#febuwhumpday23

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2024 - Day 23 - Presumed dead

Huayue City - Shen Qingqiu just self-destructed his spiritual energy. And for the next several years, everyone (but one person) thought he was truly dead.

[simpforchuchu]

Not dead anymore

Prompts: DAY 23 - presumed dead @febuwhump Characters: Dazai x reader Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs Summary: Even Dazai had thought they were dead

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 and death

Atsushi continued to run after the mysterious person he saw at the crime scene. He didn't know why they were there, but he was sure they had something to do with the murder.

At the end of the long chase, the road ended. It was a dead end and there was someone in black trapped. Who were they? Did they have an ability ? He had no idea.

When the person in front of him turned around, he couldn't see who it was again because of the mask on their face. But he smiled with the person he saw behind them

Dazai was there. As always, he didn't know how or where he came from, but he was there. He grabbed the mysterious person's arm and prevented them from using their ability. The masked person did not do anything to pull their arm, did not resist. Dazai didn't seem surprised, but Atsushi was surprised that they even didn’t try to escape.

Dazai took off their mask and stood in front of them. But he froze with the face he saw.

"You…"

Y/n smiled. For years they were presumed dead by everyone. They were a close friend of Dazai during his mafia years. Dazai never even heard of them again after they died. But they were here now.

"How ?"

For the first time, Dazai looked confused. For the first time, he didn't have a plan. And for the first time, something happened that he could not have predicted.

Y/n smiled and punched the young man hard with their other hand. Before Atsushi could even react, Y/n jumped onto the wall behind them and disappeared.

He didn't know if Dazai knew he was going to get punched or just let them go, but for the first time, Atsushi couldn't read the expression on his face...

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 23: Presumed Dead ♡

@febuwhump

Y'all thought you'd escaped Solstice content? Please.

Content: referenced wing amuptation, blood mention, cult references, memory loss mention, angel whumpee, touch starved whumpee

Prev | First | Next

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The temple ahead is a beacon of light: Solstice’s only focal point as they stumble up the steep hill towards it. Their bare feet went numb from the cold and the pain hours ago and their legs shake with every step, but they push themselves just a little further. Just a little longer.

They’ve walked for so long. So long that the sun has started to rise behind the temple, lighting it from behind and making the stained glass glow in blinding rainbows. Solstice hears a laugh bubble up from their raw throat. They can’t remember the last time they saw this many colors in one place. It’s been nothing but red and black and gold for so long. 

It feels like they’re dreaming.

Solstice collapses against the temple doors; smooth mahogany carved with images of two interlocking rings. They’re too heavy to be pushed open by Solstice's weight alone.

“Help.” Their voice is nothing but a whisper, barely audible to their own ears. They need to get the attention of whoever’s inside, to find help before the cultists track their bloody footprints here and drag them back into the dark.

Solstice opens their mouth to try again, but nothing comes and they are struck with a wave of dizziness that has them crumbling to the ground, gasping for air. Their vision goes dark around the edges, fading in and out dangerously as their body finally gives up on them.

The rest comes in dazed flashes.

Worried faces hovering over them. 

A strange sense of nostalgia as someone carries them inside and they stare up at the carved ceilings - like being held by a parent and carried to bed after a long evening ceremony. 

The sound of a woman singing in a language they haven’t heard aside from in their own screams in ten years. The songs bring warmth and relief to their battered body, lulling them into a deep sleep.

---

“-a miracle they’re still alive. Barronar’s work, surely. I do not know how else they could have found their way back here.”

Solstice’s world fades back in slowly at the sound of soft voices

“And you’re sure that it’s them?” A woman’s voice, the same one that had been singing last night. “We were all so certain that they had been taken back to the realm of the divine. We mourned them. We prayed for them. Barronar gave no indication that they were still amongst mortals.”

Careful hands turn Solstice onto their side, pulling blankets away to expose their skin to the cool air. Solstice shivers, sensation slowly returning to their own body. The familiar pain that has been their constant companion is still there, but it’s dulled now, like it’s very far away.

“I was not certain at first,” the first voice - a man - says. “But these scars…” fingers trace down their back, just to the side of their spine. Solstice knows the spot well. There were wings there once. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

The touch is so gentle Solstice almost can’t feel it. They’d forgotten that touch doesn’t always have to hurt.

“Gods. To think I didn’t recognize the child I birthed.”

“It has been ten long years since we last saw them, and they… They do not look the same. But this is still our divine child, even if they have changed. We just need to worry about bringing Solstice back to the light.”

Solstice jolts at the sound of their own name and the fingers leave their back.

“Solstice?”

They finally manage to drag their eyes open, squinting at the light that pours in from an open window.

Sunlight.

Gods, how long has it been since sunlight last touched their skin? It tastes honeysuckle sweet.

“Welcome back, child,” the man says. 

The woman appears over his shoulder, laughing tearfully. “I would know those eyes anywhere. It really is you. We thought you were dead.”

Solstice stares at the pair. Something stirs in their chest, but the feeling is so alien. Are they supposed to know these people? Have they been here before?

 “Do you…” The woman’s smile fades a little. “Do you remember us?”

Solstice doesn’t know what to say. There’s something so familiar about their surroundings but also so wrong. It’s the feeling of revisiting a strange dream and finding it all exactly the same - impossible and comforting and confusing all at the same time.

The man reaches out, brushing Solstice’s hair out of their face. “It’s okay if you don’t remember. It’s been a long time, but the gods have brought you home to us. To your mortal parents. You are safe here, and we will never let you be taken from us again.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Solstice taglist

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @hauntedroseart @sapphicccici @altvaggie @alivenova @lolrpop

[em-writes-stuff]

presumed dead

day 23 of @febuwhump

supervillain, hero, villain, and medic

1887 words

warnings: captivity, cursing, stress positions, implied past torture/abuse

~

Supervillain leans against the wall, arms crossed in front of her chest. She rolls her eyes and kicks off the wall, walking toward Hero. 

His head hangs low to his chest, if not for the rope tied around his stomach, he would be slumped over. His legs and arms are bound to the chair, keeping him from moving. 

Supervillain grabs a fistful of his hair and pulls his head back, forcing him to look up at her. His eyes open and he yelps in pain. 

“What the hell?” He shouts, trying to free himself from his bindings. Supervillain pulls down harder on his hair, pulling his attention to her. He stills and smiles, “Oh, it’s just you.” 

She lets go of his hair and takes a step back. “You know why you’re here.” 

“Oh, I thought you’d gotten over him!” Hero says, slouching forward slightly. “Tell me it’s not about Villain.” 

“You need to pay for what you did to him,” she says, anger dripping like venom from her voice. 

Hero chuckles and looks at her, his head tilted. “Don’t you mean what I’ve been doing to him?” 

Supervillain’s face falls, she takes a step back and shakes her head. “What are you talking about?” 

“Oh my god, you didn’t know.” Hero says. “How could you have known? I mean, I told you I was going to kill him. I told you I had killed him. I even sent you a fucking finger in the mail. But I thought somehow you knew.” 

He laughs and runs his tongue along his teeth. Supervillain shakes her head, “You-” she exhales sharply. “What? You didn’t-” 

Hero cuts her off, throwing his head back laughing. “I didn’t kill him!” he extends his neck as far as it goes and whispers. “He’s been with me the whole fucking time. And boy, can he scream.” 

Supervillain sniffs and swallows the sobs swelling in her throat. “Where is he?” 

“There’s an abandoned building…just off the highway about a mile and a half from here,” Hero says with a smile. “If you hurry, you might make it before…well, you’ll see.” 

Supervillain runs out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She looks at the map tacked up on the wall and finds the building Hero was talking about. 

She runs to the kitchen and grabs the first-aid kit out from under the sink and runs outside. She dials a number on her phone as she turns the key in her car. 

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

“Medic?” she asks, voice shaking. She pulls out of the driveway and turns onto the highway. 

“Supervillain?” 

“I need you. Um…Villain needs you.” 

There’s a moment of silence and Medic shuffles around, sending static through the line. “Villain’s dead, Supervillain. Remember?” 

She shakes her head, “No, he’s not. I thought- I thought he was but…just. Please meet me at my place. Please. I- this is important to me.” 

She waits, silently begging them to say something. 

Medic takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Please hurry.” she begs, hanging up and stepping out of her car. 

The warehouse stands in front of her, boarded up. She runs around to the back of the building and peels a board off from the siding. She ducks inside and bites her bottom lip. 

The air is musty with a tinge of iron floating around. Light filters in through holes in the roof, illuminating the dust in the air. A gas mask sits on a table, mostly clear of dust. 

It catches Supervillain’s eye and she walks up to it, covering her mouth with the collar of her shirt. Behind the table, there are dozens of pictures tacked up on the wall. 

They’re all of Villain in different positions, each more painful looking than the last. 

In each picture, his body is contorted, ropes tied around his legs and arms, holding them in impossible positions. Bile rises in her throat. 

She holds a fist to her mouth and swallows thickly, turning from the pictures. 

In one corner of the building, she sees a lumpy mattress. She hurries over to it and sees Villain’s hair poking out from under a blanket. It’s longer, matted, and caked in blood and dirt, but it’s Villain’s hair. 

She looks up and blinks, trying to fight the tears threatening to run down her cheeks. 

A whimper pulls her attention and she drops to her knees. “Villain?” 

She takes the blanket off of him and gasps. 

His right leg is tied to itself, calf flush with his hamstring. His left foot is tied to his right thigh and his knee is secured against his chest with a bow, making it so that he’s lying with his back curled. His right arm is locked under the bend in his right leg, wrist tied to a rope around his neck. His left arm is tucked under his back, knuckles against his spine. 

“Villain, it’s me, it’s Supervillain. I’m gonna get you untied.” 

“No,” he shakes his head weakly and points at something with his right hand. “Loo…”

She searches for what he’s pointing at and freezes when she sees it. 

A bag of sand is spilling onto the ground, slowly loosening a rope tied to another bag, significantly lighter than the emptying bag. If the smaller bag falls onto the pressure plate underneath it, it’ll trigger a gun trained on Villain. 

Supervillain stands up and grabs the rope right above the small bag of sand. She cuts the rope with her dagger and sets it on the ground. She turns the gun away from Villain and goes back over to him. 

“Ok, I took care of it, let’s get you out of here, yeah?” she nods to herself and falls to her knees, unsure of where to start. 

Villain makes a pained sound, “Left arm. Start…with my left.” 

She nods and gently coaxes his arm out from under him. The blood rushes back into his arm, turning it pink. Villain mutters and sucks air in through his teeth. 

“What next?” she asks. 

“Other arm,” he says, gasping. 

She cuts the rope connecting his arm to the rope around his neck and sets it on the mattress at his side. She works her dagger blade under the rope around his neck and starts to saw away at it, forcing herself to ignore the bruises along his neck and collarbones. She unties the bow keeping his knee against his chest. 

He falls back, head hitting a thinner spot in the mattress. He moans in pain and turns his head away from Supervillain. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should’ve-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts. “Just get me out of here.” 

She cuts the rope keeping his foot flat against his right thigh and his leg flops onto the mattress, blood flooding to the areas that the rope was. 

Finally, she cuts the rope binding his right leg together. Villain breathes sharply and shakes his head, trying to keep the leg from moving. 

“What are you doing?” 

All he can manage is, “Hurts.” 

“We have to go, Villain. Sidekick has to know Hero’s missing by now." She pulls him up and he tries to stand next to her, but collapses. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, tears welling in his eyes. “I- I can’t stand.” 

She shakes her head and loops an arm around his waist. “Totally fine, I’ll help you.” 

He whimpers and tries to stand up, but as soon as he puts weight on his foot, he falls again. 

“Ok,” Supervillain says, thinking. “I’ll just carry you.” 

He nods and she puts an arm at the middle of his back and the back of his knees. She lifts him and carries him to where she came in at. 

She looks at the hole she made, then at Villain, and back at the hole. “Any ideas?” 

Villain nods and squeezes his eyes shut. “Put me down…” he exhales shakily and opens his eyes. “Then go through, and drag me out.” 

“Right.” Supervillain says. She nods once and…does nothing. 

“Supervillain.” Villain says. “Hurry please.” 

“Right.” she says again. 

This time, she squats and puts Villain on the ground close to the exit. She ducks through the hole and reaches for Villain’s hands. He flinches and pulls his hands away from her. 

“Sorry.” He rushes. He puts his hands back where they were and lets her grab his wrists. 

She drags him through the hole and picks him back up, holding him close against her. He curls against her, face buried against her shirt. 

“Ok,” she says, stopping. “I’m going to put you in the backseat and drive home. Alright?” 

All he can manage is a nod. 

On the ride back to Supervillain’s house, Villain slowly stretches his arms and legs, letting the muscles get used to moving again. His eyes stay closed, the bright light of the sun unfamiliar to him after the months he’d spent in the warehouse. 

The familiar bumps in Supervillain’s driveway alert him that they’re almost done driving and he sits up slowly. Supervillain opens his car door and holds her hand out to him. He takes it and she pulls him out of the car, looping her arm around his waist to keep him upright. Medic’s car is in the driveway, door open. 

They jump up from their spot on the porch and rush over to Villain’s side. They fuss over him, checking him over for any serious wounds before pulling away. 

Supervillain unlocks the door and pushes inside, forgetting about her guest. 

Hero cranes his neck to look at who’s at the door. He smiles when he hears three sets of shoes. 

“Aren’t you going to check on me?” He asks, voice booming through the house. “I assume you haven’t forgotten about me.” 

Villain freezes, recognizing the voice instantly. His entire body tenses and he shakes his head. “No.” he stumbles back and his back hits the door. “No, what-what’s he doing here?” 

Supervillain urges him forward, “You don’t have to worry about him, he’s tied up in the hallway. Just…get to the couch so Medic can look over you and I’ll deal with him.” 

She drags him to the couch and sits him down, “I’ll be right back.” 

Villain breathes rapidly, barely keeping upright. “Don’t- don’t let him…”

“I won’t. I promise.” Supervillain interrupts. She disappears into the hallway. 

Medic kneels in front of Villain, unzipping their go-bag on the floor next to them. 

“Hey,” they say, tapping his knee. “Deep breaths. Calm down, you need to trust Supervillain.” 

Villain inhales shakily and nods, he exhales and pulls his legs to his chest. Medic does a quick once-over of him and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. 

“You’re going to be alright, but it’ll take time. Your muscles are…” 

“I’ve been tied up for five months, I’ve known they’re atrophied. As long as I’ll get better.” he says, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. 

They nod, “You’ll have to work hard, and may never get back how you were before, but you’ll be alright.” 

Villain sniffles and tears fall down his cheeks. He wipes them away with the blanket and curls more into himself. Medic zips their bag back up and sits next to him, arm slung over his shoulders. 

[what-the-whump]

Febuwhump 2024| Day 23 | Presumed Dead

Power Ranges Lightspeed Rescue | 1x14 | Curse of the Cobra

[alicewritingstories]

Febuwhump Day 23: Presumed dead

CW: Injury, apparent main character death

AO3

---

"You've got no right to talk to Sky that way."

Legend looked up at Twilight's accusing words and scowled at him. "What are you, his mom? If he's got something to say to me, he can say it himself."

"He's not going to because he's too nice, and I get why he doesn't want to fight back, but I'm still telling you you can't talk to him that way." Twilight meant it; he remembered how Midna had been at first and how that prickly exterior had hidden a genuinely good person, but that had been different. Her barbs had been aimed at him. Sky was too easy to bully and Legend's behavior was a thorn in a group that was still finding a way to work together and Twilight didn't know how anyone else tolerated it.

Legend rose slowly to his feet. He was a lot shorter than Twilight, but still stood as tall as he could to try to get nose-to-nose with him. "I'll talk to anyone I want however I want, Rancher. I'm not one of the snot-nosed kids from your backwater village who think you're hot stuff because you're the only person in town who can use a sword properly."

Twilight bared his teeth. "And don't talk about my home or my family that way either!"

"Hey!" Warriors' voice pierced Twilight's awareness and the captain thrust an arm between them. "Break it up, you two."

"Stay out of this, pretty boy," said Legend. "I can fight my own battles. Let's see if the rancher can."

"Legend -" Warriors' voice held a warning note, but Twilight talked over him.

"I can fight my own battles," he snapped. "And I can fight for people other than myself too: something you apparently don't have much experience with!"

"Twilight, that is out of line!" shouted Warriors, now turning to him.

"You don't know anything about my battles," snarled Legend.

"I'm fine not knowing what it's like to attack people who won't hit you back!"

Warriors caught Legend even as he lunged forward with a raised fist. Twilight was grabbed under the arms and dragged back against an armored chest.

"Walk away," snapped Time in his ear, shoving him towards the other side of the camp. He looked downright disgusted and at that look Twilight felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him. He'd just wanted to tell Legend to lay off Sky a bit. He hadn't meant for it to escalate. What had he been supposed to do, just take it when Legend talked about Ordon and its people the way he had?

But there was no use getting back into it now and just looking at Legend - now on the far side of the camp with his back to everyone - made his blood boil. He walked away.

***

Twilight and Legend didn't speak to each other for the rest of the day or the next morning, despite the efforts of other members of the Chain. Legend made no attempt to approach Twilight and Twilight didn't want to be the first to break the impasse either. He wanted an apology. He wasn't the one who had started throwing insults.

Now he bitterly regretted that decision.

As he sat a little way outside camp, staring out at the surface of a small lake, he didn't notice the black monster blood stiffening the fur of his pelt into spikes. He didn't notice the jarred ache in his right arm and shoulder from catching a moblin's club on his shield. All he could focus on was the images flashing behind his eyes.

Sky falling with an arrow buried deep in his thigh.

The moblin raising a claymore over him.

Legend throwing himself in the huge blade's path.

Legend lying pinned to the ground, the claymore through his stomach.

Sky's screamed denials of what was happening. Time's grim expression. Wind crying. Blood on Warriors' and Four's hands as they eased the claymore free. Hyrule's thousand-yard stare as he laid his hands on his best friend's body.

Twilight had gone to patrol and make sure there were no more monsters lying in wait. He couldn't face this. Couldn't face the fact that Legend was… Legend had…

Even the thought couldn't quite form in his mind as he stared out at the rippling moonlight.

They'd made camp. He'd kept patrolling. Talking to nobody, ignoring their stares.

He'd been wrong. And he'd never be able to say so.

"Twilight."

The sound of his nickname startled him so much he almost sprang up, but he managed to restrain himself to just looking round as Time came to sit next to him.

"I've been looking for you for a while," he said softly.

Twilight locked his eyes on the water, unwilling to see the disappointment and anger he knew would be there on the old man's face.

"I can't…" he started. "I just…" The words caught in his throat. "I should have… I should have said I was sorry." The catch turned into a sob and he rubbed his eyes. "He's… he's dead and… the last thing I ever said to him… was that he doesn't know about fighting for other people and he only attacks those who won't hit him back."

Time didn't reply.

Twilight kept talking, bleeding words into the silence as surely as the tears dripped down his cheeks. "He sacrificed himself for Sky and… the last thing I said to him was that he… And now I'll never be able to tell him I'm sorry. That I didn't mean it, I just… I was angry and I lashed out and… and then I waited for him to apologize first and he started it but that doesn't matter, I'm supposed to be the adult and now the last thing I said to him…" Unable to bear it any more, he buried his face in his hands.

After a moment, Time laid a hand shockingly gently on his shoulder. "Twilight," he said softly, "I'm glad you realize this now and I hope it lasts past hearing what I came to tell you."

Twilight looked up, confused.

Time didn't look angry; he smiled a little and continued, "Legend's alive. You didn't stay after the battle long enough to see Hyrule heal him. I came looking for you because he wants to talk to you."

Twilight stared at him for a moment, the world seeming to slow just as it had in those horrible moments as the moblin cut Legend down. "He's… he's alive?" he asked.

Time nodded. "Yes, he's alive."

Then Twilight was on his feet, sprinting back to camp. He barrelled past the others, over to where Hyrule sat by Legend. By Legend, he realized, not his body, caring for a wounded man rather than keeping vigil by a corpse.

"Le-Legend…" he gasped, dropping to his knees and grabbing the smaller hylian's hand. "I'm sorry, I should never have said those things."

Legend snorted. "Damn right. But I was asking for it. I'm sorry too."

Twilight sighed in relief, pressing Legend's hand to his forehead, and smiled as Legend wriggled it free, grumbling under his breath. It showed he was alive. It showed things were back to normal.

[aquinnix]

Febuwhump Day 23 - Presumed Dead

It wasn't unusual for Mumbo to disappear for a couple of days. Sometimes he got overly obsessive over some redstone project of his, or spent too many days without sleep and was found passed out in a corner somewhere a week later. Grian was used to occurrences like this, but it had been far too long for comfort. Everyone else kept assuring him that Mumbo was just busy with a farm or something but it had been over a month now. The “oh I’m sure he’ll call tomorrow”s turned into “just give him a week and he’ll get back to you.”s. Grian was starting to panic. Even since they met they’d never go more than a week or two without any sort of communication. Grian knew Mumbo better than anyone, and he knew something was wrong. 

He started by checking around Mumbo’s base, inspecting his farms or the places they usually hung out. Nothing. Grian’s search began to get more frantic, busting into people’s homes, muttering about Mumbo having to be around there somewhere. Everyone was worried now, and they should be, that’s what Grian spent months trying to get them to do. 

But they weren’t worried about the right person. 

Why didn’t they care? Mumbo was their friend too, he could be in danger! He could be… Grian forced the thought from his mind, but it didn’t budge. That was the only explanation for what was happening. That was the only reason Mumbo would ever cut communication like this. 

If there wasn’t someone left to communicate with. 

Did Mumbo have a will? Grian should probably talk with Cleo, they had more experience with funerals and the like. Those ideas alone were enough to bring tears streaming down Grian’s face. 

At least he wouldn’t have to search anymore.

[such-a-random-rambler]

Febuwhump - Day 23

“I need another scan. More detail this time.” The stress of it makes Scott aggresive. Virgil puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight. Squeezing his own eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see the wreckage of Thunderbird Five.  

“Scott.” 

“No.”  

They’re Tracy’s, not known for giving up. But sometimes even they have to admit defeat. It’s just so hard when it’s one of their own. 

“Scott, there’s no way he - “ 

“No.” 

“Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.” 

Stuck just out of range, John watches Three search, watches it turn and head home. 

[rrain-writes]

Rain's LU Febuwhump: Day 23

Presumed Dead: Wild

Warnings: Blood, injury, major character death, one swear

Time could have gone his whole life without hearing Wild scream like that. It was raw and painful, unexpected and scared. It was the kind of scream someone made when they were suddenly injured so badly it only meant one thing.

He turned to find the teen lying on the ground, rusty sword shoved through his chest. There was so much blood.

“Wild!” Hyrule sprinted over, his own sword falling from his fingers. The others quickly finished off the monsters they had been fighting with a new kind of fury.

Someone was shouting about how they couldn’t heal Wild with the sword still in him. Someone else was offering to pull it out, panic lacing their words. All Time could see was red, coating the face of yet another child.

Wild struggled, trying to push the panicked hands away from him, only aggravating his wound in the process.

Hyrule trembled as his hands hovered over his friend, breaths coming in panicked sobs.

Wild groaned, shoving Hyrule away again. “Stop.” He croaked. “Hurts.”

“I know, it hurts.” Sky said. “But you have to let us help.” He was very obviously trying to keep calm, but his shaking hands gave him away.

The chain stood, helpless, as Wild slowly stopped struggling. His eyes stared up into the endless blue sky, unfocussed and glazed. His chest stopped shaking with the effort it took to breathe. Someone may have screamed, but Time didn’t take much notice. All he could think was that it was yet another person he couldn’t save.

Twilight, who had been fighting the furthest away, came running over, breaking the silence. “What’s going on?” He asked, panting slightly.

“Pup.” Time said gently, trying to talk to him before he saw the body boy lying still on red stained grass. Too late.

“No.” Twilight said, realisation crossing his features. “Wild!” The rancher pushed the others aside, dropping to his knees and feeling for a pulse. “Hey, come on cub. It’s okay.”

“Twi.” Sky said gently, placing a hand on the others shoulder. His face was wet with silent tears. “Twilight stop.”

“No. No, no.” Twilight repeated to himself. “How long has it been?”

“…A couple minutes.” Warriors replied, after a moments hesitation.

Twilight pressed his hands to his eyes. “Good. Okay. It’s okay.”

No one knew what he was muttering about. Grief did strange things to people.

Suddenly, a glow appeared, hovering over Wild. The teal flames seemed to shock everyone but Twilight, the rancher gripping his protege’s hand tight. A spectral woman, a Zora, came into view, as graceful and elegant in death as she was in life.

“It was my pleasure.” She whispered. Then she was gone, drifting away on the wind.

A cough brought eight pairs of eyes back to the ground. Wild… sat up, rubbing his chest where a bloody hole had been moments before.

“Is everyone okay?” He asked timidly.

“No the fuck we aren’t.” Wind replied after a moment, eyes wide.

No one bothered to chide his use of language.

[pencilofawesomeness]

Day 23: “You’ll have to go through me”

for @febuwhump

AKA that moment when somebody’s gonna get got

[librathefangirl]

Febuwhump 2024: Day 23 - Presumed Dead

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Day 23: Presumed Dead

@febuwhump prompt: Presumed Dead

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Echo Set during S2:E4 'Faster', obligatory nerf nugget transport fic Word Count: ~1785 Read Here on A03

Synopsis: Hunter and Echo argue about the future

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

“So are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“Joining Rex.”

Hunter’s sigh was tinged with impatience, his hands going tight on the Marauder’s controls.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

From the co-pilot’s seat Echo turned so that he was facing Hunter, even if the Sergeant’s attention was on the terrain speeding past outside the cockpit.

“It’s the first time we’ve had away from the others to talk about it,” he argued, gesturing with his scomp. “That’s why you left the rest of them behind – right? So they wouldn’t overhear.”

The muscles in Hunter’s jaw went tight, lips pressing into a downturned line. “No,” he said with forced calm. “I left the others behind because I can’t put up with Tech constantly arguing that this isn’t an ‘appropriate use’ of our skills. And because if we brought Omega and Wrecker, there wouldn’t be any nerf nuggets left by the time we reached the drop-off.”

“But Tech is right,” said Echo with characteristic bluntness. His own frown rivalled Hunter’s. “Playing delivery boys? We could be doing so much more.”

“This isn’t a discussion, Echo,” said Hunter, a sharp edge of command entering his voice.

“You shut me down every time I talk about Rex-”

“And I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“Well I do!” Echo’s volume increased, and he didn’t miss how Hunter flinched. He took a breath and turned his chair forwards once more, letting silence linger as Hunter guided the Marauder over a low mesa. He wasn’t going to win Hunter over by arguing with him.

For his part, Hunter’s grip on the control column eased with each minute that passed without Echo continuing the debate. The intense look didn’t leave his expression, but the tension of adrenaline left his body.

Echo waited until he judged Hunter calm before trying again.

“With our skills, we should be helping those in need. The Empire is oppressing people all over the galaxy, and it’s our duty to step up and protect them.”

“We’re not soldiers any more, Echo,” said Hunter through clenched teeth. “We’re just people, trying to get by.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you turn a blind eye to those in need?”

The Marauder pitched as Hunter wrenched on the controls, and Echo flailed with his left arm to grab the console. For a moment their eyes met, and at Hunter’s murderous expression Echo suspected that the need to keep them aloft was the only thing that had stopped Hunter launching himself at him bodily.

Hunter took a deep breath, shakily repositioning his grip. His nostrils flared on the out-breath, and the glint of anger stayed in his gaze as he firmly fixed it on the horizon.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in need,” he said, his voice little more than a growl. “The Empire thinks we’re dead. I want to keep it that way, and I can’t do that if we throw ourselves in harm’s way every time we’re asked-”

“You always agree when Omega asks you to.”

His stomach lurched as the ship dipped sharply, Hunter sending them into a too-steep landing descent. Echo grabbed the co-pilot’s controls, activating the override and levelling their course to a less suicidal trajectory.

They landed the Marauder on a near-flat outcrop, the ship settling to rest before Hunter powered it down. Echo didn’t question it. They were nowhere near their destination, but that wasn’t why Hunter had taken them out of the air.

The sergeant stood and stalked to the back of the ship, not glancing at Echo as he left the cockpit. Echo gave him a moment before standing and following, resting in the door-frame with his arms crossed.

“Admit it, you know I’m right,” he pressed, stubbornness heavy in his words. “We could do more. We should do more.”

Hunter rounded on him, tattooed face scrunched in a fierce scowl. “I like being a delivery boy,” he spat, kicking at the offending crates of nerf-nuggets. “I like the idea of taking jobs where we’re not under live fire. Where one mis-step won’t put us back on the Empire’s radar.”

“This job barely pays enough to cover fuel,” countered Echo. “How do you intend to give Omega a better life like this?”

“The last job was meant to be our ticket to freedom, and look how it ended!” Hunter spat. Raw hurt showed plainly in his voice. “It wasn’t worth it. I don’t want to come back from missions counting myself lucky that the worst thing that happened was that Tech broke his leg.” Suddenly his voice wobbled. “What if that ship made the jump to hyperspace before you ejected the containers? We would have lost all three of you.”

Echo took a breath, fingers clenching tightly round his opposite bicep. He wasn’t ready to drop that defensive pose. “Risks like that are worth it if you’re doing something worthwhile,” he argued. “I said we should go after the war chest, and I stand by that. But we shouldn’t have been planning to use the spoils for ourselves. Rex’s effort-”

“Enough about Rex!” shouted Hunter, thumping one fist against the wall. “I know how you feel, Echo, maker knows you won’t let me forget it. But we can’t put ourselves in danger like that.” He hesitated, then added, more softly, “I won’t put Omega in danger like that.”

Echo scoffed. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said in a long time.” As Hunter bristled he raised a hand warningly. “Don’t go off at me, Hunter. I know you’re serious about protecting her, but you use it as an excuse. What’s the real reason you won’t help?”

Something dark and dangerous flashed behind Hunter’s eyes. Echo tilted his chin down and stood his ground. He knew about Hunter’s feral tendencies, knew what happened when the enhanced clone let his temper get the better of him. He wasn’t planning to back down.

Without warning the fight went out of Hunter and he sagged, sitting down on the edge of the nearest case of nerf nuggets with his head in his hands.

“We already lost Crosshair,” he muttered, gesturing as he spoke. “We left him. On Kamino. Twice.” He took a shuddering breath, then looked up at Echo with the fierce glare back in place. “I won’t let anything else break apart our squad.”

“This wouldn’t be breaking it apart,” said Echo doggedly, not moving from his position by the cockpit. “It’d be lending our strength to the fight where it’s needed.”

“No, Echo. We’re not joining a resistance, and that’s final.”

“After Bracca, when Rex helped us get our chips out… you told him if he needed us, he could call. You helped get Gregor out of holding on Daro.”

“Things have changed since then,” said Hunter, but there was an undertone of guilt and he darted his gaze away rather than meet Echo’s uncompromising stare. “Since Kamino, the Empire thinks we’re dead. No more bounty hunters after Omega. No more imperial squads after the rest of us. Hiding out in Ord Mantell has kept us safe this long.” He pushed to his feet again, mirroring Echo’s pose. “I don’t want to put us back in the firing line.”

“The Empire thinks we’re dead,” Echo conceded. “All the more reason to join the fight. They won’t see it coming.”

Hunter shook his head emphatically. “I won’t put Omega at risk like that.”

Echo’s top lip curled in a sneer. “What do you think she sees when you’re always running like this?” He watched Hunter’s pupils dilate at the barbed jab. “Do you even see how disappointed she is every time you try and turn your back on doing the right thing?”

Hunter started forwards, a flinch of movement which he barely stayed, fingers flexing for want of a weapon. His face twisted in an ugly snarl.

Echo pulled himself up to stand as straight as he could, eking out his minimal height advantage to glare down at Hunter. “I want to protect Omega too,” he said quietly, forcefully. “By making the galaxy a safer place. By taking a stand for what is right and showing her that she doesn’t have to live in fear of the Empire.”

“You’re so blinded by your devotion to Rex that you don’t see the danger you’d be putting her in-”

“Better than being blind to what the Empire is doing whilst you stand idly by convincing yourself that transporting nerf nuggets for pittance is a good life!”

“If you’re so unhappy, why don’t you just leave?”

The words were out and spoken with such vehemence that both men paused, a beat of silence as the shock settled in. Hunter seemed as taken aback by his own outburst as Echo did, but he quickly pulled his scowl back into place, turning away and pacing irritably.

Echo dropped his arms to his side, one good hand tapping fingers against his metal thigh. “You’d let me?” he asked at length, cautiously. “After that speech about not breaking the squad apart, you’d let me join Rex?”

“No,” growled Hunter. “I wouldn’t let you. But you’re making it sound like I can’t stop you.”

“We should be helping our brothers,” repeated Echo again flatly.

“Your brothers,” said Hunter bitterly. Echo startled, taking a half-step back in surprise.

“What?”

“That’s what you’re thinking,” said Hunter, not bothering to stop the hurt from leaching into his voice. “They’re your brothers. Not us. We were only ever a half-way house to you. A stopping point, until you thought your real brothers would take you back.”

A dazed look crossed Echo’s face before he set his expression in a scowl to match Hunter’s, leaning forwards and gesturing angrily. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

Hunter knocked his hand away, shoving past him back to the cockpit. He dumped himself roughly in the pilot’s chair, awakening the Marauder’s engines once more.

“Tech and Wrecker are my brothers,” he said, voice carrying despite not turning to face Echo. “Omega is my sister. They are the ones I’m going to protect.”

“And me?” asked Echo faintly, an edge of challenge in his words.

Hunter gunned the controls, the Marauder lurching into the air. Echo stumbled, bracing himself against the door-frame.

“You can make your own decisions,” Hunter muttered through gritted teeth. “Seeing as you won’t abide by mine.”

Echo took a long moment to stare at the back of Hunter’s head, a retort on his tongue, managing to hold it back. Both of them had lost this argument.

“I’m going to check the cargo,” he muttered, turning towards the back of the ship.

Hunter triggered the controls to seal the doorway between them.

((I'm feeling bad about these two arguing so I might post an epilogue in the reblogs where they can make up :') Just need to find time to write it...))

[kybercrystals94]

Merriest Days Ahead (Part 1)

Read here on Ao3!

Febuwhump 2024 | Day 23 | Alternative Prompt 6: Immortality

Rated: G | Words: 3,343 | Summary: Pabu has a month long holiday honoring the cultures and traditions of its citizens…Omega wants to contribute.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

This is within the same timeline as my other two stories “Scars & Toothpicks” & “Stay”. Probably takes place after both of these stories, but can absolutely be read as a stand alone!

OMEGA

Omega knows she has the best room in the entire house. While it is the smallest room, she prefers the term “cozy”. The ceiling is slanted so that she can only stand fully upright in half of it, but that just gives the room personality. The best part, the most amazing part, is the window. It is round with a bright pink, airy curtain that allows the sunlight to seep through. During the day, when she pushes it aside, she can see the ocean stretch to where it touches the sky in a nice, crisp line. When the sun sets, she can see it melt into the water, painting the sky and the sea with swatches of indescribable color. And when it is dark, the lights of the city sparkle like stars, winking up at her, reminding her that she and her brothers are not alone anymore. They have friends, people, community. The citizens of Pabu treat them like natborns. They aren’t clone soldiers here. They are the family that lives in the little house near the very top of the island.

And Omega loves it, and she knows her brothers do too…even if they don’t say it in words. She sees it in their actions, their smiles, their eyes. Clones were bred to survive, not live. But here they are, her brave brothers, living. She is so happy for them. For all of them.

Tonight, Omega fell asleep on the Marauder only an hour before they arrived back in Pabu after a supply run. She wakes a little when she feels the landing mechanisms activate, the pitched whine of the ship making a gentle descent on the landing pad. She scrunches her eyes shut, knowing that if she’s asleep, one of her brothers will carry her home.

Home. She loves that word.

“Omega?” Hunter’s voice, then his footsteps approach the seat Omega is curled in. Her brother chuckles, and Omega knows that Hunter knows she’s awake, but she keeps her eyes closed and tries to hide her smile in her arms.

“Just leave her,” Crosshair says. “If she wakes up with a crick in her neck, it's her own fault.”

Omega knows he doesn’t mean it.

“Tempting,” Hunter agrees softly, amusement evident.

“Then again,” Crosshair continues with a sigh, “hearing her whine about it tomorrow would make all of us suffer.”

Arms scoop her up and cradle her against the hard plastoid of a chestplate. The Batch doesn’t wear much of their armor anymore, but when they do, it’s under loose-fitting civvies to keep it hidden. Omega’s cheek rests against the coarse woolen material of Crosshair’s favorite sweater. Wrecker jokes that Crosshair likes the abrasive fabric because it matches his personality, but Omega knows it is because Crosshair likes the color: black with accents of red woven throughout.

Omega peeks up at her waspish brother’s face. He catches her. “If I find out you’re awake, you’re walking,” Crosshair murmurs. Omega snaps her eyes shut. “That’s what I thought.”

She must’ve fallen back asleep, because the next thing Omega is aware of is being deposited into her bed, Crosshair dropping her on the mattress with a soft thump. “Get ready for bed, you little womp rat.”

“I’m already asleep,” Omega whines, stretching out her arms. She accidentally knocks Lula off the bed.

Crosshair picks up the stuffed tooka and tosses it at Omega’s face. “Teeth brushed. Night clothes on,” he orders, pointing at her. “Then sleep.”

“Ugh!” Omega laments, but she rolls out of her bed with reluctant obedience.

Crosshair grins triumphantly around a toothpick before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Omega quickly changes into night clothes and then goes to the fresher to brush her teeth. She can hear her brothers talking in the common room, and the bitter scent of caff being brewed. Omega doesn’t know how they can stand the stuff. She tries it, but usually only with a healthy splash of cream and a heaping spoon of sugar. Even then, her brother’s laugh at the array of facial expressions she goes through as she sips at it with early meal.

Breakfast, Omega reminds herself, It’s called breakfast.

Once Omega has scrubbed her teeth clean, she bounds down the stairs with renewed energy. Her second wind, as Hunter calls it, disperses any tiredness she felt before.

“I thought you were already asleep,” Crosshair grumbles over his mug.

“I was until you made me change and brush my teeth,” Omega shoots back, climbing up on the couch between Hunter and Wrecker. There isn’t really enough room, but she makes herself fit, snugly squished between them. Wrecker laughs and moves his arm to the couch back to make more space.

“Forgive me for being responsible,” Crosshair says, rolling his eyes.

“Wanna taste of my caf?” Wrecker booms, “No cream or sugar, just like you like it.”

Omega scrunches her nose and sticks out her tongue. “Blech! Gross. I like Tech’s caff better.”

“Tech’s caff is ninety-five percent sugar,” Hunter says, hiding a smile behind his mug.

“Now wait a minute,” Tech starts indignantly.

“That’s why little girls like it,” Crosshair chortles gleefully.

Omega soaks in the lighthearted teasing, the warm feeling of safety and stability she hadn’t ever realized was missing until it was gifted to them on Pabu. It had been stolen for a moment when she was kidnapped by Hemlock, when she thought Tech was dead, and Crosshair imprisoned…but now, they have it back. And she never wants to let it go again.

Hunter nudges her, and Omega opens her eyes. She can’t remember when she closed them. “Off to bed, little one,” he says gently.

She nods, and wiggles her way off the couch. “G’night,” she mutters sleepily, waving vaguely, to no one in particular. A chorus of answering goodnights follow her up the staircase. Omega creeps into her little room and climbs into bed. She pushes aside her curtain to look out at the winking village lights. She gasps.

Amongst the usual street lamps and lit windows are thousands of colorful pinpricks of light, strung along the streets and around posts and rooftops. They look like luminous manifestations of pure joy, dazzling sparkles of happiness glittering across the place she didn’t think she could possibly love more.

“Hunter!” she calls, the first name she thinks of.

Omega has her nose pressed against the window pane Hunter comes in. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks. Maybe Omega had sounded a little frantic when she called for him in her excitement.

“Look! It’s beautiful!” Omega pulls away from the window enough for Hunter to lean over the bed and look out for himself. “What are those lights? What do they mean?”

Hunter smiles. “I forgot you didn’t see the lights when we were coming down from the ship. Tech said they’re decorative lights for the holidays.”

“What kind of holidays?” Omega asks.

“I’m not sure…we can ask tomorrow.” Hunter pulls back Omega’s quilt and pats her pillow. Omega looks out the window one more time before laying down and letting Hunter tuck the quilt around her shoulders. He smooths back her hair. “Don’t let that busy mind of yours keep you up,” he warns with a smile. “We’ll solve the mystery in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Omega sighs.

Hunter clicks off her lamp, whispering one last goodnight over his shoulder as he leaves the room.

Omega’s busy mind keeps her awake a few minutes more, noticing that the colorful lights cast a faint rainbow glow on the slanted ceiling. “Holidays,” Omega breathes dreamily, “I’ve never celebrated holidays before…” The lull of sleep claims her with wistful dreams.

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

“They’re called Merry Days,” Lyana tells Omega the next morning. “It’s a whole month to honor all the most important holidays from all the cultures represented on Pabu.”

Omega breathes. “A whole month? What do you do for a whole month?”

“All sorts of things! We decorate and eat special food and play games. There are shows and parades, and remembrances. And on the middle day of the month, families exchange gifts with one another. We call that day Merriest Day, because the gift of family is the merriest of all.”

“I’ve never gotten anyone a gift before,” Omega says quietly.

Lyana lights up. “I can help you get gifts for your brothers! We could make them gifts, or even earn some credits to buy gifts from the market.”

“You would really help me do that?” Omega asks, hope swelling in her heart.

“Of course! You’re my friend. That’s what friends do,” Lyana says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

Omega smiles. “When can we start?”

“Right now, obviously.” Lyana laughs. “C’mon!”

Omega chases her friend out the door and into the sunshine of their island home.

TECH

“There’s going to be a parade of lights tonight,” Omega chatters excitedly, accepting the stack of plates from Tech to set around the table. “And the whole island is going to be there.”

Tech hums thoughtfully at the information. “It would be interesting to study the local traditions,” he says, giving Omega a handful of utensils when she bounds back to his side. He turns to the cuts of meat he is cooking on the stovetop.

“We wouldn’t be going to study, Tech,” Omega sighs. “We’d be going because it’s our tradition too! We are citizens of Pabu now, so we should celebrate with them!”

Tech goes still, Omega’s words, so assured, registering in his mind. “Well, I suppose…”

“Lyana asked what traditions clones have to add to Merry Days, and I told her I wasn’t sure, but that I’d ask you, since you know practically everything,” Omega continues fondly, going to the cupboard to collect cups.

“Traditions clones have,” Tech echoes, unsure he understands.

“Yeah,” Omega says, “You know…like other cultures have traditions and holidays. Lyana said they’re always adding new traditions to the month to incorporate all the cultures represented.”

“I’m not sure you would call our history a culture,” Tech counters gently. “Our…kind has only been in existence for an extraordinary short time. And as for traditions worthy of being called a holiday, I’m not sure that there are any by natborn standards.”

He turns to look at his sister in time to see her joyous expression crumble. She isn’t looking at him, but at the cup in her hand, half extended to its place at the table. “Oh,” she whispers. “That makes sense.” She sets the cup down with a soft clunk.

Tech’s voice catches in his throat as he searches for something remotely comforting to say, but his typically brilliant mind comes up short.

Omega looks up at him with a small, brave smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “That’s okay. We can start new traditions. Our own traditions.” She nods, more to herself than to Tech. “I’ll go tell the others it’s almost time for late meal…I mean, dinner.” She rushes from the room, but there is no longer any bounce in her steps.

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

Omega’s mood improves considerably during late meal. Wrecker hounds her for information about the parade, as if she has any personal experience with it, and she gives him every minute detail she gleaned from Lyana. Even Hunter and Crosshair have a part to play in her lifted spirits, bickering lightly about where the best place to view the parade might be. Omega ultimately sides with Crosshair, to the sniper’s delight, the emotion only displayed in a triumphant smirk at Hunter and a gentle tug on a lock of Omega’s hair.

Once the meal is completed, Hunter sends Omega to make preparations for the evening activity while he offers to assist Tech cleaning up.

“It is not your turn,” Tech argues, unwilling to admit that he had hoped to take advantage of the opportunity to think uninterrupted.

Hunter shrugs, stacking plates and utensils. “I don’t mind.”

Tech minds, but he only nods and mutters a word of thanks.

“You’ve been quiet this evening,” Hunter says after a few minutes of silence between them, the only sound being the clatter of dishes and disturbance of water.

“I’ve been thinking,” Tech admits, handing Hunter a scrubbed dish to dry.

Hunter chuckles. “You usually think out loud.” This earns Hunter an eyeroll, which makes the former sergeant laugh outright and knock his shoulder into Tech’s. “Something’s bothering you.”

“Omega asked me about our culture, what we might contribute to the festivities of Pabu,” Tech says, taking another dirty plate to scrub at.

“Echo’s talked about some traditions the regs had,” Hunter says, the lightness of his tone vanished. “Maybe he’d have some ideas.”

“But we never participated in them,” Tech says, “and aside from that, it is troubling that Omega doesn’t have a history beyond the laboratories of Kamino. No clone does.”

“All histories and cultures have to start somewhere,” Hunter says.

This makes Tech pause. “This is true.”

“I suppose we have an opportunity to make our own culture, our own legacy,” Hunter continues. “Something for Omega to carry with her.”

After we’re gone remains unsaid.

“Omega said something similar,” Tech admits.

Hunter takes the stack of dried plates to put in the cupboard. “We can still ask Echo for ideas. I’m sure he would love to have input.”

“And Rex as well,” Tech adds, feeling lighter now that he has shared the burden. “I will contact them tonight. Hopefully we will have something to offer Omega as suggestions in the morning.”

Hunter shakes his head and smiles. “Tech, we don’t have our entire legacy figured out in one night.”

“But that would be ideal.”

CROSSHAIR

As soldiers, they have seen many celebrations on many worlds, but always in the capacity of disinterested observers. Watching for threats and protecting citizens made the distraction of festivities bothersome rather than engaging.

Now, Crosshair sees it all from a new perspective.

Omega is perched on Wrecker’s shoulders, high above the crowd. Crosshair doesn’t like the press of the horde on the streets, almost wishing he could find his own perch to observe the chaotic festivities from; however, his desire for open space does not win out over his yearning to be close to his little sister and brothers. So, instead, he situates himself between Wrecker’s bulk and Hunter’s solid presence. It also puts him within Omega’s reach, resulting in her tapping him on the head to draw his attention to anything and everything that catches her attention.

He pretends to be bothered, but Omega only giggles, seeing through his act as if it were a wide open window.

“Look, Crosshair!” she cries, a pat of little fingers in his hair. “Isn’t it cute!”

“We’re watching the same parade,” he tells her. “I see everything you see.”

“But are you looking at the little moonyo in the tree?”

“I saw it before you did.”

Omega huffs. “You did not.”

Crosshair smirks.

When the parade finally ends, Omega slides down from Wrecker’s shoulders and latches herself to Crosshair’s hand for the walk back home, even after he tells her she’ll have to keep up with his pace if she wants to stay there.

“That’s why I’m walking with you,” Omega tells him. “Hunter and Tech walk too slow.”

“That’s because it isn’t a race,” Tech says.

“You only say that because you wouldn’t win,” Crosshair replies.

“Yeah!” Wrecker declares. “I could beat all of you!”

Omega drops Crosshair’s hand. “Last one home has to do dishes for a week!” She takes off, followed quickly by a whooping Wrecker.

Crosshair exchanges a look with Tech and Hunter before he says, “Well, I’m not doing dishes for a week.”

“You don’t seriously mean…” Tech starts, but Crosshair is already gone, civilian boots pounding into the cobblestone streets.

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

“I don’t think it’s fair that Hunter chose to participate in the race only after we had nearly reached the house,” Tech is still grousing when Crosshair returns to the common area from tucking Omega in for the night.

“You’re just upset you didn’t think of it first,” Hunter says smugly, taking a slow drink of his caf.

Tech continues to grumble from behind his data pad.

Crosshair goes to pour himself a cup of caf, adding just a touch of cream and sweetener. He would be loath to admit he used either, trying to keep the beverage deceptively dark. When he returns to the common room, he finds that the conversation has shifted from their evening race.

“Echo has already responded to my message,” Tech is saying to Hunter.

Wrecker poses the question before Crosshair can. “What message?”

“About clone traditions,” Tech says absently, still reading over the message in question.

“Clone traditions,” Crosshair mutters. “You mean, reg traditions.”

“It isn’t like we have any ourselves,” Tech says.

“Sure we do!” Wrecker cries. “We have traditions.”

“Such as?” Tech asks skeptically.

“Well, after a successful mission, Omega and I would get Mantell Mix,” Wrecker begins happily, but then he freezes, glancing at Crosshair.

In fact, Crosshair can feel three sets of eyes on him. He decidedly does not meet their gaze, focusing on the caf in his cup. This post mission Mantel Mix tradition was one established during his separation from the squad, when they ran jobs for the trandoshan that would later betray them to the Empire. They must’ve called them missions, their little mercenary gigs. While he knows their lives didn’t stop while he was gone, it doesn’t make the ache any less sharp.

Crosshair takes a drink of his caf, even though it is still too hot. “Well,” he says, “sounds like you’ve got a tradition right there.”

“Omega did mention that food does play a role in the month’s festivities,” Tech acknowledges, taking Crosshair’s words as permission to step away from the awkwardness of the conversation. “Perhaps we could borrow the concept of Mantell Mix and make our own rendition.”

Hunter makes a face. “Mantell Mix wasn’t even good.”

“Take that back!” cries Wrecker.

“Hunter has a point,” Tech says, ignoring Wrecker’s indignant gasp, “It was…subpar at best.”

“And that’s coming from the man who drinks caf with his milk and sugar,” Crosshair puts in helpfully, earning a guffaw from Wrecker.

Hunter interjects, bringing the derailed conversation back on course. “What did Echo have to say?”

“He mentioned name days, the day a clone received or chose their name. They would celebrate the day annually. Its natborn equivalent would probably be a birthday.”

“How are we supposed to remember when we chose our names?” Crosshair asks, rolling his eyes.

“I actually kept a record,” Tech admits. “I thought it was important.”

“Of course you did.”

Tech sighs. “I am adding it to the list of traditions we show to Omega in the morning. That gives us a grand total of two traditions we might contribute to Merry Days.”

“A nasty snack and the day a clone decides they don’t want to go by a CT number anymore?” Crosshair grumbles. “Do you think they’d give us a parade for those?”

Hunter frowns at him. “We are open to suggestions, Cross.”

Crosshair argues, “Why do we need to contribute any traditions? Can’t our tradition be that we adopt whatever traditions we want? Seems the month is full of them without us adding our petty creations.”

“Omega would be disappointed,” Tech says after a moment.

Crosshair sighs. “The truth is disappointing sometimes. And the truth here is, we’re clones. We were experiments and soldiers most of our lives…which wasn’t living. It was surviving.”

“But we still have our memories and experiences that have made us individuals, no matter what the Kaminoans hoped to achieve. We are more than just survivors,” Tech says.

“We have our history that made us,” Hunter says, softly, into his mug, “and now we have our history ahead of us. To do more than just survive.”

Tech chuckles. “I guess you were right afterall, Hunter. A legacy cannot be built in a night.”

“But it can be built in our lifetimes,” Hunter says.

TBC

I had to break this story into at least 2 parts…but the next part will come!!

This story was originally for the holidays, but I got in a car accident on Christmas Eve, so that put a damper on the plan 😅

But I finally get to post this bittersweet fluff!

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

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[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2024

Day 23, Alt 3. Found footage:

—

You go on the dark web for the first time ever after being coaxed by a new friend and scroll across a monitor viewing site where you can click through different footage that looks through people’s phones and monitors to spy on them, and vote on the one you want to see get tortured. It's all fun and games until you come across your own monitor. The comments underneath your full name are enough to scare you shitless, and when you see what place you’re voted into, you know it's too late to run. Its already been decided.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Day 23: “You’ll Have to Go Through Me” (Warriors & Fierce Deity)

Ao3 link

Cw for blood and injury

————————

There’s blood on the ground.

Warriors stares at it as he shoves himself up on all fours, shaking and gasping. With an effort, he plunges his sword into the ground and wraps his hands around it. Only his grip on it allows him to rise to his feet.

More blood dribbles down as he stands, soaking into the soil. Dimly, he realizes it’s his—all of it. There’s a startling amount of it, much too much to be healthy, to be safe. But there are monsters leering at him, clubs slung over their shoulders, tails whipping back and forth. And failure is not an option. Falling is not an option.

He wavers, blinking to clear the blur from his eyes. When he yanks the sword out of the ground, he nearly collapses. His legs and arms tremble, his body aches. Iron is on his tongue, bitter and dangerous, and sweat rolls in beads down his forehead, dropping into his eyes.

The monsters prowl around him like vultures waiting for a dying animal to take its last breath. And he guesses that’s a correct enough assumption, now that his brothers have fallen, unconscious and wounded, bleeding into the soft dirt of the forest. Now, that he can hardly keep himself upright.

He grins at them, showcasing teeth tinged red by blood.

“What’s wrong? You scared of me now?”

One of them comes closer and he lashes out, bringing his weapon down in one, swift stroke. It falls.

…And he dissolves into a coughing fit.

They’re on him in a moment, clubs hitting the ground so hard he can feel the reverberations, claws and tails, and spears coming at him from every direction. Warriors stumbles back, one hand held over his mouth, the other clutching his sword. He raises it, fighting clumsily to fend off the relentless attacks. But with every retreating step, it becomes more apparent that he’s doomed.

If he were uninjured and in possession of his shield and tools, he could take on these monsters without issue. His pouch is gone, however, disappeared amongst the trees and bushes, and his shield with it.

But he’s the last line of defense, the only person left to ensure his brothers make it out of this alive. And besides, he’s a stranger to the concept of giving up.

Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe not. At this moment he really doesn't care either way. Because the beasts attack relentlessly and if he lets himself even think about letting down his guard, he’ll end up with a spear through his chest. So, even as the world goes hazy and every inch of him throbs, he battles them with all his might.

He pulls off a few clumsy spin attacks by miracle alone, sending the monsters in his immediate vicinity flying. It’s hardly enough to kill all his opponents—this camp is packed with the black-blooded beasts—but it gives him enough space to limp closer to where his brothers lie. He situates himself in a battle stance in front of their prone forms and prepares to face the approaching horde.

They won’t reach his brothers. They’ll have to go through him first.

But he can only hold on for so long.

A bokoblin comes from the right, squealing and screeching as it swings its club over its head. And with so many monsters around him and his mind sluggish and dulled by pain, Warriors doesn’t notice it until it’s too late.

The weapon rams into his head with nauseating force. Everything goes black.

*****

Someone is calling him.

Warriors drags open his eyes with a groan. His head pounds an agonizing beat, matched only by the resounding ache in the rest of his body. His surroundings are hazy, his thoughts muddled.

“Link.”

It's a deep voice, kind and almost fatherly; familiar, yet foreign. He raises his head to search for the source of it, squinting past the tilting ground. It takes a moment but soon his eyes catch on a pouch lying a short way away. Its flap has fallen open and just past the opening a small bit of white hair is visible.

“Come, captain. I can help you.”

Warriors inhales in a ragged breath, trying to think past the pain, trying to remember. He knows that voice, he does…

“The fight is not over yet. Put on the mask and you can save them.”

Save them…

Warriors’ eyes widen as it hits. His brothers. He’s got to save his brothers!

And the mask…the mask he has to put on is…

“Fierce?” He whispers, hoarsely, hoping beyond hope that he’s right.

“Indeed.” The deity’s tone is warm now. “I will help you, little one. You need only to reach me.”

Gritting his teeth, Warriors stretches his arm out, grasping. The pouch is just far enough away to be out of reach, but he digs his fingernails into the ground and drags himself forward. His body screams at the movement, stars exploding before his eyes. For a moment he’s certain he’s going to black out again.

But then his fingers close around the edge of something smooth and wooden. He pulls it out and holds it up, staring into the familiar face of the deity.

The very act of holding the mask sends a thrill of fear through him. The deity is intense to interact with and fight beside, yes, but Warriors knows he has a kind heart. To let him possess him, however, that’s something else entirely.

“You-you’ll help them?”

The mask warms just slightly, as though trying to reassure him.

“I will save them and you. I give you my word.”

“O-okay.”

Warriors allows himself a moment longer to prepare, staring down at the mask in his bloodied, trembling grip. The transformation will be painful, that much is certain. He doesn’t know exactly how painful. To make the old man scream the way it does, it must be severe.

A cold, hard knot of dread settles in his gut.

There’s no other option, however. He has to protect his brothers.

He slams it onto his face.

The pain is immediate and excruciating. His hand falls from his face as he goes rigid, a scream breaking free from his tortured throat. Bones shift and break; limbs grow larger, longer, his vision bleeds a blinding white. And then he’s falling, down, down, down, control over his body slipping through his grasping fingers.

He gasps, trying to fight to hold on, every instinct screaming that he win. But a voice comes floating to him through the surrounding darkness, comforting and firm.

“Be calm, little one. Allow me to take the lead.”

It drives away some of the terror clenched around his heart. He can trust the deity. He has to believe that he can.

“Save them,” he orders and lets go.

Everything is a blur after that. Colors and shapes whiz by too fast to identify. Sounds reach his ears as if from underwater. His body is moving, talking, fighting, but Warriors merely exists within it, floating, half-conscious in the dark. He can’t feel anything anymore–no pain, or fear–though whether that’s from his injuries or the effects of the mask, he isn’t certain.

It seems to go on like that forever. Then, the voice reaches him once more and he awakens to hear it.

“Your brothers are safe, captain. Now, it is time for them to care for you. Prepare yourself.”

Fingers grasp his chin, hooking beneath the mask. Warriors scrambles to get his thoughts in coherent order.

“Fierce?”

His body pauses, the deity raises a questioning brow.

“Thank you.”

His own lips curve into a small smile. Warriors can count on the fingers of one hand how many times he’s seen it.

“Farewell, little one. Until we meet again.”

The mask comes off. For a moment, Warriors can’t do more than stand there, wavering and lightheaded, staring dazedly down at the mask. Then, pain hits him with the force of a war horse, and he crumples.

[how-much-for-a-whump]

FEBUWHUMP day 23:

Prompt: "You'll have to go through me."

Nemocnica S03E23

@febuwhump