#febuwhumpday18

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 18: Too Weak to Move ♡

@febuwhump

Content: Intimate whumper, hand feeding, captivity, hair pulling

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"I'm back~" Whumper sings as they enter Whumpee's cell, a tray of simple food in hand. "Time to eat."

Whumpee says nothing, but Whumper pays it no mind.

"Brought you good stuff today, dearest. You were so well behaved yesterday I figured you deserve it. Real fruit and everything."

Still nothing as Whumper sits cross-legged on the floor in front of Whumpee. Whumpee is slumped against a wall, chin tucked to their chest, barely noticable shivers wracking their bruised body.

"What, nothing to say? Giving me the silent treatment?"

Silence from Whumpee save for quiet shuddering breaths.

"Rude."

Whumper moves in close, grabbing Whumpee's hair and yanking their head back. They stare at Whumper with half lidded eyes, a faint whimper escaping their throat, but otherwise they don't move a muscle.

"Oh. Did I play too rough yesterday? Do you need me to feed you?”

Whumpee still says nothing, but Whumper can see the flash of distain in their tired eyes. Oh, they hate that idea. Perfect.

"Don't worry, love, I'll take good care of you. Now open up."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2024 - Day 18 - Too weak to move

Your resident Incognito-God, overworked and underappreciated.

[what-the-whump]

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 18 | Too Weak to Move

Power Rangers Lost Galaxy | 1x14 | Shark Attack

[kybercrystals94]

Shields

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 18 | Alternate Prompt 1: Human Shield

Rated: G | Words: 730 | Summary: An altercation during training leads to dissension in the Batch. [Character Focus: Tech, Crosshair, Wrecker, Hunter]

“Why can’t you keep your mouth shut once in a while?” Crosshair asked, shoving roughly into Tech as they went into their barracks.

Tech staggered a step under the unexpected impact and righted his goggles that went askew. “Had I known that the regs would respond violently to my observation, I can assure you that I would have kept my thoughts to myself.”

“When have they not responded violently to you correcting them?” Wrecker grumbled.

Tech was not quite ready to concede the point, although his face burned with chagrin. “I thought that it was in our best interest to tell them the mistake they were making with the wiring. Otherwise, we might have lost marks.”

“Instead, we lost marks and got disciplinary action for causing a brawl,” Crosshair snapped, tossing his training helmet onto his bed and beginning to strip out of his armor. “Not to mention, Wrecker’s nose now looks like a meiloorun.”

“It does not!” Wrecker cried, covering his nose with both hands.

“I did not ask either of you to fight the regs in my defense,” Tech muttered. “If you had not intervened…”

“You’d probably be in medical,” Crosshair interrupted bitterly.

“I could have handled it,” Tech argued. “At the very least, I would have been the only one facing disciplinary measures, along with any regs that were involved.”

“You hear that, Wrecker? Tech doesn’t need us as his human shields anymore. He can handle the regs all on his own.”

“I am not saying I don’t appreciate your assistance, only your interference in this case escalated the situation far beyond what was necessary.”

“You’ve got a weird way of saying thank you,” Crosshair said, grabbing the med kit and pulling out an instant cooling pack. He activated it before tossing it to Wrecker.

“I had the situation under control.”

“You did not! That reg immediately swung at you, and if Wrecker hadn’t stepped in, you’d be trying to fix your kriffing goggles right now.”

Tech stopped removing his armor and stood up. “I am just as capable—”

“Save the speech, I don’t want to hear it,” Crosshair cut him off.

Tech knew it was not physically possible, but felt as though his blood had begun to boil in his veins. He snatched up his discarded armor and clipped it back into place. He started for the door.

“Where are you going?” Wrecker asked behind the cooling pack pressed against his nose.

“Out,” Tech said, and marched out of the barracks without looking back.

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

It was Hunter that found him, which didn’t surprise Tech in the slightest.

Tech did not look up from the practice droid he was dismantling, even as Hunter sat down next to him at the work table. “Rough day?”

“One I could have easily prevented,” Tech said, “On several accounts, had I been given the opportunity.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.” Tech tossed aside a piece of bad wire, grabbed a spool of new, snipped off a measured portion, and started the process of reattaching it. “Our brothers don’t seem to realize that not every confrontation need end in a physical altercation.”

“If I understood the story, the regs took the first swing,” Hunter countered softly.

Tech shrugged. “Then they would have been at fault. Our trainers would have observed the situation and handled it accordingly.”

Hunter smiled. “So you would’ve taken a punch to get the regs in trouble?”

“The attempt seemed worth it. Wrecker and Crosshair thought otherwise.”

“I doubt they were thinking.”

“True.” Tech grinned in spite of himself.

Hunter said, “But they’re always going to stand up for you or me or each other. They’re not just gonna stand by. It’s what you’d do too, if the situation were reversed.”

Tech frowned. “This is also true.”

“But I think you’re right,” Hunter continued and knocked his shoulder into Tech’s, “We should give this diplomacy thing a try…but maybe without antagonizing the regs into taking a swing, huh?”

“That was not my intention,” Tech sighed.

Hunter chuckled. “I know, but I say we lose the marks next time. Let the trainers tell ‘em what they did wrong.

“I suppose.”

Hunter clapped Tech on the shoulder and stood up. “C’mon, it’s time for late meal. We gotta keep those two hot heads we call brothers in check or they’re gonna end up in solitary for the night.”

END

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[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 18 - Too Weak to Move

“Guys I told you, I’m fi…” Tango didn’t get to finish his sentence before his legs gave out from under him and everything went black. 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been before he began to hear voices again. “Zed go grab some… wait no, come here, he’s awake!” Tango made a low gurgling noise and forced his eyes open, only to be met with a face uncomfortably close to his own. Tango tried to sit up, only to fall back down the moment he moved. “Don’t move, you need to rest.” Impulse pulled a blanket over Tango, one of what appeared to at least fifteen others, one of which was just a large towel and another being one of Zed’s spare lab coats (well, one of Cub’s spare lab coats). 

Undeterred, Tango tried again. “Come on Impy I’m fine I just…” He trailed off when his arms once again gave out from under him. 

“Tango I got a bucket of lava somewhere. I was going to use it earlier but Impulse was a party pooper and made me wait to ask before I dumped it on you.” Zed’s fake annoyance made Tango laugh, each breath more painful than the last. 

Tango grimaced. “No lava necessary, I’m…” 

Impulse cut him off. “Say fine one more time and you volunteer yourself to be Zed’s next guinea pig.” Zed’s eyes lit up at the idea. Tango sighed and held his tongue. 

Zed’s gaze shifted between Tango and the corner of the room from which a soft orange glow was emanating. “So that’s a yes to the lava?” Impulse glared at him playfully. “Ok jeez.” Zed held up his hands. 

“Can someone tell me what happened?” Tango groaned. 

Impulse frowned. “I think you know exactly what happened mister ‘I’m going to spend all my time in the freezing cold for a year.’ What did you think was going to happen?” 

Tango felt sleep pulling at him once again, and fought to stay awake if only to prove a point. Still it wasn’t long before darkness consumed him. 

The next time he awoke, everything hurt. Needles of pain poking and prodding at each and every part of him. A small whine escaped his throat, prompting the return of an overly, as far as Tango was concerned, worried Impulse. “How are you feeling?” 

Tango almost laughed at how obvious the answer was. Instead, he put all of his energy into not screaming at the top of his lungs. His silence only made Impulse's face soften. “Yeah I know, dumb question. Is there anything I can…” 

At that moment Zed burst into the room, dropping the bag he was carrying as soon as he saw Tango, spilling its contents on the floor. The contents in question were another lab coat, a flint and steel, a bowl, some assorted vegetables, and a piece of wool. Impulse brought his palm to his face. “Zed! What did I say about the fire? You’re as bad as Scar with that thing. And I told you no solid food.” He sighed 

Zed didn’t miss a beat. “That’s what the bowl is for.” 

A small laugh escaped Tango, sending another jolt of pain through him. This time, he couldn’t hold back his scream. 

The room stilled and fell silent, both Zed and Impulse froze, staring at Tango. Moments later, both were nearly on top of him. “Where does it hurt?” Impulse’s calming words washed over Tango who could only whimper. The second lab coat was then draped over him. 

“Maybe we should get someone. Cub has some medical training right?” Zed giggled, trying to cover the nervousness that seeped into his voice. 

Impulse stood. “Not a bad idea.” 

Another whine came from Tango, the last thing he wanted was more people here. His attempt at communication was not received. “It’s ok, more help is coming. Please promise me you won’t do this to yourself again. We care about…” Impulse didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before the room lit up, consumed in a blazing inferno. 

Now Tango wasn’t the only one screaming. 

Zed and Impulse were shouting but Tango couldn’t make out the words, already too far drawn into himself. The pain was gone now, replaced by an insatiable guilt. 

He should have known repressing his fire for this long would have ended badly. He should have fought harder. He should have told them to leave the room. 

He should have been a better friend. 

Even if he had told them to leave, they wouldn’t have, they cared too much. 

It was Tango’s fault for making them care about a monster. 

[batrogers]

Febuwhump Day 18: Too Weak To Move

That Broken Promise AU, Four (FSA) has had a seizure and Ordon's (TP) designated tank to carry him.

Four doesn't enjoy needing help, but Ordon's impossible to sway and a masochist.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Day 18: Can’t Stay Awake (Warriors & Fierce Deity)

Ao3 link

Cw for the usual blood and injury

————————

The world is going fuzzy.

Warriors shoves himself up onto his forearms, gritting his teeth against the pain. He can’t even tell where it’s coming from now. It’s everywhere, burning and aching, wrapped like a vice around his body.

He only remains upright for a moment before he collapses once more. Tears and blood and rainwater run down his face to mix with the muddied ground.

This battle was meant to be easy–a quick clean-up of a monster camp, in and out faster than their enemies could react. But there had been more of them than he’d expected, too many, all with black blood and unnatural strength. And then the guardians had come, crawling towards them like gargantuan spiders, and he and Time hadn’t stood a chance.

Time.

Warriors blinks, fighting to keep his eyes open. He has to find him, has to help him before it's too late.

He tries again, slipping and sliding in the mud as he struggles to rise onto his hands and knees. But the movement sends him into a coughing fit that wracks his abused body, and catches the attention of a nearby bokoblin. The monster leaps toward him, bringing its club down across his shoulders, in one, quick movement. And Warriors ends up right back where he started, a cry on his lips, spots of black and gray dancing before his eyes.

The beast hits him again, for good measure, this time eliciting a scream as its weapon connects with an already wounded area, sending shards of nauseating pain up and down the captain’s body. He shudders.

“Sprite–” It comes out as little more than a choked, hoarse whisper. Even if Time is nearby, there’s only a slim chance he would hear it. But he doesn’t have the strength to scream, he doesn’t even have the strength to try and get up again. The bokoblin is waddling away now, he can hear its feet squishing in the soft earth, but the rest of his energy fled with that last attempt.

It’s over. No matter how badly he wants to keep fighting, that is no longer an option.

Warriors drags in a breath and it rattles in his lungs.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. If he had known what awaited them, scouted out beforehand, if he had been more prepared…

He’s always prepared, always diligent, so why did this time have to be different?

The sound of clanking metal fills his ears, and Warriors pries his protesting eyes open. Before him stands a guardian, its swirling blue eye staring down at him. It lifts one of its legs and brings it down, claws digging into his back, and Warriors chokes on another scream. Blood and bile and mud fill his mouth, and he tries to move, tries to break away. But his body remains stubbornly uncooperative, and the guardian holds him fast.

A crimson laser activates, aimed directly at his head, and Warriors stares up at it, feeling almost drunk with pain and exhaustion. The colors are smudged and smeared by rain and tears, oddly vibrant against the backdrop of gray. They’re beautiful, mesmerizing even. The blue almost matches Artemis’ eyes.

Warriors manages to draw another thin gasp. His mind is shutting down now, following the example the rest of him has set.

The claw presses down even harder, but he doesn’t bother to try and pull away. The air grows hot with the energy of the laser. Any moment now, everything will come to a screeching halt.

It doesn’t quite feel right that after so many scrapes with death, this will be the way he goes. Not even in his own Hyrule, lying among the damp grass in a place he doesn’t even know the name ff, his little brother out of sight and out of reach. If he was going to go down, he at least hoped he would save someone in the process. But apparently, that was too much to ask.

He supposes the only thing that really fits is the battle. He always expected to draw his last breaths to the sound of whistling arrows, screaming monsters, and the clang of swords. The whir of the laser is just a stand-in for those.

Distantly, he wonders if there’s war in the afterlife. Desperately, he hopes there isn’t. Maybe, if he’s lucky it’ll look like Lon Lon Ranch–all green fields and blue sky, the laughter of his brothers reaching his ears on the wings of the wind. Maybe, if he’s lucky, one day Artemis will find him there.

The air is so tense and hot now, it’s near to bursting. Warriors’ eyes drift closed.

Any moment…

“Do not let go yet, little one.”

The voice comes to him as though through a dream. There’s a crash and a light so bright he can see it through his eyelids. Then, someone lifts him, gentle yet strong. Pain rockets through him and Warriors groans.

“I apologize,” says the voice again, rumbling like thunder across the heavens. “I forgot how fragile Hylian bodies are. I will try to be gentler.”

And he knows that voice, even in his half-conscious state. It brings with it memories of being held in the arms of a god, as he shivered from the latest nightmare; of firm hands supporting him as he limped away from a battle; of blindingly white eyes boring into his, as he ran through his latest strategy, terrifying and infinitely knowledgeable and somehow almost…fatherly.

Dazedly, Warriors blinks his eyes open. “F-fierce?”

It's merely a croak, yet the deity hears him anyway. His lips lift in a ghost of a smile.

“It has been too long, captain.”

Warriors swallows, drags in another breath. It’s growing harder with each moment.

“Time?”

“Do not trouble yourself. Link is safe.”

The deity brushes a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, then drapes his scarf over his body like a blanket. Shifting to situate Warriors a bit more comfortably in his arms, he begins to walk.

“He knew he could not care for you in his present state, so he tasked me with doing it in his stead. Rest assured, that as soon as I have gotten you to safety, I will release him.”

Warriors nods and lets his eyes slip closed again. Every movement hurts, and yet, even still in Fierce’s arms, he feels warm and secure. Strange, feeling that way about a war god.

“Do not fall asleep, little one,” The deity warns. “With the severity of your injuries, it could prove fatal. Neither Link nor I wish to lose you.”

And Warriors has seen wounded soldiers fall asleep and never awake. He understands the danger well. But he’s consumed by bone-deep, mind-numbing exhaustion. Surely, drifting off couldn’t hurt. He’s survived for this long, hasn’t he?

Fierce is walking faster now. The wind ruffles Warriors’ hair as he strides along, no doubt heading back toward camp.

“Tell me, little one, how is the Princess? Is she well? Have you married yet?”

That question is just shocking enough to break through the haze.

Warriors cracks an eye open, with a small chuckle. “N-no, not…not yet.”

“Ah.” Fierce nods, understandingly. “You are still planning how to propose then? It took Link quite a while to plan his proposal. He wanted it to be perfect.”

The slightest of smiles quirks Warriors’ lips. “Re-really?”

He can see it now–Time planning out every intricate detail with the same attention he always did with his more elaborate pranks.

“Indeed. If I remember correctly, he discussed many of his plans with his horse. He did talk to us a bit, as well, though I don’t believe he truly realized he was doing it.”

Warriors closes his eyes once more, wincing as one of the deity’s long strides jostles his wounds.

“That…sounds like Sp-sprite.”

As a child, the hero had always had a habit of muttering to his masks when he thought no one was looking. The horse though, that’s new…at least to him. Maybe when they get back to camp, he’ll tease him about it.

But right now, he would really rather sleep.

There’s a stretch of silence, where Warriors grows steadily closer to the edge of oblivion. Then, the deity speaks up again.

“Little one, please, we are nearly there. You may rest once you have drunk a potion, not before.”

“But ‘m tired,” he mumbles. “Hurts to st-stay ‘wake.”

A hand brushes his hair from his face again and he leans into the touch. He’s dangerously near unconsciousness now, teetering over the chasm. One, tiny nudge and he’ll be gone.

“I know it hurts, little one. But you must try.”

He’s well past trying, however. The last thing he hears is someone shouting and then he plunges into darkness.

[simpforchuchu]

Back to you | TsuShibaRoki (part4)

Prompts: DAY 18 - too weak to move @febuwhump Characters: Tsuji x Shibaman x Todoroki Fandom: High and Low Summary: deep silence

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

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

Thank you and love you 🥰

Warnings: mention of fights, mention of fights and injuries, mention of violence

part1 part2 part3

Two beds, a chair between the beds. And deep silence.

Todoroki took off his glasses and put them in his pocket. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the time on his watch. It was already late night. His two friends were still sleeping.

Tsuji still hadn't woken up, while Shibaman had gone back to sleep because of the medications.

Todoroki wanted to hit his head against the wall. The voice inside his mind did not remain silent. He had a headache. But he thought he deserved it. It should have hurt him at least a little.

He didn't know how many times he apologized to Shiba. When it came to these two, he didn't care about his pride or what people thought. He loved them. He cared about them. And he wasn't afraid to show them his weakness.

Shiba had said many times that it wasn't his fault. But Todoroki didn't believe it. He saw himself as the only guilty one.

He sighed deeply, stood up and covered Shiba. When he turned to the other bed he closed his eyes to see that the “annoying” one was still asleep.

The doctor said they were both fine. They were just tired and sleeping. But Todoroki couldn't help but worry

He looked at Tsuji's messy hair and gently caressed it.

"I am sorry."

He said it again. Perhaps there wasn't a single moment throughout the day when he didn't feel guilty.

“But I will make them pay. Don't worry, they can't hurt you and go around.”

After covering Tsuji too, he headed for the door. But before he could open the door, a cough was heard. When Todoroki turned around and saw that Tsuji was awake, he excitedly went to his bed.

“Tsuji!”

The boy who had just woken up coughed a little. He slowly opened his eyes again and smiled

“I'm glad you're here.”

Todoroki looked at him in surprise. He looked sincere. He was trying to smile.

Tsuji was too weak to move. His wounds were still hurting and he had no energy. But he wanted to smile for him. He had a friendly smile instead of his usual “annoying” smile

Todoroki shook his head and spoke hesitantly.

“Of course I'll be here. Why shouldn't I be?”

Tsuji's face turned serious. He closed his eyes and opened them again.

“We thought you would be angry with us”

“What?!” Todoroki realized that he was too loud and lowered his voice. “Why should I be angry with you? You're the one who should be angry! Because of me-"

"No." Tsuji countered. “It wasn't because of you. It wasn't your fault. They attacked us because we-“ Tsuji paused. He wasn't sure if he should finish the sentence.

“Because you are my friend.”

Todoroki finished his sentence for him. Because they were his friends. Because they were the only people who loved him and whom he loved...

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

TsuShibaRoki special tag: @sollattes @tiredlittlewriter

[aquietwritingcorner]

Too Weak to move

Title: Too Weak to Move Day: Febuwhump Day 18 Prompt: Too Weak to Move  Fandom:  TMNT 2003 Word Count: 1388  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters: Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael Warning: NA Summary: Stuck in the prehistoric age, with a comet coming at them, with no way to get home, is a big problem. It’s only compounded with the fact that Donatello is still sick and isn’t getting any better. In fact, he may be getting worse. Notes: I feel like this could be a scene in the middle of a bigger fic. Hm…    ff.net || AO3

__________________________

Too Weak to Move

Leo looked up from the fire when he heard Raph come out of the hut. He’d been hoping for a good update about Don, but from the look on Raph’s face, the best he could hope for was status quo. He waited, and after a moment, Raph made his way over to him. Leo didn’t say anything, just kept trying to stoke the fire. Finally, after a moment, he spoke.

“How is he?” Leo asked.

Raph was quiet for a moment, then let out a weary sigh through his nose. “Weak,” he said. “Coherent, mostly, but weak.”

Leo frowned. “How weak?” he asked.

Raph tensed in a way that Leo hadn’t seen before. It was almost fragile in a way. “Too weak to move,” he said, “And I’m not exaggerating.” Raph blew a breath out of his mouth. “He can’t sit up. He can’t roll over. Shell, he can’t even reach for things!” Raph threw his hands in the air and rocketed to his feet, starting to pace. “I gave him some the medicine Renet made, mixed it up with water just like she said, and he couldn’t even drink it on his own! I had to hold him up, keep him steady so I could pour it in his mouth, and he could drink it!”

Raph stalked way a few steps, his hands clenched in fists by his side. “He ain’t getting better,” he said, his voice oddly level, even as Leo could see the beginnings of panic in his breathing. “He ain’t getting better and we can’t help him. He’s gonna—” Raph’s breath hitched. “He’s—”

Leo felt a splash of cold terror at what Raph was saying, but he pushed it down and instead stood up and went to Raph, laying a hand on his shoulder. Raph looked back at him, and Leo could tell that he desperately wanted Leo to tell him that he was wrong. Leo wished that he could, just as desperately.

“We don’t know,” he said. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe when Mikey and Renet get back from looking for that plant, it’ll help. But I do know that we’re going to keep fighting—just like Don is.”

Raph’s breathing hitched. “And if they don’t come back with it?” he asked. “If it don’t help, if Don just keeps getting worse? If—”

Leo’s lips pressed together in a firm line. “Then we’ll do what we have to, and we’ll be there for each other. And the next time we see Lord Simultaneous, we’ll make him fix things.”

For a moment, Raph didn’t say anything, but then he gave a jerky nod to Leo’s words.

Leo squeezed Raph’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take a break. Maybe work on the fire. I’ll take a turn with Don.”

Raph nodded, some of the tension falling from his shoulders. “Yeah… yeah. Thanks Leo.”

Leo just gave Raph’s shoulder another squeeze, and then turned to head into the hut. The hut itself wasn’t much. It was one room with enough space for them all to have a sleeping area, and room for a fire in the middle. The construction was spaced enough that the breeze could come in, but close enough to keep out smaller animals. There were flaps of hide that could be used to cover the walls if they needed to keep rain out, as well as to cover the windows that they had cut, and the hole in the ceiling that let out the smoke from the fire.

At the moment, the hides were down only on the sides that the sun was shining through, blocking the light so that Don could rest more easily. The rest were up, allowing a breeze to come though. There was no fire, so that wasn’t a concern at the moment, and with the shade, the small hut was relatively comfortable.

Don was lying in his spot, a thin blanket woven from a fairly soft and pliable plant they’d found over him, his head resting on the actual pillow they’d made from the few supplies they had ended up coming here with. A hollowed-out shell from a coconut-like plant was beside his pallet, no doubt holding the medicine for him. A container of water and a seashell to drink it out of sat nearby.

Don himself didn’t look good. He was pale, and his breathing was a lot louder than Leo was comfortable with. He shivered every so often, laying limply where he was. He looked miserable, and Leo frowned, unsettled.

He approached Don on quiet feet and settled in beside him. After a few minutes, Don’s eyes opened.

“Don?” Leo asked.

“Leo?” Don said, and Leo had catch himself at how weak Don’s voice sounded.

Instead, Leo leaned over Don, rubbing a hand on his brother’s head. “Yeah. I gave Raph a break. How are you feeling?”

“Awful,” Don said. “I ache and everything hurts.”

Leo frowned. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

Leo could see Don try to shake his head, but it only moved the smallest amount. “No,” Don said instead. “Except—can you help me drink some water? I can’t do it myself.”

Oh, that struck Leo hard, but he kept it under wraps and nodded. “Of course,” he said.

He poured some of the water in the shell, and then sat it down, easing himself behind Don to help him sit up. Raph was right. Don was too weak to help. Leo could tell that his brother was trying to try to help, but he couldn’t even do that much. He was limp against Leo, and that was terrifying.

Still, that didn’t stop Leo from helping his brother, and soon he had Don sitting up and was lifting the shell to his lips.

“Here you go, little brother. Drink up. Let me know when you’ve had enough.”

Don let out a hum of acknowledgement, but focused, instead, on drinking the water. He drank three or four shell-fulls before he said he had enough, and Leo put the shell down and eased Don back into his pallet.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“I’d rather be laying on my side,” Don confessed.

Leo nodded. “Let me help you with that.”

He helped Don get arranged, but he couldn’t help his growing concern. Don shouldn’t be this weak. Not from a cold or whatever it was. He hadn’t been this weak before. So, what had changed? Was it being in this time? Had he gotten bitten or eaten something that affected him? Had his illness just gotten this bad because they relied on him this much?

“Don’t.”

Leo blinked and looked down at Don. “What?”

“Don’t blame yourself.” He was looking Leo directly in the eyes. “I can see it. Don’t blame yourself. If I’m this bad off, then I probably would have been sick anyway. If you had tried to make me sit out, I’d have just gotten sneakier about helping. And if we were back home, I’d probably be better because of modern medicine, but still sick. You can’t control any of that.”

Leo froze for a moment and then he relaxed a little, reaching out and putting a hand on the rim of Don’s shell, rubbing it.

“Can’t help it,” he said, smiling a little. “It’s oldest brother law. I have to worry about my younger brothers and blame myself when they’re hurt,” he teased.

Don sighed, but he gave him a bit of a smile back and closed his eyes. Leo kept up the rubs, knowing that Don had always enjoyed having his shell rubbed. Don’s breathing eased up a bit and evened out, but even with his brother sleeping, Leo didn’t move from his side.

Hopefully Renet and Mikey would get back soon. And hopefully whatever it was that Renet was after, it would help Don. Surprisingly, she hadn’t been wrong yet about the plants that were around and their uses. But if they didn’t, or if Don did die here, well, Leo hadn’t said what he said to Raph just to reassure him. No, if Don died here, Leo would go find Lord Simultaneous, no matter how long it took or how hard it was and make him give them back Don.

Leo swore it.

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 18: Too weak to move

CW: fainting

Continues Day 11

AO3

---

Time revived slowly as rain hammered down on his limp body, running across his face and into his half-open mouth. He licked at it listlessly, letting it wet his dry lips and tongue as he slowly swallowed what made it as far as his throat. Gradually, he remembered what had happened to leave him lying here alone in the rain. With a groan, he pushed himself back to his hands and knees. His stomach cramped with hunger. His head spun with exhaustion. But he had to get back to camp. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious.

He took a deep breath and sighed, his head hanging. He had never worked out what about his own physical state would be carried through time loops apart from wounds, which - luckily for him - would be healed if he went back to a time before he'd been wounded.

This time, hunger and thirst and exhaustion had built up, even if the situation wasn't as bad as it should have been after four days.

He sat back on his heels and tilted his head back, letting more rain run into his mouth.

He needed to get back to camp. He needed to rejoin the others and check whether this gambit really had worked. He needed to get out of here before that mage returned and found him.

With that thought, he drove himself to his feet and stumbled a couple of steps to lean on a tree. His legs felt like water. He had debts to pay now that the immediate threat was dealt with. He'd felt this before in the aftermath of a battle that had taken too much from him.

But he couldn't rest. He had a little under two hours to get back to camp before Twilight and Warriors would almost certainly set out to search for him. He didn't want to lead them back here.

With a deep breath, he pushed aside his body's need for rest and began to walk.

His legs were shaking even as he took the first few steps. He tried to ignore the weakness, his eyes on the horizon in the direction of the camp.

Three minutes passed. He kept walking, though it felt like he wasn't covering any distance at all.

Another three minutes. His vision was blurring.

Another three minutes and his legs finally gave out, sending him to his hands and knees. He gasped, his head hanging. He had to get up. It was a long way back to camp.

Instead, his elbows slowly buckled and he folded to lie on his side in the mud, the rain washing over him, panting for breath. Four days. Four days without food or rest. Four days of being mortally wounded over and over and over again. How much blood did he still lack? Was there an injury still lingering?

He didn't know. All he knew was that he didn't have the strength to get up again.

His eyes slid shut.

He was going to have to hope his boys found him soon.

---

Continued on Day 26

[such-a-random-rambler]

Febuwhump - Day 18

With an effort greater than it takes to move mountains, John turns his head to the side, letting his eyes drift unfocused. He squints a little which does nothing to improve his vision: the dark haired blob in the chair next to the bed still just as unidentifiably blobby. There's lead in John's bones, weighing him down, and a dangerous lethargy pinning him.  

With a breath barely more than a sigh he gasps a name, fingers twitching lightly against the blankets the most he can do to reach out. The figure sleeps on, John’s whisper not up to the task. 

[workingdownthewordmine]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 2 Shadows in the House

Bucky is haunted by an unwanted presence all too close to home.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 1 | Chapter3

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes Rating: T CW: Threat, injury, paranoia, hearing voices, flashbacks, choking Prompts filled: Fandom Free Bingo (Frosty Edition) card 1: Helping the injured @fandom-free-bingo Febuwhump 2024: Day 18 - Too weak to move @febuwhump Multifandom-Flash (Round 2): Through the eyes of madness @multifandom-flash Multifandom-Flash (Discrimination): Dehumanizing insult Whumpuary 2024: Day 2 - "Get away from me"/collapse/choking @whumpuary

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

“Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?” 

Plato 

The temporary soothing effect of the whimsical gift and its accompanying note wore off as soon as night fell. There was work to do before he could turn in. He travelled every floor, setting his alarms, dragging armfuls of lumber with him to plug up as many points of entry as he could. If someone was going to get in here, he wanted to know exactly what route they’d have to take. No one was going to sneaking up on him down some eccentric crawlspace left behind by decades of half-funded renovations. Every pinch he squirmed through seemed to reveal another crack in the building’s shell until he was choking on dust and the ache in his shoulder and side was making his entire torso throb. How could a building so full of holes still be standing? Even when his lumber supply dried up and he was forced to return to the apartment, he couldn’t stop circling from one window to the next, scanning the streets outside. What had been caution wound about him tighter and tighter until he moved through his home like a deadly sharp coiled spring, poised to taste blood. Eventually he did force himself to lie down, but it didn’t do him much good. The spring would not unwind. 

Bucky slept about as well as he predicted – a little worse than an insomniac who’d been trying to treat their chicken pox with cocaine. He lay with his back pressed to the wall, trying to shield himself against the phantom fingers waiting to close around his throat. 

The voice that crept from his lips was barely a breath in the dark. “I won’t go back.” He dipped his chin in the tiniest nod. “I won’t go back. I won’t go back.” 

He shunned his sleeping bag. He needed to sleep lightly, not lulled by softness. He felt every splinter in the floorboards. Every change of light through the window above him or soft creak from the aging building had his hand tightening on his sidearm, jerking his shoulder until each movement meant a wince and an effort to stay silent. Even without his almost hourly patrols of the building, gun in hand, the night was more exhausting than the day. 

Daylight came as a relief, for as much as fifteen minutes. He lit the stove and poured hot water onto half a cup of coffee granules. Nothing less had a hope of making it through to his central nervous system before his body neutralised it. By the same token, he downed a handful of pills with the first scalding swallow. In defiance of Hollywood’s beliefs, pain wouldn’t sharpen his reflexes, just hinder his control. And he needed to be in control of himself. The painkillers hadn’t even kicked in before his short-lived respite was over.  

It was no more than a car backfiring. He was certain of that. He was no raw recruit filling his shorts with shit at the snap of a twig. So, why was it a full ten minutes before he could thaw from his crouch at the window and stop examining every inch of Legion Street through his scope? Why was every nerve ending already blazing when the alarm sang out overhead? 

Fuck. Fuck. He’d fucked up. All the traps he had laid, all the potential openings he’d boarded up… useless. Someone was up there right over his goddamn head. Useless. Fucking useless. He strapped a knife to his thigh opposite his gun, hesitated, and added another to his shin. The he removed the board from the wall cavity in the hall closet as quietly as possible. 

He’d walked into this situation and no one was going to save him if he didn’t get his shit together and do it himself.  

Even if they could, why would they bother? They’d probably be relieved to have the embarrassing fuck-up taken care of…  

The reptilian voice crawled through the back of his mind as he eased through the gap and into the dark, dusty recess. They wouldn’t come, not even if he called, not when he’d pushed them all away. 

He pulled himself around a beam, metal fingers biting deep into the wood, struggling to breathe in the suffocating gloom. And he couldn’t call. Because his phone was back in his apartment, now fifteen feet below him. Because he knew, didn’t he? He knew and had always known that the best, kindest – hell, the only- thing he could do for anyone he cared about was to stay away from them. Stay entirely out of contact. 

Higher. No beams here. Back and feet braced against either wall. Level with the third floor ceiling with the alarm still wailing above him. Idiot. The noise would tell whoever was up there that they’d been detected. There went any element of surprise and any chance he’d had of tracking their movement until he had eyes on them or that fucking noise stopped. Fucking stupid of him. The shrieking alarm reverberated around his skull. The only thing worse than a monster was an incompetent monster. He moved slower. He pushed through prickling sheets of insulation. The air in his chest burned and his head spun. The shrieking alarm mingled with the mocking sneer inside his head. What good was this half-assed fucking around inside a fucking wall? Without his leash, he was no better than a stray dog loose in the traffic, waiting for a speeding car to end his miserable existence. 

Head already spinning, he didn’t realise he was falling until he smashed through a beam and twisted, raking down the rough wall, the light from his own apartment flashing past him and receding, disappearing into the darkness along with everything else. Ice cold air tearing past him. Agony searing through his arm, rock and snow racing up to meet him… Worthless piece of shit… 

He woke and fought not to scream. The debris around him gouged his flailing body as he wrenched free. He rolled, dropped again, then he was kneeling, shaking, on the mouldy piss-stinking basement floor. He groped at the cracked edges of tile around him, grasping in desperation. Cold, dark, pain… he could feel  the restraints around his limbs dragging him down. The scream ripped free. He kicked furiously, scrabbling for purchase in the dirt, throwing himself towards the doorway and the dim light filtering down the stairwell. His shoulder slammed into the doorframe. He felt the wall tremble as though the whole building was ready to fall.  

Do it… bury me down here. In the pit. Where I belong. 

Merciful darkness swallowed him. 

They took a little longer to reach the basement. They followed the sounds. His fall. His scream. The ringing impact of Vibranium on concrete. Then they hesitated at the head of the last flight of stairs. If he was still conscious, what sort of condition would he be in? To them it seemed most likely they’d find him catatonic or maybe crazed with distress, like a wounded, cornered animal… They’d heard those sounds before. No one who made sounds like that was going to be in a state to roll out a welcome mat. Softly, they descended. 

He woke in a rush of panic, his eyes and lungs burning, unable to recognise his surroundings. There were straps on his arms. His legs. His chest. No. No. No! He forced himself upright, wrenching his left arm across to tear at the fabric binding his right, heedless of the pain in his shoulder. Fresh blood welled under his digging fingertips. He had already shredded the fabric before he realised it wasn’t secured to anything. There was still an intact sea knot amongst the pieces he had stripped away. The cloth was tacky with blood. Not restraints – bandages. Someone had bandaged him while he was unconscious. He heard his own harsh breath filling the room, bruising the silence, as he scanned frantically.  

Newspapered walls. Light blotted out by heavy boards across the windows. The floor stained and pitted but fairly clear of garbage… because he had shovelled it all out into the alley during his first week here. He remembered deciding he’d get his own place fixed up first but that he wouldn’t leave all that gross shit and trash to stink everything up and rot the wood even further. It had taken him a day or two to haul everything out. Him. He was in one of the downstairs apartments. Alive. Unrestrained. No more harmed than he’d been after…  

The fall. That fucking voice. He whipped around, ignoring the flares of pain all over him, expecting to find a familiar silhouette looming over him. Expecting rusted metal to choke him at any moment. But he was alone. The only presence he could detect was his own. Still, he didn’t trust it yet. He hadn’t forgotten the story Steve had related – waking up in a room Fury’s people had designed. Who was to say the same wasn’t happening to Bucky right now? Maybe they’d decided they weren’t comfortable with having him on the loose after all. Maybe Hydra had copied the trick. He wouldn’t put it past them. But why now, when they’d never troubled themselves to make him feel at home before? 

It was only as he got stiffly to his feet that he noticed he had not been lying on bare floor as he’d assumed. Where his head had rested there was a bundle of cloth. He pulled it towards him and it unrolled into a stained black hoodie, heavy with the mingled smells of blood and sweat. And someone had rolled it up into a pillow for him. He dropped it beside his feet and paused to examine his bandages more closely. They didn’t look like they’d been very neat even before his violent clawing but those that had survived his panic were still fairly secure, tied off like the one he’d destroyed, not pinned or taped. The worst of his wounds – a deep gash in his right thigh – had an extra strip of fabric tied over the top of the crepe bandages. Improvised bandages had changed somewhat since France; the addition wasn’t scavenged linen. He plucked at the thin stretchy cotton and recognised part of an old t-shirt. He grunted with amusement, in spite of the weird situation, when his probing fingers found a green paw mark printed on the black fabric. That, more than anything else, struck him as an unlikely ploy for any of his enemies. He thought of the plant in its bright pot and the friendly note that had accompanied it. 

He tested his arm and legs. Bruised, bleeding in a few places, but nothing broken. His bones didn’t break readily. He took a deep breath and doubled over choking. His throat was raw. His cheeks grew hot at the memory of his terrified screaming. It was probably too much to hope that no one had heard. 

What an embarrassment you are. So much training wasted… 

He had to get out of here. 

The stairs were a difficult climb. His lungs were full of fire. The absence of the tripwires on his floor registered mostly in relief that he wouldn’t have to negotiate them with watering eyes and stumbling feet. He stepped carefully round the stakes he had embedded beneath false patches of linoleum in his entryway, holding the wall for balance. He squinted painfully out of the window, trying to gauge how long he had been incapacitated. Looked like afternoon. Hours, then. Guilt and shame twisted in his gut.  

He stared through streaming eyes between the doorways of the hall closet and his bedroom. He wasn’t exactly going to be safe with that big fucking hole into the wall  sitting there open and visible, but how safe was he anyway? He’d completely failed to make this place any kind of fortress. The alarm was no longer screaming. Had the battery died? Had someone turned it off? He swayed as he turned his gaze to his sleeping bag. God, he needed rest. How long had it been since he had screamed so much that it hurt to breathe? He ran his hands over his torso, searching, but the pain wasn’t right for broken ribs and he found no evidence of them. Gravity pulled at him. He leaned on the door jamb, willing the smooth surface to cool his prickling forehead. Was it possible to come down with the flu in the space of a couple of hours? Could he even still catch the flu? That was enough thought to set his head spinning. His fingertips splintered the doorframe as he rocked on his feet. Down. Lie down. Important. The sleeping bag seized his gaze again.  

You’ve been sleeping all day. Why should a performance like today’s earn a nap? 

The last word was spat in his face, with all the disdain the childish concept deserved.  

What do you think you deserve for humiliating yourself? A pat on the head and a cookie? 

“I’ll do better…” he found himself muttering. He scrubbed his hand across his red eyes and drew in a sharp breath at the fresh wave of pain left in its wake. Mastering himself, he crossed back to the closet and hauled up the board that covered the hole. He set it in place and cast about for the tools to fix it there. So dark in this shadowy recess, out of sight of the apartment’s few windows. He blinked, trying to clear the terrible gritty feeling from his eyes. The closet seemed darker each time it came back into view. The darkness flickered like the static on a television set. The unsteady floor rattled as he crashed down on his knees then pitched forwards onto his face. 

Consciousness returned with punishing weight, yet left him in the dark. The force that had woken him pressed him down against the bare wood. He jerked under another blow, the impact echoing around his skull. Stop. Please. I’ll do better… Please. Another thud. Pleading never helped… Another wince. A voice. He flinched, expecting more pain. But the voice was outside of his head. No… No! He fumbled blindly for his pistol. Both arms were too heavy to move.  

To think I called something like you an asset…  

He gulped, throat closed, no sound beyond a gurgle. Had he- was his jaw broken again? Thud… Thud, thud. The blows sporadic and somehow distant. He couldn’t pull himself from the past, his weakened body seeming to occupy both at once. He groped for the gun again. Couldn’t grip. Slipping. There was a soft scrabbling at the front door. The knob rattled. He made one more grasp for his weapon, then the darkness of memory closed over his face.  

[comfort-questing]

18. too weak to move

I'm playing fe3h again and the Holy Mausoleum fight kicked our collective tails. so. (academy phase = TW whump of minors [teens])

-

Ashe was a little surprised, somehow, to wake up again.

there were only so many arrows you could reasonably have sticking out of you, and live to see a better outcome. but then Mercie and Manuela were very good healers, so surely that helped...

but - the flaring torchlight and the dark wet underground air of the Mausoleum, and the blood on the floor, and the way Felix's scream had choked off as the dark miasma surrounded him, and the bite of an arrow between his ribs and stopping his breath -

"Ashe."

someone's hand on his forehead, someone's voice. he blinked his eyes open, and there was the soft cloudy dusk outside the window, and worn linen sheets beneath his cheek, and Professor sitting on the edge of his bed with her small, still face even more small and still than usual.

he tried to turn his head, and managed that much with an effort. he tried getting an elbow under him to sit up, but all he could do was twitch his hand a little underneath the coverlet, and wake the sharp pain that came with breathing in too deeply.

"Professor. what - happened?"

"we made it to the Tomb," Professor said, her flat voice quieter than usual, "and - the seal was broken, but I defeated the mage. and then Catherine and the others came."

"we won? Lady Rhea's safe? and - " and the others he wanted to ask, but taking in the breath for speaking was starting to be too much. his mouth was sticky with thirst, and he licked at his dry lips.

"we won," said Professor. "and - we're all here."

"we're a mess," said Sylvain, red hair catching a hint of candlelight somewhere beyond Professor's shoulder, "but we're here."

"yes. I'm sorry. I should have done better." Professor pulled one of her lips in between her teeth, a gesture that suddenly reminded Ashe of his little sister in confusion. "if I had lost any of you - I don't know what I would have done."

Ashe wanted to see them. the others. his friends. he tried again to brace his hands against the bed, holding his breath to keep from jarring the pain again. he made it maybe a hands-width off the mattress before falling back, his body limp and heavy as lead.

"here. do you want me to help?" a pause, and then Professor's arm was under his shoulders, and another across his chest. he shut his eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness as she lifted him, slow as she went, but got them open again a moment later, to green hair and dusky light and candles.

they were all there. Dimitri in a cot by the door, Dedue sitting next to him with a bandaged head and shoulder; Ingrid curled up with her yellow hair loose all over the pillow, Annette leaning back on the pillows next to her, and Mercedes shadowy-eyed and weary at the foot of the bed; Felix pallid-faced in a chair by the window with one leg propped up on a footstool; Sylvain wrapped in a blanket with a fading pink half-healed scar crossing one cheek. even Yuri, the odd quick quiet boy whose eyes looked so much older than his face, frowning over his bloodstained cloak.

over Professor's shoulder there was a new swordhilt, pale as bone, strange as Catherine's relic.

"did you - get a new sword, Professor?"

Professor sighed. "I guess I did."

[flowersfromwind]

Febuwhump - Day 18

Day 18: Too weak to move

Link lost track of how long he had spent there, trapped in that hole between several rock formations. If his tiredness was a good metric, he could say it had been more than a few days. At first, Link tried to get out on his own. But the failed attempts only made his ankle, which he had broken the first time he fell, worse. What's worse, none of the items he had helped either. Everything was useless, there was simply no way out! There was no first or even second escape route. So his food and water were slowly running out. And Link couldn't sleep, even though he was so tired. His mind couldn't even comprehend the same gray patterns. Soon, Link was too weak to continue.

[quiet-nocturne]

i'll destroy you like i am [royai for febuwhump - day 18: too weak to move]

Title: i'll destroy you like i am Prompt: Febuwhump2024, Day 18: Too Weak to Move Pairing: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang Rating: M overall, and M for this chapter for sexual themes - please note this chapter's content/trigger warning in the author's note. Summary: "After she'd entered the room, locking the door behind her, she noticed that the Colonel was awake and sitting up in his bed, eyes glittering strangely in the light. “Hello, Lieutenant.”

Fifteen minutes ago, he'd been passed out in his hospital bed, his face a sickly pale, too weak to move after his surgery.

Fifteen minutes ago, he'd been Colonel Mustang - injured and unconscious, but still undoubtedly him. Now, he was definitely not."

Written for the febuwhump2024 prompts (but for RoyAi) on tumblr. Will be updated each day in February. :) Read day #18 on AO3 here!

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Day 18: Too Weak To Move / Bundled Up In Blankets

@febuwhump prompt: Too Weak To Move @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Bundled Up In Blankets

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Wrecker, Tech, Omega, Hunter, Echo, Cid Word Count: ~670 Click here to read on AO3

Synopsis: The Batch are camped out in Cid's Parlour in Ord Mantell, recuperating from the flu.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Geez, you lot have been lyin' in here all day," grumbled Cid, her coarse voice cutting through the grunts and sniffles from the darkened room. "When am I gonna get rid of you all?"

"We're hardly in a state to commence our next job," Tech pointed out, in the slightly thickened tones of someone with a heavily blocked nose. Indeed his nose was puffy and red, as were his eyes, goggleless, which he was rubbing profusely as they watered.

"Yeah, have pity Cid!" bawled Wrecker, reaching for another tissue and trumpeting into it. "We're sick!"

Hunter merely burrowed completely under the blankets, folding them up around his head and pretending not to be there.

"I thought you clones weren't meant to get sick," the trandoshan needled them. She picked her way past the pile of bodies and blankets to the light switches, flicking them on so that the bulbs strobed to life. Tech gave a grunt of displeasure, and Wrecker howled and threw an arm in front of his eyes.

"'S too bright! Turn it off!"

A series of soft, clicking footsteps entered the room. Echo grinned without sympathy, eyeing up his brothers who had built themselves a nest of cushions and covers in the back room of Cid's parlour.

"You're right, clones don't usually get sick," he told Cid. "We've got pretty good immune systems, and usually when we're sent to a new planet we're given all the inoculations needed before we touch down."

"But these three missed their boosters," Omega announced chirpily, following on Echo's heels with a tray of drinks.

"So why aren't you sick?" asked Wrecker sulkily, glaring at Echo.

"Echo takes his multivitamins," Omega answered for him, doling out mugs of hot tea with honey. Tech took his and sipped it, wrinkling his nose against whatever else the girl had dosed the drink with to help fight their flu.

"And Omega is likely still protected by the adaptive immune system of her childhood years," he said, even in sickness unable to resist a lecture. "Children's immune responses are typically more effective at fighting off contagion than adults, unless the adult's system has been primed by exposure to deactivated virus."

"Hence the need for inoculations," Echo finished. "Clones grow up so fast that they lose their childhood immunity pretty quickly."

Cid was unmoved. "Well I think this is all a big fuss over a bad cold. You boys ought to go out and get some fresh air!"

"We can't!" lamented Wrecker, doing his best to look pitiful as Omega handed him his drink. He cradled the mug carefully as he sunk into the veritable fortress of pillows he was propped up against. "We're too weak to move."

Omega crouched down by the side of the makeshift bed and poked at the pile of blankets that was Hunter. There was a groan, and a hand emerged and batted her away. Omega rolled her eyes affectionately and cleared a space on the ground in easy reaching distance to place Hunter’s drink down.

Their grumpy employer rounded on Omega, poking a scaled finger into the girl’s chest as she straightened. “I expect you to motivate these lazy boys to get out of bed and take a walk!”

“I agree, Cid,” said Omega cheerily, drawing reproachful looks from Tech and Wrecker. “We can air the room out whilst they’re gone!”

“Omega,” Tech began, in his most reasonable-grown-up voice. “We are far too sick to go out.”

The blonde girl bounced over to Echo, taking his datapad and tapping at it. “There! I set a timer,” she beamed, showing them. “You can drink your medicine, and have a nap… then we’ll all go for a walk together.”

The blankets in Hunter’s direction groaned. Omega glanced at Echo with a grin, and the cyborg clone had to turn away to smother his laughter.

“We’ll let you get a bit more sleep,” promised Omega, going to the lighting control panel that Cid had just activated and switching it off again. “But we are definitely going out after that!”