Feb 20
Day Thirteen: "Again"
seen from Germany
seen from New Zealand
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Romania
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from South Korea
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from China
seen from Brazil
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
Day Thirteen: "Again"
Febwhump Day 8: Hunger
Hunger - If you’d rather read on AO3
Rating: Gen | Word Count: 818
Summary: Jason can’t taste Nectar anymore, but it’s worse than that. And he can’t shake the hunger that’s been dogging him.
—
Jason was hungry when he took his place at the table in the mess hall. Jason was always hungry these days, but eating never seemed to help.
He stared at his empty plate unenthusiastically as the rest of the seven settled around the table beside him. They all seemed eager to eat, as usual. Jason watched surreptitiously as various meals materialised on the plates around the table as they made their selections in turn. His gaze flickered unappetisingly back to his own empty plate. He could not think of anything to summon for himself.
Jason knew that he had to eat, if only to keep up his strength over the quest. He needed it now more than ever with the curse from Michael Varus’ sword gnawing away at his soul. Jason’s fingers brushed faintly against his chest where his bandaged wound remained. The curse seemed to be as ravenous as himself.
Jason made sure to eat when he was supposed to, or at least once a day. As long as he wasn’t too tired, or if there was somebody around watching closely enough to remind him. But nothing had any taste anymore.
He wasn’t quite sure when it had happened. It had been a shock to him after his run in with the suitors to find that Nectar no longer had any discernible flavour to him. It tasted like sawdust in his mouth. Jason had been left with the startling realisation over the following days that he hadn’t been able to taste much of anything anymore. These days, he ate mechanically; only for sustenance. There was no joy in it.
Jason didn’t remember much about his life, but he had remembered brownies from his favourite bakery back home in New Rome. He remembered that that was what Nectar had used to taste like for him. He could still vaguely remember their flavour, but even the memory of their taste was dull and fading. They used to make him happy. And now he couldn’t taste them anymore. The realisation had initially made him want to cry, but now he just felt dull and heavy. Why didn’t it make him happy anymore?
Around him, the others had begun to eat cheerfully, trying, as ever, to keep their spirits up. Jason kept his eyes downcast, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. He stared at his plate some more. He couldn’t think of anything he might like, so nothing appeared. That had been happening more often lately.
The hollow pit in his chest widened another fraction, and swallowed a little more of what was left of him. It had started with the holes in his head that Juno had so carelessly punched into him. They had allowed a void to open up inside of him and now he was collapsing in on himself slowly like a dying star. Jason wasn’t sure how long he had left before he’d crumple in on himself completely.
The wound in his chest twinged again and he grimaced quietly at the discomfort. He remembered Michael goading him to choose, Greek or Roman. He remembered the nightmares Gaia fed him each night, Greek or Roman. Jason didn’t know why they were so worried abut him choosing a camp. He was more worried about if he were still alive, still a person, still Jason Grace. He felt numb and disconnected.
Beside him, Leo’s elbow connected gently with his ribs. Jason turned dull blue eyes to him distantly.
“Come on, man, you eating?” Leo prompted cheerfully.
Jason blinked slowly, trying to rouse himself from his introspection. Leo frowned at him, scanning his weary expression.
“Are you alright?”
Jason’s lips curved up slightly into a tired smile. The effort exhausted him. “I’m fine.”
The faint crease in Leo’s brow remained. “You sure? You look like something’s on your mind…”
Jason maintained his weighted smile. “It’s nothing.”
He felt it was an honest enough answer, conscious of the void in his head continuing to gnaw away quietly at his memories, and the sensations of taste, comfort, and happiness.
Leo did not look fully convinced. He motioned quietly towards Jason’s empty plate. “You should eat something. You’ll feel better.”
Jason’s gaze flickered briefly to Leo’s plate and then to his own as the same meal appeared. He was hungry as ever, but he knew eating would not help. It was the flavour he craved. He missed the taste of food, and that continued to elude him. He was starving for something to make him feel something other than hollow.
He picked up his fork and began to pick idly at his meal. Satisfied, Leo let him be, and tuned instead to pick up his previous conversation with Piper. Each mouthful Jason managed settled heavily in his stomach and only served to accentuate the empty feeling he had been carrying around for days now.
Jason chewed dully. It tasted like sawdust.
Febwhump 2026
Day Five: Survivor
I am posting a day late, so double Febwhumps today.
Fandom: Star Wars
Character: Princess Leia Organa
(Signature is my SW art insta. I’ll probably post my art there later as a collection).
Been trying to do more of a painting/sculpting(?) method with no sketch or lineart.
Febuwhump ALT 9: you would have loved this Jeff, an unusual family
Watching his grandkids romp and play in the gentle surf of the Island’s one swimming beach, Jeff rubbed at his chest as the old ache flared up again, the invisible wound of his cut connection to Lucille.
‘Beautiful, I wish you could see this. You would have loved this so much.’
Day Five: Survivor
Insp // poem
Febwhump 2026
Day Three: Ghost
Fandom: SWtOR (again lol)
Characters: Vim “Wildfi’re” Linfla, Jonas Balker, Aric Jorgan.
Link to AO3 here.
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There was an unwritten rule that a cantina in one of Coruscant's lower sectors would always promise something interesting. Because of this, a lot of visitors took advantage to distract themselves from things in their lives. A lot of patrons were there to simply party and socialize, others stuck to themselves in attempts to damage their memories, a more favorable outcome than reliving horrors.
A lone soldier sat by herself at a rounded booth, nearly looking as glum but swirled liquid in her cup instead of consuming it. Her mind needed to be clear, she was a Captain of one of the best SpecForce squads the Republic had. Horrific memories were a factoring cost to keeping her skills sharp. People relied on her, put their lives in her hands. And oh, how those hands were trembling now.
Closing her free hand into a tight fist, Wildfi're surveyed the environment. Among the paying guests, there were a few who doubtless had ill intentions; of course, that was like saying there was surely fish in the ocean. The expectation was someone would come out to try to kill her or anyone in the room. Another reason why she had to stay aware. Shore leave didn't just turn off years of training and experience.
She blinked and had did a double-take. A familiar face. Her body tensed, lowering her cup to the table as she leaned slightly forward. Lights were changing in subtle, consistent patterns, but threw off perspective; anyone hammered was probably having a harder time keeping straight than usual. There, again! That smile, structure, down to the hairstyle and some of the facial patterns of the mirialan were exactly like… like…
Febwhump 2026
Day 2: Old Injury
Art feat. Once again, my swtor trooper.
An event that set her moral compass, turning her into the skilled SpecForce Major she is today.
An old wound that never truly healed.
(Layers separated below)
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Febwhump 2026
Day Six: Soul Bond
Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Characters: Vim AGAIN!
This one ended up being short.
`*:;,．★ ⌒ ☆・:.,;*
Vim was just a soldier. Regardless of who her parents were, her backstory, and all of her training, at the end of the day, she was just a person who knew how to use weapons efficiently. Weidling the Force like a Jedi or a Sith was something she could not do, often resulting in her accommodating fighting styles when combating a powerful Force-user. If anything, the Force wielded her. Lana liked to say it was serving well, but again, it was the reverse and unintentional. Perhaps Vim was someone who needed to fight against the overwhelming darkness and unite as many as possible to achieve balance. It was all speculation; all that she knew was that there was a job that needed to be done, people who relied on her and she'd do it. Vim wouldn't even try to dig deeper into the supernatural elements of it.
There hadn't been much of a choice when facing beings like Voss mystics with their visions, the Dread Masters, Revan, and countless others who were well beyond her skills. Why had she been chosen? Who knew. Those were the only times she could think that the Force had been with her. Still, even though she was just a soldier, there was a sense of pride in her accomplishments. Years of putting effort, going above and beyond, had reaped more than decent results. Earning the given role of Havoc Squad leader was something she felt she had long accomplished. Outside of battle, she had her friends and her paintings. A life that was full of chaos and strife, but it was hers. "Wildfi're", the amber brush of havoc.
Her very core had been breached by the enemy she had dedicated her life to fighting. The Sith Emperor, who had been going by the name "Valkorian", had latched onto her soul for too long. Over and over again, he tried to use her for his own gain. Despite his efforts, he failed to corrupt her…. right?
Some days, it felt unclear. There was more of an… awareness of the Force. Unable to use it still, even with the little power gained during her fights against his family, but it didn't feel as distant. It pressed on her chest while pulling off more impossible missions. Areas conquered by the dark side had the worst impact, as it felt it stirred any remnants of him to recreate his apparition. Planets she never once visited felt very familiar, finding out it had been somewhere he once tread frequently. It was maddening; sometimes, the confusion threw off current objectives. Thankfully, having a sith and a jedi consular as friends aided tremendously, even Senya and Arcann lent a hand; however, there was nothing they could teach or do that would ever absolve this affliction. He was gone, but it felt like a part of her soul had been carved out. No longer did she feel wholly herself.
Valkorian's soul was bound to hers. The Sith Emperor was a part of her now. She hated him, therefore ending up hating a part of herself. That's what hurt the most. Countless times she reassured others and her reflection that she was still Vim, still "Wildfi're." How much of that was actually true? What choices did she make that he had not influenced? There was no longer separation, individuality in their histories as foes; Vim had been a part of the Emperor's legacy.
A silent storm raged within, and there was nothing she could do about it.