#tw: aftermath of torture and kidnapping

[mad-hunts]

you know if someone came in here, they wouldn’t believe what they’d see?

the sound of heavy breathing, as well as barton's foot kicking the table in front of him, were the only audible ones before jonathan had arrived; someone who he had called while certainly not in the right state of mind as he was so desperate to leave this god damn basement he'd been trapped in for a month. barton was also sick with something, though what, he had no clue. it was probably an infection from one of the wounds his captor had given him but didn't do anything about. there were layers of grime on barton's skin, as well as dried blood, and fresh blood now covered the left side of his face.

this was because he, of course, had ended up killing his captor. and barton had done it in perhaps the most gruesome way possible. however, it was also necessary in a way because they had kept the key to the manacle around one of his ankles around their neck, and they were strong. barton scoffed as he guessed it was only put on one ankle to give him the illusion that he was free to move around. but obviously, that wasn't true at all.

they were a pretty sick individual, which barton unfortunately had to find out the hard way. they'd told him he'd been 'hired to do it by someone with a lot of money and a strong want for justice.' he never did exactly find out who that someone was, but when he got his hands on them — oh, barton was going to make the cruelty he'd endured here look like it was nothing.

now, however, he was retrieving the keys from where they'd fallen on the ground, and that was when jonathan had come in. not when he needed help a week ago when he finally had managed to get a hold of a phone, but days later. as if time wasn't of the essence, and he couldn't have possibly been dead. yeah, as you might be able to tell, barton was pissed that he didn't come when he originally called him. but he supposed he didn't exactly give him much to go on besides what the man's name was, what the area outside looked like, and the house number. he unlocked the manacle then and spit in the corpses face.

the place looked as if a tornado had run through it, honestly, and there was blood still dripping on the floor from barton's face as well as his hands. an incredulous chuckle left him then, ❝ you think i give a shit about what people are going to think when they find this sadistic fuck in here? ahah, oh my god... what took you so long to get here? i know i shouldn't have called your ass, but your number was quite literally the only one i could remember at the time, annoyingly. ❞ he really did not look well. but then again, barton had been holed up in a place with no light and went through torture. he staggered towards jon and looked up the stairs while leaning against them, ❝ nevermind all of that. let's just get out of here, before i hurl. ❞

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 3)

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Tw: Vivisection mention, torture mention (GiW agent receiving), me not actually knowing how telegram works

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually.

(Pt. 1 here) (Pt. 2 here) - (Pt. 4 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It’s an average, ordinary afternoon in Gotham, and Jason is in hell.

Specifically, Jason is in hell because he’s been researching the GiW for the last week or so, ever since a cryptic message from Scarecrow of all people.

He still hasn’t gotten anything substantial out of it that Scarecrow hadn’t already provided. Most location data had been previously scrubbed from the database, weaponry details were apparently all stored physically, and the experiment logs seemed to be only accessible from within one of the bases, whose locations Jason did not have.

Apparently Babs and Tim were having similar issues with gathering information. He had sent a copy of the files over to them in a moment of weakness, but they were having the exact same results as him.

To make things worse, the GiW was more active than they had been previously, combing through Crime Alley and the rest of Gotham tirelessly. At least they weren’t harassing him anymore, he thought, but now he had even less of a clue what they wanted.

And to top it all off, the Joker had escaped Arkham a few days prior to Jason receiving Scarecrow’s note, and he still hadn’t done anything. That could only mean that he was planning something big, which meant more grief for Jason, because the clown was obsessed with him.

So yes, Jason wasn’t having the best week.

He got up from his computer, stretched, and walked over to the window.

The sky was Gotham’s usual grey, clouded with a toxic miasma made up of traditional pollutants and the aftermath of gas attacks both, which could generously be called ‘smog.’

The streets seemed busier than usual, or maybe that was just because Jason was having a hard time keeping his eyes focused.

With blurry vision and a dull ache in the back of his head, Jason paced through his apartment, going through everything he knew.

The GiW, or Ghost Investigation Ward, were part of a secret government project having to do with ‘ecto-entities,’ which were mostly made up of ghosts.

The GiW was able to kidnap and steal away anyone who was ‘ecto-contaminated’ to be dissected, and it was completely legal.

According to the non-censored patrol reports he was given, Jason himself was considered ecto-contaminated. So were Bruce, Damian, Steph, and Cass.

There were also several rogues that were in the same boat, but their names had been redacted, presumably by Scarecrow. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he guessed it was either for leverage or privacy. Knowing Crane, it could be both.

Anything useful about the GiW seemed to be stored physically within their compounds, or on an operating system that couldn’t be accessed outside of certain areas.

Anything useful about ghosts was conveniently removed by Scarecrow.

And, lastly, he knew from capture logs that they had numerous captive ghosts which were definitely being experimented on. One of these ghosts was named Daniel, last name redacted, and had been turned over by his parents in return for allowing them to run their own experiments on the boy.

From what he could tell, it had been around fifty two days since he had been turned in.

Fifty two days of experimentation and dissection.

Jason had to find him.

But first, he had to find the locations of the GiW bases, and plan his entrance carefully. He couldn’t let them get away because of a simple mistake.

The only location data he had been able to find was on a picture of the boy, Daniel, a picture of a vigilante in a red suit, and a quick note left about Daniel which hadn’t been transferred into the main database.

The note was…

Jason had been around crime for a very, very long time. He understood it intimately, in a way most people would never hope to achieve.

He understood hatred, too.

And yet, the words in that note were almost incomprehensible to him.

They were mockery of a child in pain. A child that was not seen as human. A child that was seen as a threat, a monster.

The man had detailed the security surrounding the child being cut back. Apparently, the kid had some sort of sonic scream. They were removing the muzzle that inhibited it because he had screamed himself hoarse, and he couldn’t make a sound anymore.

He also mentioned that the kid was cut open at least once a day, sometimes multiple times. He was opened up, played with, and sewn back shut.

The man joked that they should just put a zipper on him, so they wouldn’t keep wasting their stitches.

Jason really, really wanted to kill that guy.

The metadata on the note traced back to a newly-bought building in Gotham’s financial district, while the photos both came from Amity Park, Illinois.

Amity Park, Illinois did not exist in any official capacity.

Tim, who had taken the Batplane to check the precise location listed in the metadata, had reported that there was a town there after all, and it was on complete media lockdown from the rest of the world. He hadn’t even been able to use Bat, Justice League, or Young Justice channels to message anyone outside of the city until he left.

Jason had checked the building in the financial district firsthand, and found that the man who had submitted the note had done so while resting on a patrol of the city. He seemed to go there often to avoid his superiors, and Jason found it easy enough to get the drop on him the third time around.

His advanced interrogation techniques hadn’t been enough to get the man to name any locations. Worse, the man definitely recognized Red Hood, and would definitely tell the rest of the GiW about what had happened as soon as he left.

So, Jason did something about that. He couldn’t kill him, unfortunately, so he did the next best thing.

The GiW sent him to a public hospital within a few hours of finding him with shattered hand bones, broken arms, and a throat with near-permanent damage. The man wouldn’t be able to speak for a month at least.

He might never write again.

Jason, having read the note over and over until the words stained the backs of his eyes, thought it was the least he deserved.

Jason sighed, stopping his pacing. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this. If anything, working himself up was only going to lower the chances of him magically coming to a realization about where the kid was or what in the hell was going on.

He walked into the kitchen, popped some leftovers into the microwave, and started them up.

Once they were done, he brought them out to his desk, intending to eat as he continued to work on the GiW case.

When he saw his screen, he froze.

Telegram had been opened to a new chat with someone he had never messaged before.

TooFine: who are you?

TooFine: why are you looking into the giw?

The messages were a couple of minutes old, probably sent while Jason was spiraling pacing. He just stared at the screen, dumbstruck.

Shakily, he responded.

RedDead: How the hell did you get my contact info

Whoever was on the other side of the screen paused for a second. Jason considered sending a quick text to Babs to tell her what was going on, but he decided that he could handle this by himself.

TooFine: got it from the backdoor I put into the giw system.

RedDead: Shit

TooFine: ok your turn

TooFine: why r u looking into the giw? seriously man

RedDead: I don’t have a single reason to tell you. Give me one and I might answer your questions

TooFine paused again. Clearly they both had issues trusting someone over the internet, and rightfully so. What they had both admitted to doing was incredibly illegal, and if someone turned them in, they would be in deep shit.

TooFine: ive been trying to take down the giw since it was created. I can help u if ur honest with me

RedDead: Oh yeah, because no one has ever lied to another person on the internet before

RedDead: But fine

RedDead: I’m looking into them because they’ve been shadowing me for over a month at this point, among other reasons

TooFine: other reasons?

Jason sighed. He shouldn’t have added that. He knew that the other guy would ask, but he said something anyways.

RedDead: They’ve got a kid. I don’t like it when people hurt kids

TooFine: Danny? he’s alive?

RedDead: From what I can tell

So he knew the kid. Or, at least, he was pretending to. It would make sense for him to be cagey about his intentions, and for him to be desperate enough to reach out.

TooFine: oh my god

TooFine: do you know what city? fuck

TooFine: fuck fuck fuck

TooFine: I need to find him man please

RedDead: He’s somewhere in Gotham

RedDead: I’ve been trying to find him for a week now but no dice. They keep everything important on separate servers

TooFine: listen man you’re a good hacker but you’re not as good as me. you need my help if we’re gonna find Danny

RedDead: Okay, what are you trying to get me to agree to?

TooFine: i’m coming to gotham and we’re going to meet up

RedDead: Hell no

RedDead: Stranger danger

TooFine: if I tell u who I am will you say yes

RedDead: ?? How am I supposed to verify if you’re telling the truth

TooFine then sent him what seemed to be a selfie. Jason’s jaw dropped at the kid’s sheer audacity.

RedDead: There’s something seriously wrong with you

TooFine: my name is Tucker Foley. i live in amity park. i’m in 10th grade

RedDead: ???????? WHAT THE HELL

TooFine: i can send u my address too

RedDead: PLEASE DON’T??

RedDead: WHAT’S YOUR FUCKING DAMAGE? DON’T DOXX YOURSELF TO ME

RedDead: WHAT IF I WANTED TO KILL YOU OR SOMETHING? WHAT IF I WAS A FED

TooFine: i have to take that chance.

TooFine: Danny is my best friend. they’ve had him for over a month and no one’s doing anything to help. mr. Lancer was the only one who cared and he gave up after they blackmailed him

TooFine: they’ve had him for OVER A MONTH. I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD.

TooFine: Sam and Jazz and I are coming to gotham and we’re going to find him no matter what it takes

TooFine: you have to help us

Jason considered, for a second, the choices he’d made in his life that had led up to this moment. He also considered, if he was in this kid’s position at his age, if he would be doing the same.

He decided to throw the kid a bone.

RedDead: [4735.jpg]

TooFine: HUH

RedDead: I’m guessing you know me

TooFine: RED HOOD??????

RedDead: No I’m just a very dedicated LARPer

TooFine: am i gonna die for Danny right now

RedDead: If I were literally anyone else, probably

RedDead: But no, you’re not. I’m gonna help you find your friend

TooFine: your username is red dead and you’re. yeah ok

RedDead: Oh come on, it’s funny

TooFine: Danny would love you

RedDead: So Danny clearly has great taste in jokes

TooFine: nope. literally loves puns and wordplay

RedDead: Nevermind

They both paused for a second. Then, Jason had a thought.

RedDead: Wait you’re in the 10th grade and you’re hacking into government databases?

TooFine: please don’t tell my parents.

RedDead: And how are you supposed to explain a sudden vacation to Gotham to your parents?

TooFine: wait so you’ll help me?

RedDead: I really hate to say it but I’m not the best at hacking, and my usual help is busy trying to track down the Joker. So, yep, we’re teaming up

TooFine: LET’S GOOOOOO

RedDead: God. I’m asking a 16 year old to help me take down a government agency and save another 16 year old

RedDead: I feel like the bat

TooFine: oh my god this is awesome. Danny is gonna flip when the actual real-life Red Hood comes to save him.

RedDead: I already regret this

TooFine: too late.

TooFine: btw do u have any place for 2 teenagers and 1 adult teenager to stay in gotham? preferably without dying but yknow.

Jason groaned. He was really, really gonna regret this, and he knew it.

Still, the alternative was some overeager kid dragging two other idiots to Gotham to find their friend and getting themselves killed. At least this way he’d have help, and damn good help at that.

He really was turning into the Bat, wasn’t he?

—

[sunbl3achedfly]

Do the dead comfort you? Pt.2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer does all he can to save you from the hands of a psychotic unsub, and he makes a promise to remain by your side in the aftermath of the ordeal.

Content: Dead bodies once again, (tw) torture, stalking, breakdowns, hospital visits, blood, (tw) sexual assault, trauma, Spencer to the rescue & being a tad protective of the pretty girl he only met once before, the reader realizes she can't use her morbid sense of humor to cope with everything, hurt/comfort I guess?

Author's note: Here’s part two!!! I was listening to Ethel's new album while writing this and holy moly I was in the zone and wrote most of it in one go. (Pulldrone is exactly what was playing when I wrote the scenes while she was kidnapped and I feel like the eery ambiance encapsulates the utter sense of dread and despair that hits the reader once she realizes how serious the situation is). Hope you all enjoy <33

Let me know if you guys want a part 3!!

5,331 words (it’s a long one aha)

part one

masterlist

When you finally managed to open your eyes again, a sharp, dull pain radiated through your skull. The harsh fluorescent lights above didn't help as they glared down at you. At least you weren't on the floor. Nope, just restrained to an ice-cold metal slab. Fancy that. This must be how all my patients feel before I embalm them.

You attempted to look around the room but the bright lights from above prevented you from doing so. As you regained consciousness, you began to realize that both your wrists and ankles were restrained to the embalming table. And you were only in your underwear. The panic had begun to set in and you tugged at the restraints, but to no avail, they wouldn’t budge.

"Struggling won't help", a voice echoed through the room, "I made sure of that."

Your head snapped to the right as you took in the man who now began leaning over you. At first, he didn't even look real. He stood over you, bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the morgue’s overhead lights, his figure stretched and distorted by your disoriented mind. A nightmare stitched together from shadows and flesh, from surgical steel and the sickly scent of embalming fluid. His eyes—God, his eyes—weren’t just looking at you; they were studying you, cataloging every inch of your body as if you were a specimen he was about to dissect.

On any normal day, his face may have been forgettable, the kind you’d pass on the street without a second thought. But at this moment, in this place, it was the only thing in the world. The sharp angles of his cheekbones cast deep, skeletal hollows in his skin, making him look half-dead, like something that had crawled out of the very slabs you worked on everyday. His mouth curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a sneer—just wrong, like he wasn’t used to making expressions that mimicked human emotion.

Then came his voice, it slithered into your ears, so sickly sweet that it made you nauseous, "You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you? But they all stop fighting eventually.”

You tried your best to focus on anything else at that moment, the details of everything else but him. The thin, latex gloves that he wore, they were stretched way too tight across his knuckles. The way his coat —a pristine white lab coat, because of course it was—fluttered slightly as he moved, the motion strangely elegant. You could smell him too. He smelled clean, too clean, like antiseptic and soap, but underneath that all was something rotten, something decayed. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe it wasn’t.

As he began mulling over which embalming tool to pick up first, his fingers hovering over them as if one of them was beckoning to be chosen, you realized just how exposed you were. For the first time since waking up, at the mercy of this thing, wearing a man's skin—you started to believe you might actually die here.

The sound of splintering wood as the mortuary door crashed open was deafening. You flinched violently, your body instinctively pulling against the straps that pinned you to the cold metal table. Relief and terror fought for dominance in your chest.

They’re here. Oh God, they’re finally here.

But then, just when you had begun to relax for the first time in hours, you felt the scalpal press harder against your neck. The tip of it broke through skin, not deep, but enough to make your breath catch.

"Don’t move,” the unsub growled under his breath. His voice was sharp, his calm façade cracking under the pressure. You could feel the tremor in his hands now, the desperation radiating off him.

Your pulse thundered, the pain from the cut on your arm flaring as you tried to keep still. The various cuts and injuries that littered your body were nothing compared to the fear the tiny blade at your neck instilled in you. You bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling. Don’t panic. Don’t make this worse. They’re here. They’ll get me out of this. Please let them get me out of this.

"FBI! Drop the weapon!" A commanding voice filled the room.

"Come any closer and I slit her throat!" The man bellowed. Up until this point he had not raised his voice once, and the sheer volume caused you to flinch again, the scalpal breaking through more skin. You could feel a warm liquid trail over your collarbone.

Your eyes darted to the doorway, tears stinging as you caught sight of the dark vests, the guns, the agents—saviors. But the unsub only pressed closer, his body partially shielding you. The scalpel was an unrelenting threat, cold and unmoving against your skin. The sharp sting at your neck anchored you to the moment. A hot tear slipped down your temple. I’m going to die here.

From Spencer's position in the doorway, his sharp eyes took everything in. The unsub’s trembling hands, the scalpel pressed against your throat, your bloodied arm, and—God—your state of undress. His chest clenched painfully, guilt and anger battling inside him. He only hoped the unsub hadn’t gotten too far before they arrived.

She’s absolutely terrified. One wrong move and she’s dead. Come on Spencer, think!

His jaw tightened as he saw the unsub’s gaze flick toward him, possessive and unhinged. Spencer’s hands twitched, his instinct to charge forward barely restrained. Stay calm. She needs you to stay calm.

"You don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual. He took a slow step forward, keeping his hands visible. Carefully, he raised them, shifting the gun away from the man. He was acutely aware of the five other guns trained on him, ready to fire if he made a wrong move, which was why he was willing to take the risk. “This doesn’t have to end badly. Let her go, and we can talk this through."

There was a slight pause in the unsub's movements.

“You’re in control right now,” Spencer continued, his tone gentle, almost soothing. “But if you hurt her, that control is gone. You don’t want that. You don’t want to make this worse.”

Spencer’s gaze flicked to yours, meeting your tear-filled eyes. You looked at him like he was your only lifeline. The desperation in your expression hit him like a punch to the gut. The only thought running through his mind like a mantra was that he needed to get her out of there, fast.

The tension in the room was suffocating, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity. Then, the unsub shifted slightly, but it was enough for Derek Morgan to lunge forward like a strike of lightning.

The scalpel hit the floor with a sharp clang as Hotch slammed into the unsub, yanking him away from the table. Chaos exploded around you—shouts, the scuffle of bodies struggling—but it barely registered. Your chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, your throat raw as you fought for breath, tears blurring your vision.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, undoing the restraints that held you down, while simultaneously giving you a once-over to take in any serious injuries he may need to keep in mind for the first responders.

You were in such a state that you barely registered whose hands were touching you and your heart rate immediately spiked. Your eyes were shut and you began thrashing on the table whilst whimpering loudly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s over,” Spencer’s voice broke through the haze.

You blinked, realizing he was kneeling beside you, his hands moving to undo the straps that held you down. You flinched as his fingers brushed your wrist, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “He can't hurt you anymore. I promise.”

As the final strap came loose, you tried to sit up, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your legs felt weak, your hands trembling so badly you couldn’t push yourself upright.

“Here—let me help you.” Spencer’s hands were gentle as he guided you into a sitting position, his movements careful, almost hesitant.

The moment you were upright, you instinctively reached for him, clutching his shirt as your body shook with silent sobs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. His vest felt stiff under your cheek, but his touch was warm, steadying. “You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe now.”

You couldn’t stop crying, the reality of everything crashing over you. His hand rested lightly on the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles on your back.

Spencer’s heart twisted at how small you felt in his arms, how vulnerable. Gone was the sarcastic, spunky girl who had left such a strong impression on him after just one meeting. He held you tighter, his own breath uneven as he fought to keep his emotions in check. She’s okay. She’s okay now. But she’s so scared. I need her to know she’s safe.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice was barely a whisper. “He almost…” Yet another sob prevented you from continuing.

Spencer shook his head, cutting you off gently. “But he didn’t. He didn’t, okay? You’re here. You’re safe.”

You buried your face in his chest again, your fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And in that moment, he didn’t care about protocol or what anyone else thought. All that mattered was comforting the girl with the shattered spirit in his arms.

The sharp, sterile scent of the hospital was the first to hit you as the nurse wheeled you through the emergency room doors. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, their clinical glow exposing every bruise, every scrape, and every jagged line of your vulnerability. They reminded you of the lights in the embalming room. The embalming room. That man. The tools piercing your skin.

You were vaguely aware of Spencer at your side, walking just close enough that his hand occasionally brushed against the armrest of the wheelchair. You wanted to tell him you were fine, that he didn’t have to stay, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, the words got stuck in your throat. You didn't want to do this alone.

The nurse guided you into a small room, where a doctor was already waiting. Spencer stopped just outside the doorway, shifting awkwardly, his hands buried in his pockets.

“We’ll take it from here,” the nurse said gently, giving him a polite but firm smile.

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting between you and the nurse. You could see the conflict on his face, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for an argument.

You managed to find your voice, though it came out weaker than you intended. “Spencer…”

His gaze snapped to yours expectantly, his features softening.

“Can you… stay?” The words were barely a whisper, but the way his expression shifted—relief, determination, and something almost protective flashing across his face—made you feel a little steadier.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, stepping into the room. He pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting close but giving you enough space not to feel overwhelmed.

The doctor began her examination, her voice calm and clinical as she asked you questions. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Are you in pain anywhere besides your arm?”

You answered automatically, your voice hollow as your mind wandered. The doctor’s questions blurred together with the sting of antiseptic on your wounds, and the rustle of the hospital gown you’d been asked to change into felt deafening in the quiet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub’s hands on you, the way his gaze had stripped you of every ounce of dignity. The memory was suffocating, curling around your chest like a vice.

Spencer’s voice cut through the fog, grounding you. “Hey,” he uttered softly, his brow furrowed with concern. “You okay?”

You blinked, realizing the doctor had finished and was watching you with the same concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

Spencer didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he waited until the doctor left the room before leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again, "You're not fine."

You looked down at your hands, the hospital gown feeling too thin, too revealing, despite being more covered than you were earlier. You didn't know how to respond.

Spencer hesitated, noticing the sudden vulnerability in your expression. “I uh... I need to ask you a few questions… about what happened. It’s just procedure—to make sure this guy gets what he deserves. We don't have to do it now, but I'm here when you're ready.”

The sincerity in his tone made something in you crack. You weren’t ready to talk, not yet, but the way he said it—as if there was no question that he would be there for as long as you needed—made you feel a little less alone.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, though the thought of him leaving made your stomach twist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Not until you’re ready for me to, at least.”

You glanced up at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but all you saw was quiet determination. It made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

You took a shaky breath, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to steady yourself. “Ask the questions,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm with determination.

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to right now. We can wait until you’re ready. You don’t have to rush through it.”

But you shook your head, a flicker of something fierce in your eyes. “No… I want to do this now. If I don’t… I won’t ever.” The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you pressed on, your heart pounding as the weight of what you were about to do sank in. “I need to nail this bastard. For me, for them… for everyone he’s hurt.”

Spencer remained quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, weighing your words. Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable but softening with understanding. “Alright..." he hesitated, "This is going to sound silly, but can you close your eyes for me and tell me... what he did to you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the request. For a moment, you didn’t know how to react. But the quiet, sincere way he asked you made something inside you settle, just a little. The room felt quieter now, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

Closing your eyes, you tried to push the memories to the surface, to bring them into focus. Your heart beat faster, but you steeled yourself, knowing this was the only way to make him pay.

"When I woke up from being knocked out… I was tied down to the embalming table in my underwear, the straps were tight," you began slowly, rubbing your wrists absentmindedly. The sensation of the straps still lingered, and it made your skin crawl. "I couldn’t move."

Spencer stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you, his presence grounding you even as the weight of the memories pressed in. "Take your time," he said quietly, voice gentle but firm.

You took a shaky breath, nodding, trying to find the strength to continue. "He... he just stood there for a while, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, like... he was enjoying it." You paused, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. "I couldn’t even scream. I just had to wait for him to decide what he wanted to do next."

Spencer’s jaw tightened, his mind was piecing it together, filling in the gaps even if you didn’t want him to. But he said nothing, giving you the space to speak. You appreciated that more than you could express.

There was no avoiding it. You had to talk about it. You had to say the words, had to help the FBI put together the full picture. You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“He—he used different embalming tools.”

Spencer looked up sharply, he noticed the pained expression on your face and realised just how hard this was going to be for you.

Your heart started to pound. As soon as you said it, the memories came rushing back.

The metal table was freezing against your bare skin, your body trembling with something beyond the cold. You pulled at your restraints, but they were too tight, digging into your wrists and ankles.

“I’ve always been fascinated by preservation,” the unsub mused, his fingers trailing over a set of gleaming instruments. “The way death can be… delayed. How a body can be made beautiful again.”

You didn’t say anything. Your throat was raw from screaming earlier, and you were running out of ways to keep yourself from panicking.

The unsub turned, holding up an embalming trocar—long, sharp, and glinting under the fluorescent light. “Did you know this is used to remove fluids and gases from a body before preservation?” He traced the tip lightly down your abdomen, not pressing hard enough to break skin. “It’s important to prepare the body properly.”

Your breathing hitched, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to react.

His expression darkened. “You’re supposed to be still,” he murmured, and without warning, he pressed down.

Pain flared white-hot in your side as the tip of the tool pricked your skin, just enough to draw blood. You gasped, your body instinctively jerking against the restraints.

The unsub sighed, shaking his head. “Messy,” he muttered, wiping the small bead of blood with his gloved hand. “I’ll have to try again.”

You inhaled sharply, coming back to yourself. The hospital bed, the warmth of the blanket, the steady presence of Spencer beside you—it was enough to pull you out of the memory, but your skin still burned where the tool had touched you.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where he gripped his knees. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were burning with something deep and unsettled.

“He used a trocar,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “He—he didn’t go deep, but he wanted to see me flinch.”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to will away the image forming in his mind. “And the other injuries?” he asked, his voice strained.

You swallowed. “A needle. He… he injected something into my leg. Some kind of preservative, I think. It burned.”

Another flash—

The burn spread up your thigh, a fire beneath your skin. You cried out, muscles seizing, your entire body locking up.

The unsub tilted his head, watching with interest. “Formaldehyde is quite versatile,” he said conversationally. “It won’t kill you. Not yet. But I wonder how much your body can handle before it starts shutting down?”

You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood.

You took a slow, shaky breath, forcing yourself back into the present. The hospital bed. The warmth of the blanket. The steady presence of Spencer beside you.

Spencer’s hands had curled into fists. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching.

“What else?” he asked, voice strained.

You hesitated again. “He used the embalming pump.”

Spencer’s breath audibly caught in his throat.

The hum of the embalming machine filled the room, a steady, mechanical noise that only added to the horror of the moment.

You were still strapped down, too weak to fight, but your breath was coming in panicked gasps as the unsub adjusted the tube connected to the pump.

“This is a test,” he murmured, almost absently. “A small amount, just to see how the body reacts.”

You barely processed his words before you felt the cool sensation of liquid seeping into your veins.

Your vision blurred for a moment. It wasn’t enough to kill you—not yet. But it left you dizzy, sluggish, your limbs feeling even heavier than before.

“Fascinating,” the unsub muttered to himself. “I wonder how much you can take.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "The last thing he did... he told me exactly what he was going to do to me. Everything he'd done to his other victims—every single cut, every injection, every—"

Your breath hitched, your throat closing around the words.

"But I—I was going to be his favorite," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Because I had spunk. Because I fought back."

A shudder ran through you, your entire body recoiling from the memory. You couldn't say the rest. You didn't need to say the rest. The way his voice had darkened, the way he'd described it, savoring every detail like a promise—

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could block it out.

Spencer's hand closed over yours, grounding you. His grip was firm, steady, as if willing you to feel something other than that sickening sense of violation crawling under your skin.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.

You shook your head, your breathing uneven. “But you need to know—”

“I do know,” Spencer cut in, his voice sharp but gentle. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with something unreadable—but underneath it, there was a quiet, unshakable promise. “You’ve given us enough.” He exhaled, slow and controlled, but his next words carried the full weight of his conviction.

“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again. I swear to you—I’ll make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his life.”

A sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t ready to cry—not yet. But for the first time since it happened, you felt the faintest flicker of relief.

Spencer wasn’t just listening. He was hearing you. And he was going to make sure you got justice.

You weren’t alone in this.

And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, the hours began to blur together. You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep that night, and as guilty as it made you feel, Spencer didn't seem to mind. Throughout the night, nurses came and went, checking your vitals, re-bandaging your arm, and murmuring reassurances that didn’t quite reach you. And through it all, Spencer stayed.

The hospital room had settled into an almost eerie calm. Machines beeped softly in the background, and the dim lighting made everything feel slower as if the world outside had paused. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, the scratchy blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Spencer sat in the chair beside you, his legs crossed, thumbing through a book he’d found somewhere in the waiting area at a speed you didn't think was humanly possible.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The FBI agent that had first pushed the unsub away from you in the embalming room stepped inside. At first, his presence intimidated you, his muscular frame and broad shoulders made him an imposing figure, but there was an undeniable warmth in his deep brown eyes. His smooth, dark skin contrasted with the sharp angles of his jawline, and a hint of stubble shadowed his face. He was holding two cups of hospital jello, one red, the other green.

“Thought you two could use a little pick-me-up,” He said, holding the cups aloft with a charming smile. “It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than nothing.”

You managed to return a weak smile back, taking the red jello as he handed it to you. Spencer set his book aside and accepted the green one without hesitation.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Spencer said.

Morgan gave you both a once-over, his gaze softening when it landed on you. “If you need anything, just holler. But I’ll give you two some space.” He gave Spencer a pointed look as if to silently remind him to keep an eye on you, then slipped out of the room.

You began poking at the jello with the plastic spoon. The silence stretched between you and Spencer, not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken things.

"You know", you said finally, your voice a little raspy, “jello might be the most depressing food ever invented.”

Spencer glanced up from his cup, his lips quirking in a faint smile. There she is. “It does have a strange texture. Did you know it’s made from gelatin, which comes from—”

“Animal bones,” you finished for him, giving him a sidelong look. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

He blinked, a little surprised, then nodded. “Right. I guess... you would know that.”

You smirked faintly, the smallest flicker of your usual sarcasm peeking through. “What can I say? I'm full of fun facts. Comes with the job, really.”

Spencer tilted his head, studying you once again. "Your job... I can't imagine it's easy," he said carefully, his voice gentle.

You hesitated, your spoon hovering just above the jello. For a brief moment, you considered brushing him off with a joke or changing the subject like you usually would. But when you met his gaze, there was something about the way he was looking at you. God, stop looking at me like that. His unwavering, earnest stare made you feel safe enough to answer honestly.

“It isn't most of the time” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But it’s worth it.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, his expression soft yet intent—like he was trying to unravel everything you weren’t saying. His eyes, sharp with quiet intelligence, searched yours as if they could decode the weight you carried, the thoughts you never voiced, the depth you kept hidden from the world.

There was something about you that fascinated him—not just your words, but the silences between them, the guarded way you spoke about things that mattered. He could tell there was so much more beneath the surface, layers of emotion and experience you refused to share. And yet, just for a moment, it felt like he could see them anyway.

He finally spoke, "Why?"

You sighed, setting the jello cup on the bedside table. “Because… when I embalm and prepare a body, when I make someone look like the person they were before…” You paused, swallowing hard. “I get to give their family one last chance to say a proper goodbye. One last moment where they can see the person they loved, not the person the world left behind.”

Spencer kept his gaze steady as he took in your words. He could tell how much those words meant to you. Surprisingly, his expression held a little bit of understanding and even awe.

"That's... incredible." he said finally, "I had never thought of it that way."

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… not everyone thinks it's incredible. Most people just think it’s creepy."

Spencer’s lips quirked into the smallest smile. "I mean, technically, you do spend a lot of time with dead bodies."

You gave him a pointed look. "And you spend a lot of time profiling serial killers, but you don’t see me calling you creepy."

Spencer tilted his head, considering that for a moment. "Fair point."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little.

Before the conversation could continue you blurted out, "Thank you."

Spencer glanced at you, “For what?”

“For staying,” you said simply.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Not when you…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I just couldn’t.”

You nodded, understanding more than words could convey. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.

As you leaned back against the pillows, your eyes growing heavy, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were going to be okay.

After your third day in the hospital, you were finally discharged. The hospital doors slid open with a quiet hiss, letting in a crisp evening breeze. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air—something that didn’t reek of antiseptic or overcooked hospital food. The gauze beneath your shirt still tugged slightly with each breath, but the soreness was manageable.

Freedom. Finally.

Beside you, Spencer hovered with the same quiet intensity he’d had when you arrived at the hospital, arms crossed like he wasn’t entirely convinced letting you leave was a good idea.

“You know, I appreciate the escort,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag over your good shoulder, “but unless you’re planning on kidnapping me back to my hospital bed, I think I can manage from here.”

Spencer blinked. “I just— I wanted to make sure you got out okay.”

You smirked. “What, did you think I’d trip over my own feet and fall into traffic?”

“I— statistically, you’re not at full mobility, and with your pain medication, your reflexes might be slightly impaired—”

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not going to faceplant into the street.” Then, after a beat: “At least, not immediately.”

The corners of his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile but failing miserably.

The silence stretched for a moment. For all his intelligence, Spencer still looked like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out the words. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was debating reaching out.

You tilted your head at him. “You okay there, Doc?”

He cleared his throat, straightening. “I just— I hope you know that you, um… don’t have to go through this alone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I was alone in the embalming room with a serial killer, so technically—”

Spencer shot you a look.

You snorted. “Okay, okay, I get it. Not the time."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant… I know how trauma can make people isolate themselves, and I just wanted you to know that you have people who care.”

You nodded slowly. There was a warmth in your chest at the sincerity in his voice—softer, earnest.

“Well, in that case,” you said, shifting your weight to your good side, “since you care so much, would you... wanna get dinner sometime?”

Spencer’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know. The thing where people sit at a table, order food, and consume it?” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, unless you don’t want to—”

“No! I mean— I do! I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking both overwhelmed and adorable in a way that made you bite back a grin.

You decided to put him out of his misery. “Spencer," your voice softened, "I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

You smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”

Spencer’s brain seemed to reboot in real time. “I—yes! Yes, I would like that.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Good. You can pick the place.”

He nodded, still looking slightly dazed. “Right. I, um, I’ll text you.”

You chuckled, stepping back toward the curb where your ride was waiting. “See you soon, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer stood there as you got into the car, still blinking, like he was trying to process what had just happened.

As you pulled away, you saw him through the rearview mirror—standing there, hand running through his hair, a small, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long time, despite everything that had happened, something felt right.

[muffinsin]

Smoke and Mirrors

Chapter 1: the aftermath

The prologue can be found here. It’s recommended you read it before starting this story

[TW’s for this story: toxic relationships, manipulation, emotional and physical abuse, sexual abuse and assault, non-con elements, self harm, forced self harm, possessive behavior, stalking, slapping, cutting, degradation and shaming, drugging, kidnapping, torture, genital torture, violence, choking, G!P on one occasion, sex as an unhealthy coping method, self harm as an unhealthy coping method, suicidal thoughts]

[TW’s for this chapter: stalking, light violence]

Masterlists Smoke and Mirrors

Overview Smoke and Mirrors

Blog Masterlists

Let’s get into it🙌

Donna’s panting, her whole body trembling with desire. A self-satisfied smirk is set on her unpainted lips, her dark eye grazing over the beautiful sight by her side.

Daniela Dimitrescu, marked as hers.

She does not yet wholly belong to her, has not yet been wholly claimed and taken home as a victor’s prize should be. Distaste bubbles up in her mouth at the thought, a vile bile that reminds her her work is not yet done. She plans on correcting that.

She allows her pitch black eye to linger on the woman’s form.

Naked as a babe, panting, her beautiful, golden eyes closed. Her doll lays still. The only indication she is passed out rather than dead is her beating heart and the small breaths and exhales coming from her. With her upper back facing upwards and her stomach pressed into the bed, Donna is granted the beautiful sight of her work.

A claim, a mark-her mark, the one of her house, burned into the woman’s back. The Beneviento crest, burned into the petite and sensitive flesh by flaming hot pollen. She held her doll so tightly as it was applied, brought her enough pleasure to overshadow the searing pain. She can’t afford to lose her doll just yet, to inflict too much pain and scare her little Daniela off. Yet, she is not wholly hers. Yet, she can turn her back and run away. Run, always, never hide. Donna’s dark eye will always find her.

She traces lightly over the mark, her touch so feather light the auburn-haired woman doesn’t even stir.

She looks beautiful like this, Donna thinks. Naked, draped against the pale sheets, her hair a beautiful mess around her and against her shoulders and back. Her face, resting, her full cheeks adorably pink and wet. Had she cried? Donna didn’t notice, but now wishes she had.

She cups the woman’s sleeping face, admiring the dried streaks of salty tears. Her core throbs at the sight.

A wicked, twisted love burns in her. Her beautiful doll. When she wakes, will her eyes be glossy, teary? Her cute, girly eyelashes wet and thick? She leans forth, allowing herself a taste.

Daniela merely stirs tiredly, unaware of what is happening around her. Her skin is soft, as Donna has found out, her tears salty. Donna’s body aches at the taste. The taste of innocence, of pain and pleasure.

Yes, Daniela is perfect for her. And she will make such a perfect doll, too.

She moves from her comfortable position on the bed, her ghostly touches traversing from Daniela’s cheeks to her hair, her head, her shoulders, her branded backside, to the round swell of her ass.

Again, the sleeping woman stirs as she is touched.

Donna’s touches, while ghostly when she wants them to be, hold power now. She gropes without shame. Ah, no, not groping. Inspecting. Inspecting her doll. She hums, pleased. Daniela’s skin is soft and untouched, no scars or bruises visible on her. Skin, pale, like porcelain. Her ass, round and thick, but never too thick, perfect.

Phantom hands move at Donna’s side, ghostly white and featherlight, but forceful, when they grip at the sleeping woman.

Again, Daniela only stirs, as if a part of her attempted to wake up, but she wasn’t quite granted to. After all, her new lover is not quite done yet, and is not yet allowing her doll to return to the present.

She sends the Dimitrescu a look, conjuring up sweet images and moments for the woman to dream about. When Daniela quietens down again, the phantom hands move. One at each ankle, another pair at her thick thighs. They pull, spread her for the doll maker, who elegantly steps forwards and kneels between the woman’s spread legs. From this angle, she at last has a perfect view of the very same flowery pussy she sunk her fingers into just a little while ago.

She trails her fingertips against it again, the very tips light white from her use of the phantom hands. Daniela sighs, as though dreamily, in her sleep.

Her juicy pussy lips are pulled aside, revealing her insides to the Lord. Donna bites lazily at her bruised lower lip. She revels in the sight, Daniela’s pussy and insides a cute girlish pink, her spongy insides rubbed and fucked raw by skilled fingers before. She allows a finger to push into the wet heat and chuckles dryly when the sleeping woman stirs again, whimpering cutely even as she is unconscious.

She turns and twists it, adding a second finger as she steadily screws them into the younger woman. Soon, her precious composure is lost and she explores greedily, rubbing spongy walls.

Even on the inside, Daniela is soft. A twisted want rises within her, demanding her to bruise the soft inner walls and turn girlish pink to bloody red. She resists, for now. Perhaps at another time, another opportunity will rise. She cannot risk scaring her doll away, not while she is still not wholly hers, hidden deep within the Beneviento mansion like the priceless gem she is.

She screws her fingers into the little hole harder, faster. For a moment, her grip on her doll slips, and Daniela’s lips part and a loud whimper and moan tumble out.

Immediately, Donna’s influence washes over her again, gripping like vines, holding her down as if with leashes and chains.

And still, it was a fatal slip up, with consequences to follow.

Donna tenses as she makes out the buzzing flies in the distance, quickly drawing closer and closer.

An older sister, annoyingly worried about the odd, pained moan and whimper coming from her little sister’s room. Donna scowls in frustration. She doesn’t pull her finger from Daniela, only turns her head before the door opens and a woman wearing her doll’s signature black dress steps into the room.

Bela, if she remembers correctly, her blonde hair wild as though she was curled up somewhere and only now got up to check on the noise. The woman scowls, immediately adverts her eyes to the floor as she finds her sister’s completely naked form on the bed. And, nothing and nobody else.

Blocking her sister’s body from her vision with her hand, Bela glances around the seemingly empty room, oblivious to Donna’s dark eye burning into her with fury. Of course, she knows, her doll’s sisters must be one of the first obstacles to be removed. In time, only. They will not be in her way, and will be removed should they prove any more annoying.

“Dani?”, she whispers into the quiet room, suspicious.

Donna scowls as the blonde steps closer to the bed. She’s so very close to her now, would undoubtedly feel her if she was to bump into her, despite the thick pollen in the room manipulating the reality her eyes can perceive.

She’s forced to move, if only to avoid being detected, and slips her finger from Daniela’s wet pussy. Immediately, Bela’s head automatically jerks to it at the noise, and immediately turns away again at the unwelcome sight. Donna pauses. Clearly, this sister is not entirely clueless, despite her influence. As if the blonde knew something was up, something wasn’t right, her baby sister might not be as fine as it seems.

When the woman moves closer to the bed again, her summoned sickle raised, Donna is forced to back up yet again. She draws away undetected, resisting the urge to kill Bela on the spot. She knows, Daniela is not wholly hers yet. She would be certain to lose her should she kill her precious older sister.

Alas, she only stares at the younger woman, her dark eye full of hatred and annoyance, which Bela is oblivious to. Still, she shivers, oblivious to Donna’s presence but certainly aware that something isn’t quite right.

The doll maker pulls away the phantom hands, and again Bela’s head jerks to where they were just moments ago. Donna scowls as the woman gasps and leans down, gently cupping Daniela’s bruised ankle.

Upon seeing the bruises at her other ankle and thighs, too, she snarls and looks around the room, oblivious to where the intruder could be. With her sickle raised, she circles the bed like a predator protecting its young. She looks horrified at the sight of the burn at her sister’s back. Still, she wisely checks the room first, ripping open closets and checking the lock of windows.

Donna almost pities the woman, if she didn’t feel such hatred and possessiveness, too. It’s clear as day Bela is a direct competitor, someone so clearly set on protecting her sister from the unknown evil that is Donna.

She considers ending her, then, to knock her out and push her out the window, disallow the forming of her flies and watch as poor Bela falls from the highest tower where Daniela’s room is, her pretty head splattered on the cement below or her petite waist impaled by a spike of the towers.

Daniela stirs, whimpers in her sleep as though Donna had accidentally let the thought slip into her dreams.

Small, silent tears run down her cheeks even as she sleeps, mourning the loss of her sister she felt was far too real. Donna scowls angrily. No, she cannot yet take her sisters from her doll. She is not yet wholly hers, still held in the loving clutches of her family, protected in the castle as though they knew to shield the naïve woman from all danger.

Of course, Bela is by her side immediately, cupping wet cheeks Donna had licked only a little bit ago. She seems none the wiser, feeling only her sister’s tears. The dollmaker watches as the blonde lovingly pulls up the blankets, covering Daniela’s shivering body.

“Bela…”, she whimpers in her sleep, much to Donna’s dismay. Immediately, she tightens her grip on her doll, which leads to her lips sealing again and only a few tears to run past her cheeks again. No matter how hard she tries, no conjured dream of hers can calm her doll, her little head full of the delusion of her sister’s death.

“Dani? I’m here, sweetheart”, her sister tries to calm her, desperately. Donna’s grip on her allow no words to come through, and as such only more tears follow. The limp, sleeping woman is pulled towards Bela, her head caressed in an attempt to calm her.

“I’m here, little one, Dani, wake up!”, she pleads. Donna’s eye flashes angrily as more tears fall and lead to Bela shaking her sister. She starts a fight she’s entirely unaware of, battling Donna who is gripping and lashing harder to keep Daniela asleep. She will not have her doll tell her sister of her presence, of being marked by Donna. While she can convince delusional little Daniela that it was an act of love, her wiser, older sister will know better. She cannot know. She cannot be disposed of.

Just then she allows her grip to ease a little bit, of Bela’s words to reach the auburn haired woman.

“Damnit Dani! What’s going-“

“Bela…”, Daniela sighs dreamily, happy to know her sister is right there, safe, alive, right there. All was just a dream. She’s blissfully unaware she is still asleep, her perception blurry as though under water, yet Bela’s coos and calming words reach her.

Satisfied that her sister’s nightmare has stopped, the blonde no longer shakes her and attempts to wake her, losing the fight she didn’t know she started to begin with. A pity, almost.

Donna watches, pleased, as Bela stays with Daniela for a few more minutes, then rises from the bed again.

Leave, she thinks. It isn’t much longer until morning, until Bela will be suspicious of the hours of sleep her little sister is getting or decides to bring her family to examine the strange mark she found on the young woman.

As though reminded of it, Bela gently pulls the blankets down again, just enough to have Daniela’s back revealed and the brand shown again.

Clearly, Bela has seen it before. Donna is not surprised. She is a Lord of the village, after all.

The woman looks as though she searches for its meaning through her mind.

She knows, she will figure it out, see the moon and sun and realize it adorns the many items at the village and even the castle that symbolize the lords, this one symbolizing Donna specifically.

Then, a gasp, and the doll maker knows she has it figured out.

She doesn’t waste time, turns to her swarm form and makes way for the door again. This time, Donna reaches out to the pollen in the room.

First, Bela feels her grip on her swarm fading, gasping when she falls to the ground. Her eyes turn heavy, her limbs even more so. Donna watches, pleased, as the too-curious and suspicious and protective sister desperately tries to crawl, her movement slow and difficult as though she was stuck in thick mud that held her down. The poor thing opens her mouth, but her screams emerge with no volume to them at all, her pleas unheard. She almost makes it to the door, even, when a phantom arm burst forwards and grips at her ankle, gripping tighter than necessary and tugging her right back.

Bela whimpers as she’s pulled back against the bed in the middle of the room, her vision darkening by the second.

She gasps when she feels a pair of hands on her head, cupping her cheeks from behind.

“Sleep, Dimitrescu”

And as such Donna watches, pleased, as Bela’s body goes limp, her sickle clanking to the floor, her body held only in Donna’s arms now. She’s set to the floor, allowing the dollmaker to turn to her doll again. 

Daniela sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware of what happened around her. She caresses her soft cheek, brushes her hair from her, then turns to her branded backside yet again. Daniela squirms and cries on the bed, forced asleep yet feeling every bit of the flashing pain as her back is burned more and more, yet no more marks appear. No, instead they seem to fade, digging deeper into her back until they are swallowed and covered by soft, but sore skin. More tears run down her soft, somewhat cubby cheeks. Donna almost coos at the sight. She drags her palm over the back in a featherlight touch, humming when the mark, while still there, deep inside, can no longer be seen or felt. She knows, the blonde will be checking for it come morning.

Ghostly fingers grab at the blonde and lift her, right next to her sister in the comfortable bed. Donna even tucks her in, removes her shoes and gloves and drapes Daniela’s arm over hers. She hopes the innocent display will fool the woman, make her believe it was all but a dream after comforting her sister and falling asleep in Daniela’s room. Donna doesn’t care that it doesn’t quite add up. She hopes, the confusion of it all and disorientation will break poor Bela’s mind, though suspects it will not yet.

She leans close to the unconscious woman, brushing blonde hair aside as she whispers in her ear;

“Poor Bela, such nasty nightmares you have been subjected to”

[livingdeadgirl713]

(Small Note/TW- this post is about trauma, specifically JJ’s, and that includes miscarriage, attempted SA, kidnapping and torture. leaving this here just in case)

Something that annoys me so much about what the writers did to JJ’s character is how they never touched on the aftermath of her trauma. I know that the show does it to all their characters, and I’m not saying that any of the other characters have more/less trauma, it’s just the way the show dealt with it. For JJ… I don’t know. It’s just so off-putting.

She had a freaking miscarriage that was never again mentioned after The Forever People. Does Will even know (did he get the chance to)?

She was kidnapped and tortured for 24+ hours, and it was for something she never even wanted to be a part of in the first place.

She was almost r@ped- Hastings literally had undone her blouse buttons and pants zip and you’re telling me none of the team noticed when they rescued her?

Then BAU-Gate, which basically violated her again.

I won’t touch on S18 because for once they’re doing something about it, which is what sparked this post, but yeah. It’s so infuriating because they keep dumping all this on her but don’t show it’s effects- then what’s the point?

sorry this rant is just a tad bit long but frankly anyone who writes on such topics and others like abuse, shouldn’t write it just to make us sad for the character. There needs to be a purpose to all this, otherwise it’s just… you get what I mean, I hope.

(thanks for making it to the end!!)

[bellamyblake]

do you have some fanfics where bellamy is hurt/scared like in the fic you wrote https://bellamyblake.tumblr.com/post/613676607405686784/major-whump-prompt-if-youre-still-taking-clarke/amp (it’s like my favourite piece in the fandom tbh it’s so good ><) and like Left Behind (read it cuz you recommended it in the past) they’re two of my absolute favourites

or any fic where bellamy gets care or love from kane or even abby

or any bellarke fic where bellamy has a sad backstory and clarke finds out the more she gets to know him

(doesn’t have to be in the 100 universe, but if it is pls none that take place s5 or afterwards ~ i haven’t gotten that far yet)

Aw, hey, nonnie!

Thank you so much for the kind comment on my fic. I have posted two whumpy ones in the past month that you may enjoy and that you may also find on my Ao3 account:

Why we're here- this one is about Bellamy getting stabbed in 3x02 but getting kidnapped with Clarke by Roan.

You don't deserve it- and this one is about the aftermaths of Kane choking Bellamy in 3x16, there's a conversation between the two of them about it but also Bellarke, it's a bit longer and you may not like it idk.

I love writing Kane and Bell so I have multichaps that are all whumpy on my ao3 account too as well as a few other whumpy fics where Bellamy is hurt and someone's taking care of him. I have a few with Abby I think that I haven't posted but enough about me.

I highly recommend Voiceless by my friend @moonlight0934-it's pure beautiful whump and you can also find other Bellarke whump fics on their ao3 account.

You're right Left behind is the best whump I've read about Bellamy imo I have one more that is however downloaded because the author deleted their account and it's about the 5 times Abby takes care of Bellamy starting on the Ark but I have no way of posting that.

This monster has a heart by wolfypuppypiles (I may be repeating myself if you've asked me about recs before...so I'm sorry) This is pure whump too.

This is a Song About Somebody Else by grumpybell-this is an AU but it's amazing, it has both hurt Bellamy in chapter 3 and secrets about his past so I highly reccomend;

The Punishment this is amazing it's about Bellamy being tortured instead of Finn after he shoots the grounders in s2;

Maybe Just the Touch of a Hand by litvirg;

Don't Take That Sinner From Me. by biblio_witch;

comes and goes (in waves) by brimay is very sad but very good, it's TW depression though;

That's all I can think of right now, I'm sorry if I'm repeating myself!

[awyeahitssam]

My Writing Masterlist

Since I post on here far more consistently then on ao3 for reasons, I figured I would compile a list of my writing for those who don't like sifting through fandoms they could care less about to get to the good stuff. 

Separated by fandom, and somewhat by trope. 

Harry Potter:

Harry eats a God. 

Harry just can't seem to stay dead. TW: Suicide, character death, frequent character death, torture, murder, disjointed snippets, discontinued + Harry dissociates. Connected, same warnings may apply. 

First Encounters: Time loop, Voldemort-as-Quirrell visits the Dursleys and is less than pleased. 

First Encounters: The first time Harry meets Voldemort, the man he's been trained to kill all his life, he's nineteen, and Voldemort recognizes him. 

Prisoner Harry tells Voldemort about the Dursleys like it's a bedtime story. 

Except for the incident, Harry really doesn't tend to talk a lot when he has a concussion. Stream of thought narrative, character injury.

Literally just Empath!Harry spoilers. Harry, at his trial, allowing himself be petty to an extent. 

Harry gets drunk, pulled into Voldemort's mind, and decides he wants to share his good mood.

Tea shop AU.  + more  Tea Shop (weather) AU. + something actually Tea-based under the cut

Four of a Kind AU: Learning to kiss split-scene. Harry/Harry, referenced Harry/Horcrux + They meet. They kiss. What if. Voldemort/Harry + In the aftermath Voldemort/Harry

Kid Fic: Harry ‘dies’ as a child. Mentor!Voldemort, absolutely not a pairing ficlet. 

Kid Fic: Harry and Voldemort’s kid lands in the past during a duel at the Ministry. Pre-Harrymort, Micah, not quite the kiss you'd expect.

Female Harry, world-jumping, rationally angry. Tom/Harry intended, if Harry will chill out on the murder. 

Female Harry, young, likes to write.

Harry likes to feel pretty. Horcrux/Harry, Harry wears makeup, etc. 

Harry lost the bet. Confident, petty Harry in lingerie.

Tom and Harry jump through time to each other. Tomarry, growing up, fluff, brief kissing, Harry’s older

Dragon AU, I have a lot more of this one written, I should dump that some day. Harry/Horcruxes

Harry/Tom: pillow forts, soft angst, unresolved, broken promises

Harry's really fucking sick and tired of being told what the fuck to do. 

Tom-after-Voldemort is the first person Harry has ever spoken to. Isolation, lighthearted, odd, old and forgotten. 

Harry never imagines the effect getting a boyfriend would have on Riddle. Jealous Tom. 

Harry messes with Diary!Tom

Harry and Voldemort have to complete a task based on the colour of the others' robes, for some reason?

Harry is kidnapped and wakes up in an incredibly comfortable bed. Voldemorts knows Harry is his horcrux.

Harry ruthlessly defends Hogwarts against encroaching Death Eaters. Sixth Year.

It's one paragraph guys.

Brief character study of Voldemort.

Prompt-based: Tom possesses Harry when he's afraid. Hermione POV.

Prompt-based: Santa forgot about Harry, again.

Prompt-based: Tom watches Harry draw dirty, dirty things at church.

Teen Wolf, all at least peripherally intended as Stiles/Peter

Kid Fic + Genderbend + Time Travel: Stiles is in the past and nobody is raising Malia, so she sure as shit will.

Stiles has known about werewolves since he was nine, and now that he's off the college it seems his dad has gottten involved. No Hale Fire, Protective Stiles

The first thing Kate does when she comes back to Beacon Hills is kidnap Peter. Human!Alpha Stiles, eventual Steter, pre-slash

Stiles has the curse of obedience. Stiles/Peter

Flower shop AU! Ft. Petty Peter and insulting bouquets.

Peter says he hates Stiles. Stiles begs to differ. 

Werewolf Stiles wakes up in the middle of Beacon Hills woods naked, and tries to keep it low key from there. Bakery AU, kinda. Peter/Stiles

First Encounters: The Hale pack summons Stiles to the past. 

First Encounters: The first time Stiles meets Peter he is drunk. Stiles is a rude, very straight-forward drunk who steps all over issues like dead family and psychosis. It’s like he had a minefield map and is intentionally stepping on every trigger. 

Stiles meets Peter in the hospital.

Stiles pulls back because he doesn't want Peter to mess up his dress shirt, not because he doesn't want the bite. 

Stiles crochets magic shit. Fluff. 

Negotiations go well. 

Peter being the literal worst, holy hell, this hurts to read. Have some angst. Past-Stiles/Peter

Okay, my bad for that last one. Have some comfort. Crying, comfort, Stiles & Peter

Dragon Stiles is constantly underestimated. 

Stiles beats Peter, sore loser extraordinaire. 

Me acting like Stiles has shame for some reason.

Female Stiles gets forcibly genderbent and is not putting up with anybody's shit. Body dysmorphia, shitty friends, anger issues, sexism. Peter/Stiles

Female Stiles and Peter. Shower, soft.

Stiles writes smutty fanfic, as he should. 

Stiles being a bad influence on his little self, ft Knowing Himself Too Fucking Well. Time travel AU, torture

Peter walks away. 

Peter/Stiles, marking, one of the sexiest things I've ever written imo 

Peter is dumb, stupid, silly villain. 

Peter’s timing is about as good as Stiles’ filter. Dumb, stupid villain antics. 

Stiles threatens Peter, /lh

Stiles is justifiably sad after a movie. 

Tony Stark-centric:

Gen: Tony takes after Maria. Few people recognize a predator wrapped up in such Tony packaging. 

Gen: Tony bantering with, and teasing, Peter. 

Tony Stark uses the infinity stones. 

Tony survives the stones. 

Tony proposes. In public. In a way that undeniably affirms his feelings. Loki/Tony

Loki meets Morgan for the first time. Loki/Tony, kid fic

Hair Kink—I mean braiding! Aha, ha, ha… Loki/Tony

Female Toni doesn't take well to her children being threatened. 

Soulmates? Tony/Loki

Rhodey gives Loki the shovel talk ft. Parks & Rec

Tony saves the day…?

Bleach / Time travel: Ichigo isn't supposed to be here. 

The 100: Cage Wallace stages a coup before the forty-eight arrive. (Or: Dante Wallace dies before his time.) This changes everything.

[ask-traumatized-ninjabot-au]

Echoes of Desolation: Chapter 1

Synopsis:

TW: abuse, gore, and mentions of kidnapping

"Echoes of Desolation" unfolds in the aftermath of the Cybertronian war, with Metroplex City on Cybertron experiencing a semblance of normalcy. Bumblebee, haunted by a past incident on Earth involving Prowl, spirals into a malevolent obsession. A flashback reveals Bumblebee's hatred for Prowl stemming from an Earth camping trip where Prowl's strict demeanor triggered a traumatic incident (Transformers Animated season 1, episode 14: Nature Calls).

In the present, Bumblebee's sanity deteriorates drastically, fueled by a horrifying choice of entertainment – gore films. As the night deepens, his fixation on tormenting Prowl intensifies. Consumed by vengeance, Bumblebee crafts a disturbing plan, including purchasing dark materials and plotting to kidnap and traumatize Prowl.

The horror escalates as Bumblebee implements his plan, using shocking methods inspired by the gore films he obsessively consumes. Prowl becomes a captive in Bumblebee's house, enduring psychological and physical torture.

[kidsomeday]

sending virtual head pats to help with life *pat pat*

i wanna hear more about "3. Bungou Stray Dogs Trauma Brainworm" for the wip ask game!! (i've mentally prepared myself for possible tragedy skdfljsdkfj)

I appreciate the virtual head pats! Life is just going through it's "pours" part of "when it rains it pours."

And what better way to cope than inflecting pain and suffering on my beloved favorites? This is so long. I tried to condense it down, but I have so many ideas and got excited. Below the cut for length and TW.

TW: sexual assault, rape, past child abuse, implied past child sexual assault, human trafficking

Fic is from Dazai's POV. So the premise of this fic is that the ADA gets hired to look into a human trafficking case, and when they show the symbol of the organization they think is responsible during a briefing Atsushi freaks out because a whole lot of traumatic, suppressed memories get remembered. Turns out this group used to visit the orphanage to "adopt" children, and while Atsushi was always "interviewed" Shibusawa was there and wouldn't let him get adopted out because he had his own torture plans. (nothing explict in the fic, but it will be outright stated what happened)

The entire ADA goes into full protective mode, especially Dazai who's like "okay i fucked up enough, here's a chance to keep my promise to Oda and protect the hell out of this orphan/protegee/friend."

Except. Atsushi gets kidnapped by the org, and even Ranpo can't find him.

Everyone is straight up having a bad time, especially when they finally manage to track down the person who was keeping the organization hidden (it's gonna be Ayn Rand using the power "Who is John Galt" and she's gonna get wrecked because I hate Ayn Rand), and they find the website where this organization is selling their product (all kids, special price for gifted) and the leader is like "not for sell because he's mine, but available for rent" is...Atsushi. In a very obviously abused (and worse) state. Commence the rescue. And, uh...justice. Dazai, Chuuya, and Akutgawa are the first ones there and while Akutagawa keeps his promise not to kill, Dazai and Chuuya made no such promise.

And here's where the fic really starts, because now we have Atsushi (who's gone mute from the trauma) attempting to heal, Dazai being a disaster and not knowing how to process his own issues and not being in a place to help others but he sure is trying, found family ADA all doing their best to help their own, and a bonus Chuuya and Akutagawa getting more emotionally involved than intended. Bonus side plots: Dazai and Akutagawa coming to terms with some of their shit, largely thanks to Kyoka pointing out the role Dazai played in how Akutagawa treated her and one VERY bad night where Dazai breaks down because Atsushi trusts him and Akutagawa is there for the aftermath, Kunikida realizing he cares a lot and wait how did that happen, that wasn't written into my life plan to adopt an adult orphan, and just so much Dazai, Chuuya, Akutagawa, and Atsushi all bonding because playing around with the complexities of that particular dynamic gives me life. And artist Atsushi, because I love that idea for some reason. There's not going to be a specific romance, and none of the bad shit will be explicit, but the whole thing is damaged people trying to help each other, sometimes failing, but mostly succeeding.

It will have a happy ending, because I'm not sure I'm capable of writing sad ones. And also feature a guest appearance by Koji Suzuki, because I both love him and also he's also a respected voice in child development in Japan and I absolutely have to use this knowledge. I have so many clear visions of specific scenes for this story, and I'm really excited for it, but also so nervous about getting it done right that whenever I start writing it I freeze.

But writing it all out like this has definitely reminded me of what I love about it so much!

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary 2024 Masterpost

Just like my Whumpcember Masterpost, these are all my entries for Whumpuary

Day 1: Captivity | Snow // TW: Captivity, Conditioned Whumpee

Day 2: Secret Revealed // TW: Implied/Mentioned Past Abuse

Day 3: “Get Away From Me” // TW: None

Day 4: Collapse | Choking // TW: Choking, Bad Caretaker

Day 5: Used As Bait | Stumbling // TW: Blood, Kidnapping, Pet Whump, Creepy Whumper

Day 6: “This Is Gonna Hurt" // TW: Noncon Drugging, Multiple Whumpers, Labrat Whumpee, Implied Torture

Day 7: Kneeling // TW: Captivity, Torture, Chain Restraints, Dehumanization, Pet Whump, Conditioned Whumpee, Collars

Day 8: “Help Me” | Lightheaded // TW: Brief Mention of Blood

Day 9: Can’t Move | “Stay. Please.” // TW: None

Day 10: Kidnapped // TW: Kidnapping

Day 11: Blindfolded // TW: Past/Mentioned Kidnapping and Noncon Drugging, Restrained, Captivity, Sadistic/Creepy Whumper

Day 12: Exhaustion // TW: Failed Escape Attempt, Implied Torture, Bad Caretaker

Day 13: I Didn’t Know Where Else To Go” | Bruises // TW: Implied Choking

Day 14: Drugged // TW: Noncon Drugging, Multiple Whumpers, Lab Rat Whumpee, Blood

Day 15: Muffled Screams | Hostage // TW: Hostage, Kidnapping, Creepy Whumper, Pet Whump, Shock Collar

Day 16: “You Look Awful” // TW: Bad Caretaker, Captivity, Fever

Day 17: Restrained | Hair Grabbing // TW: Restraints, Hair Pulling, Torture, Implied Choking

Day 18: “Make It Stop” // TW: None

Day 19: Gunpoint // TW: Gun, Held At Gunpoint, Conditioned Whumpee, Living Weapon Whumpee

Day 20: Desperation | Can’t Stay Awake // TW: Blood, (Implied) Character Death

Day 21: “Just Get It Over With” // TW: Implied Torture, Punishments, Knife 

Day 22: Memories // TW: Past Captivity, Conditioned Whumpee, Past Intimate/Creepy Whumper

Day 23: Rescue // TW: Implied Past Torture

Day 24: “You’re Awake” // TW: None

Day 25: Left to Die // TW: Blood, Bad Caretaker

Day 26: Barely Conscious | “I’m Fine” // TW: Implied Hidden Injury

Day 27: Flinching | Breakdown // TW: Bad Caretaker, Pet Whump, Conditioned Whumpee

Day 28: Sleep Deprivation // TW: Noncon Drugging, Conditioned Whumpee, Implied Past Captivity

Day 29: “You’re Safe” // TW: TW: Creepy/Intimate Carewhumper, Conditioned Whumpee, Manipulation, Captivity  

Day 30: Aftermath // TW: Past Torture, Captivity, Bad Caretaker and Character Deaths

Day 31: Touch Starved // TW: Captivity

[muffinsin]

🪻𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬

Daniela Dimitrescu x Donna Beneviento

She has caught her eye, and now, she will never let go of her, again. She has found her doll, and she will perfect her. And most importantly, she will never let her go

Prologue; Sweet Divorce, dark Obsession, Love to come

Chapter 1; The aftermath

[TWs: PLEASE MIND THESE: Dark "romance", manipulation, toxic relationships, toxic behaviour, sadism, attempted downing, attempted murder, self harm in many forms, SH as a coping method, psychological and physical abuse, drugging, non-con elements and r@pe, bodily harm, G!P on one occaison, sexual torture, torture, forced self harm, degredation, kidnapping, objectification, sex and self harm as a coping method, and many more]

🎎 Smoke and Mirrors MASTERLIST OVERVIEW 💜

❗️This story is NOT like the rest of my works and will include many dark topics, though they are NOT to be viewed as something positive. Read at your own discression and mind the tags before reading the story. There are many TWs❗️

Below you will find the following:

- Additional Information

Additional Information;

╰┈➤ The story will be posted on tumblr and ao3

⤑ Ao3 profile

⤑ Story link on Ao3

╰┈➤ Certain chapters, the very few ones including SA (2 chapters), can be skipped and will therefore not be posted on tumblr. They will be posted on ao3 and linked on tumblr, however, for those still interested in reading them

╰┈➤ This story comes with its own Masterlist Overview and Masterlists for all the chapters. In total, there are roughly 112 chapters, 800 pages, and more than 350K words

╰┈➤ Each chapter will come with its own listing of TWs. Feel free to skip chapters you don’t feel comfortable reading and perhaps asking for a summary of it or so instead

╰┈➤ there’s some hidden Easter eggs in the story

╰┈➤ This story's theme song the following, and is therefore also named after the song;

[auroragehenna]

Ai-less Whumptober

Day 27 Paranoia

CW/TW: Aftermath of torture, seasoned whumpee, wlw flirting (gasps)

Word count: ?

Did that person just stare at her? The one that looked like an elf. It was hard to tell with the hood on. But her features somewhat resembled hers. Please not, she already finished a job today. But usually people don‘t spend their free time here outside, why else would she be here, her head whispered. No they actually do, this is freaking garden, get it together. Was that a blade she saw glinting in the dusk light? Yes, that‘s also normal. You also carry multiple. The world is a dangerous place you know. My point. Shut up! Over there‘s another person! Shit! Was this a trap?! Did she walk into another trap?! Not again. Wait did the lighting just change?! No, I don‘t think so? Fuck the girl is coming here. Shit, shit, shit. Tierney clutched her hidden blades and went though her spells in her mind.

„I’ve never seen a wallflower this pretty.“, the girl said. Sitting down next to her, with a bit of space and leaning back on her arms and hands. „Are you doing alright thought?“

Tierney looked at her absolutely baffled. Still clutching her hidden weapons. But this wasn‘t a behaviour she encountered before. We can‘t trust her! Before she even really processed it her hand shot down onto the grass, fingers digging into the soil. „I‘m fine. What are you up to?“, she asked still suspicious.

„I’m up to a lot, but not tonight. Tonight is just about the grass between my toes and the stars above my head.“

Tierney looked at her. Her eyes seemed to light up with something deeper. Something more emotional. Before she sighed and started to speak again: „Listen if you‘re here because of my reputation or to kidnap me just say that I‘m done with games.“

„Kidnap you?“ she asked with confusion written all over her face. As her face relaxes again she follows up with: „The only games I play have the goal of relieving idiots from the burden of heavy pockets filled with money.“

Tierney finally relaxed a little bit again. Her other hand eased it‘s grip on the knife and freed it out of it‘s hiding place. She casually lowered her hand with the knife onto the grass and used the other one to release your arms. She nearly smiles a little. „Well I can‘t really judge that.“

„The guards think otherwise“ She laughed. „I know a beautiful place a bit south from here, close to a park, and great view of the city.“

Danger! „I uhm.“ Fuck it, if this is another job then I might as well do it. And if it‘s not then? Uhm… „Yeah, why again?“, she asks confused.

„It’s my safe spot. I thought I share it with you if you need a place to escape reality for a moment“ she smiles. „I‘m Nalani by the way.“

„Tierney. Okay. But no funny business.“, she adds earnestly.

„You can just tie me up with flowers, if you don’t trust me“ Nalani giggled

Tierney smiled a little bit. „Indeed I can.“ She got up on her feet and watched the girl do the same. „Alright. Show me.“, she hesitated, „I would like to see it.“

„would you like the scenic route or walk among the peasants, my lady.“ Nalani snickered, while over exaggerating noble etiquette.

Tierney raised an eyebrow at her. „Typically I like to take routes that have more nature and less people, fair lady.“

„That means we drop the fancy talk and jump from rooftop to rooftop“ She grins before she skillfully jups up the closest building.

A grin also widens up on Tierney‘s face now. She focuses on the fluffy ears on her head until her whole body morphs into one of a cat and follows you up to the rooftop before starting to morph back. But halfway through she get‘s stuck and ends up somewhere in the area of a cat and her own self. She rolls her eyes and balances on her footballs for a few moments. At least it will be good for climbing and jumping. I just hope it won‘t freak Nalani out. But the girls seemed fine and so she followed her over the rooftops through the town.

Nalani giggles a bit as she sees why the tiefling had fox ears beforehand. „I hope as part fox you can keep up with me!“ She yells cheerfully.

Tierney tsk‘d. She wasn‘t yet sure if she liked this weird stranger and she certainly wasn‘t sure if she could trust her.

|

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Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @ailesswhumptober

[serickswrites]

Miss Me?

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Alternate Ending

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, presumed dead, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hurt/comfort, kidnapping

Whumpee was exhausted. But they were proud. They had spent the whole day with Caretaker and hadn't had one incident of their traitorous mind bringing up thoughts about their time with Whumper. They had finally been able to be present and enjoy themself.

But it was exhausting.

Not as exhausting as their time with Whumper. Not as exhausting as the pain Whumper left them with. Not even as exhausting as when they were rescued and Whumper was killed in the process. Whumpee wasn't even sure how they stayed conscious through the whole ordeal, they were so exhausted.

But this was not that kind of exhaustion.

This was the kind that used to make Whumpee's heart soar. The kind to make them curl their toes and laugh until they cried. The kind that made them so glad Caretaker was in their life.

And while they weren't completely healed, and they couldn't go back to their old life, they could shake the shadow of Whumper. Shake off the memories. Shake off the pain and begin to be happy again.

When Whumpee climbed into bed, they were glad that they had been able to convince Caretaker they didn't need continuous company any more. They loved Caretaker, had grown to love Caretaker more in the time of their healing, but they still needed alone time. And time to process everything. They sank beneath the covers, turning off the light, and sighed with contentment.

This was the beginning of their new life. Things would get better. They would be better.

As Whumpee began to drift off to sleep, comfortable and warm in their bed, the voice in their ear had their blood run cold. Whumper's hand closed over Whumpee's mouth as they whispered in Whumpee's ear, "Did you miss me?"

[hey-a-clown]

Some dumb lore about OCs

The Cain family mostly the children (From oldest-youngest)

Zyrian (40's-50's)-Lillian(late 40's)-Oliver(mid 30's)-Nathan(mid 30's)-Azua(early 30's)-Lucy(17 years old)-Yuki(11 year's old)

Parents: Yureka Crypt Cain (Dad), Autumn Cain the ll (Mom)

TW- Metions of gore/force cannibals and child abuse

In a family of nine, the parents are members of a cult that subjected their children to aggressive obligations. As a result, Zyrian and Oliver's faces were severely disfigured, and Lillian's lower face plus half was also severely mangled. (luckily she was still alive and was healed by Nathan) The majority of the other kids also endure hardship.

Yuki's eye is taken out by force at a age 7, so she just has a missing eye socket.

Lucy arm was purposely rip off

Azua had her wings ripped off as a quote-on-quote "punishment".

She was numb to pain, which made the cult leaders pissed off, meaning the poor girl was used in most of the rituals as a dummy example.

Yuki was deemed a mistake by her peers, which is basically unplanned yet heavily praised alongside Zyrian for doing most of the unhinged things like doing blood sacrifices or eating still-alive victims.

Lucy got held done due to not wanting to kill an old friend at 9 years old, which resulted in losing a limb with Lillian rushing into the scene to help her younger sister with the bleeding while for her punishment was to eat the sever arm.

The cult's adherents made the children eat human flesh under duress, turning them all into cannibals (with the exception of Lillian), and using them to attach a creature to each of them that contained a torturous conveying itself, they assigned them to go hunting for other living people, Kidnapping people, or even bringing people to join the cult.

This is where Zyrian met Ami in the process falling in love with her, and they ended up getting married to one another desperately. He made sure to keep her safe at all cost because he didn't want to risk her safety, but we all know what happens...

But even the tiniest of mistakes would lead to brutal beatings that cause black out's or broken bones. Of course, this made all the siblings feel pressure to be perfect no matter what cause no wants to deal with the consequences of failure.

Some of the children allowed the mass murder to spiral out of control by either eating the majority of the members or torturing them to death. Yes, their demise was protracted and agonizing, but...

Aftermaths:

They were finally liberated after many years of suffering, but most of them made wrong decisions in the aftermath of the horrifying previous terrors, resulting in Lucy going insane and attacking Yuki and Nathan. Her younger sister and older brother both have marks on their skin. Like superimposed ghosts, this cause Zyrian to make his own cult.

Able to overcome this trauma, but it resulted in disputes between Zyrian and Azua, mainly due to insanity acting out, her blaming him about how its his own fault for getting them in the cult in the past & is repeating what their god awful parents did. Fights have erupted in the siblings' home. Lillian was always the one who sought to prevent the arguments, only causing more out lash to happen.

If anyone has questions about the lore I'm more than happy to try and explain

[cosmiceverafter]

The Pieces Want to Be Together

Pairing: Alex Manes/Michael Guerin

Characters in this chapter: Alex Manes; Michael Guerin; Gregory Manes; Isobel Evans; (mentions of Flint & the Scooby Squad). 

Rating: T

Words in chapter: 2k

Read on ao3

Ch.1/Ch.2

**Content Warning for this chapter: mention & slight evidence of torture/abuse during a kidnapping; blood warning; minor violence; mention of death (no character deaths). None of these are graphic.**

Summary: Day 3: | REUNION | faith, loyalty, optimism, resilience.

A/N: A lot of what I wrote, is speculation for the episodes to come for the rest of this season. It also shows my hope that Gregory Manes is in fact a good guy and Flint Manes can be redeemed.

I hope you enjoy the last chapter of this fic for Missing Alex Manes Weekend! I really enjoyed writing something that was a bit different for me. But you should always know, with angst will always come to a happy ending full of hope. Thank you for reading!

To you Alex Manes: I love you very much.

Ch. 3: Fit Together with You

Alex flutters his eyes open, feeling a searing slash of pain from his head.

All he sees is darkness. He is unable to make out any features around him.

Where am I?

Trying to make sense of everything, he calculates strategically the surrounding area.

Why would someone want… him? Was he getting a bit too close to something? Did this have to do with the aliens of 1947? Did this have to do with Michael?

His hands are bound, but he tries to feel the ground. Cold hard pavement.

He will find a way out. He owes it to himself and the love he has for Michael.

Alex will not go without a fight.

***

Michael thought he understood fear after a lifetime of hopelessness. But fear was finally understood when Alex Manes was gone.

Alex had been kidnapped, and his brain had short-circuited any reason or patience.

When he had been searching location after location without a trace, that was when the fear settled in as well as the realization he couldn't lose Alex.

This human boy had taught him so much, not just what love truly meant, but learning about who he was and what he wanted from this life here on earth.

He fell in love early on with Alex in high school, staring constantly at the way Alex’s eyes fluttered when he got into his music. He was so talented and Michael admired him from a distance for so long.

But Alex had offered not only a safe haven to call his own, but his heart as well.

Michael for the first time in his life felt what having a family could feel like.

The two of them had made mistakes, more times than he could possibly count, but they kept coming back to one another in a way cosmic lovers would.

Alex was the shooting star in his night sky and together they made the constellation of peace, love, and hope.

It was the melody he had heard every single time Alex had played on his guitar. Quite honestly, it was the most moving moment of his life.

These were the thoughts that swirl in Michael’s mind as he searches all of Roswell. He would travel to heaven and hell to find one simple clue to Alex's well being.

After hours of nothing, he receives a phone call. It’s Gregory Manes.

***

Bright lights shine in his eyes, and Alex swallows, “Who are you?”

There is shuffling and Alex knows there are multiple people around him. He can’t make out faces but he can see figures standing around.

Finally, a deep unfamiliar voice says, “You’ll know in time. This is for the greater good.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We know who you are, Alex Manes, and who you associate with. That is, what you associate with. We will have answers.”

So this was about aliens.

Alex isn't clear on much of this situation, but one thing is crystal clear: He will protect Michael Guerin with his last dying breath.

***

Michael had always been right about Gregory Manes. He was the next best Manes after Alex.

The guy was good. He cared about his younger brother, more than even Michael had realized. He didn’t fit the mold that Jesse had once created for their last name.

Gregory had also found out Alex was missing when he had come to visit Roswell. He too had entered Alex’s house and went on his own search when he had seen the evidence of a struggle.

Apparently, he had inquired information from their other brother Flint, who wasn’t always the guy you’d want watching your back. But Michael also thought there was more to Flint than meets the eye.

After hours of figuring information out, they had all come to terms with the fact this wasn’t Jesse’s doing, much to all their surprise.

It was another puzzle Michael realized, that he didn’t know how to fit back together. Story of his life.

***

They ask questions; he doesn’t answer.

He’s hit, repeatedly; he’s had worse.

They press further; he doesn’t cry out.

Their frustration grows; he stands his ground.

They use fear and hate; he uses resilience and love.

***

Michael refuses to give up, he can't.

His phone rings and he looks down. It’s Isobel now.

“Iz?”

“It’s Alex.”

“I know...I’ve been searching for him with Greg,” Michael says as his eyes fill with tears. No use trying to stop them. “We can’t find him. Anywhere.”

He looks at Alex’s brother who is now driving his truck, and his brother looks as solemn as he feels.

“Michael, listen to me!” Isobel exclaims on the other side, “I know where Alex is!”

***

Alex’s whole body aches and he finally lets a moan escape his lips. He’s not sure how much more he can handle. He’s tough, but hell, he’s only human after all.

Whatever these things are...he's not entirely sure they are human. However, feeling delirious will do that to a person. He can no longer make sense of it all.

It’s been hours, and Michael never leaves his mind.

Michael is his anchor that keeps him tethered to his strength; it keeps him grounded and sane. He’s grateful even though his alien isn’t even there.

Truthfully though, Michael is always with him.

It all seems so trivial now; their arguments the inability to connect through the pain.

If only they both had foreseen this future, maybe they would have communicated what they had wanted so much sooner.

Being at rock bottom will do that to a person though. Your regrets, your mistakes, all of it, comes crashing into you like a current in the ocean.

These thoughts stay in Alex's mind. He realizes he probably won’t make it through the night. But at least he will go knowing he didn’t budge; he kept Michael’s identity and whereabouts hidden, as well as his pod siblings.

Some things are worth dying for.

As he allows himself to lean against the wall and close his swollen eyes, he hears a commotion outside the cold dark room he’s kept in.

There is yelling, a boom, and screaming.

He can’t make sense of it; he doesn’t have the energy to even try.

But that’s when he hears it, the most beautiful sound in the world.

Michael’s voice.

He found me, Alex realizes as he finally breaks. The tears run down his cheeks as he succumbs to darkness.

***

Isobel, that brilliant-not-by-blood-sister of his, was right! She had given them a location, something that she had seen when she had gone to Alex’s house.

Isobel had touched the floor where Alex had fallen, and that’s when she had a vision. The warehouse had been clearer than the light of day, and she explained it perfectly.

It was miles out of Roswell, but luckily, Michael knew exactly the one. He had driven past it many times over the years.

Gregory is by his side as they enter the location. Michael does not see who the people are that took Alex because their faces are covered, but that doesn’t stop him from throwing them against the walls. Hard.

Michael knows he's probably just given away his identity. He just doesn't care.

His anger is unmatched at this moment.

Gregory stops and looks at him with a look of shock, but Michael just shrugs and keeps on moving. There is no time to talk about the “what are you and where did you come from?” speech.

Unfortunately, whoever they are, escape quickly, but his number one mission and priority is to find Alex.

They will be dealt with later, that much is certain. A vow of his for the mere fact that they ever thought they could touch Alex Manes.

Gregory yells at him to come over and he sees a locked door against the metal wall. Gregory gives Michael the look with a bit of hesitation.

Michael opens it easily with his powers and scopes out the room quickly.

Alex.

His stomach falls as he sees Alex crumpled in the corner of the small room. Michael almost collapses, but Gregory steadies him.

Alex’s brother rushes over to his younger brother’s side, clearly checking for a pulse.

Michael has never felt this before. Before when trying to find Alex, he was on a mission. But this… this is different. If Alex is not okay, Michael will not make it. He knows this to be true. They are too connected and intertwined.

He won’t survive that type of pain.

So he’s stuck. Unmoving. He literally cannot breathe.

“He has a pulse,” Gregory calls out, which adds faith and hope back into Michael’s life. “It’s weak though. We have to get him to a doctor.”

“Valenti,” Michael replies, still scared to see Alex and the damage they caused the love of his life. “Kyle Valenti. He’ll help.”

“Here,” Gregory exclaims as he rushes over, “let me talk to him.” Michael punches in the number for the good Doctor and gives his phone to Greg. The guy looks over at Alex, and his eyes are full of sadness, “Go be with him. He needs you, Michael.”

Gregory leaves the room for a moment and Michael can hear him talking to Kyle.

Slowly, as if in a dream...a nightmare, Michael walks over to Alex.

He bends down and starts to cry instantly as he takes in Alex. All the emotions he has felt searching for Alex and the horrific outcome of this reality is too much.

The bruises are all over Alex. He’s swollen and bloody. Not Alex. God, no. Not to Alex….

Michael lifts Alex’s hand up gently and sees damage there as well. “I’m so sorry, Alex.” He cannot stop crying. The heavy sobs leave his body as he trembles uncontrollably. Michael realizes he’s not just crying because of what happened to Alex, he’s sorry for the way he has treated Alex over the last few months. He took Alex for granted and now here his love is, broken and in pieces right before him. “I’m so damn sorry.”

He bends down and kisses Alex’s battered forehead. That’s when Alex moans. He squeezes Alex’s hand softly, “Alex! Alex, I’m here. I’m here. I won’t leave...I’ll never leave you again.”

Alex squeezes his hand back.

***

It takes Alex a while to heal, but luckily with the help of Kyle, Michael, and his friends, he makes progress every single day.

It's both mental and physical healing he needs and that in itself, takes time.

The group continues digging deeper to try to figure out who took him. It’s nice to see everyone working together for a change. He’s wanted that for some time. Maybe that was the good of being taken after all; they stopped taking each other for granted.

As far as Michael, he never leaves his side. That gesture doesn’t annoy him though, if anything, it’s beyond comforting and welcoming.

Neither of them is walking away. They prove that more and more each day.

Michael is generous and gives him space and time, not expecting anything. It means so much to him.

But he does give Alex several hugs a day; clinging on to him tightly as if to make sure Alex is real. Alex gets his strength from Michael every time. 

They finally have their breakfast and open up about it all, even the parts that hurt. But that was the point of healing, true healing. In doing that, they break the barriers of their cycle once created.

Their talk wasn't a one-time thing either; they talk for weeks and weeks, sometimes going late into the nights. The nights where they make each other laugh, are Alex's favorite. He realizes that even though during their time apart when they weren't together, they had been building that friendship all along.

Sometimes during these chats, he catches Michael just staring at him, and he can’t help but smile. Their love has only grown. Deeper than even he could have imagined it would.

One sunny morning, he decides to finish the song he has been working on. Alex is staying at the cabin that Jim left him. It offers peace and solace, especially if Michael is there. Which he is, always.

Alex smiles as he pulls his guitar out of the black case. It's funny how an object can cause so much joy. The gift of music was just that, a gift.

As he holds the guitar in his hands for the first time in a while, he closes his eyes from the comfort it brings. His fingers sometimes still ache, but he plays anyway.

He plays the trauma he grew up with, the pain, and the sorrow, but also the resilience and the strength to rise from the ashes. He adds the hope, faith, and love that Michael has brought into his life. The joy of friendship and unity as he sees his friends smiling back at him. And most importantly, he plays the love he feels for himself and the growth he has made, with a nod of gratitude in Forrest’s direction.

It is the melody of his life. The melody that makes him...Alex.

“That was so beautiful,” he hears softly behind him as he finishes.

Alex looks over to see Michael beautifully leaning against the doorframe holding two cups of coffee, his curls tousled from sleep.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, I know it’s early.”

Michael shakes his head, “Nah, it's the best alarm clock there is actually.” He walks over barefoot on the wooden porch and hands Alex a mug.

He sits down and looks at Alex with a genuine loving smile, “Truthfully though. It might’ve been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard you play.”

“Thanks,” Alex replies with a smile of his own. “I’ve been working on it for…well, a very long time now.”

“Is it finished?” Michael asks. Alex looks deeper into those hazel eyes. Not for the first time around the guy, hope fills him up like a balloon. “I think it’s just the beginning of a very special story actually.”

Michael nods and takes Alex’s hand softly. “I hope to hear each chapter of that story then.”

Alex moves Michael’s healed hand to his lips and kisses it gently, “You are and will always be a huge part of this story, Michael. The story is a part of us.”

“You always have a way with words, Alex Manes.”

The words he has wanted to say every day are right there. They are the only words that truly matter when it comes to the alien sitting next to him, “Speaking of words, there are a few more important ones I need to say to you.”

Michael smiles once more as he leans in closer to Alex, “Please, tell me.”

Alex takes in this moment, never looking back, “I love you, too.”

Tears fill both of their eyes as they come together as those two pieces of their puzzle, finally fitting together as one as they kiss.

The missing piece was there all along.

Hope was the melody that would always bring their love home.

[bi-riter09]

Force of Nature or Forced Nature? Chapter 2

Hey guys! I decided to upload my original story onto Tumblr as well as on Ao3, but I was limited while trying to post it on my phone, so let’s see if posting it on computer works!

__________________________________________

  Before I could even take another step into the house, an arm wrapped its way around my neck and pulled me back. A big gloved hand grabbed my face and covered my mouth as I tried to scream, to struggle, to do anything. The arm around me just wrapped tighter around my neck, incapacitating me.

I couldn't fight them, no matter how hard I tried. 

"Shh, it's time to go to sleep."

I felt a wet cloth being pressed against my face, and a deep darkness slowly started to creep into the corners of my vision. 

"That's a good boy."

I was so...tired.

The last thing I saw was my sister's terrified eyes staring back at me as she screamed for help before everything faded to black.

__________________________________________

  I knew today was the day I was going to die.

  Every time I so much as lightly stirred, sharp flashes of pain instantly rushed over me. My entire body hurt; I couldn't even tell where it hurt anymore.

  I could see flickers of light out in the distance, but I could never reach them. I was too far away to ever find the surface, to reach a semblance of home. I was never going to see the light of day again.

I just faded away piece by piece, back into the shadows where I belonged. I closed my eyes once again and fell back into the darkness once again.

  When I finally came to, I found myself in a cold, dark room fully composed of nothing but sterile, gleaming silver metal. A single lightbulb hung from the center of the ceiling, flickering periodically between bathing the small room in low light, just bright enough to barely see my shoes underneath me.

I sat up carefully, trying to dull the pounding headache rattling my skull. Everything around me was blurry, and even the small amount of light I did have only stung my sore eyes further.

Electing to ignore the fading and pulsing of the room around me, I tried to raise a hand to hold my head, only, I realized I couldn't. 

My hands were tied down tightly to the arms of an old, wooden chair that I sat in, similar ropes also wrapped around my torso and ankles,  biting into my skin with every subtle shift I made.

  I couldn't move an inch. I was in a strange, dangerous place I didn't recognize, with no way out, and I couldn't move even an inch.

  I was going to die in here.

  I'll never be able to see my dad or sister ever again.

  Something wet began trailing down the sides of my face, and a deep ache that I couldn't swallow settled in the back of my throat.

  Great. Now I'm crying too, as if that will help anything.

  Something abruptly shifted in the corner of the room. There, at the very edge of the light, I could almost make out a bare, ratty mattress haphazardly thrown in the corner of the cold room.

There was a small lump lying in the middle of the mattress, loosely covered up with dark, dingy blankets. The lump moved once again, shifting clumsily around on the musty thing. It seemed to grow more and more agitated as time grew on, its sluggish movements gradually turning sharp and rapid.

  I leaned against the back of the splintered chair and pushed my feet against the floor, doing my best to try and shift the chair backwards and farther away from the mattress as quietly as possible.

  I would have almost succeeded, had one of the nearly withered legs of the chair not caught on— and scraped against— a chip in the metal floor and groaned loudly.

  The lump on the bed stilled almost instantly, quickly crawling away to curl up tightly in the corner of the room.

A harsh cough emitted from the tiny little lump  and the sharp sound of steel chains clanging painfully against the metal floor bounced around the room.

The lump coughed again and sniffed lightly, whimpering, before a couple small, bare feet accidentally stuck out from beneath the blankets.

  My breath caught in my chest. "Sis? Is that you?"

  The small lump didn't answer right away, instead turning over to face me. Even in the darkness surrounding us, it was impossible not to recognize those innocent green eyes I knew so well, as well as the pure fear reflecting in them.

  Oh, thank god.

At least she was safe.

  "Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Are your wrists okay?" I looked her over quickly, immediately noticing each and every small cut and bruise that littered her small body.

She shook her head, ignoring me. "Where are we?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, she coughed again. "I don't remember anything, what happened?"

Her breathing started to pick up, coming in faster and shorter bursts as she finally took a look around the room we were in and realized exactly what kind of situation we were in.

"Hey, hey, look at me!" I shifted the chair over as close as I could to her, and leaned as forward as the rope around my chest would let me.

  "I don't know where we are, but it's going to be alright. Okay? It's going to be just fine. Don't worry." I stared down at her with the most earnest look I could conjure up at the moment.

"I'm scared–" She hiccuped, the tears forming in her eyes pouring over in streams down her face. "I don't want to die!"

"No, hey! Look at me. You aren't going to die, alright? We'll be okay." I tried my best to hold my own tears in, giving her a thin, watery smile.

  No, we won't.

  She sucked in short breaths, trying to calm herself down as her tears continued running their track down her face.

  She knew I was lying.

  "What are we going to do now?"

  I shook my head, "Look, we're going to find a way out of here somehow and go back home, find Dad, and then everything's going to be okay."

"How do you know that?" She sobbed, pulling at the thick handcuffs cutting into her wrists.

  I don't.

  I sighed. "I don't, but I do know that you are the strongest little girl I have ever met. Hell, you might even be stronger than me." I chuckled at myself for a second, and looked at her pointedly. "If anyone can get through this, we can. We're family, remember? And what does family do?"

She sniffed, shaking her head as she laughed exasperatedly, "'Family doesn't quit', I know, I know."

  "That's right. Now, can you get those chains off?"

She nodded, moving closer to the wall where the chains were anchored. "I can try."

"Good, I'll try to loosen up these ropes while you do that. Be quiet, we don't know if someone's  listening."

  I turned my attention back to the ropes around my wrists, trying to pull as hard as I could against them to slide the ropes off my hands. 

I kept wrenching at the ropes until my wrists inevitably started bleeding profusely from the severe rope burns I was rubbing into my skin with every single tug. 

Eventually, my blood soaked the frayed rope enough to finally slide one of my hands out from under it. I yelped loudly, whether it was in pain or relief, I really couldn't remember.

I used my freed hand to make quick work of getting my other wrist undone, and moved down  to my ankles at the feet of the chair and the rope around my chest.

  When the last of the ropes finally fell off around me, I limply stumbled down to the floor, barely catching myself on my hands and knees.

The metal floor bit into my knees unmercifully as I tried to crawl over to my sister, even as the room continued to spin around me and I could hear my breath heavy in my own ears.

  By the time I made it over to her, she had already busted one of the rusty pins on the shambled shackles, and had worked one of her wrists out despite the tight fit.

I grabbed the remaining cuff and yanked at the crumbling pin still stuck through the holes. After a few good bangs against the wall, the pin finally crumpled and gave way to open the shackle.

My sister smiled up at me sweetly in thanks, still rubbing at her sore, red wrists. She gasped audibly when she finally got a good look at me up close. "You're bleeding!" She looked up at me worriedly.

  I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. It's okay."

Finally trying to push myself up onto my feet, I had to lean heavily against the cold wall to my right, still unable to hold my own weight. My vision was still swimming in my peripheral vision and I couldn't stop my eyes from falling closed any longer.

  I was jolted back to attention as soon as I realized my sister was trying to shake me back awake. "...ake up! Come on, get up!"

I blinked at her slowly, my voice heavy with breath. "It's okay, I think I just blacked out for a second. I'm fine now." I tried to gather my bearings before I finally pushed myself off the wall, grabbing her hand and running my hand along the dark wall.

"There's gotta be a door here somewhere, we need to get out of here-" She interrupted me, tugging on my arm and pulling me over to the other side of the dark room.

"Look, here! There's light creeping in from outside." She pressed both of her hands against the outline in the wall, gesturing for me to help her.

I braced my shoulder against the wall and helped her push, hearing the metal squeal and shift until we eventually heard a loud 'click', and a piece of the wall swung open out into a well-lit hallway.

  The hallway was unbelievably wide, either direction of the metal hall seeming to extend for miles. We looked up and down the hallway, trying to figure out which turn would lead us back outside.

  Suddenly, a large bang rang out, startling the both of us and echoing all the way down the hallway, like the sound of a door being swung open hard enough to hit the wall behind it and put a crack in it. As soon as the echo faded off, I could hear the unmistakable sound of resounding footsteps get louder and louder as they got closer to the two of us.

Quickly mentally steeling myself, I grabbed my sister's wrist tight and took off down the hallway in the opposite direction, turning right down the hall as fast as I could go in the state I was in.

My sister was barely keeping up, still trailing a few steps behind my pace, her long brown hair flowing behind her as she kept looking over her shoulder trying to find the source of the footsteps.

The footsteps only got louder, breaking into a sprint as the sound seemed to come from almost all directions around us.

I ran down three more hallways, each identical to the last, with no idea of where we were or where I was going. I just knew we had to lose whatever– whoever it was chasing us.

I took another left turn at the end of the next hallway and skidded to a complete stop, my sister almost slamming directly into the back of me. Before us was a blank metal wall, the hallway leading directly into a dead end.

The footsteps were closing in more and more by the second, echoing in both of our ears as I turned around and ducked into the other hallway.

  Please just let us get out of this alive.

  A fresh wave of dread hit me as I glanced back just in time to see a large shadow wrapping over the walls around us. I tried to run even faster than before, pumping more adrenaline through my veins.

There was another right turn at the end of the hall, and I could finally see bright light pouring into the hall. It was sunlight. I almost cried out in relief as I quickly turned the corner.

Unfortunately for me, I turned the corner just a little too fast, and tripped down the corridor, falling directly forward onto the ground and pulling my little sister down with me.

  I couldn't get back up fast enough.

   The footsteps caught up with us, and I could feel a large hand wrap around the back of my collar as our chaser yanked me up to eye level and turned me around to face them.

Three men dressed in black stood behind us, each wearing a mask to cover their faces. The one holding me by the collar scoffed and leaned in closer to me, growling.

  "You think you're so clever, don't you?"

  I could almost sense him smiling murderously behind his mask.

  Well, this wasn't going to end well.

  He laughed loudly in my face, using his free arm to yank me closer by the shoulder, digging his nails into my arm. "Well, that's alright. I guess I'll just have to teach you a lesson, now won't I?"

  My heart leapt into my throat, tears pouring from my eyes for the second time that day. I begged him, shaking my head slowly. "Please don't, please!" I sobbed dejectedly, "What do you want from us?"

  He only chuckled again, "You'll see."

  I winced as his nails drew blood from my arm and he continued to laugh as if someone had just told him the funniest joke. "Maybe I'll take you where we took ol' daddy of yours too, just for kicks."

  My eyes widened in terror and I cried even harder.

  They... killed him, didn't they? Dad was dead. We were alone now.

They're going to kill us too. This...this is how I'm going to die.

  One of the other men almost giggled in glee, walking over to my sister and roughly pulling her up by her arm. She cried out loudly.

  "She'll be coming with us too."

  "No, don't!" I screamed.

The third man came over to laugh in our faces, using his nails to scratch at my face, just to watch me bleed as I whimpered. He watched joyfully as we were dragged back into the long, dark hallway.

My sister was screaming at the top of her lungs, trying her best to kick and scratch at the man pulling her in any way possible.

  "Stop it! Let her go!"

  I pushed and pulled as hard as I could on the vice-like grip the other man had on my arm as he dragged me down the empty corridor.

  As we reached the end of the hall, there was another break in the path, where the corridor continued to both the left and the right.

The man pulling my sister promptly turned to the right, while the man pulling on my arm continued down the left hallway, almost dislocating my shoulder in his efforts. I screamed out in pain, pulling away from his grasp.

  They were separating us.

  Me and my sister were on our way straight to hell, and I couldn't even protect her, let alone myself.

  Who knows what they were going to do to her. 

To me.

  I screamed as loud as I could for as long as I could, hoping that at least someone would hear me before my voice finally gave out.

  The last, horrible thought to cross my mind was a single hope that they would just kill my sister first, so she wouldn't have to suffer, like me.

  It wasn't her fault we were here, it was mine. It wasn't fair. She didn't deserve this.

  I wished everything would just stop.

   And then... it did.

   The man had finally stopped dragging me down the hall. His grip hadn't loosened, no, but it felt almost frozen.

  I couldn't hear my sister's screams echoing down the hall any longer, even the ringing in my ears had settled down.

   I felt almost…

  Peaceful?

  My body felt like it was being weighed down by something heavy.

My eyelids eventually started to droop shut, and I felt myself fall through the floor beneath me. It felt as if something was cradling me, welcoming me, before everything around me finally faded to black once again.