#past captivity

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 26

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: PTSD, past captivity, references to being unsure of reality, thoughts of murder, self-harm themes, bad reaction to discovering self-harm, harm reduction, recovery

~

Isaac felt better already, knowing there was a locked door between him and the rest of the world. He had locked it behind Vera and Tori as they came in with tonight’s dinner: a hearty shepherd’s pie with rich bites of tender chicken, carrots, and potatoes all in a mouthwatering gravy. Once he had locked the front door, he had walked to the back door and made sure – for the second or third time since he’d gotten home – that it was still locked. It was, but it didn’t hurt to be so sure.

Edrissa had gotten into the house through the unlocked back door and then held a knife to Gavin’s throat. Isaac would have to be stupid to not check, and recheck, and check again.

Isaac sat on one side of Gavin on the couch, and Gray sat on the other. Vera, Sam, and Tori sat sandwiched on the other couch. Now that everyone was finished with dinner, Gavin leaned against Isaac’s side, and Isaac’s arm was slung over his shoulders. Gavin wasn’t shivering for the first time since they’d left the house that morning. Isaac was sated on two large slices of shepherd’s pie.

And yet, he ached to be holding his gun. The concerned glances Vera was throwing him weren’t helping.

“Thank you so much for bringing dinner,” Gray said, finally breaking the silence. “Did you make the pie, or buy it in town?”

“Bought it,” Vera said with a chuckle. “I appreciate your faith in us, but after everything… um. Recently.” She gave a stiff shrug. “Neither of us have felt like cooking.” She smiled tiredly at Tori over Sam’s head.

Gray let out a huff. “Same here,” they said gently. “But we’ve all been… through a lot. I don’t think anyone’s expecting anyone else to be out there crafting gourmet meals.”

“Except Edrissa,” Vera said tightly. “Apparently she’s been, uh… helping Meredith out. With the pies at the general store. Spending most of her time there, actually.”

“Really,” Gray said. Their tone was perfectly even.

Isaac’s hand tightened into a fist as the image of her flashed through his mind – cowering behind Gavin in that bathroom, eyes wild and streaming, clutching herself, looking terrified, as if she was the fucking victim and not the one pressing a knife to a man’s throat hard enough to draw blood just seconds before.

To Gavin’s throat.

His jaw ached and he swallowed hard. He forced himself to release his fist and brushed his lips to Gavin’s temple instead. He felt Vera’s eyes on him the whole time. He cleared his throat.

Sam wet their lips and leaned forward, seeming to sense the tension. “We’ve been keeping things as calm as possible here,” they said with a glance at Isaac. “Mostly just… sleeping.” They laughed. “All of us. Mostly Gray.”

“I don’t appreciate the accusation,” Gray said good-naturedly. “Although, god, I’ve never slept so much in my life.”

“What about you, Gavin?” Tori said softly. She reached over the back of the couch and rested a hand on Vera’s shoulder. “How are you sleeping?”

Gavin relaxed further against Isaac’s side and drew in a deep breath, thinking. “Well,” he murmured. “Better than in… than with Schiester. That’s definitely for sure. But…” Isaac bit his lip and waited for the second shoe to drop. “…it’s… sometimes hard to tell where I am. When I wake up.”

Isaac’s heart twisted. He knew all too well the things Gavin said, and fucking believed, when he wasn’t sure if he was staring at Isaac himself or merely a figment of his own imagination.

“D-don’t you want to… to punish me? …you want to, right? It’s… Isaac, it’s… it’s okay. It’s not… real, I know that. You can do… whatever you want. I can give that to you… if you want. I know it doesn’t really help you… But it’s what I have. P-please don’t stop touching me. Please… Isaac… please, this… this feels better than… a-anything he does to me.”

Shame clogged Isaac’s throat. His fingers itched for his knife. Fuck.

“Yeah,” Vera was saying. “Yeah, that’s… that’s the hardest part, I think. After. The waking up and not knowing, for a while.”

Isaac’s head snapped up. Vera held Gavin’s gaze, and he stared at her with an understanding that Isaac had never shared. Even though everyone except for Gray had been held captive, tortured, collared – what Gavin and Vera shared now was different. They had both been taken, punished by a sadist, had their minds broken down by pain and time – and drugs, in Gavin’s case. They had been kept in a basement, shackled for use because it brought a madman pleasure.

And they had both been alone.

Isaac’s hand shook as he slid it into Gavin’s and squeezed.

“Does that ever go away?” Gavin murmured, as if he had forgotten anyone else was there. Tears shone in his eyes.

“Yes,” Vera answered immediately. Then, she said, “Mostly. Months or years go by, and then you’ll have a shitty day or a bad nightmare and you’ll wake up not knowing where you are again. But the thing that matters is, it passes. And you’re always, always out once it passes.”

“Unless I get taken again,” Gavin whispered as the tears spilled over. “Like you did. Twice.” He shuddered and muffled a sob against Isaac’s shoulder.

Isaac’s arms wound around him in a trembling embrace, pulling Gavin into his lap. Vera stared at the floor, chewing on her lip.

She was taken again three times, if you count the time she went in to save Tori and killed Joseph Stormbeck to escape.

Isaac bit his tongue and shook his head to clear the thought.

“Alright, scootch over,” Tori mumbled as she crossed the living room to drop into the spot where Gavin had been sitting, gently laying a hand on Gavin where he now sat shivering on Isaac’s lap. She pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it across Gavin’s shoulders. “There, better?”

Gavin nodded with his face pressed to Isaac’s neck. His tears streamed into the neckline of Isaac’s shirt. He wrapped Gavin up again, carefully tucking him in, and glanced at Tori inquisitively.

Tori nodded at Vera. “She’s a lot more sensitive to cold when she’s in the thick of it,” she said gently. “And he’s got goosebumps.”

“No shit?” Vera said. “Is that why you always get a blanket when I’m having a bad day?”

The corner of Tori’s mouth curved up. “Yes, dear, that’s why I always get a blanket when you’re having a bad day.”

Vera raised her eyebrows. “No shit,” she mumbled.

“Schiester k-kept the basement cold,” Gavin muttered into Isaac’s neck. “If I wanted blankets I had to… t-tell him things.”

All the blood drained from Isaac’s face. “What… kinds of things?” he croaked.

“Confessions,” Gavin whimpered. “I… I don’t think most of them were true. I don’t remember. I didn’t care. I was cold. Ziegler told me most of the things I admitted to weren’t true.”

“Who the fuck is Ziegler and are we killing them?” Vera said, sitting up straight and staring at Isaac. “Someone who knew you were down there?”

“Y-yes,” Gavin managed through a particularly violent shudder. “He… he didn’t… hurt me as much. And he… let me go.”

Vera’s eyes went wide. “Like—”

“Not like Ryan,” Isaac said sternly. Tears glittered on Vera’s eyelashes. “Just a guard who decided not to kill me when I was pulling Gavin out.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Gavin said in a small voice. “He… he could have but he… didn’t.”

“But—”

“Fair enough, Gavin,” Vera interrupted. She shot Isaac a glare. “I get it. That can be enough to keep you sane. Just one person who doesn’t want to hurt you as much as the others.”

Gavin nodded weakly against Isaac’s neck. Isaac tried to meet Vera’s glare, but she shot daggers at him and he faltered. Tori’s hand moved in small, gentle circles on Gavin’s back.

“No one’s taking you again,” Isaac whispered against Gavin’s hair. His arms shook with how hard he squeezed Gavin. “No one. You’re safe, alright? You’re… you’re safe.”

As soon as Edrissa is dealt with—

I wonder if I could get to her before anyone realizes what I’ve done—

“You’re okay, Gavin,” Tori said gently, her hair mingling with his as she leaned in close. “We’ve got you.”

“Y-yeah,” Gavin heaved, and shuddered violently. His hand wrapped around Isaac’s wrist. “Yeah. I’m out.”

Edrissa’s the one who last made him question where he was. I’m going to fucking—

“What the fuck is that?” Vera snapped from her place on the couch.

Isaac’s head shot up and he glanced around the room, ready to neutralize the threat. He met Vera’s eyes and realized she was looking at him – no, not at him.

At his arm.

The sleeve was pulled up slightly on his forearm, exposing a scar left by Gavin’s knife – and the cut he himself had made over it, not five days ago. The angry line flared red in the dim light, and it was devastatingly obvious what it was.

Isaac dragged the sleeve down over the cut, obscuring his entire hand. “Nothing,” he growled.

“Isaac, fuck,” Vera breathed. She rose from the couch and stood over Isaac, staring down at him, looking stricken. “That…” Her hand shot out and she grabbed his wrist, pulling the sleeve up to reveal the line of cuts up and down Isaac’s arm.

Isaac yanked his arm out of Vera’s grasp, cringing back into the couch. Gavin slid off his lap and partially onto Tori. Isaac couldn’t even look at Tori; he could barely bring himself to look at Vera, who stared down at him in horror.

“It’s nothing,” Isaac pleaded with a broken voice.

“Vera, let’s respect Isaac’s desire for privacy,” Gray said, a little weakly.

Isaac could feel Gavin’s gaze drilling holes into the side of his head. He blinked back tears and swallowed hard against the shame strangling him. Slowly, he opened his mouth to speak.

Vera beat him to it. “I… told you not to punish yourself,” she said. She held her hands lamely out to her sides. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“No, I didn’t,” Isaac said through his teeth. “I never said that.”

Vera shook her head. “But—”

“I wouldn’t have said that,” Isaac said. His voice was fading, cracking under the pressure of Vera’s gaze. Having Gavin so close to him, feeling all eyes in the room on him, on his arms, safely hidden again under his long sleeves, was too much to bear. He swallowed again, hoping his dinner would stay down. “I never lied to you.”

“I n-never said you did,” Vera croaked. Her hands were in fists at her sides now. “I… how long?”

Isaac shook his head. He glanced at Sam, who stared right back at him. A quiet sort of pain pinched their mouth. “I… would really rather not have this conversation,” he said thickly.

“Yeah, I bet you wouldn’t,” Vera breathed. She sniffed and lifted her chin against the tears that glittered in her eyes. “Isaac… why didn’t you tell me?”

“What, and have you react like this?” He meant to snarl the words, but they came out weak and pathetic sounding.

She nodded slowly. “You’re right,” she murmured. “That’s… that’s fair. I’m sorry, I… This isn’t… how I should be reacting.”

“Let’s everyone take a breath,” Gray said softly. “Vera, do you want to sit down?”

Vera returned to her couch on stiff legs and fell to her seat beside Sam. Isaac could breathe a little easier, without her standing over him. Gavin crawled back onto his lap and wrapped his arms around Isaac’s neck.

“Sorry,” Vera said flatly. She drew in a deep inhale and let it out in a gusty breath. “Sorry. That’s… probably the last fucking thing you needed.”

“Yeah,” Isaac said. He shrank as Gavin laid his head on his shoulder.

“Isaac, can I touch you?” Tori said. Isaac jumped, but relaxed a little when he met her eyes. Her gaze was soft, sad, but not filled with horror. Not like Vera’s. He nodded, and she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m really sorry,” Vera whispered. “That was… I wish I could take that back.” She wiped her eyes and sat up, taking another deep breath. “That was shitty of me.”

“No,” Isaac grumbled. His arms stung as if all the cuts were brand new. He longed to scratch at the ones that itched, but he couldn’t bear to draw any more attention to them. He swallowed tightly. “I should never have…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“No.” Vera held up a shaking hand. “Don’t… don’t do that.” She raked her fingers through her hair and stared at the floor. “Um…”

Isaac couldn’t bring himself to say any of the things that were echoing through his head:

I know this hurts you. I know I did it because I’m weak. I know I would never have had to do it if I had just kept my family safe in the first place. I know…

He knew right where his knife was, too. Gray had taken the one he usually used, but he had another in his pack. All he would have to do is—

“Boy I wish someone else would say something,” Vera said with a broken laugh.

Gray leaned forward with a warm glance toward Isaac. “Did you hear Sam is going to be staying with us?” they said, without missing a beat. Isaac could have cried with gratitude at no longer being the subject of discussion.

Tori beamed and glanced at Sam. “I didn’t hear that! That’s so great.” Her voice was tighter than Gray’s, but it was still light. Isaac felt a wash of gratitude for her, too.

“Yeah,” Sam said. They sounded so tired. But happy, too. “Yeah, I talked to Zachariah about it and… I’m going to be staying here for a while.” They grinned at Isaac. “The foreseeable future.”

“That’s awesome,” Vera said, with only a little flatness to her voice.

“We’re definitely happy about it,” Gray said with a smile.

“It’ll be really nice to… to have you here, Sam,” Isaac croaked. He rearranged his face into what was probably a smile and willed the darkness in his chest to dissipate. “It’ll be nice to be together.” His arms tightened around Gavin as he said it.

Sam nodded, their expression brightening further. “We were worried about where I was going to sleep, but…” They patted the couch cushion next to them. “Turns out this couch is extremely comfortable. After how long we spent on the road, just about anything feels good.”

“You slept on my floor on an air mattress for months,” Tori said with a laugh. “Anything is better than that.”

“Even sleeping on the ground during winter?” Sam said with a mischievous smile. All at once, the exhaustion around their eyes faded away, and they looked like themself again. They looked like the Sam Isaac had always known.

“Depends on the winter,” Tori said. “In the south it wasn’t bad.”

“I’ll take the air mattress,” Vera interjected, raising her hand. “If I get a say.”

“Yeah, because it was on my floor,” Tori shot back with a conspiratory grin.

Everyone laughed at that, even Isaac. He felt the cold fist around his heart loosen a bit, then fall away entirely. As he looked around at the people he loved, feeling Gavin’s warm weight in his lap and Gray’s shoulder brushing his, he could breathe a little easier. He could survive another few minutes without his knife.

Perhaps he could go without it entirely, tonight. It would still be there in the morning if he needed it, and he figured he would. But… maybe then he could just hold some ice instead, if he didn’t need it too badly. What he knew for sure, though, was that he didn’t need the knife tonight.

With his family around him, alive, safe… he could go without the knife for a little longer.

Continued here

@womping-grounds ​, @free-2bmee ​, @quirkykayleetam ​, @walkingchemicalfire ​, @inpainandsuffering ​, @redwingedwhump ​, @burtlederp ​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog ​ , @whatwhumpcomments ​, @whumpywhumper ​, @stxck-fxck ​, @whumps-the-word ​, @justplainwhump ​, @finder-of-rings ​, @inky-whump ​, @orchidscript ​, @inkyinsanity ​, @this-mightaswell-happen ​, @newandfiguringitout ​, @whumpkitty ​, @pretty-face-breaker ​, @pebbledriscoll ​, @im-just-here-for-the-whump ​, @endless-whump ​, @grizzlie70 ​, @oops-its-whump ​, @kixngiggles​, @1phoenixfeather ​ , @butwhatifyouwrite ​, @carnagecardinal , @whumpifi , @squishablesunbeam

#honor bound 6 #hurt/comfort #angst #whump #Isaac/Gavin #HMS ToriVera #PTSD #past captivity #unsure of reality #thoughts of murder #self-harm #harm reduction #recovery

[whumpshaped]

NICHE PROMPT TIME BAYBEYYY. I’ve got two werewolf themed ones for you!!

One: human whumpee, who is owned and whumped by a werewolf pack :)

Two: a human whumpee, who escaped their whumper and got taken in by a werewolf pack (basically a found family pack of caretakers)

(Bonus points if you talk about pack dynamics in this because uhhh fanfiction has given me A/B/O brainrot— but if it’s something you don’t vibe with, that’s okay!) ~🐸

tw nonhuman caretaker, past captivity, injured

Whumpee thought it couldn't get any worse. After they'd finally escaped Whumper, they thought their perils were over, and better days were ahead. But running into an entire pack of werewolves wasn't exactly what they would've described as better.

"Please–" they squeaked as they began backing away. "Please, I'm already half-dead, please just leave me–"

One of the beasts advanced on them despite the clear understanding in their eyes. These creatures were intelligent, able to decipher their words, and yet... Did they have no mercy in their hearts?

Whumpee fell to their knees, hands clasped in front of them. "I'm begging you. Please. I just want to live. I've– I've been hurt so badly, and, and for so long, please."

"No hurt," the werewolf said, its voice raspy and threatening even though its slurred words were ones of comfort. A wolf's mouth wasn't made for speaking human words.

Whumpee trembled before the monster, the tiniest spark of hope flickering to life in their chest. "You– you won't? Will you let me g-go?"

The werewolf pointed at one of Whumpee's fresher injuries. "Help."

"You'll... help me?" The thing scooped Whumpee up into its arms, trying not to jostle their injuries too much. "Wait– wait!"

Their protests were short-lived. And when they went to sleep that night, huddled up between several bundles of fluff and warmth, they couldn't help but think that their life might actually be on the path to getting better.

#asks #angel in training anon #distract me prompts #nonhuman caretaker #comfort #injured #past captivity #escape #whump #whump drabble #recovery fic

[echoingalaxies]

Word count: 1302

Content: whumpee x caretaker, past captivity, cold whump, gentle caretaker, recovery

“I can’t. I can’t do this.”

Whumpee had barely crossed the doorstep, and was already shivering from head to toe, despite being dressed in layers of sweaters and a winter coat, as well as high, padded boots.

Caretaker, dressed equally warm, already stood several metres away, in the middle of the path they’d shovelled in the snow earlier.

“Oh,” Caretaker said, and Whumpee couldn’t ignore the hint of disappointment in their voice. “We don’t have to go far or stay long…”

Whumpee bit their cheek. They looked up from Caretaker at the dark, cloudless sky, scattered with stars. How they wished they could just suck it up and follow Caretaker. They really wanted to go. They wanted nothing more.

But then another gust of wind blew on their face, making Whumpee wince and take a step back. Too cold. Way too cold.

“No, Caretaker, please,” they pleaded. “I’m sorry. I know I said I could, but I can’t.”

Caretaker frowned slightly. Before Whumpee had gotten kidnapped, one of their favourite ways to spend time together had been stargazing. They’d walk to a clearing in the forest nearby them, lie down and admire the sky. They’d bet on who would spot the most shooting stars. They’d share their secrets with the sky. They had even purchased a telescope a year back.

After coming back home mere weeks ago, Caretaker found Whumpee had become completely incapable of dealing with cold. Whumpee told them about being kept outside in the freezing November rain and December snowfalls, forced to sleep in an old little shed, a single layer of thin clothes as their only protection against the cold. Caretaker couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have been like. They couldn’t understand how it must’ve felt for Whumpee every time they had to go outside now. Whumpee themselves had suggested they’d try to go outside, but clearly it was still too much.

“Okay,” Caretaker said gently, walking towards the door. “It’s okay. Let’s go back inside.”

“You can still go alone if you want…”

“I don’t want to go alone.” Caretaker smiled at them reassuringly. “It’s okay. We’ve got our whole lives ahead to do it again.”

Whumpee was quiet as they took off their outdoor clothes. They knew how excited Caretaker had gotten when they’d suggested they'd go stargazing again. They felt so guilty for taking that away from them. They should’ve tried harder.

“Maybe… maybe in a few months when it’s not so cold anymore,” Whumpee said, as they curled on a sofa with Caretaker, wrapping a fluffy blanket over their shoulders. “Though by then the nights aren’t so dark and we can’t see the stars. So… I’m sorry for ruining this.”

“Shush now. You haven’t ruined anything.” Caretaker nudged them with their foot. “The stars will always be there. They’ll wait for us as long as needed.”

The sofa was a place of comfort and security for Whumpee. After a couple months of sleeping on hard ground in the shed, resting on something so soft felt heavenly.

That was where they sat a week later, watching the snowfall from the window, waiting for Caretaker to come home from the mall. They perched up when they saw a familiar car park in front of the house.

“Hey, Whumpee,” Caretaker said, carrying grocery bags in both hands. “Are you doing okay?”

Whumpee nodded, leaning their chin on the backrest of the sofa. “Do you need help?”

“Actually, yeah, come here. I’ve got something for you.”

Whumpee blinked. “What?”

“I got you a gift. Come on.” Caretaker shook one of the bags they were carrying. It seemed to have some kind of large box inside. Whumpee climbed over the backrest and approached Caretaker, feeling somewhat suspicious. A gift? For them? They hadn’t done anything to deserve a gift…

Whumpee picked up the bag with the box inside and carried it to the kitchen as Caretaker untied and kicked off their shoes, soon following with the other bag. Whumpee had pulled out the box. It wasn’t very heavy. It was a plain cardboard one, and it didn’t say what was inside. Whumpee looked up at Caretaker, who was leaning their elbows on the kitchen table, watching Whumpee with a smile on their face.

“It’s not my birthday,” Whumpee said. Caretaker laughed.

“Does it need to be?”

“...It’s a gift.”

“I just wanted to get you a gift. Come on, open it, I wanna see how you like it.”

Whumpee ripped open the box carefully, not wanting to damage whatever was inside. They could soon see it was some sort of machine resting in the middle of the box between styrofoam blocks. From the corner of their eye, Whumpee could see Caretaker watching their every move. They kept ripping away pieces of cardboard, and soon they could carefully pick up the machine for a closer inspection.

“It’s… um…” Whumpee wasn’t sure. The machine was round, and had some sort of silvery ball on the top, reminding Whumpee of a disco ball. They turned the machine around in their hands, trying to figure it out, but Caretaker was too excited to wait so long.

“A galaxy projector,” Caretaker said. Their voice was filled with pride, and when Whumpee looked up at them, the smile on their face had grown even wider. “Since you can’t go stargazing outside — and I know you’re sad about it — I thought we’d bring the stars to us.”

Whumpee blushed. “Oh,” They said. They set the projector on the table, just staring at it until tears began burning their eyes and they had to look away. They were feeling many emotions at once, and didn’t know which ones to show or let guide their reactions. Caretaker’s smile was quickly fading at the sight of Whumpee’s tears.

“Oh no, are you okay?”

Whumpee nodded rapidly, wiping their eyes. Caretaker was too kind. Too thoughtful.

“It’s… I really… You didn’t have to.”

Caretaker picked up the projector. “I wanted to. Would you like to try it?”

Whumpee nodded again.

They went to their bedroom. Whumpee crawled on the bed, diving under their many blankets while Caretaker prepared everything. They pulled the curtains shut and set up the projector on a chest at the foot of their bed. They plugged it in, but didn’t turn it on yet. They went to the lightswitch to turn off the lights, and joined Whumpee in bed in the darkness.

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

As soon as the word was out of their mouth, the room lit up in purple and blue light, and Whumpee gasped. Little white dots were travelling across the ceiling and walls. Caretaker was pointing at the projector with a little remote Whumpee hadn’t even noticed before.

“It’s got a few different light settings,” Caretaker said, handing the remote to Whumpee. “If you want to try it out.”

Whumpee accepted the remote, but didn’t press on anything yet. They leaned their head on Caretaker’s shoulder, and together they watched the stars dancing across the room. It wasn’t realistic in any way, but in some way even more captivating than looking at the sky. The stars being so close, in such an intimate, safe space, made the experience feel very different from regular stargazing, but not any less magical.

“Do you like it?”

Whumpee turned their head, meeting Caretaker’s eyes. No one had ever done things for them in a way Caretaker did. They still felt like they didn’t deserve any of it, but they knew Caretaker somehow thought they were worth the world.

They thought the same of Caretaker. They would be happy spending an eternity with them under these beautiful lights.

“I love it so much,” Whumpee whispered. They snuggled closer to Caretaker, feeling so warm and comfortable next to them. So content and grateful. “Thank you.”

#whump #whump writing #whump fic #past captivity #recovery #aftermath #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #cold whump #gentle caretaker #whumpblr #writing #writeblr

[ashintheairlikesnow]

It Has to Be

For @amonthofwhump 12 Days of Whumpmas, Day 5: Ebenezer Scrooge |Power Outage | Time Loop | Overworked Whumpee | Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire

CW: Intimate whumper, past drugging and noncon, references to captivity and scars

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

As always, Jax (and the mentioned Alfie) belong to @comfy-whumpee and are used with their input and permission.

-

Finley White is getting so tired of looking at Savvie Marcoset’s face. At least during the prepping stages, it’s mostly through videos and photographs. They can turn it off, turn away, take a break. 

But they’re still tired of seeing it.

Not half so tired, they muse, as their client must be.

“Miss Savvie Marcoset, is it really you?! How are you?!”

“It’s Mrs. Savvie Marcoset,” She corrects, prim and proper. Savvie has her hands folded in her lap, her hair pulled back with a clip. The shadows under her eyes are the only sign that she is, at the time this was recorded, someone frantically searching for her missing captive. In a long off the shoulder black sweater and leggings, she seems relaxed and happy. She smiles, gentle and sweet. It looks utterly sincere. “I am married, you know.”

She holds up a hand and waggles her fingers, showing off the brilliance of her diamond ring. 

The person wearing the camera device gasps with audible delight. “Did you really finally get him to put a ring on it? Gosh, Sav, I thought he would never propose!” 

“I know that voice,” Finley White's client says, leaning forward. He frowns, his knee bouncing beneath the table. “I remember she was a twat.”

The corner of Finley’s mouth twitches, a smile they can't quite suppress. “Virginia Marshall, goes by Jennie. Went to college with Savannah Marcoset. The Marshalls were longtime friends with the Marcosets, close enough to be trusted. Jennie was facing some low-level charges of her own and agreed to help build this case as part of a plea deal.”

“Twat and coward.” He snorts. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, technically I was the one who got down on one knee,” Savvie says. There’s something strange in her eyes, like always - she looks with too much intensity. She’s hiding it well here, acting with the best of them, but Finley’s been staring at her face for so long that they can see right through it even so. 

Finley saw Savvie Marcoset’s true talents on the stand, the first time. They had watched with surprised dismay as she charmed the jury, seeing how she could channel her intensity and terrifying focus into overwhelming charisma before an audience.

“Oh, that’s so modern,” The woman wearing the hidden camera gushes, cooing over the ring. “Did you write your own vows, too?”

Savvie laughs, abashed. “No, no. Traditional. I always wanted a traditional wedding. So did he, really, he's an old-fashioned kind of guy. You should have seen him blush during 'love, honor, and obey.'"

The noise Finley's client makes in reaction to that statement is indescribable.

“Traditional vows... makes sense. You’ve always been the romantic type. Where is that lucky duck today, anyway? The hubby? He isn't with you?”

Savvie's smile doesn't even flicker. “He’s at home with our babies. He loves being a stay-at-home dad, you know? It’s all he ever wanted to be.” 

In reality, at the moment this video was recorded, the escaped Jax Gallagher was in his father's apartment, likely pretending to sleep, but at least not sleeping next to her. His children would have been nearby, safe from Savvie's cruelty for the first time.

You’d never know anyone was gone. She's as good an actress as she is at playing music, when she wants to be. And she is clearly pretending that absolutely nothing is wrong. 

“Oh, well, bring him to my house sometime, yeah? Let me get a look at him and those little ones.”

“He’s… very private,” Savvie says, low and soft. She gives a little roll of her eyes. “Because of me being, you know, known, and he isn't from a famous family or anything… we like to keep his name out of things. His family is so toxic, plus you know how gossipy the press is about him…”

“Him? Him who?” The informant plays dumb. 

“You know… My ex..."

“Oh, your ex Bastian Brighthall?” 

“Ha! No, no. I just mean… you know. Since… prison. Which, like, can no one become rehabilitated in this country? Let me live! I’m a law-abiding citizen now, and, and a wife and mother! You have no idea what it's like just trying to raise babies these days..."

She’s so deeply offended. The informant pretends to be offended, too, and lets Savvie change the subject, turn it around to how hard it is to be a woman just trying to live out her happily ever after. It’s masterful, how well she can lead someone along and away from what she doesn’t want to share. 

Finley White’s eyelid twitches where they sit at a table, watching this conversation unfold on a television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Beside them, their client has lapsed back into stony silence, his jaw set, arms crossed. He doesn't look at Savannah Marcoset’s sweet and smiling face, not directly. 

He’s tense enough that Finley worries, more than a little, that one of his tendons will simply snap from the stress. He knows - he knew long before Finley said it out loud - what a farce this is, how utterly unnecessary. He knows better than anyone that Ms. Marcoset could have pleaded guilty and saved them all this expense and trouble. The evidence is thoroughly stacked against her. She has no way out, but it doesn’t stop her from throwing out every delay tactic she has. 

Jax had been the first one to vocalize the point of Savannah’s strange game, during their meeting with him and his father after the arrest. She’ll drag it out, make it take as long as possible, he’d predicted, sitting in his father's cozy living room in his apartment in England. Finley had flown to him, once again - they had sworn to him once, after the first trial’s conclusion, that they wouldn’t ask him to fly back to America unless they had to.  

He’d still been visibly recovering, a man made of shadows who sat with his little girl and her enormous curly hair clinging in wide-eyed silence to him. He’d held onto her just as tightly, as if even Finley might simply take her away if he let go for even a second. She’ll make it fucking miserable for everyone, just to get at me. She always fucking does. 

Language, Jax’s father had admonished in a distant and fond way. That's one for the chocolate jar. Or two, maybe. 

Jax’s child, who was so perfectly silent Finley kept forgetting she was there, had spoken for the first time. I don't mind, Daddy, she had said. She was so soft Finley barely made out the words. I know that’s grown up words. You don't have to do the jar. You can get chocolates. 

Both men had smiled, then - one with open affection for his grandchild, one with a faint shift of lips that vanished as soon as Finley took it in. 

Sorry, kiddo, Jax had murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. More for you, then, yeah? Finley had wondered, then, what it must feel like to love a child - to love someone that much - who only existed because of this kind of assault? 

Jax had been angrier, or at least more obviously so, the first time they worked with him. After the first escape. During the first trial. The anger that had still flared up then was now a smoking skeletal forest, where you could feel heat against your palm when you laid it against the trunk of a tree, but not even embers were left to glow. 

Are the little girl and the baby boy the first green things to grow afterward? Or just… bones, blackened stones weighing him down? 

Shit, they need a drink. All their poetry electives from their own college days come out in florid metaphors on days like this one. 

More than a drink, they need  about sixteen hours of sleep. Not that Jax doesn't need both things more than they do, going through all this again, and again… they’d put it off as long as they could, but finally they’d had to ask him to fly here one more time. 

This will be the last time. Finley White will stake their career on Savannah Marcoset never seeing daylight as a free woman again, or they’ll quit and take up needlepoint or whatever it is lawyers who drop the ball that badly do. 

They failed him, once, in their own mind. That it could happen to him again feels like their fault, their responsibility, somehow. 

Jax had been angrier, before, but less determined than he is now. He had found it much harder, then, not to look at Savvie Marcoset. As if he couldn't break himself of having all his thoughts centered on keeping her from punishing him. The way he had seemed frightened when they took her away, after the verdict, had been painful to watch. 

Now he simply doesn't look at her on the screen at all. 

Finley picks up the remote, scratching a fingernail over its smooth plastic surface.  

Would it have been better, if they had managed to make it so she never walked free? It would have meant no second time held prisoner and therefore no children. Obviously it would have been better. Would he have chosen it, though, if he knew… chosen not to ever meet the quiet little girl and boisterous baby boy… maybe he would. Probably he would. 

They would never ask. 

In the present, Finley keeps their thoughts to themself. They lean forward, briefly pausing the video. “There’s a few minutes of going back and forth on this, Ms. Marcoset describing a… well, a very fanciful personal idea of the alleged wedding and honeymoon… I’m going to fast forward past it.”

“Thank fuck,” Jax mutters, scratching at the back of his head. His fingers twitch, involuntary, and he drops his hand quickly. 

He didn't tremble like that the first time, either. That’s a lasting effect of the shock collar he’d been wearing when he turned up on his father's doorstep after running away with the kids. He hides the scars beneath scarves and Finley pretends they don't see them even when they do. 

Those scars feel like visible evidence: Finley White fucked up, and here’s living proof. They’d gotten the conviction, decent prison time, parole within a limited area after release… and it hadn't been enough. 

They’ve gone over and over the case, when they can't sleep or think about anything else. They had done a good job. They and a single paralegal, alone, had taken on the Marcoset team of defense lawyers and wiped the floor with them. 

Jax seemed to think they had done a good job. Good enough that when he ran this time, he’d called them as soon as he was ready, anyway. He could have gotten a different lawyer, but he had called them, and trusted them, to put her away again. 

They just have to make sure it sticks this time. For life, bar the door, throw away the goddamn key. 

It was another thing Jax said first, although not in so many words - that if she ever left prison again, Jax almost certainly wouldn't survive it. He’d been hunched over a beer, that first in-person meeting at his father's place. Finley was still jet-lagged from getting on the first flight out, and nearly asleep on the sofa. He hadn't brought it up until the kids and his father were safely asleep. 

If she gets out again, or… comes h-here… that's it. He hadn't looked up at them, just stared down at his beer. The kids vanish first, probably. Dead or disappeared. Whatever she thinks will fuck me up worse. Actually, probably disappeared and then dead later once she thinks-... once she’s made me sorry. Then me, after them.

Then you? Last?

Yeah. Disappeared. Or dead. Or both. But she’ll go after them first. She'll-... He drank half the beer in three long swallows, wiped a hand over his face, and then exhaled and looked over at them. She can't hurt my kids. Okay? She can't. 

Finley had nodded, and lifted their own beer in a kind of grim salute. She won't. We nail her to the wall this time, Jax. I promise.

Fuck yeah. His expression stayed flat, but he clinked his beer glass against theirs and that was that, he was Finley White's once and future client one more time. 

Even though the case is open and shut, they’re throwing everything they’ve got at this, leaving nothing on the table. Leaving nothing to chance or luck. They have a promise to keep. 

“Our informant wore this camera to get an idea of what Mrs. Marcoset was thinking, how she was playing your disappearance from her life. It was recorded before she was arrested,” Finley explains. On the screen, Savvie's rushed dramatics are silent, her hands moving in gestures that constantly flash the ring. Her smile is absolutely radiant. She has always been a beautiful woman, layered over the cruelty beneath. “We probably won't need this at court-”

“Then why are we watching it?” He asks abruptly. Not angry or hostile, just wanting to get it all over with. 

They know the feeling. 

“Because I thought you might want to see this part,” They say, and hit play, the video shifting back into regular speed, the casual buzz and clink of the restaurant around them kicking back in. 

“-three years old,” Savvie is saying. She is every inch the proud and loving mother, pulling out her phone and then turning it around to show the informant. “Born in… in May, named after my grandmother. Isn't she beautiful? Doesn't she look just like me?”

“This was after I left?” Jax frowns at the photo Savvie has pulled up - of Jax holding his daughter back when she was a baby who already had too much hair and eyes too big for her face. Jax, his gaunt frame dressed in slightly oversized designer clothes to hide bruises and his unreliable access to food, is looking at the camera with a false and slightly hazy-seeming smile. 

“Yes,” Finley answers, nodding. “This conversation would be maybe… six months after that.” 

Jax’s eyes narrow. “That photo’s of Izzy as a baby, for one thing. For another… her birthday isn't in fucking May. Jesus. I didn't know the day, she never would tell me, but I knew what season. Also, Iz was four when we got back home, and she would have turned five by… whenever this is. We got her a fucking cake, my dad and I, when she turned five."

“You are absolutely certain that-”

“Yes,” He answers them, voice flat and cold as paper on stone.

“You may have to testify about that, Jax. Good evidence of a lack of connection to Isabeh-”

“Izzy,” He corrects automatically. 

“Right. Sorry. I’ve been elbow-deep in legal docs all day, everything is full legal names. This video might not be worth much during the criminal trial, but for the civil case regarding the children’s living arrangements-”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll testify. Yeah.” He snorts. “Also, I'm fucking drugged in that photo she flashed around. If that matters.”

“You are?” That's a surprise to them. They turn to rewind the video back to when the photo is held up, pausing it, scanning it over again. The slight smile, the way he gripped tight to the girl… almost white-knuckled… 

“Yeah. High as hell and terrified I'll drop her. Scared that that's her game this time. Get me to let Iz slip through my arms and then get goddamn mad at me for not being careful enough. I got her to stop putting shit in my drink when the kids were awake eventually, but she was still doing it, then.”

He isn't casual with how he drops these pieces of abject horror into conversation - no, Jax wields this information like a riddle, or a test. How you respond is to pass or to fail, and Finley knows him well enough by now to be aware that very few people come back from failure. 

So they nod, and wait to see if he plans to offer anything more. 

He looks over at them, then back at the photo frozen in time on the screen. “Had to tell her I liked that shit, just… you know. After the kids went down to sleep.” He meets Finley’s gaze head on, staring them down. 

But he knows them well enough that he knows he never has to spell any of it out, not anymore. 

So they nod again. “And it worked?” 

“Yeah. Mostly.” He looks away. Finley never knows for sure if they’ve passed the test, not until he keeps talking. “I could put her off with asking for it to happen later. Savvie forgets shit. Half the time by the time she went to sleep, she didn't remember she even brought it up.” 

Half the time. 

Finley looks back at the video, and hits the play button. Savvie is back to happily chattering about her perfect husband and perfect children, sitting in a café months after the bruised, battered, scarred man and children in question had escaped her grasping fingers and shock collars and cruelty, but before there was enough to bring her in. 

She had to have known they were coming for her, by this point. And yet she pretended everything was completely fine, that nothing had happened. She was either so sure her family would throw enough weight around to fix it for her in the end, or… 

“She’s completely out of her mind,” Finley whispers. Not that they hadn't said it before. But this… this is different. “She just. Can't deal with it, and so she just doesn't even acknowledge the problem exists. Jax-”

“Yeah, I know how she is. Lucky you, you didn't get that shit up close and personal like I did. This isn't even the worst of her bullshit.”

“Looking at her, you’d never know it.” Finley sits back, not allowing themself to slump. If they can pull this off, there's a four hundred dollar bottle of stupidly priced bourbon they’re going to buy to celebrate. “Look at her. No sign whatsoever of anything but happily ever after. You ran. It’s been months since she last saw you or your children… and she’s calm as can be. She doesn't even know where you are."

“She probably knew where I was.” Jax shrugs, outwardly unbothered. “I mean, she’s a stupid shitsnob, but she knows I'd go to my dad. She knew where I was gonna go if I got away from her.”

“She didn't go for you, though, didn't try to recapture you. At the time, if she knew…”

Jax gives them the stare again. “I know exactly what she did. She freaked out when we were gone, called her bastard shitstain uncle for help. He had people hunting me, until we got to the border. We barely managed to keep out of sight of them. We had to cross the border… we had to.” 

“Right, because in the UK… you’re, uh-” They hesitate. 

Jax prickles when they hesitate. His eyes narrow, and Finley straightens their posture, refusing to wilt before that stare. “You can say it,” He says, voice flat. “Fucking famous for being kidnapped, right? There were programmes about that shit. Fucking journalists. And I bet once we made it over the border, dear Uncle Isaac told her he wasn't going to risk it anymore, to pack her shit and go home, act normal. Be seen so she could act like she never left. See if they could wait me out.” 

Sometimes they forget how watchful Jax is, how well he understands not just Savannah Marcoset herself but the parade of Marcoset family members who treated him like Savvie's toy or worse. He didn't understand it all that well the first time.

Another thing he only has to know because they couldn't keep him safe.

“Right. But that's practical... from a criminal perspective. That's not… this.” They look over at the screen again, frozen once more on Savvie's cheerful, winning smile. 

“No.” Jax’s knee is bouncing again. There has always been a hum of energy in him, but even that is held more inside him now. Because they hadn't hammered their case hard enough. 

It just hadn't been enough. 

It has to be enough this time. 

“Jax… we have to show them that Savannah Marcoset. Not the one in this video, but the one who incapacitated you to make it easier for her to harm or control you. She is going to want them to see the act, try to get parole on the table, try to get at least limited access to the children-”

“Which she won't fucking get.” For just a second, the layer of self-protective hostility drops. It’s not panic, not visibly, but it’s close. “I told you, first thing I fucking said, she can't get at my kids. The whole reason I'm fucking doing this is to keep them safe. She can't get her hands on my fucking kids.” 

“No,” They say, voice firm, and meet his eyes. He scoots slightly back, arms crossed again, staring at them fixedly with his chin tipped slightly down. They watch him right back. “She won't. We talked about it, I remember. No access, full stop. No presents, no letters, she gets no photos and no updates. Absolutely nothing. Complete termination of parental rights. Complete. No exceptions."

“And prison for-fucking-life, and no parole.”

“No chance. It’s going to be rough, Jax, I won't lie to you. She’s going to put on a show, and we are going to need to systematically dismantle it. Take away all her charm and let them see who you saw, day in and day out.”

He nods, jaw set. Stubborn and determined, and maybe the fire still burns down in there somewhere. His smile is so genuine they nearly wonder if it's real. “Good. Yeah. Uh, how, though?” 

They look back over at Savvie, the face filling the screen. Savvie will be magnetic, just like the first time. Not so young, now, not able to play the innocent girl led astray. But she'll play all the greatest hits of sincerity, earnestness, contrition… Jax, by contrast, is all rough edges and bristling quiet. He won't charm anyone so readily. But his story will be what actually happened. 

They just need to prove it. 

“I had a couple more recordings for us to look at today,” They say, thinking, mind spinning. “But they aren’t urgent. Let’s break early, you head back to see what your little ones are up to, and I'll start drafting an outline of what we prove and how we prove it. I have some ideas. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at 8 am.”

“Sounds good, yeah.” Jax shifts, restless, ready to get out of the room with Savvie’s face still on the wall. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to talk about some… difficult stuff, Jax. Make sure you take it easy tonight.”

He looks at them, then just turns away, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Right. Yeah. Stuff about the kids, or the rape?”

It’s a test again. 

God, how Finley hopes they never fail this man, not this time. Not when they couldn't keep him as safe as he deserved to be. 

“Just the outline,” They say, casual as can be. “But.. both. All of it. No details yet. But later-”

“Yeah. I’ll be back at 8. Ish.” He leaves before they can say another word, and they sit back, staring after him. 

They have mountains of documents to finish sorting through, and a man carrying so much cruelty in his head that if he opens his mouth on the stand, a waterfall might come rushing out. He's covered in scars from Savvie's abuse, has two kids that are living evidence of assault. They have a traumatized little girl in therapy multiple times a week. They have Jax’s devotion to his son and daughter compared to Savvie not even knowing what time of year Izzy was born in. 

They have so much. 

It has to be enough. 

#whump #amow #amow 12 days of whumpmas #12 days of whumpmas #traumatized whumpee #recovering whumpee #trauma recovery whump #escaped whumpee #intimate whumper #referenced abuse #past captivity #child of whumpee #whump ocs #comfy-whumpee's oc #comfy-whumpee #the motherfucking gallaghers #jax #dad jax #past noncon #past drugging

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

For your 'fic I wish you would write' prompts: I would absolutely lose my mind if you did anything with a winged Spider

Losing my mind at this request! Inspired, of course, by your spectacular chrysopteros.

(warnings for past wing clipping and brief noncon implication)

ao3

He ends up leaving the marui to make sure, farther down the beach where he won't get in anyone's way. Not that that keeps passing fishers from staring as Spider twists and turns in a circle, carefully stretching his wings as far as he dares.

Really, he doesn't need any of that. He knows the feathers are coming back in, has felt the growing weight (there's something on my back), the terror-hope of regaining something that he's learned can be so easily taken away.

He knows this, and really, he's already gotten a good enough glimpse to know what he'll see as the sun hits the new feathers full on. As they gleam against the older white ones that survived the (first?) clipping, the contrast so vivid it hurts, the new color impossible to overlook.

Red. Red as blood spilled hot from a wound, a permanent stain, an opening in his back where the guts can slither. Red as a warning, red as defiance, red as fire and smoking ashes and setting suns, red and red and red.

He doesn't need to ask Norm or Max whether clipped Winged feathers grow back a different color, back on earth. He already knows their answer, he can hear them saying no, of course not, why do you ask?

Kiri is the first one he shows, to rip the bandage off fast. Her face works as she stares at him and he wonders if his suspicions will right, if she'll push him anyway, falling him filthy, tainted, (scarlet fucking whore).

But then her face smooths out in wonder, like she's just seen something miraculous. "Beautiful," she breathes, and it's not a lie, Kiri doesn't lie about things like that. She holds out a hand. "May I?"

A beat, and then he nods, letting her stroke the feathers as gently as she's ever done. "I can feel them," she whispers.

Spider laughs nervously. "Cool, huh? Are they super soft?" They'd felt that way when he reached behind his back; strange to feel such tenderness from such a jagged color.

Kiri shakes her head. "No, I meant..." She lifts her hand off his wings, holds it in the air. He watches her close her fingers in a fist, power humming through the air.

His new feathers twitch in response.

#avatar #avatar series #avatar the way of water #spider socorro #kiri te suli kìreysì'ite #avatar 2022 #winged spider #winged au #wing au #noncon mention #miles socorro #spiri vibes #feathers #atwow #atwow 2022 #avatar kiri #avatar spider #past captivity #healing #wings #spider atwow #kiri atwow #red #little goddess #colors #past noncon #recovery fic #fanfiction of fanfiction #avatar movies #avatar au

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 28: Sleep Deprivation

TW: Noncon Drugging, Conditioned Whumpee, Implied Past Captivity

@whumpuary

Harley tiptoed into Emory’s room. She peeked inside and found him still awake, staring in the exact same spot he’d been in when she tucked him in the first time. His lavender scented night light seemed to fail at its job. She sighed, flipping the lights on. “Emory, you’ve been here for almost three days now and you haven’t slept yet. You haven’t slept since you’ve been in the hospital. Why won’t you sleep?” 

Emory blinked away tears. “I want to see Athena…” 

“I’m sorry Em, but you can’t. She… She’s–” 

“But I want to!” His voice cracked, surprising Harley. “I wanna see her! I wanna see her now! I wanna go back!” 

“You can’t go back, Emory. It’s too dangerous for you.” She could see the exhaustion slowly starting to eat away at him. She didn’t understand why he refused to sleep. Clearly, his attachment to Athena had a lot to do with it. She sighed as she reluctantly decided to turn to her last resort. “Are you thirsty?” He nodded slowly. “Come on. We’ll get you some tea.” 

When she handed him the cup, he instantly began to down it. Part of Harley wanted to scold him for not telling her that he wanted something to drink. But she held her tongue, even after Emory gave her the empty cup. A mere five minutes had gone by before Emory finally collapsed, closing his eyes. 

Quickly going to catch him, Harley was shocked it worked so fast. Usually, sleeping drugs take longer to start working. Even the ones she used on patients at the hospital. She wondered why it worked on him so easily. Had sleeping drugs been the only way to get him to sleep when he was with Athena? Or did she drug him just to benefit herself? Either way, this would probably add length to his recovery. 

With a sigh, Harley picked up her small cousin and carried him to his room to tuck him back in.

#whumpuary #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno28 #sleep deprivation #whump #whump writing #caretaking #caretaker #angry caretaker #conditioned whumpee #noncon drugging #past captivity #my ocs #original character #creative writing #writeblr #writer things #writers on tumblr

[whumpacabra]

36. Undeserved

Angst, self loathing, low self worth, comfort, gunshot wound, bandage change, stabbing mention, referenced past torture and captivity, referenced character death, referenced scars

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

The Wolf forgot how much flesh wounds burned. Smith still cut and electrocuted and whipped the Wolf from time to time, but his usual method was his favorite and most effective. The Wolf hadn’t had a flesh wound this deep since there was glass in his feet or a knife in his leg.

(Smith never stabbed him. That would be too dangerous, too easy to fuck up and kill him. The Wolf didn’t remember when he got that scar in his thigh, he just remembered the burn of air kissing flesh that wasn’t meant to know light.)

“I’d kill to get you in a fucking hospital.” Dan’s grumble wasn’t wholly directed at the Wolf. His hands worked with the steady, telegraphed precision the Wolf had come to expect. He still wasn’t comfortable with it, but flinching away would only hurt worse. “I know this is rough for you, son, but I just want to make sure this is good for your trip north. You really ought to get some proper attention up there. The both of you.”

“Yessir.” The Wolf replied automatically, studying the bloodied bandages Dan set aside. “Can I ask you a question?” Dan stopped his work, looking up with surprise in his eyes.

“Sure. What’s on your mind, son?”

“Why did you help us?” Why did Thomas help them? Why did Merrill? “You didn’t know if - if we were criminals. If we would hurt you - I did hurt you - ”

“Imma stop you there, son.” Dan had him fixed with a harsh stare, hands still gentle on his arm. “I helped you folks because you needed help.” He huffed in amusement, stretching his jaw to emphasize the still fresh bruises left by the Wolf. “Plenty of folk fight back when they’re hurt - it’s only natural. Besides, Tommy and Merrill and I could handle a few troublemakers if you two turned out to be bad apples.”

The Wolf bit his lip. His breathing shook, but he swallowed the anxiety.

“What Alice said - about, she said - she was right. You don’t know what we’ve done. What - what I’ve done. And I’m - I’m not - I should still be - be down there. Should have stayed down there. I’m not a good person - I, I deserved everything - ”

“No one deserves what happened to you, Wolf. No one.” His name sounded…safe, on Dan’s tongue. No insult curling in condescending superiority. “No matter what you done - what was done to you in turn…it wasn’t right. You don’t earn that kinda treatment, however godawful you are. You’re still a person. Still have rights. And that includes the right to bein’ safe.”

“But - ”

“What happened to you, would Harrison deserve it? If he’d done what you’ve done?”

The Wolf opened and closed his mouth, teeth clacking together. He could still hear Harrison’s wails, the grief echoing throughout the bunker. A friend dead by his hand. That was different - that was mercy, that was selflessness.

“Of course not - he’s, that’s different he wouldn’t - he’d only do it if he - he was scared and he, he didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you have a choice?” The Wolf flinched at the hands cradling his face, calloused but so so gentle, open to letting him break away if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. The Wolf closed his eyes, letting gentle hands hold his face. They didn’t drop him, even as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I - it’s different. I’m - I was a - I deserved - ”

“Never,” the hands holding his face tensed, “never think that you deserved that hell. You didn’t, you hear me?”

Something inside him shattered. The Wolf sobbed, collapsing through the hands and against Dan’s chest. The arms that wrapped around him were hesitant at first, but held him tightly when he didn’t resist. Steady. Safe.

“You didn’t deserve it son. None of it. Not a single second. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

For the first time in a long time, the Wolf cried - not out of fear, or pain, or anger; he simply wept. And the arms that held him didn’t falter or retreat or evaporate as a phantom of his imagination.

He cried. And he was held in safe arms through it all.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @whumpy-daydreams

#whump #angst #comfort #gunshot wound #scars #past torture #past captivity #past stabbing #past character death #freelancers au #Harrison gets a breakdown. wolf gets a breakdown. perfectly balanced as all things should be. #worlds this is for you. my original outline didn’t have this scene but you liked Dan so much when I introduced him #I was like yeah actually he’s a good parallel to ghostie for wolfie #let’s have wolf breakdown and realize he’s a person with feelings and wants and needs and. truly shocking. human rights.

[lumpofwhump]

After nearly marching Caretaker back to their room to get some rest already, Former Whumpee set to wiping down the bloodied medical equipment in stony silence. They practically threw the newly-cleaned items back into their respective drawers and containers.

Whumperee watched their former victim warily from across the room, where they lay half-curled up on the bed. “You got something you want to say?” they asked in a surly tone. A bit of their old defiance, popping back up at the most inconvenient time as always.

Former Whumpee stopped and turned around, looking only vaguely in Whumperee’s direction, reaching for a scalpel in the drawer behind them. “I just keep thinking,” they said, a dangerous edge to their otherwise calm voice, “about how many people died in the cells back there. Scared, alone, in as much pain as you and Whumper could put them through.”

Their knuckles went pale as they clutched the scalpel, advancing toward Whumperee, who scrambled back only to find their back against the wall.

“All of them were better people than you,” Former Whumpee snapped, grabbing Whumperee by the front of their loose gown and pinning them to the wall while holding the scalpel to their neck. “Every. Single. One.”

Whumperee swallowed with a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a squeak.

Former Whumpee held them there for a long moment, staring at them with cold fury in their eyes, before releasing them to collapse down onto the bed with a groan of pain.

“It should’ve been you,” they spat out, before turning back to their work.

Whumperee curled in on themself, sulking, but didn’t bother to respond. They knew Former Whumpee was right.

#whumper turned whumpee #whumperee #whumpee turned whumper #revenge whump #implied death threat #emotional whump #past captivity #villain whumpee #henchman whumpee #self loathing

[darkthingshappen]

Reckoning (Merry Whump of May Day 1)

A Brother's Keeper Story Set about seven month's after Ben's initial rescue after fourteen months of captivity with Volkov.

Thanks to my always whumperful crew @whumpcereal @sparrowsage @quietly-by-myself, and @oddsconvert for the flash beta job this afternoon.

Tags list at the end.

Warnings: BRIEF mentions of past torture, captivity, and noncon. Though nothing too explicit. PTSD. Ben just has a moment where he's tired of being told it's okay and unfortunately, Jake gets the full brunt of it. Ben's not wrong, but Jake... well... you'll see.

@themerrywhumpofmay (I'm so excited this is back this year!)

The kitchen was brightly lit, it was Fall again.  Ben and Jake were doing the dishes.  They were nearing the second anniversary of Ben’s abduction, but it felt like the first since he’d spent the previous one still with Volkov. Jake was dreading it.  Everyone was dreading it.  Ben was jumpy and distant, caught up in far too many dark memories.  

Still, he had made so much progress, especially in the last month or so.  He was smiling more, Jake had even seen him laugh once, with Zoe.  Ben was slowly coming out of his shell after a brief stint in a mental hospital and months and months of intensive therapy.  Ben stared blankly out the window.  He never seemed to be able to get enough of looking outside.  

Jake slapped him playfully on the arm with his wet washcloth as he’d done a million times throughout their childhood.  

He shouldn’t have done that.  The loud smacking sound of the cloth on Ben’s arm sent him to the floor, arms over his head, curled in a ball and rocking.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Ben whimpered. 

Jake glanced around the kitchen in panic.  He was alone with Ben.  Their parents were out, his dad at work and their mom grocery shopping.  They were counting on him to take care of Ben.  He’d told them he could do it.  He was eight years Ben’s senior for god’s sake.  Think!  He could do this.  He could handle it.  Couldn’t he?  

“Shit!  Benny.  It’s okay.  Sorry.  That was stupid of me.  I was just playing like we used to.  I didn’t think...  Shit I’m sorry.  Please Benny.  Please,” Jake begged, trying to recall what the therapist had said about how to bring Ben out of these horrible flashbacks.  

Jake got up and ran to the living room.  He grabbed the heated and weighted blanket they’d got Ben recently.  They left it on most of the time for emergencies like this.  Jake draped the warm blanket over Ben and held Ben’s hand, rubbing soft circles on the back of it with his thumb.  

“It’s okay, Ben.  Don’t worry.  It’s okay,” Jake assured him for the millionth time since Ben had come home and had one of his prolific flashbacks that, at best made him freeze dead still and zone out, and at worst made him panic and react as if he were in the moment that he was seeing in his head.  

“It’s not fucking okay!” Ben snapped suddenly, throwing the blanket off and getting to his feet.  “Stop fucking telling me that!  You don’t know a damn thing about it, do you?”  He glared at his brother.  “You.  Weren’t. There!”

Jake recoiled, taken aback by the sudden and uncharacteristic anger and volume.  Ben was always quiet now, rarely talking and when he did it was barely above a whisper.  Jake attributed it to months of wearing a fucking shock collar.  He stared at Ben in disbelief.  He knew he deserved his brother’s anger.  Whatever Ben wanted to say, he deserved it.  He deserved to be reviled by the shell of a brother in front of him.  He wished to God he could fix it; could make his baby brother whole.  

“He didn’t take you, did he?  He didn’t fucking torture you on daily basis, did he?  He didn’t ra-” Ben’s voice, dripping with rage, cut off and he was left standing, heaving in breaths of air.  His whole body trembled and Jake saw the dam of emotions and torment and memories that threatened to overwhelm his baby brother.  

They both knew what he was about to say.  

“It’s not okay,” Ben finally finished, more quietly than before.  

“I-I know, Benny.  I’m not meaning to make light.  I know what he did to you.-”

“No.  No you fucking don’t.  Seeing my scars or reading that damn file that they gave mom and dad doesn’t mean you know.  It doesn’t.  It doesn’t.  There’s so much more than what they could fit in my fucking file.”  Ben made air quotes over the last word.  

“I spent almost every night curled up in a cage.  A fucking cage, Jake.  No blanket.  No pillow, no mattress.  Just a hard plastic or metal bottom of a cage.  And it was cold.  All the time.  I asked for a blanket one time.  Do you know what he did to me?”

Jake’s expression reflected the horror of what Ben was telling him.  It was the most Ben had directly said about what happened to him when he was with Volkov and Jake felt ashamed to want him to stop talking.  He shook his head minutely.  

“He tied me to a fucking cross outside.  Outside in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.  Outside in the fucking Russian winter.  I thought I was gonna die.  Over and over and over I thought I was going to die.  Until it shifted from being afraid of dying to…” Ben’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “To hoping for it.”  He looked at Jake.  “I don’t know who I am anymore because of what he did to me.  Do you know what it’s like to hurt so bad, in every part of you, that you just want it to be over.  Permanently.  Do you?”

A tear slipped down Jake’s cheek and he shook his head,  “N-no.  No, Benny, I don’t. I’m… I’m sorry.  I wish I knew what to do.  I wish I knew how to take it away.  God!  Fuck! Benny I wish it were me.  You have no idea how badly I wish it had been me.  It should have been me.”

And for once, Ben didn’t disagree.  He just stood there watching his brother crumble.  He had always said, believed, told himself, that he wouldn’t wish what happened to him on his worst enemy.  But he was so angry, and so terrified, and so overwhelmed with all that he had been through, that a furious mean little voice that he never used to have reared its ugly head and screamed inside him, ‘I wish it had been you!’

Ben clamps his lips shut before he can utter the hurtful words, but he knew it was too late, he may not have said them, but Jake heard them loud and clear all the same.  Ben sighed.  

“I… I need to… I need a break, Jake.  I-I-I don’t blame you.  I don’t.” He said the words, but he was no longer sure if he believed them.  “But I can’t do this right now.”

Ben turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jake standing in the middle of the room, holding a warm blanket that offered him no comfort. 

Tagging List: @i-can-even-burn-salad @peachy-panic @deluxewhump @arwenadreamer @whumpcereal @melancholy-in-the-morning @dont-touch-my-soup @whumpsday @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert @melennui @susiequaz12 @morning-star-whump @crystalquartzwhump @whump-and-other-things @mylifeisonthebookshelf @reflected-pain @hold-him-down @quietshae @quietly-by-myself @there-will-always-be-bloodblood @whumping-seven-days-a-week @hiding-in-the-shadows (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it. I’m still getting used to this) 

#themerrywhumpofmay #brother's keeper #mwm2023 #kitchen #haphephobia #mwmday1 #mentions of past noncon #mentions of past torture #mentions of past captivity #recovery #therapy #mental hospital mention #mention of past suicidal ideation #past kidnapping #past captivity #benjamin adkins oc #ben adkins #jacob adkins #ben and jake #ptsd

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

❄️ your Octo-Mer? (I don't recall if you named her yet)

Or for Seraphina.

-Mysticwhump

OMG thank you!! I actually want to write both of these, I'm going to make this one my Octo-Mer (her name is Nori!), but if you send me a separate ask for Seraphina I have an idea for that too. ;)

I'm trying to keep these short and sweet, just for fun and to maybe get some writer momentum going~

Send me ❅ to find my muse out in the cold, under-dressed and almost passing out from hypothermia.

Content Warnings: lady whump, mer whump (octomaid/octomer OC), cold weather, cold whump, hypothermia, frostbite, past captivity, left for dead, 'it' as a pronoun, second person POV, rescue, mentions of death, slight dehumanization but in a well-meaning sort of way??

----

Your boat slows as it cuts through increasingly icy waters, inching towards the creature up ahead.

It is draped across a floating slab of ice, discarded without a thought by ink harvesters much too far north of its natural habitat.

Most octo-mer are too far gone by the time you reach them, and all you can do is ease their numb bodies into the water with gentle hands and kind words.

Not this one. Startled by the hum of the approaching boat, the octo-maid stirs. Her dark lashes flutter and her lips part slightly, letting out a puff of fog. She is still quivering slightly, still pained by the sting of cold air. Frostbite hasn't claimed her fingers or tentacles, and her damp hair hasn't frozen.

When she finally manages to open her eyes, you see it - that spark of life you got so used to not expecting.

Just this once, you aren't too late. Just this once you get to lift the poor creature into a special tank, a cramped but warm, safe place to recover until you release her to warmer waters.

#mer whump #octomaid whump #lady whump #cold weather #hypothermia #frostbite #cold whump #past captivity #left for dead #it as a pronoun #second person pov #death mention #rescue #very slight dehumanization #whump writing #my writing #prompt fill #my ocs #nori

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 25

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Contents: PTSD, Ellis is pregnant and also a grumpy asshole, themes of self-harm, Ellis being cringe, past captivity, past child abuse, fucky coping mechanisms around past child abuse, discussion of murder, angst, recovery

~

It kept occurring to Isaac that there really wasn’t much to the town of Laporte. Not the proper downtown area, anyway. There was the general store, the post office that doubled as the gathering space, the clothing and alterations shop, the feed and machinery shop, the tannery, and a few other buildings that Isaac couldn’t deduce the use for just from looking at them. He wondered if some of them had a seasonal use, or if some of them stood empty. The town had the look of a place that had been abandoned for a long time and was only now starting to fill up with people again. Still, it had never been large to begin with – that much was obvious. He could see the entire town at once, glancing down the street. There were so few places to run, to hide, to find cover.

As if Gavin could sense his unease, he nudged Isaac’s shoulder. “You okay?” Gavin murmured.

“Of course,” Isaac said flatly. “Just looking around.” General store, clothing shop, post office. Feed and machine shop, tannery. Right side of the street, left. He tried to tell himself that his eyes were sweeping both sides of the street equally, that he was giving equal attention to each building as he looked around casually for threats.

He tried to tell himself that his eyes weren’t flicking to the door of the post office every few seconds.

Gavin followed Isaac’s gaze with his own and squeezed Isaac’s hand. “I… I don’t need to be in town, Isaac, I just wanted to be outside—”

“No,” Isaac snapped. He bit his tongue, regret flooding him. “I’m sorry. No. It’s alright.”

Gavin held Isaac’s gaze for a long moment. Isaac’s stomach clenched as he realized Gavin’s lips were thin, his grip shaking. “Oh… Gavin, are you--?”

“Just cold,” Gavin huffed. His head fell forward, and Isaac pressed a kiss to his forehead. “But I don’t care. I want to be outside in the sun.”

Isaac blew out a slow breath through his nose and pulled Gavin close to his side, sliding an arm around his waist to support him. “Of course. Of course. Let’s… yeah. Outside.” He glanced up, tilting his face back for the warm rays that pushed away the fall chill.

The door to the post office swung open. Isaac’s head snapped forward. His stomach twisted. Ice choked his veins, and his hand closed around the gun in his waistband.

“Well, if it isn’t bitchboy out of bed at last,” came a voice he recognized. His muscles ached from how hard they were locked, holding him in place.

“Hey, Ellis,” came Gavin’s reply beside him. Isaac blinked, and he was staring at Finn and Ellis as they strolled out of the post office – Ellis looking uneasily at Gavin, and Finn with a concerned look at Isaac.

Isaac numbly released the gun. It remained tucked in his waistband. He hadn’t frozen that badly in years, not since—

Turn the corner. There was a guard there, shocked. Didn’t know Isaac was coming. Reached for his gun. Isaac raised his. Finger tightened on the trigger.

He can’t.

He can’t.

Isaac blinked away sudden tears as Finn and Ellis approached them. “Hey,” he croaked. “Hey, guys,” he tried again, and his voice cooperated this time.

“Hey yourself,” Ellis said with a groan. “Guess who’s got back pain today?” They looked around. “Oh? Just me? Thank god, whenever I ask that around Vera or Gray they never let me hear the end of it.”

“How are you two?” Finn asked, but they were looking only at Isaac. “Were you, um… expecting someone else? Edrissa doesn’t come into town, not without—”

“We weren’t… expecting Edrissa,” Isaac said weakly. The fresh cuts on his arms itched. The unbroken skin between them itched more.

Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Then… why…?”

“How’re you feeling, your highness?” Ellis said with another less-than-gentle nudge to Gavin. “You’re up, which is… more than I was expecting, actually.” They let out a laugh with a slightly manic edge that finally broke through the fog in Isaac’s mind.

He blinked. “Jesus, Ellis. You haven’t called him ‘your highness,’ in…”

“Yeah, maybe not in the greatest of taste…” Finn said gently.

Ellis let out a shrill laugh. “Yeah, no, totally, I’m just… trying to make him feel like old times, like… nothing’s changed, we’re still just… you know, you’re our bitchboy, we’re all one big happy family, like… um… b-before.” They lapsed into silence just as quickly as they had spoken and stared at the ground between their feet.

Isaac’s throat ached as he swallowed hard, looking between Gavin and Ellis. Finn was staring at their partner with their mouth slightly open. Gavin shivered against Isaac’s side, just as he had been doing almost every moment for the days since Isaac had pulled him from the basement.

Gavin stepped forward and put a thin hand on Ellis’s shoulder. “You have no idea how many times I wished I could have another chance to be the family’s bitchboy again,” he said, with a deeply solemn tone.

Ellis’s head snapped up with speed that rivaled a gunshot. Their eyes were wide, lips parted, and they stared at Gavin, unmoving.

“Oh,” they gasped. “Oh, you’re making a joke. Oh, thank fuck. I thought that fucker really did fuck with your head.”

Gavin managed a painful-sounding laugh. “Not like that,” he said, voice softening.

Isaac blinked, seeing the basement, the barrel of Schiester’s gun pointed at his heart.

“I w-want to be with him,” he croaked, his eyes fixed on Schiester. “I w-want…” He swallowed thickly. The words burned his tongue, but he pushed them out. “I want to… Please, l-let me be his… his plaything… again. Please… h-hurt me… for him.”

Isaac swallowed again. Today is a rough day. I’m aware of myself enough to know that today is a rough day. And that’s… something, at least. His hand shook in Gavin’s, and he loosened his grip. He forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out.

“So you’re doing, um… better, then,” Ellis said weakly, their frenetic jokes gone. They chewed their lip as they glanced at the retraced scars on Gavin’s face. “You look… better.”

“Yeah, Ellis,” Gavin said. He offered them a soft smile. “Thanks for asking. I’m… I’m doing okay.”

“Good.” Ellis nodded slowly. “That’s good.”

Finn spoke, their eyes searching Isaac’s face. “And you, Isaac? You doing alright?”

Isaac’s throat tightened. He pulled Gavin closer to him, happier to keep everyone focused on Gavin. “Um, yeah,” he said. He winced internally as his voice broke. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just… relieved to have Gavin back.” He stared at the ground, ignoring how he could now feel all of their gazes on his face like a physical touch.

Gavin’s gaze was heaviest. He knew about the… the scars. Vera didn’t even know about them yet, although Isaac knew they would probably all find out eventually. A finger of shame crept up his spine. Goosebumps crawled across his skin and pricked the cuts on his arms.

The door to the post office slammed open, and Isaac flinched like he’d been slapped. Laughter poured out of the open door. Two people who Isaac didn’t recognize came out, waving back to someone inside, smiles wide and boisterous. Finn turned to follow Isaac’s gaze.

“Relax, Isaac,” Ellis said, a hint of sarcasm returning to their voice. “Your boy’s back.”

Isaac swallowed hard as his gaze shifted to the ground again. “Yeah, I know,” he murmured. He wanted to leave, to hide. Not to seek cover, as he would from spraying bullets – but as he had once wanted to hide from Rosa, when her fury at him burned hottest, and he knew he could not buy a reprieve with a cleaner shot, a harder hit, a tidier room.

He never hid, though. After he ran from his mother, he never ran from his problems again. Until he ran from the guard who killed Jordan.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Who’s here, Isaac?” Finn whispered. Gravel scraped under their shoe, and Isaac forced himself to open his eyes and look at them. Their face was pale, their eyes wide, and their hand was wrapped around Ellis’s wrist. “Is it not safe here?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ellis spat through their teeth. “Are you—”

“No,” Isaac said, holding out a hand to them both. His head spun. Gavin is safe, but is anyone safe at all with Rosa here…? He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head to clear it. “No. Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m just… having a rough day. Can we… can we maybe… keep talking and just… walk towards the house?”

“Do we need to call the others?” Finn murmured.

“Fuck, no,” Isaac ground out. His throat clogged with frustration. “No, just… it’s just hard for me to think right now. The others are fine. Just. Gavin, come on and—” He didn’t wait for an answer before he turned and half-dragged Gavin in the opposite direction they had just come. Ellis and Finn jogged to keep up.

“Okay, we’re fine and just going for a nice run with a pregnant person. Cool,” Ellis groused.

“Sorry,” Isaac huffed. He slowed his stride. “Sorry.” He forced himself to take a deep breath. As much as it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle to have his back to the post office, he found his chest didn’t feel nearly so tight now that he was walking away from it. With another deep inhale and exhale, his arm around Gavin’s waist relaxed a little as well. “Sorry,” he whispered, just for Gavin, and pressed a kiss into Gavin’s hair.

Gavin said nothing, just looked at Isaac with unfathomable worry in his eyes. Isaac’s heart twisted.

They were already out of downtown Laporte and down the lane surrounded by wooded forest once more. They left the road and wove between the trees. Isaac slowed his steps even further. The sun dappled the bed of dead pine needles on the ground, and a cool breeze ruffled the strands of Isaac’s hair that had pulled free of the elastic. He cleared his throat and slipped his arm from around Gavin’s waist so he could squeeze his hand.

“So, um, Rosa lives here,” he said softly.

Finn stopped dead in their tracks. Ellis kept walking straight into a branch at face-level and let out a squawk.

“…the Rosa?” Finn finally managed.

“Yup,” Isaac said.

For a long moment, the only sound was the wind blowing through the canopy of the trees above. Then, Ellis said to Gavin, “Did you know about this?”

“Yes,” Gavin murmured.

“And she’s still alive?” Ellis snapped.

Gavin’s jaw flexed. “He wouldn’t—”

“What fuckin’ good are you if she’s still—”

“Hey,” Isaac snarled, stepping between them both and drawing himself up to his full height until he towered over Ellis.

Ellis rolled their eyes and crossed their arms over their chest. “I was mostly joking, Isaac, calm down.” They jutted their chin out at Gavin. “I’m just surprised he didn’t take a run at her, that’s all. Any one of us would have—”

“He did,” Isaac said through his teeth. “He wasn’t exactly in the best condition to challenge her for my soul.”

“Not your soul,” Finn said with a shrug. “But, like… your childhood.”

“I wasn’t a child,” Isaac said helplessly.

“For fuck’s sake, Isaac,” Gavin said with a groan. He threw a look at Finn and Ellis. “This is not the first time we’ve had this conversation.”

“Wait, you can’t just…” Isaac spread his hands.

“But that’s why you’re so jumpy today, huh?” Finn said softly. Isaac fell silent and nodded. He dug a toe into the layer of pine needles, all the way down to the topsoil. The top of his boot came away wet and stained.

Everyone was silent for a long time. After a while, Ellis began walking again, and Isaac was grateful to no longer have everyone’s eyes on him. Gavin’s fingers were cold where they entwined with his, but Gavin was smiling; nothing could have torn Isaac away from his side, walking with his family through a peaceful forest with nothing to fear but his own past.

“So… what are we gonna do about this?” Ellis said.

Isaac pushed out a slow breath. “There’s nothing to be done,” he mumbled. “It’s not like she’s a syndicate leader or something. She fights against the syndicates, or at least she did at some point. We can’t just kill her.”

Ellis chuckled. “I asked what we were going to do, not whether we were going to kill her. But I’m glad to see your brain moving in the right direction. No, I mean… so, are we moving again?”

“No,” Isaac said quickly. “No way. This is the safest place for Gavin, and Zachariah. It’s the first chance we’ve had at some real community. Besides.” He squeezed Gavin’s hand. “We just got here.”

“You used to live on the road, and I’m okay with people being less than enthused about me if you don’t have to live like this,” Gavin replied.

“Don’t listen to him, I’m not moving again while I’m pregnant,” Ellis called from ahead.

Finn rolled their eyes. “Real nice, Ellis.”

“Fine, but you’re moving all the boxes,” Ellis griped.

“What, all two of them?” Finn shot back.

“Here’s what I want to know,” Ellis said, finally turning around. “Does Vera know?”

Finn looked at Isaac. He froze under the attention. Gavin’s thumb moved back and forth against his hand, and he pulled Gavin close against his side again.

“No,” Isaac said roughly.

Ellis’s head fell back in a raucous laugh. “Hoo boy, I can’t wait to see her reaction. That bitch’ll be dead within an hour, just you wait.”

“I need to talk to her about a few things tonight, maybe we’ll get to it,” Isaac murmured. Gavin pressed a kiss to his shoulder. His stomach bucked at the simple touch.

If she’s still willing to talk to me after she finds out I decided to punish myself for losing Gavin after all, I’ll tell her about Rosa.

“Well, fill me in on how it goes,” Ellis said, their laughter not yet died down. “I need a play-by-play of how exactly she intends on handling this situation. And then obviously ask her if she needs help dumping the body.”

Isaac forced a smile. “Yeah. Obviously. Thanks for, um… for listening.”

“Of course,” Finn said. They pulled Isaac into a hug. He unwound his arm from around Gavin’s waist and crushed Finn in his embrace before pulling away, feeling only a little shaky.

“Any time,” Ellis said with a rare tone of solemnity. “You’re family, Isaac. Someone fucks with one of us… especially the baby version of one of us…” They shrugged tightly. “I don’t know, dude. It’s fucked up, what she did. I mean, I’m an asshole, but I still can’t imagine doing what she did to a fucking kid. Maybe it’s because I’m a parent. I don’t know. But… still.” Ellis lightly punched Isaac on the arm. He offered them a hesitant smile. “We’re here for you. Obviously.”

“Thanks, Ellis,” he whispered.

“Yeah, shut up,” they whimpered, their voice suddenly tight. They turned in an abrupt about-face and headed back to the lane towards their house. “Fucking pregnancy hormones,” they hissed, and dashed tears from their eyes.

Gavin smiled and returned to Isaac’s side once more. It felt… perfect, easy, safe. As Isaac’s slung his arm around Gavin’s waist once more, and Gavin turned his head to place a kiss on Isaac’s shoulder, it felt like the one thing that made sense in the uneasy noise of Isaac’s mind. He couldn’t suppress a smile as he followed Ellis and Finn down the sun-streaked lane as the wind blew the autumn leaves about their feet.

Continued here

@womping-grounds ​, @free-2bmee ​, @quirkykayleetam ​, @walkingchemicalfire ​, @inpainandsuffering ​, @redwingedwhump ​, @burtlederp ​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog ​ , @whatwhumpcomments ​, @whumpywhumper ​, @stxck-fxck ​, @whumps-the-word ​, @justplainwhump ​, @finder-of-rings ​, @inky-whump ​, @orchidscript ​, @inkyinsanity ​, @this-mightaswell-happen ​, @newandfiguringitout ​, @whumpkitty ​, @pretty-face-breaker ​, @pebbledriscoll ​, @im-just-here-for-the-whump ​, @endless-whump ​, @grizzlie70 ​, @oops-its-whump ​, @kixngiggles​, @1phoenixfeather ​ , @butwhatifyouwrite ​, @carnagecardinal , @whumpifi , @squishablesunbeam

#honor bound 6 #whump #hurt/comfort #Isaac/Gavin #Fillis #PTSD #pregnancy #themes of self-harm #Ellis is a cringelord: confirmed #past captivity #past child abuse #complicated feelings about abusers #frank discussion of murder #angst #recovery #let's take some bets everyone #who thinks Rosa is surviving this book #and who thinks she's dying

[whumpshaped]

Epilogue – Dusk

there u go :) last chappy...

Dollhouse Masterlist

tw major character death, funeral, aftermath of trauma, paranoia, anxiety, police mention, hospital stay, murder mention, alcohol mention, implied past alcohol problems, implied past noncon, lady whump, implied eye gore, aftermath of surgery, past captivity, divorce, estranged family, again it's a lot i tried to get everything i'm sorry if i didn't

They weren’t supposed to be there that day. “It would be a small ceremony,” they’d told them, “it wouldn’t be appropriate. Or good for you.”

Dusk– no, he wasn’t Dusk anymore. He would never be called Dusk ever again. Diell wasted absolutely no time finding a way to be able to get out of the ward in time and take Ginger with him. They both agreed that just spoken accounts of the funeral wouldn’t be enough. They had to see the body be lowered into the goddamn hole and immediately deface the tombstone. 

He was fairly sure that Grace and Jonathan’s father played a role in them being able to sneak off as easily as they did. He would never thank the guy, not even in some weird, abstract way, but he was definitely pleased to know that he knew that any doll had more of a right to attend the ceremony than even family members.

They had to leave Pepper in the hospital, to all of their dismay. They were more hurt than the two of them, plus they wouldn’t have been able to see anything anyway. They asked for the most gruesomely detailed retelling of the funeral later, which both Diell and Ginger agreed to provide.

“I hope she’s cremated,” Ginger muttered on their way to the cemetery. “No, actually, I hope she’s not. I want to see that it’s her. If she was cremated, they could totally just put whatever in the urn, and no one would ever know.”

“Don’t even say that, holy shit.” The thought of Grace being alive in the world somewhere was a terrifying one. He had managed to kill her one time, and only because she was unconscious, but maybe that luck wouldn’t last a second round. “I’m sure they’ll bury the whole body. Like, intact. I bet it’ll be open-casket as well, with corpse make-up and all that shit.”

“Oh, she would never go six feet under without proper make-up. Never.”

Diell was the first to begin laughing, and Ginger followed soon after. The sounds of their joy felt wildly out of place at the enormous gates of the cemetery, but neither of them could find it in their soul to care. They saw people running around in pink instead of black, pink suits, pink dresses, pink ties to match. It was something out of an absurdist horror movie.

They ducked behind some gravestones when they caught a glimpse of the witch mother herself, their excitement suddenly giving way to fear. If Grace was that unhinged, that could only mean two things: either she had surpassed her mother in unhingedness, going on to become the supreme unhinged demon, or she’d learned everything from the even more unhinged woman who came before her. Diell held his breath, hoping with all his heart that it was the former. 

When he looked at Ginger’s face, he could tell that the same thoughts and fears were playing on her mind. Maybe this had been a bad idea, and maybe the hospital staff had been correct, and maybe it was embarrassing and weird to be hiding behind the markers of others’ final resting places. Diell glanced at the tombstone that was a couple inches away from his face, squinting to be able to read the name through all that moss. 

Sorry, Thomas and Esther Taylor. This is kind of an emergency.

“You think she even knows what we look like?” Ginger whispered.

“No idea. Maybe Grace showed her photos.”

“We should’ve planned further than two sweatshirts with hoods.”

“I’m happy that I even managed to snatch these up. Imagine if we had to come here in dresses or hospital gowns.”

Ginger shivered. “Yeah. Fuck that.”

They spent the entire ceremony huddled behind the headstones, listening to the priest go on about what a loving daughter and sister Grace was, occasionally peeking out to try and get a look at the body. Thankfully, not many people were attending, and Ginger turned to him with a triumphant smile soon enough.

“It’s her. It’s really her!”

“Fucking good. I hope the end to this whole shit isn’t some weird, Jesus-type resurrection.”

“Now you’re just being stupid,” she teased, but placed a dirty hand on top of his, her expression turning deathly serious. “If she moves a muscle, I’ll choke her right back to hell. Yeah?”

She meant it, Diell could tell. There was no condescension in her voice. She wasn’t telling him that he was too paranoid. She sounded exactly like someone who had thought about this before, in excruciating detail, and came to the conclusion that she was willing to risk her own life in exchange for the peace of mind that’d come with feeling Grace’s pulse disappear under her own hands. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, giving her hand a squeeze.

They watched as the crowd started swarming towards the actual grave, and they followed them from a safe distance, pretending to be taking a leisurely walk or something. Diell didn’t even know what their cover story was, honestly. But no one ended up paying them any mind, instead focusing on the wailing mother. 

From what Diell could tell, there were no other people from Grace’s close family. Maybe her grandmother? It was hard to tell. It didn’t really matter. He was happy to know that her father decided to spend time with Jonathan in the hospital instead of coming to attend this pretentious display of wealth and ridiculousness. 

The casket was slowly lowered into the hole, and both Diell and Ginger were watching it like hawks. No tricks. No ghosts. No vampires, no zombies, no nothing. Grace’s body was dropped down and buried, so deep that there wasn’t a single chance that she could’ve crawled out. Her mother knelt on her grave, weeping like someone out of a tragedy, grabbing handfuls of dirt without a care in whether it’d ruin her expensive-looking, pink gloves.

Diell turned to his friend, briefly pretending he was gonna retch. Ginger had to hide a smile. 

They lingered until after everyone else had already left, only competing with Grace’s mother by that point. She had to eventually be escorted out by the police while she kicked and screamed, claiming that they were disrespecting a mother’s right to stay with her beloved, deceased daughter. Ginger rolled her eyes at the argument, finally sauntering over to the grave with Diell in tow. 

“So… that’s that,” he said. “She’s gone.”

“I really want to grab a hammer and fuck up the headstone.” Ginger looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes. “One of those big sledgehammers. I want to just… go at it. I want to fucking destroy it.”

“I know.” He carefully pulled her closer, slow enough to give her plenty of chances to push him away if she didn’t want to be touched. But instead of pushing him away, she wrapped her arms around him, sobbing into his chest.

“It’s so unfair. It’s so unfair. We were there for years, and she just gets to go out like this? And– and then she gets a fucking funeral? And some disgusting, liar priest kissing her ass? What did any of her victims get? The ones who didn’t make it? What did Belle get? Or Sunny? What did the ones I didn’t even know get? What– what the fuck is wrong with people?” 

He rubbed circles into her back as he listened, survivor’s guilt, sorrow, and the anguish of injustice eating away at him too. Ginger was right, and it was a horrible feeling to know that neither of them could do a thing to right Grace’s wrongs. They especially couldn’t force her to right them herself, now. She was out, just like that, enjoying her vacation in Barbie hell somewhere. 

Ginger took a while to calm down. When she did, Diell gently pushed her away by the shoulders, looking into her puffy, red eyes. “It’s over, Maya,” he whispered, a part of him still scared that he might’ve uttered the magic words too soon.

She couldn’t get a word out before she had to cover her mouth with both hands, attempting to muffle her whimpers. “You fucking asshole,” she choked out, and Diell was worried he might’ve genuinely messed up. “You waited ‘till I was somewhat okay, and then you spring that shit on me? Why are you even bringing up the weird shit I told you during– what’s wrong with you?” She half-heartedly punched his arm, then wiped at her face with the sleeve of her sweater. 

“I– I’m sorry, I–”

She hugged him again, with even more momentum this time, her frail body slamming into his with the power of a three-tonne truck. “I can’t believe you actually remembered something so stupid. You really– you safekept it for me… You really did…”

Diell hesitantly put his arms around her again, waiting for her to change her stance on this again. But she didn’t. The two of them just stood there, right on top of Grace’s grave, in an embrace so tight it probably cracked some ribs. 

They didn’t leave the cemetery until the next morning. They didn’t even sleep, – or at least never at the same time, – they just sat on a nearby bench, watching the pile of dirt for any anomalies or paranormal activity. Hell, they wouldn’t have been surprised if Grace’s mother showed up again with candles and chicken blood. When nothing like that happened, they crawled back to the hospital, allowing themselves to be yelled at and sent for an immediate shower and check-ups. 

-

Messed up. It was entirely messed up that it had already been a year. While Diell had been with Grace each day seemed too long, but they also just blurred together. On the day of his escape, he’d been informed that he’d spent fifteen months in that hellhole. He later counted; exactly 477 days. More than a year. He both thought it had been shorter and longer than that, and honestly, he had no idea what to feel about the actual number.

He knew he was the newest acquisition at the time. No other doll had been added to the collection after his kidnapping, which made him the… luckiest? His one year was absolutely nothing compared to what he’d heard the twins say. Eight years… More than eight, even.

Maya had a more difficult time counting, both mentally and from a memory standpoint. At first, she didn’t want to do anything with the data. Her first order of business was to make an appointment with a hairdresser and get rid of her naturally ginger hair, demanding a deep blue to forest green gradient. She’d come home that day to see Diell on the computer, obsessively counting and recounting his days spent in captivity, and she flipped her hair and told him to enjoy being out.

Later that day, Diell saw her checking the calendar app against old newspaper clippings. “I can’t remember when I was taken. Can’t remember the day. I… I even got the year wrong.” 

Diell couldn’t even imagine. She had counted and counted, eventually coming up with the final numbers: 5 years and seven months, or 67 months, or 2039 days. They had both stared at the numbers for a very long time.

“I’m so much older now,” she’d whispered. “I’m twenty-six now. I… I was celebrating my twentieth that year.”

That wasn’t the only thing she had to reconcile with. Her disappearance had turned out to be the last nail in the coffin of her parents’ crumbling marriage. After she’d been presumed dead, her mother filed for a divorce. Her childhood home had been sold, and her parents were both in another relationship now, ones she wanted nothing to do with. She didn’t even tell them she had come back, dismissing their calls and slamming the door in her mother's face when she tried to visit.

She was living with Diell instead, in an apartment the two of them had bought with the compensation money they’d been awarded. He was now sitting on the couch, bouncing his leg and trying not to think about tomorrow.

“I invited Tai,” Maya said as she entered the living room. “They said yes, like, immediately. They didn’t even give me the whole ‘Oh, I don’t know, do I wanna hang out with losers?’ talk. I think they're stressed out too.”

Pepper had thought long and hard about the name change situation. They wanted something absolutely deadly and dangerous, but also something that sounded cool. They had browsed a long list of venomous snakes for days, finally settling on Taipan. “If I’d had venom back then, aside from just… insults, then I would’ve been fine. Manifesting or whatever.”

“It's weird,” Diell muttered. “Like, the whole anniversary thing. Just weird. I don’t like it.”

Maya sat down next to him, sighing heavily. “You think the others are also this fucked up from it?”

Diell shrugged. “You think it’s fucked that I don’t even text them anymore?” he asked quietly, the ever-present guilt in his heart throbbing a little more as he said the words. This time, it was Maya who shrugged.

“I don’t either. So either we’re both fucked, or neither of us is.”

They sat there in silence, listening to the clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Each second brought them closer to the dreaded day, increasing their anxiety tenfold. 

“Do you also have these… weird fears about it?” Maya whispered. “Like she’ll bust down the front door at midnight?”

“Yeah. Like, ‘haha, time’s up, you got to be free for a year, but now let’s get back to the–’ you know. Back to all that shit.”

Maya nodded without a word. She looked absolutely haunted, and if Diell had to guess, he probably looked similar. “It’s so stupid. I saw her be buried. It’s not like many people come back from the dead.”

“I know. I can’t logic it away either, though. So we’re just stuck with our weird paranoia.” He put his arm around her shoulders, gently pulling her closer. He’d learned early on that Maya would never ask to be comforted like that, but more often than not, she was very appreciative if someone made the decision for her. “But we have each other, right?”

“Yeah, Captain Cheesy.”

Taipan barged in with such force that both others jumped, flinching away from each other as if they’d been caught red-handed. “Stop doing that!” Diell snapped.

“Absolutely not!” They pointed in his vague direction with their cane. “How else would I prove that I’m still a menace?”

Their doll eyes were taken out almost immediately upon arriving at the hospital. Grace had done the sort of job on them that was expected of an amateur with no surgical knowledge or training, and the doctors worked tirelessly to reverse as much of the damage as possible. But before the operation even started, Taipan had been offered two routes they could go with their new prosthetics. Diell naively thought they’d jump on the opportunity to make it as natural as possible; he’d seen some absolutely amazing work on the wall of the private hospital’s ocularist.

Well… They were now rocking two pitch black orbs with realistic stars painted on them, looking like they held all the secrets of the universe behind them.

Maya laughed, jumping up to go and hug them. Diell watched the two of them with a smile, his fear-based irritation melting away. “I’m so glad you came, I need someone to back me up with the music choices.”

“I would never live with someone who refused to acknowledge that his taste is inferior and I should be the only one with party-music privileges.”

“I’m not gonna be bullied in my own home!” 

Maya stuck her tongue out at him; as did Tai, without even seeing that she was doing it too. Diell couldn’t stifle a grin. 

“Are we ordering pizza?” they asked as they walked over to the couch, plopping down right next to Diell. “There’s this new place that’s just opened, and I’m telling you, neither of you have ever seen cheese with a better pull quality. It’s glorious.”

“I mean, if they have Hawaiian–”

“You’re absolutely disgusting, Diell. I am stealing Maya away.”

Before more insults could’ve been thrown his way, Diell’s phone went off with a notification. Valerie’s name flashed on the screen, and he quickly checked the texts to see if it was something urgent. She probably wasn’t in the best headspace either.

By evening time, all four of them were sitting on the living room floor, eating pepperoni pizza off the coffee table. It was a weird little sleepover, with plenty of laughter and tears both. Sometimes they almost completely forgot about why they had even gathered together like this, and sometimes all they could talk about was Grace and their time spent in her pink little prison.

“When you can actually see, when you can actually get out and see the outside world, and know you’re not there– I imagine that’s different. I’m sure it was so different for Bora.” 

Maya was saying the words out loud, so Tai could also know what the conversation was about. Valerie had an easier time talking to them one on one; when a little group of them were together like this, it was easier to have someone translate as she signed. 

“But for me, all I had for the past years were sounds and scents. And touch. And Bora felt the same out here as he did back there. I just couldn’t stand it. He kept making me feel like I was still there.”

“Are you okay now, though? With us?” Diell asked, and Val nodded.

“Yeah.” She paused a little. “It’s different with everyone else. I don’t even understand how Bora could put aside his trauma to try and help me. It must’ve taken so much. Me leaving was the best decision for both of us, even if he was upset at the time.”

Diell glanced at Maya, wondering whether she felt the same way. Their ‘relationship’ at Grace’s place didn’t last more than maybe a couple months, and never went further than a kiss on the cheek or a peck on the lips. It wasn’t really comparable to what Val had talked about at the hospital. Still, he couldn’t help but hope he wasn’t going to lose his best friend.

“I fully get that. And you gotta put yourself first, right? That’s just how it is.” Tai felt around for another slice, and Diell quickly put one on their plate for them. “I’m sure he has plenty of people’s support from within Jonathan’s little group. And outside of that, too.”

“I’m sure as well.” Maya put a gentle hand on Val’s knee. “It’s not your responsibility to nurse others back to health when you’re still working on yourself. We’ve all been through a lot. You get out, you do the best you can– it’s all you can do.”

The conversations  fizzled out as they inched closer and closer to midnight. They were all either deathly still or fidgeting constantly, no inbetween. Diell and Maya were staring at the clock, giving quiet reminders of time’s passage. It was like the most fucked up New Year’s Eve party. 

“One minute.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Twenty.”

“Ten.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

Diell held his breath, and with how quiet the room had gotten, he assumed everyone else did too. He thought about that day from exactly a year ago; stabbing Grace, the feeling of blood sticking to his hands, the sun’s blinding light outside, the sirens of the ambulance and police cars, the bumpy road leading to the hospital. The funeral. Jonathan taking in some of his friends, giving them all a second chance at life, the first of which his sister had taken away beforehand.

“Happy anniversary?” Tai tried, half-jokingly, breaking the spell.

“Well, I’m fucking happy,” Maya said confidently, and Diell knew he was the only one who saw the tears shining in her eyes as she did so. He pretended not to. 

Through the open windows, they could hear all the street noise; cars coming and going, groups of intoxicated teenagers having a fun time, dogs barking at nothing. The world didn’t end at midnight. Grace didn’t show up to take them all back. 

“Maybe we should go to sleep,” Diell suggested. “I’m– Okay, I know it’s not very popular with you two to admit to having a shit time, but I’m honestly exhausted from all that stupid anxiety.”

“Maybe we’ll start admitting to it in this new year.” Maya playfully shoved him a little. “Go to sleep, grandpa. We’ll keep it down.”

Diell smiled, then went to take a long, very hot shower after saying his good nights. It was comforting to be able to do it alone, even if he sometimes still felt Grace’s hands on his naked body, scrubbing him down without a care, like he wasn’t even human. He avoided looking in the mirror when he got out, knowing that all he would see in it this late at night were blonde strands of hair and soulless blue eyes. 

He didn’t fall asleep for a long time, still just lying there by the time Maya came to crawl into bed with him. He turned towards her, noting the distinct scent of alcohol. “Maya?”

She hummed. “What?” 

“You didn’t drink too much, did you?”

“No such thing as too much. Not on the anniversary of your kidnapper’s death.” 

He scooted a little closer, pulling her into a hug. “Yeah, there is. And I’m so happy you didn’t overshoot this time.”

A whole year had passed. Instead of Ginger, Maya was now crying in his arms. They had different problems, even if none of them felt less serious than the ones from before. She wasn’t passed out on the floor, only slurring her words a little.

It would be okay. It would all be okay, in the end.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @lonesome--hunter @reblogging-whump @panic-and-chaos @kim-poce @uwu-scraptrappy @mikaelaix @whumpinggrounds @hidden-dreamland @the-scrapegoat @whumplr-reader @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpinthepot @devourerofcheesecake

#dollhouse #whump #whump writing #major character death #funeral #aftermath of trauma #paranoia #anxiety #police mention #hospital stay #murder mention #alcohol mention #implied past alcohol problems #implied past noncon #lady whump #implied eye gore #aftermath of surgery #past captivity #divorce #estranged family #recovery #comfort

[ashintheairlikesnow]

how might finn be doing on this fine evening?

CW: Unreliable narrator, memory issues as a result of trauma, emotional manipulation, gaslighting (or is it?) referenced captivity (or implied captivity of a different kind, depending on how you read it)...

Death Valley

-

North Carolina, Present Day

Wind blew with a knife edge around the rest area, and Finn hunched his shoulders against its bite as he sat, watching Little Mother stalking with single minded precision across the grass. What she was hunting, he had no idea, but she was intent on its capture.

"Take care, Mütterchen," He called out. "Do not go too far."

One of her rabbit-soft ears flicked, the only sign she heard him. Her tail shifted sinuous through the grass, back and forth, back and forth, as she moved with her belly nearly to the ground. Her kittens gamboled around beside him, staying where Finn's body and the bulk of his truck hid them from the worst of the cold. Little Mother trusted him to keep them safe for her while she wandered, and Finn did his best to be worthy of that trust. He dragged a little string along the ground, coaxing the kittens into stalking it, batting at it with paws that had more enthusiasm than aim.

Overhead, heavy gray clouds threatened to finally unleash the sleet the radio had been promising was coming. They hung so low the wisps of them seemed to hover just above the ancient rounded mountains that stretched all around him. If he stood, he could reach up and nearly touch them, feel wisps of damp chill around his fingertips. The rest stop was perched on the top of a mountain itself, the highest point in the state supposedly. There'd been a plaque over by the building.

Finn remembered, in a vague and foggy way, that he had hiked up younger mountains once, with jagged peaks that seemed sharp enough to slice apart the stars at night. He'd gone with friends of his, and a girl he sometimes fooled around with.

Then he'd left for his American holiday, just after, promising he'd show her photos when he got back.

He never came back.

His mother had gotten the film from his little disposable cameras, developed the photos. He'd seen his own smiling face in a photo another tourist had taken of him standing, framed by the Badwater Basin salt flats. Schneider's last photo on the camera found in the wreckage of his vehicle.

Even if he hadn't made it back home to show her, he supposed Anja would have seen all the photos that were released to the public by now. Had she married? Had Anja found herself a husband, had children, built herself the normal life she'd dreamed of? Had she forgotten all about some silly, enthusiastic boy in her class who had once kissed her breathless in a tent with their noses both frozen from the outside chill?

He put his fingers to his lips, but he couldn't remember how kissing her had felt, not anymore. Robert had painted over it all with this slime-slick touch, the smell of decay and lemon-scented cleaner fighting for dominance.

Any passing attraction Finn felt for anyone anymore was only a brief flash of something warm before the memory of Robert froze over him, shattered him all over again.

Children giggled somewhere nearby, a family ushering distracted little ones with too much energy for their tiny size into the building. Would those children know who to run from, if they needed to? Would they know not to trust the friendly smile of a stranger, not to take their own water bottle if he had touched it?

Would they-

"You didn't tell me you got a cat," Noah said from off to the side, and Finn dropped his hand, muscles tensing. He stopped pulling the string, and the kittens set up a chorus of meows, angry that their game had come to such a sudden end. One of them hissed in Noah's direction, tiny fangs bared. "Or...multiple cats."

"Mütterchen," Finn answered, gruffly, gesturing to where Little Mother had gone a few feet away. "She came to stay with me and had the kittens." He didn't look up, even as his heart began to beat faster, heavy inside his chest. "It is nice to have company, driving."

"No doubt." Noah, without asking, dropped to sit right next to him, nearly brushing Finn's left arm with his right. Finn tensed, shifting just enough to put a little space between them again. "Mütterchen, that's cute. What's it mean? Mother-... mother-hen?"

"Little Mother." Finn hated that Noah knew it now, that it felt like simply explaining it to him ruined the fragile love he had for her name. "Why are you here?"

"You turned your phone back on." Noah was looking at him - Finn could feel the weight of his eyes, even though he refused to give him anything in return. His voice was low, outwardly worried. "I told you to stay here, and I came to you. Do you... not remember that conversation?"

Sometimes Finn forgot things. Whole days, entire conversations, events... his memory came and went as it pleased, and only his time with Robert remained clearly etched into his mind, as much as the scars were carved eternally into his skin. Noah sounded concerned for him, but... Finn bristled, anyway. Something felt false in the tone, like he was acting.

Of course he was acting.

He was just upset the Mouse had been hiding in the walls, on the road, where he couldn't find him.

Finn cleared his throat. "No, this I know. I know we spoke, Noah, I did not forget, but. Why did you want to meet me?"

"Why? Finn-" Noah groaned, exasperated. "Come on. You up and vanished, man. Why was your phone off for a week, huh? Your phone, laptop... everything. The GPS in your truck, even. You could have been hurt, or dead, or in a cage somewhere again-"

Finn had to swallow the rising spike of panic at the idea. He could have been, couldn't he? And no one would know, once again no one would know. Just like before.

Noah leaned forward, his voice soft and sweet and sad. "What happened to you? What have you been doing?"

Finn had spent days bundled in the tent, watching the kittens and feeling warm down to his bones even with the icy chill outside. Inside the tent, they kept warm, he, Little Mother, and her kittens. He cooked ready-to-eat meals on a campfire in a pot that he washed using water from a stream. He'd felt entirely, perfectly alone. It had been wonderful.

Had Noah been worried that he was dead?

Guilt gnawed, even as half of him was sure it hadn't been worry but anger that Finn wasn't under his thumb, if he couldn't reach him and follow him and track him and-

And keep him-

"I wanted some time to myself," He muttered, hardly able to get the volume up to be heard. "That is all."

"Right." Noah sighed. "Yeah, no, take whatever time off you want, you know you're helping me out with transporting the, uh, the cargo to be sure, but... Finn." Noah paused. Finally, Finn cut a glance to the side, barely meeting those falsely warm, kind, soft eyes and that slight smile with his own solid closed-off nothingness. "Finn, look at me."

When his gaze didn't stick, Noah reached out and took him by the chin with his gloved hands, forcing him to make eye contact. Finn's muscles locked in a sudden burst of fear but he didn't move. He didn't dare move.

He always froze, for Robert.

"You can't turn that shit off," Noah said, voice low and soft. Poison underneath the velvet, Finn knew all about it. Fury under the false worry. Robert could speak so sweet and kind like that, and then beat him until he broke a rib and feel nothing. "I get worried when I don't know where you've gone off to. You get lost, Finn, and you and I both know it. You get lost in your head, you forget where you are or what you've been doing. You forget how to call for help. You forget everything."

Finn found himself trembling, fighting to stay still. The kittens pushed against his fingers and he pet them with numb hands, a little too roughly, staring at Noah because the other man hadn't yet let go and he didn't dare pull away. "I, I don't-... so much anymore-"

"You do." Noah's voice dipped, became firmer. "You still do. Don't lie to me." He let go, patting Finn's face briefly, and then looked down at one little kitten who had pushed against his leg, letting his fingers dangle so the little one could bat at them. "Remember when the, uh-" He glanced sidelong to see if anyone was paying attention to them, but no one was. "Remember when the runaways had to call me because you forgot how to use a phone? Just sat in the truck's cab talking to yourself for hours? When you kept trying to dial German phone numbers?"

Finn kept his eyes on the ground, feeling a blush heat his face even as he hunched his shoulders to hide it. "... I remember that they took the phone away and called you."

"And you spent months in the little house I rented for you barely able to even remember to brush your own teeth-"

"That was many years ago, Noah, when I first was sold to you-"

"Ssshhh! Even aside from that, what about just a few months ago, when you kept watching crime docs on Netflix and had nightmares for weeks on end and stopped answering to anything but Mouse?"

Finn stiffened, and his hands went up to hold his head as he dropped it, fingers digging into his short hair, eyes closed against heat he refused to acknowledge was tears. His head began to ache, a low pounding throb behind his temples. "Stop," He whispered, but Noah wasn't done.

Noah never stopped.

No one ever stopped because Finn asked them to, or begged, or pleaded...

"If you don't want to work, then stop working," Noah continued, putting a hand up to rub at Noah's back, circling and circling his palm, sending shudders of discomfort down Finn's spine. "Do whatever you want. I don't care, it's fine, you can even keep using the truck. But I'm not drowning in money, and I can't keep giving you cash if you're not doing your job, if you just stop contacting me and I can't even see where you are. I'm not rich, Finn. This isn't a lucrative business, saving people. You're a huge help to me, and I'm grateful for that. But... you can't keep making me worry about you and then acting like I don't have the right, after everything I've done for you. It's cruel, don't you think? You're like a brother to me, and when you just go off the grid for a week, I get so worried, and I don't deserve that. Not after the years I've taken care of you."

Finn watched Little Mother pounce, but she must not have caught her prey. Her tail twitched in dismayed annoyance, and she turned to look at him. He watched her eyes go to Noah. Back to him. Finn swallowed, barely daring to breathe, to move, not even daring to speak. His heart hammered inside of him, sweat stuck his sweater to his back beneath his coat.

"I don't have any identification that's real here," Finn muttered, voice weak. "I can't get a job that is not cash under tables. I-I have no passport, even-... Robert-"

"He took your passport, I know. And if you keep working for me, that's not a problem, I'll take care of you," Noah said, shifting to soothing. He patted Finn on the back and then dropped his hand, leaving crawling goosebumps like ripples in a pond, rolling out disgust over Finn's body. "If you don't want to do this anymore, that's fine. Strike out on your own, go with God, have my blessings, whatever. But I can't just... pay for you for everything forever. Everyone has to earn their keep, around here."

Robert used to say that all the time. Earn your keep. Finn earned his keep, as Robert's Mouse, on his knees or his back or his stomach or listening to the screams from the basement with the muzzle locking his jaw tightly closed, he couldn't even scream with them-

He shivered, shaking his head. "I do not want to stop," He whispered, lips barely moving. "I-I have nowhere to go, no one... I took a week off, Noah, that is all. Just a week-"

"You can take a week off whenever you want." Noah stood, brushing his hands down his thighs as if getting rid of some invisible dust. "Let me know first, and I'll make sure you have no work to do. But if you turn off your phone and your GPS again, I'm going to assume that means you quit, and I'll cancel your phone line and your debit card. So make sure I know where you are. Got it?"

Finn didn't look up. He held Little Mother's gaze as she moved closer to him, her tail a question mark, rubbing her face against his leg and giving a soft, curious meow.

"Hey." Noah nudged his other leg with his boot, and Finn flinched as if he'd been struck. "Oh, man. Hey, don't be like that." Noah softened once more - or his voice did. Finn didn't look up to see his expression. "I just want to know you hear me. I can't spend all my time worrying about you. Make sure I know where you are, from here on out. No exceptions. None. Understood?"

Finn swallowed. His throat felt like it had closed, like his heart had filled it with too much fear to speak. But he managed to whisper, "I understand, Noah."

"Good. I have a job to do here, a couple people to pick up and take to Vermont. You take a couple days to think about our conversation. I expect a call at 8 pm on Thursday, no later than that. If you don't call, I'll assume you quit and act accordingly. Stay safe."

He walked away, and Finn let him go, sitting in the smallest ball he could make of himself, listening to the happy people laughing and chatting around him as they took in the mountain views on every side.

Noah had Finn's passport.

He was sure of it - he was sure he remembered Robert handed it over when he sold Finn to him, when Robert's little Mouse was handed from one man's care to the next, silent and shivering through the experience.

But by the time he'd found the courage to ask, Noah had said there hadn't been any passport, just the title to the truck changing hands.

But Finn remembered it.

Then again, Finn remembered things that hadn't happened all the time, now. He forgot things that had happened, or that would happen. Noah was right, he barely remembered anything, really. Maybe that was something that hadn't happened, too.

Maybe...

But he was so sure, and the memory was so clear...

"Komme, Mütterchen," He said, pushing himself to his feet on wobbling legs. Little Mother and her kittens reluctantly allowed him to put them back into the truck, one by one. He made sure his phone was on and charging, his laptop, checked the GPS that was installed. Just as Noah told him to.

Good little Mouse, closing the door to his own cage.

At least, Finn thought, Noah's cage was so much larger than Robert's had been.

Even if it still wasn't freedom.

#death valley fic #finn schneider #unreliable narrator #gaslighting tw #manipulation tw #traumatized whumpee #memory loss tw #past captivity #or even current #captivity #depending on how you view the situation... #whumper caretaker #caretaker whumper

[em-writes-stuff]

knife to the throat

@febuwhump day 4

characters: whumpee, caretaker

warnings: (implied) captivity, knife, blood, let me know if i missed any

750 words

---

She dives under a truck and watches heavy boots run past her. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath. Her fingers fumble to take the glass out of her pocket. She grips the shard, ignoring how it digs into her skin. She winces and bites her cheek so she doesn’t cry out.

She can feel her heartbeat in her fingers as blood trickles onto the ground. The footsteps fade and she exhales slowly, a tear sliding down her cheek. 

She laughs weakly and her grip loosens on the glass. For just a moment, she closes her eyes and ignores the cold seeping through her tattered clothes and the grit on her face. 

After waiting another ten minutes for good measure, she slides out from under the truck and stands. She shakes small pebbles out of her hair and stares at the moon in awe, it was never this clear when she looked through the window.

She jumps back just before a car runs into her and she stumbles back onto the sidewalk, tripping on the curb and falling against the wall. Her head cracks against the brick and she yelps. 

Shaking her head, she rights herself and walks on, head held high. 

Someone runs past her and she reaches into her pocket, trying to get her glass shard in case they were sent by Whumper to bring her back, but the shard isn’t there. 

She pants and collapses onto the ground, this new level of vulnerability suddenly making it impossible for her to move. Where was the glass? Where had she left it? 

She can’t go back for it. Not now. There’s not enough time. 

She stands up straight and walks forward, muttering an address to herself over and over, until the numbers lose all meaning. Until she makes it there. 

Her breathing slows and she stares at the door, hand painted yellow. She helped paint it. 

Her hand hovers over the doorbell. She takes a deep breath and pushes it. 

The cheerful ring sounds through the apartment and she closes her eyes for a moment. Is this real? 

The lock clicks and her eyes snap open. 

“It’s the middle of the night? What do yo-” they stop. “Whumpee?”

She stands there, head high and arms at her side. Caretaker looks her over, eyes ghosting over the scars and the dirt caked into her hair. “What happened to you?” Whumpee looks up and shakes her head. Her lip quivers and tears well in her eyes. “Okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

They reach out for her and she jerks back, nearly falling over to avoid the touch. Caretaker pulls back and stifles a sob. They move aside and let Whumpee walk into the apartment. 

“Do you want anything to eat? How about a shower? Some different clothes?” they ask. Whumpee stares around the living room. The couch is moved to a different corner and that plant wasn’t there before. 

She ignores Caretaker and collapses onto the couch, legs dangling off the side. Within seconds, she’s asleep. 

Caretaker watches her. They stare at the irritated skin rubbed raw on her ankle. This isn’t right. 

They turn around and take a deep breath, ignoring their every instinct yelling at them to wake Whumpee up and ask what happened. They slide down the wall onto the floor, head in their hands. 

Caretaker jerks awake, their head hitting the wall. “Shit!” they curse, rubbing the back of their head. 

They stand and look into the living room at Whumpee. She’s fully on the couch now, her head on the other side from where she was before. Caretaker walks into the hallway and gets a blanket from the closet. 

They cover Whumpee with the blanket, gently smoothing it out over her shoulder. They reach to sweep some hair out of her face but Whumpee jolts up. 

She jumps to her feet and pushes Caretaker back against the wall, something sharp presses against her throat. 

“Whumpee!” Caretaker says, “It’s just me!” 

Whumpee’s eyes focus and she pulls back, hands hanging limply at her side as Caretaker rubs their throat. She drops the knife and it clatters to the ground. Her mouth opens, then closes, and she shakes her head. 

Caretaker stands there as she lays back down on the couch, pulling the blanket up to her chin. They bend down and pick the knife up before walking into the kitchen and running it under water and putting it back in the knife block. 

#febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday4 #knife to the throat #knife to throat #whump #whump fic #whumpee #whump writing #caretaker #escaping captivity #past captivity #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing

[suspensefulpen]

Whumpuary Day 30: Aftermath

TW: Past Torture, Captivity, Bad Caretaker and Character Deaths

@whumpuary

Whumpee sat on the chair underneath the shade of the porch awning. Seeing pure greenery around them was refreshing. They loved to be outside. It made them feel at ease, less boxed in. They felt a reason to smile. All of the pretty flowers blooming around them made them hopeful about the future.

They remembered seeing all those same flowers years ago. When they were broken and without a home or a soul to care about them. When they had to bring themself up from the ground where they’d spent a huge part of their life. It never seemed to get better. They met two people who they believed would be the people that would bring light into their life.

It turned out that Whumpee judged incredibly wrong. Nothing would ever make them forget about Whumper and Caretaker. They were the most sadistic humans Whumpee had ever met. After showing their true colors, Whumper took their time in hurting them. The pain came either slow and dull or quick and sharp. There was never an in between. Then they met Caretaker, who after some time, was quickly revealed to be a fake working with Whumper. Whumpee had to admit, the way Caretaker had tricked them into believing they were genuine was actually quite smart.

For several months, there was a huge back and forth between the two, arguing and even hurting each other just to get to Whumpee and break them in any way possible. And now, several years later after their deaths, the memories still linger in Whumpee’s mind today. The road to recovery had been long. And painful even. But now Whumpee was happy, thriving and healthy. While they still weren’t fully healed from their trauma yet, they knew that someday they’d be like all the pretty flowers that grew in their garden.

Bold, happy and free.

#whumpuary #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno30 #aftermath #whump #whump writing #past trauma #past captivity #past torture #bad caretaker #sadistic whumper #caretaker turned Whumper #multiple whumpers #character death #mentioned character death #creative writing #writeblr #writer things #writers on tumblr

[whumpacabra]

20. 10/10 Interrogation

Angst, past trauma, past captivity, referenced military setting, referenced torture, referenced murder, fictional politics

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

“Sargent Harrison Gomez. Translator and technician for TF-42, deployed from Carson City, Nevada Tuesday June 3rd, 2003.” The words were practically a script, slurred between bloodied teeth between screams from broken bones. A prayer, a litany against surrender. But he wasn’t there anymore - there was no surrender to fear here. Wherever here was. Harrison paused as the Deputy scribbled down the information in his notebook. “Can I ask a - a dumb question?”

“Sure.” Thomas looked up, still parsing the words he had transcribed.

“Where - where am I? Where’s - I know this is Cedar Creek or - or something - but…”

“You’re in Cedar Hills, Idaho. Southwest corner of the state - just north of the Nevada line.” His eyes scanned over his notepad, brow furrowed. Harrison interrupted whatever thoughts were churning behind those dark eyes.

“Okay - okay. Okay. Dumb question number - number two - what’s today date?”

“February 29th, 2004. Leap year and all.”

8 months.

He had spent the last 8 months buried beneath the same soil he was sworn to protect. He had spent the last 8 months bleeding and starving and bearing witness to horrific human rights abuses on that soil.

8 months.

It felt longer - it felt wrong that years, or decades hadn’t passed. It felt wrong that more than a few days or weeks had been lost to pain and fear and grief. Had they been declared MIA? KIA? He was supposed to see his mother for Christmas that year - his niece Mel was so excited to show grandma her new knitting skills.

8 months.

He missed the new Lord of the Rings movie.

He wanted to laugh and cry and scream.

“Okay.” Harrison nodded, voice flat and expression blank. Laughing and crying and screaming didn’t help in the bunker, and it wouldn’t help now. He was lucky this small town cop hadn’t shot him on sight - a haggard, blood covered man of color half hysterical with panic and dehydration.

“You don’t seem okay with that…are you sure you’re - ”

“No, but it won’t change time and space if I was.” Harrison shrugged, shaking his head as if it would help clear the desire to scream until his lungs gave out. “Sorry, just - just wanted to get myself oriented. What were you going to ask next?”

“Sure, sure…” Thomas wasn’t convinced but the suspicion in his eyes was drowned by gentle curiosity. “You’re Sargent Harrison Gomez, and he is..?” The deputy nodded his head toward the door they had taken Wolf through.

“Wolf.” Harrison swallowed the half formed sentences on his tongue. He tortured me, my squadmates - killed my CO with a rabid dog and made us watch. He was tortured in ways I can’t imagine surviving. He got thrown into the same dark hole as me when we were left for dead. He got us out of the Box. He saved me from a fate worse than death. He took a bullet for me. I hate him and I can’t at the same time. “Just - I only know him as the Wolf.”

“He’s not one of your squadmates?” It was an honest question, Thomas’ brow pinched in thought. Harrison strangled the flare of offense in his gut - how dare he put the Wolf on the same level of comradeship as Elias and Merrick and Orson and Thatch and Clement -

“No. No, he - he was just in the shithole as us.” They had been there for 8 months. How long had the Wolf been down there? Was his real name on one of the dog tags weighing heavy in Harrison’s pocket?

“Oh. You two seemed…well acquainted.”

“Between getting shot at together and talking to him for however long to keep him awake until…until he stopped talking…well, we aren’t friends, but he’s not some random stranger.”

It was odd to consider. He knew more about his torturer than he knew about Thomas, or Dan, or Merrill. (Not that he knew much.)

“Is there anything identifying you know about him? Outside of his name, of course.”

“German. I think he’s German - he - he spoke German when he was…scared.” Harrison swallowed thickly, forcing down the memory of the Box and the Dark and the smell as the Wolf begged him not to touch him. “His Arabic is good. Accent was always just a little off - makes more sense after hearing him in his mother tongue.”

“Why was he speaking in Arabic?” Harrison opened his mouth, and then closed it. Thomas’ body language shifted, a tension gathering in his jaw. “Son, we won’t hurt you boys, but if you know something that could save lives - ”

“They weren’t terrorists.” Harrison bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing back the spark of anger in his chest. He thought they had been. He thought for so long he was under a different continent’s sand. “They were American.”

“Are you sure?”

“I - I’m not crazy.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“Don’t.” Harrison felt a cruel laugh bubble in his throat. “Don’t you fucking dare - I’ve spent the last fucking 8 months thinking I was watching terrorists torture and - and murder my squadmates only to crawl out and find I’m not a day’s travel from home.” The laugh hiccuped into a sob. “If they’re terrorists and - and they somehow got set up out here then this damn country is fucked. They’ve got enough men and firepower there to wipe out this town overnight.”

“You’ve been through a lot.” What a polite way to call him insane. But he didn’t have the energy to flinch away from Thomas’ gentle, steady hand as he rubbed Harrison’s shoulder. “How about we talk once you’ve rested up a bit? I’ll…keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“The hard drive…” His voice was hoarse, throat strangling his words. “The - there’s a duffel in the truck. We grabbed anything we could - I, there’s a hard drive.” Thomas’ eyes flicked away, guilt in his voice.

“We don’t have any computers in town. County library has a few…”

Of course this hick town wouldn’t have a single computer between them. Harrison’s sobs turned to gasping sighs.

“I’m sorry. I’m - I’m not lying. I wish - maybe - 8 fucking months.”

He was too tired to cry anymore today.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds

#whump #angst #past trauma #past captivity #military setting #reference torture #referenced character death #fictional politics #<- kinda but also. not? post 9/11 us culture was insane yall it poisoned everything #freelancers au #queueing this up bc idk what its gonna be like now that im Home w the Family for the Holidays tm #also yeh: im happy to tag anyone who wants to be tagged!!! pls let me know :]