#i just love the thought of a whumpee thinking the clothes were a test

[whumpzone]

Whumpee was always kept naked by their captor. Caretaker knew they'd talk about it when they're ready. They'd only had Whumpee for a day or so, and so far they'd just let them sleep. Now, though, they really need to eat.

They knocked on the door to Whumpee's bedroom and immediately heard a gasp, and a thud. Then they heard frantic rustling. Caretaker slowly pushed the door open to see the duvet throw to one side where Whumpee had scrambled out of bed and fell to their knees. Whumpee themself was pulling off all of their new clothes with desperate, trembling fingers. Trying to look presentable before their strange new jailer.

"S-Sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be faster," they promised around uneven breaths. "I shouldn't have worn them, I'm sorry."

Caretaker stayed still, holding the tray of bread and soup in their hands, trying not to scare Whumpee any more while also having to watch them strip away their pyjamas in the freezing winter cold. Their body underneath was sickeningly frail and abused.

In just a few more seconds Whumpee was completely exposed and kneeling on the floor, shivering but docile. "Okay," they mumbled. "I'm ready now."

#ready for what.....! you decide #this is my current little daydream with my female whumpee #i just love the thought of a whumpee thinking the clothes were a test #or a MISTAKE the rescuers accidentally gave them #they hadnt realised what whumpee was 😭 that they didnt deserve clothes #and its winter and its so cold and yet #theres no hesitation in dragging their abused body out of their warm bed #pulling off all their layers #cold and vulnerable and ready to serve #hmmmm. yeah :) #prompts #whump prompt

[littleperilstories]

Whumptober 2022: #22 :: Pick Your Poison

Whumptober Masterpost Toxic | Withdrawal | Allergic Reaction

Whumpee: Freddie Howell, Fen Bailey-Song

Whumper: Kain Brockhurst

@whumptober-archive / @whumptober

CW: needles/injection, threats/peril, restraints (handcuffs, straps), gag (cloth), gun use

Fen & Freddie

Follows Day 23 and precedes Day 31

“If you lie, or hide something, she’s going to be the one to pay the price. Is that clear?” How could a mouth be curled into such an amiable smile when the eyes were so chillingly cruel?

“Stop!”

Freddie couldn’t move—the straps against the table too tight, too restricting. He couldn’t stop them from torturing Fen in front of him. He could barely move.

“Why?” Brockhurst asked with mock sincerity. “You’ve been entirely useless so far. Do you like watching this happen to her? Aren’t you hopelessly in love with her? Do you think she’ll ever want you now that you’ve let me nearly drown her when you could have been the one to stop it?”

Sprawled on the floor, heaving and coughing and spluttering from having her head held underwater too many times, Fen stilled. She was gasping, trying to catch her breath around the soaking wet cloth tied around her mouth, but her eyes met his. She’d heard.

“I’ll talk.” Would he regret this? Almost certainly. I can’t do this anymore. Not to her.

He waited for Fen to protest, to shout at him through the gag not to give in, to glare at him with hate-filled eyes as he betrayed her sister.

Instead, she just stared at him, tears mingling with the water on her skin.

“Great!” Brockhurst grinned. “There is just one matter first.”

“No.”  Freddie shook his head. “No more matters. What do you want to kn—”

Fen cried out as the goons lifted her again. Freddie jerked against the restraints.

“If you lie, or hide something, she’s going to be the one to pay the price. Is that clear?”

How could a mouth be curled into such an amiable smile when the eyes were so chillingly cruel?

Freddie nodded. The men didn’t put Fen down, but they didn’t dunk her head below the water, either.

Brockhurst grinned. “Let’s begin.”

~

“Kain! Don’t!” Hurling a muffled scream through the gag, Fen must have seen something Freddie couldn’t.

He felt the prick of a needle in his arm before he saw the plastic syringe.

“What the fuck?” The words came out in a gasp, exhausted. Choked with every betrayal Freddie had delivered to Bridget, Starr, Jeff, and the others.

“Well, you’re just lying here, all wrapped up so nicely for me,” said Brockhurst. “And you’ve given me such wonderful intel on where to find my old friends. So I thought I’d give you a little gift to show my gratitude.” He patted Freddie’s cheek. “I have this little project I’ve been working on, you know, something to keep me busy until I get back the formula. Something to keep me out of trouble.”

He winked.

“The formula, my formula, it’s good for enhancing those of us who are special, you know? People who are already superior.”

Freddie heard Fen shouting something across the room, and he wanted to roll his eyes and hurl another Fuck you at Brockhurst, but it was getting harder to concentrate on what he was saying. An odd sensation boiled in his head; the pinprick where the needle bit into his skin burned ferociously, felt too big, like a gaping wound. How, why? It was was a needle, how could it feel like—

“My intention for this one,” said Brockhurst, “is to see if regular people like yourself can be endowed, even temporarily, with gifts such as mine.” He turned to glance backward. “I’d have tested on you, little miss, but you’ve got a secret gift of your own, haven’t you?”

Fen’s response and Brockhurst’s subsequent laugh faded into squabbling noise, each sound indistinguishable from the next. Freddie’s heart was racing, fast, too fast, and when he drew in a breath, it didn’t seem like quite enough.

This is wrong.

He was dying, he realized. I’m going to die from this. He had no doubt that Brockhurst was telling the truth—he probably had made whatever was in that syringe to try and create more freaks like him—but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t ready, wasn’t made for humans, not yet. It was fucking toxic, and it was going to kill him.

Noise exploded outside the bubble of Freddie’s awareness, and he caught some of the words, but they were foreign, nonsensical.

Freeze!—Hands—see them!—surrounded—

All he could feel was his heart hammering in his chest, flashing its warning lights, screaming in panicked alarm: Much more of this and I’ll give out. All he could understand was a single truth: I am going to die here on this table and I never told her…

~

Fen sobbed as an officer pulled her to the floor a second before a bullet blasted across the room and pinged harmlessly off the wall—straight along a trajectory which had been blockaded by her own body an instant before.

“It’s all right,” the officer said. “You’re all right. We’ve got you.”

The guard who’d fired the gun was on the floor. Fen didn’t look to see if he was dead. She didn’t care.

“Freddie,” she gasped as the moment pulled the still-soaking gag from her mouth. “He poisoned him, he’s dying, I can tell, please—”

Still standing in front of the table that was Freddie’s prison, Brockhurst was stoic and unmoving, his eyes locked onto something across the room. Already his body was littered with tranquilizer darts; soon he would fall, Fen knew, and maybe the nightmare would be over. Maybe. Maybe. If Freddie was okay.

She turned, trembling, to see what Brockhurst was glaring at.

Bridget.

Fen’s older sister stalked into the room, her eyes dark with fury and something that was a hairsbreadth from despair.

“You went to the government,” Brockhurst said, his gaze flicking across the officers in the room. The voice was weakening, but still cold. “You’ve doomed every single one of us, you fucking bitch. Everyone.”

“No,” Bridget said softly. “You did that the moment you brought my family into this.” She didn’t watch him crash to the floor, unconscious, but turned to look at Fen.

Freddie’s tremors grew more violent, hampered now only by the straps holding him to the table.

“Fen—” Bridget was on her knees, beside her, not seeming to notice the officer. In one motion, she tore apart the handcuffs, snapping the chain as if it were a blade of grass.

One of the straps on Freddie’s arms tore apart as his limbs flailed and shook. Gasping, Fen threw herself toward him. Both her sister and the officer caught her and pulled her back, gentle enough but firm.

“Don’t get close!” Bridget barked, an edge in her voice. Genuine fear. Of Freddie. Freddie. “You don’t know what he’ll do in that state.”

“Then fix him!” Fen shouted. She knew she should be wrapping her arms around her sister, sobbing into her shoulder. And she would. She would.

But Freddie was dying.

How she knew he was dying, Fen didn’t understand. But it was as true as her own name or the fact that she loved him too, and he had no fucking idea and if no one did anything, he never would.

“Brockhurst poisoned him,” he whispered. “He’s dying, B. I know it. I can tell.”

Bridget’s face was soaked with tears already, as if they’d started to flow the moment she turned from Brockhurst’s falling body.

“Fen, I—”

“Fix him!”

Fen could feel the fraying inside her, the immutable truth that if Bridget didn’t do something, that one damn thing she was good at and fucking known for, that Fen was going to shatter and might never be able to put herself back together.

Face schooled into detached, clinical solemnity now, Bridget nodded and pulled away, her arms drifting almost dreamily to her sides as she stood. The officer gently pulled Fen to her feet.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. We need to get you to a hospital. Make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not going. I’m fine .” Nothing could have been further from the truth, “I’m fine, I swear—it’s him—he’s going to die—”

Bridget turned back for just a moment. “It’s okay, Fen. I’ll heal him. I’ll do it. Do you trust me?”

No, Fen almost said. Hadn’t her sister wallowed, waited, for days? Let Freddie sneak out and throw himself into this mess? But she nodded. It was all she could do. Guess I have to.

“Then trust me now.”

Outside the compound, Fen found herself on a stretcher amongst a sea of sirens, flashing by lights, ambulances, and black cars. The officer tugged a blanket around her shoulders. “It’ll be okay, honey. It’ll be okay.”

But there was no sign of her sister or her best friend. Not yet.

“They’ll be okay.”

Please, Fen thought, please let that be true.

#whumptober2022 #no.22 #toxic #withdrawal #allergic reaction #OC #original content #originalcontent #fic #whump #whump writing #whumptober 2022 #Whumptober #whump story #whump fiction #original fiction #original writing #original story #day 22 #fen & freddie #oc Fen Bailey-Song #oc Freddie Howell #oc Bridget Bailey-Song #oc Kain Brockhurst

[cepheusgalaxy]

I did it! Febuwhump day four (five days late lmao) is done! After three triesI managed to do it. It honestly could've been a bit better but it's going. Cws for underage whumpee (Meine is around twelve--although this one is not necessarily whump). I think that's all. If I forgot anything, please warn me! Enjoy.

Febuwhump day 4: Obedience.

Meine is admiring the colors of the tents when Noah calls him.

“Meine”, he says, voice mixing with the loud music and feisty atmosphere of the fair. Meine loves it. So many pretty colors, different smells, happy chatting around him--

His father rested a hand on his shoulder to catch his attention and Meine flinched. “Yes, father?”

“Do you remember why are we here?” He asks.

Meine looks at the colors that warm him up inside. He nods.

His father raises an eyebrow, as if saying, what did I say about not answering me properly?

“I do”, he answered, before Father prompted him again.

“Good”, he smiled. “Don’t distract yourself.”

Meine bit a lip. “Yes, father.”

He just followed him around, passing through all the people that were enjoying the fair. 

He had a job. He was here to help Father.

He had to wear a turtleneck and a brown tuxedo. Noah didn’t want him looking bad when they went out. Father had a white button-up and a long suit. Sometimes, like this, Meine could understand why people thought they looked alike. Even their suits were the same color.

Noah stopped sometimes to observe a tent or a group of people, but Meine knew he didnt’t actually care.

He was only here for the stones.

Meine avoided trying to locate them just yet, because his eyes were a bit tired and he wanted to use his powers only when he was needed.

He stopped when Noah pulled his arm and looked amused at one of the tents.

It was a large one, with lots of shiny rocks and precious gems carefully displayed over wooden shelves and a table with white cloth. Meine thought it was pretty. The table was in the shape of an L, and the tent was one of those that had a tarp on top of it and hanging down to make a wall-kind of thing on the back. There was a tall woman built like a wall behind one of the tables.

Meine glanced at the prices.

They were pretty low for what they were looking for.

Father smiled to himself and whispered on his ear to start looking.

Meine was quick to obey.

While Father chatted with the owner, Meine looked fot the hecatites. He tried to remember the market rules for them. If the seller wasn’t completely sure that their rocks were actual hecatites they were obliged by law to lower their prices. The process to test them would usually be super expensive, but Meine could see their power and find them easily.

“Curious one, aren’t you?” The woman said softy, and after an embarrassing second, Meine noticed it was aimed at him.

“He likes hecatites” Noah answered, sparing him from having to answer.

“I think we should take these, father”, Meine spoke up, pointing at some rocks that had a specially reddish aura. These were the hardest ones to find, and looking for them this way, only taking home the ones they needed was way better than importing tons and tons and having Meine identify each one, just to discard the ones they didn’t have use for. 

Or at least it was what father told him.

“Are you sure?” Father asked.

Meine double checked just in case, but he was sure. Father told him the auras were more difficult to identify in open spaces like these so he’d have a wider error range, but he wanted to be sure he wouldn’t fail.

Noah then smiled at him, approving, and Meine could feel himself smiling as Father finished the bought and payed the owner.

That was not the last tent they visited. They spent the whole day like that, until twillight painted the sky red and the tents started lighting up ilumination for the night turn.

“Oh, one more thing,” Noah says when they’re entering the limousine.

Meine looked up at him.

“Before going home, we’ve got one more person to visit”, he smiled. “You will evaluate them.”

Meine supressed a sigh. He was somewhat tired, and was hoping they could go home already.

But the only thing that left his lips was “yes, father”.

#whump #whump writing #my writing #i did commit to the prompt properly? probably not #meine oc #noah oc #febuwhump #febuwhumpday4 #“obedience”

[jordanstrophe]

Be a Good Guest, 12

Gabriel getting his rescue arc <3

CW: Held captive, conditioned whumpee, manipulation, *inhales *parental creepy possessive overprotective intimate whumper, rescuing whumpee, drugging implied

masterlist

The day finally came; the day he was dreading. 

That morning Gabriel awoke to a new pair of clothes on a hanger strung from his doorknob waiting for him. It was a navy blue shirt, soft black jacket and dark jeans, the outfit Walter loved on him the most.

He had them washed and ironed just for today, the day his sister came just so he could show him off. He shuttered at the thought as he roughly tugged the shirt over his head. Hopefully, his sister wasn’t as monstrous as Walter was...

Right?

He nervously crept into the kitchen, Walter was cooking and baking like a madman. 

“Son!” He cheered when he noticed Gabriel. He shied away, but his arm was quickly grabbed as he was pulled over to the large chipped rusted mirror. Walter took both his shoulders and pushed him down onto the stool, mercessly running a brush through his hair.

He was normally very gentle with the brush, but he wasn’t today. He bit his lip with every rough stroke until he quietly whimpered “You’re hurting me...”

“Sshshh, now now, be tough. I want you to look perfect today.” Walter smiled, pressing the cold palm of his hand against Gabriel’s chin to tilt his head up to look at himself in the mirror.

“Just look at you, so young, so sweet. You look wonderful, son.” He smiled, stroking his fingers through his hair once last time with a kiss. Gabriel tensed and cringed, but didn’t dare pull himself away.

I'm not your son.

“We’ve got an hour, be on your best behavior, mmkay?” His arms wrapped around his chest as he rested his chin on his head with a smile.

“Yes sir..“ He shook with a murmur. 

Walter set the kettle while Gabriel nervously paced around the kitchen. He tried desperately to control his trembling legs, taking deep breaths and walking slowly, but his terror only grew with every minute that ticked away. 

“Don’t be nervous, dove. I’m probably more nervous than you! I haven't seen my baby sister in ten years.” Walter chuckled.

I doubt that.... You’re safe and life isn’t on the line...

There was a knock on the old wooden door as Gabriel froze. Walter practically jumped for the door with excitement. 

Life was moving in slow motion, he could feel his pulse pounding in his head as his legs threatened to give away.

Please... Leave me be... Don’t hurt me...

“Come, Gabriel!” Walter had snapped, but his voice sounded far and distorted.

‘I can’t do this’ Gabriel rasped beneath his breath. His hands fumbled for the doorknob to the basement, unlatching the cold iron lock. He curled up in his usual “timeout” corner on the cold floor as he draped his body over a forgotten rolled up rug. 

He hid his face in his arms as he let his sleeves soak up his tears. He would rather be left alone down here, then up there. Soon, angry stomps stormed down the stairs as Gabriel shrunk further into the darkness. 

“Gabriel! What on earth do you think you’re doing down here!? Get up!” He snapped.

“No!” Gabriel shouted, poking his head up just enough to see him.

“Let me stay down here, please! I’ll stay here as long as it takes to make you happy!” He cried.

Walter’s face fell from anger to concern as he knelt by his side.

“Gabriel, what are you talking about?” He asked. He let out a sigh as he thumbed away his tears. “You’re not in any trouble, this isn’t a trick, this isn’t a test. This is family coming to see you.” He smiled. 

He should have seen this coming, his dove was just too fragile for something so sudden. It was his own fault for not easing him into a big change. He was so small and helpless. He should have done a better job at caring for him.

"Just... Come meet her? Please? For me?” He gave his best innocent face as Gabriel sniffled, slowly nodding his head

“Atta boy.” He grunted, wrapping his arms around him to pull him to his feet. “Try to behave. And smile.” He encouraged, leading him up the stairs as Gabriel clung to him by his coat.

-

Malady’s eyes scanned the old living room. It was well kept at least, not a speck of dust nor stain. There were odd metal loops embedded into the floors and walls but nothing attached to them, just an old rusted metal loop.

How odd.

She heard muttering and shuffling coming from the basement, Walter had just said Gabriel was being shy and ran off to go collect him.

Even more odd.

She shook her head while shaming herself, she shouldn’t always think of the worst of him. She had painted him as a monster in her head all these years, she was here to give him a second chance. 

She plastered a sweet smile on her face when Walter finally returned, a figure hiding behind him.

“I’m so sorry for the wait! He’s not used to guests. Come on out now, Gabriel. I really want you to meet my sister.” He coaxed. 

Gabriel slowly came out from under Walter’s arm, looking up at her with nervous eyes. She couldn’t control her smile as it slowly faded into shock.

“He’s-..”

“Adorable, isn’t he?” Walter cooed.

“I-... That’s not what I was going to-...” She was at a loss of words. 

He was an adult. A clearly broken traumatized conditioned adult. 

“Come! Sit down, I made dinner!” He cheered as Gabriel flinched and hid back behind him.

“Right, of course!” Her expression instantly turned soft again.

The table was set beautifully, filled to the edge with an assortment of all the food groups and dessert. They settled at the table as Walter’s eyes darted down at her shoulder brace.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“Good! Good, I got engaged last month.” She smiled proudly, flaunting the small ring on her finger.

“What!? That’s amazing!” He cheered, Gabriel shrunk lower in his seat at his sudden raised tone. “Ugh, whoever they are must be truly lucky. I’m sad I didn’t get to interrogate them to see if they were worthy.” He chuckled.

“So I uh... I got a hint of what happened to your shoulder.” He motioned. Malady sighed as she rested her arm on the table.

“Faulty parachute, combat medic training.” She sighed, weakly twitching the fingers of her right arm. She still wore the dog tag from the military, even though it had been three years.

“Enough about me, I want to know all about you two!” She smiled, resting her chin on her folded hands. “How’d you find him?” 

“He um... It’s a funny story.” Walter chuckled. “Gabriel was in a car crash and I took the liberty of taking him in! Didn’t have anyone else so he ended up staying for longer and longer, then we made it permanent!”

That’s a lie.

“Oh! Is that right, Gabriel?” Malady’s eyes darted to him as he shot with posture.

Two pairs of eyes burned into his skull, desperately awaiting his answer. Sweat beamed on his brow as his eyes fearfully darted between the two.

“Yes mam, that’s right.” He mumbled.

Walter smiled proudly, Malady only looked more skeptical.

“You weren’t hurt too badly I hope?”

Before Gabriel could answer, Walter spoke for him. “He was fine! A busted lip is all.” He quickly interrupted. Gabriel’s mouth slowly shut.

“Huh.” She murmured, glaring at her brother. 

“And where did you come from, Gabriel? You must have had a life before, right?”

“He hardly had anything! He was like a lost puppy wandering the streets.” He answered for him again. Gabriel’s expression darkened, but he said nothing.

That was a lie.

“Is that so... Well then, how kind of you to take him in, Walter.” She smiled.

That was... A lie?

She lied to me.

No one can lie to me.

“My dear! The tea is ready.” He smiled, abruptly standing up to grab the kettle. He set the golden pearly teacup full of steaming tea in front of her. “Wait... This-” She lifted the teacup, studying it until she found her initials engraved into the base.

“It was your old one, the one you left at my place, ten years ago.” He smiled.

“That’s right...” She murmured, pausing for a moment. 

“Anyway, as much as I'd love a tea, it’s far too late in the day for me, thank you though.” She smiled, pushing the cup away from her. “Keep the cup.” She winked. 

Walter’s face fell, twisting with disappointment... Disgust

Why didn’t she drink it?

She knows.

Doesn’t she?

“It’s the finest tea! I remembered how to make it just the way you like it. Really, you should give it a sip.” He smiled, his hand aggressively sliding it back to her.

“And I’m sure it’s divine! But I would really like to sleep tonight.” She challenged, sliding it back like a game of opposite tug-of-war between siblings.

“How about some herbal tea then! I can make a fresh batch.”

“I have a thermostat waiting for me in the car.”

“DAMMIT!” He finally snapped, grabbing the tiny teacup and smashing it on the floor as Gabriel let out a frightened yelp. 

In an instant, Walter grabbed the meat tenderizer sitting on the counter as he charged her. Her left arm shot out, catching his wrist in mid swing as she wrenched his arm to the side, throwing him against the wall as the tool fell from his hands. 

Gabriel bolted from the chair, knocking it over with a loud *bang* which scared him further as he locked himself in his room. Malady watched him sadly, but was relieved he wasn’t here to watch the rest.

“I know what you did.” She hissed, crouching down to his level as Walter trembled on his knees trying to get back to his feet. “I knew you hadn’t changed... But I... I had hope, Walter. I had hoped you got better. I’m sad to see I was wrong.” She sighed.

“Y-you...” He spat. “Yo-you can’t take him f-from me...” He growled as he glared up at her. 

“Yes I can.” 

"And I will."

@alien-octopus @yesthisiswhump  @lave-whump @whumpasaurus101 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hamiltonwhumpdump @just-another-whumper @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @approach-me-and-ill-cry  @whump-it @kixngiggles @as-a-matter-of-whump  @five-fictions-5-9 @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @thelazywitchphotographer  @sophierose002 @happy-whumper @cowboy-anon

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ  Thank you for reading!

#whump #whumpee #whumper #parental whumper #creepy whumper #possesive whumper #intimate whumper #protective whumper #conditioned whumpee #tw drugging #rescued whumpee

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.24 "Hunting for Bunnies"

CW: creepy/intimate whumper, stalking, discussion of homicide/suicide (explicit), injury mention/description, blood (explicit), strangulation mention, gun/gunshot mention, character death mention, drugs/alcohol mention, prison mention, tics/tourrettes (descriptive), ptsd/nightmares, panic attack, chloroform use, self injury, x-acto knife (brief), gag/restraints, discussion of past whump, vomit mention (brief), conditioned whumpee, stockholm syndrome-type language (let me know if I missed anything!)

Healing was a good look on Elias. As weeks went on, his smile returned to his face, his bruises slowly melted away, the numerous scars scattering his body faded into small pinkish lines. He cut his hair a little shorter, dyed a streak of blue through it. He and Tyson got matching tattoos, little rain clouds and with lightning bolts on their forearms. They were happy, very obviously so.

August wanted to kill both of them for it.

He wasn’t entirely jealous (he was, so jealous he was blood thirsty every second of the day), he was more so just frustrated that Elias thought he was able to be happy without August. He was stupid. Adorable, but stupid. He didn’t know that he needed August to survive. He didn’t know that being away from each other was killing them both. Rather, he didn’t know how much the distance was making August want to kill them both. It would have to be a grand gesture, a murder suicide so beautiful there’ll be copycats. He had to talk himself out of those violent fantasies several times a day, hold himself back from getting out of his car while he followed Elias and just grabbing him. Maybe he’d strangle him again, watch the life drain out of his face, watch him slip into the dark abyss of death. Maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he’d take him home and torture him until he was broken beyond broken and then put him out of his misery. Single shot to the face, like he’d made Elias do to Sawyer so long ago. And then...August guessed he would do himself in after that. He was tired of being in and out of prison, and if Elias didn’t exist anymore, then what would be the point in living? Maybe that was the thought that made him change his mind, when his hand was on the door handle and he was getting ready to make a huge, violent, romantic scene. Maybe the idea of a world without Elias was just too sad, and he knew he didn’t really want Elias dead. He just wanted him away from Tyson.

They were both entirely oblivious that August was even close by, let alone watching them all the time. He was renting a room at a motel a couple streets away from Tyson’s apartment, but he was hardly ever there. He spent most of his time parked near their apartment, which was conveniently on the first floor and had a large window in the living room that was facing the street. There was also a porch in front, where Elias would occasionally sit outside late at night and smoke cigarettes or blunts. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes Allen was there with him. August often thought about how hilarious it would be to walk up to both of them at times like that, just to see them both unravel with fear at the same time. A few nights, when Tyson is working and Elias is all alone, August sits out front in the grass next to a tree and just watches Elias inside. He can see him smoking in the living room, he watches him pass out on the couch, sometimes he goes into the kitchen, comes back with nothing. When he goes to bed, August watches him lock the door, and it pisses him off so badly he wants to throw a rock through the window. He doesn’t want to go inside, he’s letting Elias heal again, he’s respecting his space, for the moment. Still, knowing that Elias actively wants to keep him out stings. So, he holds off breaking in for as long as he can.

It’s just a shame his resolve isn’t so strong, not when it comes to Elias. He can’t stay away from him anymore, he knew it the second he bought a plane ticket back here to find him, despite the very real possibility of being arrested any second. On the plane, he came to the conclusion that he had absolutely no control when it came to Elias. He couldn’t stay away from him, he couldn’t restrain himself when he was hurting him. He loved Elias, loved him so much it was driving him insane. Things just didn’t make sense when they were apart, August could hardly form a coherent thought that wasn’t about Elias, or how much it hurt to only be able to look but not touch. Though, when he broke in he wasn't able to touch Elias still, but it was at least closer than being separated by a window.

Tyson and Elias left the house, August wasn't sure where or when, but when August finally left his motel and pulled up to their place, the car was gone. It would be easy enough to find them, August had Tyson's number still and could get his location in minutes, if he wanted. Instead, he tested the door handle. It was unlocked. He guessed if they weren't there it didn't matter to them whether someone broke in or not.

August didn't make it obvious he was there, not the first time. He went through some of their things, put everything back in its place. He took one of Elias's shirts, a pair of his boxers. He didn't think either of them would notice, which bummed him out because he wanted Elias to know he was close by.

The next time he snuck in, it was when Elias was there. August had held himself off for as long as he could, he'd been in LA for 28 days already and he hadn't been closer than six feet from him the entire time. So when Elias smoked a huge bowl and went to bed without locking the door, it was like he was practically inviting him in, and August just couldn't help himself. He let himself in, he smoked what was left in Elias's bong, and he walked around the house for a little bit, waiting to make sure Elias was actually asleep before he went to see him.

Something about watching Elias sleep had always made August go disgustingly mushy for him. He looked so small, so vulnerable and unaware. This time was even better, because this time Elias thought he was free, thought that life was moving on without August, and yet here he was, kneeling next to the bed and watching Elias's chest rise and fall with each deep breath. He was beautiful, August was jealous of the moonlight kissing his face and making his face glow pale blue, he was jealous of the blankets wrapped snugly around his waist, he was jealous that Tyson got the privilege of sleeping next to this - his - angel almost every night.

August didn't have the courage to touch Elias, he was afraid that if he started he wouldn't be able to stop, he didn't want to get carried away. It might start with trailing his fingertips over his face to see if he'd wake up, then if he didn't he might kiss all over his body until he opened his eyes, then he'd probably smother him with a pillow.

That time when he left, he took the blanket that Elias had been using in the living room earlier. It smelled like him. That night he slept in his car right out front, wrapped up in the same blanket that had touched Elias's skin, his clothes, his face. It was the closest he'd felt to him in months.

After that he was cocky. He found their spare key poorly hidden under a potted plant on the front porch, and he completely took advantage of it. He went in all the time when neither of them were home, cleaning up after them in small, nearly unnoticeable ways, or looking through their things, or just sitting on the bed where Elias often slept, wishing he was there at the moment. He also used it on nights when he couldn’t stand being away from Elias for a second longer, waiting until late in the night to sneak in and sit on the floor for hours to watch him sleep. Once, and he never did it again because Elias almost woke up, August reached out and gently pushed his hair away from his face, where it was tickling the tip of his nose and making his face twitch. It was a reflexive touch, August had only realized he’d done it as an afterthought, when Elias huffed softly and started to move under the blankets. August stared at his hand in disbelief, oh shit I just touched him. And then he left. But Elias still didn’t know he was there, and truthfully, August was getting bored. Bored? Try going insane. He wanted them to notice that something was off, that maybe they weren't as safe as they thought. But they just continued on with their stupid, repulsively happy lives. It was maddening, and at some point August couldn't take it anymore.

The first deliberate mistake he made to blow his cover was running into Allen at a grocery store. He wore a hat and a hoodie, and he carefully avoided him until he was near the front, in a crowd of people. August walked right into him, caught one of the many snack foods that he knocked out of Allen’s overflowing arms, and handed it back to him with a smile.

“Sorry, my bad,” he said smugly, watching Allen’s face fall from his tight frown to a blank, horrified stare. And then he just walked away.

Allen surprisingly didn’t go and tell Tyson and Elias that he saw him, at least if he did, neither of them seemed bothered in the slightest. That irritated August further. He’d been counting on Allen to run and tattle on him, rattle them up so that August could dive headfirst into chaos and whisk Elias away. Incompetent. Unreliable.

So August wrote love notes. He taped them to trees in the yard, tucked them under Tyson’s windshield wipers. They said stupid things like “you’re my favorite brand of heroin, I want to overdose on you” and “I can’t stop thinking about the heavenly way you scream my name today, you look nice by the way”. (His sister had taken a poetry class while they were in high school, he would like to think she would find this humorous. He’d tell her, if she would ever talk to him.) That shook them up a little bit. Really, he believed that Tyson was the only one finding and reading them, and he didn’t think he ever told Elias. Probably didn’t want to scare him. But he started really keeping an eye on the locked doors, as if August hadn’t already made himself at home there multiple times. Elias could sense his tension, it seemed, because he started passing out on the couch and staying there more often, waking up multiple times from nightmares. They were anxious. It wasn’t enough to have them anxious.

Again, August just couldn’t control himself.

So he paid Tyson a visit. He knew his work schedule, knew that he left a little after five in the morning, knew that on normal days he would be home and in bed with Elias by six, they would sleep until around nine. But that day, August was waiting for him, along with chloroform and some duct tape. He followed him to his car, he came up behind him and slowly lowered him to the ground as he knocked him out with the dowsed rag he was holding. He was hardly able to put up a fight. Then he dragged him to his car, and drove him to his motel room. It was easy enough to get inside unnoticed, and also easy enough to tie Tyson up in a chair and gag him before he woke up. He made sure it was all secure before he went back to their apartment.

Elias hadn’t woken up yet, so he had some time to smoke some of his weed and pour himself a glass of wine before he got started. He brought an x-acto knife from his motel, and he wandered around the apartment, slicing into his forearm and using his finger to smear his own blood into declarations of love on their perfect, off-white walls. He wished he could be there when Elias woke up. He could only imagine how his face would look as he walked around reading “I love you so much it hurts”, “you’re mine Bunny”, “we’ll be together forever”, things of that nature. He’d be mortified. Before he left, he slipped into the bedroom and left the nearly empty glass of wine, messy with his bloody handprint, on the bedside dresser so Elias would also see that upon waking up. Then, completely on impulse, he reached out and traced his fingertip over Elias’s cheek in the shape of a heart. The blood on his finger stayed behind on Elias’s pale skin, and August smiled brightly. Elias would be so scared when he got up and was all alone, he’d surely call Tyson first thing. Too bad he wouldn’t have his phone.

August left his car there, took the bus home with his hood pulled low over his face, folding his arms so no one could see the blood seeping through. His hands were buzzing with excitement, high off of the idea of being able to get Elias back.

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

Elias almost slept late into the morning, that was the first sign that something might be wrong. Tyson would usually be home when the sky outside was the washed-out blue it got before sunrise, would crawl into bed with Elias and pull him close. Then he would apologize to Elias for waking him up, and Elias would ignore his apology and ask him about his night, and then they would fall back asleep for a while. That morning, hours and hours after Tyson would usually be home, the sun was floating in through the partially opened curtains and turning the insides of Elias’s eyelids a bright red in it’s warm light. He woke up, stretched against the soft mattress, and then slid his hand over the sheets until he found Tyson, who would be in bed with him by now. Only, he was met with more blankets and an empty bed. Elias could feel the tired, confused scowl spread across his face upon realizing Tyson wasn’t right next to him, but he pushed the bitter anxiety that came with it away. Maybe he was making breakfast, maybe he was in the shower. It was just like Tyson to not wake him up when he decided to start his day, to try and let Elias sleep for as long as he could. He was sweet like that, always had been.

With a yawn, Elias tossed the blanket off of himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching his tired muscles out. It was still relatively new, and a little weird, for Elias to be able to stretch and move and even breathe without the addition of earth shattering amounts of pain, but he was getting used to it slowly. It didn’t come with nearly as much strange guilt anymore, he could hardly hear that little voice in the back of his mind telling him that he wasn’t deserving of a painless life, a life of ease. Even some days, when that little cruel voice was more of a brutal yell in his ear, telling him that he wasn’t worth any part of this simple, enjoyable life, he was able to get past it now. The voice would say “this is way too nice for you, you don’t deserve any of this”, he was able to, for the most part, smile and think back, “yeah, and aren’t I lucky I get it anyway?” and most of the time, it helped. On days that it didn’t, Tyson stepped in instead, told him anything he needed to hear: “you deserve everything to be nice, you’re an angel” or “it’s a shitty apartment, not a castle, it isn’t ‘too nice’ for anyone,” or sometimes, when Elias couldn’t be convinced, “even if you don’t deserve it, I want you here with me”. It was starting to feel like today was going to be one of the days that Elias needed Tyson to be louder than that voice in his head, as he pushed himself to his feet with ease and felt bad about it. He tried to reassure himself, he told himself that Tyson was right in another room and all Elias had to do to feel better was go see him. That was easy, he could do that.

He would have done that, if right before he stepped toward the door he hadn't caught sight of a wine glass sitting on the dresser next to the bed. The glass was dirty with a rusty brown color, and Elias frowned and looked around the room before stepping closer to it. He was too afraid to pick it up (it still had some deep red wine at the bottom and Elias knew there was a chance that once it was in his hands it would end up as a stain on the floor) so instead he crouched down in front of it, inspecting the grime closely. It was hand shaped, surrounded by a couple of smudges and fingerprints here and there. It looked like blood.

“What the fuck!” Elias ticced, then, much quieter: “Ty?” As he stood straight, his stomach dropped and his head felt light and airy.

No more blood. No more blood. No more please, god, no more.

“Tyson!” He called louder this time, already feeling the familiar burning of panic clawing restlessly in his chest. There was no answer. His mouth and throat were a desert. His knees were shaking. There was blood in his room. Was he bleeding? He tried his best to keep his arms still enough for a moment to run them over his torso to look for any injuries. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t even fucking hurt. “Pathetic,” he heard himself whimper, “pathetic, pathetic, pathetic! Ty-fucking pathetic- Tyson!” He stumbled back, away from the blood covered glass. Where was Tyson? Surely, Elias was being loud enough with his irritating shouting to get his attention, he would’ve come running, by now, with a comforting hug and reassurance and promises that Elias is safe and good and not dying.

The apartment was a crime scene straight out of a psychological thriller. Every few feet there were drops of blood on the hardwood, and then when he got the courage to look, he also saw that there was more smeared across the walls. As soon as he recognized it as more drying blood, he closed his eyes tightly, breathing picking up the longer he stood there. He tried to imagine Tyson’s voice teaching him how to calm his breathing: “Inhale, Eli. Deep, deep, all the way into the bottom of your lungs. Good.”

“Good boy, letting me cut you open like this. So pretty for me, all covered in blood.”

No more blood! No more fucking blood no more no more-

“Exhale now, baby.”

No more no more no more no more-

“Elias, breathe out. Stop holding your breath now.”

“You breathe when I allow you to breathe. I don’t think you’ve been behaving well enough for air.”

Don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t kill me!

With his shoulders held high and his head dropped toward the ground so that he could open his eyes without seeing the blood, he turned on his heel and threw himself back into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him, letting all the air out of his lungs in ragged sobs. Even then, it was hard to catch his breath in between his unintentional cries of “What the fuck! What the fuck! What the fuck!”

Something deep in his gut made him swivel around and lock the door, and then he slid down it until he was on the floor. He covered his face with his hands, knees up to his chest to protect himself as much as he could. It felt like a nightmare, waking up alone in the middle of the day to find his walls covered in blood, only he just couldn't wake up. “Tyson...Ty...fuck...Tyson…” he crawled across the room, toward his phone, left on the charger next to the bed all night. His fingers were trembling as he tapped in his password, then still as he found Tyson’s contact to call him. As he waited what felt like an agonizingly long time for the ringing to stop, he tucked himself in the corner of the room behind the bed. He made himself small, “pathetic,” so that any pain would be limited to his arms and his legs, and he wouldn’t be hurt so badly, at least.

He couldn’t wait for Tyson to start speaking once he answered the phone, only able to wait with bated breath until the long pause after the last ring.

Click.

“Tyson!” He sobbed, clutching the phone tighter to him like a lifeline. He felt like throwing up. “Ty-Tyson I need you to come ho-fuck-home, I need you to come home right fucking now! P-please-fucking shit- come home.” There was a soft, muffled, sigh on the other line, Elias let out another hoarse sob. “Where the fu-fuck are you?! I...I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry. Tyson please, please co-come home, something’s wrong-”

“Calm down, Bunny.”

No.

No no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO!

“You’re freaking yourself out way too much. You have a tendency to do that. It’s adorable, really.” August laughed, Elias almost threw his phone, barely stopping himself. “But not very helpful.”

“No…” Elias squeaked out. He craned his neck to look over the bed at the wine glass. August was here. Is he still here? Elias folded in on himself smaller, safer, more pathetic, “fucking pathetic!” He ticced. August laughed again. “N-no, please, August. Please don’t...don’t…”

August made a soft shushing sound, slightly softened by the static of the phone. Elias’s head always gets messed up when August acts like that, makes it feel like cotton candy and causes his chest to flutter in an agonizingly confusing way.

Sometimes he’s so nice to me I think, since I have no other choice, I’ll force myself to love him. Just so that my love doesn’t go unused. That way I’m not a waste of life completely.

“Stop working yourself up, sweetheart. Seriously, I want to have a conversation with you, you always do this.” He sighed, gruffly, with an air of boredom. “Pretty fucking annoying honestly.”

Sometimes I want to give him a bunch of his own stupid drugs and drag his ass down the stairs and chain him up and bleed him dry-

No more blood! No more blood!

Elias gritted his teeth, he tried to feel the scar on the back of his tongue, he tried to keep his mouth shut. “Where’s...Tyson?” He grumbled.

“Ugh, shut the fuck up!” August shouted.

Elias flinched, pulling the phone away from his face. He didn’t think he heard an echo of his yell in the house. He listened, close, and could hear August’s voice distantly on the phone, but not out in the hall. Not distantly, in the living room or kitchen. He relaxed a little, straightened out his spine as he pulled his phone back to his ear.

“I was about to tell you all of that. I had a whole speech...Impatient little thing.”

Elias forced himself to his feet, took a few shaking steps for the door. He didn’t turn the lock, not right away, shaking hand hesitating over the brass knob. “If y-you hurt him I’ll-”

Again, August chuckled cynically at Elias’s stammering, his false braveness, his beginning to an empty threat. Elias cringed hard. He wanted to hang up the phone and crawl back into bed, fall asleep, and then wake up from this nightmare to find Tyson next to him. But he wasn’t in a nightmare, and his apartment was covered in blood, and Tyson was gone.

“This would be so much easier for all three of us if you just listened, Bunny. Can you be a good boy and listen closely for a second?”

Embarrassingly, Elias felt his knees buckle at the words, and he reflexively nodded at August’s voice.

I’ll do anything you ask, just call me good, just stop hurting me, I’ll do whatever you want.

When August spoke again, Elias could hear the smile to his voice without even seeing him. “Perfect, sweetheart. Now, I need you to do everything I say, ok? Tyson will be just fine if you just do exactly what I tell you.”

“Oh, f-fuck,” Elias whimpered, pressing his forehead against the door to try and steady himself, “God fucking d-dammit-”

“Shh, Bunny. Take a deep breath.” Somehow, August had added some sort of softness to his words, making himself sound caring and gentle and human, and it made Elias even angrier.

Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar!

He forced himself to draw in a deep breath, just because he was told to, just because it was August’s voice telling him what to do, and it was easier to just listen to whatever he was told the first time rather than face the ugly alternative.

“I left my car keys on your kitchen counter, my car is right out front. Full tank of gas, it drives beautifully, by the way. Can I trust you to take care of it when you drive it over here?”

Elias unlocked the door with his breath still held, shuffling out into the hallway. He couldn’t help but glance at the blood on the wall, and his stomach churns terribly. Before he could even process it, his shoulder hit the wall as he stumbled to the side.

I love you so much it hurts.

Elias would prefer the freezing blanket of death over the paralyzing fear he felt reading that.

We’ll be together forever.

He could never get away. No matter where he went or what he did, August would find him, August would destroy him. Maybe it would be easier to just hand himself over to the wolves instead of trying to outrun them.

You’re mine, Bunny.

There were scars everywhere on Elias’s body that validated that, there was a switch in his brain that flipped every time someone sounded too much like August that also proved it, Elias belonged to him now, even when he was far away from him.

“I asked you a question, baby. Will you take care of my car?”

“You’re fucking c...crazy.” Elias cast his eyes back to the ground, pushing himself off of the wall and stumbling out to the kitchen. He found the keys August was talking about. Thinking about August in the apartment, helping himself to a glass of wine, tossing his keys onto the counter, made Elias sway where he stood.

There was a groan on the other line. August was annoyed, Elias would have to pay for that. “I know that, idiot. You don’t think I fucking know that?” A sigh, a soft thud in the back, a small laugh. “Just get here, ok? The address is written on a paper in my car. You might want to hurry, Tyson’s waking up and he’ll be wondering where you are. And if you take too long...he’ll be wondering why you didn’t come rescue him.”

He laughs.

Elias wants to kill him.

Click.

#whump tropes #whump comfort #whump comic #whump masterpost #whump prompts #whump art #emotional whump #whump fic #whump #whump prompt #whump writing #whump blog #whumpee #captivity whump #whump community #whump drabble #medical whump #whumper #captivity #whump ideas #caretaker #whump oc #whump series #whump dialogue #whump things #whump aftermath #whump aesthetic #whump caretaker #whump cw #whump concept

[whumpqin]

Voodoo doll whump? Helps restrain and silence whumpees without pesky restraints, gags, or blindfolds getting in the way.

Hi I really liked this one so I wrote a thing for it

CW: Magical whump, voodoo doll, mind control, compulsion, restrained, brief choking at the beginning, whumper as caretaker, spoonfeeding, forced eating, nonhuman whumpee (if I missed anything please let me know!)

The plucking of one of his hairs stung, but it was more emotional than anything. Quinn watched as the odd doll, made of strange iridescent glass and cloth, was slowly worked with. A few mutterings he couldn’t catch, and the hair burned up, its ashes sprinkling over the figure.

“Now, to test,” the Fairy murmured. 

He wrapped a hand around the doll’s delicate throat, slowly increasing the pressure. Quinn felt as his airway constricted to a small sliver he was forced to breathe through, and his wide eyes shot up to the Fairy Lord in panic.

“I think it’s working, dear,” the human next to the Fairy Lord said, a woman with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. “No need to kill him to test it out.”

“...You’re correct.” The Lord released the doll and Quinn gasped deeply, the most noise he’d been allowed to make in days. “Here you go. If there is trouble, merely call for me. Quinn!” Quinn’s head shot up at the mention of his name, suddenly alert. “Do anything my love asks of you. Harm her and I will have your head. I want your understanding said.”

“...Yes, my Lord,” Quinn choked out. He was unable to say anything else.

He looked over to the woman, holding the doll in her hands. Quinn figured this must be Omri’s mother - or at least one of them - though he couldn’t begin to understand why anyone would want to be around someone like the Lord. He eyed her with his fiery gaze, watching as she pulled out bits of string.

“Now, I’m going to need you to hold really still so I can get these bindings off of you. We’ll start like this,” she said, moving the doll’s arms behind itself to mirror Quinn’s position. Quinn blinked as he felt his limbs lock up upon command. All he could do was listen to the sound of her voice, which, to be fair, was sweet and warm. It was a rare thing to hear in this place.

The woman stepped forward to undo the rope bindings on his wrists and legs. Quinn wasn’t able to relax even as she rewound the rope and set it down. She then moved to the doll, pulling its arms forward and wrapping a bit of string around them to hold them in place. In a similar motion Quinn copied, moving his arms forward and crossing them over one another.

“There. That should feel a bit better.” She set the doll down on a small chair, curling its tail around for him.. Admittedly, not having rough rope around his wrists and ankles did feel nice, but Quinn’s shoulders ached a little much to be truly thankful. The woman took an index finger and lifted his head. “Up just a little bit. Mouth open, please. A biit wider. My, look at those fangs!” She commented, when Quinn’s jaw dropped at her behest.

Heat spread to his face in embarrassment. He felt his pulse quicken, unable to move beyond flicking his gaze this way and that. She turned away from him to pick something up he couldn’t see. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He wouldn’t even be able to scream if she hurt him.

Don’t get all embarrassed and hush up, now. You’re supposed to enjoy this. You like the pain, don’t you, Quinn?

He squeezed his eyes shut as the corners of his eyes prickled with tears. He couldn’t do this. Not again.

“Oh, dear, I always forget. Be calm, Quinn,” the woman said. And just like that, the feelings drifted away, his heart slowed. He was calm, as she commanded. Quinn’s eyes opened as she drug a chair over to him and sat with a bowl in her hand.

He could still think. He could still panic and wonder what she was going to do to him, but the feelings faded almost instantly.

“Here, eat up. You haven’t had anything all day.” No thanks to your husband, Quinn’s mind hissed. She placed a spoonful of warm soup into his mouth, and he swallowed it. Thankfully it was warm and refreshing. “You may speak as long as you don’t spit out the food or scream.”

“Let me go,” Quinn said cooly, unable to fight past the command and unable to move because of that damned doll. “Please let me go. At least-” a swallow, to wet his dry tongue, “At least let me see my boyfriend.”

“Not yet. I haven’t seen my boy in months and I’ve yet to have a proper dinner with him where we can catch up. Open,” she said, scooping more soup into his mouth. “Him and his father, I swear. It’ll take ages for them to get anything settled.”

“Don’t… don’t say that. Please,” Quinn begged. “I don’t want to be stuck like this, like… like I’m some sort of pet.”

Quinn briefly wondered if this was how Caleb felt like. A trophy that laid about until he was needed for something. Stuck and unable to escape, at the whims of his cruel Masters. He fought against the tears that wanted to spring to his eyes.

He swore to everything on the fucking planet he’d find him.

“You’re not a pet, dear. My husband is just making sure you’re not a bad omen for the family, is all.” The woman smiled at Quinn, giving him a light pat against his cheek. “You’re a sweet boy. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

She continued to feed him in relative silence. Quinn didn’t have anything to say to her that wasn’t rude, and he’d been commanded to keep all of his “rude words” to himself. Instead he opened and ate what she gave him, training his eyes on the doll.

Eventually the woman set the bowl down on a nearby table and picked the doll up. She adjusted the string on it, and then gently set it down on its side. Quinn was forced to mirror it, crumpling to the floor. The woman then wound some string around the doll’s ankles, gently tying them so that Quinn wouldn’t be able to move his legs. 

“You should get some rest. I thought this would be more comfortable than sitting how you were. I’ll set this here so the little ones don’t try to grab it.” She then moved the small chair the doll was on, into the corner with him. The woman crouched down, running her thumb against his cheek and brushing away a tear that dripped down. “Be quiet, Quinn, no more words or sounds. And go to sleep.”

Upon her command, Quinn’s eyes slipped shut.

#whump #whump writing #my writing #ask answered #magical whump #voodoo doll #mind control #compulsion #restrained #choking tw #whumper as caretaker #spoonfeeding #forced eating #nonhuman whumpee #Quinn #Omri mention #Elisha/Caleb mention #hi any reason to hurt Quinn is usually a Good Reason

[itswhumpday]

Hey! Just found out about this immaculate whumpy blog!! What about vampire caretaker x human whumpee? ❤

Thanks for using the word immaculate, you flatter me! Ooooh, this takes me BACK to the good old days. You say vampire caretaker and human whumpee? I raise you vampire caretaker as the accidental whumper to save human whumpee’s life!

Caretaker closes the door behind them. They’d dodged a bullet for now, but they had to leave and take Whumpee out of there tonight. Whumper had seemed suspicious of their interest for the blood bag, even though he assure it was only for grooming purposes, to make sure their master had everything they needed. Whumper had seemed to buy it, but that meant he’d be watching. 

In their room, Caretaker picks up the stuff they’d managed to get for the escape. A backpack with food, water and clothes for the whumpee, the keys to the gates to freedom and some money they’d managed to put together. Throwing a jacket on, they casually crossed the mansion, trying to ignore the sounds of vampires having their evening meal with their blood bags. If Caretaker got to the holding areas in a couple of minutes, Whumpee would have just arrived and it would be at least a full day before Whumper had a need for them again. 

Waiting in the hall, Caretaker tried not to worry. Whumper always boasted their absolute control over their instincts and how, different from the others in the house, they’d never lost a blood bag from feeding. However, Caretaker knew the truth. Their control excited them, made them want to test their limits. He’d never killed a blood bag, sure, but he’d gotten close enough. 

Caretaker had been a blood bag himself years ago, too many to count. They amused the Whumper, until one night he decided to turn him. He became his servant, minding the new blood bags after him. It was fashionable to have a turned servant at the time, but their position had since become obsolete. They often caught themselves clenching their jaw upon thinking that their life had been nothing but a fashion trend. 

Whumpee had been different. They hadn’t fought. They said they’d been a blood bag before to another master and they’d lost home of going home. During the patching up and the transfusions and the fluid replacements, they’d tell tales of a nice house, of warm dinner and beautiful sunsets over the city’s silhouette. 

If there had ever been a chance to do something useful with their afterlife, this was it. Caretaker heard the sound of Whumpee being wheeled in and started walking towards the cell. The other servant stayed a while longer than usual, but Caretaker waited in the hallway. They didn’t want them to see the backpack. But when the minion came out, they only gave them a suspicious smile, not even paying attention before vanishing. 

Caretaker walks into the poorly lit cell, his heart clenching inside his chest. Whumpee is laid across the bed as a forgotten toy. Their legs are in weird positions, their head tilted back as usual. There are purples of bruises starting to show on their arms. The new holes are just two in a neat row of bite marks. The Whumper never lets them heal it. They say they’re pride marks of a successful blood bag. 

They can see even before examining them that they’ve gone too far again. Whumpee is pale as snow, their pulse thumping quickly against the neck wound, spilling out. They’re out cold. Caretaker takes gauze and carefully patches the holes. They touch their friend’s cold face a couple of times, trying to make them come to. 

“Hey. Hey, wake up.” Whumpee’s eyes flicker open and they’re so weak it takes a couple of blinks to get them fully open. They open their mouth to try and speak, but they can’t. They’ll definitely won’t be able to get out of there walking. “I need you to be really quiet, okay? I’m getting you out of here.” 

Caretaker opens the freezer next to the bed and takes a couple of blood bags. Once they’re in a safe place, they can make the transfusion. But not yet. They have to get out of here first. They take off their jacket and puts around Whumpee’s cold body. 

They take Whumpee into their arms and start crossing the dark hallways. They can see Whumpee trying to stay awake, trying to come to. Their hands close around the Caretaker’s jacket: if it’s a sign of trust or an attempt of escape, they can’t tell. Most lords have retired into their chambers, so they don’t really have a problem going out into the cold night. It seems to have an effect on Whumpee, because they touch Caretaker’s face. 

“C-caretaker…” They whisper. “M-m-my arm.” 

Caretaker looks down, with a terrible feeling. Black lines are in the place where their veins climb up and down their arm, spreading. They’d thought they were this way because of the drinking. But no. It was mercy. 

Whumper knew. They knew Caretaker would try to take them out of there and was getting rid of them. Mercy was the quick and painful poison they used to dispose of the blood bags. It mimicked the effects of a drug overdose. Easy to hide in big cities. 

As a previous victim of the poison, Caretaker knew there was only one antidote for mercy. Vampire poison. Transformation. Whumpee started to shake. 

“I thought I’d never… I’d never see…” They needed to stop to breathe heavily. “They said… Said I was distracted… My time had come… I thought he’d kill me, but he... It… It burns.” 

Caretaker muffles their screams against their shoulder when Whumpee groans in pain. They run faster, to the gates. They look back and the house looks much bigger and scarier than they thought before.  

“Make it stop.” 

“I will.” They promise, thinking of an earlier time, when they were like the Whumpee, human. They remembered the pain of snake bite, the dizziness, the sureness of dying. They also remembered what saved their life. They lay the Whumpee on the floor, under the hiding of some bushes. They take a deep breath and tell themselves it’s possible. 

Their teeth sinks into the needle hole. 

Sweetness invades their mouth. They were fed recently, but this wasn’t like eating human food. It was always pleasure: more than human, animalistic, instinctive. They felt themselves pulling more and more, squeezing the arm harder and harder. The whumpee tries to fight with two weak slaps, but the shock is too much. Breathing hard, their free arm falls to their side and they roll their eyes back. Caretaker feels the moment they go limp and it’s ecstasy. They were made for killing: their heart catches up as Whumpee’s get slower and slower. 

Then, a pang of metal. The taste of the poison: burning their throat, invading their nostrils. The memories are too pungent. They say that the way you were killed as a human always is the worst way to hurt you as a vampire. They pull away, spitting the black liquid out on the grass. 

They lay there, on their knees, breathing hard, the poison entering their throat. They cough, dizzy. The poison won’t kill them, not now, but it hurts like they haven’t felt in a long time. And pain is not something a vampire is used to feeling. They raise their eyes, guided more by their instinct than anything else. Their eyes zero in to the bandage on Whumpee’s neck, where a bit of blood has made it red. It’d be so easy to rip it off, like opening a can. 

Whumpee is shaking, still unconscious. Sweat trickles down their face. There is something about this vision that reminds them they could never do that. They grab their bag and take out one of the transfusion bags, emptying it in a couple of heartbeats. Cold plastic blood bags is servant food, lords prefer the real stuff. But for them in that moment, is the best thing they ever had. It washes the poison down, where it starts to corrupt other parts of their body. That’ll buy them some time. 

They pick Whumpee up in their arms, stumbling to the gate, opening it with shaky hands and running out into the night. 

When Whumpee wakes up, they find Caretaker passed out on the floor next to their bed, where an improvised blood transfusion is happening. They look at their hands and feet and out the window. The sundown is happening and they can see it again. It’s so beautiful it brings tears to their eyes. 

Caretaker woke up with a start, looking expectantly at them. 

“Whumpee…” They murmurs. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You saved me.” Whumpee said, smiling through tears. “Why would you be sorry?” 

Caretaker, however, seems inconsolable. 

“I… I am…” 

“My hero.” Whumpee says. 

Caretaker dares to think they just don’t care, but the look of their eyes is vacancy, not acceptance. 

“What do you remember? About last night?” 

“You went to find me in my cell… You picked me up and took me. But I… I passed out.” They look at their own arm, touching the teeth holes. “That bastard.” 

The truth comes over Caretaker like a wave. Whumpee doesn’t know yet. They dont remember. They think it was Whumper. I loved doing this prompt. There’ll be a part II to this!  And as always, if you have a request, my askbox is open!

#vampire caretaker #whump #whump prompt #whump drabble #human whumpee #tw: blood #beanwhump #beanprompts

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

I SAW the OFFER W/ THE WHUMP PROMPTS AND dsjewifhre3t so if u can: * One taking punishment for the whole group .“Who did this to you?” w/ Whumpee Logan !!

Title: A Singular Cog in the Machine

Chapter title: Thoughtless and Empty

Summary: “It was pure logic when it came down to it. Why allow harm befall the others if Logan could stop it? Surely, it was much more beneficial for only one to be harmed than for all to undergo excruciating pain and misery. A broken cog is more easily replaced than if the whole machine fell apart.“

Logan adheres to the belief that needs of the many far outweigh the needs of the one, the latter being himself. Or in other words, Logan tries to sacrifice himself for the sake of the others. Fortunately for Logan, they won’t let him get away with that. Sci-fi AU

Chapter Word-Count: 1.9k

Pairings: platonic LAMP

Warnings: Whump (mainly more hurt than comfort in this part), torture, drowning, main character set on fire, blood, crying, partial memory loss

Present | Chapter 2

Here it is! There will be a part 2 to this, as someone sent me a prompt that works out rather well alongside this one.

-

It was pure logic when it came down to it. Why allow harm befall the others if Logan could stop it? Surely, it was much more beneficial for only one to be harmed than for all to undergo excruciating pain and misery. A broken cog is more easily replaced than if the whole machine had fallen apart.

Logan didn’t feel anything after all. He was a robot parading around in an organic body of flesh and blood. He ran on ones and zeros–seeing the world through a rigid programmed mindset. If his lips twitched upwards at one of Patton’s puns or Roman’s singing or even one of Virgil’s snarky remarks, it didn’t mean anything. It was just a coincidence.

The three of them put together had more inherent value than Logan. Logically speaking of course.

Patton was the metaphoric heart of the group. As the cook and medic, he repaired and maintained the crew countless times. He attended not only to the others’ physical needs, but also to their emotional ones. Thus proving him invaluable. 

Virgil was captain of their small space shuttle; an experienced space smuggler with a penchant for caution. He perhaps borderlined on paranoia, but it was this same paranoia that got them out of trouble. 

Roman was their cocky pilot and a shrewd marksman with a blaster. It was his big mouth that often got them into the trouble that Virgil drug them out of. Still, Roman’s loyalty knew no bounds.

A more poetic, emotional being might list other reasons the others should be considered a top priority over one’s own. 

 Patton was sunshine after a dreary, dismal cloudy day. He was the gentle breeze on a spring day. He was the warmth of hot chocolate and roaring fires during the cold of winter. He helped you reach an optimal performance with his words and actions.

Virgil was the night of the full moon, mysterious yet comforting all the same. He was the strong gale that shook tree branches and warned of the upcoming storm. He was like cough syrup and flu shots, not always appreciated but always striving to fight and protect those he loved.

Roman was the rainbow that accompanied Patton’s sunshine; exuberant and radiant. He was a sweltering midsummer day full of water-gun fights and ice cream. He was the novel you read curled up on your sofa–filled with adventure and romance.

Despite their numerous idiosyncrasies, Logan’s calculations proved their worth invaluable. They made up the world of Logan and so many others. Without them, the system would crash. It was certainly repairable, but not without a hard reset. Logan refused to allow that to happen.

So when hulking shadows threatened to end Patton’s sunshine, cover up Virgil’s moon and obliterate Roman’s rainbow, Logan stepped up.

“Don’t waste your time with those fools and their idiocy,” He said, “I know what you’re after. Take me instead.”

A thousand large pale eyes dissected Logan with their gaze. He stared back, features flat and unresponsive. Logan’s heart beat faithfully, not a second out of tune. He was an advanced AI who wore the skin and bones of a deadman. He didn’t fear anything.

Their dark tendrils shot out, curling around Logan’s form. He didn’t fight the grip even as his feet left the ground. They carried him upwards, until he came face-to-face with their numerous unblinking eyes.

“Alright.” They smiled, displaying rows upon rows of sharp, reedy teeth.

Logan blinked and within a span of that blink–he was plunged into darkness.

What happened next, was blurry and uncertain to him. This was most disconcerting. He remembered things flawlessly, right down to the nanosecond. It freaked the others out at times. It had to be a glitch or an error with his memorybanks. Why else couldn’t he recall the event with clear detail?

What he did remember was what some might refer to as nightmare material. Silhouettes of the others danced around, behaving most unlike themselves. They berated him, attacked him with not only words but physically as well. They bound him with ropes and threw him into a body of water. He flailed about from an instinctual urge as he went into overdrive trying to formulate a solution. He blacked out from it, certain his biological organs would begin shutting down.

It hadn’t been the end of it, simply wishful thinking on his part. Although Logan didn’t make wishes, spoken or not. Really, it was just a rational supposition, that was all.

It continued with Logan jerked awake by fire eating away his clothing. Fire was everywhere, in fact. Wherever he ran, it chased after him. The smoke got to him in the end. It suffocated him until he was left gasping for breath.

The memories grew more distorted and warped the longer it went on. Like an old VHS tape ruined by water. If he focused, he could retrieve flashes of those moments. There was one that stood out more clearly than the rest.

Their tendrils had pinned him down on a horizontal, metallic surface. A huge light shone above, blinding him. They were in the process of doing something but he couldn’t recall what.

“Why?” He rasped, his parched throat screaming for water.

A bemused hearty chuckle erupted from them.

“I thought you knew why,” They said, tilting their head at him, “It was never bounty money or intel I was after. It was test subjects. And what a fascinating specimen you are! A chimera of biological and artificial means.”

Logan opened his mouth to say something. What, he didn’t recall. All that he could was a scalp cutting across his skin, eliciting a scream from him. His flesh pain receptors reacted violently to it.

He didn’t feel anything. He was a machine running biological software. He could shut off the pain signals given to him by his nervous system. He could retreat into his inner programming, enacting a subroutine to take care of the body. He knew he could do this, because he did.

Perhaps this explained why the memories contained errors. The subroutine didn’t properly save them to his memorybanks. Except he started experiencing memory retrieval errors with memories prior to the subroutine activation. How strange and concerning.

It didn’t matter if it had. It’d been the only preventative measures he could take to ensure optimal processing. He ran simulations deep within his programming. Visits to coffeeshops, museums and parks with the others. The scenery of the simulations was beautiful, so life-like. He couldn’t quite get the others right, however. 

He’d spent an adequate amount of time with them, observing their habits. He knew the probability factors of Patton saying a pun in a conversation. He knew various methods of how to restart Virgil after an anxiety attack plagued his systems. He knew how to engage Roman in a dialogue that aided him in finding a solution to his problems.

Yet his stimulations couldn’t capture the exact way Patton bubbled with laughter at his own joke. Or how many centimeters Virgil’s lips curved upwards towards seeing one of them. It certainly didn’t capture Roman’s flamboyant, needless waving of his arms as he spoke. Really, Logan didn’t understand the wasteful exertion of energy. 

However, this latest stimulation was the worst yet. It made him wonder if his systems were failing. That was an absurd proposition to make, considering his software would send him warnings if such a thing was imminent. 

The stimulation started out normally. A movie night hosted in Patton’s quarters, just like they’ve done so many times before in real life. They chose to watch an Earthian cartoon. It was one that the other three were more acquainted with than Logan himself. It didn’t matter. He preferred doing things that resulted in boosting the others’ overall wellbeing.

Roman and Virgil were engaged in an animated discussion of the movie’s events. Logan watched their mouths open and close, unable to hear the words pouring through their lips. Patton looked like he was laughing at something in the movie, his mouth wide open. Logan noted absently that he must be processing auditory input at a sluggish rate than usual.

“Logan?!” A voice cried. He jolted, startled. He took a look around in the stimulation, but it appeared none of the others called his name. Had it been from the movie? He didn’t recall the movie having a character named Logan however.

“Logan, gods, Logan, Logan, please respond–” The person continued, their voice splintering and cracking with each syllable. 

Something grasped him, cradling him in a warm, secure hold. It was only the soft blanket he had since the start of the movie. That had to be it.

“Logan, who did this to you?” Another person asked, their words trembling with rage.

The stimulation froze completely, the others becoming as still as statues. Logan could almost hear his drive whirring with exertion. This was bad. If he overheated, he could possibly die. And he couldn’t die, not when he hadn’t completed his objective.

“I swear by all the gods I’ll kill them, rip their entails out and everything–krafu kniffing dulva–”

“Logan, no, stay with us, wake up!”

Logan’s eyes opened. Which was odd, because his eyes had already been open. His vision was unusually foggy and murky, despite his eyes being artificial implants. He tried moving his head, but found it difficult to do so. A sharp, electrifying shock ran through his whole body. It hurt. It shouldn’t have. Logan didn’t feel anything, emotions or otherwise.

A fuzzy grey shape entered his vision. Logan squinted, the shape crystallizing to a more recognizable image; Patton. His floggy dog-like ears laid flat against his head, an obvious sign of distress. It was then that Logan realized the titekan was the one cradling him. Another two figures flanked Patton on either side. He could only assume them to be Roman and Virgil.

“Pat–patton,” Logan croaked, “y-you’re here?”

He wasn’t sure where here was, just somewhere in the depths of his programming. It had to be a scenario, a way for him to prepare for the worst-case. Because the others couldn’t truly be with him. They couldn’t endure torture the way he could. They’d be torn to shreds, both physically and psychologically. 

The titekan bit back a sob at Logan’s words, “Yes honey, we’re here, we’re so sorry we didn’t get here sooner, but it’s okay, you’re safe now–”

“H-h-hurts.” Logan said, gasping as another pulse of pain hit him. He couldn’t shut off the pain receptors, why wasn’t his body listening to his commands? This was a stimulation, he controlled every aspect, why couldn’t he do it?

“It’s–it’s all over now. I know you’re hurting and–and–we’ll take care of you, we’ll watch all your favorite nature documentaries, how does that sound?” Patton asked, a vibrating noise rumbling in the back of his throat. Titekans tended to make soothing sounds for themselves and others in pain. Logan watched him do it to Roman and Virgil before, but never for Logan. His abnormal AI reflexes and accelerated healing kept him from grievous injuries.

“G-g-g–good.” Logan said. It was getting even harder to utter words, let alone keep conscious. He’d never experienced this before. This loss of autonomy was terrifying. Perhaps something in his face revealed this, because Roman and Virgil came closer. Roman took hold of his hand, squeezing it. Virgil gingerly touched his knee. They spoke words but Logan couldn’t process them. It was happening again. The stimulation was glitching.  So he closed his eyes, losing consciousness as his systems restarted.

#thomas sanders #sander sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #kat writes

[synnutwritesstuff]

Bad to Worse

Started as a few whump tropes: defiant whumpee, captured whumpee, overly intimate villain is really what caught my attention here, and all the nasty little ways an overly intimate villain can really fuck with the hurt/comfort cycle of torture and human emotions, especially as it relates to a captured whumpee

All these characters are mine. Let me know if you like it - there’s loads where this came from!

This started off fairly straightforward, and ended Very Complicated. I blame Clive Owen. A lot. 

TW: Torture, violence, electrocution, broken bones, bleeding, sensory deprivation/blindfolding, dubcon/noncon elements, implied dubcon/noncon

She opened her eyes and blinked as her eyes adjusted to a dark room. A single neon bulb lit a space the size of her bedroom, big and empty enough for the chair she sat on and a person in front of her, could hold maybe five or six people standing around, but not a table for that many. A masked figure sat on a stool in front of her, and still tugged back on her hair to wake her up.

“She’s awake,” the figure said with a smile in his voice. “Can you hear me alright?” His accent was British of some flavor, and pleasant on the ears.

Kathryn nodded, and then frowned as she realized that something was the matter. She knew out of habit that this man’s voice would have been blue-ish green, maybe turquoise but...She couldn’t see his voice on the air, even though she squinted trying to see it.

The masked figure nodded, leaning forward to grab her chin and pull it down, to force her to look at him as he let go of her hair. “That’s right, darling. Got a serum here built just for you, takes away your sound manipulation while leaving your hearing and your healing mutation intact. We’re going to draw your blood and saliva six times a day, and once we get the call, you’ll be on your way, no problems, nice and easy, alright?”

Kathryn stared at him, feeling something hot stir in her gut at his words. She yanked her chin free and spat on him. “You let me off this chair and we’ll see about your nice and easy.”

The masked figure sighed, and she watched him check his sleeve as if to see if her spit had gotten on him. They seemed to be in a repurposed shower, with tile walls and a drain in the floor. He wore dark blue coveralls, a hood drawn up over his head, white latex gloves, black tennis shoes, a white skintight mask that covered his nose, and wide, reflective sunglasses. “Kathryn.”

Kathryn knew it was stupid, but she shuddered at the fact that he clearly knew her name. She considered the fact that he really had grabbed her on purpose, and gritted her teeth. ‘Assume your captor is always lying,’ was a lesson she knew well. Still, he definitely knew what power she was missing, and he knew her name.

Gloved fingers gripped her chin again, drawing her focus back onto him. “Please pay attention. I think it only fair to tell you that if you harm me or any of my people, there will be reprisals. This is not personal, and aside from those conditions, we will feed you and no harm will come to you. Do I make myself clear?”

Kathryn tugged her chin from his grip again and spat on the floor. “Easy for guy who abducted me to set conditions. My people will come for me and you’ll be sorry you grabbed me. If you know who I am, you’ll know they’re very good.”

She couldn’t see any of his features (except the fact that he was white, behind his sunglasses, and his accent right now, at least, was British, but she heard a little smirk before he spoke. “We do know about your people, and are taking great care to keep you from them until the job is done. I have business to attend to. Be good.”

He left, the sound of a door behind her telling her that her cell was locked, leaving her alone in the space with just the empty stool for company.

Kathryn sighed, but there was no use worrying herself sick without anyone present. She helped herself organize the information he’d given her by repeating it back to herself, and also by repeating back what he’d been wearing, and his features and accent. She’d call him British Guy 1, which would help her keep a tally, and keep her mind fresh.

Still, once that inventorying was done, she rolled her neck, and tried to get some rest.

What felt like almost immediately, she heard and felt someone enter behind her.

“Who’s there?” Kathryn called, and she heard that her voice was a little hoarse, rough. She must have fallen asleep, nap length, she guessed, less than three hours, based on how her mouth tasted and her eyes felt.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” an American accented man said, coming in with a shiny metal kit that he opened to Kathryn’s right.

“Calm down,” a light Scottish brogue said, a woman, coming up to stand on Kathryn’s left.

“Open your mouth,” the American man said, glaring down at Kathryn and grabbed Kathryn’s chin. He wore the same ensemble as the British man, with the only noticeable difference being his voice.

She spat a mouthful of spit right into his face, and so he hit her across the face, splitting her lip, her blood smearing onto his white glove.

The Scottish woman said nothing, so Kathryn sprayed the American man with the blood that collected in her mouth. His mask was covered in her blood now, too. Her hands were bound behind her, so she had literally had nothing else to do but spit on him.

He swore at her, his accent sounding Midwestern, or possibly Southern, to Kathryn’s ears, and he grabbed her by the throat as Kathryn tensed her shoulders and neck muscles. She knew from experience that she was very hard to strangle, which meant this was going to hurt a lot.

“I’ll handle that,” the Scottish woman interrupted, putting her hand over the man’s hand. “Just get your samples.” She tutted impatiently, and Kathryn wondered how many more rounds of this they had to deal with that had the Scottish woman so ready to move on.

The American man let go of her throat, and the Scottish woman paused before touching Kathryn. “You’re up to five lashes for spitting, love,” she said kindly. “Unless you want more, don’t make me open your mouth.”

Kathryn decided that was enough for now, if they were going to do this draw five more times today, she had better pace herself in terms of pissing people off. She opened her mouth, and let the man swab her mouth. If he stuck the swab in so far it made her eyes water and made her cough, if that was more than was necessary, Kathryn ignored it.

She also didn’t say anything else as the woman drew a vial of blood from one arm tied behind her.

Kathryn was happy to let bygones be bygones for this interaction, her mind ticking away at what she knew so far, when the American’s voice spoke behind her.

“No, I’ll handle this. You go on ahead, and I’ll meet you there.”

Kathryn sighed. She got the feeling she was not going to get out of this with only five lashes.

The door opened and closed behind her, and Kathryn was not surprised to hear the Amercan man behind her. “Glasgow’s gotta go,” he said, pronouncing the Scottish city “glas-gow,” rhymed with cow, instead of Glas - go. “So it’s me and you, girlie. You fuck with me, I’m gonna make you bleed for it.”

Kathryn sighed, letting her muscles loosen as the clank of metal behind her told her he was unlatching the chains behind her. “Are you, like, Montgomery, or Jackson, or some other hellhole, then?”

She was in thickly padded cuffs, apparently, that he was able to tug on, yanking her off-balance at her commentary.

“I said to shut the fuck up,” he snapped, catching her in another backhand that Kathryn at least this time could roll with to soften some of the impact of the blow.

Kathryn staggered a little, her ear ringing on the side he’d hit. The serum they’d given to block her sound mutation had fucked with her ears a little, it seemed like. “Montgomery, for sure,” she said, gasping a little as he dragged her further back.

He was using some kind of hoist system that he was cranking down, she could hear the gears, or pulley, and he locked her cuffs into the hoist, and was now cranking her back up.

“You’re gonna regret all this talk, girlie,” he hissed, and she couldn’t see, but she could hear the gears of the hoist clank, or grip, as he locked her into place so she could just barely strain to get one toe on the ground to support herself.

Kathryn sighed. “Is this like one lash per word, Montgomery, or syllable?” She thought about that and shrugged. “I hope it’s not syllable or I’m gonna wish I nicknamed you Richmond, maybe.”

She heard the adjustment of his belt, and heard the test swing of the whip, a high-pitched whistling that was impossible to mistake.

“Oh, you better not miss,” she said, raising her voice a little to make sure he heard her. “You want me to count, cause you can’t, or you gonna just make this shit up til you finally manage to shut me up?”

That got him to storm out in front of her so she could see him. He dragged her chair and the British man’s stool away from her and glared up at her. “Fifteen,” he hissed, staring  up into her face. “Count out loud. You lose track, I start over.”

Kathryn blanched, and let him see it, but sneered at him regardless. He’d added ten lashes onto the spitting penalty Glasgow had mentioned. That was interesting. She filed the information away for later.

The whistle of the whip was fast, crack as it broke the sound barrier, and Kathryn gasped as it bit into her. White hot searing pain, instantly cutting her open. Her clothing took the brunt of the force, but after one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, her plaid shirt and undershirt were no longer helping her. The pain became so constant it was muted, somehow, like her brain had maxed out its ability to throttle all the way up to 11.

Kathryn didn’t try to stop herself making noises, which were now pained cries at eight, nine, ten, eleven. She heard the door open, dimly, but counted twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and finally fifteen.

Kathryn sighed, sagging. She flinched as she felt someone behind her. Blood flowed down her back in streams, and she could feel the slightest movements of air on the strips the whip had taken from her flesh.

“Good girl,” Montgomery breathed, patting her thigh.

Kathryn flinched her leg away, and swore at him. “Fuck off, Confederacy,” she said, but her voice was hoarse and tired and held none of the venom it had before.

He had picked up her chair, maybe to put it under her to give her shoulders some relief, and instead set it back down, well out of her reach, shrugging.

He patted her leg on his way out, and left.

Kathryn sighed and spent the worst of the pain (the pain she wouldn’t have been able to sleep through anyway) cataloging what she had learned.

At some point, she must have dozed, because the feel of air on her back and its accompanying spike of pain woke her.

Kathryn bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself groaning out loud where they might have heard it, but she heard Glasgow’s voice as a blue figure moved to stand in front of her to her right.

“I’m going to get you out of this shirt, alright Kathryn?” Glasgow said, moving Kathryn’s chair and standing upon it within arm’s reach of Kathryn.

She chuckled. “It’s ruined anyhow, Glasgow, you might as well.”

The woman made a disapproving sound in her cheek, but quickly cut Kathryn out of her ruined plaid button up and her black undershirt, leaving Kathryn in her sports bra, which had held up surprisingly well.

Kathryn held still as the woman put the swab in her cheek, and was interested as the woman just barely ran the cotton swab along her cheek.

The woman then did an upside down blood draw, which would have impressed Kathryn if her back and legs weren’t covered in her own dried blood.

“You guys gonna feed me or try to drain me dry til my friends get here?” She asked, watching as Glasgow filled not just one, but four little vials with her blood.

Glasgow gave a little shrug. “Not up to me.”

Kathryn snorted, but shrugged. There had been no Montgomery at this draw, so she decided she did not care.

Kathryn was interested when Glasgow pushed the chair under her, and her poor shoulders could get a rest. She sighed in audible relief and rested her head on her arms, dozing off more quickly than she had the first time.

She startled awake as air blew on her back again, but there was less pain, more surprise until she remembered that Glasgow had cut her out of her shirt.

“You didn’t fuck up once, so you get a meal, girlie,” a familiar voice drawled.

Kathryn rolled her eyes. “You miss me, Montgomery, is that it?” She asked with an audible sigh, but her tone was still light.

A different male voice chuckled. “She sure has your number, huh Richmond?” This voice was Eastern European, based on the way he treated his vowels and /h/ sounds, and Kathryn couldn’t stop a snort at what Eastern Europe was saying.

Montgomery, who was apparently actually Richmond, the actual capital of the Confederacy, snarled and kicked Kathryn’s chair away, making her legs dangle and her shoulders and wrists support her full weight again. She hissed as her shoulders seemed to catch fire at suddenly having to support her weight again. She breathed through her mouth. Her body would do what it always did, she just had to stay calm.

Kathryn glanced at Eastern Europe and raised her eyebrows at him. “Touchy.”

Eastern Europe didn’t look up at her comment, and she could hear the hoist grinding as it lowered.

Her feet hit the ground and there was enough slack that she could lower her arms all the way down.

Richmond was in front of her, putting a straw in her face.

Kathryn turned her face away, because she didn’t want anything he was offering.

“You want to eat, or not?” Richmond demanded.

Kathryn bunched up her aching shoulder muscles and lunged for him, thinking she could maybe get her shackled hands around him, or at least punch him.

There was a buzzing sound, and Kathryn realized in a split-second that she had miscalculated, that a third person had entered the room, aside from Eastern Europe and Richmond, when that person drove a cattle prod right into one of her wounds, and she dropped like a sack of hammers.

Kathryn moaned as she came to. She tasted blood in her mouth and her limbs tingled. She had a new wound in her head, too, from where she’d fallen and hit the ground. Her head ached terribly, and she left her eyes closed, because it hurt too badly to open them

She winced as she felt someone very close by her, and British Guy was shushing her.

“It’s just me, love. I think this might be a record you’ve set, quickest time to the cattle prod.” His tone was lightly amused, but not harshly sarcastic, his grip the same kind-but-no-nonsense it had been when she’d first woken up. His hand found her chin, and with more shushing noises, something cold pressed against the wound on the side of her head.

She hissed, trying to pull away, but his grip was firm, and the tang of antiseptic told her what he was doing.

She held still, but grumbled, “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of leaving me my healing mutation?” She wanted to know how much he knew, but she also wanted to know why he was doing this. Good cop, maybe, or maybe he was the interrogator. Glasgow was also sort of good cop, and Eastern Europe was at least decent cop. She’d also pissed off Richmond, but he’d started the whole thing off pretty pissed, so he might have been set up that way on purpose as well.

“If you keep up at this rate, not even your S Grade healing mutation is going to help you, love,” he murmured, and something cool pressed against her split lip.

She’d thought the room was very dark, but as Kathryn flinched from the sensation of something touching her lips, she realized that she was blindfolded, and jerked her head away in surprise and disgust. They must have done when she was unconscious, yes, very brave.

“It’s alright love, it’s the next step since you went after Richmond. Nearly knocked him over, too, and that would have DC’d him for this run. Settle down, it’s just me.” A firm hand pushed her hair out of her face and patted her shoulder.

Kathryn gritted her teeth but did settle as she smelled the antiseptic smell near her face again. “What happens to you if I knock you out?” She asked, and the question helped calm her down, settle her nerves despite having the blindfold on. She didn’t so much as rattle her wrists, had no idea how she was chained. She was seated, and her hands were in front of her, but she knew British Guy was within six inches of her right now, so that was something. He didn’t seem as afraid of her as Richmond had.

He chuckled. “Then they replace me with someone who probably doesn’t mind being round Richmond, whereas I loathe him.”

Kathryn snorted. That could have been a line, solidifying British guy’s place as good cop and Richmond’s as bad, but it felt honest to her, his chuckle and less than professional comment.

She tensed further as he pulled her forward off the chair, she had to be in her chair again, and began to dab at the wounds on her back, but that’s all he did.

“And who’re you?” She asked, more to give herself something to say than really caring about the answer. She thought about his accent, rolling it around in her mind, the way he didn’t ignore his /r/s, but didn’t pay them much attention. “Birmingham?”

He chuckled. “Your accent’s not bad, you know. You’re close, though. Coventry.” He hissed a little, and said, “Sorry in advance, love,” and Kathryn was braced for the absolute wash of pain that overcame her as the antiseptic came into contact with a much fresher wound than the rest, but even so she must have whited out there, because when she came to, she was laying on the ground, her hands all the way out in front of her, superman style.

“Oh fuck,” she gasped, and struggled to sit up, get out of this vulnerable position, but Birmingham was there, gently pushing down on her shoulder. .

“You’re alright love, it’s just me. Didn’t want to put more pressure on your wounds, so I lay you down. I’ll put you back to rights before I leave, don’t fret.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re playing Good Cop you’re meant to be a little nice, not all the way nice,” she complained, and if he noticed that her accent had picked up, tilted towards her father’s East London brogue in response to his own accent, he said nothing.

He just hummed in response and patted her hair as she hissed, exhaling pain as he tended to her wounds.

Kathryn had been thinking, anything to give herself something to do, anything to think about except the fire in her back and in her head, the horribly vulnerable position she was in, and the likelihood that she was going to get beaten again in this shit hole, and finally asked, “Is Eastern Europe guy Warsaw?”

Birmingham chuckled and pulled on her shoulder, helping her to her feet as he settled her back in the chair. Kathryn hissed as her bare, sensitive back came into contact with the chair, but there was enough slack in what had to be the chain that ran from the ground to loop around the shackles around her wrists that she could sit forward, in fact her hands were still in front of her. Huh.

She felt Birmingham in front of her, and felt him around her feet, her ankles. A clank of chain there too, and a heaviness round her ankles told her there was a leader chain between floor and ankle restraints.

“Bucharest,” Birmingham’s voice was a deep chuckle as he patted her knee.

Kathryn sighed in frustration. “Fuck those aren’t even close.”

Birmingham was seated near her, she could feel his knee press into hers, and she could feel him chuckle again. “Console yourself with some H2O before Richmond and Glasgow come back in, hm?”

Instead of the straw monstrosity Richmond had shoved into her face, Birmingham pulled one of her hands up and pressed a styrofoam cup into her hand.

Kathryn was so surprised she nearly dropped it, but she brought it to her lips and drank greedily.

Something tugged at her, buzzed at the back of her mind, but it wasn’t until she was clumsily eating a protein bar Birmingham had handed her that she realized what it was, recognized this.

“This isn’t just about the blood draws, is it?” She asked, frowning. “Are you lot recording my rate of healing? Is that why I’m not prone in some bed, that’s what all the sodding steps are for?” She gestured up near her face, the stupid blindfold. “Some kind of scientific study?”

Birmingham was making disagreeing noises. “No, love, that’s not quite-” and he reached up to stop her from yanking the blindfold off.

Kathryn growled at him, tossing her head back in a groan of frustration. “If you’re not trying to condition me and study me, then why tie me up like this?” She wanted to know. “If you’re not trying to interrogate me, why let Richmond add so many lashes?”

As if on cue, the door opened behind Kathryn, and she shoved the protein bar in Birmingham’s general direction. You didn’t need to have experience with something like this like she did to be able to guess she was not going to be able to finish her cement-flavored protein bar just now.

“Good morning, girlie,” Richmond’s voice was a slow drawl that made Kathryn want to put her own eyes out. At least she didn’t have to see his stupid, samey, masked face.

They were still close enough that she heard Birmingham sigh. He ran a hand over her cheek. “Be good, love.”

Kathryn growled at him too, because she did not need that kind of shit right now with Richmond, and at least one other person, whoever it was, in the room.

“Open your mouth,” Richmond drawled, and Kathryn sighed, but did it. She was just feeling almost back to full strength, and hadn’t gotten to eat but half that bar.

Richmond didn’t shove the swab in, just swabbed her cheek, and Kathryn thought they might have had a truce going, as someone else, she didn’t know who because they hadn’t spoken, pulled her wrists out and swabbed the inside of her elbow.

This might have been fine, Richmond snapping the cover on the swab, the other person putting a band around her elbow to get her veins to show up more starkly, if the door hadn’t swung open, and Kathryn hadn’t heard a sharp cry of pain from somewhere outside her cell. It was absolutely a cry of pain, and absolutely female, and the sound of it snapped her right out of whatever warm, hydrated Stockholm Syndrome place Birmingham and her apparent truce with Richmond had left her in.

She knocked whoever was doing the blood draw away from her elbow, driving her palm up into what felt like their nose (they’d been sitting far too close, which made her think it wasn’t Glasgow, who surely would have known better, or even Bucharest, who had also been in the room with one of her lashings out), blood exploding around her hand.

There was a muffled flurry of female curses that were definitely not Glasgow. They sounded Austrailian, actually.

Hands gripped her by the shoulders and slammed her down, trying to shove her into the chair, but Kathryn could tell they were behind her, and drove the back of her head as hard as she could straight back, and heard Richmond swear at her and clip the back of her shoulder with his elbow.

Kathryn drove her knee into Australia’s face as she bent down, stunned and sputtering, but the chain caught her knee before she could do more but sort of collide with Australia.

“Who the hell is that?” Kathryn yelled at them, reaching up and yanking off her blindfold.

She saw a light brown woman’s face near her feet, struggling to right askew sunglasses.

“Melbourne goddamnit get the blood drawn,” Richmond snarled, and before Kathryn could think to raise her hands to defend herself, a blow to the head knocked her out.

Kathryn groaned as she came to. Her back was on fire, felt raw like an open wound and the left side of her temple throbbed with each beat of her heart.

She was hanging by her wrists again, no chair beneath her to stand on, and her ankles were chained and connected to the ground, a blindfold tied over her eyes again. She wouldn’t be kneeing or elbowing anyone like this, that was for sure, and she couldn’t see. Shit.

The door opened behind her, and she flinched at the sound, already dreading it, although if that was for the stirrings of air it caused on her wounds or the fact that it brought people and confrontation, she wasn’t sure.

“It’s alright love,” Birmingham’s voice was pleasant, pitched for her to hear first, but Kathryn could hear him address others, too.

“Nice and easy, lads,” he said, and he moved quickly, followed by two others, to stand in front of her.

“Hello, love, it’s me,” Birmingham said, and he traced a comforting hand down her arm that Kathryn yanked away from.

“How many people have you got here?” She demanded, and her voice was hoarse, like she’d been yelling some more, but didn’t remember it, or hadn’t been conscious for it.

Her stomach twisted and she sneered at Birmingham. “You beat me while I was out? Not really how conditioning works, is it? I gotta be awake for it to matter,” she said, making a disappointed sound in her cheek.

There was a male chuckle, Richmond, at her right elbow, and Kathryn turned her head to spit in his direction, even if she didn’t know exactly where she was. “Fuck off, you arseholes lost the war, didn’t you? So sodding proud of yourselves.” She was furious that one conversation with Birmingham and her thinking about data collection had made her forget she was a prisoner here, that where there was one prisoner there would surely be others. That she was on the Reserve, and her friends were looking for her, so that that meant she had responsibilities to the other people here.

Birmingham swore colorfully and that was all the warning Kathryn got before a blow landed in her stomach.

She vomited, gagging, as she threw up mostly water. She could hear a male voice panting near her, still to her right, and spat another mouthful of bile in his direction. “You hit like a sodding girl R-” she couldn’t even get his name out before he hit her again.

Kathryn had nothing left to throw up, so when her stomach was empty she just coughed, and coughed.

She heard the hoist creak, and that was all the warning she had before she was dumped on her knees, enough slack let out that she could lower her arms. She winced, not having been expecting to need to brace herself, so her knees hit the ground hard, but she was thinking about the next step, about why they might drop her down onto the ground, and so when someone came within arm’s reach of her, she had her mouth open, ready for a bite, or to spit…

But she just felt a hand on her chin as someone crouched very near to her. “Stuff the heroics for thirty seconds, won’t you?” Birmingham’s voice was tight with anger. “You haven’t even been here for twelve whole hours, let them do the bloody draw.”

She tried to yank her head away from his grip, but he moved too quickly, framing either side of her head with his hands flat, forcing her to stay in place.

Kathryn snarled curses at him as she felt hands pull her right arm out and pin it down against the arm of her chair.

Birmingham’s voice was right in front of her face as she growled and tried to pull away from him. “I get that you’re angry, love, but you keep fighting and they’re going to put someone else in charge who’s just going to sedate you until your friends come and pick you up.”

Kathryn heard a chuckle, Richmond, he was holding her arm, and she flinched from his chuckle, from the implication of what that had to mean in context of what Birmingham had said.

She gritted her teeth as someone gripped her cheeks, as a hand reached up and closed her nose.

“You can’t help her if you do this!” Birmingham’s voice called, a little louder over the sounds Kathryn was making to try to dislodge whoever held her nose. “If they knock you out til you’re done, you can’t help anyone!”

That got through to her. She sighed and sagged, opening her mouth.

Whoever was working on getting her to open her mouth stopped suddenly. There was the quick invasion of the swab, then nothing.

She growled as hands still worked at her right arm, disliking the feeling of hands on her.

“Over here, love,” Birmingham said, gently tugging her chin to the left. “You did wonderfully,” he crooned quietly, and when she felt him put a straw near her mouth, she sighed and drank the water, knowing she needed the fluids after throwing up.

Still, when he moved the water away from her, she asked him, “How many lashes they give me when I was out?” Her back felt terrible, one giant wound, throbbing with her heartbeat as she felt the stabbing pinch of the needle in her arm as Richmond and whoever else must have found a vein.

Birmingham ran his hand down her face, smoothing her hair away from her eyes. “Twenty, for bloodying up two people but mostly for pissing Richmond off a second time,” he murmured, just for her, and Kathryn didn’t need her sound mutation to hear the amusement in his voice.

She snorted, and winced as her right arm was released.

She flinched as she felt hands on her right arm again, but Birmingham was making little shushing noises. “Did so good, love.” He murmured, and he was rubbing circulation back into her arm, avoiding the bruises that had been left behind.

Kathryn shuddered and had to choke back a sob that ran through her chest as he pulled her arms over her chest as best she could. She pulled her hands away from him as the full, terrible realization of all of this hit her. “Sod off,” she breathed, ignoring the tears that leaked down her face. “At least the Bad Cop’s honest. Honestly fuck off,” she hiccuped, trying to raise her hands to push him away.

Birmingham snorted, and Kathryn felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as the same voice, changed drastically in tone. “You know love, it’s quite refreshing to see someone going through as much as you are keep her eye on the prize.”

She choked on a terrible sound that was half sob, half laugh. “So glad to entertain,” she said, and at least there was enough length in the chain that she could lean her elbows on her knees and put her head in her hands, trying to collect herself, to get a grip. “So you usually the Bad Cop then, hm Birmingham?” She asked, unable to stop herself. Even knowing what this was, she couldn’t stop from talking. The moment she shut up was the moment she’d start to lose her mind, she knew.

He snorted, and Kathryn shuddered hard as his hand came up to push her hair from her face even in the way she sat, even after her realization. “I’m whoever’s needed,” he said reasonably. He didn’t seem to be upset,that she’d cottoned on, that they were having this conversation.

Kathryn, dimly, recognized his calmness in the face of her realizing the plan as a very bad sign, but she was too busy talking, keeping the conversation going, to notice right then. “Oh yeah?” She asked. “Who are you right now, then?” She asked, her tone twisting, becoming dark and harsh, so much so that even he froze for a moment as he reached up again to smooth hair off of her face.

He recovered after an instant, and seemed to smooth her hair back again, for emphasis, as if just to say he had not, actually, as a matter of fact, been caught off guard by her words, but she knew better, she knew what had happened. “I’m the bloke keeping this site profitable while you’re here,” he said, and he planted a gentle kiss on her cheek as he levered himself to his feet with a grunt of effort.

Kathryn shuddered at his words, but they were honest, at least, which she appreciated, she could work with. He even left her chains the way they were, so she almost slept comfortably, and was asleep before she heard the door open behind her.

She heard another cry from behind her, from the hallway as the soft tread of boots filled her cell, and she flinched, standing in an instant even if her wrists were connected to the same loop that held her ankles, so she couldn’t stand all the way up, but she could twist at this angle to angle her face towards the sound. This cry was deeper, but just as full of pain as the first she’d heard.

She yelled back, the drive to do so completely instinctive. Kathryn didn’t think, just shouted, “I’m Kathryn! I-” And she heard a flurry of sound, a “-Dan!” and then everything went black.

Kathryn gasped as she awoke, because her back was still raw, but she saw stars as the gasp at her back still hurting the same as it has the last time she awoke made pain slice through her ribs. She tried to hunch over, protect her torso, but her shoulders were on fire, she was suspended up in the air again, ankles connected to the ground, but she was hoisted high enough in the air that she couldn’t touch the ground. “Fuck,” she murmured. This was really bad. She hadn’t even realized anyone was in the room with her, and they’d knocked her clean out.

“All you had to do was not shout your name.” Birmingham’s voice was so close she flinched, surprised.

He ran a hand down her arm and her back, carefully avoiding her fresh wounds there.

Kathryn flinched from his touch. “Fuck off,” she breathed, wincing, her tone emphatic but not loud. His touch, his actions, were so different from Richmond, who was surely the designated Bad Cop, that it freaked her out more than her initial realization of their roles had.

He chuckled. “If you hadn’t literally pointed out my role here, or if you stopped fucking around and making such a mess for even a single draw, I would,” he said, and again, Kathryn felt the truth in his words even as she bit back another shudder as he gentled down her other arm and side of her body.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked through gritted teeth, trying to stop her shakes and unable to do so as he ran his hand over her hair, down her back, over her arms. It was all wholly nonsexual, which made it even harder to calm herself down. Why was he doing this? The shaking in her arms made her realize that her arms were tender, that the air hurt her arms as much as it hurt her back. She was bruised to shit, and injured enough elsewhere that the bruises were no longer healing. Dehydrated, malnourished, too, probably, all factors which slowed her healing mutation down to a crawl. She wouln’t die of sepsis, but she also wouldn’t get better with any speed. Shit

“I told you darling, my job is just to keep this place afloat while you’re here. Since you’ve found me out, I’m not going to lie to you any more. Of that, you have my word.” His voice was a quiet lilt, and he chuckled as she swore at him.

He seemed about to say more, but the door opened behind her, and she immediately felt a hard hand press against her mouth.

Kathryn knew this trick, and had her jaw open wide, and found an edge of Birmingham’s hand and bit down, hard.

He swore fluently, and she was willing to guess that his real accent was the Birmingham accent she kept hearing, because it was almost impossible to keep a fake accent when you were in that kind of startled-pain, she knew from experience.

And then a hand hit her right in her solar plexus, and things shattered and broke insdie her and she was writhing and contracting and unable to draw breath like her lungs had forgotten how to breathe and she was gasping, no air, gasping, gasping...and something hit her again, like a freight train she felt things splinter and break but at leastshe could breathe, was sucking in shredded, gasping breaths and then someone grabbed her face.

“I appreciate the foreplay, darling,” Birmingham’s voice was a little ragged, but still amused. She felt his blood on her chin, from his hand where he grabbed her and where she’d bitten him, and grinned at him, knowing how close he had to be, able to feel his body heat in front of her. “And I do hope it’s worth it.”

She hardly had any slack in the chains, but he was hanging onto her, giving her a sense of how far away he was, and so she was able to move in by using his grip on her to pull herself forward, so she could plant a sloppy kiss on his temple. “Thank you for the foreplay, darling,” she mimicked, rubbing his blood from her chin onto him the best she could.

She heard him swear again, and people must have come into the room, but she didn’t hear a whip. Instead, pain exploded around her knees in two white-hot bursts that crunched sickeningly, hotter than the sun and twice as blinding.

Kathryn had not experienced this pain in a long time, and these catastrophic, torrential injuries being added to the injuries she already had, and her central nervous system blessedly tapped out for her. She passed out.

She came to with a sob as pain woke her up. She felt like her legs were being pulled apart at the knee. She  still couldn’t see, but she could feel blood dripping down her legs. Fuck.

She tried to make a list, and spoke out loud for the desire to get out of her own head. Not being able to see was awful, and speaking would be something she could set against that.. “Whippings, 35 lashes, I think, over what has maybe been an eight hour period?” Kathryn wasn’t sure about this math, but it was close enough for now. “At least one blow to the head, no actually make that two, no, three, if we’re including the blow that got me here.” She sucked in a breath as she cast her mind back. There was a lot to inventory. “One stun baton, had ribs burised, at lesat, and my knees had been, what, shot out?” She shook her head. There had been no rapport of gunfire. “Fractured at least, no way to know the damage right now, without being able to see them.” She sighed, but she was close to the end of her inventory, might as well finish. “There had been three blood drawings. At six per day, with an organized schedule, that assumes one every four hours, which argues for at least twelve hours.” She sighed, because her arms were even more tender than they had been. “Add at least one more draw, so 16 total hours, possibly several more.”

“It’s the worst beating I’ve ever seen,” Birmingham’s voice was low and interested wasn’t the right word, but it was close. She flinched at the fact that he must have been in the room this entire time.

He was seated below her, in her old chair maybe, as she was still being pulled in two directions, it felt like.

She snorted. “Not even the worse beating I’ve gotten in a place like this,” she scoffed, because it was true, probably, technically. She couldn’t quite remember, but the bravado felt good, helped to ground her and helped her feel more settled, blindfold, injuries, and all.

She felt Birmingham’s hand on her torso, and whimpered before she could stop herself. She could feel the painful flesh under his fingers, practically feel her bones move and grate against each other. “You’re gonna feel like an ass if I puncture a lung,” she gasped, remembering a training session with Miller where they’d nearly done just that.

Birmingham chuckled, and she thought she knew what he was going to say, she’d participated in this play before but then he said, “Doesn’t matter to me if you puncture anything, love,” he said, smoothing back her hair from her face in a way that had become very familiar, but was incredibly jarring as his words shook her entire thought process of why she was here completely apart. “You’re just here til your friends follow all the clues.”

Kathryn gasped, because this had not felt like her last experience with a place...like this, but to hear him say so was very upsetting. “What clues?” She asked, because any words, any questions, were better than the reality of what he implied. She ignored it, it was too terrible even to consider.

She flinched as she felt hands near her face, thinking they were coming for her mouth, but the blindfold was tugged off her eyes.

Kathryn whimpered at the suddenness, at the fact that he was so close to her he could take something off her face, and at the newness of sensation after...however the hell long it had been with that fucking thing on, but Birmingham was running his hand down the side of her face, making little shushing noises. “It’s alright love. I wanted you to at least be able to look me in the eye when I said this, because I don’t think you’ll believe me, and I really dont’ think you ought to take any more punishment right now.

Kathryn’s chest heaved at his words, but all that left her mouth was a choked little laugh. “You don’t, do you?”

Birmingham had her blindfold gathered in one gloved hand, and he used that hand to take off his sunglasses. He was a white man, maybe a little older than Kathryn based on the laugh lines around his eyes, with otherwise healthy looking skin with no identifying marks she could see. He had unusual eyes, which made her breath catch in her throat because they were quite identifying. His right eye was light green, lighter than her own dark green, and his left eye was light blue. The overall effect was grey, but they were not the same color.

He was standing very close to her, to allow her to examine his face, and she saw the corners of his eyes crinkle and wrinkles at the edge of his nose crinkle, in what was clearly a smile, as she seemed to finish her examination. “Very good, darling,” he said, as if they’d come to some kind of agreement, running his hand down her face and brushing his thumb across her lips before turning away from her, seemingly looking for something.

Kathryn shuddered, muttering, “Fuck,” as he seemed to come to some kind of decision, abandoning, what, his search for her chair? She had no idea where it had gone, nor the stool he’d sat on when she’d first woken up here.

He turned back to her, still standing within arm’s reach, still smiling up at her. “You’re not here to be interrogated, or tortured, and although the blood and saliva samples are a helpful bonus, they’re not why you’re here, either, love.”

Kathryn stared at him, her mouth falling open a little, because that made no sense. “What clues?” She repeated the last question that had come to mind, forcing herself to have something to say, to continue to collect information collect information. She watched him hungrily, so grateful to have her eyes back, to be able to process data visually as well as auditorily.

He shrugged, seemingly taking his fill just watching her. He reached up and ran his hand over her cheek and jaw, seemingly just because he could, ignoring the shudder that ran through her at his touch, before dropping his hand again. “Dunno. Our employer was extremely specific about the conditions you were to be held in, though, very specific about other instructions he’s given us about you, darling, but once we hear the message we’re waiting on from your friends, we’re to let you go.”

Kathryn flinched from his words, shaking her head at him. “You’re lying.”

Birmingham got right into her face, moving within six inches of her, and even though she was suspended in the air, above the ground, he was still a little taller than she was, just a few inches. “I’m not,” he said, his words crisp, maybe irritated, in a way they had not been thus far. He grabbed her chin. “I gave you my word that I wouldn’t lie to you more, love.” He seemed to think this was a bit too harsh, because he released her chin and ran that hand down her face, thumb over her lips.

Kathryn shuddered, looking away from him, her chest heaving as tears sprung to her eyes. “You said it doesn’t matter, if I puncture a lung. Does your employer want me dead?” There was quite a bit of evidence against this, but she was curious. She wanted as much information on who was actually in charge here. She believed Birmingham, for now. There was just too much that didn’t make sense, otherwise.

He shook his head, tracing the other side of his face with his hand now, running his fingers through her hair, making her shudder involuntarily as his fingers brushed against a wound on her head, making pain shoot down her spine and through her skull.

He muffled a curse. “Shite, sorry love,” he said, and he seemed genuinely sorry, adjusting his hand so the next time he ran his fingers through her hair, he would not hit the wound he’d hit. “No, they don’t, but I haven’t got any more information about what they want, ultimately, just what they needed us to do.”

Kathryn shuddered, a sob fighting its way out of her chest, and did not fight it. It didn’t matter what she did here. She believed Birmingham, and so that meant that all of these injuries had absolutely been for nothing. She shuddered, and then could not stop, and began to cry, huge sobs that made her ribs and back ache, that made her shake so her legs were shaking, and she didn’t know what would happen, if she’d shake herself apart with crying, or if they’d come back in to hurt her some more.

Instead, she felt gentle hands on her face, in her hair, down the undamaged parts of her back, gentle along her arms.

Kathryn automatically felt her crying subsiding under the soothing touch, thought at first she must have fallen asleep, until she heard a muttered, “No, it’s under control,” and realized she was not asleep.

She flinched from the hand that was still running up and down her arm and opened her eyes to see Birmingham talking on a radio of some kind, and she felt like throwing up as she realized he’d very deliberately taken the white gloves off everyone else used here.

“What the fuck?” She demanded, trying and unable to draw her arms away from him, the cuffs were too tight above her, but she could and did move her head away from him as he circled so he was standing in front of her. “Put that shit back on, it’s to keep me disoriented about who my captors are, you fucking idiot,” she snapped, her tone staccato and shuddering. She learned something about why she was here, and he immediately fucked that up with...whatever he was doing. It was making her angry, pissed at him, and she clung to that anger, as it gave her somewhere productive to go with her emotions.

He chuckled up at her, running his hand down her face and thumb across her lip. He showed her his left hand, the clear bite mark in the meat of his left hand, with tidy stitches between his ring and pinky fingers. “I know,” he said with a shrug, “But you’re the most interesting mark I’ve had in ages, and me and you, we’re connected.” He tapped his temple, covered at least by the hood he still had pulled up over his hair.

She shuddered again, shaking her head, turning away from him. “Sod off. This is a psychological trick mean to-” her words cut off as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.

“I said I was not going to lie to you, love,” he breathed, running his thumb over her mouth before letting her go. He drew a knife from the pocket of his pants, and Kathryn couldn’t stop the whimper in her throat. That knife was nearly as long as her forearm, and meant business. Normally, knives could not stop her, but she was so ground up from this place that it could kill her.

He’d also just said his employer did not care what condition she was in…

Birmingham shook his head, shushing her and running his hand down her face and thumb over her lips. “This isn’t for you, darling, look,” he said, and tugged on her chin so she was forced to look watch as he easily, one-handed, opened the butterfly knife, and swiftly drove it into his own arm.

She gasped at the blood that sprayed her and his pristine white mask, but Birmingham had barely drawn the knife from his arm before the wound began to close.

She stared at the wound as it closed, looking for a trick, but all she saw was a very similar hair-thin white scar on his arm where there had just seconds before been a gaping flesh wound. He wiped the knife onto his trouser leg, closed it, and replaced it in his pocket.

“Told you, love, we’re connected,” he said, moving closer to push her hair away from her face, soothe it down the back of her head and her neck.

Kathryn shuddered, but couldn’t help the sob that escaped her lips at the comfort, even if she knew it was false. She felt tears on her cheeks and mucus on her face as she struggled to speak. “I haven’t-” she began, and flinched as he moved quickly in front of her, as something was raised to her face. It was a handkerchief he was raising to her nose, very gently. “Blow,” he ordered, very much in the tone of father to child than captor to captive. She grimaced at the comparison, because how had things gone from worse to better to worse so quickly?

She obeyed, because she did need to blow her nose, after all, and she fully believed, now, that she would not be let down from here until the contract was done. He even moved the hankerchief to a different spot once she’d blown her nose and gently wiped her face and under her eyes.

Kathryn felt a lump in her throat she was fairly sure was never going to go away, but she didn’t ask the question she wanted to ask. Instead, she cleared her throat, not removing the lump there but feeling better about the attempt. “I haven’t met anyone with a healing mutation like me since I was at the last place like this I’ve been.”

A high pitched beeping sound emitted from somewhere below her, and Kathryn winced, but Birmingham quickly silenced the alarm on his watch and moved around on the floor beneath her, rummaging for things she could not see, before returning with a giant plastic container of water with a massive straw.

He held it up near her face and she drank until he took it away, could have had more.

He clicked his tongue, seemingly in sympathy. “I know love, but they’re going to be back in three hours to beat on you some more, and so I’d rather try to rehydrate you in small steps, not big ones, to increase the chances you keep it down.”

Kathryn shuddered involuntarily at his words and the extremely casual mention of severe pain in them, a series of shakes that just kept continuing until she felt his hand on her face, and stilled somewhat at the now familiar movements, thumb on her lips, hand down her scalp, over her shoulders, and the backs of her arms, gently over her sides.

“Are you really this bored?” She wanted to know as he turned back to set the water down and reached for something else.

He straightened with an IV needle and bag, and she flinched from him, but he made shushing noises at her. “You desperately need fuel to rebuild yourself, and you’re not allowed solids anymore, so please let me help you.” His expression was level, and his words about what she was not allowed sounded like they were from his employer.

She sneered at him. “I’m a prisoner here,” she deadpanned, as if he needed a reminder, or as if she did. It was more out of irritation that he’d even asked. “I can’t give consent for anything in this fucking place.” It did feel good, a little, to feel some of her anger kick back in.

The corners of the edges of his eyes were very tender as he moved closer and placed a kiss on her cheek, running his hand down her face and finger over her lips. She shuddered, but not as much as she had done at such intrusions before, which just made her angrier.

She felt the whine of the motor of the hoist, and it took her brain a moment too long to realize what that sound was, what it meant, and she cried out in pain as he feet brushed the floor.

She was choking on a sob as she tried to use her abdominal muscles to pull her legs off the floor as the hoist lowered her all the way to the ground. She relaxed a little as her butt hit the ground, and she could gently lower her abused legs to the ground, but she still winced as her heels hit, because it sent vibrations and radiations straight through her knees, making her eyes water and a sob leave her throat in earnest. Fuck…

She couldn’t even lay on her back, because it was still cut up.

Kathryn didn’t realize that her eyes had closed, or that tears stood on her cheeks, until Birmingham crouched next to her and wiped the tears away, carefully, as careful as all of the touching.

She didn’t try to fight him as he put in the IV and attached the bag to the chain that connected her wrist shackles to the hoist, although she did smile a little as he made a show of not putting his left hand within reach of her mouth as he wiped off her hands and arms.

She swore a little, because her arms looked terrible, like she was a drug addict,  were swollen and lumpy, black and purple and blues of deep bruising. She was sure her abdomen, and knees for sure, but her back as well probably, were worse. Kathryn was suddenly ver grateful that she couldn’t see her knees under the jeans she wore, or her back. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing whatever mincemeat she looked like right now.

He had wiped her hands, face, and feet down when he paused, and frowned at his watch as an alarm went off again. He grabbed the bottle and she drank as much water as he would let her, before he set it aside again.

She felt exhausted, drugged, and struggled to keep her eyes open as she looked at him. Apparently, accusation was clear on her face.

“I would never,” he said, putting a hand on his chest as if offended.

Kathryn snorted rudely.

He shrugged. “I’d never do such a thing without being paid handsomely for it,” he amended, grinning and patting her cheek and rubbing his thumb across her lips.

Kathryn sighed as he pulled his hand away, she grimaced as she recognized the emotion she’d just felt. She glared at him, feeling something like a snarl pull her lips up. “Are you being paid to do this, or just a pervert, taking advantage of a helpless woman?” She hissed as he grabbed a new baby wipe and seemed to be deciding which leg to clean of blood and grime first.

He looked up at her sharply, and he was so close to her, she thought she could hear him give a hiss of protest as he considered her words.

He seemed to think for a moment, eyes flashing, before he swiftly moved closer to her, and since she was no longer chained up, but chained down, her wrist restraints and ankle cuffs connected to the chain on the ground, she had nowhere to go as he loomed over her as she sat with her injured legs straight out before her. He seemed to be thinking hard, patting in his pockets for something with his hand that was further away from her while running his hand down her face and thumb over her lips with the other.

Kathryn heard a clank of chain and realized that without thinking about it, she’d tried to bring her hands up to stop him, stop whatever was about to happen, but the chain was too short. She couldn’t get her hands above her heart.

While she was distracted, Birmingham seemed to have found what he wanted, because he leaned into her space and instead of touching her face like he’d done countless times, he pried her mouth open and crammed something, she choked, it was a piece of cloth, into her mouth, covering her mouth with his right hand this time as she struggled to spit out whatever the hell, yuck...

She swore and tried to stop him, to fight him off, but the attack was too sudden and too forceful. She had tears standing in her eyes as he reached back to the kit that looked a lot like a fishing tackle box she could see sitting on the ground next to him and peeled off a piece of duct tape and placed it over the gag he’d put in her mouth.

Kathryn’s chest was heaving as she stared at him, flinty eyed. She bit down on the cloth in her mouth and glared at him, trying to get the gag out of the way of her tongue so she could speak, but she couldn’t. She didn’t even realize she had tears standing in her eyes as she glared at him, anger feeling like it burned her up from the inside. This was so stupid, what was she even thinking...

He made a little tutting sound, as if he could hear her thoughts,  and wiped the tears that had fallen down her cheeks away, glancing down, Kathryn flinched as he seemingly reached for something else in his pockets, but he was just shutting off the radio she’d heard him use.

He made little shushing sounds, wiping away more tears that had spilled, running his hand down her face and thumb across her lips, shaking his head as this made her more upset. “I apologize, but I didn’t want you calling me out for what I’m about to say, as it could get me in fairly serious trouble.” His expression was clear, but she did see the corners of his eyes tighten at the effect his gagging her had had on her. She shook her head a little, not at his words, but at herself, shaking off her thoughts. He had just gagged her, she reminded herself. She did not care what he was feeling, she reminded herself. Get a grip.

He reached forward and ran his hand down the side of her face and thumb across her lips, as if unable to stop himself, before taking a shuddering breath and saying, “Look, I’m not bored, or, or...” he got stuck on the word, apparently, Kathryn was surprised to see, needing two more tries before he could spit out, “a pervert, alright? I’m just thinking you might join us, after all this is said and done.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes at him, calling him terrible names around the gag in her mouth.

He shrugged and smiled fondly at her. “You say that now, pet, but our employer has a lot of plans for you and your friends. Who knows how things turn out after all that?”

Kathryn snorted, shaking her head at him. She had a lot she wanted to say, about the Reserve, and her friends, and what she thought about his stupid employer, but she could articulate none of it with the gag in her mouth, and trying to talk was making her drool.

Birmingham was within arm’s reach of her, but he moved closer, automatically caressing her cheek and swiping tears away from under her eyes. “I know it seems impossible, but I sat where you’re sitting,” he breathed, his voice so low as to be inaudible to anyone who would just be coming into the room, with her body between him and the door.

Her eyes widened in surprise, confusion.

He shrugged, equivocating a little. “Well, not exactly where you’re sitting, of course, but someone hired these people to grab me, before I worked for them.”

She sneered at him, calling him all kinds of terrible names, and he seemed to expect this, patting the air in a placating gesture.

“I know, I wouldn’t have believed it either, but,” he drew in a shuddering breath that Kathryn, watching his face, watching as he drew his eyes away from hers, did not think this emotion on his part was feigned. “Fortunes change fast.” He looked back up at her then, gray eyes seeming to bore into hers. “I just want you to know you’ve always got a place to go.” He reached up to caress her face, running his thumb across her lips, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek, holding onto her face as she tried to pull away, and then he breathed, “New York. 2551 Crescent. Code’s august, 87-67-05” into her skin as he kissed her cheek, then up into her hair as he spoke.

Kathryn’s chest was heaving as he pulled away, smiling gently and running his hand down her face again, his thumb across her lips, as if to seal his words into her mind.

She felt like his words were seared into her brain, like he’d stamped them there the same way he ran his calloused thumb across her lips, but she didn’t know if the brand was the healing heat of a cauterized wound, or the searing fire of agony, had no idea where her thoughts were jumping to, she was so surprised by his words.

The door opened, and she flinched away from it automatically, into Birmingham, a sob tearing its way out of her throat as, unbidden, she imagined getting her elbows broke this time.

“The hell is this?” Richmond asked. “Directives were very specific, Birmingham.”

Birmingham patted her on the cheek as he disengantlged himself from her, thumb swiping across her lips before he was gone, moving around her to stand. “Because you have better things to be doing now, Richmond, is that it?”

Richmond snorted, and Kathryn wondered to what extent Richmond and Birmingham played bad cop and good cop roles out of planning, or out of necessity given their seemingly opposite personalities, vinegar and honey.

(Stop it, Kathryn ordered herself. Stop romanticizing-)

As if he could feel her thinking, She felt a booted foot nudge her in the back. “How’d you feel, girlie?” Richmond wanted to know.

Kathryn swore at him, but froze as she realized Birmingham had not removed the gag from her mouth. Hadn’t wanted to risk her blabbing his words to his coworkers? Or for some other reason? Her heart pounded in her throat as Richmond seemed to realize she was gagged, moving to stand over her to peer at her.

He chuckled, and shrugged, putting his free hand in the air as the other held a kit. “Hey, whatever, man. Do what you gotta do, huh.” He leaned his leg against Kathryn’s back Kathryn as he stepped back over her, and she shuddered away from it, because his tone and words were very different from Birmingham’s, and she did not like it, no matter what she did or did not feel about either one of them.

The door closed, and Kathryn flinched away from movement in front of her.

Birmingham was settling back down on the floor, watching her closely.

She stared back, unable to plead her case that she would keep her mouth shut while she was still unable to speak.

Still, something must have shown on her face, because he rolled his eyes and, while one hand caressed the side of her face, the other eased off the tape enough to let him draw out the gag. She tried to spit it at him, but ended up coughing instead

She coughed once more, then swore colorfully at him for doing that to her. “Ought to gag you while Richmond’s around, see what you think about it,” she grumbled, and as much as she wanted to refuse the water he offered, she didn’t.

“That is the opposite of foreplay,” he deadpanned, and his tone was so serious otherwise that she flinched a little as she looked up at him as she sipped water, but his eyes were dancing. He was making a smutty joke, she realized with jolt, and he suddenly sounded so much like her friend Ollie that Kathryn shuddered, choked a little and nearly aspirated water right back up.

“You’re not supposed to joke that way with your female captives,” she said, coughing a little but smiling nonetheless. “Didn’t they teach you that at asshole captor school?”

He snorted a little, but didn’t take the water in retaliation for the insult like she thought he would. He shrugged. “Might as well not make smutty jokes, especially about Richmond, around any of the captives, regardless of gender,” he muttered, seemingly to himself, as he reached down to pick up something from the floor and tuck it behind him into his kit.

His watch timer went off, and she handed him the water back automatically, but she was staring at him, at the way lines tightened around his nose at the sudden shift in conversation, at the way he himself had shifted the conversation, actually, now that she thought about it, and at the way he looked away from her as he took the water bottle. “He really is a pervert, isn’t he?” She wanted to know, her voice low and intent as she watched what part of his face she could see.

Birmingham looked up at her, sharply, but the door opened before he could say anything.

On impulse (whatever crazy impulse had gotten her here, so whatever), Kathryn reached over and grabbed the gag from him, cramming it into her mouth before pressing the tape back down over her lips.

He ran his hand down the side of her face, running his thumb over her lips as he got to his feet, but Kathryn turned to see that Richmond, and someone else had come in.

She heard someone else moving behind her, and Kathryn sighed as the hoist pulled on her wrists. Richmond moved around and unclipped her wrist restraints from the floor.

“You’re needed in A7,” Richmond said, and Kathryn felt her blood run cold even as she thought, at least this time she was conscious as the hoisting happened, able to stand up, slowly, carefully with the movement of it. It felt good to stretch her legs. The water and the IV were doing her a lot of good. Her knees were painful, but they no longer felt like gravel and ground glass. Her back ached, but no longer felt like ground meat.

Richmond was adjusting her chains, making sure they were connected to the floor, and Birmingham, kit closed and in one hand, caressed the side of her face, running his thumb over her lips.

Did Kathryn imagine it, or did he look at her, glance at Richmond, and glance back at her, before he left? She had no idea, but it set her teeth on edge, the not knowing.

She knew that the feeling she had of trusting Birmingham, whatever his motivations, were false, created, structured. He’d admitted as much. She also knew that Richmond was clearly the bad cop here, and so any of whatever she thought was going on could, and probably was, a set up for that continued psychological payoff, a compelling narrative to lull her into, to assure her compliance while she was here and…

But the good cop bad cop routine was used in interrogations, when intelligence needed to be gathered. Stupid as she surely was for it, Kathryn believed what Birmingham had said about his employer, about this not being an information grab, but a holding pattern until some mystery asshole’s conditions were met.

“What’s the IV for?” It was Australia’s light voice Kathryn heard behind her, who had come into the room.

Richmond reached up, and Kathryn grimaced as he pressed himself against her, chest to thigh, as she tried to lean away from him.

“Hey, hold the fuck still,” he snapped, grabbing her by the face, hand over her mouth, fingers grabbing her left cheek, thumb grabbing her right cheek to get her attention.

Kathryn did, because he was so close to her that his gesture to grab her had made him move against her, all the way down to her knees knocking against his, and it hurt like hell. Maybe she wasn’t as recovered as she’d thought.

“She got beat so bad Birmingham took pity on her,” Richmond called with a snort, looking right down into her face as he said it. He still wore his sunglasses, so she could tell nothing about him except that he, too, was white. Still, something in his tone was not at all nice, made Birmingham’s name and the word ‘pity’ into something foul.

“Isn’t that contraindicated by the directives?” Australia wanted to know, her voice a nervous flutter behind Kathryn. If she picked up on Richmond’s innuendo, she said nothing.

Richmond still held Kathryn by the face as he smirked down at her. He was much stockier than Birmingham, and just about as tall, which was only an inch or two taller than Kathryn, max. “So is the gag, but I’m not gonna fuss, you?”

Kathryn was suddenly glad the gag hid her expression because she knew men like Richmond, knew that outside of his role, this was who he was, what she was seeing.

There was a grimace on her face as she came to this realization, and she was glad he could not see her expression, glad he could not easily see as the lightbulb went off in her head. ‘Got you.’

He was bullying the more timid Australia, bullying her into bending the rules as he was, and he was bullying Kathryn herself because he could, because he liked it. She knew this kind of man, this kind of person, and Birmingham’s comment flashed in her mind, helping her put all the pieces together in a flash of insight so hot it seemed to burn white hot through her mind.

A moment before it happened, as Richmond trailed his free hand up her leg, her abdomen, tracing patterns up her throat, she knew what was going to happen as he traced the shape of the tape across her lips and pressed a hard kiss down over it, pressing his body more tightly against hers as the chains on her ankles and wrists prevented her from moving. But the chains did not stop her head from moving.

Kathryn was ready, could feel his grip on her face go slack as he tensed with other parts of his body. She slammed her head forward into his face, bloodying his nose for what, the second time in as many days? which he had brought far too close to her, lulled by her more vulnerable position since she had been in that chair.

Blood exploded in front of her as she heard, and felt, bone crack, in him. If you had practice headbutting, as she did, it wasn’t hard to mash the very hard plate of bone that was the forehead into the much more sensitive mess of cartilage and bone that was a person’s nose.

He swore and his knee knocked against hers as he backhanded her, and Kathryn screamed as her barely healed knee erupted in agony.

His mask was a mess of blood and gore and his sunglasses had fallen off as he hit her again, and again, and Kathryn was idly interested that he’d gone into punches rather than stay with the backhanding.

He yanked the tape off her mouth, after hitting her in the stomach, pulled the gag from her mouth, and kissed her, bruising her lips before she could bite him.

She swore at him, using every filthy word she’d ever heard in every language she knew, and he promised her terrible things, ‘later.’

It was just punches after that, though, until he caught her once in the face with a huge blow that split her lower lip, her right eyebrow, and cracked her orbital bone.

He must have felt bone crack, or just needed a break, because he paused, chest heaving. He moved forward enough to tip her chin up, to see the damage he’d done, Kathryn guessed he’d want to inspect his work, and so she was ready, spraying his face, and more importantly, his uncovered eyes, with blood.

He sputtered in indignation, tugging up his mask to wipe away her blood, and when the mask now lay too loosely to conceal his face, he just sneered at her, yanking the mask off and throwing it onto the ground.

He was a white man in his late fifties, maybe younger. It was hard to tell with all the blood she’d sprayed on him. He had ice blue eyes and was tanned, with a faint line in a line from the corners of his eyes to over his ears that meant he wore sunglasses often in the sun. He had a scar on his upper lip and another in the side of his neck. He had high cheekbones, and might have been handsome if he weren’t such a black-hearted bastard.

Kathryn was working up to another mouthful of blood, but he moved aside and grabbed her mouth as he’d done before, not letting her spit up on anything but his hand. He dug his fingers into her cheeks, forcing her to spit up her mouthful.

He wiped his handful of spit and blood onto her shoulder, before hitting her again, so hard she saw stars, across the other cheek.

This one wasn’t angled as correctly, so her other eyebrow split and although she could feel that he’d blackened her eye, the bone under that eye didn’t crack. She clicked her tongue at him as he took a step back, out of spitting range, reaching for something in his kit.

Kathryn was panting, but she felt better than she had since Birmingham had told her that there was nothing they wanted from her. That might have been true, Birmingham might not want anything from her, or whatever he did want was confusing to her, nebulous, some future offer, some future promise that one day she would be like him.

But Richmond absolutely wanted something from her, something that had nothing to do with the role he might have been assigned to play, and more to do with the role he played here, because he could.

Kathryn had been dealing with Richmond’s kind of bully for a long time. She scowled as something rose to the surface of her memory and connected with a comment of Birmingham’s. “You do this to Dan, too?” That had been the strangled voice she’d heard, when the door had been opened, whose name she’d heard, who she’d called out to

She was rewarded with real shock, then pleased malice on Richmond’s face at her question. She could see his entire expression, from the slight widening of his eyes as they dartedto something near the door, to a tiny, cruel smile on his lips, and she wasn’t sure if she was pleased or very upset to see that her instinct had been right.

He darted forward and grabbed her mouth again, pulling her towards him into a horrible kiss. Kathryn muffled curses into his mouth as he grabbed her by the back of the neck to deepen the kiss, and she wished her ankle chain were just a bit longer...she was so close to being able to knee him, but couldn’t quite do it, so she settled on trying to yank her body up on the chains so she could drive her elbow into his back when...

A high pitched alarm went off, and she was not surprised when Richmond glanced automatically at the watch on his free hand. He swore colorfully, but let her go and set about packing up his kit.

He kissed her again on his way out, putting his hand over her mouth to stop her spitting on him, but she got in what she wanted to say before he left her line of sight. “I am going to kill you,” she breathed, threat and promise.

He hitched a shoulder, but didn’t comment further. She sighed as the door swung open, letting her eyes close, and flinched with a cry of surprise as a hand ran down along her face and a thumb brushed over her lip, but by the end of the gesture she recognized who it had to be, and she had begun to shake so hard she could hardly see straight.

Kathryn couldn’t help it, she let out a sob of relief at seeing Birmingham’s face, his sunglasses perched atop his head and his gray gaze taking her in. She watched as he seemed to inventory her new injuries, and clicked his tongue at what he found.

He lowered her to the floor like before, but it wasn’t until he was running his hands over her head, arms, legs, that she sobbed again, began to cry in earnest, tension begining to ease from her body. “You should see the other guy,” she said, her head in her hands.

Birmingham shushed her, brushing the hair out of her face.

She felt something against her hands, and flinched, but he just offered the water bottle. She sipped, and there was no alarm this time. She frowned at him, but he shook his head a little so she didn’t ask. She set the water bottle down when she was full, and startled, but didn’t say anything as Birmingham detached the IV line from the empty bag above her, and replaced it with a new one.

He was cleaning her up, running antiseptic wipes along her hands, arms, torso, and face, making little sympathetic shushing noises at the cuts in her face, and he even put a bandage on the cut in her face, helping to close her poor cracked orbital bone, before running gentle, careful hands over her.

He had moved much closer to her over the course of his treatment, and as he wiped antiseptic down her back, shushing her as she made pained noises, he reached up to caress her face, ran his thumb across her lips, and breathed, “You got him to admit what he did to Jordan. His hurting them was not a directive from the employer. Richmond’s in very deep shit, thanks to you,” into her ear.

Kathryn shuddered at his words, because there was a lot to take in there, and she leaned into Birmingham as he murmured compliments and tried to let him assure her that she’d done okay, that something here had not been for nothing.

She must have dozed, but when she woke, Birmingham was still there. He seemed to be reading something on a tablet that was on the other side of his legs from her, blocked from her view.

Birmingham shushed her, running soothing hands over her as she woke, but Kathryn had other plans.”That gag was contraindicated,” she breathed, keeping her voice to below a whisper. There was apparently a camera somewhere in the room, by the door, if she had to guess, based on the way Birmingham had placed himself so far, with her always between him and the door.

He chuckled and caressed her face, running his thumb across her lips. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you love?”

Kathryn gave a shuddering sob of a laugh, because no, obviously, she was not. She was off the deep end, so off the deep end she didn’t know where that left her, so no, she was not going to rat him out.

“I am so susceptible to this shit and I am just so tired of it,” she sighed, not even caring that she rested her head on Birmingham’s shoulder, and that he not only hadn’t prevented it, but was gently rubbing her back in careful little circles that didn’t intersect with any injuries.

He chuckled. “Don’t you reckon those healing mutations make us even more susceptible to this kind of shite than regular people?” He mused, running his hand through her hair.

Kathryn sighed, but instead of answering, she heard herself ask, “Did you hit me in the solar plexus?”

There was a pause, before he simply said, “Yes.”

Kathryn nodded. She’d thought he had, the timing made sense, but she’d been curious if he’d admit to it. It fucked up his ‘good cop’ order.

She sighed, but couldn’t lean on him again after that. She had more play in the chains than she had before, so she rubbed her eyes with her hands. “I dunno if we’re more susceptible to it, or if I just have the worst decision making paradigm ever.”

He chuckled again, and shrugged, and she found herself almost looking forward to the predictable caress down her face and thumb across her lips in the split second before it happened. “For what it’s worth, love, I’m grateful to you for getting rid of Richmond for all of us.”

She turned to stare at him, her brain racing back through memories. The gag had been his idea, she’d thought to keep his safehouse secret but it had been the trigger that had made Richmond snap. “You,” she breathed, wide-eyed. “You set it up, on purpose?”

He tapped her on the nose, before shifting to remove another empty IV bag and replace it with another.

She put her hands to her lips, frowning as she thought about that, about his tacit confirmation. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to know more.

She glanced up at him, but it was impossible to tell read anything from his expression, which was all covered except for his eyes, which he’d deliberately uncovered. The coveralls and outfit covered up everything else. “How’d you know it’d work?” She breathed as he settled back down, her eyes fixed on him, hungry for any details she could get as he answered her question.

He shrugged as he reached back in his kit. She winced a little, but he offered her a stack of protein bars.

She sighed and tore into one, devouring it as she watched him. If there had been a rule against her eating solids, apparently the issue with Richmond had rendered it a moot point. She did not care.

“I didn’t. But I recognized you, from the Reserve of course, and the dossier our employer gave us, and knew that I’d have Richmond on shift with me…” He shrugged, but she saw his eyes tighten, muscles around his nose crinkle in what might have been a grimace as he picked up tubing or plastic that might have been from the IV bag and tossing them into his kit.

“The odds were decent, if you could push them a little into your favor,” she supplied, wanting more information on him, on Richmond.

He shrugged, reaching out to brush his fingers across the bandage he’d put on her face. She frowned, but he seemed satisfied, with the distraction, maybe, and caressed her face and ran his thumb across her lips.

She was ready, had just been using one hand to eat the protein bar, and dropped it as she grabbed his hand and in a quick twist, had his pinky bent back against the rest of his hand. One twist, and she could break it, easily. Another twist after that, and she could break his entire wrist. She had the leverage advantage, with him leaning forward to touch her, and the wrist restraints just gave her a very solid tool to use  as well.

He grinned at her. “You know I heal like you do, love,” he said, as if she could forget him stabbing himself.

She shook her head. “I know you heal like I do, so everything hurts, every time,” she reminded him somberly.

Her mean trick was rewarded by a snarl across his features, a flash of expression: a tightening across his eyes, a flashing there as he looked away, a quick intake of breath, quickly let out. “It wasn’t just you and Jordan he hurt, is that what you want me to say?” He asked, his voice very low, and his eyes locked with hers for an instant, and she felt his gaze jolt through her before he looked away from her. “I can spin you a lovely tale or you can take my word for it that I have not lied to you since promising I would not.”

Instead of releasing her grip on him, Kathryn tightened it for a moment as she processed the implication of his words. “You lied to me before that,” she said, her breathing picking up as she thought back through their interactions. It was hard, given that so much of her time was muddied by injuries and pain.

She hazarded an educated guess. “The blood draws. They’re useless.”

If he smiled, it did not reach his eyes where she could see it. He tapped her on the nose with his free hand. She frowned, and immediately let him go when she realized he was making absolutely no effort to free his hand from its precarious position in her grip. He either did not care if she broke his finger, or wrist, or was doing a very good job pretending not to care. Either way, she did not like it, no matter how she was ‘supposed to’ feel about grabbing one of her captors.

He reached up to caress her cheek, and rub his thumb along her lips, but stopped his hand part-way there, and let it drop.

Kathryn flinched, and did the gesture, but to him, using her right hand, her left clanking uselessly. He was close enough that she could do it, and he did not move away like he thought she might, especially after she’d threatened to break his bones.

She traced her hand up his face, mostly on mask, but let her fingers linger on the skin she could feel by his temple. She ran her thumb over where his mouth pressed against the white mask, and saw his eyes flutter closed at her touch.

Kathryn gasped at this reaction, surprised even by her own daring for touching him in the first place, and they were so close that she watched his eyes open, and then he took her hand off his face and set it back on her leg.

Kathryn sighed, and suddenly this was all too much, too new, too terrible, even too interesting, which was much, much worse than the pain that sparked like wildfires all through her body. She dropped her head into her hands.

When she woke next, it was to Birmingham’s low voice. “C’mon love, you’re all done.”

She flinched, not sure what he meant as he lowered the hoist, not having remembered being chained back up at all, but her legs were able to support her weight, with hardly any pain in her knees at all. She held still as Birmingham made shushing noises at her mutterd cursing as she flexed her shoulders, but he did not reach up to touch her face, which hurt somehow, which made Kathryn angry.

She gritted her teeth as he connected her wrist restraints to her ankle restraints via another chain that he held the leader of. “Not going to lie, love,” she said, mimicking his accent more deliberately now, as opposed to the way her vowels had been elongating, rounding out she’d been doing by instinct, mimicking her long-gone father’s British accent. “This is not my idea of foreplay.”

He chuckled, which almost made her smile, but then he drew black fabric from his pocket. She automatically backed up a step, putting her hands up defensively.

His eyes tightened in sympathy as he made a little clicking noise. “Sorry love. You’re getting out of here, so there’s a bag on your head. Rules are rules.”

She hissed as he drew the bag over her head, every muscle tensing for a fight, and so it took her a moment to recognize the hand on her shoulder as his. She drew in a shaky breath and forced herself to follow along, and to listen as hard as she could.

She was moved up a hallway, turned right, then left, then right again, oh shit were they leading her around on purpose? And then the bag was removed and she squinted in brightest sunlight as she was harried into a van.

Birmingham was there, the only person in the back with her as he threaded her ankle restraints into the loop built there in the back of the van.

“No parting injuries to sell it, huh?” She asked, but her voice shook too much for the joke to land correctly.

His sunglasses were back on, but she thought she could hear a smile in his voice. “No, love. Just a drop off. You’re free to go.”

Kathryn flinched, wanted to tell him to come with her, but she had no onearthly idea how to do that. Instead, she sat in the back of the van, their knees touching, and tried not to think of anything at all.

Kathryn frowned as they hit a bump in the road and she saw a flash of light in her peripheral vision. She flinched, and looked again, but the bag still covered her head.

“Something the matter, love?” Birmingham’s voice was quiet, but insistent.

Kathryn’s mouth had fallen open a little as he spoke. She saw small blue triangles coming from his direction. “What’d you lot give me to dampen my sound control?” She asked, her voice shaking.

She couldn’t see him, but she could feel the muscles in his leg tense from there they touched. “Apparently not enough,” he muttered, and before Kathryn could say or do anything else, he leaned towards the front of the van and banged hard, three times, on the separator between them and the driver.

Kathryn startled as the van began to change direction, and the slight screeching sounds of the tires might have been disturbing, but they were accompanied by the faint yellow sounds screeching tires always made, and Kathryn knew all at once that she had full control of her sound manipulation again.

The van screeched to a halt, and Kathryn did several things very fast. First, she yanked the bag off her head. Then, she gathered up the yellow screeching sound the way someone else might quickly gather tangled up earphones at the bottom of a purse, messy but effective. She twisted that power and slammed it into the metal ring that held her chains to the floor of the van. Free, but still chained, she lunged forward, using some of the light red, tinkling, clanking sounds of the chain to give her movement a bit of bite, she pushed Birmingham’s hands out of the way as he raised them.  She stood and leaned over him.

The van was slowing down now, coming to a sudden halt as a result of Birmingham’s signal.

She had the angle advantage on him, and her hands thrummed with the sound she could feel all around her, their heartbeats, the van’s engine, and more sounds, she knew, if she concentrated. But that’s not what she was concentrating on, right this moment.

She reached forward and tugged,yanked his mask down so she could see the bottom of his face. Slightly tanned, dimpled chin, stubble, a cut on one cheekbone. She caressed his face, brushed her fingers across his lips, and then sat back down, hard, on the bench seat across from him.

Less than two seconds later, the door to the van was opened from the outside

Birmingham was on his feet, mask in place, and pulled her to her feet by one elbow. Kathryn moved with him, and stepped down holding up her hand as they were in bright sunlight, the van pulled up on the side of the road. They were at the back of the van, shielded somewhat from passersby by the open van doors, but that would not last for long. One man, masked and covered like Birmingham, worked quickly to unlock the padlocks of her restraints.

Birmingham himself was rubbing his chin as he looked at her, but he reached back into the van and handed her a bundled blue...something. “Parting gift,” he said. He did not touch her as she took the shirt, and pulled it on as the chains on her wrists fell away, but he did say, “Be safe, love,” before he and the other man climbed into the van, and it sped away.

Kathryn blinked in the bright afternoon light as she tried to get her bearings.

“There she is!” The familiar teal voice washed up the street, and Kathryn sighed as she heard it, easing muscles that had not eased since however long ago that she’d been grabbed.

She turned and was nearly knocked over as Ollie hugged her fiercely. Kathryn returned the hug, but hissed a little in pain.

Ollie froze, stepping away from Kathryn, her wide, unnaturally teal eyes bright in her light brown face.

Kathryn just shook her head, and pulled her friend into a hug. “Watch some horror movies while I was gone?” Kathryn asked, feeling her friend shudder a little at the comment.

Kathryn sighed with relief. She could work to put this behind her, but they all had some work to do to figure out what was going on and who was Birmingham’s mysterious ‘employer…’

Sixteen days later, Kathryn found herself in Long Island, on the run from having been framed for the murder of her best friend. No one believed her, she could hardly believe herself what had happened (Ollie, dead…) Some part of her brain short-circuited just at the thought. She gritted her teeth and forced herself up the street, peering at the numbers on the houses.

Crescent street was full of fairly well-to-do places. Old homes, but in a nice place. She hadn’t been found because she’d left all her electronics in her room at home, and because she knew Karine well enough to be able to evade her.

Kathryn found the correct house, 2551, and knocked on the door. It was very late, but she had nowhere else to go. Her family had been gone since she was a kid. The people who had become her family all thought she had killed Ollie. Kathryn drew the collar of her coat further up as she waited.

She finally heard movement on the other side of the old wooden door, and frowned as she realized the door had no peep hole. A voice spoke, nasal, American, small blue triangles that sluggishly filtered from his side of the door to hers.

“When did Japan invade China, sparking World War II in the Pacific?”

Kathryn frowned, but said, “August.”

“When was Spartacus’ slave uprising against the Romans?”

She frowned again, but said, “87, BCE I guess.”

There was a slightly longer pause, then, “In what year did Gagarin make history?”

Kathryn said, “‘67.”

“The Exposition Universelle was held in Paris in nineteen- what?”

Kathryn spared a thought at the fact that the man’s French accent sounded quite good, before saying, “Oh-five,” and there was a pause, and then she heard dark gray thumps of locks unlatching.

She knew he had given her this information, but Kathryn was not at all expecting to see Birmingham barefooted, wearing a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting blue t-shirt, his black hair sticking up at the back. “It’s half past two in the morning,” he said, and the nasal American accent was gone as he looked at her.

She pulled a picture of Ollie from her coat and showed held it out to him. “They killed her,” she said, gritting her teeth as pain seemed to rip through her, trying to hang on so she could finish. “And they said I did it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know. Come on in, it’s freezing.”

Kathryn froze as she started just taking her first step towards him. She noticed that he had hair-fine scars on his arms, just like she did, and continued into the house as he spoke.

Birmingham grinned at her. They were nearly the same height, she realized as he opened the door and stood aside so she could enter. “Never got round to talking about my primary mutation,” he said, as if they’d met by chance at the supermarket once. “You ever heard of a power called precognition?” Kathryn stared up at him as the front door shut behind him.

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