A whump event set in August, run by @starryybrained
Write-up of prompts & rules under the cut
MAIN PROMPTS:
Day 1: resentment / infection / sinister
Day 2: electricity / dislocation / drugs
Day 3: lonely / paradise / cold
Day 4: shackles / support / stoic
Day 5: gunpoint / gristle / terror
Day 6: high / choking / charred
Day 7: needles / tense / smile
Day 8: angel / bite / mercy
Day 9: fresh meat / tragedy / selfish
Day 10: payback / beast / beating
Day 11: cpr / corrosive / coughing blood
Day 12: storm / stumbling / squirm
Day 13: cave in / catatonic / plane crash
Day 14: itch / skin / hooks
Day 15: hidden enemy / crime / body
Day 16: broken promise / flood / still waters
Day 17: chemicals / count / chronic condition
Day 18: flayed / knew it / shattered
Day 19: head trauma / wires / fuzzy
Day 20: training / jealousy / woozy
Day 21: sorrow / sanguine / system
Day 22: watching / bonded / resistance
Day 23: blanket / bold / crowbar
Day 24: draining / deadly / doomed
Day 25: twisted / aversion / crunch
Day 26: listless / misstep / remember
Day 27: rest / behave / title
Day 28: party / mania / limit
Day 29: exile / leash / fault
Day 30: quiet / pinned / perfect
Day 31: free day
ALT PROMPTS:
Alien
Headline
Tradeoff
Disappear
Freak show
Worry
Power hungry
Shadows
Reconditioning
Blindfold
Reunion
GUIDELINES:
Prompts should ideally be responded to in the form of whump
Creators can make any type of media they want (Yes, this includes any kind of media, no matter how niche. As long as it’s creative, it’s allowed)
Tag & trigger warn your content accordingly. This includes marking NSFW and putting up proper barriers against minors seeing it
You can complete these prompts in tandem with any other event or other prompts (such as in combination with Bad Things Happen Bingo, AU-gust, etc.)
DO NOT use ai or plagiarize
Tag your works as #augustofwhump and/or #augustofwhump2026. In addition to that, you can also tag this account — @augustofwhump. I’ll try to reblog whatever I can!
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"Yes, sir. Your perfect weapon, I swear to the God of Trade."
"And it's obedient and emotionless, no matter what I do to it."
"Of course, sir! Our training house provides the best serv—
A backhanded slap sends the Trainer on the floor. The Owner shakes the blood off the family ring. Then walks to the Weapon, unmuzzles it and slaps it too—one, two, three times. Trainer sits on the floor in terror. Weapon locks its ice blue eyes on the Owner, its head doesn't even jerk as the black diamond rips the skin on its cheek.
He was backed into a corner. The streets were dark, he had low hopes in anyone finding him.
Blood was dripping from his nose, painting a small red river down his chin; he didn't dare raise a hand to wipe it off.
"Got nothing to say now, smartass?" The other man's voice broke the silence while he stared at the shiny metal pointed right at his face.
"Usually I'm the one holding the gun. Guess everyone must have a first experience, mh?" He replied with an half assed smile, feeling his heart thumping like never before. He couldn't panic now. He could never.
"Ah, there it is." The man sounded almost satisfied. "Thought I had scared ya for good now." His finger itched for the trigger, but he didn't shoot.
"Now, if you wanna keep your sorry ass alive, you're gonna have to do me a little favor... Got it?"
He sighed.
"Wow, at least where I'm from they simply send a bullet to your head, they mostly skip all the useless talk." He almost managed to look completely unbothered. Almost.
contents: medical whump, surgery, gore, anaesthesia, sadism, yknow just the general stuff
"Please-"
"Please what?" the Doctor asked, hiding a smile under their mask.
"Just- Just put me under for this. I don't want to- I can't do this anymore."
He really was desperate. After days of being denied painkillers, practically slipping in and out of consciousness, his body trying it's best to recover from the previous procedures, he really couldn't take it much longer. Now he laid on the table once again, strapped down for yet an other operation.
As the Patient begged, the Doctor stopped, studying his pained expression, as if contemplating his fate.
"Okay." they said after an uncomfortably long pause, "If you give me a good enough reason, I'll put you under."
"Like- like what?" he asked under his breath. His head spun. He tried to collect his thoughts, gritting his teeth through the pain as the Doctor continued slicing his way inside his abdomen.
"Tell me why I should do this for you."
He let out a groan, shaking in agony and frustration.
"Come on." the Doctor taunted.
"I-I don't fucking know! I can't really think while you're elbow-deep in my stomach."
The painkillers didn't do much, as usually, the dose kept to the bare minimum, only to stop him from passing out on the table. The sensation of being cut open wasn't really something he got used to, no matter how many times he had to suffer through it.
"How about this." the Doctor started, "If you let me take something, I'll give you anaesthesia. The real kind. You'll fall asleep and won't feel or remember anything."
"Take something?"
"Yes. Something from inside you."
"So like- A finger won't do, right?"
"I don't want to start amputating yet."
The Patient would've started sobbing at the implication, the thought of being slowly hollowed out and having all necessary parts removed, eventually ending up as a limbless shell of a human, kept alive solely at the Doctor's mercy. But he did not have the time or the capacity to really think about that.
He instead considered his chances, closing his eyes shut, attempting to ignore the white-hot pain searing through his body. Everything the Doctor could take, they have already taken. His appendix, gallbladder, parts of his liver, his spleen. His tonsils have been removed when he was a child– and he wasn't even sure if that would have sufficed for them.
"A-A rib?" he said, which granted a surprised raise of eyebrows from their tormentor. "I mean- there's not much left in me to take."
"I suppose you're right. Although that would mean an other incision. Apart from the one I've already made." they sunk their gloved fingers in the cut in the middle of his abdomen.
"I'm not- I'm not having you take my guts out. Fuck that."
The Doctor laughed.
"Yes, that would've been my first option. But if you're so dead set on your ribs, we can do that." they said while drawing a syringe full of a white substance.
The Patient laid frozen in anticipation, taking small, hitched breaths to avoid the gash on his stomach causing even more pain. Still, his body shook with each inhale. He waited, his eyes hazed over by tears but still following the Doctor's movements. He watched as they pushed the contents of the syringe into the IV line. Then, he felt the calm wash over him, and for the first time in what seemed like years, his consciousness faded to painless nothing.
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June of Doom 13: Electrocution + August of Whump 8: Defiance
Masterlist
CW: Electric torture
“You could avoid this, you know. Just do what I want and you won’t have to go through anything more.”
Whumpee just snarled in response.
Whumper shrugged lightly, as if they were agreeing to disagree on what ice cream flavor was the best instead of deciding to torture someone over a totally reasonable lack of cooperation.
Whumper flipped a switch. Whumpee screamed as pain ripped through them. They saw stars. They lost control of their movement as their muscles spasmed.
It went on for several seconds that felt like hours, and then Whumper flipped it back off.
“Changed your mind yet?”
No, Whumpee thought, but didn’t deign to give them an answer. Whumper took their silence as the negative it was.
Again, white, searing pain, and a loss of control over their own body as the electricity ran through them.
“You gonna cooperate now?” Whumper checked in.
Whumpee called Whumper a choice insult, in a voice that was now significantly weaker than their will.
The soreness of muscles overtaxed by electrical stimulation was drowned out by a brighter, more acute pain as Whumper shocked them again. “I can do this a lot longer than you,” Whumper said before turning it off once more. “Either you can give in to me, or we can continue until you lose consciousness.”
Whumpee glared. There wouldn’t be much point in feigning unconsciousness if their reaction to the next bout of electricity would give them away anyway. But they weren’t giving in to this. They would have to hope unconsciousness came sooner rather than later.
"We can't hit him, the steam just blows the thunder spears away!"
"Mikasa, you're bleeding!"
"ARMIN!"
Armin awoke with a gasp. He whimpered, wincing from the sharp pain of his body jerking awake. He looked around, only one eye working. This place was completely unfamiliar to him. Everything was a sterile white, no comforting browns of wood beams or cool grays of stone tile.
Suddenly, he noticed a face staring at him. The face grinned, all teeth bared. "Oh, boy! Fresh meat!" He sung.
Armin let out a terrified sound, then he heard someone familiar.
"Cut it out, Porco." Annie hissed, carrying a large bowl in her arms.
"Aw, come on!" Porco? Defended. "I was just joking!"
Then, Marcel's voice cut in, but Armin couldn't look far enough to see him. "Can I just enjoy my coffee without you starting shit, Porco?"
"Are you fucking for real?!" Porco shouted.
"Just ignore him, Armin." Annie said calmly. "He's an idiot." She pulled out a tube and connected it to something stuck in his throat. Gently, she filled a syringe and pushed the food down the tube a little at a time. Armin could feel his stomach fill with warm food, figuring that she must be tube feeding him.
Right, he was burnt really badly, wasn't he? He probably couldn't eat on his own. But why was he here? With her? Wasn't she a traitor? A murderer?
She- she had to come from somewhere. That's the conclusion he came to when Reiner, Marcel, and Bertholdt escaped with her crystal. They all had to come from somewhere. And that somewhere must've sent them to the walls for a reason.
And now, he must be that somewhere. With her, and Bertholdt, and the other traitors and murderers that don't care if his people live or die.
This is a chapter for my main WIP Attack on Titan canon rewrite fanfic, Ouroboros. The fic isn’t posted yet (the first chapter remains unfinished 🥲) but I’ve been chipping away at it for about half a year and it’s at around 130k words so far. These prompts gave me the inspiration I needed to write a chapter that takes place near the end of the fic, so it will be a while until its official release, but I’m still glad it’s written now!
A bit of background: the canon events of Attack on Titan are the first loop of a timeloop in Ouroboros, with the fic showcasing the events of the current loop of the timeloop. This chapter takes place during the timeskip between this loop’s version of events seen in seasons 3 and 4 of the canon anime.
This chapter will continue to be edited between the time of making this post and its official release on AO3. Additionally, the version I am posting on Tumblr now is a different version from the chapter I have in my main doc, because this version has been edited to remove some spoilers for the fic that I don’t want to be known yet.
Also, the Entity is a canon character from the first loop of the timeloop. But they’ve become really messed up due to being caught up in the timeloop, so no one alive today knows who they really are :)
Falco woke up with his alarm clock. As the loud sound blared, he saw Colt scramble to get up from where he lay on the floor next to Falco’s bed (between Falco and the door to his room, like usual) and turn the alarm off.
Falco sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with a groan.
“Good morning Falco!” Colt exclaimed, voice still a bit raspy from the night’s disuse. He ruffled his little brother’s hair. “It’s time to get up!”
“I know, I know,” Falco muttered. Colt didn’t start getting ready himself until Falco crawled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom.
After taking care of that, Falco returned to his room. Colt wasn’t there anymore, almost certainly getting changed in his own room, which he rarely slept in ever since he inherited the Beast Titan. Falco had considered asking Gabi about that, and if it was something Falco should be concerned about, but it didn’t seem right to be discussing such a personal part of Colt’s life behind his back. Sure, Marleyans did it all the time, but that was just how these things went. Right?
After making sure that the door was closed and the curtain was covering the window, Falco took out a clean uniform from his dresser and set it on his bed. He took off his pajama shirt and tossed it into the hamper.
And suddenly, he wasn’t in his room anymore.
He was in the Paths. The endless expanse of pale green sand felt strange under his bare feet. He was very close to the edge of the lake at the very center of this realm, actually, so close that he could see the individual strands of glowing light that made up the massive tree at the center of it.
But in between Falco and the water was the Entity, sitting on a throne made of sand, facing towards Falco and away from the water. They held their seashell in one hand, elbow resting on the corresponding arm of the throne, and their knife was stabbed into the sand that made up the other arm. There was a gentle smile on their face. And something unsettling in their eyes.
Falco quickly wrapped his arms around his bare chest, nervous about being so exposed.
“Hello, Falco Grice of Liberio,” they purred. Their pupils were blown wide, almost perfect circles. “Today’s your birthday, right?”
Falco froze. It was his birthday, wasn’t it? Eldians weren’t supposed to celebrate birthdays, and his family always followed the rules, so Falco never really considered this specific day to be particularly special at all. “Um, yeah, I think so!” he answered, trying to sound cheerful.
“Well, happy birthday to you! You’re eight years old now. Feel any different?”
“Uh, n-no…” Falco stammered.
The Entity snorted in amusement. “Of course you don’t. I’m just teasing. You know,” they murmured, voice softening. “When I was young like you, I met someone very special for the first time. I… I miss them…” The Entity blinked tears out of their eyes. “I’ve been so lonely, Falco. You have Gabi. You have your other friends, too. You have your parents. And I… I have no one…”
Their smile disappeared for a moment, as they were lost in thought. But their face quickly brightened again. “Do you know who you remind me of?”
“Who?” Falco eagerly asked.
“My ex.” The Entity’s smile widened.
Oh. That’s. That’s kind of weird. Right? Can I say that to them, or will they get mad?
“Oh. Okay.” Falco responded weakly, trying to hide his discomfort with the idea.
“You matter a lot to me, Falco,” the Entity mused, examining the shell they were holding. “I want you to have a good, long life. With Gabi. The way I should’ve had with- with my ex. I think that would be very poetic, don’t you?”
“So, I think it’s time to take the first big step towards making that happen. I have a birthday present for you!”
Falco felt the first hints of icy terror begin to spread through his veins. “Oh, um, what is it?”
The Entity bared their sharp teeth in a sinister grin. “You’ll figure it out, eventually. Now, please behave for me.”
The Entity waved their free hand, and two shackles shot out from beneath the sand and snapped shut around Falco’s wrists, and then pulled down until he fell to his knees.
Falco struggled desperately. He choked out a sob once he realized he was truly trapped. Meanwhile, through eyes blurry with tears, he saw the Entity carefully set the seashell down on the arm of their throne, and pull the bloodstained knife out with their dominant hand. They twirled it around as they got up.
“I’ll be honest with you. This is going to hurt. A lot. But it will all be worth it. Because I’m going to give you the closest thing to perfection I’ve ever made. You will be a prince among monsters, a lord of the skies, a creature of pure freedom, rising higher than anything else ever has. And I’ll be merciful and erase your memory of how you’ll be getting to that state. Starting… now.”
Suddenly, Falco was laying on the floor of his bedroom. Colt was shaking him frantically, screaming something, but Falco couldn’t focus on what was being said. His body felt hot, way too hot. Sweat was dripping down his skin, and his entire body was shaking and twitching violently. He sucked in a breath, but he was having trouble making his lungs do their job- and it was terrifying, how he felt like he was about to suffocate.
Falco lay there, unable to speak or do anything except shake and struggle to stay alive.
The next thing he knew, he was in a bed. He was wearing a hospital gown, now, and there was a red armband around his arm instead of his usual yellow. Adults were murmuring amongst each other around him, but he still couldn’t understand what they were saying.
He felt exhausted. He closed his eyes.
He didn’t know how long he was there, laying in that bed, phasing in and out of consciousness, being poked and prodded by doctors who never wore armbands. Whenever he was awake, he felt like he was being tortured. His body refused to stop shaking, and it hurt- it hurt so much, and his muscles were so sore, and his nerves felt like they were on fire, and his head was pounding, and the sweat made him feel so gross, and there was something in his skull rummaging through his memories and burying itself deep into his brain.
Falco really thought that he would die.
Eventually, he woke back up to discover that he wasn’t really shaking anymore. There were occasional tremors, sure, but he felt a lot better now. Still bad. But better.
He was finally able to process where he was, though his mind still felt quite fuzzy.
For some reason, for the first time in his life, he instinctively knew exactly where he was on the planet. It was difficult to explain- he didn’t know what city he was in, or if he was even in a city at all, but he knew his exact location in relation to the globe. And something in his head pointed in a specific direction, no matter how he turned his head.
Strange.
The room he was in smelled like alcohol and chemicals, and it burned his nose. He could hear the whirring and beeping of machines. There was no one else in there with him, and he could see the door from where he was, made of metal. A clipboard hung nearby, with something written on the papers attached. He was still too out of it to recognize anything except for his own name. The bedsheets were white, and damp from his sweat. There were metal railings on either side of his bed, and that made Falco a tiny bit angry, for some reason.
He wanted them gone.
He wanted to get up and get out of here.
He closed his hand into a fist, just to see if he could, and was pleased with the result. He opened it again.
Get up.
The urge echoed in Falco’s mind.
Okay. Sure. I… I think I can do that.
There was a blanket keeping him warm (much too warm) and pinned to the bed. With a bit of struggle, he managed to push it off of him. Carefully, he sat up.
Next, he disconnected everything else that was attached to him except for the hospital gown.
It took some effort, but he managed to figure out how to get the railing closest to the door to be pushed down and out of the way, leaving nothing between Falco and freedom. He moved so that his bare feet were planted on the ground.
Now, the moment of truth. He took a deep breath.
And stood up.
Immediately, he felt woozy, but he couldn’t stop now.
Leave. Go home. Go to Paradis.
Falco didn’t question it. He took a step forward. He was unsteady, but he hadn’t fallen yet, so he stumbled closer to the exit.
The door swung open. The shock of seeing a woman dressed in white (and not wearing an armband) standing in the doorway made Falco misstep, and he felt himself falling. He didn’t remember hitting the ground, but he was laying there now, and the woman was hovering over him, looking very frustrated.
“What are you doing out of bed?!” she snapped. She grabbed him by the arm and hauled him up, and started dragging him back to bed, while supporting the vast majority of his weight so he didn’t fall again.
DANGER. BITE HER.
Falco didn’t question it. He lunged towards the arm that was gripping him so tightly and bit down. Hard. Hard enough that he tasted blood. He heard the woman shriek and felt her let go.
Immediately, powered by adrenaline and something rooted deep in his flesh, he ran out the door.
The hallway still smelled like alcohol and chemicals, but less so than the room he’d just been in. He could go left, or right.
He chose left. He felt his position on the globe shift ever so slightly as he ran.
Another choice. Left or right. He chose left again.
And he ran straight into someone else who was just about to turn the corner.
Familiar arms grabbed tightly onto him, and held him slightly away from their owner’s chest.
“Falco?! What are you doing?!?!”
Worthy opponent.
No- COLT!
Falco burst into tears, surging forward and wrapping his arms around his big brother. Colt quickly put a hand over his nape, making Falco suddenly feel much safer and very loved.
“There you are, you devil!” he heard the woman scream behind him. He heard footsteps rapidly approaching.
“Woah, hold on, what’s-“ exclaimed Colt.
“That little monster BIT me!” she roared. Falco clung on tighter.
“Holy shit, I’m so sorry, he’s so sorry, he’s just confused, he didn’t mean it-“ Colt rambled, desperate.
“I’ll be fucking reporting this. I don’t care if someone in your family is a Warrior, you devils shouldn’t even be IN this hospital-“
“I’m the Warrior,” Colt interrupted, a growl at the edge of his voice. “I’m terribly sorry about this. He’s just a kid. He’s sick. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s never done anything like this before, ever. And he won’t do it again. If you need something to help you forget about this little incident, I have my wallet with me, if you get what I mean.”
The hall was quiet, for a time.
“If you can get him back in his bed without trouble, I’ll take a look in your wallet and see if my memory is working right today.”
Colt sighed in relief. He gently disentangled himself from Falco, and knelt down to Falco’s level, keeping his gaze on Falco’s nose. Falco was still sniffling, tears running down his face.
“Hey, Falco. It’s okay. You’re safe. We need to get you back in bed so you can keep resting, okay? I promise, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
Wordlessly, Falco held up his pinkie finger. Colt wrapped his own around his brother’s, forging a binding oath that could never be broken.
“Can we go now?” Colt asked gently.
Falco nodded. Colt took Falco’s hand and led him back down the hall. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and he felt himself grow weaker and weaker with every step.
Something inside of Falco growled in frustration, but it was willing to relent… for now.
“Do you know what’s wrong with him yet?” Colt asked, as he helped Falco back into the bed he’d woken up in.
“No,” snapped the woman, still clearly irritated. She was doing something behind Colt, but Falco couldn’t see what, since Colt kept moving to stand between them, blocking his line of sight. “But he’s improved a lot, so we’ll continue to keep an eye on him for now.”
“That’s good. Thank you so much for putting up with… us.” Colt ruffled Falco’s hair, looking lost in thought.
“I only do it because I get paid extra to deal with you devils.” There was a pause. “It’s ready. Hold him still.”
Colt gently but firmly took hold of Falco’s wrists and held them against his chest, effectively pinning his entire torso down. “It’s going to be okay,” he reassured. “I promised, remember?”
DANGER, screamed something in Falco’s head.
Falco tensed, and his heart began to pound rapidly in his chest.
“It’ll hurt more if you don’t relax, Falco. Can you relax for me?” Colt all but begged, clearly nervous.
The woman finally came into view, holding a loaded syringe.
Falco snarled at her, like some sort of animal, and struggled desperately to escape Colt’s grasp on him. But his strength was nothing compared to Colt’s. He was completely helpless.
Undeterred, the woman yanked Falco’s hospital gown out of the way, wiped a cloth that stank of alcohol on his thigh, and stabbed the needle into him. He screamed.
Falco didn’t want to listen to a single thing Colt said anymore. He fought like hell to break free.
YOU PROMISED. YOU PROMISED. YOU PROMISED!
The needle was soon removed and taken elsewhere, but whatever had been inside was now in Falco’s body. Eventually, Falco reached his limit. He went limp, and silent, throat sore from yelling and body aching from everything it had been put through recently.
Colt heaved a great sigh. “That means it’s working, right?”
“That sedative should’ve shut him up much quicker. I’m not sure why he was able to fight it for so long… even devils usually don’t last for much time at all once it’s in their system.”
Something in Falco’s head chuckled, amused. Falco decided to ignore it.
Colt rearranged Falco’s body so his arms were at his sides and pulled the blanket back over him, even taking the time to tuck him in. And then, he held Falco in that position while the woman strapped him to the bed. Falco squirmed, but he knew he had no chance of escape anymore.
“He’s really lively for someone who just got a drug like that…” murmured the woman. “Now, let’s take a look in that wallet.”
Falco watched as, without complaint, Colt handed it over. The woman opened it up and took every last bill out of it before tucking them into her own pocket. “That should be enough,” she chuckled. “And it seems that I don’t remember anything that happened in these past thirty minutes. How curious.”
“Thank you,” Colt said tiredly.
“You’re welcome, devil. I’m going to get this bite wound- that I don’t remember getting- treated now. Visiting time ends in two hours, so you’d better be gone from then.”
“Will do.”
The woman left the room then, and the door slammed shut behind her. Colt pulled up a chair and sat himself down in it so he could pet Falco’s hair more comfortably.
“It’s not your fault, Falco,” Colt whispered. “But please, don’t fight any Marleyans ever again.”
“I… I just wanted to go home,” Falco replied, just as softly.
“How in the world are you still able to talk?! Ah, it doesn’t matter. Just… promise me you won’t do that again?”
“You didn’t keep YOUR promise,” Falco grumbled.
“I did, Falco, but I know it doesn’t seem that way. I- shit! Um, hello, Mx. Entity…”
“Hello, you two!” rasped a familiar voice. Falco glanced over to the opposite side of the room from where Colt was sitting, and saw the Entity. Standing there. Staring right at him.
Master! thought some part of Falco’s mind.
Falco himself felt deeply nervous now. He didn’t remember much about how he’d ended up like this, but he knew that it was the Entity’s fault.
The Entity didn’t say anything after that. They just stood there, watching Falco breathe. Falco was frozen from terror. And Colt was tense and silent, probably wanting to throw himself between Falco and this strange and powerful being, but also wary of potentially angering the one who blessed him with the red armband he was wearing at that very moment.
“How are you feeling?” the Entity asked, after what felt like an eternity.
“Um, bad,” Falco croaked out.
The Entity burst out laughing. Both Grice brothers just waited for them to finish, unwilling to bother them in any way. As their giggles faded away, the Entity wiped tears out of their eyes. “Yeah, I figured.”
“Do… do you know what caused… this…?” Colt questioned cautiously.
“Yep! Not telling you, though.”
“Oh. Okay,” Colt weakly replied.
The Entity stared at Falco for a little longer. Finally, they clapped their clawed hands together, startling both of the others. “I’m going to head out now. Glad to see you’re recovering well! Bye!”
In an instant, the Entity disappeared.
Colt let out the breath he’d been holding. “Are you okay, Falco?”
No. They scare me, I think. But I don’t know how to get away from them at all…
“Yeah,” Falco lied.
“Okay,” Colt murmured. He leaned forward and kissed the top of Falco’s head. “It’s going to be okay, Falco. I love you. I’ll keep you safe.”
I don’t think you can, Colt…
Falco didn’t say that, though. “I love you too,” he replied instead.
Falco spent the next two hours staring up at the ceiling and letting Colt pet his hair and pretend that he could protect his little brother from a world that wanted him dead.
Meanwhile, something deep inside of him lashed its tail, yearning to fly free.
