#febuwhumpday17

[cupcakeslushie]

Febuwhump Day 17: Hostage Situation

The first faces Donnie sees in days, when that wretched helmet finally comes off, belong to his brothers. But before the relief can really take hold, he registers the words playing through the speakers…..

“—just too much trouble to come for you. You understand, right Donnie? You got yourself captured. You can get yourself out.”

“I have to say, the quiet has been nice! Much easier to relax without you around.”

“Who knows, maybe you’ll fit in better with the Purple Dragons! They can get more use out of you than we ever could!”

Part 1 || Part 2 || Next

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 17: Hostage Situation ♡

@febuwhump

Content: Kidnapping, blood, bondage, neglectful team, ransom, whumper turned caretaker

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"You might as well just let me go. They're not coming."

Whumper continues shuffling cards, not looking at Whumpee. "You keep saying that. How can you be so sure?"

"Your asking price is too high."

"Please. Don't try to tell me that your little team is broke. I know that's not true."

"They're not broke. But they won't pay all that just for me. They won't even pay half of that. You're wasting your time. And your chains." Whumpee looks down at their own body, at the way they're bound by miles of chains to the point where they can't move an inch. "Seriously, is all this really necessary?"

"I don't know what you're capable of, and I would rather not find out."

"Hm. Fair enough. Would you believe me if I promised that I'm harmless?"

"No."

"Worth a shot."

They go quiet for a while, the only sounds being Whumper's cards shuffling against the table and the steady drip of blood hitting the floor from Whumpee's injuries. An hour passes before Whumper speaks again.

"You really think they won't pay up?"

"Not for me. Maybe if you'd taken Leader..."

Whumper scoffs. "If I was powerful enough to capture Leader I wouldn't need to be taking hostages for cash in the first place."

"Yeah."

Whumpee's voice is getting softer and more slurred by the second. Whumper had noticed the change happening, but that last word was just pitiful. Whumper stands, going over to check on their hostage. They'd gone pale and the puddle of blood under their chair had grown significantly.

"You're not doing too hot, are you?" Whumper asks, squatting in front of Whumpee.

Whumpee shakes their head.

"At this rate you'll bleed out before anyone comes to save you."

"They're not coming," Whumpee says again, their voice still weak.

Whumper realizes with a start that Whumpee is tearing up. Not in the way that they did when Whumper had roughed them up for the camera. That had just been a pain response. This is genuine emotional distress.

"You're upset."

"Of course 'm upset, asshole," Whumpee slurs, the tears falling. "The fuck do you think I am?"

"Good to see you've still got your fire. But there's no reason to be upset. You're going to be fine."

"Fuck off."

"I mean it. Let's go over your options, hm? One: Your team comes for you and pays your ransom and you get to go home. Two: Your team comes for you, kills me, and you get to go home. Three: Your team doesn't come for you, and you get to stay here with me. You're going to survive no matter what."

"You told them you'd kill me if they don't come before tommorow."

"Yes, well, I was hoping to inspire a sense of urgency. Doesn't seem to have worked. I could kill you, I guess, but I'm starting to get the impression that you may be more useful then that. If your friends abandon you here, that may put you in a position where you're willing to give me some information about them. Saves me having to torture someone for it. Besides, one of my employees just kicked it so I'm in the market for new blood."

"You want me to... work for you?"

"Again, I could kill you instead if you're not going to be useful to me. I'm still deciding."

"I'd be a waste of resources. I'm not good for anything." Whumpee starts to shiver, the chains making soft clinking sounds.

"You believe that? Is that why you think they're not coming for you?"

Whumpee nods.

Something inside Whumper cracks just a little as they stare at Whumpee - pale and trembling with silent tears leaving tracks in the blood and dirt on their face.

"Alright. Let's get you stitched up. You're not bleeding out on my watch. I really don't have the energy to dispose of a body tonight."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Next >

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2024 - Day 17 - Hostage Situation

SQH is a capable man too, no need to rescue him, MBJ, see, he got it under control!

[batrogers]

Febuwhump Day 17: Hostage Situation

Traitors kidnapped one of the Links dragged into the War of Eras, but Link has no tolerance for them hurting his friend.

[em-writes-stuff]

hostage situation

day 17 of @febuwhump

villain, whumpee, and whumper

941 words

warnings: drugging, captive whumpee

part two here

~

Villain stares at the clock. Supervillain should be asleep by now. She kicks off the blankets and steps into her shoes while pulling a jacket over her shirt. 

Carefully, she slips out of her room and slinks down the hallway into the office, where Supervillain’s computer sits open. She logs on and plugs a flash drive into the computer. Her leg shakes impatiently and she keeps looking in the hallway like Supervillain would come out of his room any minute and catch her. 

Finally, the computer dings softly and she holds the flash drive in her hand, holding it up to the light of the computer. 

She stuffs it in her pocket and grabs her car keys hanging by the door. 

Quietly, she sneaks down the hallway to the front door and unlocks it, freezing when it clicks louder than she thought it ever had. When there’s no movement from Supervillain’s room, she opens the door and walks to her car. She pulls her phone up and calls the unknown number that had texted her earlier that day. 

“Hello?” the voice on the other end says. 

“I have what you asked for. Where are we meeting?” she says, turning the keys in her car. 

“I’ll text you an address.” 

They hang up before she can respond. She looks at the phone and waits for a text. When it comes through, she puts it in her map and follows the directions there. 

Someone’s silhouette is in the window when she arrives, she takes the keys out of her car and hurries up the driveway. She knocks and the figure shifts. It comes to open the door and Villain is face to face with Whumpee. 

“Whumpee?” she asks. “What are you doing-” 

She cuts herself off, finally seeing the figure behind him. Whumpee’s eyes are wide and his neck has bruises around it. 

He flinches and makes a pained noise, “Do you have it?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it. Here,” she says, digging into her pocket. 

The person behind Whumpee pokes their head out and jerks their head. “Give it to him. Then leave.” 

“No- I’m taking him with me. That was the deal. I get this to you and you let him go.” Villain stammers. 

They laugh, “Honey, you need to re-read that text. I said I wouldn’t kill him. Not that you’d get him back. I think I’ll keep him.” 

All the color drains from Whumpee’s face and he shakes his head, mouthing pleas to Villain. 

“New deal. You let him go and I’ll give you more on Supervillain. More than you could ever ask for. More than anyone else knows.” Villain says, still holding the flash drive out to them. 

Whumpee shakes his head again. He mouths, “Leave. They want you.” 

But Villain isn’t paying attention. 

“I’ll have to think about it. Come inside…show me what you’ve brought me is real, then I’ll decide.” 

Whumpee shakes his head frantically, but stops when his captor hits him on the side of his head. Villain bites the inside of her cheek and nods. 

“Ok, but first I need your name.” 

They roll their eyes. “You can call me Whumper.” Villain blinks in surprise and they laugh. “You were expecting Hero. Or maybe Superhero? I’m not that high ranking. Not yet at least. Come inside, come, come. I’ve got some tea on the stove for us. My computer is slow, so it’ll be a while.” 

Again, Whumpee shakes his head. And again Villain ignores him. She walks inside and Whumper locks the door behind her. They gesture to the hallway and Villain obeys; Whumpee stands next to them, eyes fixed on what they’re doing. They put a finger to their lips and make a shushing sound. 

“Not a sound.” they threaten. 

Before leading Villain into the kitchen, Whumper makes sure that Whumpee’s restraints are tight, then pushes him back onto the couch. They watch him writhe in surprise and fall onto the floor; then meet Villain in the hallway. 

“Where’s Whumpee?” she asks, peering over Whumper’s shoulder. 

“Kitchen’s small.” they say curtly. “This way.” 

They lead her through the hallway, past locked doors and the basement staircase to a small kitchen, barely big enough for the oven and dining table. 

“The flash drive will go in this computer,” They say, turning on a small laptop on the table. “I’ll get it started then pour your cup.” 

Villain leans against the wall and watches them work, typing in a very long password then turning to her. “Do you want sugar?” 

“No.” 

They shrug, “Your loss. I get it fresh from my friend. He smuggles it for me. It’s just…better.” They pour the kettle into two mugs and hand one to the Villain. “Peppermint and eucalyptus. My own blend, it’s supposed to calm the nerves.” 

Villain wrinkles her nose, but takes a sip, then another. “It’s not bad.” 

The computer makes a noise and she sets her mug down on the stove top. Digging the flash drive out of her pocket, she walks over to the table and plugs it in. Whumper hoards the space in front of the computer and makes a show of moving the cursor around on the screen. 

Villain rolls her eyes and goes back to her mug, taking another drink. 

“Ah!” they exclaim. “Finally.” 

Villain’s eyes start to droop and she walks back over to the table, leaning heavily on it to look at the screen. “Ok, you’ve got what you want. And like I said…I’ll get-I’ll get you…more. Let me take…Whumpee- let me take him with me and I’ll come back…” 

She slumps forward, head hitting against the table. 

[librathefangirl]

Febuwhump 2024: Day 17 - Hostage Situation

Bonus:

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2023

Day seventeen: Silent Tears

[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 17 - Hostage Situation

“Don’t make a sound or I can make this a lot quicker for the both of us.” The words were filled with poison. Mumbo did as he was told, keeping his shaking body and still as he could manage. Someone was behind him, holding a blade against his neck and a hand over his eyes. “Good. Now you are going to walk, very slowly. Ok?” Mumbo almost nodded before realizing that would have ended with the knife breaking skin. His assailant seemed to take his silence as a yes and began to push him forward, Mumbo’s knees almost giving out from under him. They walked for what felt like hours, Mumbo passing the time by coming up with various methods to escape this situation, only to scrap them all. Most of his focus was taken up by not tripping anyway. “Stop.” Mumbo froze in place, not because of the command, but because of the words that had come only moments before. 

“Mumbo! Are you alright? What did you do to him? What do you want?” Each syllable filled his pain and rage, with Grian’s pain. It took everything in Mumbo’s power to stay silent, and to hold back the tears pressing at the back of his eyes. The hand fell away, revealing they were standing in a cave, Grian was on the other side, eyes swelling with fury. 

The figure’s voice remained painfully steady and monotone. “You need to come home.” 

Grian took a step forward. “I thought I made it very clear I am never going back to that place.” 

The blade pressed further into Mumbo’s neck, drawing blood. “You might want to reconsider.” 

Mumbo and Grian’s eyes met for just a moment, revealing their shared fear. Grian looked back up, if Mumbo didn't know better he would have said Grian’s flashed purple. “Let him go.” Each word was slow and sharp. 

A small chuckle came from behind Mumbo. “All you have to do is come with me, and no more harm will come to him, or your other friends.” The last word was spit with disgust. Mumbo had no idea what was happening, but he certainly didn't want Mr Stern Voice to take Grian away from him. 

He met Grian’s gaze, and silently mouthed the words Its ok, don’t sacrifice yourself for me. I'm not worth it. 

A single tear slid down Grian’s cheek. “Fine.” Mumbo’s heart sank, he had just told Grian not to! He should have known better than to think Grian would have done anything he told him to. 

The blade fell away and Mumbo was shoved to the ground, coughing and sputtering. He barely got up in time to see Grian’s heartbroken face fade to purple and disappear. 

His best friend was gone, and whether he liked it or not, he could only blame himself. 

[flowersfromwind]

Febuwhump - Day 17

Day 17: Hostage situation

Every time Link looks up at the sky, he expects to see the moon menacingly close, with the same smile that haunts his dreams to this day. And, as if it had become second nature, he picks up the ocarina that Zelda gave him, ready to play that song one more time. However, as soon as the first note is played, Link comes back to his senses, realizing what he's about to do. A shiver runs through his body as he thinks about what would have happened. And he hates it. He hates that feeling. That impulse. It feels like he's being held hostage by his fears.

[kybercrystals94]

The Hostage (Part 1)

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 17 | Prompt 17: Hostage Situation

Rated: T | Words: 899 | Summary: Omega is taken hostage. [Character Focus: Omega, Hunter, Tech, Echo, Wrecker]

“Wait here, Omega,” Hunter says, catching Omega’s shoulder as she starts to follow her brothers through the doorway. Omega opens her mouth to protest, but Hunter shakes his head. “This isn’t up for debate. You’re staying out here.”

Omega pouts, crossing her arms. “This isn’t fair, Hunter!”

“I didn’t say it was, but it is safer this way. You’re on lookout.”

Lookout. Another way of saying left out. But Omega knows that arguing the point won’t change Hunter’s mind. Instead, she marches over to the wall and falls back against it, adding a hefty sigh for good measure.

Hunter gives her an unimpressed look. “You done?” he asks wryly.

Omega looks away and shrugs.

“We’ll be out soon. Don’t leave that spot. Got it?”

Silence.

“Omega.”

“Yes, sir,” Omega bites out.

“Good. Comm if you need us.”

Omega waits until Hunter is safely through the doorway before she rolls her eyes. She’s been with the Batch for months, has been involved in much more dangerous missions, and has even single-handedly gotten her brothers out of scrapes that they got themselves into. And yet, Hunter doesn’t trust that she can handle herself during a simple negotiation. It’s stupid. She’s not a tubie. In fact, she remembers when her brothers were in their tubes, when they were literally helpless.

She is so busy fuming over the absurdity of it all that she doesn’t notice the cloaked man until he is standing only a few meters away.

“You all by yourself, kid?” he asks her, voice low.

Omega scrambles to stand up straight. “No,” she replies, scowling up at the stranger, channeling all the heat over her situation into her tone. “My brothers are here.”

“They inside?”

“What’s it to you?” Omega shoots back.

The man smiles a wretched, rotting smile. He takes a step forward. Omega takes a step back, but she’s already against the wall. She reaches up to grab her bow, but bare, dirty fingers latch around her wrist, yanking her forward with shocking ferocity. She opens her mouth to scream, but another hand claps over the whole bottom half of her face, blocking her mouth and nose. Panicked, Omega realizes she can’t even breathe. She thrashes in her captor’s arms, kicking her legs wildly.

“Hold still,” the stranger growls, an unspoken threat in his inflection; however, Omega knows better than to listen. She struggles with all her strength, the bow on her back giving her some distance from the stranger’s chest, some room to twist and writhe in his grasp.

The hand on her wrist releases, and she uses both her hands to pull at the hand blocking her airways. Black splotches dance across her vision, her lungs scream for air. She tries to dig her teeth into the stranger’s palm; however, his hand is so big, it cups under her chin, holding her jaw shut.

Lack of oxygen weakens her movements. Omega’s eyes dart along the empty alley, searching for help, someone who might see something, might step in. But it is as barren as when they arrived, except for the stranger that suddenly appeared.

Her only hope is that her brothers come out…

The world around her is bled of color, turning a dull gray as her vision fades. Her last thought is that maybe Hunter was right.

Omega can’t handle herself after all.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The negotiation goes almost as poorly as the Batch had anticipated: hands hovering restlessly over holstered blasters, veiled and outright threats, unfair offers of payment followed by more threats. Hunter is glad he made Omega wait outside.

“That could have gone better,” Echo mutters irritably as they make their way up the narrow steps to the door.

“Could have gone much worse,” Tech quips, not even glancing up from the mission parameters that have been sent to his data pad.

“Least we’re getting paid,” Wrecker crows from the back of the group, “I get to tell ‘Mega what happened.”

“Nothing happened, thank the force,” Hunter says, pausing at the top of the steps to let the door slide open. He blinks rapidly against the stark daylight before turning to the spot he left Omega in her agitated mood.

She’s gone.

“Omega?” he calls out, glancing around the alley, sure that her curiosity had enticed her to wander.

Wrecker turns in a circle. “Where’d she go? Omega!”

Tech taps several commands on his data pad. “Her comm’s beacon shows that she’s just around the corner.”

“Of course she is,” Hunter grumbles.

Tech leads the group down the alleyway and into the busier main street, weaving them through the vendor stalls. Hunter’s eyes search for the familiar face of his sister, an uneasy feeling taking root. She isn’t here.

Tech stops at a vendor selling a myriad of electronics. “Her comm says she should be here,” he says, his matter of fact tone stilted by an edge of concern.

“Excuse me,” Echo says to the Rodian behind the booth, “have you seen a girl around here? About this tall? Blond?”

The Rodian eyes the group warily. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Why would there be trouble?” Hunter asks, trying to keep his tone level. “We’re just looking for our sister.”

“He said to give you this,” the Rodian says, “That he’d be in touch. I had nothing to do with it, I swear.” He brings an energy bow and communicator from under the counter.

TBC

***I started this prompt knowing that I would probably have to finish it after Febuwhump! There is a small possibility one of the prompts later in the month will work to continue this fic; however, to be on the safe side, I’ll just say stay tuned for March when I can focus sole attention on the remainder of this fic ^_^’

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

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

[simpforchuchu]

Drop the gun!

Prompts: DAY 17 - hostage situation @febuwhump Characters: Kunikida x reader Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs Summary: Kunikida has to make his hardest decision

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

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

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: mention of guns, blood and hostage situation

Sweat was dripping from the young man's temples, he was faced with the most difficult decision he had to make in his life.

Kunikida was a man who has ideals. He wanted to save the people he could bring into society. But the man in front of him was pushing his limits.

Y/n didn't look afraid. She trusted the man in front of her with all her heart. She knew that even if she died here today, he had done everything for her.

Kunikida's hand holding the gun was shaking. It wasn't that easy to stick to your ideals or do your duty when there was a terrorist holding a gun to your girlfriend's head. He had to make the right decision. He had to aim well. He had to finish today successfully.

“Drop your gun!” The man in front of him shouted again. “Drop or I'll blow her brains out.”

Kunikida did not take his gaze off the terrorist. He looked cool, but he definitely wasn't. He looked into the eyes of the man who took his girlfriend hostage. Then to his girlfriend.

Y/n smiled, as if she wanted to tell him everything was okay.

Kunikida gripped his gun tighter, pulled the trigger, and a loud sound was heard.

Y/n flinched as blood splattered on her face. The weight behind her disappeared and the man fell to the ground.

The young woman was afraid, but she did not want to show her fear before. She knew this would scare her boyfriend too. But now she couldn't stop her eyes from filling with tears.

Kunikida ran and put his arms around the young woman. The mission was successful, but he couldn't remember any successful mission causing him this much pain...

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Trapped

To her credit, Joey isn’t panicking. Yet. There are dried tear tracks on her face, but she’s not screaming or yelling.

Maybe it’s just practical. Nico had sure as hell screamed when that silver trap snapped shut on his leg, and no one came running. Maybe she’s already figured that out.

Joey is never one to waste her energy on a lost cause.

But Nico doesn’t know when to give up. 

He lunges at the vamp beside her, trying to draw attention away from Joey and onto himself. He’s pretty sure she’s been bound to the dual I-beam support pole that’s one of the few parts still standing in this old factory, but if he can give her half a chance to get away, he’ll take it.

All he succeeds in doing is hitting the end of the chain that is apparently welded to one of the floor beams that’s now buried under a dense tangle of rank grass and decaying weeds. Which is also how he missed seeing the trap waiting for him.

That, and he was paying a little too much attention to Joey, and the monster holding a silver-bladed kukri to her throat, to watch where he was stepping.

He can’t pry the trap off his leg. Every surface is coated in silver. Touching it burns his hands. The kind of grip he’d need to pry it off would leave him in so much pain he’d never be strong enough to manage it.

He can feel the trap’s teeth sinking deeper into his leg with every move he makes, but still straining to reach the flat piece of rusting steel he can see beneath another tangle of brownish leaves. If he doesn’t have to touch the trap…

The vamp steps forward, glances down at the exact piece of metal Nico’s fingers are inches from, then catches it with his boot, sending it flying, clattering, to the far end of the crumbling room.

Nico bellows something between a scream and a roar, lunging at the vamp but nowhere near close to touching him. He falls back to the floor, leg burning as the trap’s teeth dig in even further. The more he struggles, the worse it will be.

He’s not sure exactly how this day went so badly wrong, but he does know when it did. 

He’d thought it was taking Joey a long time to finish up on the third floor. But after he’d walked through every room calling for her, he’d found her mop bucket next to smashed glass with a note taped to the mop handle.

An address, and a warning. To come alone or get his mentee back in a coffin for good.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want my fledgling back.” The vamp snarls. “And you made sure I couldn’t take him.”

Nico’s first mentee was a mother of three, Roxie Conover. His second was Javier Avila. The third is Joey.

They’d never been able to determine who Javy Avila’s sire was. 

Well, they know now.

Not that Nico has a name to put with the face.

A face staring down at him while holding a blade to the neck of his mentee.

“You took something of mine,” the vamp hisses. “Now, I’m going to take something of yours.”

“Don’t you touch her. You can do whatever you want to me, just let her go.”

“Oh, no, that just wouldn’t do. I want you to know that you are powerless to stop me. Nothing you can do but watch.” He steps back slightly and swings the blade with a practiced arc, and Joey flinches back from it. “Trapped, just like I was in one of the hunters’ cages, while you took away what was mine.”

It’s starting to make a certain amount of sense. Javy was bitten in Nevada. Nevada is quite literally the wild west of hunting. There’s one official agency operating in Las Vegas, but the rest of the state is more or less patrolled by vigilantes with all sorts of fringe attitudes toward vampires, who are hard to find, harder to shut down in any legal or effective manner. A group who likes holding onto their captures and experimenting with potential cures must have had this guy.

Nico can’t say he’ll be too sorry if this vamp left a trail of destruction in the wake of his escape, but nothing excuses what he’s doing right now. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if both the knife and the trap are some of those vigilantes’ gear that this vamp decided to bring along; they’re not even close to common usage among vamps, but they’re exactly the kind of thing hunters who skirt the edges of legality are known to use. He’s not sure what group it is that favors this combination of weapons, traps, and long term captivity, but Sierra Stoker and her team probably know. 

If he lasts long enough to pass that information along, he imagines they’ll be more than willing to at least find out if this guy left anyone standing.

But at the moment, it’s not his survival he's most concerned about.

“Listen to me. She’s not my fledgling. She’s not mine.”

“But you care about all these like they are. See, that’s the problem. You traitors are ruining the natural order. Sire and fledgling. How it’s meant to be. You step in, on the side of the humans that hunt our kind down like animals, and you separate us from our children. Weaken our bonds. Make it easier for the humans to pick us off, one by one.”

“Then you don’t wanna kill her. She’s one o’ us.”

“Don’t you get it yet? She’s not one of mine.” The vamp snarls. “Which means killing her is doing my fledglings a favor.”

The knife moves away from Joey’s neck, but Nico knows that’s not a good thing. Staking is the preferred method of killing vampires, since it’s far easier to conceal stakes than a knife big enough to do the job right, but decapitation will do the trick as long as you impale the heart after. It’s a more complicated, but flashier method, and enough Sunrisers favored it that Nico knows the basics. Like the fact that to get a quick, clean cut, you need the arc of a wide swing. Trying to cut with the blade close to the body is time consuming and messy.

He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is about to watch Joey die. 

This time, the metal pinning him down is wrapped around his ankle instead of stabbed through his thigh, and this time the terrified face of the person he promised to protect but can’t is Joey, not Vin, but the past and the present are blurring around him, and he can’t quite tell if he’s in a warehouse in New York or a derelict factory in LA. 

All he knows is, he’s going to have another person’s death on his conscience for the rest of his unnatural life.

Then Nico hears a footstep behind him.

“Put down the knife.”

He’s got to be hallucinating from the silver in his blood, because there’s no way Maira Lawson just happened to appear exactly when he needs backup.

The vamp moves in a flash, putting himself behind Joey and holding the knife to her throat, pressed tightly again, so much so that Nico can see and smell a bead of blood welling up and sliding down the blade.

“I think maybe you should put your weapons down.”

“Last chance.” Lawson’s voice is even. She’s a negotiator, a highly skilled diplomat. She knows when to push and when to back off.

Nico has to remind himself that Joey’s life is in the hands of the best possible person for the job.

The knife presses a little deeper, and a drop of blood splashes onto the cracked cement just as the crack of gunfire echoes through the space.

The vamp drops the knife and drops like a stone, howling.

Several figures move at once, feet shuffling while snapping repeated warnings of “don’t step in another one of those traps” with “you watch your own step” as the reply. 

Someone kneels next to him, hands working around the trap’s springs and jaws. He’s dimly aware that it’s Kira Burke, who he’s passingly familiar with from the agency, but he’s paying the most attention to Joey. She’s slumped against whatever cable was holding her to the support beam, almost unmoving as two more of the hunters free her. Someone cuffs the vamp, then drags him away, but it’s hard to see anything right now with the lights the humans need in order to see cutting back and forth across the area, occasionally swinging to hit him directly in the eyes.

He just needs to see that Joey’s okay. 

“I’ve got it. Pull your leg out, now.” Burke’s voice is strained, she’s got the jaws of the trap pried apart but he knows she won’t be able to hold it forever. He yanks his leg free and struggles to stand, shifting weight off his bad leg. He has to get to Joey.

He takes one step before he stumbles.

“She’s alright. Sit down before you fall down,” Lawson orders, stepping in front of him. 

He does, mostly because if he fell, he’d fall on her, and no one would ever let him live that down.

She’s brought the cavalry, looks like. John and Sierra Stoker, and parts of both their teams. Burke from John’s, as well as Barrett from Sierra’s. John’s wrestling the vamp into cooperation, while Sierra and Barrett work on freeing Joey. Actually, it looks like Sierra’s doing most of the work getting her loose, and Barrett is keeping her calm. Of all of them aside from Nico, he’s the one she knows best. 

He hasn’t actually realized Jemison is here as well until he catches a glimpse of the guy climbing down from a crumbling section of wall, slinging a well-worn rifle, without a scope, across his shoulder.

“Don’t you wear glasses?” Nico asks as the kid walks up. Not that he’s not grateful, but the slightest missed shot could have put that bullet through Joey’s skull. 

“For reading. I’m farsighted.” Jemison replies. “I was barking squirrels with my dad since I was old enough to hold the rifle steady.”

Nico doesn’t want to even ask what that means. 

He’s just glad that today, it means Joey is alive.

“Heard you were having a little trouble.” Lawson bends down beside him, inspecting the damage done by the silver-toothed trap with a grimace. “After he tried to get into the Avilas’ house, I got a call from Javy. He said his sire had shown up and tried to make Javy let him in, but thankfully Javy was able to refuse and block him out. We sent a team to his house as soon as we heard. Everyone’s okay, just shaken up. Unfortunately, given Javy’s one of the people who drives his work van home, I guess this vamp saw it in the driveway. The team found one of the windows punched out, and the clipboard with staff schedules that Javy said he always kept in the glove box was gone.” She frowns. “I tried to call you and warn you someone would probably be coming after you, but never could get hold of you.”

Probably because he left his phone behind at the last job in a rush when he realized Joey was missing. 

“H-how’d you find us?”

“Nico. When you were getting your business started, who gave you vans?”

“You guys. You were replacin’ half the motor pool and…” He trails off. “You never pulled the trackers. You sneaky…”

“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say,” Lawson replies. “It was in the agreements you signed when you leased the fleet.”

Damn. He really needs to start paying more attention to fine print.

Although in this case, it probably saved him and Joey. 

The vamp is hauled out past them, snarling and snapping at Nico until John Stoker wrestles him into the back of a holding van that’s just pulled up to what used to be a loading bay door. 

“He won’t be a problem much longer. Once we match his venom to Javy’s kit, he’ll get the stake.”

Honestly, after what this vamp has been through, that might be a mercy. 

Quick footsteps clatter across the open space, and then Joey is collapsing onto the floor beside Nico, a hand finding his and wrapping cold fingers through his own. 

“What’s a vamp doing running around with gear from the Hawthorne Hedge?” Sierra Stoker asks, holding the knife up and tilting it as the light in Lawson’s hand catches the blade, running her fingers over a pair of branching, entangled H’s stamped into the metal near the hilt. 

Knew she’d recognize the handiwork.

“Same with the trap,” Jemison answers, flipping it over and pointing out the stamp on the bottom of the plate. “Maybe he was a vigilante who got turned?”

“From what I could tell,” Nico manages, trying to sit up and wincing when it jars his leg, “he was one of their captives, managed to break himself out. There might not be anything left of that group, depending on how thorough he was.”

“Looks like we’re going to be heading to Nevada to check it out. Again.” Stoker grins. “And it’s gonna be my turn as road trip DJ.”

Jemison and Barrett both groan, but the Stokers just high-five as John returns from the van. 

Sierra’s team move off in a cluster, discussing their next move, and Burke walks up with two small packs of blood in her hand. 

“You’re both injured. No arguments.” She places a pack in each of their hands, then backs off, along with the others, to let the two of them feed in peace.

Nico ignores the blood in favor of putting an arm around Joey’s shoulder. She’s probably in some sort of shock, and while the blood will take care of the physical damage from tonight, there are deeper wounds he’s worried about.

“Hey. You okay?”

“No. I will be, but…not right now.” She’s shaking, the tension bleeding out of her. “You?”

It’s probably not wise to lie to her if she’s been honest with him. “Not really.” He pulls her in against him, running a hand over her hair the way he’s seen her do with Olivia. “I’m sorry.” It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. This vamp took her because of him. Because of what he’s done. “This is my fault.”

“For helping someone else just like me?” Joey’s voice is muffled in his sweatshirt. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He doesn’t have anything to say in response to that. Just sits there and holds her and wishes doing the right thing didn’t have so many consequences.

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter @whump-place @the-lovely-wren

[beth--b]

screaming on the inside

When Steve was five years old he fell off his bike and his hands and knees were grazed and bleeding. He had scared himself when he'd come off, giving a startled yelp, and blood was running down his legs. His palms were stinging and he just wanted someone to hug him and tell him it would be alright. He knew some parents did that. He'd seen it happen before when kids fell over on their way to or from school or on the playground.

Tears burned his eyes as he tried to hold them back, but despite his best efforts a few fat tears escaped and rolled down his red cheeks. 

When he came into the house limping and bleeding his mother had sighed and told him to go clean himself up.

When his father saw his still wet lashes and red blotchy face he had sneered and told Steve that crying was for babies and he'd better cut it out and grow up. Men don't cry. Harrington men did not show weakness. Crying was for women and babies.

Steve had dried his eyes and apologised to his parents for bleeding and crying respectively.

As he sat in the bathroom cleaning out his grazes with antiseptic and applying bandaids to his knees he promised himself he'd be better. He'd make his mom and dad happy. He would be a good boy and he wouldn't cry.

read it on ao3 here

X

At twelve years old Steve had fallen during a basketball game after another player had run into him. He knew something was really wrong, he'd felt and heard a crack as he'd landed, left arm twisted beneath his body.

His father only came to games he deemed as important. Usually the first and last games of the season.

This was the final and Steve's father was watching from the stands. By now Steve knew that if he let on he was hurt that things would not end well for him so he picked himself back up and took the penalty shot. 

Agony shot through his arm, but somehow he made the shot, he honestly didn't know how.

He managed to get through the last few minutes of the game before heading to the bench, cradling his injured arm against his chest. He knew better than to cry, he truly did, but now that he wasn't focused on finishing the game the pain was getting to him. He squeezed his eyes closed trying to stop the tears from escaping.

As the other kids on his team cheered at their win, Steve clutched at his arm and hoped this was an injury that would heal on its own.

Despite Steve's efforts the coach, one of the other boys' parents, noticed something was wrong and came to check. He gently pried Steve's right hand away and looked at the injured arm which had begun to swell.

"Hey buddy that looks pretty painful. Are your folks here? I think you might need a trip to the hospital," the coach said, looking around. When he saw Steve's dad he waved him over, explaining that Steve was hurt and should go get checked out.

Steve made sure to dry his eyes before his father approached him, not allowing any sounds of pain to escape his tightly sealed lips.

Somehow Steve passed the test.

His father simply nodded at him before leading Steve to the car. He was taken to the hospital, given a few quarters for the payphone,  and his family's insurance information and told to call when he was finished.

Steve waited until his father was gone before speaking to one of the nurses in the emergency room. She gave him an ice pack and told him to wait in one of the chairs until the doctor called him. 

Only when he was sure nobody was paying attention did Steve let the tears fall, silent as they burned hotly down his cheeks. 

X

Steve is eighteen years old when he is beaten by Russian soldiers in a secret base beneath the mall he works at. He is well versed in not letting on how much pain he is in. For perhaps the first time in his life he is almost grateful for all the 'lessons' his father taught him. 

Between concern for the kids and Robin, and the many reminders throughout his life about not showing his weaknesses Steve keeps the attention on him.

He doesn't break.

He doesn't cry.

He does eventually pass out.

Then there's the drugs that are given to him and Robin and he's too busy laughing to cry

He maybe lets a few tears slip while he's puking his guts out, but if he did nobody would know.

Hours later when he's home in bed, house empty, he does let a few tears slip silently down his cheeks. He cries for only as long as he can't stop himself, trying to regain control again within moments of letting it slip.

Even if there had been anyone else in the house they never would have known. He had long learnt to stay silent if he could no longer contain his emotions.

x

When Steve is nineteen he goes to the Upside Down. He is choked, bitten and dragged across jagged rocks but he doesn't cry. There's no time.

After they get back to their version of Hawkins, there is too much to do to break down, even if he had wanted to. 

So he kept everything bottled up, just as he'd been oh so graciously taught.

Then they had battled Vecna. 

Max had nearly died.

Eddie had died, at least for a minute or two.

He sat vigil at both of their bedsides, switching rooms every few hours until Max had woken up on day two.

Then he spent his time in Eddie's room, the Party was keeping Max company, but Steve didn't want Eddie to wake up alone.

So he waited.

Finally after three days the newest member of their little group woke up.

Steve managed to keep it together until everyone had visited, until Eddie had spoken with the doctor and been filled in on his injuries and how he was healing.

It wasn't until later that evening, when he was sure Eddie was asleep, that Steve broke.

One moment he was sitting in a chair beside Eddie's bed, watching the older boy breathe and just being grateful that they had all made it out alive, the next he was crying, silent sobs making his whole body shake.

Eddie chose that moment to blink his eyes open, he looked at Steve breaking down without a sound and he knew Steve needed someone to take care of him too.

"Steve," Eddie's voice cut through the silence and Steve tried to wipe away his tears roughly, failing miserably as more fell to replace them even as he scrubbed at his face.

"Stevie come here, please," Eddie called once more.

Reluctantly Steve stood up and moved over towards the bed, finally sitting on the edge of the mattress when Eddie motioned for him to sit.

"Sorry if I woke you," Steve mumbled, sounding shattered both from crying and exhaustion.

"You didn't. You do look like you could use a hug though," Eddie shifted on the pillows and opened his arms, mindful of the many bites littering his body.

Steve was ready to protest, but something in Eddie's gaze made it clear that this was happening. Not wanting to aggravate either of their wounds he allowed Eddie to wrap his arms around him as he carefully returned the embrace.

"It's ok if you need to cry Steve. You've been doing so well taking care of everyone. If you need to let it out I'm here for you."

Such simple words, but as Eddie spoke Steve felt the last pieces of himself shatter. 

When Steve was nineteen he is comforted for the first time as he cries.

He's not sure how long he sobs into the crook of Eddie's neck but the metalhead never stops whispering soothing nonsense into his ear. Eddie never once complains or pulls away. He simply holds Steve and Steve lets himself be held.

Eventually Steve's tears slow from great heaving sobs to muffled sniffles. Eddie keeps holding him as long as he needs though, not pulling away until Steve is ready, hand gently rubbing his his shaking back.

Eddie shuffles over as much as his injured body is able and Steve settles into the space beside him, exhausted enough to not dwell on any of the events of the night too much.

Tomorrow he may need to reconsider just what he feels for Eddie, but for tonight he will just accept the comfort as it's being given and allow himself to rest.

[writersmorgue]

Febuwhump Day 17 - Hostage Situation

Inspired by this prompt

TWs in tags || read on Ao3 || wc: 996

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Katsuki watches in horror as the villain raises the gun to Denki’s temple. 

The man is halfway to death’s door already, having taken a severe beating in the battle that led them here. He can’t survive much more, definitely not a shot to the head. 

“Hold the fuck on,” He curses his voice for wavering, the villain’s eye glinting when he realizes he hit a sore spot, “don’t do any of that shit. What are you attacking the Commission for?”

Katsuki tries to keep his hands steady, pleading no sparks set off and freak out the villain. 

The man chuckles, raising an eyebrow, “So quick to negotiate with me, dearest Ground Zero? I thought you’d be tougher than that. I’m sure this pathetic boy is nothing more than a pebble under your boot.” He nudges the gun harder into Denki’s head, smearing blood from an earlier wound. 

Denki winces, eyes fluttering. Katsuki sneers, shifting his weight, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh,” The villain takes the bait, “I need to know the location of Overhaul’s little doll. Unfortunately, the heroes I asked before weren’t too keen on letting me search for her freely, so I figured I’d go to the source. They probably keep the lab rat in the lab, correct?”

Katsuki’s jaw flexes at the mention of Eri. The young girl was under Aizawa’s care and had been since she was freed, but that was top-secret information, and no one so motivated had come looking. 

“So!” The villain jolts Katsuki out of his thoughts, “Tell me her location and let me go free or the little bitch here gets it!” His finger flexes over the trigger, Katsuki’s blood running cold. 

“If I told you where she is, we would both die. I’m under oath.” Katsuki explains lowly, holding his hands out, “Her caretaker would kill you before you made it within a mile of her.”

The villain’s smile widens, “Ah, but you do know where she is? I see.” 

Shit. Shit . 

Katsuki clenches his fists, shaking his head, “You’ll have to get through dozens of other heroes. The best I can do is let you go.”

For a moment, Katsuki’s heart lets him believe the man considers it. He angles the gun down, grazing it over Denki’s arm. 

He lets his eyes close for just a moment, breathing in to steady himself. 

A bang and a blood-curdling shriek snap him out of his temporary calmness. 

Red eyes snap open, looking first at Denki’s head, but seeing no fresh wounds, he looks down. 

The villain had shot right through the hero’s wrist, leaving his hand mangled and dangling at a horrible angle. 

“The little brat has a rewind quirk, I’ve heard. Seems to be true from how tightly they’ve got her secured.” The gun travels up Denki’s shuddering arm to his shoulder, “Might want to take us to her if you want this one to live, hm?”

Fuck, FUCK. 

Katsuki freezes, totally and completely lost. 

He could attack now, catch him off guard when he thinks Katsuki is cornered. 

But most likely Denki wouldn’t make it. 

No, not an option. 

He could agree, but he, the villain, and most likely Denki as well would be taken out for endangering Eri. 

He doesn’t have any bargaining power here, what else would the villain want that could distract him long enough for Katsuki to grab Denki and go? He only has his bracers on him, boots, comm device, aids, the dumbass American coin Denki found on their last patrol that Katsuki never took out of his pocket-

His eyes dart up to the blond’s mangled wrist, bloody tears carving a path in the dust caked on his face. 

Denki dies or they both die endangering a child. 

Katsuki looks down at his hand, ignoring the taunts from the villain tracing the barrel of the gun up and down Denki’s side. 

He reaches his palm up and places it at the side of his own head. 

The villain snickers, pressing the gun to Denki’s temple again, “You wouldn’t.”

He briefly wonders what his younger self would think of this. Him, threatening to kill himself to protect dunce face of all people? The idiot who almost killed their entire class trying to make toast, the dumbass who fried all of Katsuki’s arm hair off once, the motherfucker who was Katsuki’s second real friend at UA- the one who sat next to him without fear even when he threatened to break his neck.

A hundred of his deaths are worth one of Denki’s. If either of them should survive this, it should be him. 

Katsuki takes a deep breath, “I would rather die than kill someone innocent, especially a child.” He smirks, “You’re not getting shit from me. You pull that trigger and I blow: You’re back to the start.”

He can tell the villain is starting to believe him. 

“But- the media-”

Katsuki quirks an eyebrow, “You really think the media knows shit about me?”

His hand flexes on his head, and he can feel the nitro seeping into his hair. Even if he lives, he’ll be a walking matchstick. 

The villain growls, shaking Denki slightly, “I’m going to kill this fucking brat, and you’re not going to do a fucking thing. You’re just a lowlife hero who cares for no one but himself.”

“Would I still be here if that were true? You took my friend hostage, not me. Fortunately for him, I do give a shit about his dumbass.” 

Denki is thrown to the ground, Katsuki flinches at the movement but doesn’t let his hand move from his head. 

He winces at Denki’s poor wrist, hoping he can get the guy to a healer in time. 

“Take your fuckass twink, I’m fucking out of here.” The villain spins on his heel, sprinting out of Katsuki’s sight. 

He heaves a breath of relief, stepping forward to kneel by the other hero. 

Fuck, I can’t believe I just did that.

[stardustloki]

Acceptable Losses

Captured and held hostage by Ventress, Rex waits for death. The Republic will never agree to her terms, the lives of he and his men have little strategic value. They will be written off as acceptable losses.

What he isn't expecting, is Ahsoka.

Warnings: description of dead bodies near the start!

Read it on ao3 here.

Or below the cut...

“- I do hope we can come to some sort of agreement.”

Rex could hear the smirk in Ventress’s voice even as he kept his head bowed low, staring fixedly at the ground. He observed the moss that clung to the cracks in the flagstones, wondering at the ways life continued, despite everything. It was a pity that his small squad of survivors wouldn’t cling to it like the moss, that they would soon be dead, bacteria and maggots thriving on their corpses. Life would go on - just not theirs.

He wondered if it was normal to get philosophical this close to death.

He’d managed to pull his small reconnaissance squad through the battle, only for them to end up here, hostages of the Separatists. If he tilted his head slightly to the left he could see Fraise’s head, eyes wide, staring… terrified. And, it was only his head, for that was where it had rolled after Ventress had decapitated him, to serve as an example for the rest of them.

Kneeling here, inside an half-destroyed temple, on flagstones cracked from the Separatists' earlier bombing campaign, he wondered if Fraise hadn’t gotten the better end of the stick. For him, it had been over, instantly, in one horrible moment. Rex and the rest of his men would have to wait for their execution.

For neither Generals Skywalker nor Kenobi had picked up Ventress’s holocall. No, that had been Admiral Yularen. And, as much as he knew that Skywalker and Kenobi would have agreed to the prisoner exchange, or pulled out all the stops to rescue him, he knew that the admiral was a military man, and he knew what his answer would be. Yularen would make the right decision.

Wishing that it had been Skywalker or Kenobi was utterly selfish of him, and in his last moments he found himself despising himself for it. Whatever resources it would take to rescue his men, whatever hell the release of the high-profile prisoners Ventress was demanding, it would never be worth his life, nor the lives of his men. It would only lead to the deaths of more civilians or clones.

So now he waited, waited for the judgement that would fall on the heads of he and his men.

He hated the waiting. Wished he’d been granted a quick death in battle, the same one that every clone trooper hoped for.

“We do not accept your terms. We will not bargain with you, Ventress.”

And there were the words. The sensible, logical words of any competent military leader, the words that-

“Wait!”

Jolting, Rex risked a glance up under his eyelids at where Ventress held the holoprojector, wondering if he’d get one last glimpse of the commander before he went, wondering what she was doing there.

He could just see the appearance of the top of her forehead and montrals as the admiral was pushed slightly out of frame, too short to be picked up by the holoprojector.

“We will be negotiating. We will!” Ahsoka's panicked voice crackled through the comm. “Just give us a second to discuss it! Don’t kill them!”

“I won’t wait long,” Ventress warned. “If I even think you’re sending Skywalker or Kenobi here, I’ll execute them all. Slowly. Painfully.”

“They won’t be! I promise!” And if Rex had ever had any hope it sank at these words. “They’re on Coruscant. They couldn’t be here for two days even with the latest hyperdrive!”

“Good,” Ventress said. “Now chop-chop, before I start chopping things off.”

Then the connection cut.

They waited.

And they waited.

And they waited.

Seconds dragging into what felt like hours. He wanted to live, he wished they would last longer. He didn’t want to die like this, he wished it would end now.

Most of all, because the deaths of he and his men were foregone conclusions, he hoped that Ahsoka wouldn’t be watching. Hoped that the admiral would be able to explain the situation to her in a way that would allow her to accept it and, eventually, move on.

After several minutes had passed, Ventress’s comm chimed again.

Yularen didn’t bother with pleasantries. Just informed her that he was there to discuss terms.

Ventress frowned. “If you try anything. I warn you, I have plenty of droids on the lookout for your ships.”

“I’m not sacrificing more men’s lives for ten men you’re unlikely to release even after we’ve come to an agreement.” There was no emotion in his tone. Sensible.

“Nine men,” Ventress told him. There was silence on the other end of the line. “Where’s the brat?”

“Not here. I’m not having her here if we cannot come to an agreement.”

Rex breathed in a sigh of relief. At least she wouldn’t be there to watch.

The negotiations dragged. Never, as they haggled over his worth, had Rex felt so much like an object, a useful playing piece - not even back on Kamino, when they’d been investigating the sudden lightening of his previously dark hair.

What it came down to was how much he deserved to live, when you compared his life’s worth to the death that releasing the imprisoned Separatists could cause. Did he matter, when in the future, his release could result in the loss of ten times as many clones?

No. But he wanted to live. And more than that his chest ached for the lives of the men kneeling on the ground beside him. He knew in his bones that they had a right to live, that they should have another chance at laughing in the mess-hall with the rest of their vode, that they deserved to see more planets, more stars.

But that wasn’t how life worked.

Good people died, people you cared about, in pointless ways. And there was nothing you could do about it except keep going until you died too.

He didn’t understand what had happened to the admiral. Didn’t understand why he was drawing this out. What was the point?

Just let it end.

It was only when Ventress’s lightsabers went flying through the air that he understood.

A small shape dropped from the ceiling as Ventress spun, screaming in rage, only to find Ahsoka’s dual blades igniting, one held to her throat, the other to her stomach.

Her eyes shone with a determined fury, and at once Rex felt his mind igniting with a hope and fear that swirled deep in his stomach. He wanted to believe they were saved, that this last minute rescue would mean that they would all get out of this alive, that they would get the second chance he hadn’t dared hope for. But, Ahsoka was here too now. And, if this went wrong, she would be worth a whole lot more than a bunch of clones. He dreaded what would happen to her then.

“Your shielding has improved,” Ventress drawled. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the fact that my droids have their blasters pointed at your precious clones.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Ahsoka replied coolly. “But if you kill them, the tinnies should know there will be nothing to stop me gutting you. They should ask themselves if they’re willing to report to Count Dooku that their choices led to your death.”

“You’re not going to kill me, you’re a jedi.”

“Oh yeah?” Ahsoka asked, moving her lightsabers closer to ventress’s body, voice angrier than Rex had ever heard before. “You wanna test that?”

She stepped around Ventress, keeping her lightsabers in the same position, but making sure that she now had direct eye contact with the visibly nervous B1 droids surrounding Rex and his men.

“Walk out of here,” Ahsoka Tano grinned, eyes alight in a way that was disconcerting, her sharp canines glinting in the light, and Rex could suddenly see past her her fragile exterior, past her skinny and awkward limbs that she refused to cover with even the most minimal of armour, to the predators her ancestors had been. “Walk out of here, and she might just live.”

Rex watched, open mouthed, as, despite Ventress’s protests, the tinnies did just that.

[such-a-random-rambler]

Febuwhump - Day 17

The click of the safety coming off silences the argument, the atmosphere flicking from tense to dangerous as the stakes are raised. The cold barrel of the gun pushes firmly under John’s chin, jabbing hard enough to bruise and forcing his head around slightly, the smell of the metal and the man’s cheap aftershave sharp in his nose.  

“Now, do as I say and maybe I won’t have to return carrot top here in pieces.” A dirty hand grips the back of his neck so he has no choice but to be manhandled into the back seat of the car.