#electrocution tw

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2024

Day 8. “Why wont it stop?”

—

Whumper presses the button on Whumpees shock collar, but it malfunctions and doesn’t turn off. Instead of a little zap like Whumpee is used to, they’re being electrocuted until whumper can find some rubber gloves to safely remove the device. The damage done is probably severe, and almost kills Whumpee. Its bad enough that Whumper considers using a different form of punishment from then on.

[whumpy-daydreams]

Since you mentioned living weapon prompts…

Defiant whumpee with some sort of superpower finally breaking and becoming a weapon?

ooh i love this and now its really long and i want to write more because i have the plot bunnies

CW: electric shocks, brainwashing, needle mention, military indoctrination

Whumpee had been sloppy. They'd trusted the wrong people and been screwed over as a result. And now they had been arrested? Drafted? They supposed the specifics didn't matter.

Whumpee was wondering how long they'd been stuck in this stupid chair when a door opened, pneumatics hissing as a portion of the wall slid aside.

The man in uniform didn't smile. He sat opposite, barely registering them as he opened a file, scanning through the two pages inside. That was good. They clearly didn't have much information about what Whumpee could do.

"Please state your name for the record."

If Whumpee could cross their arms they would have. But instead they just cocked their head, lips pursed. A slight twitch was all that gave away the man's annoyance.

"It would be in your best interest to comply."

"Why?"

"Because it will save me time and you pain." He clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly. "Your name."

"You forgot the magic word," Whumpee smirked. A jolt of electricity burst across their wrists and ankles. Clearly the restraints were for more than keeping them in place. "Shit!"

"As I said, it is in your best interest to comply. What is your name?"

"Fuck. You." Another flash of pain, stronger than the last, and Whumpee cried out through gritted teeth. Their heart was pounding now, sweat beginning to bead on their back.

The man waited patiently. Whumpee just glared.

When the electricity hit again they screamed, back arching. White flashed across their vision. Whumpee wished they could move. Wished they could shake out the growing cramps in their arms and legs. Still the man just watched, waiting.

Whumpee lost track of time as shock after shock hit them, the only breaks in the silence being the sounds of screaming and the same question from the man, over and over and over. Your name.

"Whum-" their voice caught between sobs, "-Whumpee. My name's Whumpee."

They were drenched in sweat now, limbs shaking from the electricity that had coursed through them just moments before. They were so tired.

The man just nodded, not bothering to write anything down. Bastard. He already knew their name. All Whumpee had done was shown how much pain they could take.

"Would you like some water?" The question caught them off guard. After a moment Whumpee nodded. The man reached down, putting a glass of water on the table, a straw already in it, but didn't move it closer.

"You are being recruited into a special division here. There are others like you already in service, and you will receive comprehensive training to complete your missions."

"Why would I do that?" Whumpee rasped.

"To serve your country. You would receive compensation: food and lodging, thorough medical care, as well as a generous package when you retire."

"Can I think about it first?"

"While cooperation is preferable, we do not need any consent from you to enrol you into the program. I will repeat that it is-"

"In my best interest to comply." Whumpee finished for him. They looked at the glass of water and thankfully the man got the hint. He brought it forward, holding it so Whumpee could drink from the straw.

They took a long sip, looked at the man, and spat it in his face. "You can go to hell." He reeled back, wiping the water from himself with a sleeve. To Whumpee's dismay he didn't look angry, or even particular annoyed.

"Perhaps you need some time to think about it." Was all he said before leaving, the door hissing shut behind him.

___

Whumpee sagged forward in the chair, cheeks stained with tears and sweat as their muscles spasmed.

It had been hours. The shocks were random, or random enough that they hadn't been able to find a pattern - though it was hard to keep track when you kept getting electrocuted.

They didn't have the energy to scream any more. Strained whimpers and a rigid body the only sign of the electricity coursing through them. I won't let them do this to me. I won't let them turn me into a monster.

A firm hand on their arm startled Whumpee, who flinched away, silently sobbing. Then a scratch on the back of their hand, the strange feeling of tape keeping something secure. Whumpee didn't have the energy to look.

"Please..."

"Let it run through before shocking again, don't want them dislodging it." A different voice, and a murmur of acknowledgement. A few minutes silence.

"Have you thought about your situation, Whumpee?" The man's voice again, calm and professional. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou- "This can all stop if you want it to. All you have to do is cooperate."

It was so tempting. It would be so easy to give in. The exhaustion in Whumpee's body screamed at them to say yes, to accept whatever future they were offering.

With a sob, Whumpee shook their head.

"Why?" The man's voice was different now: softer, gentler. "You have no family, no true friends. Here you will have purpose. People to depend on, a stable place to live, the chance to make a difference in the world."

It was true. Whumpee didn't have anyone they trusted. There was no hope, no purpose, no stability in their future. Because of you. It was their fault Whumpee didn't have those things.

"Just let me leave," they said weakly.

"I can't do that. You belong here, even if you don't realise it yet." Whumpee heard rather than saw the man walk over. He pushed them upright, their head lolling backwards. "What's your name?"

"Whumpee." They didn't know why they said it. Whumpee told themselves it was because he already knew, but deep down that was a lie. It just... happened. They felt pliable, like their brain had been massaged into acceptance.

A video hologram appeared in front of them. It showed people in uniform eating together, playing games, doing training exercises and helping each other. Images of clean facilities, sports and books and tidy bedrooms flashed past one another.

It looked... nice? Not cosy but safe and welcoming. The calm speech of the voiceover repeated itself in Whumpee's brain.

'You'll be part of a family trained to be the best'

Whumpee wanted a family. They wanted to feel safe. Loved. To not have to worry about food and shelter, or who to trust. They're lying to you. The voice in their head took on an uncertain tone.

"Well, Whumpee? Are you ready to cooperate?" Yes. No. Whumpee didn't say anything, their thoughts merging together in a swirling pool of conflicting needs.

The man didn't say anything as he left again. Panic gripped Whumpee and they nearly called after him but it was too late. The door disappeared into the wall.

But no shocks came. Instead another video started, this time an interview of a young woman in uniform. She had powers too. And despite Whumpee's exhaustion they couldn't help but listen.

Another video played afterwards, and another, and another. Each one echoed in Whumpee's head, the voice telling them it was a lie getting quieter until it all but disappeared. Calmness spread over them, making them forget about the shocks, about the fact Whumpee had been kidnapped.

When the man finally reappeared, Whumpee looked at him silently.

"Are you ready to comply?"

"Yes."

[nade2308]

I was thinking long and hard about what to do for today's theme. Ultimately I decided on the parallels between Julia and Ilsa bringing Ethan back to life by having to shock him with electricity. These two moments give me feels.

@thethistlegirl

@whumptober

AO3 link here

[otter-chaos-violence]

mining but whump (especially pre-industrail safety guidelines)

black lung, silicosis, falling off the ladders, carbon monoxide poisoning, mayve whumpee's the bird they bring down, cave ins, electrocution, axphyxsiation, trapped under rubble, boss is working Whumpee until they die, dynamite accidents, amputation.

so many flavors

[southerndragontamer]

Thunder Bringer

Inspired by this set of YouTube comments/post

The lightning cracked down on the deck of the ship so hard it bobbed and dipped threateningly into the waters. His vision flared white as his skin prickled from the sheer heat of it against the chill of the wind as it lashed against him. Odysseus’ heart stuttered and he felt his stomach drop.

Zeus was just as intimidating as he had been that night in Troy almost twelve years ago, in the infant’s room where he’d given Odysseus an impossible choice in what to do. He expected to see lightning bolts striking down around him, to feel it humming against his skin as he watched his men die.

What he didn’t expect, in any capacity, was for Zeus to grab him before anyone could react and pull him close enough for him to feel the humming of power under the divine skin. Just as his cheeks flushed and he was about to yelp, partly out of surprise and partly from pain of the stab wound that had begun to bleed through the bandages...Zeus began to move, made Odysseus follow along and his heart skipped a beat when the god began to sing in a rich, dark voice.

“Pride is a damsel in distress

Hiding away where only I can undress her”

Odysseus couldn’t help the gasp, the way he twisted as Zeus’ broad hands slipped up his chest, ran along the edges of his tunic and tugged as if to pull it off before they slipped back down. Humming power followed every movement in almost soft pulses, quick fingers pulled his tunic up.

“Try all she can not to confess

In the end, it's all the same once I apply all the pressure”

His head fell back in a pained cry as fingers dug into the bandages, into the wound and his knees threatened to give out. In an instinctive act that in any other situation would’ve likely gotten him killed, he grabbed onto Zeus’ forearm.

There was a rumble of thunder in the air and against his ear, amused and a huff of what could pass for a chuckle before the grip loosened a bit. Then he was twisted around to be with his back against the god’s chest, that strong arm wrapped tightly around his waist despite the hiss under his breath.

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer, show her I'm the judgment call

The one who makes her kingdom fall~”

Odysseus’ shudder was a full body one, it was an easy threat for the king of Olympus to make, with the power of the heavens under his fingertips it wouldn’t be any stretch of the imagination for Zeus to be able to easily destroy what he desired, to leave scorches of ruin and blackened earth where buildings stood and people once lived- he was spun, his footing stumbled as he ended up half arched into the god’s chest.

“Lightning, wield her, use and yield her, show her what she can't conceal

For true nature will be revealed~”

The arch in his back curved more as the god leaned down, one hand on a hip to hold tightly and the other trailed up his chest in a slow caress as he started to pant. Zeus leaned in close, inches away as he grinned darkly.

The mortal was reminded of a trident under his chin, the sound of waves crashed around his ears, the deep abyss the sea around an air bubble, the sensation of a hand clenched tight in his hair to pull it back and expose his throat-

“Tell me, Odysseus

If I were to make you choose

The lives of your men and crew or your own

Why do I think they'd lose?~”

The voice in his ears jolted him back to the present, rich and dark like thunderclouds instead of sharp and fluid like crashing waves, he gasped like a surfacing diver out of his memories to focus.

The sound of his name in that regal tone made him shudder from head to toe, attention completely focused on the King of the Gods. Zeus wasn’t offended by his momentary lapse in concentration though, an amused yet dark grin flashed with teeth.

“Enlighten me, King of Ithaca

Since hunger was far too great

I wonder who'd take the weight of the damned

And suffer a gruesome fate to the”

“Thunder Bringer, here to ring your

Ears until you're deaf with fear and

Spear you while your death is near”

Odysseus’ head fell back in a pained shout, the scream barely locked in his throat as Zeus’ hand slammed itself on his wound, as he felt pure power flood his veins. The sound of sizzling, popping, the scent of burning flesh and cooking meat lasted for what felt like an eternity as the injury was cauterized but was really only a few seconds as his body jerked and twitched under the sky king’s touch.

It felt like his body wasn’t his for a second or two, tugged along the way Zeus wanted it to be directed. It was so easy…between one heartbeat and the next his body was his own as he heaved for air, tears in his eyes and body trembled like a leaf.

“Lighting wielder, here to yield your

Time for you have passed your prime

Sublime you for your act of crime”

A hand was suddenly at his throat, fingertips hot and crackling as they ran a path of danger and threat along his neck. A phantom slice to indicate the crime he talked about. But despite it his back couldn't help but arch, his head fell further back to give more room.

As his body moved on its own to submit to Zeus’ touch, despite the threat and danger, despite the situation not at all being the right moment for it, Odysseus suddenly understand exactly why Zeus had been able to bed so many, everyone knew about the ones that weren’t willing and it was despicable that the King of the Gods didn’t know the word ‘no’ then again the Titan Goddess hadn’t been the best to teach him that-but regardless there had to be some that were entirely willing even knowing who he was, what Hera might do to them when she found out. And no one ever knew about them because Zeus’ cruelty was all they focused on in the stories for the most part.

The hand at his neck pulled away and he was righted up, a hand curled around his jaw as Zeus spoke one word, oddly softer, but still with that undercurrent of command.

“Choose.”

Odysseus blinked a few times, his mind struggled to get itself from the state of near ecstasy and pain to actually think properly. He panted and echoed confused, lost in a way.

“Choose?”

Zeus looked almost soft, sympathetic in a way, completely at odds with his former confidence and pride. His breath caught in his chest and his heart skipped a beat, it…it felt almost tender. Almost sweet, even if it shouldn’t have been.

“Someone's gotta die today

And you have got the final say

You?

Or your crew?”

His head was turned to the side, to the faces of the stunned, fearful crew that had seen the entire thing. Unable to grab their Captain from the Sky God’s grip, forced to watch as he was pulled along like a puppet. The guilt and shame and the pure horror on their faces tore at his heart.

His knees shook, his heart ached as he shook his head hard, unable to look away from them, he felt like he was back in the infant’s room all over again. Faced with an impossible choice he didn’t want to make, he couldn’t do this again. He felt like he was going to fall to his knees, tears filled his eyes as he half cried. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t, not again, not more pain.

“Please don't make me do this

Don't make me do this!”

Gold, the color of the divine, of ambrosia, of power, of royalty-of lightning flashed and filled his vision with a rolling rumble of thunder that echoed to the point he almost felt deafened. When his vision cleared…he was in another space.

It reminded him of Athena’s Quick Thought, but instead of ticking clocks it was the white noise of static and sparks that made his hair raise and his chest felt tight, hard to breathe like the air was thinner.

Zeus’ hair curled around him like a living stormcloud, lightning arced through the currently storm black curls as the god tipped his chin up, sparks danced along his skin and made the human king tremble. That soft, almost tender tone again.

“Don’t you remember what you heard as you left Scylla’s cave? We are the same you and I”

“I…”

Odysseus couldn’t help but finish, his voice fell in harmony with Zeus’, just like he had before with Scylla as his head spun, partly from the thin air of this space created by Zeus’ power. Partly from being overwhelmed by everything.

He was not that prideful, not that stupid to think he was the same as one of the gods, but…that hadn’t been the point of it had it?…Scylla was a monster, and one could argue Zeus was too in many ways. Odysseus had sworn to do anything to get back to Ithaca, that he’d become a monster if that was what it took…and he had.

He could make out the voices of his crew, all of them seemingly all around him, repeating his own words back at him.

“When does a comet become a meteor?

When does a candle become a blaze?

When does a man become a monster?

When does a ripple become a tidal wave?

When does the reason become the blame?

When does a man become a monster?”

How many times had he heard that now? How many times had his own words all those years ago back at Troy come back to haunt him? To remind him of how much suffering he’d gone through, how much he could’ve prevented…..

“I can take the suffering from you”

His knees shook as he heard Penelope’s voice through his crew’s, tears in his eyes as his heart ached. It didn’t sound like the siren had, just too perfect to the point it was off, it sounded like she was right there, like he could reach out and grab her and never let go-

He tried, he reached out half blind out of desperate longing, out of need to see her again. To be with her, with his son who he hadn’t seen since he was a mere babe-

“Let me take the suffering from…”

He blinked as he only found his hand empty, the wisp of clouds almost lovingly seeped around his fingers. He was back on the ship, the rain pelted against him like ice yet he wasn’t entirely cold as Zeus’ chest was at his back, arms slipped around his shoulders like a weight in an embrace that was familiar yet alien and so warm.

Odysseus panted slightly, his head spun from endorphins of the increased oxygen, from what had just happened. His mind was split between being focused on the god wrapped around him and Penelope….oh his beloved Penelope.

Of course he’d heard her say that she’d take his suffering, that was what Penelope did for him, would do for him when he’d be home….her and, Telemachus, thinking of them was how he’d stayed sane so long, after so much death and bloodshed, even after he’d finally understood what it meant to be ruthless, to be a monster in human skin…they were all he could focus on.

His beloved wife, his dear son….they were his light, his drive, his very threads of sanity…he couldn’t be without them. He couldn’t leave them behind. He swallowed hard, he felt like he was going to throw up, he felt like he was never going to forgive himself….but he already blamed himself for everything else, what was one more time?

“Captain?…”

Eurylochus’ voice made him tremble as he looked over at each and every one of his remaining crew, by the look on his brother in law’s face-his sister was never going to forgive him for letting her husband die on the way home, even if he’d never say what exactly happened-he already knew what choice Odyssesus would make.

Because he’d have made the same choice if it was him that was only focused on Ctimene.

Odysseys’ voice was choked, watery and already grieving as he responded, as he tried to keep his vision clear and not let tears mix with rain.

“I have to see her….”

He expected rage, he expected Eurylochus to move to try to grab him from Zeus and stab him again, but his second in command, his brother just spoke in a matter of fact, resigned yet sort of detached hopeful tone? It was something that made guilt begin to curl like sour milk in his stomach.

“But we’ll die.”

The next two words that slipped out of Odysseus’ throat felt like shards of glass, were filled with so much pain it was almost a physical thing, his sorrow and regret thick like tar in his throat as he teared up, as he fought the urge to break down into sobs.

“I know”

Only he didn’t get the chance to cry as he was yanked off his feet, pulled up into the sky as Zeus leapt up into the air with the screech of an eagle reverberating in the sky. The wing tattoos on his arms glowed and lifted out of his skin to flare from his back, the stormclouds swirled around them both until the mortal king couldn’t tell the difference between them and the god that held him.

All around him he heard Zeus’ voice again, his back arched as power flooded through it, as pain lit up every nerve. His scream was lost in a boom of thunder.

“Thunder, bring her through the wringer

Show her I'm the judgment call

The one who makes her kingdom fall

Lightning, wield her, use and yield her

Show her what she can't conceal

For true nature will be revealed”

His body didn’t feel like it belonged to him anymore, a passenger in his own mind as the god of thunder forced his mortal form to take what it wasn’t meant to. Muscles locked up and convulsed and twitched, it felt like his blood began to boil, senses fired on all cylinders and knew nothing, his body began to glow, sparks flew off his skin, everything felt white hot and agony. Then just as he began to feel like his heart was going to explode from how fast it raced, he felt broad hands curl around his face and lips on his.

Instinctively in the confusion and pain he kissed back in a plead for any release from this torture, what flowed through in response was pure sensation that registered through every nerve ending as torment and suffering and he faintly tasted blood mixed with something almost sweet.

As his vision began to blur, his body felt less like it was going to melt into a puddle of ooze and more sturdy, more put together. Zeus pulled away and gold glittered on his lip as the sound of sizzling crackling filled his ears.

Then Odysseus was in freefall, body surged down towards the deck as if thrown it was just enough time to process what had been done to him, gold flickered to white as he made contact. Wood splintered and shattered, exploded underneath the symbol of raw fury he’d become at the god’s touch, he thought he made out his crew screaming, barely made out bodies being flooded by light, for a few split seconds he thought he heard Eurylochus…

“I’m sorry Ody.”

Then he hit the water and everything went black.

[hurtthemgently]

Hurt your whumpee prompt list, number plus character, you all know the deal

Purely for whump fiction.

Sound torture

Sensory deprivation

Sleep deprivation

Whip them

Use a riding crop

Grab their hair

Gel electrodes

Taser

Car charger

Cattle prod

Drug them with a sedative

Drug them with a stimulant

Inject something painful

Make sure they see the syringe

Drowning

Waterboarding

Clamp a hand over their nose and mouth

Put them in an air controlled chamber and take out the air

Stress position

Lock them in a freezer

Pour ice water on them

Pour boiling water on them

Burn them

Brand them

Give them a new tattoo

Give them a new piercing

Break their wrist

Leave them hanging by the wrists

Slowly trail a knife across them

Cut them deep

Kick them while they’re down

Knee them in the stomach

Knock their head into something

Grab them by the lapels of their shirt

Shove their back against the wall

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Routine

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

She’ll figure something out. She just has to wait and gather information, and she’ll figure something out. That’s the plan. She has a plan, she’s not powerless.

She’s… she has to accept that she’s in here for the long haul. She’s going to have to find a new job when she escapes, and comfort Alicia after the stress of losing her sister and not knowing why. 

She can do it. She just needs to buckle down. No more crying and pouting and freaking out.

Tracy falls into a routine with Molly. They eat breakfast together in the mornings, Tracy usually letting Molly make it herself. There are chains attaching all of the pots and pans to hooks inside the drawers, now. She hadn't noticed, but Molly probably did it right after the time Tracy tried to use a frying pan as a weapon. The chains are long enough that the pots and pans can be taken basically anywhere in the kitchen, but not outside of it, which Tracy supposes makes sense.

Usually they eat in silence, but sometimes Molly talks a bit about herself.

“Would it help you settle in if you knew more about me? I keep forgetting I’m basically a stranger to you. Hmm… I’ve always wanted to take care of people, ever since I was very small. I’ve tried all sorts of things. I was a therapist for a while, a nurse for a while… I even did politics for a bit.”

“Then… why? Why wasn’t that good enough? Why’d you have to— why’d you kidnap me?”

“…that would just upset you. You know full well there’s no answer to that question that you would be happy with. Let’s talk about something else.”

After breakfast, they usually do something together, like watching a movie or playing games. Tracy does her best to be friendly and engage Molly in conversation in the hopes that she'll let something important slip, but more often than not Tracy just gets too frustrated with Molly to do anything but scream at her or be silent, and she usually chooses the latter.

After that, they have lunch. Molly is a good cook, and Tracy finds herself eating a lot more than she did before Molly kidnapped her. She ignores the gnawing thought in the back of her head that she hasn’t earned this, because she has no doubt Molly would find a way to force her to eat if she refused.

That’s… that’s taking comfort in being powerless. That’s what Molly wants. 

No, no. She’s choosing to eat so that she’s strong enough to fight back. She doesn’t have to earn food. Her needs aligning with Molly’s wants benefits her, not Molly. Her priority is escape, not defiance.

“How… um… how did you get me here?”

“You don’t want to talk about—“

“Stop that!” She’s already shaking with rage. Talking to Molly without screaming is impossible, sometimes. “Stop acting like you know what I want better than I do!”

Molly stares at her like a deer in headlights. “I… um… you don’t like it when I apologize. I’ll just… um, I waited until a night when you were alone in your apartment, then I waited until you were asleep, and then I brought you home.”

“I knew that much! I’m asking how!”

“Right. I… drugged you. I’m sor— nevermind.”

Tracy waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Deep breaths. “…And my stuff? All of my clothes are here.”

“Just packed it up in my trunk. And I took your phone, which you know, and your keys and wallet and stuff so it would look like you left on your own.”

So no one’s looking for Tracy. She deflates. It’s still information, though. She got some information. She’ll just ask a couple more things so that it wasn’t obvious she was fishing for that. “You had time to fold up all my clothes and put them in the dresser and closet. What the fuck did you drug me with?”

“You wouldn’t recognize the name of the drug. It only took a few hours to organize your stuff, anyway. I didn’t— it wasn’t dangerous, I promise. You were perfectly safe the whole time.”

Tracy jumps to her feet without thinking. “You only drugged me once? And it only lasted a few hours?”

“Yes. You’re so clever, figuring that out from what I said.”

There’s no sarcasm in Molly’s voice. It’s a completely sincere compliment, and it makes Tracy’s stomach turn.

A few hours by car could still be quite a ways away from her apartment, but… she’s probably still in the same state. She shouldn’t have too hard of a time getting home after escaping.

That’s what she was already assuming, but having it confirmed is still very helpful. She’s on a roll, gathering-information-wise. It… probably wasn’t actually a ‘jump out of her chair in excitement’ level discovery, and now it’s really obvious she was fishing for information relevant to her escape… but that’s fine. She can work with that.

After lunch, Tracy usually takes a nap. She hasn’t just been eating a lot more, she’s been sleeping a lot more, too, and she’s positive she’s being drugged despite Molly’s insistence to the contrary.

“…Please stop drugging me. You don’t have to, I’m not a danger to myself or others right now, right?” All she can do is ask. Molly is the one who stocks the kitchen, so as far as Tracy knows, literally all of her options for food are drugged.

“Dear, I’m not drugging you, I promise.”

“But I’ve never been this tired before! I’ve never slept this much every day, or napped, or anything like that! How could I possibly believe you’re not drugging me?” There’s a mortifying lump in her throat that makes her voice come out sounding more scared than angry.

“Tracy, dear… you averaged four hours of sleep a night before you got here. You were in survival mode, and your body saw no point in using its limited resources to ask for sleep. But now you’re safe. Now you can heal, and that takes a lot more energy than surviving. You’ll feel less tired as your body adjusts and recovers from the constant stress you were under.”

That sounds like bullshit. Tracy is positive she’s being drugged. 

After her nap, Tracy usually takes advantage of the little gym setup Molly made. It’s really just a treadmill, a pull-up bar, and a few yoga mats, but it’s better than nothing. Sometimes Molly joins her, but usually she just sits and reads while Tracy tries to build her strength.

Afterwards, they have dinner. Often, Molly uses the time while Tracy is napping to bake some kind of treat, so there’s usually dessert. Then Tracy showers, brushes her teeth, and goes to bed. Molly always offers to stay with her, and Tracy always refuses. She knows now that Molly will never fall asleep in front of her unless Tracy's restrained or drugged, so there's no point.

Time goes by so fast. Before Tracy knows it, her hands and black eye have healed, and she still hasn’t made any real progress towards escaping. She's even considered setting a fire to try and force Molly to let her upstairs, but there's a fire sprinkler system on the ceiling. 

Molly hasn't restrained or shocked her since the time Tracy tried to take the cattle prod from her. She doesn't seem to be looking for reasons to do either, and Molly never seems even slightly annoyed with Tracy no matter how nasty Tracy is to her. She genuinely seems to want Tracy to be happy, even if she's really, really bad at it.

Every night, before going upstairs to bed, Molly tells her she loves her. Every night, Tracy believes her a little more.

Tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

TW: interrogation whump, electrocution, electrical burns, restraints in the form of handcuffs

Take some 3 am Barry (The Flash) whump because I have a problem.

~

Barry seized up and spasmed for who-knows-what time. His head hit his chest and there were faint voices rotating around him. Something was burning, he noticed. The smell went through his nose and he grimaced minutely.

“-e’s- ill- con-” words couldn’t make it through his dazed state. Where…? Even thinking was difficult, mind foggy and head throbbing.

“-ful- ill- im-” A small groan made it through his lips.

“Don’t -are- we - infor- as- it-” Everything was too loud, when he tried to open his mouth to say something, no sentence came out. Where am I? The fog was clearing in his head. Where am I? A flutter of panic came with it because the burning from earlier was him. A ring of red burns around each of his wrists, hidden under the metal cuffs encasing them; electrical burns. They stung and everything in him wanted to cry out, but his body still hadn’t caught up with his mind and everything was heavier than lead.

“—And if he dies under interrogation?” Dies? Interrogation? Oh crap.

“He’s a speedster.” Someone reached down and lifted him by the chin, someone with piercing blue eyes and an expression that screamed danger. RUN. but at the same time– Oliver? His friend tightened his grip and he fought another grimace. “He can handle it.” Oliver met his eyes, cold, cruel, this wasn’t the Oliver he knew. “Up the current, 500 milliamps.”

[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Lessons learnt

masterlist

previous

TW: electrocution, conditioning, whipping (mentioned), captivity tw, pet whump

Alyssa barely had the will to fight Luke's iron grip on her upper arm as he led her downstairs to the basement.

Compared to the one at the old house, the new basement was luxurious and pristine. The floor was covered in slick black tiles, instead of plain concrete, there also was a drain built in the middle of the room. The walls were painted black, giving the illusion to whoever was stuck there that the darkness surrounding them was infinite. The ceiling was high up, level with the ceiling of the ground floor, providing enough space for the metal balcony stretching over one side, if spectators were to watch they comfortably had the space to do so.

The side opposite from the entrance held the display for a wide array of tools, torture instruments. Various chains and hooks were attached to the ground and other walls, if one squinted well enough past the lights, they could make out the place for them on the cross beams that supported the structure, running from the gallery to the wall across.

Alyssa was torn, she knew she wouldn't have to think about the risk of infection caused by the dirt and germs all over the old basement that was impossible to sterilise, the new place was tenfold as horrifying. She was sure she would've gone insane if Luke kept her down here after they moved.

"Sit" he pointed to the floor next to one of the hooks on the ground and pushed her towards it.

"Luke, please, I'm sorry, I won't run off like that ever again" she started, as if she could any sense of humanity in him. A futile attempt to appeal to his nicer side, calling him by name. Please. Don't hurt me.

"I know you won't" he said simply and started tying a rope between her collar and the hook.

"Please, please, please, I'll be good, you don't have to do anything I'll behave" There were tears threatening to spill over her waterline already, as she pleaded frantically for an ounce of mercy, which she wouldn't get.

"Shhh, none of that now" he cupped her face, just for a moment and let her lean into the touch.

"What do you think you should get for embarrassing me yesterday, hm?" he asked, with a deceptively soft and genuine tone.

"Please, don't- just please" he stood up and strolled over to the pegboards and shelves of displayed tools running his hand along them.

"I'm thinking a whip" He ignored her crying and settled his hand on the familiar leather handle "Fifteen lashes sound reasonable, right?" he called over his shoulder before actually taking it off the shelf and walking back to Alyssa.

"I asked you something" he stared down at her.

"Please don't"

"Not up for debate, I'm afraid, fifteen with this and we can forget it" She nodded miserably as a response.

"But first, we need to take care of something else" he crouched down and she picked her head up, locking eyes with him confused.

He reached into his pocket and took a small black rectangular object and dangled it in front of her. Alyssa's eyes widened in fear with the realisation. It was the remote to the electrified box attached to her collar.

"You told me yesterday that I confused you, right? We'll fix that in no time" She nodded, more or less accepting her fate. "Tell me what you called me just a few moments ago"

"What?"

"You called me by my name, love, say it again"

"Luke?"

The shock was instantaneous, piercing through her neck and burning through all her muscles. It was over before she could scream.

"Say it again" he instructed calmly, after she finally caught her breath.

"Luke" he shocked her the same. Her body contorted in agony, and this time she did scream.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" No. But she wasn't completely clueless either. It was something that had to do with Claire, a woman she knew almost nothing and everything about at the same time, and yet again it was her drawing the short end of the stick. She shook her head, sending a wave of uncomfortable twitches running through her body at the movement, her muscles still spasming from the aftershock.

"I don't want to keep hurting you" he stated and fixed a strand of hair behind her ear. She flinched. He didn't seem to care. "But you keep making me, and I'd like to fix this before I go overboard again. I know you're doing your best, you're doing so much for me, and I want to help you out so we don't have to keep coming back down here, okay?" She couldn't keep her face straight, Aly was falling apart at the seams, and she couldn't hold back her crying. Luke not wanting to torture her was almost laughable, but she didn't have it in her to find it funny. "Say it again" he prompted gently.

"Please, Sir, I get it, I won't- I know not to-"

"Say it!" he was calm as ever on the surface, but the twitch in his thumb hovering over the shock button proved otherwise. She obeyed miserably preparing herself for another shock.

"Alright, alright, there we go" Alyssa ended up on the floor this time. He gently pulled her back up to kneel, ignoring the spasms and twitches that made it infinitely harder for both of them.

"Now, did we say fifteen?"

[angel-in-shibari]

hey, I wrote a thing

Its a spinoff of one of my favorite stories on ao3 called The Matron's Handmaiden.

just... trigger warning for a lot of shit. please read the tags. and also read MH too

[thousandth-island]

I had to doodle this when I saw this post (She lived I promise)

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 23: "It's gonna get me by the end of the night" + Shadows

Continuation of Day 22

Read it on Ao3

- Legend & Sky

- Summary: Held captive and helpless in the Shadow's grip, Legend and Sky try to find a way to escape

CW for blood and injury; broken bones; electrocution; torture; brief mentions of vomit, possession, and death; and captivity

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

“Vet. Vet! Wake up!”

Legend blinks his eyes open with a groan. His body protests its journey back into consciousness rather loudly and he can’t help but swat at the hand gently shaking his shoulder.

“‘M up, ‘m up,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand roughly over his face. By Hylia, why does he feel like he jumped into a lightning storm? 

He blinks a few more times, trying to bring his blurry surroundings into focus. But his pounding head makes that rather difficult and it takes a couple of good, hard tries.

It’s dark in the room where he sits, slumped against Sky’s shoulder. Lanterns lend some light along the far wall, casting shadows everywhere else. They illuminate a deadly sheen of crimson splotched sporadically along the stone floors. A heavy door blocks the exit. No windows are anywhere Legend can see.

They’re all but locked in. A cell that was never truly meant to be.

“Where…” He swallows, grimacing at the harsh bite of it. “Where are we?”

Faint memories are stirring now as consciousness slowly regains a full grip on him. But they are still hazy at best. It’s hard to focus on anything with the phantom pain of electricity in his veins. And of course the telltale ache of using too much magic. Whatever happened, he had practically bled himself dry trying to stop it.

“You don’t remember?” Sky asks. Something in the way he says it makes Legend turn to look at him. The Skyloftian is unnaturally pale, even in the near darkness. Blood darkens his tunic in multiple spots and dribbles down from his nose and mouth. A gash runs along his forehead, dipping down to hide along his left eyebrow. And on his cheek there is a cluster of angry, red lines branching upward and out almost like…

Legend draws in a breath. It all comes rushing back now, bringing the incessant ache of his body and mind to a nauseating fever pitch. He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.

“No…no I remember,” he grits out. “Not-you lured me here and shot balls of electricity at my face.”

Sky chuckles, hoarse and breathless. “Yeah. That’s the…that’s the gist of it.”

Legend shifts and immediately regrets it. The room tilts and his stomach lurches as pain spikes up like shards of glass through his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, fighting not to vomit.

“Are you alright, vet?”

He nods. “Yup. Great.”

Focus on breathing. In and out, in and out.

After a moment, he dares open his eyes again. This time, the room stays level and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Okay, so maybe no sudden movements for a bit.

“I’m guessing the Shadow isn’t here yet,” he says. “Otherwise this experience would probably be a whole lot worse.”

Sky is quiet for a moment. When he speaks his voice is even more hushed and broken than before.

“No, he hasn’t arrived yet, as far as I can tell. But that monster…it said it was going to bring the others here too.” Legend looks up at him, but Sky doesn’t meet his gaze. He is staring at the door as though through will alone he can move it. “If we don’t get out of here soon they’ll have to fight it same as we did.”

“And just like us they’ll likely lose,” Legend finishes, bitterly. “Yeah, okay, so we’ve got to figure out how to escape this place before the Shadow arrives, probably kill the monster that took us both out, plus whatever else has revived in the meantime…while wounded and weaponless. Should be a cinch.”

Sky opens his mouth to reply but before he can voices filter through the walls, harsh and echoing. Both heroes tense.

“Two. You caught two heroes out of the nine that I tasked you with bringing me. Tell me, what makes you think that that is a worthy haul to summon me to see?”

Legend swallows down his rising fear. The Shadow. The Shadow is right outside and they don’t even have some half-baked plan started yet. 

“But Master, they aren’t just any two heroes.” It’s the blind now, sounding almost groveling in comparison to the Shadow’s sneering growl. “These ones wield the Master Sword. As you said, they are capable of…”

“Don’t!” The shout is sharp and commanding, like a slap across the face. Beside him, Sky flinches slightly. “Don’t speak the words. They will not defeat me, no matter the weapons they wield. I will make certain of that.”

The voice grows louder, closer. Legend tenses further, steeling himself for what is to come. 

“You will remain here. I have work to do and have no wish for you to interfere.”

“What of the other heroes? Do you not want…”

“Leave them for now. These two will suffice.” Legend doesn’t need to see the Shadow’s face to know he is grinning. “Perhaps, once they see their mutilated corpses, the others will simply give themselves up.”

“You know magic, right?” 

Legend startles slightly, glancing at Sky. The knight’s soft voice is so different from the domineering, sinister tones just outside.

“Yeah,” he says, slowly, muddled thoughts struggling to catch up with everything, “but I used it all up while trying to fight that stupid monster.”

Sky’s eyes narrow and he gnaws his lip. “Can you get it back?”

“I mean…it replenishes itself eventually.”

“How long does it take?”

Legend thinks for a moment. “Without the help of a potion? Ten minutes at the least.”

The darkness in the room begins to bend and twist, heralding the approach of their captor. Legend’s heart climbs into his throat.

“Okay,” Sky murmurs. When Legend spares him another glance he can see the fire burning in his eyes, determination in his stance. “I’ll buy you all the time you need.”

Legend’s mouth falls open, an indignant squawk escaping. “What? Sky…no!” 

They both know what the Shadow wants, they both know what his entrance means. And ten minutes is more than enough time for him to accomplish his purpose here, even with his preferred method of a slow, agonizing demise. 

But crimson eyes are gleaming in the shadows now and his chance to argue is gone. A wide mouth stretches into a grin, soft footsteps bring the monster closer. He is in his Hylian form this time and even with his charcoal flesh and demonic gaze, Legend is struck by how similar he looks to Time.

It’s strange staring into a twisted, mirrored image of his brother. Sickening.

“The Chosen Hero” – His eyes find Sky and hold there for a moment, then flit to Legend, pinning him like a bug on a stick – “and the Hero of Legend. How wonderful to have you both here.”

“Your accommodations are definitely not wonderful,” Legend snaps, ignoring the uncharacteristically sharp look Sky sends his way.

The Shadow merely chuckles. “Well, prisoners cannot afford to be picky, unfortunately. Not to worry, though. You won’t be here for too long.” His grin widens, teeth glinting stark white against a backdrop of gray and black. “I would say your prayers to that precious little goddess of yours. Otherwise, your future accommodations may not be too inviting either.”

“So, that’s what you’re here to do,” Sky says before Legend manages to spew another dry comment. “Kill us.”

The Shadow quirks an eyebrow. “You sound displeased with that. Would you rather that I did something else? Possessed you perhaps? Used your body as an unwilling puppet to torment your brothers with? Or perhaps merely toyed with you, causing immense pain but never enough to allow for sweet release? Would that please you more?”

Sky clenches his jaw, eyes flashing. But Legend doesn’t miss the way his face pales further.

“Do whatever you want,” he retorts, tone as sharp as the weapon he wields. “It won’t work. Light always triumphs, no matter how long it takes. Hylia ordained it so.”

“Hylia is dead.” The Shadow spits the word. Sky flinches, noticeably, garnering another harsh chuckle from the monster. “Whatever I inflict upon you, keep that knowledge in your mind. Your beloved goddess is gone. She is nothing more than a girl now, helpless and useless and utterly incapable of coming to your aid.”

Sky’s eyes suddenly blaze with a dangerous light. Legend has never seen that look on his face before. Honestly, it makes him a bit uneasy.

“How dare you!” He growls, leaning forward, heedless of his proximity to the monster. “You don’t know Zelda and you have no right to speak of her in such a way, you pathetic–”

Legend has a feeling the Skyloftian was about to rattle off enough insults to make even him impressed. But he never gets the chance. His words break off into an agonized scream instead, so sharp and terrible that the veteran jumps back from him, vision going spotty from the quick movement. 

It only lasts a moment, but it’s long enough to ring in his ears and leave Sky breathless. The Skyflotian sags forward, blood dripping from his lips. 

“What was it that you were saying, Chosen One?” the Shadow purrs. “That I shouldn’t insult your little Zelda so? That I was pathetic?”

Sky drags in a trembling breath and lifts his head. That fire is still there, turning the sky blue of his irises dark.

“That’s right,” he grits out, “you’re pathetic. If Zelda were here you would already be long gone.”

The Shadow’s eyes glint. “Is that so?”

He doesn’t move a muscle, not even a twitch of a fingertip. Yet, Sky reels back as though hit, back arching, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. He screams again and blindingly white lines begin to snake up his neck, crawling toward his face. Legend can see them beneath his tunic too, their unnatural light crackling and bending along his body. Heat emanates from him.

Legend’s eyes widen and his stomach drops. It’s…it’s almost like the Shadow is pouring lightning into his body.

Another moment and it’s over again. Sky slumps, coughing up more blood. His bent form trembles and twitches.

“If you recall, you sustained quite a few injuries while fighting for the girl you now so bravely defend.” The Shadow walks forward. With one, delicate finger he lifts Sky’s chin. “Do they still ache – these wounds Demise bestowed upon you? I am certain that they do now.”

Sky drags his gaze up to the Shadow’s. “You…you plan to kill me by reopening ol-old wounds? Get more creative.”

The Shadow smirks. “I underestimated you, Chosen One. No wonder you were the one who faced the Demon God himself. Your heart is strong.”

For a split second the very air reverberates with tension. Then, Sky’s eyes blow wide as his skin lights up again. His scream is more hoarse this time, cracking and broken. His body trembles and jerks of its own accord as though trying to escape the agony inside of it.

And it’s too much, too much.

Damn buying time. Damn his slowly rejuvenating magic. Legend can’t take this any more.

(He hates himself for enduring it this long. For allowing fear and pain to constrict his throat and paralyze his body while his brother suffers.)

“Stop!”

He scrambles between Sky and the Shadow as though that will do anything at all. Behind him Sky continues to cry out.

“Stop hurting him you sick bastard!”

“Do you wish to die first?” The Shadow asks, a bit of sadistic humor in his tone. “Because that can be arranged.”

“N-no!” Sky heaves a breath. He is shaking more than ever now from the effort it takes not to scream. “D-don’t you dare t-touch him!”

The Shadow looks between them both, a smirk playing upon his lips. 

“I will do whatever I please. But since this is such a wonderful show, I will grant your wish just this once, Chosen One. You will have the privilege of dying first.”

Legend gasps. Tears are welling in his eyes now despite his efforts to hold them back. His hands fall, trembling onto his lap. Useless. 

No.

He lunges, a cry on his lips, fist outstretched to collide with the Shadow’s face. Agony explodes in every part of him, taking his very breath away. But when his blow hits, he no longer cares. It’s worth it to see the Shadow’s head snap back, blood spurting from his nose.

Then, a smile stretches his lips. He catches Legend’s wrist as he tries for another punch and twists. A loud crack echoes through the room. Legend chokes on a cry.

“Though, I suppose that is a mercy, really,” he purrs, deadly and sweet. “You will be gone long before I begin torturing your little friend. The Hero of Legend, however, has no choice but to watch me tear you apart.”

His grin grows as blood dribbles down to his lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he has a good seat.”

A blast of energy slams into Legend’s chest, sending him hurtling sideways. He hits the ground with a shout, pain exploding up his arm. Seconds later the floor itself lifts, wrapping around him and pinning him there. He thrashes, desperately, but the cold stone merely constricts further, snapping his bones like twigs. Blood fills his mouth and he gags on it.

Sky’s screams echo through the space once more, bouncing around in his aching skull. Laughter mingles with it. The air stinks of bile and blood and desperation. Dark magic blankets everything. The flickering lights of phantom lightning illuminate the room. 

He is suffocating in it all. And still, his magic crawls upward, lazily filling his veins. He curses it for its slowness. 

Horror and bitter regret creep into his chest as his ears ring with the sounds of his brother’s agony and blinding light blurs before his eyes.

Sky had never talked much about his adventure. They knew he hadn’t fought Ganondorf like the rest of them and they knew he had plummeted to the Surface to save Zelda. They knew he had known the spirit within the sword. But that was the extent of it. 

Battling a Demon God with the power of lightning, gaining painful scars from it…Legend could never have guessed. 

They all have their secrets – that is an accepted thing amongst them all. Some will never be told. But Legend had always thought Sky had held the least of all of them. Besides, Wind, that is. And now that that assumption is shattered, now that he is forced to watch the repercussions of the horrors his brother hadn’t seen fit to share…he feels an odd sort of remorse. 

He should have done more. He should have at least asked.

To hold knowledge like that is torture in and of itself. He knows that more than anyone.

Well, it’s too late to change that now, he chastises himself, harshly. So, stop moping and figure out how to get the both of you out of here before it’s too late.

It’s nearly impossible to focus with the pain coursing through him and Sky’s yells still splitting his skull (though they are growing weaker now…dangerously so; in fact, he would say they’re more akin to whimpered sobs). Legend squeezes his eyes shut and tries to breathe past it all. He needs to think, he needs to clear his mind enough to do something, anything to make this all stop.

Sky’s cries may be dwindling, but they are still sounds. They are still evidence that the knight is fighting and alive. 

Legend intends to keep it that way. 

That cursed blind took his pouch and his sword and shield with it. Hylia only knows where they are now. He has other items at his disposal, however.  

The medallions he obtained so long ago are stowed away in his pouch. But the spells that power them are safe in his mind. Using any of them is a gamble with his magic as low as it still is and at least four floors of stone above him…one he’s willing to take. 

He has no other choice.

Legend takes a deep breath and begins to whisper the incantation. 

Magic gathers at his fingertips, tearing at his body as it drags him to past the limit. Blood bubbles in his throat and his ears fill with an excruciating ring. Consciousness threatens to slip away but he grasps ahold of it, wrestles it down.

He can’t let go now. He refuses to.

The last words leave his lips on the tail end of a pained whine. There’s a second in which he is lost within the drifting waves of agony and exhaustion, unable to hear or feel or see anything. And then, the world explodes.

Crackling, white streaks of electricity zip across the room, bringing with them the sound of thunder and pouring rain. They charge toward their target and in an eruption of light and darkness, collide head-on. The Shadow lets out an agonized screech.

Legend’s own scream joins his as the spell drags the rest of the magic from his aching body, lighting his very veins on fire. His vision blacks out and the back of his neck prickles dangerously, body threatening to give up and drop into the oblivion it craves. But then he’s back, gasping like a fish on land as the spell sputters and dies out.

He can only lie there for a few moments after the room goes quiet, shuddering and trying to breathe through the pain. It takes all of his strength and then some to push himself upright. The room dips and dives beneath him as he crawls to where Sky lies. Every breath is gravelly and hoarse, every movement agony.

But he makes it. Somehow, miraculously, he makes it.

…and with a pitiful groan, collapses right beside the Skyloftian.

Sky’s hand finds his, still trembling and twitching slightly, but comforting and warm. Legend gives it a weak squeeze.

“Some…some escape plan, huh?” he slurs, blinking up at the ceiling. “We’re both…both over here half-dead.”

Sky huffs a shaky chuckle. 

“He’s gone though,” he whispers, every word drenched in pain. “It…it worked well e-enough.”

Legend hums. He’s right. The Shadow is gone, likely fled to some far corner of the earth to escape injury, and the blind with him. So, though neither of them have the strength to drag themselves out of this place at least, for now, they are safe.

And…now that he listens a bit more carefully, Legend swears he can hear a wolf howl.

A small smile lifts his lips. Maybe, they’re even safer than he thought.

“Hey, Sky,” he manages, even as he begins to drift away to the sound of salvation.

Sky makes a small, tired sound. His breath hitches slightly and Legend tightens his hold on his hand.

“S-sacrifice yourself like that again and I-I’ll take out your kneecaps.”

Sky only laughs.

[daisy-mooon]

Spark

Whumptober 2023 Day 4: Cattle prod

-

Apollo sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him, lunging for the griffins. Calypso sat upon the female, her arms locked reassuringly around her neck, and Meg was perched anxiously on the male, all but screeching at him to hurry up, when something struck his back and he fell cleanly onto the ground.

It took him a moment to realise what it was between the stabbing, sparks of pain that set his entire body alight in familiar agony. Something he’d only briefly glanced at, something that should have been kept in the shadowed corner of the enclosure, something that should have never been used on any of the furiously anxious animals locked behind the glass let alone be in sight of them - a cattle prod.

His head was achingly warm against the sandy ground, and his eyes watered as dust swept into his face. Distantly, Apollo was aware that Meg had broken out screaming. Calypso was yelling. He could see and hear nothing of Litreyses, but he could feel something cold and metallic prick carefully at his shoulder blades, pressing his limp form firmly into the floor, before electricity wept through his spine. 

The world around him turned into a haze - it wasn’t that Apollo couldn’t see it, it was that he was physically incapable of processing the world around him. With his face in the floor, there wasn’t a lot that he could see anyway.

There was one, particularly loud cry from Calypso before he heard something huge move, before he heard the footsteps of Germani, before he heard the flapping of wings, before Meg’s wails grew more and more distant before drifting into nothingness. In some far-removed part of his mind, he allowed himself to feel relieved that she had escaped. She’d been through enough already. But still, he'd just gotten her back, he'd just gotten to see her again-

His thoughts were cut off as the prod reignited - he’d been so dazed that he didn’t even realise that it had stopped in the first place. A fresh scream tore from his lips and he mustered up only a single twitch in defence. Out of all the weapons Lityerses could have used, he had chosen to weaponise electricity. He was a master swordsman with a sword, for the love of the gods, and chose the one thing-

It buzzed again. The sparks were thick and suffocating, like being skewered by a million arrows at once. It was burning, consuming-

A pause. A relief. His skull was numb against the floor, and he let it stay there.

“I thought we were going to kill him.” The Germani were arguing with Lityerses now, no doubt some wanting revenge for their wounds, others wanting to bring him back to Commodus and get their mission over with. Apollo tried to flex his hand to see if there was any way he could try and fight back against the next weapon. His fingers barely moved.

“Well, I was.” A boot made contact with his head, nudging it in a way that wasn’t really rough, but definitely wasn’t gentle. Even that managed to hurt. “But the other two escaped with the griffins, and Commodus was very insistent on having Apollo to start with. I’d rather bring him something than nothing at all.”

Commodus wanted him? That… could mean a whole plethora of things-

“No, I don’t know what he wants with Apollo beyond making sure that he stops messing with the Triumvirate. Something about bathtubs? I didn’t ask.”

…So it meant something that would probably result in his death. That was… that was great.

“Maybe Apollo knows.” One of the Germani suggested, before helpfully kicking him in the ribs. He coughed in a way that was dry and cracked and full of pain. Had he broken his ribs? It would certainly explain the horrific burst of pain that flooded through him-

The cattle prod stabbed back into him without warning. He screamed again, something that completely drowned out the sound around him. At any other time, he would have been grateful to receive a fraction of his voice back, but now? Surrounded by Imperial guards that were intent on capturing and torturing him? It did nothing but remind him of how utterly helpless he was. 

Tears beaded out into the corners of his eyes and he clenched them shut, determined not to give the Germani, determined not to give Lityerses, any more satisfaction in his suffering then he could help. That idea was lost to him as it lifted for an aching moment of relief, before pressing gently into the flesh of his neck.

None of the guards laughed at him for the sob that rattled through him. Or at least he didn't think they did. It was hard to hear when his entire being was racked with agony, had been even when he was a god. He felt himself begin to teeter on the edge of unconsciousness.

It stopped briefly as someone began to yank his arms behind his back and clamped something cold and hard around his wrists, then began again as his hands were dropped back onto them. Apollo couldn't cry out this time, throat too choked and strained to make out anything coherent, and he let out a thick, strangled gurgle. It stopped again as similar cold things- no, they were manacles of some sort- were locked around his ankles. He tried to push his leg, tried to kick whoever was restraining him, and his body went alight with pain in retaliation. No matter how many times sparks were forced into his veins for doing something wrong, he'd never get used too it.

"That's enough." Lityerses called from the side. It stopped. Had he not been the one electrocuting him? "We need to get him out of here before the zoo opens."

"One more?"

"Well, Apollo isn't stopping you."

He felt cool metal press against the top of his skull, and lost all connection to reality as the pain hit him.

His body hurt.

Someone was dragging him across the ground. 

Something metal poked him and he twitched in fear, terrified of the cattle prods return-

The light around him burnt into an intense, glowing fury. It wasn't the warn rays of his sun, or the cool shine of his sisters moon, but harsh and blunt and interrogative.

He swore he could hear laughter.

Apollo woke up, cold, sore and aching. 

Every part of him screamed as he opened his eyes, protesting the torture they had been through- what, hours before? Days? He wasn't sure. He didn't know if he had a clock, wherever he was, and he didn't know if he had the strength to look at it even if there was one.

Right... where was he?

His eyes had opened but he hadn't bothered to look, too distant from his own body to concentrate. As he forced himself to focus, his nerves protesting even louder as he became fully aware of his body, he saw the plainest of surroundings. Fluorescent lights. Uniform white walls. A polished marble floor. The room was adorned in a golden trim. He attempted to draw comfort in the colour, a similar colour to his bow, but it left him feeling hollow and empty. 

The room was plain, yet elegant. There were no shadows at all, no dark spaces to hide and retreat into, and the intensity of the brightness convinced his eyes to ache with the rest of him. It was with this exposure that Apollo then became acutely aware that he was lying down in a hollowed out section of the floor, the perfect space for a human to lie down in. The perfect size for a large, luxurious bathtub

Oh.

Oh.

Apollo writhed, attempting to pull himself out of it immediately, but the manacles that had been pressed against him earlier kept him immobile against the freezing stone. He started to notice things around him. The fact that the top of the bathtub-like mound was taller than his head could reach. One golden, tap-like pipe at each end. The concerning lack of a drain. And, perhaps most importantly, the opening of a door. 

From his point in the floor, he couldn't see who entered. But judging by the slow, dramatic pace, he had a rather good guess as to who.

Commodus walked all the way from the door behind his head, to the end of the bathtub where his feet were shackled. He looked- he wanted to say that he looked hideous, but he couldn't. He looked stunning, like every part of the New Hercules he claimed to be. And Apollo hated it.

"Hello, Apollo." His eyes glittered in the light. They were pretty, in the way a wolf's eyes were pretty before it leapt forward to rip your throat out. What he wouldn't do to be surrounded by his sacred animal right now. "It's been quite a while now, hasn't it?"

"...Commmodus." He hated how silky his voice was whilsy his own broke in anticipating terror. He hated how incomparably gorgeous he looked. He hated how he wanted to kiss him. These were not thoughts he should be having right as he was most likely about to kill him.

His head tilted to the side and drank the sight of him in, lingering at the parts he supposed were desirable. Apollo then became intensely aware that he was still very much in the body of a teenager, and any all of his attraction was replaced by the desire to throw up. Was Commodus seeing Apollo, the four thousand year old god, or was he seeing Lester, the sixteen year old boy? He hoped to every god in every pantheon that it was not the latter.

He was snapped outside his discomfort by laughter. Commodus' laughter. "Now, now Apollo. Don't you have anything else to say? After all, it has been a couple millenia since we've last spoken. No thanks to you murdering me."

Even after that enormous stretch of time, Apollo still had every detail of that day seared into his mind. Like a painful brand you could ignore, but never forget. He shivered through the fear and looked at him straight in the eyes. "And what do you want me to say, Commodus?"

"There are a variety of things I want you to say." Commodus leaned down, slowly, and swung his legs over the side of the bathtub. His sandals skimmed the tops of his shoes. "There are a variety of things I want you to do. There are far fewer, and much more important things that I simply want from you."

…sweat began to bead at the back of his neck. Apollo forced himself not to focus on Commodus' body, but even if he hadn't had the willpower, he wouldn't have been able to feel desire for him anyway. Had he been in any other circumstance, he may have struggled, but there was something deeply uncomfortable at having him say anything… implicative whilst he was restrained at his mercy. 

"And what kind of things do you want from me?" He asked, wrists twitching against the restraints. They did not give. 

Commodus let himself bask in silence for a moment, observing the small, animal-like signals of his fear, before moving until he was sat on the side of the bathtub, at such a position that he could easily reach down and touch his face and chest. Then, slowly, he turned around and gripped something that had been lying on the floor out of his sight.

Apollo twitched against his will as he fingered the cattle prod and began to slowly, slowly press against the dip in his collarbone, right the bottom of his throat. His eyes betrayed him, displaying a look of hoarse, vengeful delight.

"I want to hear you scream." Commodus said simply, before flicking the cattle prod on.

He clamped his mouth shut almost on instinct as electricity coarsed through him, and it took every bone in his body not to immediately start pleading for mercy. This was not his father. This was not a safe person to start begging too. Another crackle raced through him and he shook, biting down hard enough that his jaw began to ache. He was fucked.

It stabbed into that hollow once again, making his muscles seize and lock up in a cruel mirror of paralysis, and Apollo clutched his eyes closed equally as hard as his mouth as he felt the first beginnings of tears form in his eyes. He wasn't even sure why he was being defiant, why he was trying to hide himself from Commodus when he very clearly had intentions of murdering him the moment this was over. Maybe seeing Meg, maybe knowing Meg was safe had inspired him to act something like her. Maybe it was the humiliation that would come with giving in. He didn't know. Though really, with the pain ripping through him, he couldn't.

A question was said above him and he remembered shaking his head weakly, already feeling the skin under his eyes dampen in preparation for tears. Commodus moved away from that spot, having decided that he wanted to know what he looked like when he was writhing from pain in another location, and poked at the side of his neck.

Apollo didn't quite scream, but he did whimper as he attempted to jerk away from it. A peal of soft, dark laughter rang out from next to him he stabbed again at the same spot and held it there. It was beyond painful. The electricity seeped into every part of him just like his father's lightning - skin, muscle, nerves and bone, nothing could be hidden from it. He could feel his ears start to ring, but he was somehow able to make out that he was talking to him about something.

Another noise curled out of his mouth before he had the time to stop it, accompanied by a smooth, sliding tear. Commodus paused. He didn't know whether to feel grateful for the pause or disgusted at his touch as he slowly wiped the tear away, balancing its remnants on the pad of his finger. 

He tsked. "Now this is the kind of reaction I want, Apollo. Don't try and hide them now, there's nothing wrong with feeling the pain of electrocution."

Apollo's mouth opened stiffly and he inhaled a shaky breath. It was interrupted by the cattle prod being forced between his teeth and his eyes flew open in a panic. He'd made a mistake. He'd made a huge, massive mistake-

He wasn't sure if he stayed fully conscious through that round, but he was very confident in the fact that he screamed. Artemis liked to tease that his screams would scare every wild creature for miles, and the memory motivated him to scream louder, somehow, as if it was possible to scare Commodus away like he was nothing more and an animal. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't comprehend the pain. He began to inhabit the air around him, began to inhabit the bright fluorescents and the chilling marble, completely detached from his body yet somehow wailing. He started outright sobbing, wanting to plead too his father to stop, whilst drowning in the knowledge that he could make nothing but cries with Commodus having shoved the cattle prod between his teeth-

It stopped and he sunk back into reality, slowly, one piece at a time. The cattle prod was gone, leaving a sensitive jaw and aching teeth. The buzzing of electricity seemed to have dispersed, apart from lingering throbs that wrecked him in every place at once. The emperor beside him was standing up, speaking to someone, not even looking at him.

Through the corners of his eyes, blurred by tears and exhaustion, he saw Commodus scowl. He heard rather than saw the cattleprod clatter onto the floor, and he turned back to him.

"I wouldn't worry, Apollo." His eyes glimmered cruelly. "I'll be back to have a proper reunion later."

Somehow, he got the idea that a 'proper reunion' included choking him in the bathtub shaped space he was trapped in. But Commodus didn't stop to explain himself, and he didn't have the energy nor the desire to ask, and he left him tied down and battered without a second thought. 

"Apollo?"

He startled, weakly straining at the cuffs to see who was there. They were, rather annoyingly, imperial gold, and pulling did nothing but cut bruises into his skin.

"Apollo." He knew that voice, but he couldn't place it. Why couldn't he place it?

Footsteps pattered towards him, and suddenly a small, grubby face was staring down at him with huge, watering eyes. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. She looked like she'd seen someone that she'd killed.

"Meg." Apollo croaked, his voice still quiet and heavy from the electrocution, mouth not fully recovered. He realised with a shock that it left marks. Marks that Meg could see. "Meg, what are you-"

In a second, her scimitars hard twirled into her hands and were slicing through the restraints like they were butter. In a second, tiny, chubby hands were yanking at the unhurt areas of his arms, pulling him upwards and out of the floor. In a second, all of the pain in the world didn't matter. Meg was there.

He then panicked, because Meg was there. Had Commodus captured her? His voice strained with panic. "What are you doing here?"

She sniffed and buried her face into his shoulder without second thought, arms wrapping around him both tight enough that she felt like she would never let go, and gentle enough that it felt like she was treating him like the most fragile sculpture in the world. The space around him seemed to dissolve as she cried, sobs racking her entire body. No shout, no scream, no death, not even the end of the world could have been enough to distract him from this moment.

"I left you." Meg whispered, curling into him. "I left you."

"Meg, what-" someone came running into the room and he tensed, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as possible, terrified of someone taking her away. "Oh my gods, Apollo-?"

He was distantly aware of Leo's face coming into view, joined quickly by two silver adorned girls, all three wearing faces of shock and horror. He must have looked like shit, and vainly, he allowed himself to feel just the smallest bit relieved that they were worried about him. But that wasn't important. What was important was that Meg was here, Meg was right here and he wasn't letting her go-

"We need to move. The rest of the Hunters are fighting Commodus' forces." One of the girls said quickly. He blinked. They were Hunters of Artemis. Apollo started crying just as hard as Meg. "Valdez, you grab one arm. Tana, you grab the other-"

She began cutting away at the restraints at his ankles, as Leo and the Hunter (Tana, he assumed) slowly tried to coax him and Meg apart. He, for the most part, ignored them and sobbed with her, burying his face into the top of her head and whispering reassurances into her ear.

"I'm not leaving you again." She protest as Leo slowly prised her off of him, displaying distraught, bloodshot eyes that matched in colour with the frames of her glasses. "I'm not-"

"You won't have too." He whispered back, hand firmly entwined in hers. "I promise."

His reunion with Commodus could wait. Apollo had one job, and one job alone - comforting Meg.

[sephyathredon-writing]

Whumptober #4: Shock to the System

Summary: After Ambrosius' mess up at the marketplace, the Director decides to take matters into her own hands. He's allowed to keep heading the expedition to arrest Ballister, but now there's a new piece of jewelry around his neck. What seems like a new piece Ambrosius added to his wardrobe turns out to be a shock collar which the Director will not hesitate to detonate, should she feel he's straying too far from Gloreth's light.

An Entry for Whumptober under the prompt "Shock".

____

Ambrosius was nervous to say the least when the Director called him into her office. He fidgeted with his fingers as he walked down the hallway. He had an inkling of an idea what this all was about.

Todd had gone and ran his mouth again. He wouldn’t put it past him to tell the Director about the incident at the market where he failed to put an arrow into Ballister’s back. He’d told just about everyone else about it and how unfair it was that Ambrosius was the only one with a clear shot and he just froze.

Ambrosius’ anxiety kicked in as he faced the large wooden doors that led into the Director’s office. He breathed unevenly as he pushed them open and strode inside. The Director bid him close the door behind him to give them some privacy, he did as he was told.

He approached the Director’s desk, but she held up a hand for him to stop halfway there. He did as he was told. She stood from her desk and approached him.

“Sir Goldenloin, I take it you must have some idea of why I’ve called you here, correct?”

He nodded his head, avoiding her gaze like a child who knows he’s done something bad.

But he didn’t, he was sure of it. He let Ballister live. He refused to injure him.

“Say it,” she demanded.

Ambrosius directed his gaze at his feet as he spoke. “I had an opportunity to capture Ballister and I let it slip through my fingers.”

The Director paced around him as she spoke. “Exactly. Now, I know the academy didn’t train their knights to hesitate like that.”

“But he’s-” Ambrosius started to retort, but bit his tongue.

The Director leveled him with a stare that told him not to interrupt again. “Perhaps I should have you taken off the mission if he means so much to you. After all, you aren’t thinking clearly when it comes to him, your inaction at the market proves that.”

Ambrosius bit his tongue hard this time, fighting the urge to interrupt. He waited a minute and then spoke. “With all due respect, Director. I don’t think that’s necessary,” he responded, showing every courtesy he could, as he had been taught. “Without me leading this investigation, it falls into the hands of Sir Thoddeus Sureblade, and both of us know he won’t do it right.”

Even worse, he’ll hurt Ballister, possibly even kill him to make the Director happy. He wasn’t sure if Todd was capable of that, but he didn’t want to find out.

The Director was silent for a few moments, she stopped her pacing to go over to her desk and pull something from a drawer. Ambrosius watched her, trepidation showing clearly on his face. She approached him with the item behind her back.

“Sir Goldenloin, I am entirely aware of your relationship with Blackheart,” the Director spoke.

Blackheart. The name that Ballister had been rebranded with. Ambrosius refused to call him that.

The Director reached out and placed her fingertips under Ambrosius’ chin, making him look her in the eyes. It was not strong, she was gently guiding him to look at her. Her expression held kindness and understanding

“It is only natural for you to have worries and doubts about this investigation, to still have feelings for him even after he’s been branded a monster. However, you are our beloved descendant of Gloreth. It is your job to lead the people and to make an example of people who make a mockery of our golden order, of Gloreth’s legacy.

“I know it is hard,” she continued, speaking softly, “that is why I have something to ease the burden.”

Ambrosius was so hypnotized by her eyes that he failed to notice the director snapping something around his neck until it was too late.

“I… huh?” Ambrosius asked, confused. He looked down but he couldn’t see the thing around his neck. Instead he removed a glove and reached a hand up, brushing it against what felt like cool metal all the way around except for a gem that was inset into the front. It seemed ornate and detailed.

Ambrosius’ eyes met hers again.

“Director, I’m not sure I understand. What is a new piece of jewelry going to do to help me?” Ambrosius asked.

“It is not just a piece of jewelry, Sir Goldenloin. Sorry to say it but I have been forced to take precautionary measures. What I have just put around your neck is a shock collar.” She revealed a small controller with a dial in the hand that had been holding the collar previously, “Should I see you straying too far from Gloreth’s light, giving into the monster’s temptations, I will rectify that.”

Ambrosius felt panic rising in his chest at the prospect of the collar shocking him, but he kept hiding his true feelings behind the same old mask he was used to.

“I’m not sure I understand, Director. This is such a drastic measure for one little mistake. Why are you doing this to me?” Ambrosius asked, some slight pauses in his breathing being an indication of his panic.

“It’s for your own safety, Ambrosius. I promise.” The gentle tone was laced in her voice once again. “Normally I would let you off with a warning, but with your inaction at the market, I see you walking down a path that will lead you away from us. The call of a loved one is too tempting for even the strongest man to resist. This is for your own good. If Blackheart got his hands on you, the kingdom would be doomed.”

Ambrosius was quiet for a while, taking this all in. He willed himself to calm down. He came away from his thoughts putting on a determined face and nodding. He understood where the director was coming from, that she meant well.

He was the one to blame for the collar, not the Director.

The Director continued, “You mustn’t tell anyone about it, they might think I’m being unfair. Should you slip and tell someone, I will have to punish you with it. To the public you are just wearing a new piece of jewelry. I pray on Gloreth’s name that I never have to use it for its intended purpose.”

“I do too,” Ambrosius responded, his voice strained.

“You are dismissed,” The Director ordered, going to sit back at her desk.

Ambrosius nodded and turned in place, making his way out of the room.

“Oh, and Ambrosius…” The Director’s voice stopped him in his tracks before he could reach the door.

“Yes, Director?” Ambrosius kept his voice even as he replied without looking back at her.

“You may not take it off until I say you can. If I catch you with it off, you will be subjected to a worse punishment than it can give you, understand?”

“Yes Director.”

“Good. You are dismissed.” she said, sitting at her desk and resuming her work.

As soon as Ambrosius was out of the Director’s sight, he ran.

Ambrosius didn’t stop until he was in the safety of his own room. He passed by Todd on the way who didn’t even have time to ask him about the new piece of jewelry around his neck.

Once he closed the door behind him, he curled up on his bed, his emotions finally showing on his face. Tears fell and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t stop them.

He’d messed up, and now he wouldn’t have the opportunity to mess up again. If he were to go face to face with Ballister again, he couldn’t hesitate, not if he wanted to avoid getting hurt.

Ambrosius tried to slip a few fingers under the collar, but it fit so snugly on him that he couldn’t, almost as if it were made exactly to fit him. As if the institute was worried about their Golden Boy straying from his leash all this time.

Her words about straying from Gloreth’s light echoed in his head. Was she really disappointed in him?

“Gloreth… I’m sorry…”

He waited a few moments.

“Ballister… I’m sorry…”

The last one broke him and he buried his face in his pillow with a sob.

He didn’t know what was going to happen next time he encountered Ballister, but it wasn’t going to be good.

Eventually, he willed himself to get out of bed and prepare for sleep. After brushing his teeth, he got a text.

[The Director of the Institute: Sir Goldenloin, tomorrow you are going to accompany me to the Institute. I have reason to believe that Blackheart may attempt to take my life next.]

The next text had the time and place they would meet up. It was early, even before sunrise. He was used to getting up early, but he didn’t think he could sleep with the collar on, it was too new, too uncomfortable.

The Director had told him not to take it off, though, so he would have to try.

Just as he thought, it took him a while to get to sleep. He was in his own head chasing his thoughts around and around for most of the night. Normally this was when he’d text Ballister and talk it out with him. He knew that Ballister wouldn’t mind being woken up in the middle of the night, if he could ease Ambrosius’ anxiety.

But he didn’t have Ballister around, an unfortunate truth he’d have to live with.

He fell asleep with tears still in his eyes.

His morning routine was the same as usual since he’d lost Ballister. He had to drag himself out of bed, and then he was obligated to spend hours in the bathroom getting his look just right, so he had to wake up before dawn. The biggest difference was the feeling of the shock collar around his neck. Once or twice in the middle of the night he woke up, swearing he was being choked, only to realize it was the collar.

He grabbed a granola bar, eating it on the way to meet up with the Director. He had no time for anything other than a quick breakfast.

He ruminated in his thoughts as he walked, wondering for how long he’d have to keep the collar on for, if he’d be allowed to take it off once Ballister was caught. He tried not to dwell on what would happen if he should come face to face with Ballister again like he had at the marketplace. Hopefully after that incident, he knew to stay away.

And just what had he been doing at the marketplace? He’d been kidnapping the squire that had been there on the day where everything went wrong. This wasn’t the Ballister he knew.

These thoughts continued even as he helped the Director into her carriage, only picking up in volume and internal panic, but he kept them to himself. It wouldn’t do to blow up in front of the Director, she didn’t deserve that.

His fingers traced the gemstone inset into the collar as he sat across from her looking out the window. He caught sight of a billboard as he passed, the faces of Ballister and himself as children staring back at him.

They were painting over Ballister.

They were trying to erase him.

“Something on your mind, Ambrosius?”

He could have said something here, but he didn’t. Like Descendants of Gloreth do, he hid his emotions. Instead he formulated a reply to her in his head.

‘My mind? I’ve lost my mind. I’ve lost everything. The man I love. My best friend. Although now apparently, he’s got a new best friend, what’s that about? What else is he hiding? Who's the real him? Who am I? A direct descendant of Gloreth? I didn’t ask for that.

And now I have this collar on because you can’t even trust me to do this right. Because without it, I’m going to hesitate, like I did at the market. I’m going to fail you, I’m going to fail Gloreth and her legacy.

Everyone expects me to arrest Ballister. If I don’t I’m a traitor to you, and this thing is going to shock me. If I do, I’m a traitor to him.

OH and on top of that, I chopped off his arm. HIS ARM. Who chops off an arm? Because I was trained to? Arm chopping is NOT a love language!’

He would have said all of this directly to the Director if he didn’t fear her response.

“I’m fine, Director,” was what Ambrosius told her instead. A bold faced lie, but it’s not like he hasn’t lied about how he was feeling before.

It wasn’t long before the carriage pulled up to the Institute and the two of them stepped out.

“Stay strong, Ambrosius. The blood of Gloreth runs through your veins.”

----

Ballister wasn’t sure what to expect when he got up to the Institute’s roof. He watched as Ambrosius and the Director stepped out of the carriage. Immediately he noticed an oddity in Ambroisus’ outfit.

Internally, he scoffed. Just a fancy piece of jewelry gifted to him by the Institute..

Except… he knew Ambrosius wasn’t much of a jewelry guy, the man didn’t even wear earrings. There was something almost sinister about the presence of the gold collar around his neck.

Still, he approached Ambrosius and he and Nimona tried to talk things out with him and the Director. All hope was quickly lost when his only evidence was shot out of his hand by Todd Sureblade, who seemed so proud of himself for it.

Their hopes were dwindling as knights filed into the courtyard. They were surrounded on all sides and in the air. The only thing left was to beg for Ambrosius to listen to him.

“It doesn’t matter, you don’t need proof. You know I’m not a murderer,” he tried to reason with Ambrosius.

“What are you waiting for, captain?” There was an edge to the Director’s voice as she spoke and a look of fear flashed across Ambrosius’ face as he glanced over to her before looking back at Bal.

There was a side comment from Todd that Ballister barely heard something about a whale, and then Nimona spoke up, telling Ambrosius to do the right thing.

“Who is she, Bal?” Ambrosius asked as Nimona’s eyes flickered in the bright light, revealing just how different she was. “What is she?”

“This is Nimona, she’s my friend,” Ballister responded, not liking the unsure expression Ambrosius made in response.

“But… aren’t I more than that?” Ambrosius responded, his hand hadn’t moved from the hilt of his sword.

“Of course you are. Ambrosius, I still love you. I just need you to trust me right now. Neither of us are your enemies.”

Ballister knew what a thin line he was walking. One wrong move could dissuade Ambrosius. He had to be careful. He had to get Ambrosius on his side with logic.

He saw Ambrosius’ grip loosen on the hilt, just a little.

“I don’t understand how any of this is relevant, Captain,” the Director responded from beside him. “Did you forget that you’re looking at a monster and his sidekick? She could be a monster too.”

Ballister glanced at Nimona. She didn’t seem to flinch, but he could see it in her eyes, the word ‘monster’ really hurt her.

‘Do NOT call me that.’

Nimona’s words rang in his ears.

“Ambrosius, you know me. You know I am not a murderer. I loved the Queen, and had no reason to kill her.” Ballister locked eyes with him, holding out his prosthetic hand, “You told me you’ve always wanted an escape from this life. Come with me, help me prove that the Director is the one responsible for the Queen’s murder.”

“Ambrosius…” The Director’s tone was clearly a warning. She was facing straight ahead but her gaze was to the side, looking at Ambrosius. Her hands were behind her back.

Ballister saw minor changes in Ambrosius’ posture and expression. His nose scrunched up and he closed his eyes halfway. His jaw clenched too, a sign that he was gritting his teeth. Ballister had known Ambrosius for years, he only ever showed these signs when he was in some kind of physical pain.

Ballister’s eyes went to the collar around Ambrosius’ neck.

“The monster is tempting you, Ambrosius. You are straying from the light, you must resist.” The Director’s tone was commanding.

Ambrosius was frozen in place, his body shaking for a moment before he attempted to hide it by tensing his muscles. He couldn’t hide it from Ballister though.

“Ambrosius, is something wrong? Where did that piece of jewelry around your neck come from?”

Ambrosius opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again, looking at the Director.

“What are you waiting for, captain?” She repeated what she said earlier, “Arrest them.”

Ambrosius closed his eyes, something seemed to hit him hard as he stumbled where he stood. He looked at Ballister and drew his sword. His expression relaxed and all signs of what had affected him previously were gone.

He took a few deep breaths as he stepped toward Ballister.

“Ambrosius, please…” Ballister begged. Despite that, he didn’t step back, he stood his ground. An arm went up in front of Nimona protectively. She didn’t say anything but her eyes were on Ballister, a worried expression on her face.

Ambrosius’ expression was unreadable, just a blank stoic expression. He made eye contact with Ballister and stared so long and hard that it almost felt like the man was staring into his soul.

The look in Ballister’s eye was genuine. He was telling the truth. Ambrosius knew him, so Ambrosius knew the tells that Ballister would inadvertently show when he tried to lie.

“Ambrosius. I am innocent. I am not a murderer.” Ballister made direct eye contact back, holding his ground, a determined look on his face. He wouldn’t flinch, not when Ambrosius was so obviously searching for a reason to believe what he was saying.

Time stopped and the moments where their eyes met seemed to drag on for hours, even though it was likely only a few minutes.

Soon Ambrosius pulled away and nodded his head at Ballister, taking the man’s prosthetic in his hand and standing beside him.

Ballister almost couldn’t believe it, Ambrosius was standing with him.

It made his heart swell with emotion, it made him feel like their love was strong enough to weather even something as disastrous as this. With Ambrosius by his side, he felt like he could do anything.

“I believe him.” The words from Ambrosius, said to the Director, almost brought Ballister to tears. Talking to Ambrosius had actually worked.

The expression on the Director’s face was one of frustration.

“Sir Goldenloin,” Her voice was cold when she spoke to him, eyes not quite staring at Ambrosius, “We talked about this. Should you ever stray from Gloreth’s light, I will rectify it.”

“What does she-” Ballister barely had time to formulate a response.

Ambrosius let go of his hand and crumpled to the ground beside him. He saw the director’s hands, now out from behind her back, in one of them she was holding a little remote control with a dial.

With a dawning sense of dread, Ballister realized what it was.

“It’s a shock-” Ballister started, but was interrupted again, this time by Nimona.

“Really? A shock collar!? Just when I start to think you people can’t sink any lower, you go and do this to one of your own!?” she responded, clearly outraged despite only knowing Ambrosius as an antagonist.

Ambrosius was on the ground, hands grasping at the collar around his neck, hunched over. Cries escaped his lips, one after another in quick succession as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Sparks jumped off his armor.

Ballister was by his side in a second, placing his prosthetic hand to Ambrosius’ back, something he immediately regretted as electricity shot up his arm and burned the flesh of his shoulder where it connected. Ballister let out a cry, reeling back.

“Go!” Ambrosius shouted through the pain, “Get out of here!”

“Not without you,” Ballister responded, gritting his teeth as he realized the knights that had them surrounded were getting closer.

“Knights,” the Director began, “Arrest them all.”

They didn’t have much time. They had to act. First priority was getting that collar off of Ambrosius, but they didn’t have the time.

“Boss… what do we do?” Nimona had her fists out in front of her, prepared to fight her way through these knights.

“We need to get him out of here.” Ballister gestured to Ambrosius who was now fully on the floor, curled up on himself. What had once been shouts, now turned to whimpers and cries for help.

Ballister grabbed him, gritting his teeth against the feeling of the electricity flowing through his body. If it lessened the amount that Ambrosius was affected, he didn’t mind.

“Nimona! I need something that flies. NOW!” Ballister shouted.

“You got it!” she responded, and her form grew. Wings, a snout, claws, a tail, but… soft features, big eyes, and that pink coloration that was so Nimona.

A laugh that Ballister sorely needed escaped his lips. He recognized the form. It was Kwispy the Dragon, from the commercial that had been playing the day before on the train.

Somehow, he felt like this had something to do with her not wanting to be perceived as a monster.

Using her tail, she knocked over several of the knights and the Director, being careful not to send them over the edge of the roof to their deaths. As much as Nimona talked about murder, Ballister picked up quickly that she never actually meant it.

She bent down and placed her head on the ground near Ballister. She didn’t even need to tell him to get on before he scrambled up it as best he could while holding Ambrosius. It was awkward to stay seated on top of her neck, but luckily little spikes jutted out that he could keep a hand on while he held Ambrosius with the other.

Just as Nimona took off, Ballister heard the voice of the Director.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Ambrosius jumped in his hold and grabbed on tightly to any handhold he could find in Ballister’s armor, body shaking from the amount of electricity flowing through it. Ballister assumed that she turned the collar’s dial up to max. If the collar didn’t come off, he could easily die.

Ballister could hear the sounds of Hoverbikes in hot pursuit, Knights shooting bolts at Nimona. While Ballister was worried for her, his focus was entirely on his boyfriend suffering in his arms.

“Bal… Ballister… it hurts… I’m sorry… I couldn’t… I couldn’t go against you… like that…” The mumbling continued like that, it sounded like Ambrosius just said anything that came to mind. Words were often interrupted by little whimpers as he spoke. Tears escaped the corners of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

Ballister responded in kind, answering his replies, “I know it hurts… You don’t have to apologize… I can’t believe she’d do something like that…”

The mere act of holding Ambrosius was causing him to share the other’s pain. Something he just had to deal with, for now. He wondered if Nimona could feel it too.

Shock collars hadn’t been used in the Kingdom in a long long time. The general consensus was that they were barbaric and inhumane. For the Director to use one on Ambrosius only proved that she was ruthless enough to have murdered the Queen.

It’s not going to settle well with the Knights, and they will talk. It might be a way for his claim to gain credibility, he just wished it didn’t have to happen like this.

This and many thoughts raced through his mind as he searched for a latch on the collar. There was one, but it seemed like it was designed to lock once the collar was activated. There wasn’t any way to get it off. Ballister made a noise of frustration before addressing Nimona

“We need to land somewhere nearby, preferably in the forest. Not near our hideaway, got it?”

A big pink dragon was a little too easy to follow for Ballister’s liking.

“Got it,” she responded, dipping down into the trees. Once she touched the ground, several trees bending around her, she reached her arms up and swatted at the hover bikes circling her. Ballister noticed that she aimed carefully so that the fall would be minimal by the time she let go and they’d land on the forest floor. It wasn’t so much a swipe as it was that she was batting them down.

When the skies were clear, she shrunk, but changed into a larger version of her human form with big arms, so she could carry them both. She set them down on the forest floor before changing into her teenage girl form. She gently plucked out several bolts stuck in her while watching Ballister and Ambrosius. Ballister let go of Ambrosius and stood, unhooking his arm and placing it on the ground. Smoke emitted from under his pauldron, a clear sign of the scarring that was sure to be there.

Ambrosius had spread out on the forest floor, on his back, the cries starting up again as his hands grasped the shock collar in a death grip. His whole body was shaking and his breathing was labored. Tears turned into full on sobs. He was begging for the pain to end now. His voice was raspy. Whether it was from all the screaming or the electricity, Ballister couldn’t tell.

“Nimona.” Ballister called her to his side, looking at her with a sad expression and teary eyes, “Please. There must be some animal you can turn into that’ll get that off of him. Please… I don’t want to lose him…”

Nimona nodded and turned into a crab, scuttling over to Ambrosius and placing a claw to the collar. She could hear Ambrosius suck in a breath in anticipation.

Nimona let out a pained noise as her claw touched the collar, but she squeezed it with all the strength she had and was happy to hear the sound of the collar breaking off of him.

Ballister acted quickly, grabbing it and tossing it away.

Nimona responded by running toward it and shifting into a rhinoceros, stamping over it with her feet. One or two shocks ran over her, but she hardly felt it. The electric field died down as the machine was sufficiently destroyed. When Nimona turned back to herself, she spit on it before returning to the other two.

Ballister had Ambrosius in his arm, holding him close. Aftershocks wracked the man’s body and there were burn marks on his neck. Ballister’s left hand pressed against the back of the other’s head, pushing it against his shoulder. Ballister’s posture was protective.

Before Nimona could get over to the two of them, there was a rustling in the bushes in front of them. Nimona turned into a wolf, anticipating an upcoming fight.

Sure enough, it was a knight that burst through the foliage. It seemed to be one of the ones that had previously been on a hoverbike, but they just stood there. Their helmet was pointed at Nimona at first, but then it looked at Ballister and Ambrosius. Ballister didn’t doubt that their eyes were focused on the angry red burn marks going up and down Ambrosius’ neck.

“Will… the captain be okay?” he asked, sheathing his sword to show that he wasn’t going to attack.

Ballister pulled Ambrosius back and looked at him, trusting Nimona to have his back. He forced himself to look at the burns before looking back up at the Knight.

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” he responded.

The Knight took a step back, “She shouldn’t have done this… especially not to him. I don’t… understand why she would do this.”

“Good. Question that,” Nimona responded, turning back into her human form, “Question the Institute, get others to question it. If they’re willing to do this to their golden boy, what do you think that makes you in their eyes?”

She approached the Knight and they took another step back. They looked over at Ballister and Ambrosius again.

Ambrosius was looking straight at them. His voice was destroyed, but he still spoke.

“She’s right.”

“I…” The Knight looked between the two of them and Nimona, “I’m sorry.” And with that, they left.

In the next moment, Ambrosius’ head fell back and his body relaxed in Ballister’s grip. It caught the other Knight by surprise, but he quickly reassured himself that Ambrosius had fainted, likely from the pain.

Ballister responded by holding him close again, looking over at Nimona.

“You okay?” he asked, concern clear in his voice.

“Me? Pfft, of course I’m okay. Just got a few bolts from the Knights, no biggie.”

“Nimona, You know I’m going to want to wrap those wounds, right?”

She nodded, “But you should worry about him first.”

“You’re right…” Ballister looked at Ambrosius again, feeling a wave of emotion passing over him, almost making him tear up, when he saw the scars. There was a few moments of silence, and then, “Nimona, could you, um, hand me my arm.”

She nodded, “On it boss.” She picked up Ballister’s arm from the grass and handed it to him.

He braced himself when he put it on, gritting his teeth as residual electricity from it flowed through him. Something was definitely wrong. He was surprised it hadn’t overloaded or short circuited yet. Either way, it would really need repairs.

Ballister stood, Ambrosius in his arms. His breathing was shallow and he clung to Ballister as if his life depended on it. His eyes were still closed, indicating that he was still unconscious.

“Let’s just go home.” Ballister’s voice sounded defeated. It had been a long day.

He could feel Nimona’s eyes on his prosthetic.

“I know you’re worried about that, Nimona, but it can wait until we get home.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything.

The walk back to the hideaway was quiet. Neither of them really felt like talking after having been through all of that. The only thing that was said was the few times when Nimona offered to carry the both of them, or to take Ambrosius off his hands so that Ballister didn’t have to use the prosthetic that was so clearly hurting him.

His response was usually a stubborn “I’ve got him.”

Once they all got home, Ballister removed each and every piece of Ambrosius’ armor, something he’d practically memorized by now with how many times he’s put it on the other. Then he placed Ambrosius gently on the couch and pulled off his prosthetic arm, placing it on his robotics bench for repairs.

Nimona took the blanket from the back of the couch and placed it over him. It was too small for him so it just covered from his mid chest area to his ankles. Ballister knew it wouldn’t do much, but it was a nice gesture.

And here he thought Nimona hated Ambrosius for the whole arm chopping thing. He wondered if maybe she was being so polite because she knew how much he meant to Ballister, or because she sympathized with the shock collar thing.

That last option had some very dark implications.

Luckily for Ambrosius, Ballister had some salve on hand that he had been using for his arm. He groaned when the other Knight began applying it, with his left hand so that he could be gentle.

He was about to put it away when Nimona cleared her throat to get him to look at her and pointed to his right pauldron.

“Ah, right,” Ballister replied.

It stung a lot, but his worry for Ambrosius encompassed his worry over the burns on top of his already healed arm.

He began to shrug off all his armor, deciding he should be out of it as well. His right pauldron and chestpiece were the last to go. He heard Nimona audibly gasp at the sight of the burns directly over the part that had previously been cut by Ambrosius’ sword.

Quickly, she grabbed the salve and began to apply it to Ballister’s arm.

“Thank you for the sentiment, but I can do it myself, you know.”

Nimona shook her head, “I’m doing it for you.”

That was the end of that conversation.

Hours passed until Ambrosius woke up, and even then he wasn’t awake for long, only long enough to gently reach up and cup Ballister’s face, whispering an apology to him. It ached to hear his voice. It was so hoarse because of his throat scars.

Ballister’s mustache curved into a smile and his hand went up to gently hold Ambrosius’, letting him know that there was no reason for him to apologize.

Ambrosius fell unconscious once again.

----

A day passed, Ballister kept applying the salve. He and Nimona caught the news on Ballister’s computer. Though he hated for it to happen this way, it had worked. Knights were questioning why their Director would use such a barbaric device on one of Gloreth’s sacred descendants. It was a ripple effect that led to everyone questioning the institution, the wall, and painting the Director as the person that really killed the queen, just as they had wanted. Ballister’s name was cleared.

He looked back at Ambrosius, He wished it didn’t have to happen like it did.

“Look at that! They’re finally starting to see!” Nimona gestured at the computer and smiled.

Ballister nodded, “Now we just got to get them to see you, for who you really are. I think it might be difficult after you turned into a dragon on top of the institute, but I think we can do it.”

Nimona nodded, tears in her eyes.

----

That night, in the middle of the night, was when Ambrosius finally woke up, fully coherent for the first time since the collar had been used on him.

“Bal!” he called out into the night air, voice scared.

An arm gently enveloped Ambrosius in a hug, and as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see Ballister there by the couch. He’d pulled up a rolling chair and clearly had been waiting for him to wake up.

“How are you feeling?” he asked

“Ugh, my throat hurts.” His voice was still hoarse, but that was to be expected. “But I think I’ll be okay… I just… I can’t believe…” he trailed off.

“That she would do that? Me neither.” He could hear Ballister walking away, and moments later the string lights within the hideaway were turned on. He returned to his seat after.

“Bal, she told me that she had to do that, it was punishment for my hesitation at the marketplace. She made me believe I deserved it.”

“How awful… I can’t believe that happened to you…” Ballister replied, finding one of Ambrosius’ hands and holding it tightly. He squeezed back.

“It’s okay. My neck might still hurt, but I am here and I am alive… and I feel like I’m free from the weight of Gloreth’s legacy, from the pressure of everyone expecting me to arrest you. It was… not the preferred way to find freedom, but well… The sting of the shock collar has definitely ensured I won’t be going back to the Director any time soon… As ironic as it seems, this might just be the best thing that happened to me.”

Ballister smiled, “Look at you, always finding the positives.”

Ambrosius laughed, sitting up and grabbing Ballister, much to his surprise. He pulled Ballister into a kiss that lasted as long as he had air for.

“Wow… I uh… I missed that,” Ballister responded.

“Me too.” Ambrosius then grabbed Ballister from the chair and pulled him onto the couch, on top of him. He was careful not to let Ballister’s head touch his neck, instead letting it rest on his chest where he could hear his heartbeat.

“I take it I’m not going anywhere soon, then?”

Ambrosius laughed, “Not a chance, we’ve been apart for too long.”

Nimona found them like that an hour later, fast asleep.

[ask-eyefestation]

*The Shark abruptly stops the conversation to put Eyefestation's idea to the test, bumping my head into one of the nearby submarines deploying Expendables for the thousandth time before hurrying towards where these supposed shock fish were, too far away for Eyefestation to see how the Shark uses what they call blue light, small and miniscule static shocks killing some of the weaker krill.*

"Did they just-"

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Shocking Developments

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

Tracy distracts herself with the video game for a few hours while she waits for the right moment to break down the door. Once again, time flies, and it barely felt like she was waiting at all.

She turns off the TV. If she's going to be running away, she should probably have a better weapon than a broken light bulb, so she grabs a frying pan from the kitchen. Then she goes to the basement door and kicks it hard, right underneath the doorknob.

The door doesn't even shake. Tracy tries again. Again and again and again, but the result is the same. She's not even weakening it.

She's broken down doors before. What's different about this one?

Whatever it is, it's not going to change. She needs a new plan. Her leg hurts, and the few heavy objects at her disposal would be difficult to angle so that they're hitting the weak spot of the door.

Maybe she can break the doorknob off? She hits it hard a few times with her frying pan, but all that achieves is making a very loud noise. She tries to jam the handle of the pan into where the doorknob and door meet, but that doesn't work either.

She can… she knows how to pick locks. One of the electronics in here has got to have a wire that could be used for that.

She starts with the lamp, since that will require the least amount of smashing. She makes sure it's unplugged and tears the cord open with her teeth. There's a copper wire inside. She spends a bit trying to break the wire into manageable pieces with her teeth, but she can't. She stops when she feels a piece of one of her teeth breaking off. Clearly, she's not going to be able to break the wire with something weaker than it.

She can't even separate the wire from the lamp, so she takes the whole thing over to the door and tries to bend the wire in the right way. She's only done this with paper clips before.

She struggles with it for a bit before changing her mind. This is too hard with just one long wire. She heads into the sitting room and uses her frying pan to smash one of the game consoles open (after unplugging it, of course).

Once she can see the wires, she grabs hold of a couple and yanks. This time, they do break off. That's interesting, why are they so much less securely attached than the one in the lamp cord? Maybe these consoles are built with the assumption that people might want to replace the wires?

That's not important right now. She strips the insulation from her new wires with her teeth and goes back to the door. She's got this. She bends the wires into the right shapes and gets to work.

This lock… is completely different from any lock she's picked before. She keeps trying, but nothing she tries gets the lock even close to unlocked.

Molly's confident for a reason. She must've planned for this.

Tracy sobs in frustration and pounds her fists against the door. It doesn't do anything but make her hands hurt.

There's got to be a way out that Molly didn't think of. The hinges are on this side of the door, maybe she can unscrew them? She obviously doesn't have a screwdriver, but maybe…

She grabs her lightbulb and breaks off a piece of glass. She manages to fit it into one of the grooves of the lowest hinge, but it breaks as soon as she tries to twist it.

That's fine. She'll just try again.

She spends hours and hours trying, leaving her hands covered in cuts. When she runs out of useable glass on the lightbulb, she goes to the bathroom and shatters the mirror with her frying pan, then starts using those shards.

It doesn't work. It gets harder and harder the more she tries. Her hands shake uncontrollably and blood makes it difficult to see if the shards are correctly placed.

Okay, okay, she's not getting out while the door is closed and locked. That much is obvious. But the door will be unlocked when Molly comes back. Did she say she'd be back in the morning? Tracy can't remember.

She leans against the wall right next to the door and clutches her frying pan. As soon as Molly opens that door, Tracy will hit her with it, shove past her, and run up the stairs.

She waits a few minutes before realizing she might not even have to wait. She goes to the device on the wall that Molly showed her earlier and presses the button. "Molly?"

Can Molly even respond using this thing, or will she have to go straight to Tracy? Well… she should be able to hear Molly coming down the stairs, so she'll just get back in position then if Molly never responds.

She presses the button again. "Molly? I… I don't want to be alone." Molly would like to hear that, right?

She waits a few minutes and presses the button again. "Molly? Are you awake?"

After she releases the button, the device crackles. "Yes, dear, I'll be down soon."

Tracy rushes back into position. It seems to take forever, but finally, finally, she hears the click of the lock, and the door opens.

Tracy swings the frying pan as hard as she can, but Molly jumps back. In the same motion, Molly pulls some sort of stick out of her sleeve and—

Fire, fire runs through Tracy’s arm. She screams and drops the frying pan.

“Sorry, sorry! I don’t want to hurt you, I just have to defend myself!”

The fire stops, and Tracy is able to get a better look at the stick that Molly jabbed into her arm. There are two bits of metal coming off the end.

“It’s a cattle prod— I know that sounds awful, but if there was a painless way to defend myself I’d obviously do that. Cattle prods don’t do long-term damage, so it’s actually safer than if I tried to stop you with my own body— I’m sorry, it’s okay if you’re mad. But it will happen again if you attack me again.”

Molly sticks the cattle prod back up her sleeve. That can’t be safe. Her eyes widen as she fully takes in the scene in front of her.

“You’re bleeding! Oh, what did you do? I shouldn’t have left you alone…” Molly grabs Tracy’s upper arm and tries to guide her to the bathroom, but Tracy shoves her away.

The door is still open. She races up the stairs—

There’s a second door at the top. There are several locks and it seems to be made out of steel.

“No, no!” She pounds her fists against the door. “Someone, help me! Help, please!”

Molly lets her pound on the door. She was never getting out. There was never any risk on Molly’s end at all.

“Please…”

She doesn’t want to go back down the stairs, but she’ll have to eventually. Plus, Molly is willing to hurt her. Tracy can easily imagine Molly grabbing her to bring her back down the stairs, and then shocking her in ‘self-defense’ if she fights back. She’s lucky she didn’t get shocked for shoving her.

She slowly descends the stairs. Molly is lying blankets on the floor over all the shattered glass. Once Tracy is fully downstairs, Molly closes and locks the door.

“I’ll clean it up in a minute, let’s just get you fixed up, okay? I’m glad you called me. Um… you don’t want me to touch you, do you? At least not without permission. I’m sorry, I’ll ask from now on when possible.” Molly enters the bathroom. “Oh, that won’t do. There isn’t any broken glass in the kitchen, right? Let’s get you cleaned up there.”

Molly takes the first aid kit from the bathroom and goes to the kitchen. She doesn’t even look behind her to see if Tracy’s following.

Tracy could be stubborn and lock herself in the bedroom instead, but… she’ll need to take care of the cuts on her hands eventually. She remembers Molly’s words of reassurance from that morning. It doesn’t mean anything except that she’s using her resources. She’s not giving up, she’s still fighting, it would just be dumb to cause herself unnecessary pain. She follows Molly.

Molly smiles gently at her once they’re in the kitchen. “Your hands are shaking really bad. I don’t think you can take care of those cuts on your own. Is it okay if I help? I would have to touch you.”

“What would you do if I said no?”

Molly grimaces. “I don’t know. I guess I’d let you try on your own, but if you couldn’t… I’m sorry. I can’t just let those wounds go untreated.”

Tracy nods. That’s about what she expected. “…okay.”

“Do you want help?”

“…yes.” Tracy holds out her hands.

Molly gently cleans and bandages every wound, murmuring reassurances as she goes. “You’re being so brave. I’m almost done.”

Tears fall down Tracy’s face. She’s trapped. She’s truly trapped here.

“Done. How are you feeling?”

Tracy doesn’t answer. Molly can’t force her to share her feelings, right?

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. How about you go to bed and get some rest, okay? I’ll clean up the mess out here.”

Maybe… maybe she’ll feel better after some sleep. Maybe there’s some obvious solution she’s been missing because she’s too tired. Going to sleep can be part of fighting back. She’s not giving in.

She makes her way back to the bedroom and locks the door behind her before collapsing into bed. She’ll figure it out tomorrow.