#and then with the whump comes the rescue

[whump-allthe-way]

caretaker wasn’t supposed to be doing this, they weren’t a caretaker, and surely whumpee is capable of taking care of themselves, right? surely they’re old enough, so why does caretaker need to be there? they hate it, waking up every morning to an overly excited whumpee rambling about their dreams, they make breakfast and attempt to tune out of the annoying endless chatter, and they spend their evenings praying to everything above that whumpee would just go to bed-

until one day whumpee’s gone. they dropped them off at school without a word, watched them as they happily waved them off before turning to their friends. but now they’re gone, they’re not waiting in that same spot out of the school, there’s no sight of them or their backpack riddled with dozens of cute keychains and pins. caretaker jumps out of their car, heads towards the friends they pretended not to notice, demanding to know where their charge is. the shrugs tell them nothing, so they go home.

maybe whumpee will show up later, the peace and quiet will be nice after all.

a few hours pass, and caretaker cooks them a meal for when they’re home.

they watch the clock tick by and pass their favourite channel as they scroll through the tv, their show is on.

whumpee never comes home, and soon they’re at the police station. the police call them a few days later, and all caretaker hears is “i’m sorry- kidnapped-“

caretaker waits in the silence, they cook two meals every night in case whumpee comes strolling through that door with their giddy smile and endless stories, they save their show so they can catch up, and they practice their “i don’t care about you, but don’t do that again” lecture.

it’s months before caretaker gets the call, and this time the only word they hear is “hospital”

caretaker isn’t worried, or angry or scared, not by whumpee’s pale, bruised face, the frail form or the scars that peak out from the covers. caretaker doesn’t care- and they’re not crying from relief, they’re not gripping their hand tightly as they thank every god above, because whumpee is nothing more than an inconvenience-

whumpee is so small now, they shake and stutter, and the small smiles they manage don’t reach their eyes. when they’re home, whumpee doesn’t talk, not really, they answer caretakers questions and they mumble a shaky thank you when they’re given food, but they don’t ramble. not like they used to.

and caretaker finds themselves filling in the silence, sat on the couch talking and talking, about what whumpee’s missed, their friends and hell- even caretaker’s friends. they hand them the remote to watch their show and they tuck them in at night, and they pray that one day whumpee will smile again, perhaps wake them with that annoyingly cheerful “morning caretaker!” once more, or even just talk about the meaningless things in their life.

the whumpee they let crawl into their bed after they wake up screaming, the whumpee that hides behind them in front of strangers, the whumpee that quietly asks them questions isn’t their whumpee. and all caretaker can think is that if they’d just listened; payed a little more attention to their endless stream of words, their whumpee would be here.

[i-used-to-be-a-spy]

Burn Notice s5e10 Army of One

[allthewhumpygoodness]

For a whump blog, I post a surprisingly small amount of captivity whump. However, I have had An Idea:

A whumpee who's been captured for a while now and only just found, and their captor is known for using the most brutal of mental and physical interrogation techniques. When the whumpee's friends first find out where they're being held, they're told whumpee...might not be the same when they get a hold of them. That whumper might have broken them beyond repair.

They go in expecting the worst. They're prepared for whumpee not to recognize them, to have to hold them still while they writhe in fear from their own friends. They're prepared for someone feral and deranged, biting and scratching and nearly incapable of human speech. They're prepared for whumpee to be completely delirious. They're prepared for someone whose loyalties have been forcibly shifted, for an empty husk of a person.

What they're not prepared for is finding the whumpee curled up in the corner of their cell, eyes recognizing their friends but hollow, numb and haunted. They aren't prepared for whumpee to reach out a pair of stick-thin arms and cling to caretaker, leaning their full weight against them.

"Caretaker?" they say, their voice feeble yet very clear. "Can you take me home now? I'm so tired...please just take me home..."

And they don't resist when caretaker lifts their emaciated form, and carries them home.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Augusnippets Day 29: Singing

cw: aftermath of/referenced torture and captivity

previous

for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 665

=~=~=

Benji hummed quietly from the spare bed, an open paperback on his knee, words neglected and unread. It felt weird to watch Sahota sleep, but he couldn't take his eyes away. Every little shift, every change in breathing spiked his nerves. He was healing now, filling in, looking almost healthy, but he still wore the remnants of his weeks in the cell.

They'd almost been too late. Benji couldn't shake that. He'd still been recovering when Joy and Jer finally found Sahota, bedbound for almost a week after his own horrible ordeal, but it all felt so small when they'd carried him in.

He'd been almost skeletal, bruised up and unconscious, his torso wrapped in a hasty bandage that was oozing blood from everywhere. Benji didn't need to be in the medbay anymore by the time they got to him, but he'd moved back in anyway. Couldn't leave him alone for a second, couldn't let him wake up to being alone, because that had sure fucked him up the first few nights, and—

Sahota coughed in his sleep, and a zap went through Benji's nerves at the sound. His eyes went to the man's face, scanning for anything wrong, seeing nothing but an expression that looked almost peaceful.

Okay. Good.

He continued humming, a little louder now in an effort to calm his nerves. 

The summers die, one by one. How soon they fly…

Yeesh. Maybe a little on the nose.

Good morning Baaaltimore, every day's like an ooopen door—

“Y’singing?”

Benji nearly jumped out of his skin. He hadn't realized Sahota was awake. Had he woken with the cough? Or before it? Had Benji woken him up?

“Uh. Humming,” he answered. “So kind of?”

“Mm.”

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Benji found himself holding way too still. He was a little irritated that he couldn't tell if it was residual jitters from his stint in the cell or just regular awkwardness.

Sahota was the one to break the silence.

“You don't have to stop.”

“Yeah?” It was all he could think to say in the moment.

“Better than silence.”

Yeah. He got that much. Humming and singing under his breath had been the only way he could comfort himself, especially once they started leaving the bag on. His captors didn't like it, but it was the one thing he kept coming back to, even after they'd hit him for it a few times. Silence was a killer.

“Any requests?” he said lightly. 

“Anything you want,” Sahota responded, shifting against his pillows. 

“Hope you like showtunes.”

The other man let out a quiet chuckle, and Benji smiled at the sound. “Sure. You know the Flintstones theme?”

He had to keep himself from busting out laughing. The man was bedbound, he had to cut him some slack here. “That's not what I mean by showtunes,” he said. “I'm thinking more along the lines of Broadway musicals.”

Sahota's eyebrows went up slightly, though his eyes remained closed. “I liked The Lion King. Does that count?”

“The musical?”

“No, the cartoon. Is there a musical?”

This time, Benji did laugh. “Oh, you have a lot to learn.”

“Are you planning on teaching me?”

“I can go on for hours if that's what you want.”

“Beats listening to my own heartbeat.”

“Then don't say I didn't warn you.” Fuck, he wanted to launch into something fun, perform a one-man Wicked, find a way to bring the life back into Sahota---and introduce a hardcore spy man to Broadway, to boot.

But they were both exhausted, and killing silence didn't mean getting loud, not right away.

“Let me take you back to the musical that started it all,” he said. “For me, at least.”

“Yeah?”

“Promise not to laugh.”

A chuckle. “Cross my heart.”

Benji took a breath. It had been ages since he'd sang for an audience, even an audience of one. But right now, this felt like something they both needed.

“Memory, turn your face to the moonlight. Let your memory lead you, open up, enter in…”

[serickswrites]

Strength in Your Bones

Warnings: captivity, restraints, rescue, hidden injury, unconsciousness, blood, bloody nose

Caretaker raced to the room that they knew Whumper had stashed Whumpee in. Raced to get there to rescue Whumpee, to liberate them from the prison Whumper kept them in.

Caretaker breathed a sigh of relief when they saw Whumpee was chained to the wall, but seemingly unharmed. "Thank God, Whumpee. You're ok."

Whumpee gave a weak smile. "You found me."

Caretaker hurried over, lock picks in hand to break Whumpee free from the chains. "Course I did. I'll always find you, Whumpee. Are you ok?"

Whumpee nodded. "Now that you're here."

"I was so worried about Whumper would do to you in the time that it took me to get here."

"I'm ok, Caretaker. You found me. I'm ok."

Caretaker made quick work of breaking Whumpee out of the locks. "Let's get you out of here and get you home. Can you stand?"

Whumpee nodded, slowly rising. "How do we get out of here?"

Caretaker took Whumpee's hand in theirs and began to run. "Follow me."

Caretaker ran through the maze of Whumper's compound. They had Whumpee. Whumpee was safe. Everything was going to be ok. They just had to get out of here. The words were a mantra that filled Caretaker's head.

"Almost there, Whumpee," Caretaker murmured over their shoulder as the door to the outside came into view.

"Good," Whumpee replied breathlessly.

Whumpee stumbled, dropping Caretaker's hand. Caretaker whirled round as Whumpee's knees buckled. "Whumpee?" Caretaker's heart raced. They grabbed Whumpee by the lapels of their jacket to keep Whumpee upright.

"I.....I....I don't ffffffeellllll so....so....goooood," Whumpee muttered as they collapsed in Caretaker's arms, going completely limp as they lost consciousness.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker shrieked as they tried to shake Whumpee awake. "Whumpee! Open your eyes! Say something! Whumpee!"

Caretaker's mouth went dry as they saw the blood dripping from Whumpee's nose. What had Whumper done to them? "Whumpee!"

[tuned-in-for-two]

aww that’s sweet that Husk and Niffty are taking care of you

Alastor: *is quiet as Husk is undressing him, revealing his stitches that have ripped a bit* Oh don’t mind that.

Husk: *sighs and goes looking for the first aid kit…but doesn’t see one. So he does what he can, clean up the wound with a wash cloth* Niffty, go get the Hotel’s first aid kit and make sure it has lots of bandages!

Niffty: Sure thing Kitty! *runs off*

Husk: *goes to clean the stitches*

Alastor: I said you don’t have to worry about it.

Husk: Well if it’s not cleaned up, it’ll be a bigger problem later.

Niffty: *back immediately with a first aid box almost as big as her* Here it is, Husky! Found it just where I thought it’d be!

Husk: Yep. Good job, Nifft. *takes the kit and starts sorting through it for the right supplies*

Alastor watched them with a detached curiosity, feeling oddly out of place in this moment of care. He was used to chaos, violence, and manipulation—not this kind of... attention. His wound throbbed again, and he let out a soft groan despite himself.

Alastor: *forcing a smile, though his voice was strained*

Husk: *carefully cleans around the torn stitches*

Alastor sighed and relaxed a little, letting Husk do his work. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something oddly grounding about Husk’s gruff, no-nonsense attitude. It was better than the unnerving silence of being alone with his thoughts, at least.

Niffty: *bouncing around as she organizes the supplies in the kit* Bossy, you’ve got to be more careful! We don’t want you falling apart, do we?

Alastor: *chuckled softly, though the laugh was cut short by a sharp pang in his chest. Falling apart, dear Niffty, is something I’m quite accustomed to. But your concern is... noted.

Husk continued to work in silence, gently applying new bandages over the cleaned stitches. As much as Alastor wanted to brush off the situation, he was grateful for the care—though he would never admit it.

Once Husk finished, he sat back.

Husk: There. That should hold for a while, but don’t go doing anything stupid.

Alastor: *gave a sly smile, though his eyes were heavy with fatigue* Stupid? Me? Perish the thought.

Husk snorted, shaking his head, while Niffty fluttered around, already tidying up the supplies.

As they worked, Alastor’s eyelids grew heavier, the exhaustion finally catching up to him again.

Husk: *noticing Alastor’s sleepiness* Boss? You wanna go back to bed?

Alastor: *blinks rapidly to wake himself up* Huh? No! I’m not tired.

Husk: *knows better. He looks at the newly made bed with clean bedsheets* Come on Boss. Back to bed. *pulls Alastor up and actually lifts him up, carrying him princess style*

Alastor: HUSKER!

Husk: *lays Alastor down gently on the bed*

Alastor: Husker what is the meaning of this?! Husker!

Husk: *climbs onto the bed and curls next to Alastor like a cat, and purrs*

Alastor: *begins to calm down almost immediately as he feels Husker’s purrs next to him. His eyes immediately droop and he snuggles beside Husker* Bad…*yawn* Kitty…

Niffty: *jumps on the bed and takes a nap with Alastor and Husk*

The only sounds heard were Husk’s purrs, Alastor quiet snores, and Niffty’s breathing

[honeycollectswhump]

Thorns of a Nightmare

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, it-pronouns used for (internal) dehumanization, gore (?? kind of?? its the description of a nightmare), chronic pain (if i missed something, feel free to tell me)

Mutt awoke with a start, barely escaping the claws of its latest nightmare, drenched in sweat. Its tears had left a salty taste in its mouth. Even that couldn’t overshadow the lingering taste of blood staining its mouth. It could only hope it hadn’t screamed, hadn’t woken its owner up like an ungrateful brat. The raw feel of its throat told it otherwise.

The memory of the horrific punishment was still too fresh in its mind. It had been deserved –of course– but the pain had haunted the Pet ever since. It couldn’t even remember what it had done, though it knew it must have done something. It just remembered its old Master’s rage. 

He had bound Mutt’s wrists with barbed wire and chained it to the wall. If it dared to close its eyes now, it could see its old Master approaching with a broken pipe in hand, burning fury twisting its Master’s features. He knew where to hit, knew how to shatter bones into tiny pieces. Blow after blow came raining down until Mutt’s hands were a bloody pulp, its fingers barely discernable. They never healed quite right afterwards –nothing ever did, instead growing so twisted and crooked that Mutt could hardly move them. Master hadn’t allowed his disobedient Pet a reprieve then, only hours later when Mutt was a grovelling sobbing mess on the floor. 

When it looked down at its hands, it could still see the thick and ragged scars the barbed wire had left behind as it had dug into the Pet’s skin. They never stopped burning and itching, but now it was even worse. It was as if the wire had never left. Mutt found that it couldn’t move its fingers at all aside from involuntary twitching. Instead, they were cramped up just as they had been when bound: a constant reminder of its failures. 

Soon, real pain would follow. Mutt knew such an offence would not go unpunished. Even if Master didn’t hear the scream, it would fess up in the morning so that Master could take disciplinary action. That was the least it could do. Mutt didn’t dare go back to sleep. The nightmare wouldn’t have allowed it to anyways. But more so, it desperately wanted to be good. It vowed to show its Master how willing it was to be corrected. 

As silently as its forever broken limbs allowed it, it clambered out of its bed. It still could barely believe that its Master would grant it such a privilege, especially after all the times it messed up so badly. Just like now. 

Once Mutt reached the cold floor on its hands and knees, it immediately missed the soft warmth of the bed. There was a fluffy-looking rug on the floor. Mutt was sure it would feel wonderful for its mutilated knees. However, it knew it wasn’t allowed. Mutt would dirty the beautiful carpet with its disgusting animal body. 

Instead, it crawled in front of the door, careful not to accidentally touch the carpet. There it knelt, head bowed, hands on the ground, ready and open for its Master. She would come –eventually– Mutt knew. If not now, then in the morning when she would get the Pet out of the confines of the room it was kept in. It knew its place. Nothing else mattered.

To its horror, Mutt could hear footsteps coming closer. It really must have woken its Master up. Steeling itself, it pressed itself closer to the ground. It would be good and obedient for its owner. 

From its position on the ground, Mutt couldn’t see the door open but it could hear the creaking of the old wood, no matter how soft Master tried to open it. There was a pause before she took a silent step inside.

“Atlas? Everything alright?” Master whispered.

Only react when your Master directly tells you to. You are nothing until your Master has a use for you.

“Oh, Atlas, no…” It heard a soft thump then a hand came into view. Mutt shuddered, suppressing a flinch. It knew better than to move away from its Master. 

Master pulled her hand back without having touched her Pet. Mutt wished she did.

Pets don’t have wishes. Or wants. 

“Atlas, please look at me. It’s okay, I promise.” Its Master said. Mutt loved her so much. Her, and her calm voice, and soft touches, and It’s okay’s. It would do anything for her.

(It had never been allowed to look its old Master in the eyes. If it did, its vision would be taken away. It had only been temporary, but even a stupid Pet like Mutt could grasp the underlying threat.)

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” 

Its entire body vibrated with fear, but Mutt knew deep inside its bones that it had to fess up. Maser was giving it the chance to admit its wrongdoings. But at the same time, there was no reason for it to whine about a silly little nightmare it had. Master wouldn’t concern herself with such irrelevant nonsense. She simply wouldn’t.

It had been so determined to say something, to show its willingness and obedience, but now that the time had come it didn’t know what to say. 

Say something, you useless Mutt! it wanted to scream at itself, but no matter what its body stayed frozen on the ground.

“It’s alright. You can tell me.” 

A whimper escaped Mutt’s lips, the memory of the nightmare never having left its mind. It could feel thorny wire digging into its skin, binding its arms together, its pleas for mercy going unheard. Broken bones grinding against each other. Mutt knew it had been a necessary punishment but still… It was hurting all over.

“Please fo-forgive this Pet, Master.” It stuttered, still unused to speaking even after months of being with its new Master. Just another proof of how braindead it was. 

“This P-Pet, it had a… a bad dream. It believes it screamed, Master. It knows this is un-unacceptable behaviour. Please correct this stupid Pet, s-so that it can continue to serve you in the future.”

Mutt just hoped it wouldn’t be thrown out. This wasn’t the first time it had awoken its new Master by being such a noisy nuisance, and it doubted it would be the last. So far, mercifully, Master hadn’t yet decided to take action, but Mutt knew deep down that any day could be its last.

“It’s quite alright, I promise,” Master assured it. “I was already awake when I heard you.”

“It is so sorry. This Pet will try to be quiet, it promises. You could–” Mutt dreaded the suggestions but knew they were necessary. 

It would do anything for its Master. 

“If-if it would please you, Master, you could tie this Pet up and stuff its mouth, or-or lock it outside. But if… if you would pre-prefer a long-lasting solution… you could c-cut this Pet’s vocal cords.” Mutt tried to force a smile. “It knows it isn’t there anymore, but its old Master saw this as a feasible option… al-although he never went that far.”

Master took in a sharp breath, which made Mutt shake even more. 

“No! You don’t–that won’t be necessary.” Master paused. Surely, she was judging her worthless Pet, debating how lenient she should be, debating when her patience would run out. “It’s not a big deal, I promise. As I said, I was already awake. And even if I weren’t it would still be alright. Really.”

Mutt wanted to believe her so badly. It didn’t matter if it was all a lie and she would punish her Pet later on –rightfully so. It wanted to believe everything would be alright, that it would be a good Pet, even as the pain all across its body reminded it of its inevitable shortcomings. 

To its horror, big, fat tears started rolling down its face. The nightmare, the memories, the pain. Master’s gentleness. It was all too much. 

Shrinking back from its Master, Mutt tried to stifle the sob that threatened to break free, tried to hide those traitorous tears. It couldn’t cry! Not without explicit permission. But no matter how hard Mutt tried, it was like its body had forgotten all those lessons that had been beaten into it. 

Once the tears started there was no end to them. They would just get worse. It couldn’t stop the tears or the heavy rasping breaths, or how its nose immediately clogged up. It tried to turn its head away to hide the shame of its cries.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Master whispered, carefully cupping its face in her hands, preventing it from looking away. Mutt could feel its tears catch on her soft hands and its stomach twisted painfully. 

“I–I can’t!” Mutt sobbed. “I’ll dirty you! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This Pet isn’t worthy.”

“It’s alright.” Master's soft voice washed over Mutt. She waited for a moment, then scooted closer. Mutt’s protests (that a Pet like it shouldn’t have anyways) died right on its tongue. 

She drew it closer to herself, wrapping it gently in her arms. Mutt’s breath hitched. 

“Just let it all out. You will be alright, I promise.” Master assured it. A moment passed, then another. 

Mutt couldn’t help it. It melted into her embrace, her soothing voice, her warmth. In this moment, wrapped in Master’s arms, Mutt didn’t care if it would be punished for this later, for the tears soaking into the fabric of her pyjama. 

Distantly, it could feel her rocking it back and forth, whispering sweet nothings into its hair. Its hands grasped the back of her shirt like a dying man, burying its face in the crook of her neck. She pressed its body a little bit closer to herself, and Mutt could feel its heart nearly beating out of the ribcage against her chest, her calm breaths a steady rhythm.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumptember day 8

8. “Don’t come back”

content warning: broken bone, bear trap

Kicked out | Saying goodbye for the last time | Lashing out 

Caretaker’s fingers slipped against the slick metal encasing Whumpee’s leg, making them lose their grip once more. Their fingers were numb and uncoordinated, sticky with Whumpee’s cooling blood. They couldn’t stop shaking. 

The bear trap wouldn’t come off. They’d tried everything, from trying to pull the chain from the earth, to prying the jaws open, to loosening the bolts. They’d been trying for nearly an hour, and all they’d accomplished was hurting Whumpee more. The bear trap remained stubbornly shut.

Frustrated tears filled Caretaker’s eyes. They were so close, so close to finally getting Whumpee back. If they could just stop being useless for ten seconds and do something—

“Caretaker.” Whumpee’s voice called out, thick with pain. They were propped against a nearby tree, face moist with sweat despite the freezing temperatures. 

Caretaker ignored them, squirting in the darkness in hopes of finding some instruction on how to unlock the trap. They knew they wouldn’t find any; Whumper would never be so kind.

“Caretaker, that’s enough,”

They had to focus. If they could just pull themselves together, they could fix this. They could do it, if they just focused.

“Caretaker—”

“Just give me a minute!” Caretaker hissed. They swipped at the tears clouding their vision. “I can do it, I just need a minute.”

They fell back into silence again, the only sound being Whumpee’s pained breaths and the occasional crunch of snow and Caretaker worked. They tried to dig their fingers underneath the jaws again, but their digits were too numb. They’d stopped being able to feel their fingers a while ago.

“It’s not going to come off.”

“No. I just got you back. I can’t lose you again,” They tried at the bolts again. Their fingers slipped. 

“Caretaker,” Whumpee’s voice was stern, and finally, Caretaker turned to face them. Whumpee’s eyes were filled with a cold acceptance. “I need you to listen to me. It isn’t coming off. Whumper wouldn’t make things that simple.

Caretaker knew that. They were fully aware of Whumper’s brutality, and that fact only made the thought of leaving Whumpee more dreadful. “Please, just–”

“Whumper will just find us both if you don’t leave,” Their voice bore no room for argument. “My leg is broken. I couldn’t walk even if you removed it.”

They stared at Whumpee’s leg. Blood dripped from the wound, staining their pants and turning the snow beneath them a dark red. The teeth were sharp, the jaw vice-like. Caretaker remembered the movement the trap clamped shut around Whumpee’s leg, how they gasped in pain before falling to the forest floor. They remembered the snap they’d heard.

They’d pretended it was a breaking branch, but they knew better. Whumpee was right.

“I can’t leave you again,” Caretaker whispered. Their eyes didn’t leave Whumpee’s leg. “I just got you back. I can’t leave you again.”

Whumpee turned away, shaking. Neither of them moved for a long moment, simply listening to the wilderness around them. Caretaker wondered if Whumper was still out there, hunting them down.

“I can’t stand to see you caught,” Whumpee’s voice trembled when they spoke. They didn’t turn to face Caretaker. “Knowing you were out there, safe and away from Whumper, was the only thing that kept me going. If you got caught, I wouldn’t…” They trailed off, finally turning to face Caretaker. There were tears in their eyes. “Please, just go. Don’t make me see you get hurt.”

Caretaker wanted to argue, but the look in Whumpee’s eyes, the desperation and acceptance, stilled their tongue.

They knew if their positions were reversed, Caretaker would tell them the same thing.

“I’ll come back,” every work felt like a stab to the chest, but they forced themselves to speak them. They grabbed Whumpee’s hand, squeezing it. “I’ll save you, I promise.”

“Don’t come back, don’t put yourself in danger again. If Whumper catches you, they’ll kill you,” Whumpee said. Caretaker could feel their hands trembling. “Get help if you can, but save yourself first. Promise me.”

Caretaker nodded, even if it were the last thing they wanted to do. “...I promise.”

[penitent-stranger]

Whumpuary Jan 01-02  - Captivity / Snow / Secret Revealed

(cw: brief war imagery, hypothermia)

Somehow, the cold made everything sound sharper.

Every crunch of Jaye’s boots through layers of snow reached her ears and then dissipated in the frozen air before it could properly echo. The sound just - cut off. Like walking through a room filled with sound panels, everything sounding clear and precise.

That’s exactly what it was, she realized. The foot of snow all around her absorbed everything, from her rasping breaths, to her footsteps, to the creak of the trees surrounding her. No birds. After living twenty years on a station and hearing no birds at all, she didn’t realize their absence would put her so on-edge. Miles of empty space in every direction, and she couldn’t shake the wriggling sense of claustrophobia.

Everything looked sharper too - crisp and pristine, all harsh edges and white lighting from the reflection against the snow. Not at all like the abandoned chaos of the battlefield she’d just walked through. It had something to do with the low sun angle, she guessed. The same thing that made this part of the planet so cold. With the sun just kissing the treeline, the shadows looked a little more stark than usual. She flexed her hands in her gloves and looked back at the holographic tracking display. 

Puffs of condensation from her breath swirled around the projected image. She tried her best to breathe through her nose, but the cold air made the space between her eyes ache. The little distress signal blinked in the same place it had since she’d first discovered it, back on the ship. She’d created a countersignal to cover it up as soon as she could - the code word tapped out in morse code might not mean anything to someone else, but she didn’t want to take that risk. News of the recent skirmish already put eyes on the area, and something told her that whoever sent out that signal wouldn’t appreciate a Harrison heir answering their cry for help.

The comms in her ear crackled to life, Alba’s voice sounding alarmingly obtrusive in the surrounding quiet.

“It’s been a while since your last update, Bluebird. Any signs of life?”

Jaye glanced at the cyan dot blinking a little further off on the display. It seemed to make better distance across the map than her own darker blue one, almost unhindered by the rough terrain. She slipped trying to pick her way through a muddy furrow in the snow, plowed by some stray explosives. She recovered her footing and brought a hand to her ear to reply.

“Nothing yet. The search radius on this thing leaves a lot to be desired in terms of exact location.”

Clouds of crystalized water vapor hung in the air in front of her face, a visual representation of sound. She moved away from the modest-sized crater and back into pristine ice.

“The sun is setting. We should consider altering our plan if we can’t find this person before temperatures drop.”

“No. We keep looking. I’m not leaving someone out here overnight.”

“You mean you won’t leave an ally.”

Jaye chose not to respond to that. She’d told Alba she needed to split off from the group for a little while - personal business, she’d said - and they seemed to pick up her meaning well enough. Maybe a little too well. Before she could tell him to keep an ear out in case she needed back-up, he’d already insisted on coming with her. He reasoned they’d cover more ground that way, and find whoever needed help more quickly.

Taking them along did prove useful. They told her to leave them to handle Red while she prepped her Kidd for departure. Jaye didn’t know what they said to their squad lead, but the two were allowed to leave with no trouble, no explanations necessary. She didn’t plan on asking, either.

Jaye paused at the top of a small crest to give her lungs a chance to recover. Trudging through the snow didn’t exactly save enough breath for a conversation at the same time, and her legs burned. How could walking such a short distance turn her limbs to lead?

“They’re probably wounded,” she said. “They’ll need first aid.”

“Bluebird. We didn’t find any survivors back there. How do you know that whoever you’re looking for isn’t one of those corpses?”

Jaye clenched her jaw. The muscle ached, tender from tensing against the chilly air. Alba sounded almost apologetic, but her mind still flashed with recent images of the carnage not fifty meters behind her. The grim scarlet of frozen blood mixed with snow. A crumpled and destroyed mech frame, still smoldering. She and Alba had checked every body they came across for signs of life, however faint. They hadn’t found any. 

“We keep searching,” she said. “If we haven’t found anything by sundown, we’ll discuss.”

“Copy, 0-2.”

Both Alba and Jaye took turns checking in on each other as they trudged through the woods - Alba asking about the state of her fingers and toes, Jaye reminding him to rest and stay hydrated. Occasionally, their chosen paths took them close to each other, and the sound of Alba’s footsteps reached her ears before she spotted them through the branches. Pale skin and long white hair blended in quite well against the icy backdrop, perfect camouflage if not for the glow of their eyes.

Jaye stubbed her toe on a rock hidden in the snow. The thick soles of her boots absorbed the shock, but she still cursed under her breath. She caught herself on a frost-covered tree trunk and looked around. She swore she’d walked this section of the woods before. There -  that tree to her right. Hit by a long-range missile, it splintered in a violent curve toward the ground, its branches twisted and snapped. She’d walked by it in the other direction, and now looked at it from the opposite side. She stood in place and swiveled her head to try and find other landmarks to gain her bearings. 

Union’s military academy offered survival training as part of their lancer program, of course, but just because Jaye knew what to do didn’t mean she knew what to expect. Her joints ached from the cold, even through the layers of heat-trapping fabric. Her nose and cheeks itched furiously, but when she tried to scratch at them, the stiff outer shell of her gloves scraped against delicate skin and made her hiss through her teeth.

With clumsy fingers, she unzipped an outer pouch on her cold weather gear and wriggled free a flattened water bottle kept close to her body. Might as well take a moment to rest. She took a drink. Cold, but not frozen. She put it back and resumed her search, picking a different path this time.

The temperature dropped as ghostly blue shadows settled between the trees, heralding the setting sun. The feeble winter rays disappeared at an almost alarming rate, their dying breaths taking away the last of their meager warmth. 

Jaye found herself squinting as the pain in her jaw turned unbearable. She unclipped a tactical flashlight from her belt and swept the woods in a broad arc. Even with her light, every lump in the snow looked like a makeshift shelter. Every half-obscured rock or fallen log looked like a human body. Trees stood out as blackened skeletons against the landscape, and the shapes of everything started to dim and blend into each other.

She’d been fooling herself; they wouldn’t find anyone out here, not now. If she didn’t call the search soon, she’d be lucky to make it back to her mech without getting lost - even with the tracking interface to show her the way.

Her comms chirped in her ear again. Even before Alba’s voice came through, her stomach sank. She prepared herself to bargain for a few extra minutes, but her teammate didn’t bring bad news.

“Bluebird, I’ve got sights on someone. Non-hostile. They appear to be unconscious.”

Relief washed over her so strong, she nearly toppled into the snowbank behind her. Her eyes snapped back to the hologram in front of her, and she locked on to Alba’s cyan dot. “Copy. I’m on my way.”

Jaye hiked through the woods as fast as she could without sending herself careening through dead underbrush. Her flashlight’s beam cut through the strengthening darkness, but even then, branches swiped at her face, and briars nearly snatched the hat off of her head more than once. Alba provided a steady stream of information on their target as she made the trek over to them.

“Male, early twenties. Somewhat conscious. They’ve taken a gunshot wound to the thigh and lost a bit of blood, but I suspect their delayed responsiveness is more due to hypothermia.”

Something pinched behind Jaye’s sternum, her lungs bruising from breathing in frozen air for too long. “Any other injuries?”

“Some scrapes and burns. Nothing else quite as pressing.”

Jaye’s flashlight caught a figure crouching underneath a fallen tree, and the white of Alba’s hair tossed back a gleaming reflection. She squinted against the brightness, and sent away the tracking display with a flick of her hand.

“I’ve spotted you. I’m almost there.” 

Snow crunched loudly in her ears. Next to Alba, a figure lay sprawled on top of a dark blanket laid across the snow. Her teammate pulled a bundle of rope out of his bag and began to unwind it, and Jaye caught his hushed tones as they spoke with the person on the ground.

Jaye stalled when she saw the pilot’s face. “It’s you.”

Alba looked up without pausing their work, the faint cyan glow from their eyes cutting through the hair falling in front of their face. It hung in a loose ponytail at the base of their skull, the top of their head mussed from being under a winter hat until recently. Said hat had since been tugged firmly over the ears of the pilot on the ground.

He looked the same, somehow. Paler, due to blood loss and the cold, but unmistakable. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and scorch marks covered his plugsuit. He stirred as he heard Jaye’s approach, and flinched when he moved a leg wrapped in a dark-stained, makeshift bandage.

“Ah.” Alba said. “So you do know each other. I thought that may be the case.”

Jaye allowed herself a few seconds to get over her shock. Tucking her light into her shoulder, she knelt at the blanket’s edge and unclipped her field kit. She didn’t think it would be him that sent out the signal. What the hell was he doing here? 

Her gloves gave her some trouble with opening the kit, so she tore them off. The cold made her fingers stiffen, and the gasp she sucked in stung her teeth. The pilot seemed to notice her for the first time. With a weak groan, he turned his head and squinted through the darkness.

“J...Jaye?”

She flashed him a patient smile and pulled a thermal blanket out of her kit, hyper-aware of Alba’s staring at her with that intense look of theirs. She decided to ignore them. “Sh, it’s alright. It’s me. I’m gonna get you outta here, so just hang tight, ok? Don’t fall asleep on me, buddy.”

The boy didn’t seem to understand at first, but he nodded after a moment. Alba’s hat flattened sweat-soaked and frozen hair against his forehead, and Jaye resisted the urge to brush it back. She unfolded the blanket and looked over at her teammate.

“Could you roll him on his side, please?” she asked. “Gently.”

Despite their slight frame, Alba pulled the pilot closer to them with ease, and Jaye spread the thermal blanket out beside him. 

“This is a friend of yours, I take it?” they asked.

Reflective material crinkled too loud under Jaye’s hands, especially compared to the eerie silence of the woods around them. “Yes.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll introduce me.”

“Alba, please focus.”

They fell silent with an understanding nod. For as much mischief that Alba’s curiosity caused, they still respected Jaye’s privacy. Once she finished with the blanket, they rolled the pilot onto his back again. She unfolded the rest of the blanket to wrap around him, but she didn’t tuck it under his body just yet. Her hands drifted to the bandage around his leg. He winced when she touched it.

“Has the bleeding stopped?” she asked Alba.

They nodded. “We’ll need to take a look at it once we return to your mech.”

“Rewarming takes priority, right now.” She dug some heat packs out of her kit and tossed them at her teammate. “Take these. Put ‘em at pulse points.”

Alba dutifully crushed the packs and shook them to get the reaction started. As gently as she could, Jaye pressed her hands either side of the boy’s face and made him look her in the eye. Even with her hands shaking without her gloves, his cheeks still froze against her skin. He blinked at the flashlight shining in his face, but the reaction was slow. A light blue dusted his lips. He didn’t shiver.

“Hey,” she said. “We’re bringin’ you someplace warm, but it’s a bit of a hike. Y’think you can stay awake for me?”

Her Long Rim accent broke through a little more than usual, and she decided to lean into it. Maybe hearing something familiar might grab his attention more. She let her thumbs stroke his cheeks while Alba was too distracted to notice.

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed, and he groaned weakly. “You have…weird friends.”

Jaye chuckled lightly. “Yeah. They're savin' your ass though, so be polite.”

The boy’s own weak laugh turned into a cough, and Jaye placed a hand on his chest. She didn’t like the sound of that.

“Jaye…I’m…I’m real cold.”

“I know. We're warmin’ you up, but you gotta stay awake, alright? We got a lot to catch up on later, and I don’t wanna miss it.”

He groaned again and nodded. Jaye smiled at him.

“Hey. That's a promise. I'm holdin’ you to it.”

She pulled back just as Alba tucked the last heat pack under the pilot’s arm. The two of them wrapped him up, first with the thermal blanket, then with the two woolen ones Alba had laid on the ground. They worked together to secure everything with the rope, winding it around the pilot’s legs and body and tying knots to keep it all in one place.

Alba stood and looped the ends of the ropes around his shoulders like straps. As the stronger of the two, he’d be the one to drag the kid to safety. Jaye finished clipping her field kit against her hip and patted the pilot’s face one more time.

“Stay awake,” she told him. “Ok? Alba here’ll make sure you don’t drift off on us. When they he ask a question, you be sure to answer.”

He whined, but did his best to nod while bundled up in layers of blankets. Jaye straightened and brought her hands to her lips to try and breathe some warmth back into them. Alba blinked calmly at her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She jerked her head once and tugged her gloves back on. “I’ll be fine. I’ll lead us back to the Kidd if you’re alright carrying him.”

“He can’t be much heavier than you, dear.”

Jaye snorted. “You’d be surprised. He’s more dense than he looks.”

She pulled up the tracking hologram again, and with a few taps, the display switched from the pilot’s signal to her Kidd’s homing beacon. The map refreshed, and an orange dot replaced the white one.

Alba gestured for her to take the lead. “After you, dear.”

Jaye aimed her flashlight through the dark and began the trek back the way they’d come.

[waywardwizzard]

The grandfather clock struck ten, the heavy gongs echoing through the house.

The door to the study slammed open and Simon stumbled in, his hands bound in front of him. Behind him, the guards pulled the door shut, cutting off the sound of the clock's gonging.

Gabriel sat in a chair near the ornate fireplace, smiling, and he waved at the chair opposite him. Cautiously, Simon walked closer, stopping in front of the chair.

"Simon. Please, take a seat-"

"I'm fine standing, thank you. Where's River?"

The older man's smile fell and he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.

"Why must you be so stubborn?"

"I don't know, it might have something to do with the fact that you never cared-"

"I'm doing this because I care about you!" Gabriel spat. He stood up, glaring, "I did this for you-"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Simon deadpanned, "I didn't realize caring parents kidnap their own children-"

The slap echoed through the room, plunging it into silence.

Simon spat out a glob of blood, grinning when it landed on the expensive Persian rug from Earth-That-Was.

Gabriel sighed, flexing his hand.

"They were right after all," he muttered, looking at his son mournfully. He shook his head and sat back down.

Simon looked at his father in confusion.

"What-?"

The door opened and the guards came back in, their faces expressionless. Wide eyed, Simon glanced at them.

"Take him back to his room-" Gabriel began, running a tired hand over his eyes.

"River she-," the doctor struggled against the guards, his feet sliding on the wood floor, "- she needs her meds-"

"Your mei-mei will be looked over by a competent doctor," he ignored the hurt look in his son's eyes, "I will see you tomorrow, when you've hopefully learned to behave."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Author's note-

Like I said before, I don't like Gabriel Tam. But he does make for a good villian in a found family story. I hope this story isn't too bad, I tried my best but my brain refused to work today. I'll expand this fic one day... hopefully

Thanks for all the likes/reblogs so far <3

[how-much-for-a-whump]

WHUMPTOBER day 16: No way out

"No one's coming."

Die Bergretter S08E04

[gumnut-logic]

A reason why Nutty shouldn’t attempt to write when feeling like crap

He let out a sigh his ‘bird’s engines finally wound down to a stop. Her air frame creaked as she settled in her hangar.

Virgil took the moment to let himself relax. It had been a nasty rescue. He had needed back up but none of his brothers had been available with Gordon still recovering and a tourist liner in strife halfway to the moon dragging two brothers and his sister beyond earth’s orbit.

Scott had checked in while Virgil was out in the field, worried that the landslide had been too much for his lone brother.

Virgil had brushed him off.

He had thought he had enough.

Mother Nature had begged to differ.

An aftershock had taken down more of the mountain, stealing those lives he hadn’t been able to reach and hammering it home when part of that mountain took him down with it.

It wasn’t the first time he had taken a tumble like this, though he had to admit ‘tumble’ was far too much of an understatement.

Wrapped in his exo-suit he had some protection as the world spun and pummelled him with rock hard fists.

John was in his ear demanding he respond, but laying half-buried in debris at the bottom of the landslide, it had taken him a moment to get enough energy and coherence to reply.

By that time Scott was in on the shouting party and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut at the cacophony.

But he was fine.

How could he be anything else?

He dug himself out. Stretched bruised muscles and made sure all the important bits worked.

Scott was not impressed.

Neither was John.

But Virgil had a rescue to finish.

Unfortunately, due to the further devastation of the aftershock, ‘rescue’ wasn’t quite the right word anymore.

So it all sucked.

Weary and not a little emotionally drained, he dragged himself through the necessary tasks before relinquishing the site to the local authorities and heading home.

There was grit in his socks.

His head was pounding. He was bruised from head to toe.

And his heart hurt so much.

But life went on. It was just another failure he was going to have to live with.

He sucked in a breath as he moved to push his seat back and had to hunch over as his ribcage decided to stab him.

Ow, shit.

Sitting down to fly his ‘bird home was often not the best thing to do after a strain. Sustained stillness could be equal to sustained strain and now he had to drag his aching body out of that seat.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to move.

Okay, that hurt. Maybe a trip the infirmary would be a good idea.

He made it as far as stepping off Two’s hatch onto the concrete floor of the hangar.

A flash of white hot pain in his side, nausea, and the world spun away.

-o-o-o-

[primalvessel]

The basement-come-dungeon was chilly, draughty and dim, furnished only with a worn wooden table, an equally worn wooden stool and a bucket. There was a stink of metal, blood and sweat on the air that turned the stomach.

Against one cold, stone wall a figure hung.

There wasn't so much as a twitch of the ears from the bound feline. Slumped in his chains and with his head dropped towards his chest it seemed clear that he wasn't conscious.

Probably for the best.

Arms out wide and secured by heavy shackles, the red raw skin of his wrists suggested that he was well aware of his situation and had already tried, clearly unsuccessfully, to slip his bonds. None would blame him for trying after seeing the state of him.

Boots were missing and his blood-splattered pants were ripped in several places but he was bare from the waist up. Lightly tanned skin was marred in a dozen places with bruises and relatively minor cuts. A split lip, a black eye and blood trailing from his right brow and his nose suggested that someone had taken offense to his good looks though it was anyone's guess as to why they'd ripped an earring from his ear and left the blood to colour his pale hair and fur.

The worst of it though, besides the knowledge that he'd been taken advantage of during a period of weakness after saving the damned world his very captors walked upon, came in the form of a stab wound just above his left hip, two deep lacerations to his chest and midsection, a nasty gash across his shoulder and the blade that had been used to cause the wounds left buried in his right thigh.

The shallow rise and fall of his chest was the only indication that he yet lived.

Nearby, a door creaked and heavy footsteps approached.

Maru didn't stir until fingers closed firmly on his jaw and his head was tilted. Lashes fluttered and he groaned, chains clanking as he shifted in his bindings and began to shiver against the chill. The grip on his jaw changed, a thumb swiped along his swollen bottom lip, collecting blood as it went and the bite of pain as the rough pad moved over the split brought clarity.

Without warning, Maru sank his teeth into the thumb, sharp little fangs breaking skin and he held on as his captor howled and tried to rip the digit free.

Maru held on, snarling savagely.

Blows from his captor's free hand rained down on his head, blood flooded his mouth and he lost all awareness of his surroundings - all he knew was the locking of his jaw, the refusal to release the trapped digit, and pain.

Neither he nor his captor heard the door creak open once more beneath the roaring and expletives of the man who was very very close to losing his thumb.

[mindingmyownbusiness]

Sneak Preview (Rescue Chapter 8)

“I still can’t wrap my thick skull around the fact that you’re really here doll, that I can hold you whenever I want,” he pulls back just enough to gaze into your eyes, the love there unmistakeable. “That I can kiss you,” leaning in he whispers against your lips, “anytime I want...”

[befuddled-calico-whump]

how would the t$$ characters react to waking up bound to a chair and blindfolded??

oooh what a delightful scenario---

Joy would immediately try to strongarm her way out, and failing that, would actually wait and listen to see if there's anyone else around. If she can move at all, she will, taking the whole chair with her if she has to. If she can't... Well, the longer she's left there, the more bored (*cough* creative) and pissy she'll get.

Benji's first instinct is to call out, see if anyone's there, and try to reason with them. Even if his captor has a reason for bringing him in, he'll do his damndest to convince them he's just a harmless innocent bystander who's never done anything wrong ever uwu. If he's completely alone, he'll try to untie knots, or just loosen rope enough to wriggle free. 50/50 chance of success there, which is higher than just about every other team member.

Jericho would also try to call out, if only to gauge what's going on. If he was answered, he'd try to be courteous and polite and not give anyone a reason to escalate things. If no one answered, he'd attempt to break free.

Kaius would be perfectly still and silent, listening to the room around him and trying to get an idea of where he might be, who has him, why they might have him, etc. He'd assume he was taken for a reason, and wait for his captor to make the first move in order to better understand his situation before doing anything drastic.

Hunter would be thrashing and cursing with reckless abandon. He'd probably tire himself out quite a bit before he was able to focus on the patterns and try to figure out what's going on. He would not be a pleasure to have in chair.

Sahota's captors, in most cases, don't know what they're getting themselves into. Like Kaius, he will initially wait and listen. But where Kaius is looking for leverage or a way to manipulate the situation, Sahota is looking for weak points and the right moment to strike.

[theonlythingimfuckingisstupid]

gonna have a multiple part fic coming up >:)