#captivity tw

[all-the-gory-details]

whump prompt: magical brands/tattoos

THANK YOU

Tw: brand, burns, captivity, punishment

Whumpee trembled on the cold concrete floor, heavy breathing interrupted by the occasional hiccup or sob. Their body didn't feel right, shaky and weak.

Pain radiated from the spot on the small of their back, the spot Whumper had chosen to mark. If the branding iron wasn't lying discarded on the floor beside them, they would have sworn it was still pressed into their skin, sizzling as they tried to bite back their screams.

Now, whumper was waiting, foot tapping on the floor impatiently. Whumpee wanted so badly to curl up and cry, but this wasn't over. Not yet.

"It hurts, doesn't it, Whumpee?" They finally mused, excitement peeking through their cold facade.

"You fucking branded me," they muttered, squeezing their eyes shut tight. "Of course it hurts."

"Let's try something, hm? I'm... interested, to see what effect this will have on your behavior." They paused for a moment, and Whumpee braced themself for the kick or hit they assumed was coming.

Instead, whumper delivered one simple command. "Kneel."

Whumpee had a meer moment to feel the relief of not being beaten.

Then, the brand on their back was on fire once more.

They had thought it hurt to be branded the first time. Somehow, this was worse.

They shrieked in pain, limbs spasming as the agony traveled up their spine, radiating through their very soul.

Somehow, some part of them remembered that last command, and they managed to push themselves up, into a pose that could possibly be called kneeling.

The burning died down after a moment, returning to the manageable throb of before. Whumper grinned, slowly circling their quivering, kneeling form.

"I don't think disobedience will be a problem much longer, don't you agree? There are some cases, Whumpee, where pain really is the best teacher."

[whumper-whimsy]

Decoy

Cw: Intoxication, drugs, captivity

Whumpee sat limply on the ground of Whumper's office, dressed in Whumper's clothes— even down to his glasses. He couldn't remember much from earlier except for Whumper's panicked ramblings about cops and the evacuation of the other captives. Whumpee wasn't carefully restrained and hauled out of the house like the others... no, he was left for last.

He vaguely remembered some pain and then the blackness of sleep. Whumpee struggled to sit up, groaning. He spotted a pill bottle beside him— unlabled, but spilled over with white capsules.

Suddenly, the door was thrown violently open, and people poured into the room. They all had guns aimed at Whumpee, big SWAT shields blocking their bodies.

"Hands up," one of the officers barked, his voice grating on Whumpee's ears. He obeyed instinctively and flinched as the man shouted again, "It's the end of the line, Whumper!"

Whumpee looked around helplessly, blinking with confusion. "Wh... whumper? H- he left, I don't..."

"Dont play stupid," another officer spat, her voice venomous. "You've run from us enough. It's over, and you're going away for a long time."

Whumpee's voice was slurred. "Ple... please, you don' understand... I-" He cut off with a grunt as the officers grabbed him. The grip of both of the officers' hands was unforgiving. Whumpee did his best to fight back, but it was absolutely useless. Everything was hazy as he was dragged violently into the daylight— oh, how he'd missed the beautiful daylight!— and forced into a black government van.

It dawned on Whumpee's sluggish mind that he'd been framed. Of course, the cops would realize eventually that Whumpee wasn't the serial murderer that they were looking for, but who knows how long it would be?

Whumpee wasn't a suspect. No, he was a decoy. And he was sure Whumper would be back to take his dearest captive.

[deviant-doughnut]

Protective Caretaker - Breakup Era

An idea that won’t leave me alone…

Caretaker is minding their business one day, lost to their melancholy thoughts, when suddenly they’re grabbed/knocked out/forcibly subdued in some way. When they come to, they find themselves restrained, face to face with Whumper, whom they’d hoped was gone from their life for good. Whumper smirks in their terrible victory.

Whumper tells Caretaker “you’re mine now,” and that they’ll do whatever Whumper tells them, or else Whumper will cut them loose and recapture Whumpee instead. Caretaker’s stomach drops. They know how hard Whumpee fought to escape from Whumper, to get over what Whumper did to them in that place. Caretaker knows they’re still struggling terribly. So they agree. They agree to endure whatever sickening demands Whumper gives, whatever cruel torture and stinging wounds their strong hands inflict; whatever nasty words and psychological torture comes atop the physical.

Whumper taunts Caretaker, laughing because Caretaker knows what’s coming and is agreeing to it all regardless, all to protect their partner, Whumpee.

What Whumper doesn’t know, however, is that Caretaker and Whumpee aren’t together anymore. They couldn’t make it work. They had a terrible argument and left each other heartbroken. They haven’t spoken in months.

But Caretaker endures it all regardless. Anything to protect Whumpee, even now.

“Okay,” they tell Whumper, terrified but resolute. “I’m yours.”

[adrift-in-thyme]

I’m not thinking of specifically any good prompts for fairy time, but you know I love me some angst XD hurt/comfort, perhaps? Maybe with Warriors?

-Sky Floor

TIME AND WARRIORS MY BELOVEDS

And hurt/comfort too?? You couldn't have sent in a better prompt Peggy

CW for captivity, blood, and injury

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

Someone is speaking.

The voice floats to him like stray strands of fairy dust. Distant and hazy and soft…familiar.

The clouds of gray and black begin to part. The new light of a summer day pierces through closed eyelids. Reluctantly, Time shifts. 

Pain streaks up his small form in response, carving through the dim awareness he has only just begun to grasp. A low groan escapes past cracked lips. 

A fingertip brushes his cheek, so gentle it is hardly there. 

“It’s alright, Sprite. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Here…

Time shudders as the memories pour in. Unwanted. Unstoppable.

The translucent walls of a bottle surrounding him on all sides. Iron cuffs on his wrists and ankles, burning through his flesh. The agony of his torn wing. The pain of the wounds that pepper his abused body.

And a voice…a voice that pushes through an eternity of pain, that rises above the others that have filled his ears with their cruelty and derision. It is thick with anger, heavy with care.

“I’m here, Sprite. They won’t touch you again.” 

He drags open his eyes to a world of royal blue. Silken folds surround him on all sides, dipping and diving in graceful arcs. They snake around and over him, protective, secure. 

He knows their embrace well. After all, it is not the first time he has taken refuge within them. 

He fists his hands in the fabric, feeling the softness beneath his fingertips. It is gentle upon his abused body, gentle on his wings.

His wings…

He frowns as his awareness grows like a slowly incoming tide. He can feel them again, sense them upon his back. Whole. Healed. 

A torn wing is not easy to mend. Of that he is certain. 

“How?”

He doesn’t realize he has spoken the question until he hears his own voice, little more than a croak, tight with remnant pain and fear.

“Don’t worry about that now.”

Time looks up into the eyes he knows so well. Anguish and adoration, beauty and pain, the flames of defeat and the spark of victory – he has seen them all reflected there. But right now he isn’t certain what emotion permeates those deep blues. He only knows what they make him feel.

Safe. Loved.

His next breath stutters on the way out. A lump situates itself in his throat before he can quite comprehend why it is there. 

“Big brother.” The title slips out on impulse and Warriors’ face spasms in response. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve called me that,” he says, quickly schooling his features into a soft smile. 

He scoops Time into his palm with such care, the hero hardly feels himself being lifted. The breeze caresses his newly freed wings, coolness mingling with the wonderful warmth of the sun. He revels in the feel of it. 

“I’m glad you’re awake, Sprite. How’re you feeling?”

Time blinks, searching vainly for words. There is so much he needs to say, so much he needs to ask. But exhaustion and pain still cling heavily to him. He is uncertain how long he was held captive though it felt an eternity. And now all he wants to do is sleep.

“Thank you,” he whispers, instead, and prays that his brother will understand everything he means by it.  

Judging by the way Warriors’ expression grows impossibly softer, he does.

“Of course,” he murmurs, eyes shining with vulnerability, a smile on his lips. “I’ll always come for you, Sprite. Always. You’re my little brother.”

He holds Time to his cheek for a moment, and Time hears his breath hitch as he leans into the embrace. He yearns to comfort him, to protect him from the memories and emotions that seek to harm him. But then Warriors is releasing him once more into the silken bed of his scarf. And his mind grows wonderfully fuzzy.

“Rest,” Warriors says. “I’ll watch over you.”

Time doesn’t doubt that he will. 

[justashadetalkative]

⭐

(Multimuse meme | Accepting, but might get hoarded for a while!)

This is entirely off the wall but honestly the first thing that comes to mind is Smokes and Fully Alien Skitter! Except I think it would mostly be bad times for Smokes. xD

Various notions: Wrong place wrong time, Skitter is hunting Smokes? Reverse wrong place wrong time, Smokes is sent to deal with the Mystery Vermin knocking over the trash bins except oh, that’s a 40 foot long monster, not a dog? Smokes’ gang (? am I remembering correctly that that’s a thing?) has purchased Skitter in some kind of questionable deal, Smokes either Has Concerns or is put in charge of care and it is going poorly because turns out keeping an intelligent alien caged is a bit harder than doing the same with a fighting dog?

I don’t really know enough about Smokes to know how plausible any of those notions are, but it’s what comes to mind, ahaha.

Otherwise…

Alien Skitter and Fetch might be interesting too!

I have exactly one plot notion that’s come to mind so far that might let me explore writing Mila and Kim a bit better, and that’s to have someone wash up on their door step in need of a place to stay for a while, and honestly I feel like that could be a lot of fun with Archer. Do you want Archer to be brusquely fussed over by a pair of old lesbian aunts? He could be fussed over by a pair of old lesbian aunts.

Fetch and Mirian perhaps? Oh dear Mirian absolutely might wind up working someplace like ODIB.

@archerwhiterp

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Luke, how are you these days? Are you still happy with your gorgeous Marco?

(features @card-games-and-pain 's own Marco and Lee)

Luke sits on a long, deep, plush couch. Marco is curled up on one side of him, Luke's arm around his waist, wearing his pretty chain collar with the tag that says Gorgeous. Marco wears a small, distinctly sad smile, draped in what can only be called luxury pajamas.

"Of course I am." Luke sighs, content, smiling brightly as another man comes into the room. Lee's teeth are nearly audibly grinding together as he places the glass of whiskey on ice into Luke's free hand and settles onto the couch on Luke's other side. His pajamas match Marco's, as does the collar - only his reads Beautiful.

"Everything is perfect. I work for a week or two, come home for a week and get seen to by the best pets time and effort can buy... What's not to be happy about, hm?"

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 14 - Querencia

This is the next chapter of Querencia, following Whumptober Day 1!

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @inky-whump , @painful-pooch , @pigeonwhumps (thank you for beta reading!), @bookworm2107

Previous | Next | Masterlist

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” | Water Inhalation

Contains: dude whump, electrocution, water whump, Deaf whumpee, captivity, restraints, revenge, death mention, noncon drugging, needles, superpowers

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Quinn jolts awake in an unfamiliar room, still half-expecting to be in charge of steering an out-of-control vehicle. Instead, he finds himself in what looks like a warehouse, but definitely not the one they converted into their home. This one is dingy and in sore need of a good cleaning. The events of the evening come back to him in flashes - the park, the drive home…the spike strips in the road and his inability to avoid them or prevent the crash afterward. 

This was planned, whatever it is. And now he’s alone, without his team, and he can only hope they’re all alright.

He doesn’t remain alone for long. The trio that enters the room looks vaguely familiar, but with his head still swirling from unconsciousness he can’t quite place them. Besides, his thoughts are more caught on the fact that none of them are wearing masks or anything else to conceal their identities. Kidnappers without masks generally don’t plan to allow their victims to leave alive.

“The great Electric Eagle himself,” the woman begins, strolling closer. “Right here in our grasp, isn’t it exciting, boys?”

The bigger man circles him where he sits. “Somehow he doesn’t seem quite as intimidating without the whole superhero getup.”

“That could also have to do with the handcuffs,” the second man laughs. 

“True!”

“Where is the rest of my team?” Quinn asks, careful to keep his expression and voice steady. They normally wouldn’t seem very intimidating, but they’ve already proven themselves rather capable of causing trouble. At the moment, though, any fear in him is for his team, not himself. 

“Oh, he’s British! Did you know he was British?” The woman puts a hand to her heart, looking at the other two. They shrug, unimpressed. “I do love me a British accent. But sorry to tell you, honey, it isn’t going to keep me from making you pay.”

“And…what, exactly, is it that I’m paying for?” He knows these three from somewhere, it’s driving him mad that he can’t place where.

“He doesn’t remember.” The bigger man crouches down and grabs a fistful of Quinn’s shirt, yanking him in close to his face. “What, we weren’t important enough for you to think about, once you’d ruined our lives and moved on with yours?”

“You got us arrested, that’s what. None of us even had records until you and your cutesy little team of superheroes came along and ruined it all. We lost all the money we’d gotten, lost our jobs, can’t get hired anywhere else, Greg’s wife left him…”

Oh. Now he remembers them. Criminals, of course, as he’d assumed, but more specifically a gang of three bank robbers that they’d worked together to stop. Which means that it shouldn’t be just him that they have a complaint against.

“Where…is…my team?”

The bigger man, Tommy Lewis, shoves him backwards so that he sprawls on the floor, hands trapped behind his back. “They’ll get their turns! But you’re the leader, so you get first go at paying up, how does that sound?”

He has no idea what they have in mind, but no doubt that it will be unpleasant. Maybe by the time they’re done with him, the others will have come up with some kind of escape plan and will be able to avoid having to go through whatever it is, themselves. If anyone is going to get hurt here, it should be him. 

Greg Sanders, the other man, comes closer, and Quinn’s eyes immediately go to a syringe in his hand. “What’s that, then?”

“Sheila may have lost her job at the lab, but she didn’t lose all of the formulas she was working on in her spare time.” He smirks, waving the syringe a bit. “You all will get to try out a couple of different specialties of hers while you’re here!”

He comes at him with the syringe, and Quinn kicks out with his restrained feet, trying to knock it from his hands. If it’s just something she’s been working on at home, there’s probably a limited supply. He doesn’t know what could possibly be in it, but being poisoned isn’t high on his list of fun activities for himself or his team. 

Greg dodges the kick, and before Quinn can try to roll further out of the way Tommy is on top of him, sitting on his legs and pinning his upper half to the floor. With his hands beneath him he can’t summon any lightning, and the man is too heavy to fight off without leverage. The needle sinks into his arm.

The three criminals step back and stare at him as he scrambles to at least sit upright. He takes it that something visible is supposed to happen, then. His heart is pounding in anticipation, waiting to start feeling excruciating pain or to grow an extra limb or whatever horrible, drastic thing they have planned. 

Then lightning crackles in his palm, without his permission. 

“Aha!” Sheila screeches. “It��s starting to work!”

Quinn swallows hard. If this is something that affects his powers, it could be much worse than he’d feared. As if in response to his thoughts, another bolt arcs from one hand to the other. The trio starts donning long rubber gloves.

“If my powers go out of control, you’re going to need a lot more than rubber gloves and soles to keep you safe.” He’s imagining the whole room filling with streaks of lightning, taking out the lights and the people and charring the walls and floor. 

Meanwhile, electricity snakes up to his wrist and hits the handcuffs, and for the first time since he was just learning to use his power, Quinn actually feels the effects of it himself. He jolts and grunts in utter surprise as it buzzes through his skin. There’s a reason why he and Nari have to be careful to keep their abilities separate. Metal and electricity do not mix well. 

Greg smirks. “We’re not really worried about it.”

Distracted by getting shocked, he doesn’t notice the hose in Sheila’s hand until a blast of cold water hits him in the chest. “Let’s speed this up a little bit, shall we?”

“This is a bad ide-” He gets a faceful of water before he can finish the sentence, leaving him sputtering. 

“Oh, I think it’s the best idea we’ve had in a while! This is going to be fun.”

He tries to scoot himself backwards, away from the persistent stream of icy water, but they just follow, laughing at him, soaking his whole front. They haven’t managed to get his hearing aids yet, thankfully, but he imagines at this point it’s only a matter of time. 

He’s trying to come up with some other way to dissuade them or a way out of this situation when his power activates again. This time it crawls all the way up his arm, hitting both metal and sopping wet fabric. From there it takes on a life of its own. Quinn’s body jerks backwards, his head slamming into the concrete block wall he’d moved up against, before uncontrollable shaking sends him to the floor. Everything burns like there’s fire inside his veins. He’s fairly certain he screams at some point, without meaning to. He knows for sure he bit his tongue, because his mouth is full of the bitter taste of blood when he can finally breathe and see straight again.

The trio is laughing at him some more. He can see that, though he can’t hear it, which means his hearing aids are fried. Fantastic. At least he doesn’t have to listen to their annoying voices anymore. 

Before he’s fully caught his breath, it’s happening again. And again. And again. It seems to be getting worse the longer the drug is in his system, and of course the more they soak him down with the hose. Sometimes he screams, sometimes it gets trapped somewhere inside and feels like it’s ripping through his throat. He doesn’t bother trying to pick himself up after each round. He’s too exhausted, and everything hurts. 

After a while, they must get bored with that method, because Tommy comes over and yanks him up off the ground with gloved hands. He’s saying something… “new game,” Quinn’s pretty sure is in there somewhere, but his lips are a bit of a blur. 

He can’t walk, not with his ankles chained together, so he gets dragged across the room and deposited on his knees…in front of a bucket full of water. He can already see where this is going without needing to hear whatever taunting they’re doing. 

Sure enough, a hand grabs onto his curls and shoves his head down into the water. Instinctively, he pushes against it, struggling to get up while holding onto what air he was able to gulp in. 

He can’t let them kill him. The team needs him, he has to help them get out of here. They can’t go through this. Just the thought of it makes him sick to his stomach. 

His head feels like it’s going to explode. A burst of bubbles escape his lips, relieving a little of the pressure, but now his lungs are aching instead. He needs to breathe, he needs to breathe…

He’s jerked up out of the water by his hair. Rivulets run down his face, over his eyes and into his open mouth as he gasps loudly for precious air. Greg and Sheila are across from him, big grins on their faces. 

One last gasp - not nearly enough - and he’s back down again. This time, though, his power comes to life, shooting up through his body with a force that makes his back arch. His lungs spasm involuntarily, and then he’s choking, coughing, taking in more water, until mercifully the bucket tips over with his erratic movements and he hits the floor, water spilling across him as he continues to shake and cough. 

He can see open air but he can’t breathe. Water rattles in his throat and chest. The lightning stops, but he still kicks and squirms, trying desperately to draw something in or expel something out, anything. 

Someone flips him over onto his side and kicks him hard in the back, and he’s finally able to spew out the last of the water, coughing until his ribs ache and his throat is on fire. 

He’s not even aware of anyone that’s around him until another needle pricks his arm. No, please, no more… They’re talking amongst themselves or maybe even to him, but he doesn’t know what their plans are anymore. If his power goes even more haywire, though, he’s not going to survive it. They’re going to kill him. 

Minutes pass, though, and the only lightning that happens is small, more like the first few times. Enough to make him jolt, but not writhe. It seems to be calming down, much to his immense relief. 

His ankles are released and someone pulls him to his feet. His legs feel leaden, but he stumbles along beside them as they lead him out the door and down a hall, eventually unlocking another door and shoving him inside. 

Immediately he drops to sit on the ground, no strength left. It’s only then that he sees Liliana sitting there, staring at him wide-eyed and fearful. He forces himself to turn, and there are the others, too. Safe.

Everyone’s lips are moving, probably asking a million questions, but he’s too tired to try and comprehend. He just shakes his head. “Aids got fried.” He hates talking out loud when he doesn’t have them in, but signing isn’t exactly an option when his hands are still cuffed and Liliana still doesn’t know much sign, anyway.

Nari’s face is etched with concern, her eyes darting to his ears, then across his soaking wet body once more. “What did they do to you?” Her mouth moves, but she also signs it as best she can with one wrist cuffed to the wall. “We were so worried!”

Quinn’s eyes drift shut, and he shakes his head again. “I don’t…want to talk about it. Not yet.” He'll have to, eventually. He has to prepare them for what they might face. 

They have to figure out a way out of here before that happens. 

[all-the-gory-details]

this is a bit confusing but-

i have this obsession with the type of situation where the whumpee has just been saved from the whumper by their friends. and they are barely conscious. like to everyone else, they look knocked out. but theyre awake and theyre just aware of their vulnerability and how weak they are and feel everyone moving them around but they just cant manage to let their friends know theyre awake.

oddly specific but if you could write something like that i would absolutely love it, thank you so much!!!!

Lovely visual right there, hope this does your vision justice! Thanks for the ask!!!

TW: captivity, unspecified injuries

Sight was... hard. Whumpee's eyes were barely open as it was, and the tears only blurred their vision further.

But they could see them.

Their team.

Or rather, the blurry, blobby outlines of their team members, bursting through the locked door. The light from the hallway met the darkness of Whumpee's cell, and their teammates were only outlines against the stark brightness, but they were there.

Leader rushed in first, immediately dropping next to whumpee and checking for a pulse. "They're alive," they announced, relief clear in their voice.

Whumpee was relieved too. They hadn't been sure. Their own beating heart seemed far, far away.

Some part of their mind, some consciousness floating through the haze of pain and exhaustion, wanted to sob at how helpless they were. Their team was here to rescue them, and they couldn't lift their head to greet them.

Hell, they couldn't even open their eyes.

"Don't think they're conscious," Leader said, although their voice was as watery and unclear as their image. "...need to get them to medic-"

Whumpee couldn't protest as Leader shifted their body, as they were lifted into their arms. They were dead weight and nothing more, no ounce of energy left to hold on or support themself.

Helpless. Utterly and completely helpless.

It was a good thing, then, that they had a team to carry them out. To help them, when they couldn't help themself.

Their pride would heal, as would their wounds. Thanks to their team, they would have plenty of time for healing.

[hebuiltfive]

Sunday Snippet!

I've been working on some background to this WIP (What Should Have Stayed Buried) and, well ... Sorry. This whole story is going to put Scott through the wringer, but this snippet? This is only a fraction of it all, I think. It's nowhere near perfect yet, as it's still a WIP, but enjoy... kinda.

Trigger warnings for heavy angst content, mentions of torture (both mental and physical), abuse and captivity, and... just general pain. It's not intense but I'm covering my bases, just in case.

They were never getting out. They were never going to be free. No matter what he told his wingman in those moments of innate darkness, he still knew that tidbit of truth within this world of falsehoods and deceptions. This was their new forever, an infinite span of bleak desolation with no shortage of nightmare fuel to have them all burdened with sleepless nights.

Sometimes his personal nightmares strayed far away from the holding cell, to the embraces from warm bodies and whispers of admiration and love from brothers during cold, winter nights. To the scent of fresh lavender and aviation fuel that were synonymous with parents who cared. To the crunch of burnt cookies along with high tea, a combination that should have had the hostess politely turning away Grandma's offerings (though she never did), her puppy yapping up at him from the ornate rug beneath his feet.

Those moments in the dreams were a nice reprieve, a fairytale he could hold onto whilst the real memories ebbed and flowed from his psyche during the day. But, as nightmares usually tended to do, they often strayed from from that pleasing imagery and blended with the hellish reality he was currently living in. That picture perfect life of an heir with a promising future was unceremoniously crushed beneath heavy, steel-toe capped boots, and the culprit, customarily only certain captors he found particularly revoltingly cruel, stared him down with slimy, smug smiles, crushing the dreams of the could have beens, and probable would have beens, had he just paid more attention on that fly-by.

There was no room for what ifs in this hellhole, though. There was no time to dwell on what could have been. There were only dull recollections of the past, a heart weighed down with regrets and an unending amount of self-loathing that began building as a result.

Stern guards, who came to collect him for the day's torment, tugged and pushed him around as though he was a ragdoll, uncaring when he would fall to the cold ground, knees cracking at the unforgiving concrete surface. He always tried to hide any weaknesses but, with the lack of calories in his system from the lack of food, and the lack of any decent sleep for a variety of reasons, of which none were pleasant, sometimes the frailty showed. Sometimes, when his legs buckled beneath him, he couldn't do anything but let it happen. The incarcerators would laugh and jibe, and then happily humiliate him more in some cases because the Great Captain Tracy had been broken so easily.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 18: Tortured for Information

Continuation of Day 14

Read it on Ao3

- Time & the Chain

- Summary: Time is captured by people craving the power of Majora's mask

CW for captivity, blood and injury, torture, and poisoning

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

“Idiots!”

The shout breaks through the haze Time drifts in, sending his panicked, feverish thoughts skittering away. He still trembles like a leaf upon the wind, still gasps for breath that will not come.

Everything hurts, but he can’t remember when the pain started. All he knows is that he wants it to end.

“Idiots! You’ve nearly killed him! I asked for him to be incapacitated, not dead! Give me the antidote, now!”

Jumbled voices trip over one another in their race to be heard. They’re arguing, Time thinks, though he can't understand what about. Not that it matters. Nothing seems to matter at the moment, except for the mad struggle to remain alert and alive.

He tries to inhale the air his lungs are screaming for and chokes. A horrid gurgling sound fills his ears. It takes him far longer than it should to realize he is making it.

The realization reignites a distant fear, a sense that danger is surrounding him, dragging him down to the depths. But before he can truly make sense of it, something cold and sharp enters his neck. An odd sensation of pressure follows as cool liquid slithers through his veins. 

And in the next moment he can breathe again.

Time inhales great gulps of air as his airways begin to expand once more. His body welcomes it, allowing it to return some of the strength he lost, drive away the dizziness and fog. 

With the return of consciousness, however, come the memories. Memories of collapsing on the cold, hard cobblestone, of struggling desperately against the assault of an invisible attacker, only to be dragged away by physical enemies.

…of someone calling him the Hero of Termina.

He drags his eye open. A warm swath of lantern light greets him. It sends shadows across the walls of the building, dancing and glinting against the many bottles and canisters shelved there. Concoctions of all colors bubble or rest in powder form. In the far corner, a pot threatens to boil over.  

A man and woman stand beside it, looking slightly pensive. Despite their surroundings, however, they appear unassuming enough that had he passed them on the street, Time wouldn’t have thought twice about them. Certainly at first glance, he would not have taken them for kidnappers…or potion makers (if that is what these people even are.) But he supposes that is the way of things. Darkness does not always come in the form of demonic masks and men with evil eyes.

Another person is here too, though her back is turned as she busies herself with something on a nearby table. She is far closer than the other two, however, and Time makes sure to keep his gaze trained on her as he turns his attention to his bonds.

The ropes he remembers restraining him earlier are gone now. Instead, shackles encircle his wrists and ankles. He shifts, testing their integrity. Their metal is thick and unyielding. As he pulls at them, something prickles at his skin in warning. It is strange, but he understands it well enough. 

Magic. 

These people, whoever they may be, possess power. Dark power.

At the slight jingle of chains, the woman turns. A grin stretches across her face. 

“Wonderful, you’re awake at last! I thought those two had done you in permanently.” She jerks a thumb back to where the others stand. “Fortunately, it appears that I gave you the antidote in the nick of time.”

Time skewers her with a glare. “I suppose you are the one who poisoned me, then?”

His voice is hardly more than a croak that sends shards of pain down his throat. 

The woman chuckles. “Well, I didn’t administer it — otherwise you would be far better off right now. But yes, I’ll admit I concocted it.” She lifts a small bottle, shaking it slightly so that it’s greenish contents jiggle. “Creating substances like that – you could say it’s my specialty.”

Time’s eye narrows. So they are potion makers. What could they possibly want with him?

“But that is hardly why you are here.”

She reaches behind her and grasps something from the table. When she turns back to him her smile has grown impossibly more sinister. In her hands she cradles a sizable object with glowing gold eyes and stripes of crimson across its cheeks.

“I’m sure you recognize this.”

A strangled gasp breaks free before he can restrain it. He would recognize that thing anywhere. After all, he has seen it enough times in his nightmares.

“Ah, you do. I thought so.” She cocks her head, shifting so the light illuminates the mask’s bulging eyes further. Time can’t shake the feeling that they are staring through him to his very soul. “It seemed unlikely that the Hero of Termina would forget his enemy so easily.”

He swallows, hard, fighting against the panic rising within him.

“There is no soul in that mask anymore,” he says with a calm that belies everything he is feeling. “Whatever plans you have for it are for nought. It is useless now. Nothing more than a trinket.”

“Precisely.” 

The woman leans forward. There is a sadistic hunger in her eyes now that sends shivers down Time’s spine. But he meets her gaze without hesitation. Anything that this potion maker has in store for him is nothing compared to what he has already endured at the hands of the monster she now holds.

…or the monster that slumbers in his pouch.

“Therein lies our problem,” she continues, with a sigh. “We located the mask without difficulty (really, that salesman should be more careful with his wares) but finding it soulless was quite the disheartening discovery. After all, we had so wanted to acquaint ourselves with him. With Majora.”

The nausea that had subsided now rears its head again. Time forces himself to swallow, to breathe past the way the room tilts. He can’t truly tell how much is from fear and exhaustion, and how much from the remnant poison still coursing through his veins. But one thing is for certain. Hearing that cursed name makes this all feel more real. Too real, in fact.

“Our disappointment has proven to be short-lived, however. Soon after finding the mask we discovered a very intriguing tidbit of information.” 

She casts a glance over her shoulder, sharing a grin with her companions, before turning back to Time. In the dim light her eyes seem to gleam. 

“There is a man who holds a deep, dark secret, thought to be known only to the gods. A man who as a child traversed the entirety of Termina and faced the demons of the land. A man who knew how to kill them…and knows how to bring them back.”

Breathing has grown difficult again and this time Time knows it has nothing to do with a deadly substance. It takes no small amount of effort to keep his expression a mask of anger. 

The woman pauses for a long moment, no doubt waiting for him to take the bait. When he remains silent, a bit of aggravation flits across her face. She steps closer, blocking the light. 

“You know how to resurrect Majora, Hero of Termina. And you are going to perform the spell right here in front of us.”

“No.” The word falls heavy on the thick silence of the room. “I will not be performing any spell for you. Because I cannot.” He smiles, grim and bitter. “Your assumptions are mistaken, unfortunately. I have no knowledge of a way to resurrect long-deceased demons. Perhaps, you should have kidnapped a necromancer instead.”

He expects anger to contort her expression. Instead, she smirks.

“You live up to your title, hero. We hoped that you would.”

The woman places Majora carefully back on the table. One of her companions grabs one of the many bottles from the shelves and with it firmly in his grasp, steps forward. 

“The poison we slipped into your food…its effects were excruciating, were they not?” The woman asks. There is something almost gleeful in her tone. “They certainly sounded painful. When these two dragged you in here you were barely living. A few moments more and you would have suffocated.”

She motions toward the bottle now, filled to the brim with a deep purple liquid. Its sinister glint is almost mesmerizing. 

“What you just endured is nothing compared to what you will suffer once this runs through your veins.”

Time drags his gaze away from the bottle. The pound of his own heart is deafening. 

“If it is as horrible an experience as you say, how do you expect me to perform anything at all?”

She smiles. “Oh, not to worry. All you will need to do is agree to do as we wish. Then, I will provide the antidote and your body will return to normal functioning. So” – She tilts her head in question – “what is your answer, hero? Will you help us resurrect the great Majora? Or will you maintain this flimsy facade of ignorance?”

Time takes a deep breath, trying his best to prepare for whatever is about to come.

“I swear to you,” he says, firmly. “I know nothing. As far as my knowledge goes, Majora is dead and will remain that way.”

“Ah, so flimsy facade it is.” The woman turns to her companion. “Go on, then, make him drink it.”

Time glares at him as the man starts toward him. But he hardly seems affected. With a dark chuckle, he leans down and grabs Time’s chin, forcing his head up. Instinctively, Time’s hands fly upward to shove him off. The chains burn his wrists, magic screaming at him to remain still and compliant. He ignores it and digs his nails into the man’s hand. Blood bubbles up beneath his fingernails, turning them red. 

With a cry of pain, the man jerks back. Time doesn’t wait for him to recover. Quick as a flash, he brings his knee up. 

“Oh, you little – ”

Bloodshot eyes meet his own, fury boiling within them. Time smirks. 

“I suppose you thought I was going to go down easily.”

Seconds later his head snaps back, pain exploding across his nose as a fist collides with his face. 

He kicks out again, blindly. Another cry pierces the air. This time the retaliation takes his breath away. He is almost certain the hit has broken a rib or two.

“Hey!” Comes a breathless voice past the ringing in his ears. “Get over here and help me hold him!”

“Stay still, you!”

Hands try to restrain him but he lashes out once more. His fist connects with something decidedly human and he feels a grim sort of satisfaction at the sensation of bones breaking. 

“Oh, please. Are you both physically incapable of holding down someone who is not near death? Allow me to show you how it’s done.”

There is a telltale zip of something sharp piercing the air. And then, Time chokes on a cry as a dagger embeds itself in his shoulder. For a moment, he can focus on nothing more than trying to breathe, trying to push away the dots that have exploded before his eye. But when they grab his hair and wrench his head back, pressing cool glass to his lips, he forces himself to ignore the pain. 

He can’t fall. Not now. Not yet.

In one swift motion he reaches up, grasps the hilt of the dagger, and yanks it out. Magic is at his fingertips even as his vision goes white, a scream pushing past tightly closed lips. He funnels it into the weapon and slices outward.

Instantly, the restraining hands are gone. Screams erupt as his captors leap out of the way of the ravenous flames. They lunge forward, spreading as they go, breaking bottles and catching on the wooden floor and walls. 

“Go!” The man yells. “Get out!”

Time barely registers the two of them racing for the door. He has turned his attention to his bonds. One swipe of the flaming dagger and the chains restraining his legs fall uselessly to the ground. In the next instant, those hooked to the shackles about his wrists follow suit.

The magic they are imbued with is strong. But he has found few spells as intimidating as Din’s Fire. And he is lucky for it.

Gritting his teeth, he rises on shaky feet. Now, to get the mask and escape before the building’s inevitable collapse.

“I knew it.” 

Time stops, arm outstretched toward the mask. The potion maker grins at him from the opposite side of the room, her eyes reflecting the glow of the flames. There is blood dribbling down her forehead, soot splotched across her skin. But she doesn’t seem to notice any of it. Her gaze is locked firmly on him, that hunger even more prevalent than before.

“I knew it! You can do magic! You can perform the spell!”

She starts toward him, limping slightly on an ankle that must be twisted.

“Your lies were pathetic enough that only a child would have believed them. But now, oh now I know for certain.”

“You know nothing.” Time grasps the mask in his free hand, the dagger still held tightly in the other. “Majora is gone. He will never use anyone again.”

He starts toward the door, backing up so as to keep her in his line of sight. A quick glance around proves that his armor and pouch are not here. They must have stowed them somewhere else. Near the inn, perhaps. 

She laughs, a strangled, unhinged sound.

“Oh, Hero of Termina, you are every bit as courageous as they say.” Something is in her hand now. It glints in the light of the flames. “But you are a fool.”

Before he can even begin to react, a second dagger embeds itself in his thigh. With a strangled cry, Time crumples. The mask and dagger slip from his grasp. The woman scoops them up effortlessly.

“That is no ordinary weapon,” she says, voice drifting past the sounds of crackling wood and popping glass and his own labored breathing. “The potion you thought you had destroyed? Its blade is dripping with it.”

As if on cue, pure agony erupts from the spot. It feels as though the flames that surround them have found their way inside and begun eating away at muscles and organs and bones. A scream begs to be let loose. Time refuses to release it. Gritting his teeth, he curls his hands into fists.

But the pain only spreads, curling upward like tongues of fire, eating away at him as it goes. He chokes on a mouthful of blood.

Somewhere nearby the ceiling begins to cave in.

“Ah, well that won’t do.” Fingers dig into his wounded shoulder, dragging him across the hard floor. Time gasps. “I want you begging for death, not receiving it.”

The heat of the burning building gives way to the coolness of night. The woman drops him onto a bed of damp grass. Time catches a brief glimpse of a star-speckled sky before he shuts his eye once more, still fighting against the urge to scream. 

“Wonderful. Now that we’re a safe distance from the disaster of your escape attempt, we have plenty of time.” Dimly, he is aware of a presence settling down beside him. “In fact, we have all the time in the world. This potion isn’t deadly, you see. So, either you agree to resurrect Majora – or at the very least tell us how – or you surrender to an eternity of pain. The choice is yours.”

The unending agony surges again. Time spits more blood into the grass. A shudder runs through him. But he isn’t cold, not in the least. Every part of him is drenched in molten heat. Every part of him is burning. 

The woman sighs. “I do wish I could make the experience even worse for you, though. I’ll admit I’m very displeased with what you did to my house. And my employees ran off too. Shameful. But I suppose once you do the deed that will all be forgotten.”

Time digs his nails into the ground, curling in on himself as wave after wave of pain buffets him. 

“Why?” He chokes. “What…what do you want with Majora?”

“What do I want with him? What does anyone want with a monster in a mask?” Time opens his eye just in time to see her lean over him. “Power.”

She grins, a shadow against a backdrop of billowing smoke. And she drives the dagger in deeper.

This time he can’t restrain it. He screams, sharp and hoarse and strangled, as the fire within him grows one thousand times hotter. He is going to explode, he is certain of it. Either that or simply turn to ash. 

But neither occurs. It merely continues, an eternity of pain, surging and waning with every passing moment. 

“Give up,” she purrs, when he stops screaming long enough to catch his breath. “You have nothing to prove. Tell me how I can bring him back.”

He spits in her face.

She wipes the blood away with a strained smile. “Well, you are certainly a stubborn one. Perhaps, I need to make this a bit more excruciating.”

She reaches into a pouch at her waist. But before she can pull out her next torture device, an arrow soars through the air and pierces her arm.

With a screech, she stumbles upward and back. Grasping the dagger Time had used, she looks wildly around.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” The blade comes to rest on Time’s neck, inches from his jugular. “Come out or I’ll kill him!”

“No, you won’t,” someone says. “You need him.”

Time blinks, trying to grasp his hazy thoughts. That…that’s Four, isn’t it? It certainly sounds like him. But how…

Wolfie lunges from the bushes, lips pulled back in a snarl. Upon his back, sits the smithy, sword held at the ready. They streak forward, heading straight for the potion maker. 

She brings the dagger up just as they reach her. But another arrow appears out of nowhere and knocks the weapon right out of her hands. Wolfie leaps at her and she hits the ground with a shriek.

Four slides off of his back and levels his sword at the woman.

“Stay down,” he says, and there is an edge to his voice Time has never heard before. “You don’t want to know what happens if you fight that wolf, trust me.”

The rest of the heroes rush forward now, some headed for the downed villain, others for Time.

Warriors reaches him first, skidding to his knees beside him. 

“What did she do to you, Sprite?” he breathes as he maneuvers Time’s head onto his lap. 

Time drags in a strangled breath. He opens his mouth, fully meaning to tell him what they need to make this all stop. But all that comes out is a series of thick, wet coughs. Then, the pain increases again and his back arches as he screams. 

Words filter through the sounds of his own agony, disjointed and befuddling.

“...sorry.”

“Alright…going to be…”

“Give…now!”

The screams taper off into gasping breaths. Time sags, boneless against Warriors. The captain’s face floats in and out of view, wavering between clarity and a nauseating blur.

“Here, Sky, take…Quick…drink.”

The hands that tip his chin upward are gentle. He trusts them. Time lets his mouth fall open, obediently swallowing the liquid that slides down his burning throat. 

He feels the effect almost instantly. The fire within him dims and lessens, as a strange chill drifts through him. It carries away the pain so he can breathe again, think again, hazy and directionless though his thoughts are.

Slowly, he blinks as the world comes back into focus. His brothers look down at him, worry and hope battling across their faces.

“Is…is he…” Wind starts, tears welling in his eyes.

“He’s okay,” Warriors assures him, even as his grip on Time’s hand tightens. “The antidote worked.”

Time manages the slightest smile. “Don…don’t worry, sa-sailor. Takes…a lot to kill me.”

Wild grins, though it’s far shakier than his usual. “Obviously. You burned an entire house down, Time! See if I listen next time you get onto us about committing arson.”

“You never listen anyway,” Warriors points out, drily. Wild scowls at him.

“But you shouldn’t have had to burn down a house in the first place,” Twilight says, bitterness in his tone and regret in his eyes. “We took too long to find you. I’m sorry.”

“What did she want with you anyway?” Legend asks. He looks down at the mask he must have scooped up from the ground. “And what did it have to do with this thing?”

“Okay, questions and apologies later,” Warriors pipes up. “We need to get him back to the inn.”

Time sends him a look of gratitude. The pain might have diminished greatly, but he feels worn and wrung out. And his shoulder and leg still throb to the pulse of his heartbeat.

Twilight’s expression is still a raging swirl of barely-restrained emotions. But he nods. 

“I’ll carry him.”

“What’re we gonna do with her?” Hyrule asks, jerking a thumb back to where the potion maker must still be. 

They must have knocked her unconscious, Time thinks, otherwise she wouldn’t be so silent. People like her don’t stop talking, even when every word only serves to drive them further into the ground.

“Bring her back to town,” Warriors replies. “Maybe we can get her to tell us what her goal was here. After that, I’m sure we can get her set up in a nice, cozy jail cell.”

“The faster we can get her there the better,” Legend growls. “Sadistic creep.”

Twilight gently lifts Time off of the ground, murmuring an apology when he hisses in pain. 

“Let’s go, then,” he says, once Time is securely in his grip. (How he carries him so effortlessly, Time hasn’t a single idea. He must’ve inherited Malon’s strength.) 

“We need to hurry up for Time’s sake too.”

Warriors nods. “He’s not completely out of the woods yet. But once we’re back Hyrule and I can fix him up.”

With the traveler's agreement, the group begins to move. Time can see the still-burning house over Twilight's shoulder, blurry and wavering. Plumes of smoke climb toward the heavens, born up from tongues of crimson flame. 

“We’ll be there soon, old man,” Twilight says somewhere above him. “Just hang in there.”

Time lets his eye slide shut. The image of destruction fades. An abyss of cool darkness greets him in its place and with a wave of relief, he welcomes it.

[splendidissimus]

late 2001 - Petty

((Content warning: kidnapping, implied torture, caretaker turned whumper, whumper turned whumpee))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 20: "You're going to regret touching him." ))

((In response to the escaped Death Eater incident.))

Genre: whump

Romance level: none

Angst level: 1/5

Draco's headspace: --

((words: ~500))

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

"I should thank you," Lucius said in the darkness, "for demonstrating just how simple it is to get a person out of Azkaban, now that the guards are merely human." 

He lit the lamp hanging from the ceiling. Dim firelight descended on the low earthen room, casting eerie shadows over Rowle, who was just starting to sit up in bleary confusion. Lucius stood on the bottom stair, looking down on him. 

Rowle looked around quickly to get his bearings, and recognition came with a hiss. The lamp was new, but otherwise the cellar was perfectly familiar. "Lucius." He clambered to his feet, but, unarmed, was too wary to advance yet.

Thorfinn Rowle was a Nordic giant of a man, with several inches on Lucius and built to match. The sight of it stoked the furnace of cold fury inside him. He had turned that strength wholly against a man fifteen years his junior and half his size… desperately ill… deprived of his medications… terrified, starved, neglected, physically weak and mentally fragile…

"It might interest you to know what your life is worth," he said mildly, savouring the anger like an old wine, letting it swirl around his mind and colour his perceptions. "Well, not your life; that has no value. But the going price of an Azkaban guard with the skill and leeway to extract a prisoner." 

"It doesn't matter, Malfoy. You've got your kid, let's just—"

He interrupted like he couldn't even hear him wheedling. "Fifteen thousand galleons." 

Rowle jerked taut and snarled. "You petty ponce—"

As well he might. He had been demanding only ten thousand in ransom for Draco. 

"The word you're looking for is 'angry'," he said coldly. "Very, very angry." 

Rowle was realising his situation now, recognising that he needed to try to escape. His eyes darted over the room, found only the stairs, and calculated that he might be able to make it; he lunged suddenly, aiming to knock him aside and run. Probably much like Draco must have done when he first found himself here. With an almost languid flick, Lucius lifted his wand and froze Rowle in place. 

Although, the wand was not his, precisely — there were some things it wouldn't do to have traceable back to one's own wand. 

"Twenty-nine days," he said, as he stepped off the stair. Rowle could hear and watched him with only his eyes, but could not move as he approached. "Twenty-nine days you held my son in this," he glanced around with the mildest sneer, "wretched hole. Yet he managed to survive you. What do you think that's worth?" He spun the disposable wand lightly against his fingertip, looking him over. 

"Twenty-nine hours of the Cruciatus?" Rowle's eyes took on a frantic look, darting around the cellar. 

"Twenty-nine pieces of you that don't need to be attached?" Rowle's eyes flinched back toward him, fear feigning defiance. 

"Or shall we just see if you can make it to thirty?" 

[whumppmuhw]

Whumptober Day 1: Sick

Sick, Part 1 in my story Sick Of You (masterlist)

tw: uncaring whumper, sick whumpee, captivity

Whumpee woke up to a stuffy nose and a pounding headache. He tried to shift position, but his limbs felt heavy. The weight of the blanket felt nice, but it was too hot underneath it and the leg sticking out off the bed felt unnaturally cold. He lay uncomfortably in that position for some hours, drifting in and out of sleep. He could barely process hearing Whumper unlock the cell door and swing it open. "Big day today..." Whumper taunted. "The new device arrived yesterday and I've already set it up. We just need-" Whumpee sneezed, cutting Whumper off. Usually Whumper would reprimand him for interrupting, but as she looked closer she noticed Whumpee's unfocused eyes and strange position. "S-sorry. I think...I'm sick." "The fuck do you mean you're sick?!" "I didn't mean to, it's not my-" Whumper sighed. "...fault." Whumper rubbed the bridge of her nose. Things had been going well. She had finally destroyed the last line of evidence someone could have used to find Whumpee. Her new device was here and ready and by god she was expecting some good results. Whumpee had been extra compliant this last week as he had started to lose hope and she had felt generous enough to give him a bed (well, a worn out mattress and pillow, complete with a moth eaten blanket). She didn't have the patience or will to deal with this. But if she didn't, she would have to go out and buy medicine, spending money she was planning for other things. Or even worse, having to take Whumpee to the hospital and exposing them both. Whumper hated it, but she would have to deal with it. "Alright," Whumper said, with all the annoyance she could muster. "Let's get you feeling better."

[walker-extended-universe]

We Go Down Together, Chapter 3

Relationship(s): Cassie Perez & Cordell Walker, Ben Perez & Cassie Perez

Tags/Warnings: Captivity, Fighting, Escape, Trauma, Aftermath of Trauma, Poor Mental Heath, Flashbacks, Triggers

Summary: Cassie and Cordell escape captivity. At least, physically they do. Mentally is another story entirely.

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

-------

After what happened yesterday, Cordell wasn’t going to wait around for a rescue anymore. Seeing what they did to Cassie only proved to him that these guys weren’t playing around. They were going to break him or kill Cassie trying and he couldn’t let that happen.

“We’re getting out of here today,” he said quietly after their breakfast was delivered.

Cassie paused in her struggle to reach her MRE without agitating her broken ribs. “We are? How?”

Cordell got it for her, opening it as he handed it to her. “I’ve got a plan. I’m gonna need you to play along with me on this one.”

Cassie nodded and nibbled on her “meal”. “What’s the plan, partner?”

Cordell sighed. “You’re not gonna like it but… I’m gonna need you to play damsel in distress.”

She rolled her eyes. “If it gets us out of here, I think I’ll manage. What do you need me to do?”

At least she wasn’t complaining about it. “I need you to act like you’re really hurt. I”ll call the guards in and tell them they need to help you or I’ll never comply. Once they’re in, I think we can overpower them and get the keys and rescue ourselves and Julia.”

Cassie nodded. “Gotcha. I think I can handle that. Did I ever tell you I was a theater kid?”

Cordell chuckled. “No, but I’m sure that’ll come in handy.”

He waited until after they’d both eaten. He’d started to lose track of time during their captivity, but he knew they had a little time to prepare themselves before the guards would show up for their “fun”.

“Alright, just lay still and act really pitiful,” he said once they were both ready.

She rolled her eyes but complied. “Ready when you are, Walker.”

He winked at her and started yelling for help, hoping someone was wandering around close enough to hear it. As soon as someone answered his calls, he launched into the play. “She’s not breathing right! I don’t know what the hell you did to her but if she dies, you may as well kill me too because I’m not joining your little anarchy LARP.” He tried not to think too hard about how easy that rolled off his tongue. He also tried not to think too hard about how Cassie’s exaggerated coughs tugged at his heart.

With the men distracted by Cassie, Cordell made his move, tackling the one closest to the door and knocking him out against the metal bars. Cassie then kicked up, knocking back one of the other two guys. Cordell stopped the third from grabbing her and held him in a chokehold. “Where’s Julia?” he hissed. “The woman that was above us, where did you move her?”

“First floor, cell 3,” he wheezed as he ran out of air.

Cordell didn’t let him go until he was completely out and he looked up to see Cassie unlocking herself from her leash. “Got the keys,” she said, brandishing the key ring as she stood up. “Let’s go.”

Cordell nodded and grabbed a spare pistol and a phone off of one of the unconscious men. “Let’s do this.”

They moved through the labyrinth of halls quickly. Almost too quickly. There was no one around the halls to slow them down. Normally Cordell would be suspicious but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They made it to Julia’s new cell and he quickly unlocked the door, almost getting a fist to the face for his trouble. Luckily, Julia recognized their voices and they were back in business. They stealthily made their way to an exit and were about to leave- until an alarm sounded for their escape.

They hid behind some boxes while guards ran back to their abandoned cell. Once it was clear, Cordell was ready to lead the charge out of there- until he saw the symbol on the boxes he was crouching behind. He’d seen that symbol before in his Marine days- he couldn’t let these maniacs use what was inside them.

“Cassie, you’ve gotta get Julia out of here,” he said once they reached the door.

Cassie stared at him with wide, confused eyes. “What? What about you?”

“I’ve gotta take care of what’s in those boxes. I know what it is, it’s nasty stuff.”

“I’ll help-”

“No, Cass. You need to go.” He handed her the phone. “Call James once you’re a safe distance away. I’ll catch up.”

Cassie took the phone. “Good luck. We’ll be back for you, partner.”

Cordell nodded. “I know.”

With that, they parted ways.

Running into Sean on his way to hide the dangerous chemicals in the radiation wing was unexpected. So was the grenade Sean pulled out after Cordell shot him in the shoulder.

Cordell didn’t really remember how he made it out. He just remembered that it didn’t really matter once he had his eyes on Cassie again.

They were alive. They were okay.

Everything was gonna be okay.

—----

They were free. The nightmare was over.

She fidgeted in her loose hoodie while she waited in the atrium. She’d already given her statement and was waiting for Ben to pick her up and take her home. But first, she wanted to talk to Walker.

She didn’t even know where to begin on recovering from this. Her injuries would heal, the bruises would fade, but she wasn’t sure when she’d stop seeing that cage every time she closed her eyes.

If anyone would have answers, it would be Walker. He’d been through things like this before. Or, at least, similar things. He’d know how to answer questions she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to ask her new mandated therapist.

“Hey, Cassie.” Speak of the devil, Walker stepped in and walked up to her table. “You need a ride?”

“Uh, no. Ben’s coming to pick me up. But actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Uh, sure. About what?”

Cassie took a deep breath and tried to get her thoughts in order. “I…. You’ve dealt with stuff like this before. I mean, probably not exactly this but given your history…. You know how to deal with it, right?”

Walker nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

“....How do you deal with it? Because I’m not really sure what to do. It’s like every time I close my eyes-”

“Cass- Cassie.” Walker pet her shoulder and smiled tightly. “We- We don’t need to unload all that right now. We’re out, there’s arrests being made across the state. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but we’re okay. And after some time… you’ll feel okay. We just gotta keep going, alright? The only way out is through.”

That was…underwhelming advice. She’d been hoping for something a little more actionable. “I… If you say so….”

“Cassie!” Ben’s sudden arrival and crushing hug stopped her from pushing the issue further. She returned the hug just as tight. Part of her wanted to make a joke about missing Ben too but it got caught in her throat. “Thank god you’re back,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” was all she could say.

Ben pulled back just enough to Help her out of her chair. “Thanks for waiting with her,” he told Walker. “I’m just gonna take Cassie home now.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask y’all if you wanted to come to the ranch. Mama’s making a roast and I know the rest of the family would be happy to see you.”

Ben looked at her and Cassie tried not to look back. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s late and I think Cassie just needs some rest. Maybe we can come over tomorrow?”

Walker smiled the way he usually smiled at members of the DPS brass he didn’t like “What? And waste a perfectly good welcome home party? Come on, it’ll be fun. Why wait to start things off on a good note?”

“That’s a kind offer, really,” Ben said, smiling the same smile he gave to demanding customers. “But I think-”

“I think it sounds great,” Cassie interjected. “I love a good roast.”

Walker smiled a little more genuinely. “Great! I’ll let everyone know. It’ll be great having you there.”

To his credit, Ben stayed quiet about his disagreement until they were in his car. But then….

“You know you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, right? We can just let them have their little family thing and I’ll just take you back to my place. I can just text Liam-”

“It’s fine, Ben.” Cassie tried to smile. “He’s right. Why wait to take things in the right direction? I’m sure I’ll feel better once I’ve eaten real food.”

“I have real food at my place.”

“But they’re expecting-”

“Cas, stop.” Ben sighed. “I know you don’t actually want to go to this thing, okay? I knew as soon as he brought it up. You’re gonna be miserable the whole time because people are going to be asking you how you are and you’re going to worry about slipping up and telling the truth and you’re probably not even going to be able to eat whatever they put on your plate. Just let me make an excuse for you and take you home? You’ll feel better, I promise.”

She shook her head. “Ben, I- It’s not about me pretending and failing. I know I’m not fine and they won’t expect me to be. I just…. I don’t know how to deal with this except to just push through it. It’s not like I’ll feel any better in the morning if I don’t go.”

Ben sighed. “Fine. But we’re leaving as soon as it’s over. Because you are tired and they have no excuse to keep us there longer.”

“Fine,” she agreed. “Just try not to be too ‘overprotective brother’ about it, okay? They’re not the bad guys here.”

“Sure.”

That was as good as she was going to get out of him and she wasn’t going to push it.

Though, as soon as they arrived, Cassie wondered if maybe she should’ve. It would’ve given her an excuse not to go in.

Even though she’d accepted the invitation and really did need a distraction from everything, she wasn’t sure she was ready for something like this. The Walker family had a tendency to be intense on a good day and it only got worse when emotions were high. It was only the thought of having to deal with Walker’s worried texts for the rest of the night if she didn’t show that made her walk through the front door.

In all honesty, it could’ve gone worse. There was too much worried hovering and Walker’s disaster of a “graduation speech” didn’t exactly set things off on a good note. But Abeline’s food was as good as ever and no one seemed to want to talk about the elephant in the room.

All in all, she’d had worse family dinners.

After they left, Ben drove her back to his apartment because it was closer. “I’ll take you back to your place in the morning,” he said. “Why don’t you grab a shower and I’ll make some sleepytime tea?”

Cassie smiled. “Sounds like a plan,” she said as she headed toward the bathroom. With the door closed behind her, Cassie got undressed after she started the water. Once she was ready, she put her hand in to test the temperature.

The cold water beat down on her arm and she jerked back, hitting the wall with a cry.

Cold. Cold. Waves and waves of cold. Choking. I can't breathe. They’re laughing. They’re enjoying this.

I’m going to die here.

“-ssie? Cassie?!”

Cassie flinched away from the voice, throwing off the hands that were shaking her shoulders. It took her a few moments to calm down and remember where she was, who she was with.

“You okay?” Ben asked softly.

Cassie shook her head. “I can’t- The shower, I can’t-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay….” Ben rubbed her back and turned off the water. “How about I just run you a bath, hm? I think I have bubbles somewhere if you want them.”

Cassie nodded, not moving from her spot on the floor until he finished.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy Chapter 16: Cursed Knowledge

TWs in the tags

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Molly keeps her promise, and Tracy finds that the achiness and other symptoms have faded a lot by the next day. At least she won’t have to feel like that ever again.

What would it be like, if your priority was your own health and happiness?

Molly’s words keep intruding into her thoughts, which is especially weird because Tracy already knows the answer. She would be a different person if she prioritized herself. So why does the question loop in her mind?

It doesn’t matter. She needs to escape, to get back to Alicia. But… when she had a chance to escape, she failed. She doesn't even know why!

She takes a deep breath. That train of thought goes nowhere. Just… think about it logically. Stop being stupid and think of it like a puzzle to be solved instead of a potentially hopeless situation.

Okay, the main obstacle in the way of escape right now is that she can’t hurt Molly. Since she doesn’t know why she can't hurt Molly, the logical next step towards escape is to figure out the reason, right?

How does one figure out why they couldn’t do something, though? She knows she was interrupted by a memory that made her lose focus, but she doesn’t know why that happened. It’s not like being violent is so out of the ordinary for her. She’s always been able to do what she had to do, so why can’t she now?

“…hey.” Molly pulls Tracy from her thoughts and sets down a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. "Um.. how are you feeling?"

"Better. Uh… thank you. For not keeping me like that. And for breakfast." She's not really grateful, of course, but keeping Molly happy certainly can't hurt anything.

Molly sits down. "So… do you want to talk about why you're so sure you can't get sick?"

"I don't get sick."

"...Most people do get sick sometimes, though, right?"

She's waiting for Tracy to answer, so Tracy gives a quick nod. It would feel like Molly's talking to her like she's a toddler if she didn't know that Molly always talks like this.

"So why are you different?"

"I don't know why, I just know that I don't get sick."

"But how do you know that? If it was just that you've never been sick before, why would you be so sure that you can't get sick now or in the future?"

Tracy eats some of her eggs. "I just know."

Tracy knows she's being frustrating, causing the conversation to go in circles, but Molly doesn't seem annoyed. "While you were… feeling not so great, you said that you weren't sick because you're not weak or pathetic. Do you feel like people who get sick are weak and pathetic?"

"...I guess."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'? If you're sick you're obviously weaker than normal, and you need people to take care of you."

"And… that's pathetic?"

"Yeah? Y'know, you're not my therapist, you're my kidnapper. I don't want to play whatever game this is."

"You seem frustrated."

"I am! Can you let me eat in peace?" 

"Of course. I'm sorry." Molly starts eating her own breakfast.

They eat in silence for a bit, allowing Tracy to go back to her predicament. How does one figure out why they couldn't do something?

The options can be broken down into two potential answers: it was either something about trying to give someone a concussion, or something about Molly specifically.

The first seems more likely. She's never given anyone a concussion before, and it's a bigger deal than slapping someone or pulling their hair. It's… only human that she hesitated. It's only human that she thought back to how it felt when it was being done to her.

So, how can she fix being human? How can she make hurting someone seriously feel the same as slapping someone or pulling their hair?

"What're you thinking about?" Molly asks.

"Just enjoying my food." She eats the last bite of her breakfast.

Molly takes Tracy's now empty plate and stacks it on top of her own. "I'll go wash these. After that… Do you wanna play chess?"

"...sure. I'll set it up while you're doing that."

Molly grins widely and goes into the kitchen.

Tracy finds a chess board with the other board games, puts it on the table, and sets up the pieces. She can multitask, it shouldn't be too hard to play chess while figuring out how to turn off the part of her that cares about causing someone brain damage.

Molly finishes with the dishes quickly and sits down across from Tracy. "Do you want white or black?"

"How good are you at chess?"

Molly laughs. "We've played chess together before, when I was your therapist. Do you remember at all?"

Tracy shakes her head. She really doesn't remember anything from those sessions.

"How about we just do rock, paper, scissors for who plays white. Does that sound good?"

Tracy nods. Molly plays rock and Tracy plays scissors, so Molly ends up with the first move.

Tracy has to remind herself not to get too engrossed in the game, no matter how much she enjoys chess. She still needs to be focused on escape. How can she fix the part of her that hesitated at hurting Molly?

If she can just fix that, she can retry what she did last time. Grab some handcuffs from the backpack, catch Molly by surprise, hit her head hard enough to disorient her, take the cattle prods, restrain her, take the keys, and escape. 

Molly will probably be anticipating her trying something like that, so she'll be on guard. She's already started taking the backpack with her when she goes to the bathroom, which she didn't do before the incident. Tracy could've tried that strategy long before Molly accidentally left the restraints when she went upstairs… but it would've failed, because she hasn't fixed the part of her that hesitated.

"You've always had such an aggressive playstyle." Molly once again interrupts her thoughts. "I'm more like Alicia, I prefer to focus on defense."

Tracy's stomach drops. Molly may have played with Tracy before, but she's never played against Alicia. “How do you know that?”

Molly winces. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Is there any answer to your question that could make you happy?”

“No, but not answering it doesn’t make me happy either!” Tracy tries to keep her breathing under control.

“I think… you’re happier now than you would be if you knew.”

“That’s not fair. Why do you get to decide that? Why can’t you just listen to me? I want to know! I hate not knowing, I hate looking back on private memories and wondering if you were somehow there! I hate wondering if Alicia is safe from you or if you're watching everything she does!" She sweeps the pieces off the chess board and lets them clatter to the ground. It doesn't make her less angry.

“...I'll tell you if you can calm down, dear."

"That's not fair!" 

Life isn't fair. Calm the fuck down.

"You stalked me and won't even tell me how and I'm supposed to not be upset about that?? Why is everyone allowed to get angry but me!? Why are you allowed to kidnap me and shock me with cattle prods and restrain me, but me getting upset is too far?? Tell me, now, or– or–"

What can she threaten? She's completely powerless, even over her own emotions. Now that she's opened the floodgates, she finds herself sobbing uncontrollably. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you–"

"C'mon, just take some deep breaths. In… and out… In… and out…"

Tracy abruptly stands up, sending her chair flying, and flees to her room. She locks the door behind her despite knowing that Molly must have a way in and starts throwing things. The spinny chair, books from the bookcase, clothes, pillows, anything she can find.

All she achieves is tiring herself out. She screams until her throat is hoarse, but Molly doesn't even knock on her door or try to talk to her. She punches her mattress until her arms are sore, and still, nothing happens. Her rage is meaningless. She's not even going to get punished, much less listened to. No one cares. No one cares at all.

She cries until she's emptied herself out. That should be calm enough for Molly, right? She takes some deep breaths, unlocks the door, and exits her room. "I'm calm now. Tell me."

Molly is sitting on the couch, staring at Tracy. "I… I had a lot of things. It was a lot of hacking, mostly. Um…" she takes a shaky breath. "You're going to be upset."

"Yeah. Did you not know that when you did it?"

"I… I don't know…" She closes her eyes. "The cameras. The cameras that your parents set up in your house, I watched through those."

Tracy feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. She thought she was too exhausted and numb to feel anything, but she was wrong. She's not even sure what she's feeling, but it's definitely something besides exhaustion and numbness.

It was violating enough to have her parents watching. It never even occurred to her that the footage could be being watched by someone else. What if Molly wasn't the only one? God, Molly probably didn't even have to do anything but guess the password a couple of times! Tracy wouldn't be surprised if the password was 'password' or one of their birthdays.

"So… Alicia…"

"There aren't cameras in her foster parents' house," Molly confirms. "I follow her foster parents' social media, and I can access Alicia's email, but… that's it."

Tracy doesn't remotely believe that that's all, but she does believe that there isn't a way for her to watch Alicia anymore. "If I asked you to unfollow them and log out of Alicia's email, would you do it?"

"...yes. But it would mean I wouldn't be able to tell you how Alicia is doing, would you be okay with that?"

"Of course I'm fucking okay with that!" Tracy snaps. "I already asked you to leave her alone, but I guess you don't care about my wishes as much as you pretend you do." She's proud that her voice is able to sound cold despite the fire raging inside her.

"...I thought that as long as I didn't contact her–"

"Let me make it clear, then. I don't want you to have anything to do with her. I don't want you to surveil her in any way. I want you to be completely clueless about what's going on in her life."

"Okay. I'll do that. I'm so sorry, Tracy."

Tracy doesn't dignify that with a response. She locks herself back in her room. She doesn't think Molly will actually stop stalking Alicia, but… there's a chance. That'll have to be enough for now.

There is another small comfort– the cameras were only meant to make sure she and Alicia followed the rules when their parents weren't home, and her parents turned them off when they were able to keep an eye on her and Alicia in person. If Molly's main source of information was the cameras, she didn't see the worst of it. She didn't see Tracy at her most vulnerable. She tries to remind herself of that, but it doesn't make her feel any less violated.

Maybe Molly was right. There was no answer that could've made her happy, so she shouldn't have asked.

tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @iamheretohurt

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Whumpuary 13

Whumpuary prompts should theoretically make up one cohesive narrative, though I'm not currently putting in the effort to flesh out the story around the prompts just yet. I have good intentions to do so eventually. Masterlist. Oh yeah and they're totally out of order, chronologically.

((content warnings: captivity, recovery ))

promptspiration: @whumpuary 13: Barely conscious

Whumpee: Draco Malfoy, Ollivander, Luna Lovegood Caretaker (/cowhumpee): Luna Lovegood Pairing: Harry/Draco whump type: mostly comfort fic type: Deathly Hallows "Voldemort learns Draco hooked up with Harry" AU

Luna arrives in the cellar.

words: ~550

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

Draco flinched awake when watery sunlight invaded the cellar, and squinted toward the stairs. He got a brief look at Ollivander leaning against the other wall — the man looked like a stiff breeze would break him in half, and he was hiding his face from the light — and then silhouettes blocked the light. He couldn't see much, but a blonde girl walked down the steps under her own power. She weirdly said "Thank you," in a distant voice, and with an awkward mutter from Wormtail the door closed behind her, leaving her to cautiously pick her way down the stairs. 

"Excuse me," she said vaguely. She made it sound like she happened to be talking to herself where they could hear. "Can you say something? I don't want to step on you."

"It's no trouble," Ollivander said in his weak voice. "There is a great stretch of free wall this direction."

"Hello, Mister Ollivander."

"It's Looney Lovegood," Draco muttered as he realised. 

"Oh, some people call me that, but I actually prefer Luna." 

"Eleven and one-quarter inches, apple wood… A rare wood that doesn't take to many wielders. A strong wand for the pure of heart…"

Draco put his head back in the dirt and zoned out again.

—-

The door opened and Draco opened his eyes dully, waiting. "Draco." There it was. He silently pushed himself up to his knees, gathering himself to get to his feet.

"Are you going somewhere, Draco?" Lovegood asked, but Ollivander quietly shushed her. Draco didn't respond, but dragged himself up against the wall and then up the stairs, to his waiting punishment.

—-

He didn't really remember coming back; everything was vague, but he hurt, and he knew he'd been pushed down the stairs again. He covered his head and let out some of the tears into the darkness.

A quiet voice hummed a barely-familiar lullaby that tickled the edges of memory. The melody obscurely helped, and he drifted on it instead of the pain. 

—-

In all actuality, Luna was a godsend. She had a weird way of combining acting like this was perfectly normal with addressing the realities of the situation. She encouraged both him and Ollivander to eat the intermittent meals they were provided without drawing attention to how important it probably was. She didn't make a big deal of it when he cried, but she said her mother used to sing that song for her, and Ollivander commented that maybe all mothers were the same. Maybe they were, because Draco knew the same song, even though he could not really remember it.

She brought news of the outside world, news that Harry was still out there and still had allies, news that there really was a resistance to the Dark Lord… to Voldemort. Her ability to keep up a conversation about things that didn't matter at all to the bleak situation sort of grounded it, and her chatter marked time so it wasn't just an eternity of staring into the darkness. It got Ollivander talking more; it seemed to do his heart good just to listen to her. Eventually even Draco started talking again, at first to ask obvious questions about the absurdity she believed which he knew were pointless but he just couldn't help himself, and then, gradually, just because he could. 

She brought hope.

[its-my-whump]

Whumptober 16

No. 16: "Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

Hummingbird 16

(Story starts here, if you like) previous

Sam fell ungraciously to the ground and slumped to his side. He landed on his bruised left arm, but he was already unconscious before his dead weight hit the floor. His windpipe wasn't restricted this time.

The collar was still there, but it wasn't crushing his windpipe. Nevertheless, it was uncomfortablly restraining him. Sam swallowed against the sour taste in his mouth. He wasn't really alert just yet. His senses slowly awakening brought back the memory of waking up on the blanket in the basement. After a few attempts, he managed to slowly open his eyes. Yes, he was definitely in the same room from last night. The chain was attached to the ceiling again. He didn't know, what happened. Why he was on the ground, instead of hanging dead in his restrains. His cloths were still clammy and kind of stiff. He was laying on a blanket again, that hadn't been here, when he was left alone last night.

He shivered, at the same moment the battle of keeping the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach at bay was lost. Bile shot up and he reflexively turned to the side releaving himself forcefully. Only thin liquidly bile made its way outside, his gullet burned and his body thrembled under the unruly strain it brought up with.

Sam suddenly needed to cought in addition. He really did feel sick, but more like the flu sick, then like a stomach bug sick. He breathed against the constricting pain inside his body. It was getting worse. Maybe he was even running a fever.

He coughted again, which just unearthed even more acid from his insides.

He cought and heaved and breathed and cought again. His strength was leaving him, too fast. Something was wrong. This couldn't just be his body reacting to the stress of last night, could it?

A painfully hammering heartbeat later a big hand was on his shoulder steadying him, another big paw under his head. Everything was disgusting and sticky, but it didn't matter at all.

He had puke in his face and remains in his mouth. He was sure, he was laying on some of it. Stomach acid was burning in his throat. He was too weak to properly open his mouth anymore. But the smell and taste wanted to bring up more. Sam only dry heaved by now, it was wearing him out.

Additionally a bonebreaking shiver went through his exhausted body. White and black sparkles in his vision. His neck, lifted a bit for the effort of breathing, coughing and heaving, fell back into the embracing warm hand.

His extremties went limb again. "Hey, hey, hey. You need to stay with me, Sammy. Okay? Don't go where I can't follow, all right!"

Just now, he realised someone talking to him. A gentle voice from above, probably Grey.

"Easy my little hummingbird. I got you."

Sam couldn't really make out the words. His mind took its sweet time, but wouldn't come around anymore, it seemed.

"Stay with me. You're save with me."

His racing heart finally started to slow down. His ragged breathing became almost normal. But exhaustion still had a tight grip on him. So Sam didn't feel his hands being freed of the cuffs and just falling to the ground. He hardly registered the stinging in his bloody wrists, or the little prick of a needle in his neck, from which the collar had been removed.

His head instantly went to a foggy stupor, but he thought his dizziness was a result of his miserable appearance and last nights struggle.

Strong arms picked him up. Instictively, he put his head to the broad shoulder for stability and support. Actually, the most of all, for comfort. The man started walking. "I'v got you, my little hummingbird." It sounded vaguely familiar. Sam's alarms should have been screaming at him, but he was too weak and drugged to put 2 and 2 together anymore.

TBC

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