hurtfortea

[hurtfortea]

Give me whumpees who are angry, dysregulated, and horrible during recovery.

I love a quiet and anxious whumpee as much as the next person, but whumpees that are explosive and upset hit so much harder for me. It's really difficult to be a nice person when you're dealing with so much mental and/or physical trauma.* Pain makes you a bitch. It's frustrating. It hurts. At some point, whumpee is going to snap.

Shoving people away. Yelling. Violent outbursts, throwing things, reckless behaviour. Caretaker doesn't know what to do or how to leave. Whumpee doesn't know how to stop or make it any better.

They're fighting, again, and whumpee is yelling and shouting because they're trying to make themselves understood, but they can't find the words to articulate it so they have to show the feeling instead. Caretaker is tired of being on the receiving end of it so they're shouting back, which just makes both of them more upset.

And then whumpee finally manages to put the thing into words, stunning them both into silence, before whumpee starts apologising profusely. The whole time they'd just wanted to be understood but couldn't explain themselves and being vulnerable is terrifying and "I never wanted to hurt you too."

Idk just give me dysregulated whumpees.

*this is not saying you cannot be a nice person with trauma, or that trauma makes you a bad person. this is saying that when you're so overwhelmed and constantly in fight or flight, it can be very difficult to be rational or considerate. it happens. that's ok.

[hurtfortea]

Quick vampire tip:

"Look into my eyes": nobody says that. If they're a hunter they immediately know you're a vampire and that you're trying to hypnotize them.

"My eyes are up here": excellent. Actually gets people, frequently even hunters, to look into your eyes long enough for you to enthrall them. Powered by shame.

[hurtfortea]

Emotional Walls Your Character Has Built (And What Might Finally Break Them)

(How your character defends their soft core and what could shatter it) Because protection becomes prison real fast.

✶ Sarcasm as armor. (Break it with someone who laughs gently, not mockingly.) ✶ Hyper-independence. (Break it with someone who shows up even when they’re told not to.) ✶ Stoicism. (Break it with a safe space to fall apart.) ✶ Flirting to avoid intimacy. (Break it with real vulnerability they didn’t see coming.) ✶ Ghosting everyone. (Break it with someone who won’t take silence as an answer.) ✶ Lying for convenience. (Break it with someone who sees through them but stays anyway.) ✶ Avoiding touch. (Break it with accidental, gentle contact that feels like home.) ✶ Oversharing meaningless things to hide real depth. (Break it with someone who asks the second question.) ✶ Overworking. (Break it with forced stillness and the terrifying sound of their own thoughts.) ✶ Pretending not to care. (Break it with a loss they can’t fake their way through.) ✶ Avoiding mirrors. (Break it with a quiet compliment that hits too hard.) ✶ Turning every conversation into a joke. (Break it with someone who doesn’t laugh.) ✶ Being everyone’s helper. (Break it when someone asks what they need, and waits for an answer.) ✶ Constantly saying “I’m fine.” (Break it when they finally scream that they’re not.) ✶ Running. Always running. (Break it with someone who doesn’t chase, but doesn’t leave, either.) ✶ Intellectualizing every feeling. (Break it with raw, messy emotion they can’t logic away.) ✶ Trying to be the strong one. (Break it when someone sees the weight they’re carrying, and offers to help.) ✶ Hiding behind success. (Break it when they succeed and still feel empty.) ✶ Avoiding conflict at all costs. (Break it when silence causes more pain than the truth.) ✶ Focusing on everyone else’s healing but their own. (Break it when they hit emotional burnout.)

[hurtfortea]

Sleep Deprivation

@medwhumpmay Day 2

Medwhump May Masterlist

content: sleep deprivation, torture, pet whump, shock collar / electrocution, intimate whumper, unrealistic sci-fi torture tech

-

I am so tired that I am going to die. They’d had the thought before, but with each passing day, it shifted more and more literal in Whumpee’s increasingly-addled mind. How many days could someone go without sleep before it killed them?

All they knew for sure was that it wasn’t four.

Had it been four? It was so hard to keep anything straight.

Though Whumpee laid still, sprawled on the floor, the room seemed to spin around them, their chains twisting like snakes. Somewhere in the back of their mind, they knew nothing was really moving, but–

The shock collar sent a jolt of electricity through the aching contact point in their neck as the monitors in them sensed them dozing off, seizing their whole body up in pain for a second, before they fell flat again like a dead fish. They didn’t even jump at it anymore: the only reaction was whatever the electricity itself did to their body. Whether it was that they were too tired to move a muscle or that they’d just gotten used to it, they couldn’t tell.

The urge to sleep was unbearable. It was all they could think about. It was all they were.

“J’swuhslee,” they mumbled unintelligibly, their mouth barely moving.

The shocks were getting more frequent, now. Whumpee didn’t even try to fight it anymore. They wanted to sleep more than they wanted to avoid the shocks. Even if it was only for a second. A second of sleep, a second of pain, over and over. Maybe if they did that for hours, they’d feel like they’d taken a nap.

Some distant part of them heard the door open and close, the side of their head pressed against the cool, hard floor. They couldn’t tell whether it was real or not until–

“There’s my darling,” Whumper cooed. Whumpee soon felt themself lifted up in her arms, carried over somewhere. Their eyes drifted closed.

Whumper chuckled softly as Whumpee’s body seized again with another shock, like they were a cute animal doing something amusing. “Aw, sleepy, are we?”

“Please,” Whumpee managed, putting every ounce of the little effort they had to spare into making a real, understandable word.

“I just love what this has done for you.” Whumpee was laying on something soft, now. Their body on the couch, their head in Whumper’s lap, their collar carefully positioned to not touch her. They didn’t even have the strength to try. “No more fighting, no more talking back. Just my good, sweet pet. I should keep you like this forever.”

“No,” they whispered.

Whumper laughed, her hand stroking gently down the side of their body. “Well, I’ll have to let you sleep at some point. Would you like that, pet? Nod.”

It wasn’t much, but Whumpee’s head bobbed slightly, and that was good enough. Please. Sleep.

Another shock. Tears leaked onto Whumper’s jeans where their head rested.

“Mmm,” Whumper hummed pleasantly, “I’m thinking an hour here, an hour there. Maybe two if you’re very good. Not too much at once, never enough to get you back to baseline, oh no, but enough to tide you over. They can be like treats! And you’ll be grateful for it all the same, won’t you?”

“Yss,” Whumpee slurred.

A hand snaked to their neck, fingers trailing lightly up their back, one pressing into the back of the collar so it could read her print.

“Go ahead, sweet thing. One hour.”

-

Oneshots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

@paperprinxe

@what-if-i-just-did

Everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

@whumpy-wyrms

@all-hail-pigeons

@wolfeyedwitch

@starfields08000

@jumpywhumpywriter

[hurtfortea]

Whump idea

Whumper has the ability to make hyper realistic simulations with time dilation. They use this to create simulations to torture whumpee. Like an inescapable building on fire, or being lost in the woods while being hunted by wolves. But the worst ones are the ones where whumpee is rescued. Caretaker and the others come and break whumpee out, bring them home, whumpee recovers goes to therapy, falls in love, moves on with their life. And then one day the world just stops. Like someone pressed pause. And they wake up. They're strapped to the chair they thought they escaped a year ago. They've only been in this simulation for a few days.

And it starts all over again. The simulations where the only escape is death but not really because they never really die and it never really ends. Another simulation where they get rescued. Another lie. Over and over and over.

And what about when caretaker[s] actually rescues them. Whumpee dosnt believe they're real. They're just shut down. They refuse to eat, or speak, or sleep. They've figured out that whumper only stops the rescue simulation when whumpee genuinely believes that it's real and that they've escaped.

[hurtfortea]

Thinking about recapture today...

[hurtfortea]

hello, whump writer. i officially grant you permission to write unrealistic whump. yes I know there are posts everywhere telling you that you can't write it that way. yes I know some people just prefer realistic whump. yes I know you want to please everyone. however please consider: I don't care, and write what you want to write. i love you.

[hurtfortea]

Caretaker vs Brainwashed Whumpee

But think about it like this.

Whumpee has forgotten everything. They might as well be someone else.

Caretaker knows how to make them remember, but Whumpee doesn't want that. If they remember, the person they are now dies.

Caretaker knows they'll be happy once they remember.

But would it be wrong to "kill" this new version of them?

[hurtfortea]

Keeping fit

Bookish - Prev chapter: Dark academics - pt 1 here

-

Roman stopped next to her chair in front of the windows of his library, wistfully sighing as he looked out over the forest, taking a sip of his coffee. "With being cooped up like this, I kinda want to pick up running again. I miss it."

"Yeah, I get what you mean." Dani resisted an eyeroll. If he felt cooped up, where did that leave her.

"Do you want to join me?"

Dani looked up, surprised, searching his face for any gleeful malice. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'll even give you a head start.

Her brow furrowed.

Roman smirked, that familiar spark returning to his eyes, and turned to look outside again. "And when you hear the first gunshot, I'll start to follow."

She sighed and focused on her book again. Or at least, pretended to; Roman standing next to her deserved all her focus, in case he had more plans. "No, thanks."

"You sure? I'll deactivate your ankle band. It's the best shot you have of getting out of here."

"And yet you willingly give it to me." Always a catch. Literally, in this case probably.

"What, you think you can't outrun me?"

Dani looked up, studied him. Before all this, yes, sure. Then again, she had underestimated Roman before and at this point, the accumulated injuries piled up and would only slow her down. Still, with Roman on her trail, gunshots spurring her on, and the scent of freedom enticing her, maybe.

"You have an entire basement," she deflected. "Maybe turn that torture dungeon into a home gym instead?"

"Okay so... wanna go down for a workout then?"

“Also no.”

Roman made a frustrated sound. “Well, we’re going to do one of these now. And since you keep saying you want to go outside, we’re going out.” He turned his back on her and set his mug down with a heavy thud on the table. He glanced back at her before he stormed out. "Meet me at the porch."

Dani grunted out an equally frustrated sigh. Reluctantly put her book down and followed. Better to have a shot at something than getting beaten down in the basement… Even if there probably was a catch, the odds of which only increased now that she walked past his office and heard him rummaging about.

She waited for him on the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams, arms crossed like a grumpy teen being forced to go on a family walk on her one and only day off.

Roman joined her with a smile. And he was holding a gun.

He caught her staring. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a rifle, but our hunt doesn’t have to be all traditional, now does it?”

Hunt. Her stomach churned. “Do I get a gun too?” she tried, and hated how fragile her voice sounded because she already knew there was no such chance. “To, you know, even the odds, raise the stakes?”

He let out a barking laugh as his only reply. With a side-glance and a smirk he stepped past her onto the lawn, leaving her stranded on the porch. Then he turned, tiny remote in hand, and with a flourishing press of the button, deactivated her ankle band. Like he was unlocking his fucking car from a distance.

Carefully, she took her very first steps into the garden to follow. Roman stepped over the flower beds and pushed through a gap in the bushes towards the forest stretching out beyond the mansion. She could just zip past him, fuck his head start. But the gun in his hand stopped her and so she casually joined him.

“Rules are simple,” he said, putting the gun behind his waistband. “Get away, and you win.”

“And if I lose?”

“Don’t start with a defeatist attitude.” He turned towards her and brushed a patronizing finger over her chin. “But yeah, if you lose… well, actually, not much changes. You’ll stay here. A little more banged up than before.”

She tilted her head away from his hand, glared into the forest. Fine. Then she’d win.

“Okay—” he started.

And Dani took it as her go sign and kicked off.

But before she could even rush past the first tree, a familiar pain shot through her and with a surprised scream she just about caught herself from falling head-first into the leaves and crashed to her knee instead.

A sigh sounded above her. A hand rested on her shoulder that clawed into her shirt and pulled her down onto her back.

"Not so fast there, I didn't even say 'go!' yet... Jeez, I told you I'd give you a head start, what's the hurry?"

He wiggled the remote to her electric ankle device in her face and with each shake she practically saw her chances dwindle.

"Here, I'll even give you an adrenaline boost." He suddenly shifted towards her, roughly grabbed her by the front of her shirt with two fists and half-pulled her towards him. One hand fell away, and a distinct click made her heart skip a beat. The muzzle of the gun dug into the underside of her chin, tilting her head up, wide eyes finding his amused stare. "Now don’t let me catch you… cause when I do…" he said in an excited growl and hummed a laugh, "I'll put a bullet in you."

An icy claw grabbed her tight and for a second, Dani didn't move. Then he let go of her and she fell back on her ass. Roman straightened over her, aiming the gun at her leg and looked her straight in the eyes with a cold stare that caught her breath in her throat.

"Go."

She immediately scuttled off, almost on hands and feet, nearly slipping on the leaves as she straightened into a run and slalomed away between the trees.

Not even ten seconds later, the first gunshot sounded.

And something exploded right next to her head, pieces of bark scattering, hitting her in the face before she could even bring up her arms.

"Jesus!" She flinched hard.

“Better run, girl!”

Heavier footsteps followed behind her, sending a new flare of panic through her that made her increase her pace.

Okay. Yes. Fuck. He was serious. She couldn’t see him and she refused to look back as she probably wouldn’t like what she’d see and she needed to make sure she wouldn’t fall straight into the bushes. But she could hear him. And he wasn’t subtle.

There was nothing in these woods she could use to her advantage. It wasn’t that dense, with open spaces where he could easily spot her, or worse, take his time to take aim. And the constant light slope made her knees and ankles twist and correct for every spot. Exhausting. And painful. She jumped over a thick root and vowed to not do that again, nearly crashing forward and having to make an immense effort to keep upright. But she couldn’t slow down to a light jog either as he was right on her tail.

She crashed through the shrubbery, hoping to shake him off and disappear into a denser part. Dipped under a slope, and kept walking in a crouch to catch a small break. Behind her, above her, the footsteps came to a halt as well, kicking up leaves with every step as he walked along the edge of the slope, looking out, searching for her.

She waited until he’d jump off; maybe she could zip away in the other direction. With bated breath she tensed up, the silence unnerving, listening hard for a click of the gun or footsteps signalling he’d continue on.

Instead it was her own scream that pierced the silence and gave her away. She clamped both hands around her ankle, the source of her agony as always, as a sudden jolt of pain zapped through her. It disappeared as fast as it had come and she bolted from her hiding spot before he’d paralyze her in place.

“Goddamn asshole!” she shouted.

“Keep venting. Makes me know you’re close.”

Another gunshot shattered the air. Again. And this time she felt something white hot zip across her arm. It forced a cry from her, followed by an enthused little “Ohh?” behind her through the trees. As she ran, she clamped a hand around her upper arm. Blood stuck to her palm. Not enough to make her worry. Just a scratch, just a graze.

Spurred on by this near hit, more shots cracked, making her duck and wince with almost every step, and she shot in the complete other direction as she was sure one bullet zipped right past her ear.

And all of a sudden, she screeched to a halt.

A tall fence loomed ahead of her.

“No…” She stepped closer. Slick, dark green bars towered over her, crowned with sturdy spikes that were waiting to slice her stomach and legs open. That is… if she could even climb the tall bars. She wiped her hands on her jeans, leaving a streak of red on the one side. Almost 9 feet, she estimated. With no footholds or raster, pretty useless. Still, she closed her hands around the bars, jumped up—but immediately slipped back down.

“So you found the edges of your cage, hm?”

She shoved herself away from the bars and hid, squatted down behind some bushes and slid her hands over her face, exhaling hard into her palms.

“Come on, love, I wanted a workout. Run.”

Run?! Run where?  She never had a chance and he fucking knew it. Of course there was a catch. He’d never let her roam free across hundreds of acres of woodland with a chance to slip out. Of course he only let her have the illusion of freedom within a cage.

“There.”

A gunshot exploded. Sand burst up in a cloud of dust just a few meters next to her. She shot out from her hiding place like a startled rabbit. Just like he intended, doing just as he wanted. She growled under her breath.

There must be an exit somewhere. There had to be! His car! There was a road leading up to the mansion, he had to be able to get off the property through a gate. Some part where the fence wasn’t that high. She ran along the iron bars. At some point, she just had to find it.

She stumbled over the uneven terrain, keeping a distance from the fence so Roman wouldn’t be able to follow her that easily, but always keeping the iron in sight and to her right.

Another bolt of pain shot through her leg. She kept her scream to a grunt. Electricity. No bullet, thank god. But it messed with her pace. Her foot slammed against a protruding rock. Her ankle doubled. Something sparked and shot a different ray of pain through her ankle. In full sprint she couldn’t stop herself. The injured foot hit the ground again, her full weight slammed on it. Something tore. She winced, dipped forward, the ground closed in and she slammed hard against the foliage.

“Got you.”

Panic surged through her as his voice sounded closer than she’d anticipated. She pushed off, her hands and arms all scraped up, kicking off with her good leg. But as soon as her weight landed on her twisted ankle, she crumpled with a shriek. Slow footsteps brushed towards her over the leaves. He no longer had to run. Just followed her casually. Getting closer. A whimper escaped her. She tried again. Desperately trying to ignore the soft chuckle right behind her. Limping, falling, crawling. Then something heavy crashed against her back, pushing her down.

Only when he bent over her and pushed her onto her back, she started to fight back. Arms flailed, hands clawed aiming for his face. But all her struggles fell away when something cold and unyielding pressed against her shoulder.

“Got you,” Roman said again, a wicked grin on his face now. “Ah…” He twisted the gun away, still scraping it over her heaving chest. “You’ve already got a scar there…” He teased it over to her other shoulder, hummed, then pressed it to the very side of her abdomen.

“N—”

“Now for our price.”

And a gunshot rang out signalling his victory.

-

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpy-daydreams

@whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna @alsolucakairomi @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumppmuhw

@withdrawingramen @theforeverdyingperson @treasureguardingdragon @theorangestofjuices @chaotic-orphan @artfulbok @ehobep @theplutolvr

[hurtfortea]

subtle but delightful whump trope: caretaker reaches out to hold whumpee’s hand and whumpee just numbly pushes her wrist into it because shes so used to being tugged around by it

[hurtfortea]

This has probably been done before, but I love the idea of a lab Whumper who is trying so so hard to be ethical. They would absolutely subject themself to any of the procedures they’re subjecting Whumpee to, but they don’t have [whatever trait whumper is studying].

They gave Whumpee the chance to join the study voluntarily, but when they refused, Whumper had to take matters into their own hands. This research will benefit the whole world, Whumpee’s consent and freedom aren’t more important than that… right? Right. They’re doing the right thing.

Whumper puts so much work into making their living conditions as good as possible. Spends time with them to make sure their social needs are being fulfilled, lets them get an hour or more of sunlight almost every day, lets them choose what kinds of clothes they want to wear and what kinds of foods they want to eat. What brand of soap is in the bathroom connected to their cell room.

They’ll turn themself in once all of this is over. They’ve been keeping very detailed records of everything they’ve been doing, including all the crimes. They fully plan on losing their freedom permanently, and it’s a price they’re willing to pay. Their freedom is not worth more than the world, either.

Whumper always explains what’s going to happen in each procedure unless Whumpee asks them not to. They offer pain-killers and sedatives anytime a procedure might be uncomfortable or painful, unless they absolutely need Whumpee to feel it.

They plan out little wins for Whumpee. Ways for them to feel closer to escape, to feel in control. Little hidey-holes in their cell and ‘accidentally’ leaving things where Whumpee can grab them so they feel like they have some things that are theirs. Whumper ‘lets things slip’ about where they are. Whumper ‘decides against’ certain procedures when Whumpee begs or does something clever, and though they never actually planned on doing the procedures in the first place, it keeps Whumpee contented.

They give Whumpee updates on their family when asked. They push down the urge to distance themself, day after day. It’s tempting, to see Whumpee as less than human. It would make this easier on their conscience. But their conscience shouldn’t be eased, and if they’re going to abduct someone the very least they could do is remember always that they are a person and they don’t deserve any of this.

Unfortunately, it’s not about ‘deserve.’ It’s about ‘need,’ and the world needs this research.

[hurtfortea]

"You don't know me. I'm not the same person anymore."

"That's okay. I'll get to know you again."

[hurtfortea]

Every day, Whumpee is brought to a room with a bolted chair, a tray of tools, and a mirror.

They're tortured to a brutal degree. Whumpee screams, sobbing through the pain, “Why!? Why are you doing th-this? Just tell me what you w-want!”

Their captors never speak; whumpee's never even heard their voices. Sometimes, they grab their face and force them to look into the mirror bleeding, shaking, barely conscious.

Then the moment ends, and it starts all over again.

On the other side of the glass sits Caretaker, watching while unharmed and being questioned.

Every time they don’t have an answer, whumpee takes the hit.

[hurtfortea]

brainwashing tropes are fantastic and I love a deep POV whumpee fighting against their own mind but I just had a vision of the team, weapons raised against a feral opponent wearing the face of their friend, turning towards caretaker/leader/whoever knows them best. "you're the only one they'll listen to. Tell them to stand down."

caretakers with hoarse, pleading voices, hands raised in surrender. "it's me, you know me! why are we fighting? you don't want to hurt us!"

leaders who hate their authority, commanding a firm, no-nonsense tone. "weapons down, Whumpee. that's an order."

brawn characters, arms outstretched, speaking plainly. "come on. y'know i don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to."

the rest of the team waits with bated breath. if this doesn't work, blood will be spilled. their last hope of getting Whumpee back relies on one character's words. that tense, pleading standoff, conflict in their eyes.

does it work? or does it take a fight to wake their friend from the nightmare?

[hurtfortea]

brainwashing tropes are fantastic and I love a deep POV whumpee fighting against their own mind but I just had a vision of the team, weapons raised against a feral opponent wearing the face of their friend, turning towards caretaker/leader/whoever knows them best. "you're the only one they'll listen to. Tell them to stand down."

caretakers with hoarse, pleading voices, hands raised in surrender. "it's me, you know me! why are we fighting? you don't want to hurt us!"

leaders who hate their authority, commanding a firm, no-nonsense tone. "weapons down, Whumpee. that's an order."

brawn characters, arms outstretched, speaking plainly. "come on. y'know i don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to."

the rest of the team waits with bated breath. if this doesn't work, blood will be spilled. their last hope of getting Whumpee back relies on one character's words. that tense, pleading standoff, conflict in their eyes.

does it work? or does it take a fight to wake their friend from the nightmare?

[hurtfortea]

I don't want too hunt him for sport because I hate him I want to hunt him for sport because he's beautiful, breakable, and has the disposition of a frightened deer. We are not the same.

[hurtfortea]

AitCM Day 30

being carried |  hyperventilating | waking up disoriented |  “I just need a hug”

Contains: broken bones, rescue and caretaking

-previous-

Fitz knows he has to move. Staying in one place is a terrible idea, any amount of creatures could be out here, but his legs hurt when he tries to move them, and breathing makes his ribs ache. So he waits for the pain to fade. Hours pass as he listens to the sounds of the forest. It’s comforting. Even if he doesn’t make it, this is a lot better than dying in Martin’s home.

Shutting his eyes, he lets himself slip into a light doze, only to be woken minutes later by the sound of footsteps crunching in the foliage. Fitz jolts awake, his eyes snapping open. His muscles tense all at once, his bones throbbing. Choking back a cry of pain, he rolls onto his front and begins raking his nails through the dirt as he scrambles for purchase. He can’t get his legs under him. He is not getting caught by another human, he can’t-

“Hey!” A voice shouts. That’s it. He’s finished. Throwing his arms over his head, he pulls his limbs as close to himself as he can and drags his wings over himself. His heart thunders in his chest, his breath staggering. “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” the voice continues, closer now. Fitz squeezes his eyes shut, the air coming too fast in and out of his nose. The dizziness sets in quickly. He jumps when a hand flattens against his upper back, between his shoulder blades. “I’m not going to hurt you brother, relax.”

Brother? Tentatively pulling back an arm, Fitz looks over his shoulder. The man standing over him has warm brown skin and black wings. Fitz instantly relaxes.

“There you go,” the man says, smiling slightly. “What’s your name?”

“Fitz.”

“Ah, after Elfitzia, yes?”

Fitz nods.

“Well I’m Lurie. It’s good to meet you. Can you stand?”

He shakes his head.

“Well then, you alright if I lift you?”

“I…I guess?”

“No worries, I’ll be careful.” He says, moving in front of him to lift him from the armpits. Ducking down, he takes his arm and pulls him up across his shoulders. The air rushes from Fitz the moment Lurie straightens up, but he can’t complain. He’s the safest he’s felt in ages. He’s back with his people at last.