#[tw: blindfold]

[cassieloveswhump]

Blindfold your whumpees.

Tie their hands together over their head, and put those bindings onto a hook dangling from the roof so that their hands are secured above their head and they can't move away, then blindfold them. Leave them there until they're so tired they'd fall asleep if they could, then beat them up. Punch them in the stomach, and watch them be unable to curl up to protect themself, or use a crowbar if you want more force. Watch them work themself into a panic trying to anticipate and brace for the next blow, then strike at where they're most vulnerable. Rinse and repeat until satisfied.

Bonus marks if whumpee's arms are secured in a way that forces them to stand on their tiptoes in order to relieve the weight pulling on their shoulders, and with every blow they take they lose their balance and have to frantically resume their tiptoe position before their shoulder gets dislocated.

[one-piece-aus]

just read your whumtober 2022 day 28 (the katakuri x reader one where reader get kidnapped and sold off) and i was just wondering if u have a part 2 for it ? if not, could u please make one😭😭😭 it’s fine if u don’t wanna xx

have a good day/night!!

Ahoy! Once again, thank you for coming to the askbox to request for part 2. Hope you don't mind me using it for Whumptober, heh. I might've rushed finishing it since I got stuck and I'm falling behind on the days so if you want another part, lmk

You can read part 1 here

Whumptober Day 18

Katakuri x Reader

"Who knew the Charlottles had pretty women on their crew," One of your buyers laughed.

"Maybe you were just paying attention to their men," you smirked, looking at the person despite the blindfold covering your eyes.

"Why you-"

"Enough Tamaki." Sounds like their boss took control of the room, hard to ignore since he had a booming voice. "You need to get back to cleaning the deck."

"Awww, but I thought we bought her for a little fun."

"We are to deliver her to Doflamingo, if his plan succeeds, the government will reward him handsomely, in turn, we'll be rewarded by him for contributing."

"Doflamingo?" You knew of the Heavenly Demon Warlord, his unmerciful wrath toward anyone outside Dressrosa. He'd be a threat if he didn't keep to himself in his lavish country. "That birdbrain, he's all squawk and no dive," you said in a bored tone.

"Why is she still talking?"

"She kept eating the tape boss."

You heard the boss sigh before footsteps were followed out of the room. Silence is the only thing that stays with you in the room, allowing your mind to settle in the horror of what their boss said.

They were taking you to Doflamingo for a plan. A plan where if he succeeds the government is going to reward him, but he's already a Warlord with his own island, what would he do to get more out of... Is he... Is he planning to take out the entire Big Mom Pirates?

You wiggle your way around, trying lift the blindfold from your eyes when something impacted the ship and sent you crashing against the bars. The bars felt warm and gooey, strange, and now your head felt light before it hits against the hard floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"[Y/n]!" Katakuri called for you after entering the cell hall. 

He rushed past the cells, briefly scanning each one for you, and he almost skipped over the one you were in. Haulting in his tracks, he looked into the cell and saw you laying sideways on the ground, your back to him. Relief washed over him and he grabbed onto the bars to move it out of his way when he noticed the bars were a little sticky.

He glanced at the bars, seeing blood on one. His eyes trailed over to you, a small patch of damp hair on the back of head. Fear threw Katakuri's relief out the window, he yanked the cell wall out of its place and tossed it to the side. Kneeling down, he slid you into his arms bridal style and rushed back to the crew he came with.

"Please, stay with me, [Y/n]."

Tag: (The ones who asked for part 2 in comments of the last part) @aceduchessdragoness @ijadedoll @devikaary

[ensikerralla]

a redraw of Hugo Simberg's The Wounded Angel

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Riot Kings, page 138

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[3-2-whump]

(Re)Living a Nightmare, part 2

<prev next>

You're still here? Okay, it's not gonna get any better for our poor boy. Do read and heed the tags/CW.

Basic Summary if You Decide to Skip

Also please skim this chapter and this chapter if you haven't already, because they will be referenced heavily in the story coming up

TW/CW: rape/noncon, bound and gagged and blindfolded whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, knife play, neither safe nor sane nor consensual, blood (lots of blood), victim blaming, internalized victim blaming, whumpee and whumper unknowingly triggering each other, blunt force trauma to the head (face), panic

NOTE: The inner thoughts and opinions expressed within do not align with those of the author, who themself has never and would never condone such thoughts and opinions in real life. Reader Discretion is advised.

All Thomas asked of him was to change into clothes he wouldn’t mind replacing, which usually meant that whatever Khaled wore would be torn/burned/ stained so irreparably that it’d just be thrown away after. Already based on that request, Khaled could guess he was in for a rough night. He had no idea how much worse it could get until he was blindfolded, bound, gagged, and carried out the apartment and down to the cold garage, where the hard foot-well of the back seat waited for him. The car revved to life, and his restrained body lurched forward as Thomas pulled out of the garage and drove them to fuck knows where.

Eventually they came to a stop, Thomas exchanged some words with the night-shift guard at the old house, and then they kept going until they parked. Khaled slowly started to put the pieces together. They were back at the old house, which probably meant Thomas wanted to take him downstairs, which meant whatever he wanted to do to him would be too messy or too specialized to do back at the apartment. What is he planning? Khaled wondered. He’s asked me to wear my most expendable clothes, he’s tied me up like I used to be when I was recaptured, he’s thrown me into the back like when I was recaptured-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car door opening. He blindly tilted his head toward the chill of the night and the distant sound of frogs singing. A pair of calloused hands hauled him up from the foot-well of the back seat and slung him over a broad shoulder. “Thought you could escape me this time, did you?” his master’s voice purred in his ear.

A pit of dread competed with the chill of the early spring night in his bones as Khaled realized what all this preparation had meant. Master wants to roleplay my escape attempts. He began shivering, though not just because of the cold. A warm hand rested on his buttocks to steady him as he felt himself being carried inside, through the hallway, and to the front of a very familiar door. Reliving his failed escape attempts but with an added sexual element was one of Khaled’s recurring nightmares. What cruel irony was this, that he had begged so enthusiastically no more than half an hour ago for this man to make his nightmare come true?

The familiar creak of a door opening preceded the dusty, dried-blood smell coming from the stairs leading down into the cellar. Khaled pleaded through the rag stuffed in his mouth and the tape sealed over his lips as they descended the stairs step by concrete step. He tugged at the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles, but all that did was dig the hard plastic further into his flesh.

The cellar in the basement was the only room in Luciano Antonio Costa’s old house that didn’t get renovated when they converted the rest of it into an office space. Mainly because its purpose as a room for torture and interrogation never went obsolete. Khaled didn’t have to see it; he’d been down in the T&I cellar enough times to have the layout committed to memory. Dusty, red bricked walls arched into a curved ceiling where two overhead lamps hung by thick chains, illuminating the large expanse below. A fireplace and all its accompanying iron tools sat to the left, and a rack lined with various instruments of torture was positioned to the right. In the middle was one large table with scratch marks furrowed into its edges, and many other types of equipment were either shoved in a corner or hanging from the ceiling, suspended by heavy chains and hooks like morbid chandeliers. Partitioning a back portion of the room was a large iron gate leading to a small offshoot of the basement, much like a door to a prison cell. Not much lay beyond the iron gate besides a hard-worn bench and several opaque plastic storage tubs full of mysterious items.

Khaled squirmed as he was lowered onto his stomach on top of the familiar table. “What were you thinking,” scolded the nightmare looming above him. A faint swish of a pocket knife and cold steel next to his skin made Khaled pause his struggles as his master cut away the zip ties. “Escaping in this cold weather without so much as a scrap of clothing on you –did you even have a plan?” he taunted. “I don’t know what your plan was, or even if you had a plan, but was it really worth freezing yourself to death?”

Khaled enjoyed the freedom of his unbound limbs for only a moment until his wrists were snatched into a tight grip and gathered in front of him. A coarse and scratchy material –rope, most likely –began entangling around and in between his wrists as his master continued talking. “We have a tracking chip installed inside of you, remember? You can never escape me; I will always find you.” With a forceful tug, Khaled’s hands were pulled in front of him, then he couldn’t move his hands at all. The other end of the rope must have been tied off to the ring attachment at the edge of the table.

His ankles remained free, if only to make it easier to take his pants off.

There were some light shuffling noises before the wooden table groaned under a newfound weight. Khaled felt the body heat of another person leaning over him. The cologne Thomas wore quickly overpowered his senses as the man hovered close. Khaled could feel his master’s breath on his ear and something hard and stiff against his backside. “The last time you tried to run away, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons,” Thomas sultrily whispered.

Oh god no. By now, Khaled knew which escape attempt they were reenacting, and, coincidentally, it was the one he had nightmares about the most.

“I don’t want to permanently cripple you though,” Thomas sighed, “mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

He could already hear the hiss of the iron.

His panicked cries took on a new pitch of desperation. Without warning, his master’s fingers pinched at the edge of the duct tape on Khaled’s mouth and pulled, making him scream in pain. The rag was quickly removed, only for his tormentor to shove his index and middle fingers past the boy’s teeth to depress his tongue. “Suck,” he growled, “because this is the only lube you’re going to get.”

“Please, no, not this one, please, please no, not this, not this,” Khaled begged around the fingers in his mouth.

The fingers quickly withdrew before Khaled’s head was yanked back by the hair and then smashed onto the table. Stars danced across his blindfold, and a faint trickle of something warm and wet escaped from his nose.

“Let’s try this again.” Thomas shoved his fingers back into the boy’s mouth, burying them to the knuckle and making the boy gag. “Suck.”

Khaled shakily worked his head up and down the length of the fingers as his tongue lapped at each digit. He started to cry. As soon as the fingers withdrew, his pleas picked up again in earnest. “Please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me-”

“Would you relax?! I’m not going to burn you!” Thomas shouted above him. “What about any of this looks like I’m gonna burn you?!” Khaled heard a frustrated huff above him as his master yanked down his pants and underwear, exposing his bare ass and legs to the cold. The shed clothing was discarded, landing with a soft whump somewhere behind them. The two digits that were in his mouth forcefully entered him below, all pretense of play forgotten as they began roughly working him open. “Besides which, weren’t you the one who wanted to do this? You asked for this, you wanted this! You said you would be good for me!”

And he was right, he did say he wanted this. He asked for this to happen. So, with a defeated sniffle, Khaled went quiet and limp.

“So, are you going to be good for me now?”

Khaled’s bruised forehead scraped against the table as he nodded.

“Thank fuck,” Thomas grumbled.

I asked for this, Khaled told himself. The darkness around his eyes became damp as the blindfold caught his tears. I asked for this, I wanted this. He repeated it like a mantra as the man on top of him replaced his fingers with his cock and steadily screwed him against the table. I asked for this, I wanted this. Something tore down there as an unmistakable thin, warm, and sticky fluid trickled past the cock pummeling his hole. I wanted this. I wanted this…

I didn’t want this.

I never wanted this. Any of this.

I don’t want this. Slowly, the new mantra gained strength, and he let the words slip between his lips with every shuddering breath. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this-”

“Tough shit,” his master grunted.

Khaled pulled against the rope restraining his hands as he struggled against the body pressing into his. “I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I-” Again, Khaled’s face was smashed against the table. He heard a faint crunch as a new river of blood flowed out of his nose.

“You can scream all you want, nobody’s going to hear you,” Thomas growled, “but for fucks sakes, can you please scream something less annoying?!”

Khaled kept repeating it between every sniffle, like a sad broken record. “I don’t want this,” he sobbed. “I don’t want this… I don’t want this…”

His begging finally outwore Thomas’ need to finish. “Fuck,” his master huffed, unsticking his sweaty torso from Khaled’s clothed back as he pulled out of him. Khaled collected his heaving breaths. It would be too naïve of him to believe his bitchy whining finally got through, but he would appreciate this moment while he could.

He suppressed his sobs and tilted his head to follow the footsteps and shuffling sounds Thomas was making as he tried to guess what would happen to him next. Khaled heard the faint schwing of a different knife being unsheathed. It cut through the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt as his master finally completely undressed him, tearing away the scraps of cotton the knife didn’t excise from his body. “You said you would be good for me, but you have been anything but!” A twisted strip of cloth was wedged between his teeth and hastily tied off at the back of his head. His master’s hand pinned him down by the back of the neck, crushing him against the table with the weight behind it. “You said you missed me, but you’ve only fought against me this whole time!” Khaled screamed into the gag as the tip of the knife sank in between his shoulder blades. Its blade dragged tortuously and deliberately through his skin as his tormentor continued griping above him. “You’re a fucking liar, you know that?” The knife mercifully lifted from the trough it had carved, only to be plunged into a new area of Khaled’s back. “Do you know what I do to liars, boy? I make them pay!” The raw wounds on his back wept with blood as the knife kept slicing, spilling over his sides and pooling underneath his stomach and the table below. It was hard to cry with a gag in his mouth and a broken nose full of blood. He gasped for breaths between sobs, never quite getting a satisfying breath before the pain of the knife would make him scream again. His tears slipped past the saturated blindfold and tracked down his cheeks to join the pinkish smear of saliva, snot, and blood he could feel covering the lower half of his face. “This is for Callahan!” The knife drove down and sliced another line through his skin for each name the monster dropped. “This is for Trémeaux! And Robinson, and Martinez, and Kruger, and Kościelsky, and this-” The knife dug deeper this time. Khaled bit into the gag as his nerves screamed in agony, the steel scraping something hard as it dragged against his back. “-this is for my brother; he is never coming back! Tony is never coming back, and it’s all because of you!” the monster above him roared.

It was in that moment, between the terror and the pain, that Khaled realized with a fascinated horror that his master was reliving a nightmare, too. I need to snap him out of it if I’m getting out of this cellar alive, he realized. So, he set his own trauma and pain aside and began doing what got him into this mess in the first place. The twisted cloth had loosened just enough. He pushed it out of his mouth with his tongue and started begging as if his life depended on it, because this time, it really did.

“I didn’t kill him!” he cried.  “I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him!” Khaled screamed well past the point his throat hurt. “Master, please, I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill any of them! I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill him, Master, I didn’t kill him…” If the knife had stopped cutting into him and the rope around his wrists had been untied, Khaled was too far gone in his panic induced catatonia to notice. “I didn’t kill him… I didn’t kill him…” he rasped through a throat torn raw from screaming.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Patient 05

Heheh little ref for Adam in my new au-

He’s definitely the most human/normal looking one of the group, though he has a lot of strange mental mutations instead of physical ones

[serickswrites]

These Days

Warnings: kidnapping, restraints, blindfold

Caretaker had collapsed at their desk, exhausted from the countless hours spent looking for Whumpee. They would not rest until Whumpee was found. Could not rest.

Because Whumper kidnapping Whumpee had been all their fault. And they couldn't live with themself if something happened to Whumpee.

Caretaker was almost too exhausted to move. Their eyes burned with each blink. Their body ached with each movement. They needed to sleep, but couldn't stomach the idea of laying still and doing nothing in the hunt for Whumpee.

But they could sit for a few moments at their desk and go through their mail. That they could do.

Caretaker put a couple of bills aside as a "later" problem. They shredded the junk mail. All that left was a small envelope. Nothing remarkable about it other than their was no return address.

Caretaker's mouth went dry as they opened the letter and several polaroid pictures tumbled out. "Whumpee," they whispered as they stared down at the pictures in their hands.

Whumpee was blindfolded and tied to a chair in each photo, their face pinched with fear. A knife flashed closer and closer to Whumpee's throat as the photos progressed. The last one, a photo with a knife pressed flush against Whumpee's throat though no blood had been drawn, had writing on the back.

"Tick tock, Caretaker. How long do you think it will take for them to bleed out? How long will you mourn them? Come find us and we can find out together."

Caretaker jumped up at Whumper's words. They didn't have time to sit here. They had to find Whumpee. Had to stop Whumper. There was no time to lose.

[dresden-syndrome]

25/II-1964. Class 4 detention unit, State Security department No. 419, Berlin region, German Democratic Union Republic, EESU

"I told you to answer the f**king question!"

The officers' screams kept ringing in Axel's head, echoing through the dirty dimly-lit basement room. He was dragged to the interrogation room about five hours ago - not a long time - yet it felt like an eternity. Every movement, every breath penetrated his body with sharp jolts of pain. His arms, twitched behind the back by a rusty chain, were getting unbearably exhausted - Axel felt himself almost wishing not even for a release, but for another torture, just to get his aching muscles a long-awaited relief.

Back then, listening to the plans of a mission he was assigned on, Axel never thought he would end up like this - let alone be exposed so fast. "How foolish", he wondered of himself, "expecting anything nice from this shithole of a country". Given a chance to wind the time back, he would've refused the task without a second thought. Now, it's far too late.

"Still silent, huh? You're getting yourself into a really bad position, boy."

A punch in the face.

In a shot of blinding pain Axel felt a warm stream of blood running down his mouth, giving an unpleasant metallic taste.

"Say it! Now! You're not getting any mercy from us, you disgusting bourgeoise West German spy!"

Another punch. Even harder.

"I'm... Not a..."

As Axel tried to raise his voice through the agony, the blood filling his mouth dripped on the floor. The pain was turning into anger.

"You're a liar!" the officer yelled right in the prisoner's face, "Don't try to fool us around!"

"I'm not... from the West..." Axel gathered his remaining bits of strength to finish the sentence, spitting the blood into, as he hoped, officer's jacket.

Next thing he felt was an excruciating sharp punch in the stomach - so hard it caused him to cough up.

"We'll kick out all these disgusting lies out of you."

Day 9 of Whumptober

Prompt: "You're a liar"

Art taglist: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump

[fallenwhumpee]

Pawn

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Sensory overload, sleep deprivation, blindfold, interrogation, torture, broken nose, nosebleed, drugging, touch starvation, mentioned suicide bombing.

In the eerie stillness, their mind grasped for any trace of familiar sights, but all they found was an abyss. Their own breaths were the only thing they could hear, their gasps distant as if underwater.

They groaned, but the sound came out as a croak. They knew their captors were enjoying this show from somewhere, probably discussing what to do to them with sadistic smiles. As if on cue, a loud bang made them flinch, disoriented with the ringing in their ear.

They tensed as the sound grew clearer and closer. Footsteps circled around them, and they cursed the blindfold, not for the first time since they were first captured.

They cried out as their hair was yanked, their back sore from sitting in the same position without being allowed to lean on something.

"Were you alone?" the interrogator demanded.

"Yes," they answered, their voice unreadable but tired and hoarse.

"We both know you're lying. Tell me what your objective was."

"I was alone, a-and it was a suicide bombing. I was to receive the bomb f-from an abandoned warehouse. No contact, no info. I'm merely... merely a pawn," they recited from memory, trying to sound clear but failing towards the end.

"What was your target, you vermin?"

"The... presidential palace, of course," they replied, struggling to keep their thoughts together, with sleep once more trying to claim them.

"No one told you that you can't do that? We do not let people wander around the building, let alone an armed rebel."

They closed their eyes, despite knowing it wouldn't make any difference behind the blindfold. The next question was just a noise in the background, and their head fell, their senses finally giving them a moment to rest. Their hair was pulled harder, a cry escaping from their mouth as a punch met their face. Their eyes watered, pain jolting them awake. A warm liquid slid down over their mouth, the smell of iron stinging.

"How many times have I said that you're not allowed to sleep until I'm satisfied with your answers?"

"Or you s-satisfied your thirst... for violence," they shot back, but regretted it instantly. They tensed and shrunk as much as they could, their 'not caring about their life' persona cracking with this mistake. They really should've kept their mouth closed, but they didn't know how long they could comply enough not to anger the interrogator while withholding information about the rebel group. Maybe it was due to exhaustion or hunger or thirst or pain or the ringing in their ears or uncertainty...

"Mhmm, scared now? Maybe you'll chant 'glory to the government' if I work on you a bit."

Their stomach dropped with the thought, a shiver shaking them as a hand gripped their shoulder, heavy and authoritative.

"Since you began to understand the situation, tell me, do you know who this rebel leader is?"

They bit their lip, tasting blood. Of course, they knew them. They were the leader. But they didn't talk, and it was an answer good enough to let their hair go.

"You do. Good. What's your connection to them?"

"I told you. J-just a pawn ready to die for t-the greater cause."

"Such claims are not tolerated here. You have ten seconds to fix your mistake."

"The government, along with all its officers like you, can go—"

-•-

For a long time, there was only darkness. Slowly, the ringing in their ear made itself known, their whole body aching. Breathing was too hard, and they were unsure if it was from the broken nose or possibly broken ribs. They groaned, unable to make any other noise. They heard a shuffle from the back, but maybe they were imagining things. They couldn't trust themselves at this point.

They groaned once again, trying to determine their position on the ground as it seemed to shift beneath them. They were better than this—better than tossing around like an animal, better than getting caught, better than giving an opening. They were leading a rebellion with little to no support against a government with endless resources. They weren't supposed to be helpless, weak, and a burden on their limited resources.

Tears welled up as they suppressed the sobs racking their body, absorbed by the blindfold as they streamed down their cheeks. Instead of crying, they laughed. Their pathetic state in enemy territory felt like nothing but a cruel joke after too many years of being a ghost for both the rebellion and the government.

With a hitching breath, they forced themselves to sit up quickly, their body protesting and the ground tilting left and right beneath them. They swallowed the dizziness, leaning on their arms to steady themselves. They didn't feel any better than the last time; restlessness still clouded their thoughts.

The sound of a door jolted them, but they couldn't tell which direction it came from. They opened their mouth to call out, but a hand covered their lips, silencing them. Half of their face was covered harshly, and they winced as a sharp pain radiated from their nose, feeling the blood flow once more. They were pulled back by their hair again, struggles becoming futile as their strength left them.

They were roughly thrown onto a cold metal floor, their weakened body protesting against the harsh treatment. They tried to distract themselves from the gnawing emptiness by focusing on their surroundings. The sound of the engine drowned out their thoughts, and the rhythmic vibrations seemed to mock their weakened state.

In the cramped darkness of the truck, or at least that's what they guessed based on the size, Leader's hunger grew unbearable. They couldn't remember the last time they had eaten a proper meal. Days? Weeks? Time blurred together in the abyss of their captivity. They might have passed out at some point, waking up to find themselves seated. The lights were too bright this time, and the walls were painted in a claustrophobic shade of grey.

"So, we've got ourselves another rebel, huh?" a gruff voice sneered.

Leader straightened, their body aching.

"I've seen people like you," another voice chimed in, dripping with disdain. "You think you're making a difference, don't you? Sacrificed as pawns left and right, following orders from your high and mighty perch."

They clenched their fists, their knuckles turning white. The words struck a nerve, stirring up the guilt that had already weighed heavily on their shoulders. They knew that every decision they made as a leader came with consequences, but the thought of those sacrifices being in vain was something they always feared deep in their soul. They knew it wasn't the case. They had made a difference in countless small towns, becoming a threat to the corrupt order, but they would always feel guilty for the lives lost.

A sharp sting at their neck sent a sudden freezing void through their body.

"You rebels are all the same," the gruff voice continued, mocking. It was right behind their ear, but the bright lights were hurting their eyes. "Thinking you can change the world with your little acts of defiance. But let me tell you, we always win in the end. We break you down, reshape you, and all your lofty ideals crumble into dust."

Their vision blurred with pain as they were struck on the temples, plunging them into the familiar black void as the blindfold was pulled over their face. They flinched at the sound of a door, still able to hear everything more than they should. The coldness seeped deep into their bones, intensifying their weakness and making every movement an agonizing effort. They longed for warmth, for a comforting touch to alleviate the shivering. Time became a distant reminder, and soon, endless screams from the battlefield echoed with their commands, while unconsciousness offered the only escape.

-•-

Right Hand, leading the raid on the facility, surveyed the area with a sharp and calculating gaze. They had received information about the location of the rebels being held captive and had meticulously planned their operation to free as many as possible. As they approached the centre of the place, their makeshift army moved with the seriousness that training had instilled in them. The weight of their responsibility felt heavy, but they knew they had to push forward. Leader would be proud.

Their radio crackled, the names of the rescued rebels being counted. As the transmission ended, an unfamiliar voice came through the static.

"Uhm, there's someone... they're barely awake, but they don't look like anyone on the missing list. They just have the rebellion tattoo on their left wrist—although it's pretty ruined. Does anyone know them?"

Right Hand's heart raced, a mix of relief and concern washing over them. They quickly recognized Leader's weakened form, hidden in plain sight. It was a dangerous situation, their leader's identity at risk of exposure. They scanned the surroundings, ensuring no one else was nearby before motioning for the rebel to follow.

"Good job. Now leave them to me," Right Hand said, their voice barely a whisper. "I believe you can go help with the transfer."

The rebel nodded and hurried off to assist the others. Meanwhile, Right Hand rushed to Leader's side, their heart aching at the sight of their battered and weakened leader. It was a stark reminder of the sacrifices made for the rebellion's cause.

Leader's eyes flickered with a glimmer of recognition, their voice barely audible. "Right Hand..."

Right Hand's grip tightened gently around Leader's arm, their emotions overwhelming yet suppressed. They wanted to reassure their leader, to convey the unwavering support and determination that fueled their own actions. But they had to remain cautious, protecting Leader's identity above all else.

"I'm here, Leader," Right Hand whispered. "You're safe now. We've come to bring you back."

Leader mumbled weakly, their words a jumble of fragmented thoughts. Right Hand leaned in closer, their ear attuned to catch the faintest whisper.

"It's cold," Leader murmured again, their voice trembling.

Right Hand wrapped their arms around Leader, mindful of their injuries, and drew them close, feeling the chill emanating from their frail body. They wished they could shield Leader from the harsh realities they had endured.

"It's okay," Right Hand whispered, their voice soothing. "I'll keep you warm. We'll get you out of here. Just lean on me."

Right Hand carefully wrapped their arms around Leader's shoulders, cradling the limp body with utmost care. It was a testament to the bond they shared, the unspoken trust that connected them.

As they made their way towards the waiting transport, Right Hand spoke in a hushed yet comforting tone. They carefully carried Leader towards the waiting transport, their steps steady and determined. They spoke softly, their voice a constant presence in Leader's ear.

"You're doing great, Leader. We're almost there. Just a little bit longer."

Leader's eyelids grew heavy, exhaustion taking its toll. They mumbled weakly, their voice strained. "Tired... so tired..."

Right Hand tightened their hold, offering reassurance. "I know you're exhausted, but you're safe now. You can rest soon."

As they reached the waiting transport, Right Hand gently settled Leader into the vehicle, ensuring their comfort. They climbed in beside them, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle began its journey to safety.

Time refused to pass, and Leader's breathing became shallow and erratic. Right Hand leaned closer. "We're almost there."

Leader's fingers weakly grasped Right Hand's, and they gave a faint squeeze.

As the vehicle sped away, the rhythmic hum of the engine lulling them into a void of stillness, Leader's eyelids grew heavier. Their grip on Right Hand's hand loosened, their body finally surrendering to exhaustion.

Right Hand watched over Leader, gently brushing a hand over Leader's forehead, smoothing away the lines of worry.

"Rest now, Leader," Right Hand whispered softly. "We're nearly home."

[airlocksandaviaries]

Some unhinged DinLuke sketches based on this post!!! All from @veradragonjedi​‘s vampire AU, Blood, Blindfolds, and Butterflies! (Seriously go check it out)

Plus bonus Vee: 😂

[serickswrites]

Deprived

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, gags, blindfold, head phones, white torture, cruel whumper

“Well, if you aren’t going to be cooperative,” Whumper said coldly as they looked over their tools of torture, “then I’ll just make sure you have some time to yourself to think.”

Whumpee flinched back in the chair, ropes chafing their wrists, as Whumper stalked towards them once more. “Please! Don’t! I can’t--”

Whumper silenced Whumpee as they shoved a rag in Whumpee’s mouth. Before Whumpee could spit out the rag, Whumper wound duct tape around their head. Once. Twice. Thrice. The thick wad of duct tape over Whumpee’s mouth made it impossible to breathe through their mouth and they could hear their desperate frantic breaths as they prayed their nose would stay clear. 

“So you can hold your tongue.” Whumper smiled darkly. “And this is so that you can be reflective only on your thoughts.” They pulled a blindfold over Whumpee’s eyes, winding the duct tape once more around and around. 

Whumpee couldn’t see anything through the blindfold or the duct tape. Their breaths picked up speed, echoing in their ears as their other senses became unavailable to them. 

“And this,” Whumper’s breath was hot in Whumpee’s ears, “this is so you only hear your thoughts in your head.”

Whumpee pulled their head back wildly as Whumper shoved wads of cotton in their ears. Whumpee felt something cold against their skin as Whumper pulled on protective headphones over their ears. And they felt Whumper wind the duct tape around and around once more. 

It was only then that Whumpee realized they were completely cut off from all senses. Deprived of anything to keep their mind at ease. To keep them distracted. Because now they were alone in the silent darkness with their thoughts and their thoughts alone. 

[the-links-we-share]

[kalevalakryze]

Not My Daughter You Demagolka

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types,  Pairings: Sabine Wren & Ursa Wren Characters: Sabine Wren, Ursa Wren, Imperial Super-Commandos Warnings: Torture, Blood and Violence, sacrifice, Major Character Injury, Imprisonment,  Notes: For Whumptober Day 18  +  @sabineweek Day 4 Prompt:“I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.” Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.” +  Sabine and Ursa Word Count: 2,871 AO3 Link:Here!

Sabine’s entire body hurt, bruises crisscrossing her skin where her armor had pressed into flesh, energy transfers battering her body as beskar had protected her from the explosions that had taken her out. Consciousness ebbed back into her slowly, like the drip of water somewhere in the cell she’d been taken to. 

Her eyes blinked open, but she could not see. A thick cloth covered her eyes and prevented her from seeing the room she’d been imprisoned in. It was cold… Freezing, even. They couldn’t have left Krownest, which meant the drip of water could have been the slow drip of snow or ice melting, maybe even an escape point? 

Sabine tested her surroundings as she grew more wakeful. Heavy binders kept her hands attached at the wrist, with a thick chain that wrenched her arms upwards, towards the ceiling. There was no comfortable weight of Beskar on her body but she could still feel the mesh material of her flight suit, sticky with blood, sweat, and melted snow. 

The toes of her boots scraped the permacrete flooring beneath her, arms hyperextended to the point of pain. She couldn’t begin to gauge how long she’d been out, but from the burn of muscle and the tear she could feel beginning in her biceps, she could guess a few hours at least. 

“HEY!” She shouted after moments of silence, once she’d gathered herself and prepared for the worst. This wasn’t her first capture, far from it, in fact. And just because she could rest easy, knowing that the rest of Clan Wren had escaped Saxon’s Super Commandos, didn’t mean that she could lay down and accept her fate as an Imperial Prisoner, not while Mandalore still suffered under the thumb of the Empire’s might. 

The door that opened was heavy, no hydraulics hissed, instead, hinges creaked under the weight as booted feet stormed into the room. They were dragging something, someone, if the sharp inhale of air was anything to go off of. “Took you long enough,” Sabine snipped, turning in the direction of the heaviest boots. There was a dry chuckle off to her left, urging her head to turn in its direction. 

“You were waiting on us, were you?” The smooth, rich, snobbiness in the voice… It was familiar in a way many of the larger clans had their own accent, their own lilt to the dialect.

“Eldar,” Sabine spat. She knew several members of the old House were sided with Lady Kryze’s cause, and that, like with House Vizsla and Clan Wren, there were still those who remained loyal to the Empire, taking the easy win over the hardship of the struggle for glory and freedom like the rest of them. 

“Aren’t you a wise one,” There was rustling to her right, and the sounds of metal being set on a table sent a chill up her spine. 

“I literally have more than half a brain cell, but you probably can’t say the same-”

The wind was knocked from her lungs with an armored fist smashing into her gut. The chains rattled as her body reacted to the blow, arms stretching painfully and feet searching for the floor as she tried to curl on herself. “Fuck!” She hissed, fighting to recover as quickly as possible. If she wasn’t a walking bruise from the explosion, she may have been able to take the punch without a sound, but there was no way something wasn’t already broken, and aggravated once more by the hit. 

“What, the Imps teach you how to throw a punch?” She gasped through gritted teeth, planting her feet firmly into the floor, even as the tear of muscle and tendon in her arms stretched painfully. 

“Hit her harder,” 

Sabine shoved her weight to the side, chains rattling and boots scrambling as she dove out of the way in time, just barely catching the displaced air as a fist smashed into the space she’d just been occupying. “Fuck, stormtrooper aim, huh?” She taunted as the attacker growled. 

“Enough of this,” A large hand wrapped around her aching wrists, forcing her to still. There was the sound of someone, gagged, voice muffled, trying to protest. Some other poor rebel who’d been caught, or some innocent civilian who’d said the wrong thing, or your classic case of wrong place, wrong time. “Where are the rebel operations on Krownest?”

“Man, what mouthwash do you use? Your breath is rank,” Sabine shifted back, turning her head from Eldar’s fishy breath and the general BO that wafted from all Imperials: Pure Evil. 

“Again,” He hissed, and this time, Sabine wasn’t able to move herself out of the way of the first that was sent her way. This time, knuckles connected with her nose, breaking at the bridge and snapping her head to the side under the pressure. The hit came hard enough that she could even see stars and knock her off her feet. The chains clinked painfully, her arms were in agony, and a pained whimper was drawn past her lips as warm blood began soaking the thick blindfold tied around her face. 

“Let her down,” 

The command was followed with a snap of the chain link closest to the ceiling. Sabine couldn’t force energy into her legs fast enough to keep herself standing. The floor rose up to meet her quickly, arms scraping against the floor, the skin of her elbows scraping on pebbles as her arms extended above her head to catch herself, knees bouncing on the pavement as she tried to keep some semblance of composure, bent in on herself and bleeding, chest heaving with each wet inhale through her mouth. “So,” A deep inhale, sharp with the twinge of pain at the armored boot that pressed into her abdomen. “Would you like to continue?”

“Would you like to suck my bevagol?” 

She was wincing before the kick even came, curling into the fetal position as the momentum shot through ever aching muscle, tingling in her fingertips and back down to the point of origin, as Eldar’s boot came down to rest against the meat of her calf, pressed into the floor. “Why must you be this way, Lady Wren? I’d assumed your buire,” There was a pause and more scuffling nearby. “Would have taught you better,”

“Sorry, I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened,” There was no real sense of apology in her voice, and perhaps Eldar sensed that, or.. He was just a sick son of a bitch, as his considerable weight began to descend upon her leg until she was squirming. 

“Vizsla, take the cover off, I want her to know the stakes she’s playing with,” He snapped at last. At least she would be able to see her attackers, and maybe offer whatever poor soul they’d dragged in here some sense of calm and comfort in a friendly gaze. 

The blindfold was torn from her head with little ceremony, the fabric wet and heavy with her blood as the white-clad Mandalorian tossed it to the floor. Hands wound in greasy white and purple hair, tugging harshly to manipulate her head where they wanted it. When her eyes focused… she wished to all the old gods that her eyes were deceiving her, that they’d drugged her and that was why she was met with her worst fear.

“Buir,”

Ursa Wren knelt feet away, arms bound behind her, straining against metal and rope bindings. Bruises littered her skin, yet she still donned her armor, dented and marred with scorch marks. Her Kar’ta was missing, leaving an all too noticeable gap in the center of her chest, to the torn fabric of the flight suit. Those demagolkase tore out her buir’e heart! 

Golden eyes locked against each other. Sabine refused to look away, even as the hand in her hair finally left. “What do you want?” She swallowed hard as she asked this. Eldar’s quiet tuts went to the simmering pit of rage in her stomach. 

“Sorry, Sabine, did you think we were asking you for anything?” Suddenly, he was crouching next to her head, the weight was off her leg, though she could feel the damage that had been done. Sabine’s heart dropped at this, eyes widening at the hurt and shame she found in eyes so similar to her own. They were using her to get Ursa to break. And the scary thing? Ursa looked like she might if it would spare Sabine from whatever they had planned. 

Behind Ursa, Sabine could see another white-clad dar’manda, organizing tools on a table. With each click of a piece being slotted together, she could see her mother’s resolve breaking. “Mom,” She called when Ursa’s eyes drifted to the disgrace of Clan Eldar hovering over Sabine. “I can take it,” She promised, muscles aching as she fought to push herself up. 

Eldar’s hand pressed into the small of her back and he tutted. “Do you think she can, mom?” He spat, shoving Sabine back to the floor. “Or do you think your little songbird will sing before you?” The Mandalorian at the table turned, slowly unfurling the thin, barbed wire that attached to a small hilt. When a button was pressed, electricity arced down in a blinding yellow storm to the tip. An electrowhip, used primarily by the Zygerrian slavers… Sabine swallowed thickly, forcing her face to something impassive as it was passed to Eldar.

“I’m sorry,” Ursa apologized quietly. Her voice was hoarse and low, cracking in her whisper. There were bruises around her throat, no doubt, the few words she managed were agony for her. Sabine’s heart ached. For all their differences and all their issues, Ursa did things at the expense of herself, if it meant her clan stayed safe. A trait Sabine had inherited too. They would both die before they gave up Bo-Katan and the rebellion’s operations on Krownest and Mandalore… Or so she thought.

The first strike of the whip across her back was met with a stuttered inhale and a bitten-back shout. Flesh and fabric ripped under the sparking barbed wire, and tears sprang to her eyes. She had to consciously reach out and center herself in the manda, and focus not on the pain that seemed to radiate from every inch of her body, or in the way the metal dragged against the permacrete, but on the songs of the ancestors and the promise of the lives that would be saved, if she could just hold on a little bit longer.

The second strike came down hard, slicing the skin closest to her spine in a way that had her pressing closer to the cement in a search for relief from the agony as the electricity transfer raced up her spine. The third and fourth strikes came much in the same manner, though they were met with unrestrained shouts and sobs from the young warrior. Her strength sapped as she tried to keep her center in the manda, tried to ignore the pain and was met only in the sharp sting of pain and the feel of torn flesh. At least they weren’t going after Ursa. Sabine could take it however long she needed to. 

Ursa would let her die before she told them where the Rebels were hiding, of this, she was sure… At least, she thought so. But as Eldar raised his hand in a strike she’d long lost count of, Ursa called out. “Stop!” 

The Cheshire grin on Eldar’s scruffy face was chilling, as he allowed his arms to drop and the sparking tip of his tool to scratch the floor, burning small lines into the cement not unlike the expanse of Sabine’s back. 

“Are you willing to tell me where the rebels are now, Duchess?”

“The scabbard monument, on Krownest, you’ll find the whole operation there,” Ursa’s shoulders sagged and Sabine’s heart stopped.

“Buir, nayc…” 

Voices were murmuring into comms, confirming and double checking Imperial troops, siccing them on the position Ursa had given them The minutes of silence were met with teary eyes staring into purposefully blank pools of gold. Sabine could not force her vocal chords to work, and could not think of the words to say to her mother in those moments. 

“Targets confirmed. Untie her,” Eldar powered down the electrowhip and tossed it back to the table as another dar’manda worked the bindings and ropes from Ursa’s arms, freeing her at last. 

Once free, Ursa was quick to move to Sabine’s side, brushing sweat-damp hair away from her eyes as her hands hovered uselessly over the plethora of injuries on her eldest. 

Glancing back at the women of Wren as they moved to the door, Eldar turned to face the two commandos in the room. “Kill them,” He instructed without preamble, before he turned and let the heavy door swing shut behind him. 

Sabine wasn’t able to lift her head much at the powering up of blasters, but Sabine could hear the clink of Ursa’s armor as she moved. The first thunk of weight dropping to the ground had stalled Sabine’s heart, but the second had kick started it. “Sabine?” Ursa called, voice coming from behind her, as she searched for the keys to unlock the thick binders around her daughter’s wrists. “We’re going to need to move quickly if we’re to find where Lady Kryze moves the fleet, can you move?” 

It was hard work, but with her hands free of binders, Sabine was finally able to get her hands up under her to push her weight up. Every ounce of her screamed in protest. Her arms, from the torn muscle caused from dangling, her back, at moving with the wicked variety of bruises, burns, and lacerations, and her leg, from what she knew would be an ugly bruise from the di’kut pressing his weight into her leg. “I’m fine,” She said anyways, trying to shrug off the warm hands that had touched her arms. There was no malice in Ursa’s touch, but her arms were on fire, the supportive touch had only further aggravated the radiating pain. She had to get up on her own, struggling every minute it took, brows furrowing and sweat beading at her brows in exertion. 

Ursa did not leave her side once, hands hovering near Sabine’s arms should she need the help. Stubbornness had Sabine taking steps towards the door on her own, necessity had her reaching to grab an offered arm, and want had her leaning her weight into her mother’s side, face smooshing into the dirty grey fabric, chasing the warmth that met her as Ursa guided them to the door, one of the fallen Mandalorian’s blasters held firmly in her other hand as she supported Sabine’s weight against her own. “I have sent a comm to Lady Kryze to inform her of the Imperial’s arrival. She was unclear on if she would maintain position to fight, or if they would move out whatever they could. We will meet her at the stronghold if she survives.” There was never a doubt that Bo-Katan Kryze would survive, but.. Just an hour ago, Sabine never had any doubt that Ursa would allow them both to be killed before giving up such vital information. It was good then, that Ursa recognized these sudden discrepancies in what was known, and planned around them. 

The two Wren women were slow in exiting the compound, emptied of its inhabitants as reinforcements were called to aid in the destruction of the Scabbard Monument, leaving them with no opposition as Ursa loaded Sabine into a leftover Speeder. Her consciousness waned with each twang of pain in her back as she laid out across the back seat. She’d heard Ursa’s retreating steps as the woman returned into the compound, though the next time her eyes fluttered open, she’d been met with the sound of air wooshing past the windscreen and golden eyes flickering from the snowy, barren landscape, to the mess of limbs in the backseat, and the remains of armor stuffed into the passenger seat. Paint had been stripped from the ancient beskar from the lasers Sabine had caught with it, scorched from the heat of fires, and beaten down from the fall when her jetpack had given out. The wounds on her back stung with the familiar feel of bacta and the stickiness of spray bandages keeping her skin together. An opened medpack sat against the floor of the speeder, contents dumped hazardously from Ursa’s hurried digging, with empty cartridges tossed amongst its contents. 

“We’re almost home, ad’ika,” She called over the sounds of the world moving past them. Jetpacks moved around them, though any fear had been quickly killed with a sighting of blue-painted beskar and the familiar sigil of Clan Kryze. She was safe, the rebels were alive, and Ursa had chosen her against everything else. Her wounds could be healed, but Sabine found her oldest hurt was soothed with the knowledge that her mother had bitten back her pride for her. She’d promised change, and she stuck to it. The scars that Sabine had carried since she’d been banished faded just a little bit more that day despite the new ones she would carry on with her. 

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

I have somehow managed to create an entirely new series with entirely new ocs out of thin air just for this event. My plan is to make all these prompts into one continuous story (some of them will be combined, some out of order), so wish me luck and we’ll see how it goes!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future pieces of this series!

Day 1 - “You don’t want to do that.” | Collapse | Locked Door | Fear

Day 2 - “Get in.” | Sobbing | Survivor’s Guilt | Salve

Contains: lady whump with male whumper, kidnapping, restraints, blindfold, knife, long-term captivity, fantasy prejudice, death mention

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The first thing Lainey notices when the car trunk opens, letting in the slightest bit of sunlight beneath her blindfold, is that the air smells fresh. There’s no trace of car exhaust or street vendors or anything that she’s used to smelling in the city. It smells like…dirt and leaves. Like the forest when she goes hiking on occasion. And it’s quiet, too, other than a few birds singing. 

If the bumpy roads and route that apparently took them the entire night weren’t enough indication that she’s been taken out into the middle of nowhere, this seals it.

The harsh hands that had first grabbed her by the dumpsters behind her work latch onto her arms again, yanking her up and out of the trunk with frightening strength. She cries out in surprise, struggling to find her footing on cramped legs before he’s prodding her into a walk. The sharp tip of a knife she’d only caught a glimpse of last night pricks at her spine. 

“Look, um…I don’t know what you want from me, but…my family doesn’t have much money or anything. My dad’s in construction and my mom does alterations. And my boyfriend isn’t rich, either, he just works at the coffee shop next door to my store. So if you’re looking for ransom money…”

“Get in there!” His hand slams into her shoulder from behind, and she stumbles forward, toes stubbing against a wooden threshold and nearly sending her sprawling on her face. They’re inside some kind of building now, she can tell even though the rough fabric across her eyes prevents her from seeing anything but darkness. The smell of fresh air fades away, replaced by must and old wood, and the stillness grows to an almost suffocating level. 

“You know, it’s kinda hard to walk through a strange place blindly and with my hands behind my back! If you want this to go more smoothly then maybe you should just take off all this crap and -”

“Shut up, before I add a gag to ‘all that crap’.”

She presses her lips together. Talking too much when she’s anxious has always been a struggle, though this time it’s more like terror than anxiety. Her parents had always warned her about bad guys and talking to strangers and all of that stuff, like all parents do, and that’s extended into her young adulthood as concerns about those prejudiced against magic-users grow. But she never thought she’d get kidnapped. 

“They’re gonna be looking for me, you know,” she blurts, unable to hold it in. The man is steering her with one hand on her shoulder, presumably avoiding furniture and making their way through the building. “My family. They’ll find you. They’ll make you pay for this. The police will find you and throw you in jail for the rest of your li-”

The knife leaves her back only for the hilt to smash into the back of her head. She stumbles again with a gasp, her head spinning and aching. 

“I said to shut up.”

Biting her lip, she does her best to comply. 

They halt their march, and there’s a series of clicking, scraping, and squawking sounds from directly in front of her. Locks, her throbbing head supplies. Quite a few of them. Her heart goes from pounding in her ribs to climbing up her throat. 

“Down the stairs.” 

That’s all the warning she gets before she’s pushed forward again. Her breath catches as her foot is forced to move, feeling tentatively at the darkness in front of her until she finds the first step down. Her second foot joins it, then she feels for the next step.

“You’re too slow.” He grabs onto her arm and begins barreling down the stairs at what seems like a breakneck pace. Her feet somehow mostly keep up even though her brain is screaming about not knowing where the steps are, and anytime she does miss one his hand just yanks her back upright. She’s pretty sure she’ll have a bruise on that arm from how hard he’s holding her. Maybe some on her ankles, too, from banging them around on the steps. 

Her legs are trembling by the time they make it to solid ground again. “Remember,” she huffs, the adrenaline of the trip making her tongue loose again, “that whole thing about it being hard to walk blindfolded?”

To her surprise, he responds by ripping it off her head, tearing out a few strands of hair with it. She winces at the pain and the sudden influx of light, but quickly forces herself to take in her surroundings. 

It’s quite obviously a basement. There are no windows, the only light coming from buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, and the floors and walls are all concrete. One wall is lined with cabinets, the contents of which she’s sure she doesn’t want to know, and the floor is dotted with mysterious stains that she’d also rather remain a mystery.

That’s as far as her observations take her, because it’s at that point that her blue eyes clash with a pair of dark brown and her thoughts screech to a halt. There’s another girl down here. She’s just sitting there, on the floor, curled up against the wall and staring back at her with a blank expression. Her face is streaked with dirt, and there’s blood crusted up in her hairline. Her black hair has been chopped off, short and uneven. She looks small, and frail, and far too thin, and…kind of like she shouldn’t be alive.

Footsteps on the stairs jerk Lainey out of her trance. Spinning away from the woman on the floor, she sees the man - the first good look she’s actually gotten at him, though it’s still just his back - halfway up the staircase. Leaving her down here. Leaving her to turn into a phantom of a person like this other girl. 

“Hey!” She runs after him, awkwardly since her hands are still ziptied behind her back. “You can’t just leave me down here! I’m a human being, okay? I have rights!” She stomps up the stairs, a much easier task now that she can see. “And I told you already, you’re gonna be in so much trouble when the police find you, you’re -” 

He’s walking through the door, about to disappear, and she picks up her pace, heart pounding. “Hey! Stop!” The door slams, the locks all clicking and squeaking back into place. “Get back here! You’re gonna regret taking me, I swear!” She can’t bang on the door with her fists, so she kicks it, instead, slamming the toe of her sneaker into the wood over and over again.

“You don’t want to do that.”

She barely hears the quiet, rasping voice over the ruckus she’s making, but it echoes against the concrete and catches her attention. Pausing her assault on the door, Lainey frowns over her shoulder at the woman down below. “I’m not just gonna sit here and take this! This door isn’t that strong, you know what? I could probably even kick it down if I wanted to…”

“If you keep causing a scene, you’re going to make him mad, and he’ll come back.” The pitch of her voice never changes, and she doesn’t move even her head from her position. 

“Good! If he comes back, that’ll give me a better chance to escape. He didn’t look that big, maybe I could overpower him and get out the door.” Never mind that he’d been strong enough to easily lift her, right now she’s just desperate to get out. Facing the fact that she’s trapped here is too terrifying to even consider.

She can’t stay here. She can’t.

A sliver of emotion finally finds its way into the woman’s next words. “If he comes back, he’ll hurt you. And if he’s mad, it’ll be ten times worse. So if you have any sense, you’ll sit down and shut up and conserve your energy for when he comes back on his own schedule.”

Something about what she says steals any remaining fight from Lainey’s body. She stares at the locked door for a long moment, breaths coming too fast and too shallow. “He’s…he…” She backs down one step, getting the distinct feeling that she doesn’t actually want to be standing here when the door opens. Her gaze is pulled back to the woman on the floor. “What does he…do?” She doesn’t want to know, but she needs to.

“Hurts us.” Her voice has gone back to flat and emotionless. “Well…hurts me. I can only assume that you’ll be the same. Having someone else down here is…new.”

Slowly, she plods back down the stairs, looking over the drab room again until she’s standing directly in front of the other woman. She doesn’t want to sit down. Sitting feels like settling in, and that feels like giving in. 

“Does he…want…?” Her eyes flick up and down the girl’s body almost involuntarily, as if she’ll be able to see the evidence of exactly what’s been done to her. 

Somehow the woman seems to read her mind. “No. Not that. Just anything else he can think of. Should I assume you have magic, too?”

Her stomach flips. She’s not used to being called out like that. “Um…y-yeah?” She said ‘too’, so it’s probably safe.

“Yeah. He’s one of those types. Thinks he’s doing the world a favor by keeping us out of it.”

“Great,” she sighs, shifting back and forth on her feet. A few seconds later, she flops down to the floor. She’s not giving in, she’s just exhausted from not sleeping last night and from all the adrenaline that’s starting to dwindle. 

“How long…have you been here?” Another of those questions she needs to know the answer to but doesn’t want to hear it.

“What year is it?”

“What?” She feels suddenly lightheaded, though her brain is too busy swirling to pinpoint why. “It’s, um…it’s 2023. June first.” Just in case she’d actually meant to ask month or day, instead.

Her previously empty expression shutters, eyes shutting and jaw tightening. It takes a long, anxiety-filled moment for her to respond, and her voice is hoarser than before when she does. “F-...five years. I’ve been here…five years.”

Lainey feels like the floor has dropped out from underneath her. She might say something, she’s not even sure, she’s too busy flailing in midair as she falls, trying to find something solid to stand on. Five years. Five years of being locked in a basement being…tortured. Five years of no one finding her. That’s not going to happen to her, right? It can’t. She has family, she has people who will be looking for her. 

She sucks in a desperate breath. “But…how…? You…didn’t you have…someone to miss you?” She’s heard of the cases where people go missing and are never found, of course. They’re always presumed to be dead, though. Not still surviving in a basement after five years. 

The girl shrugs one shoulder, eyes still shut. “Thought I did. Maybe they tried, and gave up. Maybe they never actually cared to start with.” 

“Maybe they, um…maybe they’re still trying. Me being kidnapped might help give more leads. I mean, my family will definitely be looking for me. My co-workers would have known right away that something happened, I just went out to take the trash and never came back.” She nods firmly. “They’ll find me. Find us. He can’t keep getting away with this for long.”

Opening her eyes slightly, the girl stares at her for a moment before shaking her head and closing them again. 

Lainey isn’t going to let it discourage her, though. She has to keep believing her own words or she’ll spiral. “Hey, what’s your name?”

She swallows. “Isa.” Her eyes open again, though her gaze stays on her knees. “Isabela, technically, but…everyone always called me Isa.”

“Isa,” she repeats, trying to get the Spanish vowels correct. “I’m Lainey. I’d say nice to meet you, but…”

“Yeah.” Isa gives that one-shoulder shrug again. This time, something clinks against the wall behind her, and Lainey becomes suddenly aware that she’s wearing a metal band around her throat.

“Wait, are you…chained to the wall?” She leans forward to see, and Isa flinches before trying to cover the movement by wrapping her arms around her legs. Her arms are dotted with bruises and scars of various kinds that stand out against her brown skin, and her wrists are so small that she’s pretty sure she could wrap her smallest fingers around them. 

“Yeah. He doesn’t do it too often. But he’s been gone for the past…few days, I guess, and he doesn’t like letting me roam while he’s out.”

She says it so matter of factly, like it’s just a part of life that should be expected. “He’s a creep and he can go curl in a hole and die,” Lainey growls, fists clenching behind her back. 

“Sure.” Isa leans her head against the wall. “Just don’t make him mad. He likes to be called ‘sir’, and he doesn’t have a lot of patience for having to repeat himself. We’re both better off if you just do what he says.”

Lainey grits her teeth. “That’s not happening. Look, I know you’ve been here a long time and you’ve had to…do whatever you had to to make it. But there’s two of us now, and only one of him. There’s more of a chance that we can overpower him or outsmart him. We could escape.”

Shaking her head, she stares up at the ceiling. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up like that. It’ll only hurt more when they come crashing down.”

She can’t imagine what Isa has been through. Doesn’t want to think about the fact that she may soon go through some of it, herself. But she can’t understand why she refuses to even consider trying to figure a way out of here, when she now has somebody to help her. 

Unable to sit and do nothing any longer, she levers herself off the floor and begins walking the perimeter of the room, familiarizing herself with every inch of the space. “I’m gonna figure out a way out of here, no matter what you think.”

.

Next | Masterlist

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 11: Blindfolded

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

@whumpuary

Whumpee woke up to darkness. Where am I? Why can’t I see anything? They tried to lift their hands but they found they couldn’t move them at all. They attempted to move the rest of their body and quickly came to the same realization. From the feel of it, they were tied down to a chair, their wrists bound to the arms. They sighed and hung their head. Well isn’t this great? 

They heard a heavy door shutting somewhere behind them and they lifted their head, turning to the left. 

“You’re awake!” They flinched and leaned forward when they heard a voice directly behind them. “Perfect timing, am I right?” They shivered when the voice was in their right ear, warm breath ghosting over their skin. 

“Who–who are you?!” Whumpee asked in alarm. 

“Who am I?” The voice was suddenly on their left, they flinched again. “How about a guess, huh?” 

“Sorry, I’m all outta guesses right now. Can you just tell me?” 

“Aw, how come? I like games, Whumpee.” It sounded like the voice was smiling as it moved away. 

“How do you know my name?” They frowned. 

“Oh Darling I know everything there is to know about you.” The voice was behind their head now. 

“Wait…you’re the person who drugged me! That’s who you are!” 

“There it is! See, aren’t games fun?” 

“This is not a game! You’ve literally kidnapped me, tied me to a chair and left me in a dark room! What kind of sick games do you play?!” 

“Oh, Whumpee, you really think it’s dark in here? You’re a lot dumber than I realized.” 

They heard a sigh before two hands brushed their face, snatching the blindfold off. A bright light hanging from the ceiling blinded Whumpee for a moment. They closed their eyes tightly and lowered their head. 

“If I wanted you in a dark place, I would’ve thrown you in that old warehouse. Or maybe even my shed.” 

“So what do you want with me?” 

“I just want some company. Been kind of bored for the past few months.” 

“And so you kidnap a person?” Whumpee frowned over their shoulder attempting to see their captor. 

“Of course.” Whumpee turned to their left when they felt a hand on their shoulder. They looked up and found a crooked grin. “You’re going to keep me entertained until I can’t use you anymore.” 

“What am I? A toy?” 

The grin turned into a smirk. “Precisely.”

[oneweirdbookaddict]

Whumptober day eighteen!

Wars gets taken by some people who are upset about the war.

2255 words

Warnings- Lots of talk about death, deserving to die, survivors guilt, injuries, flashbacks. Really really mild torture. (Like just slapping a few times.) Mentions of kids (a teenager) dying, war, battles. Let me know if there’s anything I should add to this list. Stay safe y’all!

~~~~

An itchy blindfold covers his eyes.

That’s the first thing he notices.

Then- wait, I’m tied to a chair and blindfolded. That’s a problem.

He’s got to have a concussion, considering his slow, stupid mind right now and the fact that he has no memory whatsoever of what happened.

Don’t draw attention to the fact that you’re awake… check if you still have the knife in your sleeve…

He mentally runs through his checklist, keeping his chin at his chest.

His arms are tied to the arms of the chair, ankles tied to the legs of the chair, and tied at the waist.

Carefully, he shifts his wrist and presses the trigger to his knife, carefully wiggling the blade into his grasp so he can cut at the binds-

He’s slapped across the face hard enough to make him see stars, someone tearing the knife from his hand.

“Good catch, almost lost him.” A voice chuckles.

“Don’t underestimate him.” A different voice says coldly.

The blindfold is yanked from his face.

He squints in the harsh, unexpected light, a headache pounding into the base of his skull immediately.

“Not so pretty now, is he?” The first voice, coming from a man with a long, filthy beard laughs softly.

“Enough.” The cold voice says, and that one comes from a woman in front of him.

A mask covers her face, so all he can see is brown eyes. Icy and glaring at him.

“Make your demands and let’s get this over with.” He mutters, sighing deeply.

“I have no demands you’ll be able to meet, Hero of Warriors.” The woman says, her ice cold voice even colder.

He leans back, chin tilting up. “I’m good at surprises. Let’s hear it.”

“Colyx Dullac.” The woman says, her icy voice shaking slightly.

The name slices through him like a knife, making him falter.

“Ah, you know him? I expected less, to be honest.”

“From the seventh artillery.” He says, the unwelcome memory slamming into him.

He’s in a tent, well into the night, and there’s a rustling at the entrance.

“Captain, Sir?”

He looks up from his map, meeting the eyes of a kid, a mere kid-

“What can I do for you?” He asks, pushing the thought away.

He doesn’t bother correcting the titles- it doesn’t matter.

“My name is Colyx, Captain, Sir. Colyx Dullac.”

When there's an awkward pause, he nods. “Nice to meet you, Sir Dullac.”

“Ah- well, see, Captain, Sir-”

“Link, Colyx.” He suggests gently. This kid… isn’t much younger than he is. Being called Captain has always made him uncomfortable.

The kid’s eyes widen, but nods. “Link, Captain, Sir, I was wondering if I could serve with you.”

He pauses. “I fail to understand. Serve with me?”

“Yes, Link, Captain, Sir! I’m currently stationed with the seventh artillery, but I was wondering if I could transfer and serve under your command.”

He can’t help but to frown. “The seventh artillery is in training.”

“Yes, Link, Captain, Sir, but we’re almost graduated, and I’m at the top of my class. With special permission… I’d be able to serve with you. I’m excellent with a sword, and a bow, and I-”

He holds up a hand, and Colyx stops immediately.

“I’ll look into your file, I’ll have someone get back to you shortly.” He promises.

The kid looks like he’d offered him a thousand rupees and the door to a different country- one not torn apart by war.

“Thank you Link, Captain, Sir!”

“Yeah.” He says, turning back to his map. Takes a slow breath, looking at where they have troops.

Mostly to himself, mutters, “Ganon’s forces outnumber us three to one here… avoid direct conflict if possible… we have an advantage here, but need more troops before trying an offensive… it’ll take at least a week for that to happen… in the meantime-”

“Keep your troops hidden while watching the enemy. Keep eyes on their movements, see if any of your soldiers can get an idea of their plans.” Colyx says, and he turns to the kid and raises an eyebrow.

“Go on.” He offers.

The kid hesitates, then- “We have an advantage here due to the landscape- they’re working against the hills, but we’re working with them. We can make an attack here. The town is over defended right now- we can evacuate and plan a huge offensive there or send troops to needed areas. To avoid needless casualties I’d suggest-”

The kid cuts off again, looking hesitantly at him.

He nods, smiling for the first time in days. “Suggest sending the troops out? Excellent… you’ve done your reading, haven’t you? You went to academy.”

“Yes, Sir.” Colyx says breathlessly.

He puts a hand on Colyx’s shoulder, offering a smile. “You start training with me tomorrow morning. Sunrise, be only a few minutes late.”

The look the kid gives him makes this whole damn war seem less shitty, the burning world seem less on fire.

There really is something good still- things he can do that aren’t killing people.

Two hours later, the kid is bleeding out in his arms.

“Keep your eyes on me, Soldier.” He orders, but his voice is shaking. He’s seen death before- too much of it- but this kid- this kid- something about it destroys him from the inside.

Colyx’s eyes flicker to him.

“Sir?”

“Colyx?”

“It’s going to be hard, Sir. But you’re going to make it. Don’t let them get you, Sir. Don’t let them win.”

And the kid is gone. Limp, eyes lifeless, chest still.

“I knew him.” He manages. “I remember.”

“My son fought in your pointless war. And he paid his price- his life. He thought you to be a hero- to be the savior of Hyrule as so many did. And he died.”

The woman’s voice trembles.

“He wasn’t seventeen, was he?” He whispers, eyes closing.

A small sob is his answer.

“I was fifteen when I enlisted. Looked older than I was, and I’d been on the streets my whole life… it was my way out.”

He’s punched across the face.

The man in the corner laughs. “Yeah! Hit him harder!”

The woman complies. He makes himself continue.

“Your son was like me. I saw myself in him. I offered to train him to be a captain the night he was killed.”

At that, the woman falters. Looks at him with teary eyes, hand pausing.

“He asked to serve under me and graduate early. I tested him a little bit, pretending like I was confused about a strategy to do… and he made a suggestion. A really good one. I offered to train him myself. Was walking him back to his quarters as the enemy ambushed us…”

His words falter, throat and eyes burning. But he makes himself swallow, takes a shaky breath.

“I held him as he died. He was brave until the end- even when I wasn’t. He’s much more of a hero than I am.”

The woman is crying now, hand still held over his face. “My boy… my brave little boy… he was always so brave… he wanted to enlist so badly, I thought he’d be safe… it was supposed to just be school, so I faked his age, signed his papers…”

The woman sobs, and he takes a shuddering breath.

“He’s dead because of me.” She bawls, knees hitting the ground.

“No,” he says quietly. “He’s dead because of Ganon. Because of the enemies that killed him. It wouldn’t have happened had Ganon not attacked. There’s no fault on you, nor anyone besides Ganon.”

Zelda’s words come back to him, her soft voice helping him through waves and waves of sickening guilt, panic, too many emotions to keep track of.

He’s crying, he’s screaming, he’s breaking anything he can get his hands on, that kids blood is still all over him-

“Link. Link, enough. Look at me, that is an order from your princess.”

He looks up at her, tears dripping down his face.

And she pulls him into a hug.

He completely breaks down, then, sobbing into her shoulder. He’s watched kids die, he’s sent kids to their death, he’s watched people die in much worse ways than Colyx, so why is this one hitting him so hard?

Because he could see himself in that kid. That confidence yet hesitation at the same time, the way he was a prodigy and didn’t know how to handle it, the way he wanted to do good.

Zelda’s arms hold him gently, shushing him softly, rubbing his back until he can’t cry anymore and she gets him to bed and stays with him until he falls asleep.

And they move on. They always move on. There’s no time in war- you move on or you die. Don’t let them get you, Colyx had told him. And he’d be damned if he does.

He pushes the painful thoughts away when they come, distracting himself with battles and troops and letters until he passes out at his desk.

Now he looks at Colyx’s mother, the same way Zelda must’ve looked at him when she’d found him on the floor.

“Tell me.” The woman whispers. “Tell me what happened.”

He takes a steadying breath, looking away. “Don’t.”

Then she’s angry again. “He’s my son. He was my son. I deserve an explanation- especially when the man who said he held him while he died is sitting right in front of me!”

The pain still stabs in his chest- old wounds he’d never really allowed to heal. “Don’t make me tell you.” He says weakly.

He doesn’t want to think about it, he’s already-

And he’s slapped across the face. “He is my son!” The woman screams, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “My son is dead! I want an explanation! That’s all I’ve wanted for two years!”

He tastes the metallic taste of blood in his mouth- she must’ve gotten his lip.

“It won’t make it hurt less. It’ll give you nightmares and flashbacks and you’ll hurt worse.” He tells her softly.

She’s crying again, tears on her face. “Please. Tell me what happened. It can’t be worse than what I’ve been imagining for two years.”

His heart hurts for this woman- the guilt that he walked away from the war when so many people didn’t.

So he takes a shuddering breath. “It wasn’t even on the battlefield. We were set up for the night, and he’d come to see me to ask about serving under me. Like I said earlier… I offered to train him as a captain myself. He was thrilled, wouldn’t stop thanking me. I offered to walk him back to his quarters… and we were on the edge of camp. Something flew by- a bomb, though we didn’t know that at the time. We both ducked, I grabbed his arm and yanked him away… then he tackled me. Took the full force of the blast, meaning… his hollow organs ruptured, he had third degree burns all over… and all I could do was hold him.” He manages.

Two years later, the memory still haunts him.

“He bled out in my arms. We weren’t even on the battlefield.” He chokes, a tear slipping down his face to his surprise. Two years… he supposes he never really let himself think about it.

They didn’t have time to grieve back then- there were battles going on, future battles to plan, soldiers to train and feed and instruct. After the war… well, he’d just shoved everything away.

He takes a shaking breath, looking at the woman.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sorry I survived and Colyx didn’t. He should have. Not me. I never was supposed to survive.”

The woman sobs again, but takes his hand.

Slowly unties his wrist, then his other one, his legs, then his waist.

“I’m sorry.” She chokes, stepping away from him. “I never imagined… how hard it could've been for you, too. How hard… you didn’t deserve this. I’m sorry. It was his birthday yesterday… he would’ve been eighteen.” She sobs again, sinking to the floor.

He sits there for a moment, too stunned to speak, much less move. But then he slowly kneels next to the woman, Colyx’s mother, putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

“You’re not much older than him. I can tell.” She says shakily, wiping her eyes.

If he’d be eighteen, then no, he really isn’t.

“No,” he says quietly. “I’m not. I’d… love to learn more about him, if you’re willing to tell me.”

And it’s the truth- he wants to know the kid that died for him. The kid that looked up to him, had had one conversation with him before dying for him.

Colyx’s mother looks up at him, offering a weak smile.

If Colyx’s birthday is today… that means his is coming up soon, he realizes.

He’d read all of Colyx’s files, any work the military had put into this kid, the essays the kid wrote in school… he feels like he knows the kid pretty well. But there’s always more. There’s always more to do to learn about someone, to get to know more about a person.

“I… I think I’d like that.” She says softly, taking his hand when he offers and getting to her feet.

He has no idea where he is, he realizes stupidly. Glances around, but the woman touches his arm hesitantly. “This way,” she says quietly, leading the way out of the room.

~~~~