine.

The soft footsteps of the smallest turtle approaching are enough for Draxum to gather himself. This shrine was intended to bring comfort to them, he will leave if one of them wishes to use it.

“Um, Draxum,” Michelangelo calls, stopping in the hallway outside. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course.”

Michelangelo is the hardest of his creations to see as a weapon, with his soft eyes and rounded features. Now, though, as he draws himself up and hesitance falls away there’s a flash of predatory intent in his eyes. Draxum braces himself for questions about why he put them on the battlefield so soon only to change his mind so late.

“Why have you never asked me and Raph to kill anyone?” Mikey asks.

Draxum blinks. “You were more useful in a defensive role.”

“Really?” says Michelangelo. “‘Cause Leo has portals. He could put everyone back where you wanted them in an instant.”

There’s a heavy silence. Draxum feels pinned under a gaze that will not accept a lie. Which is ridiculous. The Baron Draxum fears nothing and tells no lies to begin with.

“I made you all as weapons,” he says. “But Raphael and yourself did not seem to have quite the spirit, the hardened nature.”

“I don’t think Leo did either,” Michelangelo says. He swings himself up to sit on the shrine and Draxum clenches his teeth at the disrespect but dares not interrupt. “He hasn’t been the same since we started this. Donnie hasn’t either, but he says he’s fine, says it gives him a chance to really use his abilities. Even though it changed him.” Tears spill down Mikey’s cheeks. “But Leo hasn’t been okay for a long time. Not since you made him do this.”

“Are you telling me that child allowed himself to be trampled to death on purpose?” Draxum draws himself up in horror. His bright flame of a creation, as curious about people as Donatello was about plants and machines, full of ideas and foolishness. Snuffed out without Draxum even realising the fingers closing on the wick were his own.

Michelangelo’s confidence seems to desert him and he squirms before finally blurting, “Leo’s not dead! He said he couldn’t do this anymore and he was leaving. It was all fake, we’ve been meeting up with him. I wanted him to talk to you first, but he didn’t think you’d listen, and then he almost tried and you didn’t.”

Draxum lowers himself to sit on the floor, legs shaky as a newborn lamb’s. “Leonardo is alive?”

Michelangelo nods.

“His leg was broken.” The crumpled figure, the way the leg had bent.

“Raph was furious. He wasn’t meant to take it that far, he was meant to go into his shell for the actual trampling part. He said he needed to make it convincing.”

“And you do not believe that was the true reason?”

Michelangelo shakes his head firmly. “It was spite. He said he didn’t believe you cared about him at all, but I think he must have known you did at least a little. Or he wouldn’t have hurt himself just so you had to see it.”

There was that ruthlessness that Draxum had seen in Leonardo, that had convinced him Leonardo would be a fine warrior, would be untouched by the necessities of war. “I was born a warrior,” Draxum says. “I was fighting at your age. Alongside my parents.”

Michelangelo slides off the shrine and gives Draxum one of those hugs Draxum never manages to respond to correctly. “I’ll take you to Leo if you promise you won’t make him fight again,” he says.

“We’re here,” Michelangelo says. They’re perched on a roof, indistinguishable from any other roof as far as Draxum can see. “He’ll be here soon.”

“This is a pre-arranged meeting?”

“Yeah, he’s on the move a lot so he portals in to meet us. It’s my turn to rend-ez-vous tonight.” Michelangelo is jittery, excited or nervous, feet and hands moving constantly. He grabs and lets go of Draxum’s arm at random intervals until Draxum tries patting his head. Michelangelo lets out a breath and beams up at him.

The bright blue of a portal spills over the neon stained darkness of New York and Leonardo steps out. He’s limping slightly, but his leg isn’t in a cast and he can clearly put weight on it. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a straw hat and no pants. He’s the best thing Draxum has seen in weeks.

Leonardo jolts to a stop as the portal fades and holds his sword in front of him in an attack stance. “You brought him here?” There’s betrayal in his voice. “Now he’ll never let me go!”

“Leonardo,” Draxum says, raising his hands in what is meant to be placation. Possibly it still seems like looming because Leo shrinks back and raises his sword higher. “I have no intention of forcing you against your will.”

“Yeah? Isn’t that what I’m for? Your perfect weapon. Like I ever had anything against humans, or wanted to pop out of nowhere and kill people who didn’t even believe in me like some kind of movie monster.”

“I did not intend to hurt you like this. I believed you had a warrior’s spirit…”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Leonardo spits. Leonardo’s sword is shaking in his hand, at any moment that tension will translate into the flick of a wrist, into a portal. And Draxum cannot find the right words to make him stay.

Michelangelo steps out of the shadows and takes Leo’s arm in both his hands, gently lowering the sword and Leonardo glares at him. “He’s been mourning you.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“He called off the plan until we’ve reached our full growth.”

“Forever,” Draxum chokes. Both turtles turn to look at him, Michelangelo with an encouraging nod and Leonardo with desperate suspicion. “If you do not wish to take part in it I will no longer require that of you.”

“Then what are you even here for?” Leonardo demands. “You want me back to do what? Skateboard? Lounge around reading comics?”

Draxum shrugs. “If that is your will then yes.”

There are many things Draxum has done wrong in raising his creations but he has never lied to them. Leonardo slowly lowers his sword. “Mikey,” he says. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Michelangelo pats Leonardo’s head and then flits over to rub his face into Draxum’s cheek. “Lots of people rethink their priorities after the death of a loved one.”

“Yeah, but…” Leonardo looks into Draxum’s eyes and despite the mask Draxum finds himself completely unable to meet his gaze. He hunches, folds his arms against his chest and looks at the ground. It’s a deeply analytical gaze, measuring and reassessing. “Heh. Guess I’ll come back for a few days, but I’m keeping the sword close.” He takes Draxum’s other arm, grin too wide and obnoxious to make it a friendly gesture. “And you can think about how you’re going to make this up to me. Because you have a lot to make up for.”

It’s in Leonardo’s nature to press an advantage until something snaps and Draxum can already foresee there are going to be a lot of comics and ice cream in the next few weeks. He hopes he isn’t the thing that snaps. It would hurt, to lose Leonardo again. Draxum rubs Leonardo’s head the way he would Michelangelo’s and is startled by the way those calculating eyes go wide and wet.

“Come on,” Draxum says, opening a portal of his own. “For the time being, let us go home.”

“Yeah, come on,” says Michelangelo, taking Leo’s arm. “I have got to show you the shrine.”

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump day 25: Assumed dead

Whumpee stared at the newspaper in numb silence. Whumper stood expectantly over them, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care. Their eyes were locked to the page. 

"Are you going to read it for the class or should I?" Whumper sat cross legged next to the kneeling Whumpee, reaching an arm behind Whumpee's chained arms to rest against their shoulders. They pulled themselves close, heads nearly touching, and newspaper held aloft so both could read it.

“A series of arson attacks have recently swept local neighborhoods, killing dozens and leaving many more homeless,“ Whumper read off, voice chipper. “Oh, and look here, that old flame of yours got an interview…”

Caretaker. Caretaker had spoken to the newspaper about the attacks, about Whumpee’s home being burned down. They spoke about it and—Whumpee didn’t want to acknowledge what their words meant. They couldn’t.

“Look what they’re saying; Whumpee won’t know peace until the culprit is found! So very dramatic,” Whumper turned to face Whumpee, their noses rubbing against Whumpee’s ear.

“You know what this means, right?” They sounded like they were going to break into giggles, like Whumpee's world falling apart was the funniest thing they'd seen all year. "Nobody's coming to save you, cause you're already dead!"

[baubeautyandthegeek]

Missing In Action - Jenny Shepard/Hollis Mann

A/N: Catch up time. Here’s day 25 of Febuwhump.

Jenny knows the second she hears the words ‘missing, assumed dead’ that she has to hope. She has to believe that Hollis is okay. Still everything seems dull. She works, she eats, she sleeps and she keeps everyone away from her. She knows people are worried but she wants exactly one person. Hollis. Her Hollis. Then the letter comes. Hollis is alive, barely. She’s run from work, from life and she wants Jenny to join her. So Jenny does. She packs and she fakes her own death, fleeing into the world, to her Hollis. Later she will hear that she too is assumed dead. They will be assumed dead, until they really die. It’s not what she wanted but she will make it work, she had to make it work so she can stay with the woman she loves.

[serickswrites]

Assumptions

Warnings: presumed dead, unclear character status, potential drowning

“NOOOOO!” Caretaker screamed as they rushed forward. They had to get to Whumpee. 

Arms wrapped around Caretaker, pulling them, holding them tightly. “LET ME GO!” They roared. “WHUMPEE! WHUMPEE!”

“Caretaker, Caretaker, stop,” Teammate Two’s voice was in their ear. A voice filled with sorrow and regret. 

“WHUMPEE NEEDS ME! LET GO!” Caretaker shoved against Teammate Two, but Teammate Two wrapped their arms tighter around Caretaker. 

“Whumpee is gone, Caretaker. Please.” Caretaker could hear the tears in Teammate Two’s voice. But they couldn’t believe it. 

“No. No. No. They can’t. WHUMPEE!” Caretaker shouted over the cliff’s edge. They were so far, but so close. Surely Whumpee was just there. 

When Whumper had shoved Whumpee towards the edge, Caretaker had stopped breathing. When Whumpee fought back, kicking and throwing punches, Caretaker hoped. And when Whumper tackled Whumpee towards the edge of the cliff, giving one final shove as Whumpee pulled Whumper over the cliff side with them, Caretaker’s heart stopped. 

“Caretaker, Caretaker, please. I am going to let you go. But you have to promise to not go after them. Please. I can’t lose you, too.”

Caretaker reluctantly stilled. They had to get to Whumpee. And the only way was if Teammate Two let them go. As soon as Teammate Two released their grip, Caretaker surged forward. Whumpee needed them. “Caretaker, please!” Teammate One’s hand closed around their shoulder. 

“Let me go!” Caretaker shrieked as they windmilled their arm. 

Teammate One caught their fist, pulling them into a tight bear hug. “I want this to not be real, too. I want Whumpee to be ok, too. But you and I both know that nobody could have survived going over that cliff.”

“They...they...they can swim.” Caretaker’s words were slowing down. Despair began to creep in. 

“Even,” Teammate One swallowed audibly, “even if they did manage to not die on impact once they hit the water, Caretaker there’s no way. No way they would have been conscious. Whumpee is gone.”

Gone to a watery grave that Caretaker cannot go to. Caretaker’s knees gave out, Teammate One holding them tighter. “I...I..I was right here. We were right here,” Caretaker sobbed into Teammate One’s chest. 

“I know. I know.”

But it wasn’t enough. None of it was enough. Whumpee was gone and Caretaker had done nothing to stop it. 

[fletcherwilbury]

@febuwhump Day 25: Alt Prompt 10: Last Man Standing

Warning for Canon-typical violence, weapons, physical violence, injury, illness, broken bones, pneumonia

[fanfictasia]

Febuwhump Day 25

Alt. Experimentation

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Chosen Twins

Aniya Skywalker

Well, it sure was considerate of Plagueis to drug us before he started this time. Except not really, because I’m still conscious, even if everything feels a bit distant and hazed over. Mostly, I think that’s because he’s intentionally trying to dampen our Force abilities, and I don’t have a good feeling about why.

All I do know is that I can still feel Anakin, even if I’m too exhausted to try looking across the room to see him right now. And I sense a sudden flare of blinding pain from him. I’m not surprised, either, when he lashes out with the Force despite being… well, that’s why he did it, isn’t it?

I need to clear this from mind, somehow, and fast, before he keeps hurting Anakin. Because he is. I can feel it. I don’t even know what he’s doing. And yes, I know this is just another one of his experiments, but Sidious warned us that it might be… dangerous. He told us that he thought this might go badly, and I…

I have to help my brother. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I can feel the pain aching through my own body, and its steadily growing sharper. And even the Force itself is screaming in protest. That, I think, is what hurts most of all. I’ve always known better than to lash out at Plagueis, but this once, I don’t even care. “What are you doing to him?” I yell. He doesn’t even answer me, of course. He doesn’t see us as people. We’re just his special, little lab rats.