#electrocution mention tw

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy — Communication

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

Molly knocks on Tracy’s bedroom door. “Dear? Are you hungry? I made you lunch."

Tracy sighs before unlocking and opening the door. It’s not like a lock could ever actually keep her safe, anyway, and she’s not going to get any closer to escaping by staying in her room all day.

Molly holds out a plate with a sandwich and grapes, and Tracy takes it.

“How’s your eye? Do you want a painkiller?”

Tracy shakes her head. There’s no way she’d ever accept pills from Molly.

“I’m really sorry.” Molly’s voice is strained and her eyes are misty. Tracy wants to hit her— how can she feel so guilty that she’s on the verge of tears but still not even consider letting Tracy go??

“Stop. Stop apologizing, I don’t want an apology unless it comes with being let out of here.”

Molly sniffles. “Okay. Sor— okay. I won’t apologize if it upsets you. Do you… want to restart the movie we were watching earlier?”

“…fine.” Staying in her room won’t accomplish anything. This way she can at least…

Well, surely spending time with Molly will accomplish something, if staying in her room won’t. She just hasn’t figured out what it’ll accomplish yet.

While Molly puts the movie back on, Tracy eats her lunch. When she’s done, she just drops the plate and lets it fall onto the carpet. Molly quickly scoops it up and takes it to the kitchen.

Tracy sits in the farthest seat from Molly’s usual spot on the couch. The movie is something animated with a lot of mice, but Tracy's having trouble focusing on it. Her only plan for escape once again involves waiting until nightfall, and she hates it. She wishes she'd asked Molly to put on the video game she played yesterday instead, at least that stopped her mind from wandering. Now all she can think about is how trapped she is.

Fuck, if she can't escape soon, her sister won't even know what happened. Alicia will think Tracy abandoned her, just… up and left without even saying goodbye, despite all the promises Tracy made about getting custody of her.

She's probably already hurting. She's probably tried to call or text Tracy in the time since Molly kidnapped her, and she probably thinks Tracy's ignoring her. Every second she stays here is a second for Alicia to wonder if Tracy's mad at her and worry herself sick, and Tracy's completely trapped and powerless. Alicia is hurting because Tracy's not there for her and she can't be there for her and what if she gets hurt by someone else?? Tracy's not there to protect her, anything could happen!

Molly leaves the kitchen. "Do you want a snack while we watch the movie? Popcorn? Hot chocolate? Ice cream? I'll get you anything you wan– What's wrong?"

Tracy realizes she's crying and wipes her eyes. "I want to go home!"

"No, you don't. What's really wrong?"

The tears won't stop falling. "My sister's going to think I hate her! She'll be crushed if I never come back, she'll have no one, and– and I miss her! I want to go home!"

"Alicia is fine, and I'm always willing to bring her to you if you just ask." Molly reaches out to touch Tracy, but stops herself.

"No! Let me go, stop– I'm scared, you're scaring me, I don't want to be here!"

"I know, dear." Her voice is shaky. "I have your phone. I can send her something so she knows you didn't abandon her, how does that sound?"

Of course she has Tracy's phone. Of course. Tracy digs her fingernails into her palms to try and stop herself from doing something that’ll get her shocked by the cattle prod.

“Have you— have you been using it? Have you been texting her?”

Molly shakes her head. “I’m… not confident in my ability to imitate you, even over text. And recently you made it clear you didn’t want me to interfere with her.”

Tracy gets up and starts pacing, trying to expel the blistering anger growing inside of her without attacking Molly. “Has she texted me?”

“Yes. She texts you memes and complaints about her teachers, and she doesn’t seem to suspect anything.”

Tracy punches the nearest wall with as much force as she can muster. Unsurprisingly, all that accomplishes is making her knuckles hurt. "Is there any way you'd tell her the truth? That I'm being held against my will?"

"No, I can't do that. The risk of you being found would be too great. Do you want me to grab you a pillow to hit, dear? I don't want you to hurt your hand."

Was the basement always this small? The walls seem to be closing in. "No, I'm fine. Could you– would you– what about telling her that I was forced to leave by something out of my control and that I'm trying to get back to her?"

"You'd be giving her false hope, unless you plan on taking me up on my offer to bring her to you. But yes, I can tell her that."

"Great, do that now." At least she can be honest with Alicia, even in this vague way. "And tell her that I love her and miss her, and that if I can't answer texts for a while it has nothing to do with her and everything to do with me being in a bad situation."

"Your phone is upstairs, is it okay if I leave you for a minute to go do that?"

"Yes, go!"

"You won't find some way to hurt yourself while I'm gone?"

"I won't, just go!"

"I'll be right back, then."

As Molly unlocks the basement door, the thought that Tracy could try pushing past her and running up the stairs forms instinctually. But there's another door at the top of the stairs, and she'd probably get shocked in 'self defense' just for trying. Tracy's only option is to watch one of the doors keeping her trapped here open and close without doing anything about it.

Looking for a distraction, Tracy peruses Molly's many bookshelves while she waits. It's a very wide variety, carefully organized alphabetically by author. There are quite a few college textbooks, which seems like a very expensive choice for a personal library.

The bookshelf full of games has a bunch of jigsaw puzzles as well as the board and card games. Tracy can't remember the last time she put together a jigsaw puzzle. Maybe it could be a way to distract herself while waiting for the sun to set.

Molly comes back with a backpack that she sets in the corner of the room. "I sent what you said to Alicia. Do you feel better?"

"I feel… less worried about Alicia. What's the bag for?"

"I said I'd bring rope in case I needed it to restrain you, remember? That way you can have more range of movement than you did while restrained by my belt."

"...right."

"Do you want popcorn or anything?"

Tracy shakes her head and Molly sits in her usual spot on the couch.

Tracy takes a flower-themed jigsaw puzzle from the bookshelf. She's not sure if the table will be big enough for it, so she just dumps it out onto the soft carpet and starts sorting edge pieces, feeling a bit rebellious for doing so without asking.

“Oh! Can I join you?” Molly asks.

“I can’t stop you.”

“I won’t join if you don’t want me to, dear.”

Well… maybe it’ll make it more believable to ask for Molly to stay the night if Tracy agrees? Maybe she can make it seem like she’s desperate for company, even from someone she hates. “…you can join me.”

“Yay!” Molly plops down next to Tracy on the floor. “I can start sorting the non-edge pieces by color, does that sound good?”

Tracy nods and keeps sorting.

With a task in front of her, it’s easier to pay attention to the movie. It seems to be some kind of Sherlock Holmes parody? Molly’s taste in movies is… interesting. She’d offered to let Tracy choose the movie, but when Tracy declined, this kid’s movie is what Molly picked. Maybe Molly sees her as a child.

They spend hours on the puzzle. When the movie ends, Molly puts on another one (again, Tracy is given the option to choose, and again she refuses). They make it through four more movies before Molly takes a break to go make dinner.

Tracy barely notices that Molly left, or the movie finishing soon after. She manages to finish the puzzle on her own, which is very satisfying.

As she basks in her victory, she starts to notice the consequences of working on a puzzle for 7 straight hours. Spending the whole time on the ground can’t have helped. Her back and knees ache, her mouth is dry, and she’s really hungry.

A heavenly smell draws her to the kitchen. Molly smiles when she sees Tracy.

“Did you finish the puzzle? I hope there weren’t any pieces missing.”

“There weren’t.”

“Perfect! I counted all the pieces in those puzzles before you got here, but I could’ve made mistakes. But I didn’t! At least not with that one. I’m almost done with this garlic pasta, does that sound good?”

“…how do you— you said you stocked the kitchen with my favorite foods, and now you’re making my favorite meal. How do you know stuff like that?”

“…I think that would just upset you. What would you like for sides?”

“Huh? Oh…” she could keep pushing, but Molly’s right. It would just upset her, and she can’t do anything about it. “A salad is fine as a side.”

There are premade salads already in the fridge, so Tracy just gets one herself and pours it into two bowls, assuming Molly’s going to want to eat with her. She tosses the now empty bag into the trash. Molly prepares two plates of pasta, and the two of them go to the table for their meal.

Hunger and habit make Tracy want to eat as fast as she can, but she eats slowly anyway. It’s a small show of trust, implying that Tracy trusts Molly to not take food from her. That’ll make it more believable when she asks Molly to sleep down here.

“How’re your hands?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll help you replace the bandages after dinner. How’s… how’s your eye?”

Tracy’s very familiar with black eyes, and she knows this one isn’t very bad, probably because Molly iced it right away. “Fine.”

“Let me know if you want any pain medication, okay?”

“Mhm.”

They eat in silence for a bit before Molly clears her throat. “Tracy? It’s been a couple of days, and you haven’t changed clothes since you got here. Which is fine! I’m just… would you mind telling me why?”

Despite knowing about the closet and dresser full of her stolen clothes, it hasn’t even occurred to Tracy to change. “I don’t plan on staying for long.”

“What does that have to do with changing your clothes?”

“Do you have a camera in my room or something? Why are you so insistent about this?”

“I don’t have a camera in your room, or anywhere down here. I’m just concerned. Wouldn’t you be, if someone you cared about started to neglect their hygiene?”

“You don’t—“ Tracy cuts herself off and takes a deep breath. What does Molly want to hear? “You’re right. I should probably shower and brush my teeth, too.”

Molly brightens. “Good idea!”

Tracy finishes her dinner and grabs some pajamas from her dresser. She showers, puts on the pajamas, and brushes her teeth. Molly got her a new toothbrush and toothpaste, but they’re the same brand as the ones at home. The soaps in the shower are also familiar brands. How does Molly know all this?

It’s alright. This is her last night here.

When she leaves the bathroom, she finds Molly curled up on the couch, reading a book.

“Oh, hi dear. Come here, I’ll rebandage your hands.”

Tracy had removed the bandages to shower. She doesn’t think her hands really need to be rebandaged, but she lets Molly do it anyway, after tossing the bundle of clothes she was wearing before into her room.

“Are you feeling tired, dear? I’m about ready for bed. Are you okay with me going upstairs for the night?”

“…No. Please stay with me.”

Molly smiles. “Of course! I’m so glad you feel safe enough to ask me to stay. Is it okay if I go up for just a minute to change into my pajamas?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s fine.”

“I’ll be right back.” Molly makes sure to grab the backpack before she goes upstairs.

Tracy knows she’ll only be waiting a few minutes, but she still can’t just sit and do nothing. She paces around until Molly returns.

Molly comes back with the backpack, a pillow, and a blanket. “Where do you want me?”

Tracy had kind of expected Molly to want to share the bed, so it takes her a second to realize what Molly’s asking. “Oh, um… the couch?” She won’t be able to watch Molly and know exactly when she falls asleep, but that wasn’t necessary anyway.

Molly puts the backpack next to the couch and sets up her blanket and pillow. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush to go to sleep, instead she opens her book back up and starts reading.

She’ll go to sleep eventually. Tracy heads into the bedroom.

“Goodnight, dear. I love you.”

“…goodnight.”

Just one more long wait, and she’ll be able to go home.

[olliesmultimuse]

@halfdent sent: “ it has to be electrocution alternating currents ! It’s a deadly dance of opposites ! Positive , negative ! Positive , negative ! Don’t you get the poetry of it ?! ” / for Damien Wayne!

unprompted asks (always accepting)

"...are you talking science and physics right now?" Damian questioned in genuine surprise, raising an eyebrow. As much as he wants to agree with the man right in front of him, he has to admit he felt rather intimidated by the man's height. "Electrocution is...one way to torture others, possibly murder."

[mvsicinthedvrk]

@tragcdysewn said : [LICK] - sender licks a himalayan salt lamp while receiver… witnesses it i guess (feng xin and xie lian i am so sorry)

"Feng Xin..." Xie Lian begins hesitantly, watching the other stick his tongue near what is definitely an electrical device. He doesn't have as poor luck as Xie Lian does, so he's not likely to get electrocuted, but it's still mildly concerning all the same. "I don't think that lamp is meant to be... licked? If you'd like something salty I'm sure I can make something edible for you..."

[lesiasmadness]

Consider: chaos emerald assisted necromancy

No context for this one, just having fun with an edgy idea

Here's some more:

Bonus:

[rainbow-beanie]

My reaction to sonic idw issue #56

Wow, it was actually pretty nice of eggman to save sonic from being electrocuted in the water. Pretty sure his main reason for doing so is because he wants to be the one to defeat sonic, and not be outdone by electric water.

A few pages later…

WHA- HOLY SHIIIIIT!!! I’m upset this had been brought up in the next issue, since I’m pretty sure hearing sonic had been thrown into electric water would be greatly troubling. But the restoration had to take down an eggman city, so guess that had to take priority. Not that Sonic would ever admit he had been badly hurt

[accidental-tally-hall-reference]

i need to be executed

In the electric chair, perhaps?

[otter-chaos-violence]

mining but whump (especially pre-industrail safety guidelines)

black lung, silicosis, falling off the ladders, carbon monoxide poisoning, mayve whumpee's the bird they bring down, cave ins, electrocution, axphyxsiation, trapped under rubble, boss is working Whumpee until they die, dynamite accidents, amputation.

so many flavors

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 35: Monster

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Prev || Next

Leo readies his twin katanas. Raph raises his sai. Donatello points the end of his bō staff in Chaplin's direction.

"You," Donnie growls. "What. Have you done. With our brother."

Chaplin smiles.

"What haven't I done is a better question," he jokes. "I've improved him. Though, let's be honest... with your kind, improvement isn't enough."

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?!" Leo spits at him.

"It means that the Yokai and the mutants are... how shall I put this..."

"What, a disease? A cancer? A deformity? I've seen the movies with the evil villains who want to eradicate a species, I know this bullcrap speech!" Leo snarks at him.

"No no, you misunderstand. Your people are quite talented and impressive!" Chaplin says with a grin. "I've studied your cultures, your biology, your abilities. I've travelled the world and seen many Yokai cities. But you are a threat. And I won't allow any threats to humanity. Alien or otherwise."

"So, then why the mutations?" Raph asks. "Why do so many cruel experiments?? If you hate mutants so much, why make more?"

"Quite simple, really," Chaplin explains, lifting his legs and recrossing them the other way around. "We've been trying to fight fire with fire. To destroy the mutants and the Yokai, we had to make some of our own. Though, our experiments continuously failed us. We were missing some crucial element, the secret ingredient that allows you to function and survive and have incredible supernatural abilities -- until we found your Mikey."

Leo hears Raph growl from behind him.

"He is quite resilient, your brother. So much stronger than we expected! And that was even before we mutated him! His potential is practically unlimited."

"Why would you subject him to this?!" Donnie hisses. "What was the purpose of this room?! Why make him fight?!"

"Three reasons," Chaplin explains calmly. "One: we needed to see his abilities in action, and the extent of those abilities. Two: it was a way to train his problem-solving skills. We knew he was strong and powerful, but we also needed to confirm he had intelligence. None of our other experiments were advanced in the mind. Far from it, they seemed to deteriorate rapidly."

"...What was the third reason?" Donnie asks with hesitance.

"Oh, yes. Waste management."

Leo glares at the scientist.

"What."

"Well, we'd been doing quite a number of experiments, and they were piling up. We were running out of space, supplies, food, etc. And they were all disappointments. True, they had interesting new abilities and enhanced strength, but they were disgusting failures in the end, and we had to free up some space to try again with new vermin. So we had to eradicate the excess mutants, and Mikey was a big help with that."

Raph stomps forward.

"You're... you're a sick, twisted, sadistic MONSTER!"

"I'm a man who is working towards a goal," Dr. Chaplin corrects.

"What does Mikey have to do with it? How does he accomplish your goal?!" Leo shouts. "How does kidnapping my baby brother help you?!"

"Mikey is a weapon," he explains, leaning back nonchalantly. "MY weapon. He is indestructible, powerful, his instincts are impeccable, and he can take orders. He's the perfect living weapon, and he will help me eradicate every threat to humanity."

"You can't turn our brother into a weapon!" Leo shouts.

"Yeah, that was my idea!" Donnie chimes in, though Raph smacks him upside the head in frustration. "Ow! Right, right, not the time..."

Leo saunters up to the mad scientist and presses a katana against his neck.

"Now. WHERE. IS. MIKEY?! What have you done with him?!"

"Oh, of course!" Dr. Chaplin laughs. "Don't worry, he's right here..."

Dr. Chaplin taps a button on the side of the chair, and a panel in the wall opens.

From the darkness, two glowing yellow and red eyes can be seen peering at them. Slowly, Mikey steps out, staring blankly at his brothers.

"Mikey!" Leo gasps, releasing Dr. Chaplin and rushing over to his baby brother. "You're okay! Come on, we're getting out of here and--"

Leo takes Mikey's hand and pulls, but Mikey refuses to move.

".......Mikey...?"

"I'm afraid he can't hear you," Chaplin huffs.

Leo turns to glare at Dr. Chaplin. He suddenly notices the headband crowning him, the bright pink lights that adorn the sides. How had he not seen it before?!

Leo steps away from Mikey, staring in fear as he realizes what's about to happen.

"Mikey... no..."

"Wonderful little gadget, this!" Dr. Chaplin brags. "Can work up to a three mile radius in all directions. It's based on Krang technologies and biologies."

"B-biology...?" Raph whimpers, hand going to his eye once again.

"Oh yes. We learned a lot from the infected zombies. This machine combines a severed part of the brain from that one alien we captured. I'm assuming I have you four to thank for that..."

"Her... brain?" Leo gawks. "You took her brain?"

"Oh, don't act like that is some terrible and horrific thing after all they tried to do!" Dr. Chaplin groans. "You honestly can't say that you're not relieved that 'she' is dead now. And besides, the real person you have to thank for this machine is actually your own brother!"

Leo, Donnie, and Raph simultaneously turn to look at Mikey.

"You see, he showed us something we never expected -- Mikey could control the zombies. That was when we realized, there was a hierarchy to the Krang -- the zombies were the omegas, and Mikey was the beta, hence why they followed his commands. The Krang were the alphas, and as such could control all of them easily. That was what we needed with Mikey. During of our evaluations, some of our staff psychiatrists discovered that Mikey had an alternate persona that activated during moments of intense emotion or physical distress. It was strong, forceful, and wasn't afraid to go for the kill. But he was also stubborn and dangerous, and refused to comply willingly. We needed a way to have Mikey be the monster while also listening to instructions. And so I created a way to mimic the Krang brain waves so as to control him."

"You... you beat him," Donnie heaves. "I saw the video, you tortured him..."

"That was for a reason," Dr. Chaplin insists. "I needed to see if he would follow orders to a tee, even if it meant physical harm."

Donnie heaves again.

"And he did superbly; his compliance was wonderful. A perfect living weapon that will follow orders unto death! Speaking of which --"

"D-don't do it, don't listen to him --" Leo tries, reaching for his baby brother.

"Mikey," Dr. Chaplin orders, "If you would be so kind as to dispatch these intruders for me."

Mikey glares at his brothers. His mouth curls into a snarl, his irises slit into thin lines. He places himself in a ready stance, claws elongated and ready to fight. His tail whips around him, the tip spiking like a mace.

"Mikey, please, I-I don't wanna fight you!" Leo begs. He doesn't want to go through this again... not again...

Mikey rushes forwards.

Raph pulls Leo away and shields him, holding his arms up and activating his ninpo. Large holographic arms cover over him, protecting him from Mikey's onslaught. Mikey lunges and starts biting the hologram, tearing it apart piece by piece with his sharp claws and talons. He sinks his fangs into them; they go so deep they nearly puncture Raph's actual arm.

Donnie's robot arms protrude from his battle-shell, grab Mikey from behind, and yank him off of Raph. Mikey shrieks angrily and turns back to attack Donnie.

"Mikey, snap out of it!" Donnie yells.

Mikey screeches and slashes his claws at him. Donnie reels back, dropping his brother as he guards himself. Mikey slashes his tail and several projectile spines fly at him. Donnie twirls his staff and hastily creates a shield, deflecting them at the last second. Raph wraps his ninpo arms around Mikey, who struggles against him. He howls and yowls. The cries sound desperate, scared --

"M-Mikey?" Raph gasps. "Wait, did I hurt you--"

"Raph, no, don't--!"

Raphael drops Mikey, afraid that he may have held him too tight. Mikey instantly turns on him and attacks, his tail slashing at the ankles and knocking him down. Raph yells in pain as he falls, clutching the wound and trying to stop the bleeding.

"Mikey!" Leo scolds. "Snap out of it!!"

The double-mutant turns and glares at Leo. He's next.

"Dee, keep him distracted, I'm going to take out the controller!" Leo hisses.

Donnie nods, and creates a series of mini missiles to fire at (and purposefully miss) Mikey, as Leo creates a portal and slips through.

The portal reopens and appears right behind Dr. Chaplin. Leo reaches for the headset before being swatted away by the mad scientist. He says nothing, but the string of pink glowing lights around his head indicate he's given another order. Mikey is by his side in an instant, pouncing on Leo and crashing him to the floor. Mikey bares his teeth and tries to bite him, but Leo narrowly blocks with his katana hilt. Mikey chomps down on it, growling as he tries to pull it away.

A mini missile strikes him in the back, and he turns to roar at Donnie.

"Mikey, you have to ignore whatever he's telling you to do! Wake up! It's US!!" Donnie shouts.

Mikey has had enough of their antics. His eyes burn bright, a series of scales on his neck lift up, revealing what almost looks like gills. They vibrate, charging up with a pink and orange glow. Mikey roars loudly, deafening the entire room. Visible sound waves pulse like giant ripples, throwing everyone off balance.

Donatello is knocked back, slamming into Raphael with a thud and a groan as the mystic shockwaves dissolve his hologram weapons, and disintegrate Raph's armour.

Leo watches as the portal he made evaporates, the markings on his arms and legs flicker out before dimming.

N-no... no, not again --!

Mikey jumps to Donnie and starts to attack. Raph shields him again, but Mikey snaps his teeth and bites down hard on his forearm. Raphael screams, shaking and waving his arm as he tries to get his baby brother to release. Donnie grabs Mikey and pulls. Mikey turns to snarl at him before wrapping his tail around his neck, placing him in a chokehold. Mikey grabs his two hands and clasps them together between his talon grip, essentially cuffing him. Donnie gags and gasps, sputtering as he slowly turns blue.

"Mikey!" Raph screams. "L-let him go--"

Mikey whirls around, maneuvering in such a way that he throws Donnie's body at Raph's head. The two crash to the floor. Mikey regains his stranglehold on Donnie as Raph tries to get back up. Mikey doesn't give him the chance, and punches him between the eyes, knocking him unconscious. Donnie slowly goes limp as well, his eyes rolling back in his head as he chokes-out. Mikey releases him once he's certain he also has succumbed.

He turns to face his last adversary.

"Mikey," Leo whimpers. "I-I know you don't want to hurt me. And I don't want to hurt you..."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Dr. Chaplin laughs. "He won't give you the chance."

Mikey rushes him, gaining speed before leaping and kicking Leo in the chest, crashing him into the wall behind him. The tiles and panels leading to hidden rooms crack from the impact, leaving a gaping crater. Leo coughs and holds his side, looking up just in time to see Mikey do a spin kick before the side of his foot collides with his head.

.

.

.

Mikey slips into the vents easily. The EPF should really work on their security, any nutcase could break in!

He crawls around, going deeper and deeper into the ventilation systems, floor after floor after floor. Every once in a while he can hear some animals crying and growling and barking loudly. He shudders at the thought of what they could be doing to these poor guys...

He pushes on.

Mikey hears a snarling sound, eerily familiar. It's animalistic, but not like any animal on Earth. It's alien.

He peeks through the vents to see the EPF men taking the krangified dude he saw from earlier into a lift. It's perfect luck that the angle of the vents lets him see the elevator room, a mirror glass on the back wall reflecting everything. He can see their reflections, he can see the button they pressed -- The very bottom floor.

Mikey goes in pursuit of them. He has to know what they're going to do with that poor man...

Mikey's almost there when his phone buzzes again. Probably Leo or Donnie, they've been calling him a lot. He picks it up and checks the lockscreen. Oh, it's Raph! Mikey guesses he wants to know where he is... He should have left a note or something. He answers.

"Shello?" He whispers.

"Mikey? Where are ya?!" Raph hisses at him. "I thought we said no inside stuff!"

"I saw a weird van pull up," he explains. "They took a krangified person in through the back."

"They what?" Raph sounds terrified. Mikey can't blame him, not after everything that has happened.

"Yeah, I know. I wanted to see what they were gonna do with him."

Because that's what heroes do! Mikey thinks to himself. That's what Raph always says, and that's what he expects him to say. Instead he's met with a panicked and desperate command.

"Mikey, I think you should get outta there."

That's not like Raph, why is he so scared? Sure, the place is creepy, but no creepier than when they broke into Draxum's lab that first time...

"I will in just a sec," Mikey responds, having finally made it to the bottom floor vents. "I think I found the room where..."

Mikey's voice trails off as he sees the entirety of the basement. It's a little dim, but there are a few lights here and there. Mikey flips the vent flaps open just a bit more for a better view. It looks like some kind of secret lab. Why is this lab separate from the rest upstairs? What's different about this one, apart from the colour scheme?

The krangified victim is strapped to a chair, several scientists standing beside him and a few guards with special futuristic-looking weapons pointed at him.

"Huh..."

"Mikey? Mikey, what is it?" Raph's voice hisses nervously through the phone's tinny speakers.

"I'm not sure... hold on a sec, 'kay?" Mikey whispers as he watches. He puts Raph on mute, just to be safe.

The scientists are talking about something as they operate on the guy, pulling pieces of krang flesh off bit by bit. Mikey can't hear much, just the occasional "Hold him still," "Be careful," "Not too much," etc. They're... curing him?

Mikey watches as a doctor takes a vial of the bright blue liquid April found. Guess these guys found it, too. Donnie made sure to release the formula publicly so the police could help save the infected people. The scientist fills a syringe with mixture, then inject it into a part of the krang on the guy's face. The krang screeches in agony, the flesh flailing and wriggling.

"Now!" he hears one of the doctors yell.

The scientists pull the flesh away, ripping it off of his face.

The guy yells, his eyes roll in the back of his head, and he flops over in his chair. One of the guards checks his pulse.

"He's alive."

Mikey sighs with relief.

"Good, now get him out of here before he wakes up," one of the doctors orders.

The man is slowly unbuckled from the chair and carried away by two of the guards, the other two remaining.

"Now, let's get this thing into storage for the next batch of test subjects," the head scientist says, taking the still-alive-but-barely krang parasite away and placing it in a jar.

Mikey crawls a bit more through the vents, trying to follow the scientists to wherever they store the parasite. How many more do they have??

Mikey gasps when he sees the centerpiece of the labs -- a giant cylinder tube housing the Krang Sister, her eye still melted from where April attacked her. She looks thin, wrinkly and emaciated. Her left eye is still intact and open, but unfocused. He can almost see her breathing if he watches hard enough. But there are parts of her missing, torn off, cut off, melted off, take your pick.

There's a cryogenic freezer cabinet or something housing her organs and severed limbs, along with so many other krang parasites. Bits of pink and pale purple flesh, teeth and fangs, claws and talons and nails... He sees a jar of just eyeballs, krang eyeballs... he recognizes a few from the traincar that attacked him and Donnie!

"Ohmigosh," he whimpers, unmuting Raphael. "Okay, that's enough for me, I'm coming out now!"

"Mikey?! What did you see, what's going on?" Raph asks, his voice high and shaking.

Mikey doesn't respond at first, he's trying to crawl away as fast as possible. He lifts up his phone to try and tell Raph what he saw, but his fingers slip and it falls. Mikey's heart stops as the device clangs and clatters against the metal with a hideous echo. He can hear the scientists start yelling.

"What was that?!"

"Something's in the vents!"

"Call security, we have a breach!"

Mikey quickly scrambles to get his phone, he starts crawling with lightning speed, not trying to be quiet anymore as his kneepads smack loudly against the panels. He knows Raph heard what just happened.

"I dropped my phone," Mikey whimpers into the device. "I think they heard me."

"GET OUT NOW!" Raph yells at him.

"I am! I AM!" Mikey whines, terrified.

He should never have come in here, what was he thinking?! If they find him --

There's a clicking sound from his phone as another voice joins the call.

"Raph? What's going --"

"Mikey's been made," Raph says in a hurry.

"Get out of there, now!" the voice shouts.

"Leo?" Mikey whispers nervously. "Is that you?"

"Mikey, we're on our way now," Leo informs him. His voice is stern, but smooth, feigning frenzied calmness as he tells Mikey what to do. "Just get out as fast as you can! Don't worry about whether or not you're seen, just get out!"

"I'm trying!" Mikey yells back, desperate not to let the sound of his tears come through the speaker. He turns a corner in the ducts, coming to a small fork in the road. Wait, which way did he come from? Which way gets him out of here?!

"I'm stuck in the vents!!" he realizes out loud, hoping somehow his brothers will help him -- maybe Donnie can look up the building plans and use that subdermal tracker to guide him, or Leo can make a portal, or --

Something pushes against Mikey's chest, slamming him into the top of the vent. One of the guards shoved the barrel of their weird gun thing into him and is trying to knock him down! The panels underneath him start to shake, the duct comes loose from Mikey's weight and the jabbing of the guards.

Mikey screams as the section he's trapped in falls to the floor. His phone hits the ground and bounces just out of his reach.

He looks up in terror and sees that he is surrounded by six or so people.

"There he is!"

"Get him!"

"Come'ere, kid!"

Mikey shrieks, trying to scramble away. His legs are grabbed by a scientist on the end as the guards rush and nearly tackle him, trying to secure his arms.

"Let me go! Stop! Leave me alone!" he begs, trying to wrench himself free.

Mikey kicks, shoving the scientist back and forcing himself up, lifting the security guards who have practically dogpiled him.

Mikey struggles under their weight, and reaches for his nunchucks. He's kneed in the gut by one of the guards, knocking the wind out of him and he falls, face mashing into the floor.

He can hear the cell phone, he can hear Raph and Leo shouting for him, yelling instructions or pleas for him to get to safety.

"Raph! Leo!" He screams, reaching frantically for his phone.

He just catches them shouting back to him before one of the scientists can smash his heel into the device, breaking it into pieces.

"NO!" Mikey yells, struggling against the men who hold him down.

"Keep it still," one of the lab coats say, grabbing a syringe with clear liquid in it.

Mikey growls as he pries an arm out from under their weight, shoving and pushing as best he can. His hand is grabbed by one of the scientists, the one who broke his phone.

"Let me go!" he yells. "Let me go! I wanna go home!"

"You should have thought of that before you trespassed on government property," says the scientist.

"What?! Who are you people?! What is this place?!" Mikey demands.

"A better question is, what are you?"

The doctor with the needle kneels down beside Mikey's head.

"Hold him still," he orders the others.

A hand is pressed against Mikey's head, shoving him down into the linoleum floor as hard as he can. Mikey shouts and screams in protest as the needle is stabbed into his neck.

It stings, the sharp pain masking over the feeling of the instant anesthetic being injected into his veins. He leans his head as far away as he can, trying to keep away... k-keep away fr-from... the... ttthhhhhe.......

Mikey is flooded with the oddest sensation of panicked anxiety meddled with forced calm as the anesthetic takes effect. It ends up giving him the biggest feeling of butterflies in his stomach, fluttering up into his head and through his limbs, making them light as a feather yet heavier than lead. His thoughts swirl messily, trying to stay tethered to reality...

A countdown starts in him. Mikey's limbs slow, relax, fall limp against the cold linoleum tiles. The tears in his eyes slip loose and drip down his cheeks. His breathing is deep and sluggish, he clicks his tongue and whimpers as he tries to make some kind of last attempt or argument to save himself. Mikey's eyes flutter closed... he vaguely registers the men climbing off of him and lifting him up, a doctor giving orders to carry him somewhere... Mikey mumbles a sleepy protest before his tongue and vocal chords seem to disappear... Everything disappears... Everything goes dark...

Where did Mikey go...?

Where are his brothers...?

Where is the world now... where... where are his dreams...?

It's all inky black void. It's all deep and mindless sleep.

Mikey has vanished.

Mikey's head rolls groggily as he comes back to reality.

Feeling seeps back into him, though his head is numb and still exhausted from the drug.

He can't move. His limbs are tired. And there's something cold and heavy against his wrists and ankles. Leathery straps tie him down by the waist and thighs and across the shoulders.

He slowly starts to register sight and sound, as a painfully blinding light is shined in his face.

"Ah, it's awake," a voice says. Mikey recognizes it as one of the doctors from the secret basement...

Mikey grumbles softly, squinting his eyes shut tightly and turning away from the light.

"Mmnngh... too bright," he mumbles in discomfort.

"Since you can speak, that means you can answer a few questions for me," the voice says.

Mikey can't see anything apart from the blinding light being shined in his face. He peeks one eye open and immediately regrets it; the light burns his retina and leaves spots in his vision.

"First off, what are you?" the scientist demands.

Mikey groans again.

"C-could you maybe turn the light off? I can't think straight with the full force of the sun in my eyes," Mikey half-jokes. Somebody has to fill in for Leo.

There is a huff of a dry laugh, followed by the dimming of the light. Mikey opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the new level of brightness. There are a group of scientists in the room, each one staring and glaring at Mikey.

"Uh, hi, guys," he chuckles nervously. "What's the happs?"

"The 'happs' is that you broke into a government sanctioned facility for genetic studies," says an elderly doctor with frazzled white hair. "That's... well, that's illegal."

"And kidnapping isn't?" Mikey challenges. "I saw that guy you took. I saw what you did to him."

"We saved him," one of the doctors growls. "We were able to take the alien infection away from him --"

"You stabbed him with a needle and harvested the krang parasite!" Mikey argues. "And then you just took his body away!"

"He's alive," the elderly doctor says. "He's alive and well and back in his right mind!"

"Professor Honeycutt, if you wouldn't mind?" one of the other doctors grumbles. "We're in the middle of an interrogation..."

"O-oh, yes, right..." the elderly professor says meekly, cowering away.

"Now, how do you know about the -- what did you call it? Kang?"

"The Krang?" Mikey answers, confused. "That's... that's what they are. Didn't you know that? You've got the Krang Sister downstairs in your creepy cellar dungeon thing!"

"So, you DID see it," the younger doctor says. "Well then. That means you can't leave."

"What?!" Mikey gasps. "W-wait a sec --"

"Dr. Chaplin will be arriving soon, and what will we tell him when he discovers that there was a breach in security?! There have been setbacks after setbacks, and we have yet to provide a successful mutation --"

The doctor turns to contemplate Mikey. Mikey swallows nervously.

Uh oh.

"...I say we try it out on this one," the young doctor snickers before turning to the rest. "Prep him."

"Prep?" Mikey echoes. "P-prep for what...?"

"Do you realize what you're saying?!" the man called Honeycutt asks, pulling the younger man's arm away. "No, that's -- that's a horrid suggestion, Timothy! We can't just operate on -- he's a kid!"

"He's a freak of nature, look at him!" 'Timothy' shouts at the frail old man. "He's probably one of those mutant monsters that's been running feral on the streets these past two years. I don't see why we shouldn't."

"He's a sentient being! He has a higher intelligence than one of the rats or rabbits -- it would be inhumane!"

"Does he look human to you?" Timothy asks.

Mikey's heart is pounding in his chest.

"W-wait, please, I-I -- please, don't do this," Mikey begs. "I'm not a monster!"

"Maybe not now," Timothy says with a wicked smile. "But you will be."

The doctors place masks on their faces and gloves on their hands as they get ready. Mikey's head is strapped down and the light turned back on to its fullest extent, blinding him again.

"Wait!" Mikey screams. "Wait! I-I've got lots of other interesting things to talk about! I can tell you where the Krang came from, how we defeated them -- Please! You can't do this! Don't do this!!"

"I wash my hands of this," the older doctor says. "I won't have any part of this ridiculous madness.... I'm staying out of it."

"If you don't like it, then you can go back to working on your little robot pet 'Sal' of yours, or that android 'Ms. Campbell'," Dr. Timothy replies drably.

Mikey sobs in terror as the chair he's strapped to is lowered even further so the doctors can operate on him. Odd circular metallic suctions are pressed against his temples and cranium.

"Please! No! No!"

"You know, most of the mutations don't take very well, but considering you're already a mutie, that may mean you could survive this," Dr. Timothy teases. "I'm excited to see how your biology will react..."

"NO!!!" Mikey shrieks.

Mikey's ninpo starts to activate, the marks on his arms glowing as he struggles to pull himself free. One hand shatters a cuff.

"Hold him down!!" Dr. Timothy yells.

As Mikey is shouting and shrieking, one of the scientists lunges at him and holds his arm down.

A second doctor takes advantage of the fact that Mikey's mouth is open and starts shoving a tube down his throat. Mikey almost chokes on it as he struggles.

Mystic chains start to fill the room, a golden glow builds.

"Start it!! NOW!" Timothy shouts.

The doctor who shoved the tube down Mikey's throat pulls a lever connected to a big metal container. Pink and green glowing ooze starts flowing through, filtering into Mikey's mouth.

Mikey watches in terror, screaming muffled cries as he waits for the vile slime to pour through his throat and infiltrate his body.

It's cold and slick and slimy. As soon as it enters into him, Mikey's body starts convulsing. He howls, shrill and high and blood-curdling and despairing and pained. His body jerks every which way as it tries to reject the profane concoction.

The glow on his arms flickers out.

The golden chains in the room shatter and crumble away to dust.

Mikey is sobbing, tears streaming down his face as he tries to get free, tries to spit the tube out, tries to vomit up the ooze he's being force-fed. He doesn't notice the doctors preparing injection-devices by his neck, filling several vials and test tubes with different colored liquids and DNA samples. A soft mechanical whirring sounds, and cold metal clamps are pressed against his throat.

"Now!" Dr. Timothy shouts above the noise.

Mikey's world turns into a hurricane of static and unbearable pain as electrical charges course through him via the suctions pressed on his forehead. Needles pierce his skin and fill his veins with sludge and poison.

Mikey screams like he's never screamed before.

His body becomes a living x-ray, glowing bright blue from how much voltage he's taking. His skeleton is showing through the lights against a black silhouette. His body snaps and breaks and reforms. He can feel himself dying and coming back to life over and over again as he is morphed into something horrid, terrible, cruel.

Mikey blacks out. One last mercy his body bestows upon him, thankfully.

Mikey wakes up in agonizing pain. His limbs are a tangled, sloppy mess underneath him.

He can't move yet.

He can barely think.

All he can do is breathe and cry. The tears burn against his cheeks.

The position he's lying in gives his tortured limbs a numb buzz of pins and needles. Mikey tries to sit up, but trips over his arms and legs.

He doesn't know how to move them anymore.

They hurt too much. He can't feel them, but every movement he makes sends a rippling effect of horrid pain throughout his body.

There's something in here with him. A snake... a serpent... it slithers away from him. The slithering hurts... it... is it part of him...?

Mikey's eyes flutter open and closed as he fights to stay awake... and then fights to fall back asleep, be put out of his misery and just be unconscious. He doesn't want to hurt anymore.

His throat feels like it was mangled, burned, crushed.

His eyes sting like acid was poured into the tear ducts.

His hands ache, the palms are cut from where he dug his sharp nails and claws into them.

His feet must be disfigured, as far as he can tell.

His back is broken, the shell is shattered and cracked; he can feel air filtrating inside it.

But his head hurts the most. It is heavy and impossible to lift up. It aches and stings and pounds in a hundred different ways. His ears are stuffed up and ringing loudly. He's dizzy and disoriented. He's... so confused and lost... he doesn’t know how he got here. He doesn’t know what happened to him, or why he's hurting, or what he did to deserve this...

He doesn't know why he's longing for someone to hold him.

Someone that is blue. Or red. Or purple.

He's... he's unsure what those shadows dancing in his mind are, who those silhouettes belong to. But they mean something. They'll be coming for him, soon.

How he knows this, he isn't sure.

But he's a little scared for when they do find him...

Because, while he doesn’t know much...

...He knows he isn't 'Mikey' anymore.

He tries to sit up again. He somehow manages to do it, for two full seconds, before almost passing out again and falling to the floor of the cage, hitting his head against the metal.

Don't try to get up, Instinct whispers. Don't move yet. Rest. No moving, just rest. I will protect us now.

Mikey doesn't need to be told that twice...

His eyes slip shut.

Prev || Next

[serickswrites]

Electric Feel III

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, electrocution (mention), gag, drowning

Whumpee tried to calm their thundering heart beat as they watched Whumper fill the tub. If Whumper put them in the tub, they would drown. Whumpee had no doubt that Whumper would drown them. Repeatedly.

Whumpee wasn't sure if they could endure that.

Whumper didn't unbind Whumpee's hands. But they did take out the bite guard. "Don't want to get this all wet," Whumper said as they yanked it from between Whumpee's lips.

"Please," Whumpee started. They didn't want to go in the water. They didn't want to go in because they weren't sure they would get back out.

"You'll feel so much better once you're all clean," Whumper said as they shoved Whumpee into the tub.

Whumpee bucked and thrashed around trying to get out. But Whumper leaned their full body weight on their arms, pinning Whumpee to the bottom of the tub. Whumpee's lungs burned as they struggled. Slowly, they felt their body grow heavy until they could no longer fight back.

Just as darkness threatened to overtake Whumpee's vision, Whumper pulled them to the surface. Whumpee took a great gasping breath of air.

Whumper made a face. "You're still dirty. Back under you go!"

Whumpee willed themself to be still as Whumper shoved them beneath the surface. Every part of them wanted to thrash, every part of them protested being still. But the stiller they were, the more air they could conserve. The stiller they were, the more likely Whumper would be to pull them from the water.

They watched as little bubbles escaped their lips and floated to the surface. Their lungs burned once more. Their vision narrowed to a tunnel to the surface. Whumper had to pull them from the water. Any moment now.

Whumpee didn't remember passing out. Didn't remember being hauled from the water. Their ribs burned as they lay on their side, coughing water up from their water logged lungs.

"You tried to escape, Whumpee," Whumper scolded. "I am not ready to let you go yet."

Whumpee sighed. It was all they had the energy for.

"And you're still dirty!" Whumper shoved them beneath the surface once more.

Whumpee again woke on the ground, water streaming from their mouth. They coughed and coughed, their chest burning with each cough. "Pl-Pl-Please," they rasped. They just needed a minute. Not too long. Just a minute to catch your breath.

"You're all clean now. I can't have you all dirty for the next time we play, Whumpee. So if you get dirty, I have to clean you."

Whumpee sighed with relief. They weren't going to be drowned again any time soon. Suddenly things were looking up.

Tags: @freefallingup13@st0rmm@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire @firelan

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,207 Word Count

Summary: Stitchwraith has a way of breaking his new soon-to-be allies. Blood Moon gets the unfortunate result of being the main victim.

Warnings: Injury, Mild Gore, Torture, Controlled Shocks, Mind Control, Separation, Asphyxiation, Near Death Experiences, Cannibalism, Blood, Blood Loss, Angst, let me know if I should add anything else.

Ghost Of You: Chapter 1

“Get in!” The tangle of wires and metal somehow had beaten them. Dragged to the ground with blows and damage inflicted to their newly fixed body. A few error messages flashed in their eyes of the damage.

It was mainly cracks and holes etched into their outer shell but one blow had severed the inner endo of their right arm from its circuit, warping the metal that now poked out of their shoulder in a twisted spike of metal through their shoulder. The other major injury was their left foot that had been crushed under the Stitchwraith’s foot.

“No.” They spat at him.

“You’re going to be difficult?” The being growled, yanking them up by their thin neck.

“Of course!” They laughed at the prospect. They didn’t fear him, they didn’t fear death even.

“Then I will put you in.” The Stitchwraith picked them up by their neck frame and shoved them into the tube, a sort of machine, the twins didn’t exactly know what it did but the way they floated in the tube brought to mind a test tube. “And you two will know how it feels to truly lose.”

The machine stuck out a mechanical arm and put something on the back base of their head, under where their hood usually hit but it had fallen down in the fight. Blood Moon’s vision gained a black aura, like the room was closing in.

Something felt painful enough to scream but Blood Moon wasn’t sure if he was actually screaming or not. He heard someone screaming but he wasn’t sure it was him or his twin. Could it be them? It might be with how painful whatever Stitchwraith was doing was.

“See? This isn’t all of it.” Stitchwraith growled at them, almost tormenting them. What even was ‘this’? What had he done? Their body felt weird and different! Was he fixing them? He couldn’t be, it was too painful to be ‘fixing’.

Suddenly a splitting migraine began and both twins screamed, their screaming bouncing off each other’s voice, frying their voice box since both of them didn’t use it at the same time ever, they’d been careful of that because it could overload. But the pain caused them to break it.

High whirs, loud rattles, and deep glitching noises let out of their damaged voice box as the migraine continued to grow and suddenly Blood Moon couldn’t feel his twin, he could hear his twin screaming but he couldn’t feel him there. He took rattling breaths as the migraine settled and looked up at the damned Stitchwraith.

“What? Scared?” The thing chuckled.

“Why the fuck would I be afraid of you?” Blood Moon spat at him.

“Because I own you two now. You’re mine. My personal little slaves.” Stitchwraith chuckled at them.

“Like hell we are!” Blood Moon screamed back.

“It seems this one needs some reformatting. Hold still.”

“Huh?” Blood Moon looked up as Stitchwraith hit a button and Blood Moon felt agony through his endo, like volts running through his body but it wasn’t normal controlled shocks, it felt…different. His body felt different. It felt weird.

Once the jolts ended, Blood Moon looked down at his body and screeched at the flesh he could see, covering his arms feeling the skin on his arms and stomach. He was fleshy! He was human!? Why could he feel hair falling into his eyes!?

“The other one, don’t have too much fun.” The tanks suddenly released the both of them, Stitchwraith nowhere in sight, the devices on the back of their heads disappearing and Blood Moon fell over himself and knelt on the ground, huffing and confused. He looked up to see his twin standing before him, still a machine, still animatronic.

“Brother?” Blood Moon asked his twin’s attention but his twin didn’t respond, eyes blazing a glow of black unlike the usual white his twin’s eyes were in their mind. But his twin’s eyes glowed down at him.

“Target. Devour. Consume.” Harvest Moon spoke unlike himself, he sounded different, devoid of emotion. Blood Moon couldn’t move away faster than his twin reached down and grabbed him by the neck.

Blood Moon tried to yelp or scream, but Harvest Moon’s hand was tight on his neck, slamming him into a nearby wall and Blood Moon felt the air knocked from his lungs, struggling to get it back with the hold on his throat.

The feeling of the lack of air was dizzying and he felt his heart beating what felt like far too quickly. Harvest Moon was looming over him like some kind of demon, like he wasn’t himself anymore but a monster and Blood Moon was scared. He was actually afraid of his own twin.

Then Harvest Moon seemed to glitch a second, eyes flashing between white and black, hand releasing Blood Moon’s neck and dropping him to the floor gasping and choking on air, holding his achy throat.

But then Blood Moon have a scream as Harvest Moon sat on his stomach, the weight of it feeling painful on his insides. It felt like his twin weight thousands of pounds right now. Did he? Probably not, they weighed several hundred pounds of machinery but not thousands.

Black glowing eyes stared into his with a manic look, this was his twin, but warped and twisted, more dangerous to Blood Moon himself now, especially because Blood Moon was human now.

“W-What are you doing?” Blood Moon whispered.

“Consume.” Harvest Moon’s voice came out as some form of demon, mouth opening and Blood Moon gave a scream as he felt Harvest Moon’s teeth sink into his neck, hands gripping at his twin’s head and trying to pull it away to no avail, shivering as Harvest Moon sucked at and swallowed down the blood that was flowing from the bite.

“Please stop!” Blood Moon hiccuped.

“No.” Harvest Moon’s voice was dark and twisted, something about it was malicious unlike his twin brother was to him.

Harvest grabbed his hands and slammed them into the floor, making them ache and his wrists hurt at the hold. Blood Moon shivered at the feeling of being bled and fed from like they used to for their victims. He was getting lightheaded and dizzy, eyes glassing over and simply staring at his twin, breath shaky. He couldn’t fight back, he was trapped here and he couldn’t get away from his twin.

“Blood is sweeter than any. Keep you.” Harvest Moon growled, seeming to have some form of self-control as he drew back with blood on his face and Blood Moon shuddered shaking with blood loss. He felt cold, everything felt cold.

“Sleep.” Harvest Moon demanded, throwing a blanket haphazardly at Blood Moon. Blood Moon shivered under the blanket and held it close with his fingers as tightly as he could. Blood Moon could feel arms under him but he could barely move so he simply accepted it being moved.

He looked up to see Harvest Moon but his twin’s heaters were so warm, it felt so comforting when he was so cold and he couldn’t really struggle at the moment either way. So he let Harvest move him into a nearby half-broken bed and Blood Moon curled up and quickly fell asleep.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Fixing Tracy -- Routine

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

She’ll figure something out. She just has to wait and gather information, and she’ll figure something out. That’s the plan. She has a plan, she’s not powerless.

She’s… she has to accept that she’s in here for the long haul. She’s going to have to find a new job when she escapes, and comfort Alicia after the stress of losing her sister and not knowing why. 

She can do it. She just needs to buckle down. No more crying and pouting and freaking out.

Tracy falls into a routine with Molly. They eat breakfast together in the mornings, Tracy usually letting Molly make it herself. There are chains attaching all of the pots and pans to hooks inside the drawers, now. She hadn't noticed, but Molly probably did it right after the time Tracy tried to use a frying pan as a weapon. The chains are long enough that the pots and pans can be taken basically anywhere in the kitchen, but not outside of it, which Tracy supposes makes sense.

Usually they eat in silence, but sometimes Molly talks a bit about herself.

“Would it help you settle in if you knew more about me? I keep forgetting I’m basically a stranger to you. Hmm… I’ve always wanted to take care of people, ever since I was very small. I’ve tried all sorts of things. I was a therapist for a while, a nurse for a while… I even did politics for a bit.”

“Then… why? Why wasn’t that good enough? Why’d you have to— why’d you kidnap me?”

“…that would just upset you. You know full well there’s no answer to that question that you would be happy with. Let’s talk about something else.”

After breakfast, they usually do something together, like watching a movie or playing games. Tracy does her best to be friendly and engage Molly in conversation in the hopes that she'll let something important slip, but more often than not Tracy just gets too frustrated with Molly to do anything but scream at her or be silent, and she usually chooses the latter.

After that, they have lunch. Molly is a good cook, and Tracy finds herself eating a lot more than she did before Molly kidnapped her. She ignores the gnawing thought in the back of her head that she hasn’t earned this, because she has no doubt Molly would find a way to force her to eat if she refused.

That’s… that’s taking comfort in being powerless. That’s what Molly wants. 

No, no. She’s choosing to eat so that she’s strong enough to fight back. She doesn’t have to earn food. Her needs aligning with Molly’s wants benefits her, not Molly. Her priority is escape, not defiance.

“How… um… how did you get me here?”

“You don’t want to talk about—“

“Stop that!” She’s already shaking with rage. Talking to Molly without screaming is impossible, sometimes. “Stop acting like you know what I want better than I do!”

Molly stares at her like a deer in headlights. “I… um… you don’t like it when I apologize. I’ll just… um, I waited until a night when you were alone in your apartment, then I waited until you were asleep, and then I brought you home.”

“I knew that much! I’m asking how!”

“Right. I… drugged you. I’m sor— nevermind.”

Tracy waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Deep breaths. “…And my stuff? All of my clothes are here.”

“Just packed it up in my trunk. And I took your phone, which you know, and your keys and wallet and stuff so it would look like you left on your own.”

So no one’s looking for Tracy. She deflates. It’s still information, though. She got some information. She’ll just ask a couple more things so that it wasn’t obvious she was fishing for that. “You had time to fold up all my clothes and put them in the dresser and closet. What the fuck did you drug me with?”

“You wouldn’t recognize the name of the drug. It only took a few hours to organize your stuff, anyway. I didn’t— it wasn’t dangerous, I promise. You were perfectly safe the whole time.”

Tracy jumps to her feet without thinking. “You only drugged me once? And it only lasted a few hours?”

“Yes. You’re so clever, figuring that out from what I said.”

There’s no sarcasm in Molly’s voice. It’s a completely sincere compliment, and it makes Tracy’s stomach turn.

A few hours by car could still be quite a ways away from her apartment, but… she’s probably still in the same state. She shouldn’t have too hard of a time getting home after escaping.

That’s what she was already assuming, but having it confirmed is still very helpful. She’s on a roll, gathering-information-wise. It… probably wasn’t actually a ‘jump out of her chair in excitement’ level discovery, and now it’s really obvious she was fishing for information relevant to her escape… but that’s fine. She can work with that.

After lunch, Tracy usually takes a nap. She hasn’t just been eating a lot more, she’s been sleeping a lot more, too, and she’s positive she’s being drugged despite Molly’s insistence to the contrary.

“…Please stop drugging me. You don’t have to, I’m not a danger to myself or others right now, right?” All she can do is ask. Molly is the one who stocks the kitchen, so as far as Tracy knows, literally all of her options for food are drugged.

“Dear, I’m not drugging you, I promise.”

“But I’ve never been this tired before! I’ve never slept this much every day, or napped, or anything like that! How could I possibly believe you’re not drugging me?” There’s a mortifying lump in her throat that makes her voice come out sounding more scared than angry.

“Tracy, dear… you averaged four hours of sleep a night before you got here. You were in survival mode, and your body saw no point in using its limited resources to ask for sleep. But now you’re safe. Now you can heal, and that takes a lot more energy than surviving. You’ll feel less tired as your body adjusts and recovers from the constant stress you were under.”

That sounds like bullshit. Tracy is positive she’s being drugged. 

After her nap, Tracy usually takes advantage of the little gym setup Molly made. It’s really just a treadmill, a pull-up bar, and a few yoga mats, but it’s better than nothing. Sometimes Molly joins her, but usually she just sits and reads while Tracy tries to build her strength.

Afterwards, they have dinner. Often, Molly uses the time while Tracy is napping to bake some kind of treat, so there’s usually dessert. Then Tracy showers, brushes her teeth, and goes to bed. Molly always offers to stay with her, and Tracy always refuses. She knows now that Molly will never fall asleep in front of her unless Tracy's restrained or drugged, so there's no point.

Time goes by so fast. Before Tracy knows it, her hands and black eye have healed, and she still hasn’t made any real progress towards escaping. She's even considered setting a fire to try and force Molly to let her upstairs, but there's a fire sprinkler system on the ceiling. 

Molly hasn't restrained or shocked her since the time Tracy tried to take the cattle prod from her. She doesn't seem to be looking for reasons to do either, and Molly never seems even slightly annoyed with Tracy no matter how nasty Tracy is to her. She genuinely seems to want Tracy to be happy, even if she's really, really bad at it.

Every night, before going upstairs to bed, Molly tells her she loves her. Every night, Tracy believes her a little more.

Tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

When a Tomb Becomes a Womb (Part 1: Rings)

Well, it’s finally happened: I wrote a story for a movie rather than YouTube Egos. (Not that this is gonna become a regular thing, mind you. Lisa Frankenstein just so happened to check all the right boxes for my hyperfixation and brainrot.) 

(Disclaimer: While I agree that Creature doesn’t really need an actual name to be a great character, I still decided to give him a headcanon name—which is Callum, since I think it would fit him— just because this entire story is from his perspective. Mentioning his "true," pre-death name just seems logical. Neither of the characters in this story belongs to me. Lisa Swallows and The Creature are the property of Zelda Williams and Diablo Cody.)

(Trigger Warnings: implied murder/death, implied violence, gore/blood, mentions of electrocution and fire, scars, body horror, dismemberment. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

The soil was loose and soft. It yielded to the shovel’s rusty spade quite easily.

Though many emotions were thrumming through Callum’s skull at the moment, surprise wasn’t one of them. 

While dark clouds had clogged up the night sky, hiding the stars and moon and bloating with rain that would fall sooner or later, the current season was warm, and so the ground wasn’t too firm. 

This plot had only been filled hours ago. This grave was fresh; infinitely fresher than his had been.

By now, Callum estimated that it’d taken at least half a day for him to crawl up through the ground and breach the surface like one of the several worms slithering around inside him.

He hadn’t exactly been in the right headspace to consider it at first; back then, all he’d been able to know was light and electricity and shuddering and pain and. . .Lisa’s words. 

Lisa’s words. 

The same thing that fueled Callum to escape his tomb was now guiding him to free Lisa from hers, all with the same amount of violent tremors and desperation.

It was poetic, honestly. 

Perhaps it would’ve been a bit more poetic if he didn’t have to get so filthy in the process.

Oh, well. He could take care of that later. (Besides, the stains on his clothes were nothing compared to the layers of grime and mold and fungus that had been caked all over him on that first, fateful night.)

Right now, unearthing his beloved without getting caught seemed like a much more important thing to focus on.

His grip was vicelike around the wooden handle as he threw one shovelful after another to the side.

Almost there, Callum thought. (If he could speak, he’d be repeating that mantra in a whisper like his life depended on it. Which. . .well, it logically didn’t, but it technically did. The same went for Lisa.) Almost there. 

He’d wanted to take her away sooner. He would’ve been perfectly fine with forcing her family to waste money on a casket. Really, what good was a casket if you buried it empty? 

But the distinct lack of a corpse would have just caused more problems. As dense as her family seemed to be, they’d still know that the shiny, glowing box (Lisa had called it a. . .tanning bed? If memory served?) wouldn’t have been capable of reducing a person to ashes no matter how dangerous it was. 

He knew she wasn’t dead. Not completely; not truly. Yes, the combination of electrical currents and fire may have worked its horrific magic on her body. . .but that magic just hadn’t followed through altogether as it probably should have. 

The way the bed had convinced foreign limbs to function as intended mere minutes after Lisa sewed them onto him. . .the way it had rejuvenated his centuries-dead flesh bit by bit. . .

It had some kind of similar effect on Lisa. The vast majority of her had died, but there was still a strong, stubborn ember of something in her that was very much determined to live. 

Callum knew that very well. He’d seen proof of it before being forced to flee from the fire.

But Lisa’s family didn’t. As far as they knew, she was gone and never coming back. So, if she just disappeared before they could bury her, then they’d have an excuse to try and track her down. And if that happened, neither she nor her husband would get another chance. . .

Callum ground his jaw, putting even more force behind the shovel. 

The hole grew deeper.

The pile of disturbed earth beside it grew bigger. 

The dull, scraping tempo of grave-robbery began to sound like hitching gasps and sobs.

Just as the clouds started ominously humming about their plans for the night, the shovel reverberated after finally, finally, finally striking something much more solid than dirt.

Callum tossed the tool aside in favor of getting down on his knees, now using his hands to clear away a blanket of finer, thinner soil. 

He hoped Lisa could hear him digging. (Though if that was the case, then the state of her brain could potentially make her think that the sounds were echoing from somewhere farther beneath her. Which would be. . .less than ideal, as Callum didn’t enjoy the idea of scaring her again. )

Even in his anxiety, he subconsciously shook his head. Lisa had taken him in and repaired him even after being initially terrified. Lisa trusted him, loved him; if she didn’t, then he never would have woken up in the first place.

More time passed, and a soft, cold gleam suddenly manifested in the darkness.

Glossy wood. 

The coffin’s upper door. 

Callum groped at the edge of it, tugging with all his strength.

An odd, warm feeling skittered up his spine and shook through his ribcage. 

A low creeeeaaak rattled through the air as the lid was pried open.

. . .And there she was.

___

Callum had always been a fast learner, and yet he still had no idea what to make of his pulse. 

It’d been extremely jarring when he’d first awoken. The days that followed, it was irregular. Sometimes he could feel it, sometimes he couldn’t. It was always soft—following more of a murmur than a steady beat—always irregular, barely there at all.

Right now, however, it both sounded and felt very far away. More present than it had been when he’d performed a highly unorthodox beheading on that stain of a man who’d upset Lisa. 

Hell, it almost seemed louder and stronger than it had been on the most recent evening he’d spent with Lisa; the one that saw the two of them embracing and reeling and dreaming together. . .

Everything else was a blur as he brought her to her new bed, carrying her like the bride she was. He had to move slowly, carefully, feeling more anxious and unwieldy than ever. 

Well, at least until he laid her down, making sure the pillow offered enough support for her neck.

After that, he was much, much more erratic.

He sprinted about the house, tearing almost every other room apart as he searched. It felt like several hours had passed by the time he finally found what he—what his beloved—needed: a white, sterile-looking container. He opened it, just to be certain, then tucked it under one arm and hurried back over to the bedroom.

Every square inch of Lisa’s body was blistered to hell and back, adorned by a network of puffy, angry-looking veins that, had her heart still been beating, would have more or less threatened to burst at any given moment. Red and raw, several sections on her arms, legs, and chest having peeled off to reveal glistening tissue.

Her mane of thick, curly auburn hair had been reduced to a few small, fried patches that clung to the charred flesh of her scalp with a strength similar to bubblegum and well-intentioned vibes. There was a possibility that she’d died with her eyes open, but the awful swelling of the skin around their sockets had sealed them shut. 

None of that mattered, of course. 

Lisa was still just as beautiful as when Callum had first met her. She always, always would be. 

. . .Even so, those injuries had to be dealt with. Despite what Lisa had said before about accepting a person’s flaws, Callum’s instincts told him she wouldn’t appreciate being left to resemble a puppet made of half-raw-half-cooked steaks.

Callum set the medical kit down on the nightstand, ferreting out generous rolls of gauze as he loomed over the side of the bed. 

The world finally seemed to slow back down as he got to work.

It didn’t take long for him to find a gentle, precise cadence as he wrapped bandage after bandage after bandage around his beloved’s form. Something in the back of his mind wondered if this was what spiders felt like when they spun strands of silk together to make their webs.

Although Lisa’s skin hadn’t been rendered translucent, the burns in some places went deep enough for Callum to catch a glimpse of her organs. Both of her lungs were blackened, seared, sunken. Her heart was equally misshapen, now boasting a similar appearance to a blob of melted wax, looking like it was seconds away from collapsing in on itself. 

But even as all the carnage was swallowed up by more strips of gauze, Callum could still see the heart twitch. The movement only lasted for half a second or so, but there was no doubting that it’d happened. . .

Lisa still had a chance. She would never be truly alive again, but she could still come back.

She couldn’t wake up by herself. . .but she wouldn’t have to.

He’d find a way to help, just as she’d done for him. 

Callum blinked for the first time all night, and his hands were suddenly free; he was suddenly sitting at the foot of the new bed.

Lisa was cloaked quite literally from head to toe in clean, snow-white bandages. It was like he'd made the perfect combination of shroud and wedding dress for her to wear.

The thought made a small smile tug at his lips. 

Then he shook his head.

He couldn’t relax just yet. There were other things to be taken care of right now. Two other things, to be specific. 

Callum got to his feet and crossed the new bedroom to quietly close the door. He ventured down a narrow hallway, peering at an assortment of unfamiliar pictures hanging on the walls around him. Disposing of them would probably be another chore for him later.

His footsteps sounded hollow and heavy as he descended the staircase. (Unlike Lisa’s former home, the floors of this house were all hardwood rather than carpet. True, they wouldn’t muffle noise very well, but it was still quite a lucky coincidence.) 

He’d found this house completely by accident, when he’d still been trying to follow Lisa’s path. 

Even with the remnants of that lightning bolt sparking in his stagnant blood, even with Lisa’s voice echoing through his resurrected mind, it’d still taken so much time for him to truly wake up. He grimaced at the thought of how long he’d had to crawl around the cemetery before he could stand upright. 

(And that wasn’t even mentioning the state his vision had been in. The layers of rancid slime and dirt clinging to his face had made everything around him blurry and distorted. The fact that his eyes were also full of maggots at the time certainly hadn’t helped.)

He’d had to wander the surrounding woods for hours and hours before he could finally walk. The rot in his bones had kept his movement slow and uneven, but a bad limp was still better than collapsing every other moment. 

Callum wasn’t sure how the house’s previous owners hadn’t seen or heard him that night. They certainly had a few hours ago, but that wasn’t a factor anymore. 

He crept into the living room, where he paced a few slow circles around the fresh corpse lying in the center of all the controlled chaos. The crimson splatters now adorning the floor, the walls, the sofa’s floral print almost seemed to glitter.

Another carcass could be found just a few feet away, sprawled across the wide threshold that led into the dining room. The face was obscured, as blood was still leaking out to add to a large puddle that continued to slowly spread, inch-by-inch. 

Callum folded his arms across his chest, drumming the nails of his replacement hand against his cheek. He remembered what Lisa had said when he’d silently begged her to help him find new parts; a contemplative murmur about there being bad people in the world. . .

Her relief and gratitude when he’d bludgeoned that horrible excuse for a mother to death.

Her cathartic happiness when he’d dismembered the scum who’d tried to put his filthy hands on her.

Her tearful joy when she eventually realized why he’d risked so much to take a particularly crucial piece from the ignoramus who’d dared to play with her emotions. . .

It had all been so wonderful to see.

Those victims had all hurt Lisa, and they likely would've hurt others as well. Their deaths wouldn’t be an actual loss to the community.

But this. . .

Lisa definitely wouldn’t have approved of this. Yes, she’d understand why Callum had done what he’d done; after everything they’d been through, of course the two of them needed a quiet place to stay, if only for a while until they found somewhere better. A place that was a fair distance from both the town and the cemetery. A place just like this.

But. . .

A raspy sigh escaped Callum’s lips. 

He'd work with more tact in the future. 

Once Lisa was awake, things would be better. He’d listen to her input. They would make important decisions together.

Callum’s eyes wandered about, eventually settling on the axe—the same one Lisa had taken from her father’s garage—he’d left propped up against the adjacent wall. It was slathered in gore, to the point that its wooden handle was just as red as the paint on its blade. 

He approached to pick it up, letting the weapon’s belly rest on his shoulder. Then he stooped down, using his free hand to take hold of the first corpse’s wrists. More of the floor was painted red as he dragged it into the kitchen. He retraced his steps to collect the second body, coming dangerously close to slipping on the blood as he hefted his victim onto the countertop.

The next hour or so was filled with dull thuds, with splintery pops and cra-A-a-cks, with the drip-drip-drip of thick fluid oozing down the lower cabinets and plopping onto the floor. 

The axe was too heavy to be the most precise tool, but it was still efficient. It only took a few good swings to sever limbs from torsos and heads from necks. 

Callum couldn’t bury either of these bodies. Not right away, at least. Fortunately, he soon discovered that there were more than enough black trash bags under the sink to work with. 

Lisa’s body obviously needed repair, but he wasn’t sure which repairs should come first. (He knew she’d require a new pair of eyes, but he didn’t want to risk forcing her current ones open just yet.) Would it be better to take off her old limbs and put new ones in their place, or to simply slice off layers of skin and attach a new barrier to her burnt flesh?

Wait and see, a voice in his head suggested. Callum nodded to himself; when Lisa was able to communicate again, he’d organize these plans with her. It was only right, after all. 

Callum set the axe down by the sink, now focusing on wrapping up the detached pieces of human in tight, layered cocoons that crinkled with every second. Packing all the bundles into the freezer and refrigerator in a way that kept them from sliding right back out was far more aggravating than he would’ve cared to admit, but he managed. 

He gave pause, however, when it came to the two remaining pieces. 

A pair of forearms, to be specific, with their hands still attached. 

One from each corpse. 

Something small and metallic glinted around the fourth finger on each of them. 

The first ring had a very simple design: just a smooth, golden band. 

The second ring, meanwhile, was silver, mounted with a shiny stone.

It wasn’t a diamond by any means. Callum couldn’t tell what kind of gem it was, honestly. But it was gorgeous—it’d been carved into a smooth, perfect orb. It reminded him of an ember at the heart of a firepit, boasting a graceful mix of orange and red with a few soft hints of yellow.

The colors reminded him of that one night. 

Callum shoved the forearms into hiding with all the other parts, the two rings now nestled in his palm. With that, he exited the kitchen, an unfamiliar spring in his step as he ventured back up the staircase. Yes, he still had an enormous bloody mess to clean up, but this took priority. 

His odd, partial heartbeat echoed in his ears as he re-entered the new bedroom and knelt down beside the bed. 

Slowly, delicately, Callum took one of Lisa’s hands in his. He pressed a small kiss to her bandaged knuckles before sliding the new ring onto her finger. 

It fit perfectly. Just like the gold ring did for him. 

As for the odd-yet-sweet candy loop he’d made do with for the original proposal. . .well, he decided to leave it on the nightstand. 

Just in case Lisa wanted to keep it when she woke up.

@mblume125 @upstartgeek @paper-cuts-and-fresh-bruises @queenofcandys @magpierose753 @therulerofallpotatos @blue-spider-official @chofisaquino @strangewerewolf @alienbactria @aphroditeinarms @weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral @scootis-the-scoot. @cherryycocaine @sammispook @creepycrow31 @radisyn @allthesecottoncandyskies @that-random-assassin @shelf-life-of-the-party @big-sad-world @lisascreatures @we-were-d3stined-t0-expl0de @artnormal @cr-0-wsworld @bllops-world @night-writer-writer @bunnygirlgracesworld @occasional-trash @a-live-wire @babi-gir @secretly-larry-daley @fawns-things @confused-hufflepuff-screaming

[the-crystal-femmes]

The only reason I'll probably not let Frankie answer asks is because sometimes she can say the most unhinged shit, one time out of the blue she screamed she wanted to electrocute others, I'm not bringing that energy into the askbox 😭

[loopspoop]

Hell yeah! Chapter 20! Things are heating up and the gang isn’t messing around >:3

TW: Lupin typical gun violence, burns mention, house fire, electrocution, murder

Goemon turned his head when he heard a crash from nearby. A tree must’ve fallen a couple acres away..hopefully no one was harmed. Pressing forward, Goemon stopped at the top of a hill, wind and rain plastering his long hair to his face and neck. Over the rage of the storm he could hear approaching footsteps and the cocking of a gun.

“I suggest you drop the sword and come quietly.” A figure stepped forward, gun aimed at Goemon as he spoke over the wind and rain.

Goemon glanced over his shoulder, glaring. Lupin had been right about someone coming after them then. Once he sorted this out he would have to apologize, though he had to take care of this first. Pulling out Zantetsuken, he narrowed his eyes.

In an instant, Goemon pulled Zantetsuken from its sheath and dove toward the man. The man quickly pulled the trigger, rapid gunfire clashing with the boom of the thunder above. Swiftly evading the bullets, Goemon raised the sword to go in for a strike, the assailant quickly kicking mud into his face as he swung the butt of the gun into his jaw roughly. Grunting as he fell back, Goemon wiped the mud from his eyes and spit blood to the side. If this was how he would play then he didn’t mind playing dirty either. Shaking the rain from his hair, Goemon leapt into the air as he extended Zantetsuken into the sky.

A flash cut through the air.

Traveling down the blade and into his body, Goemon let out a cry as he sent the electricity toward the assailant with a swing of his mighty sword. The man cried out as the electricity flowed into his body before he fell limply to the ground in a heap.

Panting, Goemon sheathed Zantetsuken as he stepped toward the limp figure. Still alive…so he could be of use to them. Taking some rope from his pocket, Goemon tied the man’s arms and legs before beginning to drag him back toward the house. They would get information and then sort everything out. Once they had that much under control then Lupin would be alright…

BOOM

Looking up to the horizon in the direction of the house, Goemon paled as he saw fire and smoke make their way over the trees. What had happened? More assassins? They had left Fujiko at the house and if the others had encountered similar problems… Goemon slung the man over his shoulder, breaking into a sprint as he ran toward the flames. He had to make sure they had gotten out of there safely!

After several agonizing minutes, Goemon broke the tree line. Dropping the man off of his shoulder, he looked at the wreckage of the burning house in horror. Had anyone been inside? Where were they now? Scanning the scene before him, Goemon’s blood ran cold.

A figure was lying in the yard.

Goemon ran over, crouching beside the motionless heap.

Jigen.

It was Jigen.

~~~~~

“Jigen!”

Jigen groaned softly, vaguely aware of the dull pain in his…everywhere. Fuck..what type of bender had he gone on?

“Jigen!!”

Wait. There hadn’t been a bender..he had been in the house and there was a bomb. Explained why his body hurt…but he hadn’t been alone..shit-

Sitting up quickly, Jigen cried out slightly as he put a hand to his head. Fuck! He looked down at his hand, cringing at the blood. He must’ve split it open. Where was Zenigata and Fujiko? Looking around he noticed several things. Burning hideout, frantic Goemon, and no Zenigata or Fujiko.

“Jigen! Jigen, what happened?! Where is everyone?!” Goemon asked, grabbing his shoulder firmly.

“They’re inside- they’re still inside! Fujiko and Zenigata, I tried to get them out- I tried!” Jigen cried out in anguish, trying to get to his feet and charge into the wreckage. Fujiko and Zenigata…they were inside…he left them inside!

Goemon narrowed his eyes, standing quickly. “Stay here!” He called, running into an opening in the flames.

Covering his mouth with his sleeve, Goemon gazed through the flames and smoke for any sign of life. It was all burning…all of it. Where could they be?! They couldn’t be gone! He would not allow it! Calling out over the roar of the fire, the samurai charged into the inferno.

“Zenigata?! Fujiko?!” Goemon called, trying to look under burning pieces of furniture for a sign of life.

A crash from the kitchen caught his attention. Swiftly moving over burning debris, Zenigata’s smoke-blackened coat caught his eye. Making his way over, Goemon took ahold of the inspectors shoulder. Zenigata turned to him, eyes glazed as he held his hat over his mouth to try to filter the smoke out of his breaths. He was protecting his midsection with his free arm but seemed like he had managed to not be burnt in addition to whatever injuries he had sustained.

“Follow me, I’ll get you outside!” Goemon carefully guided him toward the door, slashing debris out of his path with Zantetsuken when needed.

“F-Fujiko and Jigen-? Are they-?” Zenigata coughed out, looking at Goemon anxiously.

“Jigen’s outside and I’m going back for Fujiko.” Goemon assured, helping him into the grass. “Stay with Jigen!” He called, running back inside.

“Fujiko?!” Goemon called, going toward the living room.

The house had collapsed and she could be anywhere, pinned or buried.. he had to find her quickly! Calling out several more times, Goemon grabbed burning pieces of wood walls and ceiling, tossing them aside like pieces of paper. He was so afraid of finding her already gone..

“Goemon-!”

It was her! Goemon threw some more burning wood to the side, eyes widening when he saw her. She was backed into a corner, shielding herself with her arms as the flames came up toward her. Wasting no time, Goemon jumped over the flames and to her side.

“Goemon-!!” Fujiko grabbed onto him desperately, hiding her face in his kimono to get some relief from the heat and smoke.

Goemon frowned, pulling her in close as he cut a hole in the wall and dove through it with her as the side of the building came down on top of where they once had been. Panting, Goemon looked Fujiko over worriedly. She seemed relatively okay..a couple minor burns on her arms but otherwise unharmed…

“I was so worried!” Fujiko looked up at him, gripping onto his kimono anxiously. “I left Jigen and Zenigata downstairs and then the roof caved in and I-“ She broke off, tearing up. She was worried about what became of them.

“They’re both out and safe, don’t worry.” Goemon nodded, helping her up as they made they way to the front of the house.

“Fujiko!” Jigen looked over at them, visibly relaxing when he saw them before he got up and ran over. “You scared the shit outta me!”

“Oh, Jigen!” Fujiko bit her lip, falling against him as she held onto him tightly.

“Ah..jeez, alright, I’m not mad..I’m just glad you’re alright..” Jigen frowned, holding onto her carefully. “You hurt anywhere? Pops needs some bandages. Whatever happened before he was hauled back to the house earlier wasn’t pretty…”

Goemon frowned, walking with them to Zenigata as he pulled some bandages out of his pocket. “What happened before I got here? Did anyone find Lupin?”

“I found him.” Zenigata frowned, holding his sides as he looked down. “We argued..a tree was going to fall on him and I pushed him out of the way..”

“I’m guessin’ it was a Pops Classic and you’ve fucked up your ribs pretty good?” Jigen frowned, grabbing some bandages from Goemon as he went to assess the damage.

“Yup.” Zenigata sighed, frowning. “We were ambushed afterwards..knocked me out with a rock or something, the bastard.”

“I was waiting here for you guys to come back when a whole swarm of those creeps ambushed me.” Fujiko frowned. “Then Jigen showed up with a couple of them and then they dragged you in..”

Jigen frowned. “They caught me off guard near the river.” He looked at Zenigata, frowning. “That guy..you knew him didn’t you?”

“What guy-?” Goemon frowned, looking at them as he took off Jigen’s hat to stem the bleeding from the cut on his head.

“Gerard Alarie.” Zenigata narrowed his eyes. “He was supposed to be chief of police for this area but apparently he’s working for whatever syndicate that doctor was apart of. Apparently he wasn’t where this all started and ended..it’s bigger than just Mad and the new lead is Alarie.”

“Goddamnit!” Jigen huffed angrily, kicking a board. “We don’t even know where the hell they took him!”

“No. But I have someone who will.” Goemon walked back to the tree line, grabbing the man he had dropped before and dragging him back.

“Well, shit. Guess we should’ve expected that.” Jigen frowned, adjusting his hat as he looked at the man. “What did you do to him?”

“Have you ever heard of Albert Einstein?” Goemon glanced at Jigen, slapping the man a few times to try to wake him up.

“You-?” Jigen hesitated, raising an eyebrow.

“I used Zantetsuken to conduct electricity, yes. Is your head injury bad?” Goemon frowned, looking at him.

“Hey, you don’t get to sass me when you bring up some outlandish shit like that!” Jigen pouted, crossing his arms.

“Stop bickering and find out where they’ve taken Lupin already!” Fujiko frowned, looking at the man. “He’s alive…right?”

“Here.” Zenigata pushed past them, wincing slightly as he grabbed the man by the collar before slapping him roughly.

The man groaned, slowly opening his eyes as he glanced around. As he gathered his bearings he quickly tried to break free of the inspectors hold.

“Not so fast, bucko!!” Zenigata glared, shaking him a bit. “You’re going to tell us where they took Lupin and what they’re planning or else things are going to get ugly real quick!”

“Do your worst, old man, I’m not talking!” The man glared back, struggling against Zenigata’s iron grip.

“Oh, it won’t be me. It’ll be my friends here.” Zenigata glanced at Jigen and Goemon, the two looming over the man menacingly, Zantetsuken’s blade peeking out of the sheath and glinting against the light of the nearby flames.

Paling, the assailant shook his head quickly. “No, no, never mind, I’ll talk, I’ll talk!”

“Good. So where did they take Lupin and what are their plans?” Goemon glared, grip on Zantetsuken tight.

“The- The official headquarters is near Caen! Mr. Alarie..he was directly above Dr. Mad in the chain of command..Mad was supposed to deliver Lupin to us after the modifications were made but..” He glanced at them before looking away. “Anyway..Mr. Alarie is supposed to take over where the doctor left off...”

“But what do they want? Who leads all of this shit and why do they want Lupin?!” Jigen glared, grabbing his collar roughly.

“All I know is that it’s because of his superior intellect when it comes to thievery!” The man bit his lip, tensing up. “They want some sort of super weapon! Everyone answers to Professor Dean but nobody’s seen him in years! I don’t know what exactly they want with him, honest!”

Zenigata sighed, standing as he frowned. “We need to get to Caen.” They would have to get a car and a way to get there.

Jigen huffed angrily, grabbing a pistol from the man’s holster before pointing it at him and firing. Goemon and Fujiko quickly stepped back, frowning as they exchanged glances.

Zenigata looked over, frowning deeply. “Jigen, what the hell?!”

“We got our info so let’s get the to Caen before it’s too late.” Jigen put the gun in his waistband, walking down the driveway.

Zenigata frowned, looking back at the body quietly before shaking his head and following behind Jigen with Fujiko and Goemon. He couldn’t fully blame him…there would probably be more killing when they got to Caen unless he could somehow manage to jail a whole syndicate with crooked cops involved…

[actress4him]

Whumptober 2023 - Day 14 - Querencia

This is the next chapter of Querencia, following Whumptober Day 1!

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @inky-whump , @painful-pooch , @pigeonwhumps (thank you for beta reading!), @bookworm2107

Previous | Next | Masterlist

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.” | Water Inhalation

Contains: dude whump, electrocution, water whump, Deaf whumpee, captivity, restraints, revenge, death mention, noncon drugging, needles, superpowers

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Quinn jolts awake in an unfamiliar room, still half-expecting to be in charge of steering an out-of-control vehicle. Instead, he finds himself in what looks like a warehouse, but definitely not the one they converted into their home. This one is dingy and in sore need of a good cleaning. The events of the evening come back to him in flashes - the park, the drive home…the spike strips in the road and his inability to avoid them or prevent the crash afterward. 

This was planned, whatever it is. And now he’s alone, without his team, and he can only hope they’re all alright.

He doesn’t remain alone for long. The trio that enters the room looks vaguely familiar, but with his head still swirling from unconsciousness he can’t quite place them. Besides, his thoughts are more caught on the fact that none of them are wearing masks or anything else to conceal their identities. Kidnappers without masks generally don’t plan to allow their victims to leave alive.

“The great Electric Eagle himself,” the woman begins, strolling closer. “Right here in our grasp, isn’t it exciting, boys?”

The bigger man circles him where he sits. “Somehow he doesn’t seem quite as intimidating without the whole superhero getup.”

“That could also have to do with the handcuffs,” the second man laughs. 

“True!”

“Where is the rest of my team?” Quinn asks, careful to keep his expression and voice steady. They normally wouldn’t seem very intimidating, but they’ve already proven themselves rather capable of causing trouble. At the moment, though, any fear in him is for his team, not himself. 

“Oh, he’s British! Did you know he was British?” The woman puts a hand to her heart, looking at the other two. They shrug, unimpressed. “I do love me a British accent. But sorry to tell you, honey, it isn’t going to keep me from making you pay.”

“And…what, exactly, is it that I’m paying for?” He knows these three from somewhere, it’s driving him mad that he can’t place where.

“He doesn’t remember.” The bigger man crouches down and grabs a fistful of Quinn’s shirt, yanking him in close to his face. “What, we weren’t important enough for you to think about, once you’d ruined our lives and moved on with yours?”

“You got us arrested, that’s what. None of us even had records until you and your cutesy little team of superheroes came along and ruined it all. We lost all the money we’d gotten, lost our jobs, can’t get hired anywhere else, Greg’s wife left him…”

Oh. Now he remembers them. Criminals, of course, as he’d assumed, but more specifically a gang of three bank robbers that they’d worked together to stop. Which means that it shouldn’t be just him that they have a complaint against.

“Where…is…my team?”

The bigger man, Tommy Lewis, shoves him backwards so that he sprawls on the floor, hands trapped behind his back. “They’ll get their turns! But you’re the leader, so you get first go at paying up, how does that sound?”

He has no idea what they have in mind, but no doubt that it will be unpleasant. Maybe by the time they’re done with him, the others will have come up with some kind of escape plan and will be able to avoid having to go through whatever it is, themselves. If anyone is going to get hurt here, it should be him. 

Greg Sanders, the other man, comes closer, and Quinn’s eyes immediately go to a syringe in his hand. “What’s that, then?”

“Sheila may have lost her job at the lab, but she didn’t lose all of the formulas she was working on in her spare time.” He smirks, waving the syringe a bit. “You all will get to try out a couple of different specialties of hers while you’re here!”

He comes at him with the syringe, and Quinn kicks out with his restrained feet, trying to knock it from his hands. If it’s just something she’s been working on at home, there’s probably a limited supply. He doesn’t know what could possibly be in it, but being poisoned isn’t high on his list of fun activities for himself or his team. 

Greg dodges the kick, and before Quinn can try to roll further out of the way Tommy is on top of him, sitting on his legs and pinning his upper half to the floor. With his hands beneath him he can’t summon any lightning, and the man is too heavy to fight off without leverage. The needle sinks into his arm.

The three criminals step back and stare at him as he scrambles to at least sit upright. He takes it that something visible is supposed to happen, then. His heart is pounding in anticipation, waiting to start feeling excruciating pain or to grow an extra limb or whatever horrible, drastic thing they have planned. 

Then lightning crackles in his palm, without his permission. 

“Aha!” Sheila screeches. “It’s starting to work!”

Quinn swallows hard. If this is something that affects his powers, it could be much worse than he’d feared. As if in response to his thoughts, another bolt arcs from one hand to the other. The trio starts donning long rubber gloves.

“If my powers go out of control, you’re going to need a lot more than rubber gloves and soles to keep you safe.” He’s imagining the whole room filling with streaks of lightning, taking out the lights and the people and charring the walls and floor. 

Meanwhile, electricity snakes up to his wrist and hits the handcuffs, and for the first time since he was just learning to use his power, Quinn actually feels the effects of it himself. He jolts and grunts in utter surprise as it buzzes through his skin. There’s a reason why he and Nari have to be careful to keep their abilities separate. Metal and electricity do not mix well. 

Greg smirks. “We’re not really worried about it.”

Distracted by getting shocked, he doesn’t notice the hose in Sheila’s hand until a blast of cold water hits him in the chest. “Let’s speed this up a little bit, shall we?”

“This is a bad ide-” He gets a faceful of water before he can finish the sentence, leaving him sputtering. 

“Oh, I think it’s the best idea we’ve had in a while! This is going to be fun.”

He tries to scoot himself backwards, away from the persistent stream of icy water, but they just follow, laughing at him, soaking his whole front. They haven’t managed to get his hearing aids yet, thankfully, but he imagines at this point it’s only a matter of time. 

He’s trying to come up with some other way to dissuade them or a way out of this situation when his power activates again. This time it crawls all the way up his arm, hitting both metal and sopping wet fabric. From there it takes on a life of its own. Quinn’s body jerks backwards, his head slamming into the concrete block wall he’d moved up against, before uncontrollable shaking sends him to the floor. Everything burns like there’s fire inside his veins. He’s fairly certain he screams at some point, without meaning to. He knows for sure he bit his tongue, because his mouth is full of the bitter taste of blood when he can finally breathe and see straight again.

The trio is laughing at him some more. He can see that, though he can’t hear it, which means his hearing aids are fried. Fantastic. At least he doesn’t have to listen to their annoying voices anymore. 

Before he’s fully caught his breath, it’s happening again. And again. And again. It seems to be getting worse the longer the drug is in his system, and of course the more they soak him down with the hose. Sometimes he screams, sometimes it gets trapped somewhere inside and feels like it’s ripping through his throat. He doesn’t bother trying to pick himself up after each round. He’s too exhausted, and everything hurts. 

After a while, they must get bored with that method, because Tommy comes over and yanks him up off the ground with gloved hands. He’s saying something… “new game,” Quinn’s pretty sure is in there somewhere, but his lips are a bit of a blur. 

He can’t walk, not with his ankles chained together, so he gets dragged across the room and deposited on his knees…in front of a bucket full of water. He can already see where this is going without needing to hear whatever taunting they’re doing. 

Sure enough, a hand grabs onto his curls and shoves his head down into the water. Instinctively, he pushes against it, struggling to get up while holding onto what air he was able to gulp in. 

He can’t let them kill him. The team needs him, he has to help them get out of here. They can’t go through this. Just the thought of it makes him sick to his stomach. 

His head feels like it’s going to explode. A burst of bubbles escape his lips, relieving a little of the pressure, but now his lungs are aching instead. He needs to breathe, he needs to breathe…

He’s jerked up out of the water by his hair. Rivulets run down his face, over his eyes and into his open mouth as he gasps loudly for precious air. Greg and Sheila are across from him, big grins on their faces. 

One last gasp - not nearly enough - and he’s back down again. This time, though, his power comes to life, shooting up through his body with a force that makes his back arch. His lungs spasm involuntarily, and then he’s choking, coughing, taking in more water, until mercifully the bucket tips over with his erratic movements and he hits the floor, water spilling across him as he continues to shake and cough. 

He can see open air but he can’t breathe. Water rattles in his throat and chest. The lightning stops, but he still kicks and squirms, trying desperately to draw something in or expel something out, anything. 

Someone flips him over onto his side and kicks him hard in the back, and he’s finally able to spew out the last of the water, coughing until his ribs ache and his throat is on fire. 

He’s not even aware of anyone that’s around him until another needle pricks his arm. No, please, no more… They’re talking amongst themselves or maybe even to him, but he doesn’t know what their plans are anymore. If his power goes even more haywire, though, he’s not going to survive it. They’re going to kill him. 

Minutes pass, though, and the only lightning that happens is small, more like the first few times. Enough to make him jolt, but not writhe. It seems to be calming down, much to his immense relief. 

His ankles are released and someone pulls him to his feet. His legs feel leaden, but he stumbles along beside them as they lead him out the door and down a hall, eventually unlocking another door and shoving him inside. 

Immediately he drops to sit on the ground, no strength left. It’s only then that he sees Liliana sitting there, staring at him wide-eyed and fearful. He forces himself to turn, and there are the others, too. Safe.

Everyone’s lips are moving, probably asking a million questions, but he’s too tired to try and comprehend. He just shakes his head. “Aids got fried.” He hates talking out loud when he doesn’t have them in, but signing isn’t exactly an option when his hands are still cuffed and Liliana still doesn’t know much sign, anyway.

Nari’s face is etched with concern, her eyes darting to his ears, then across his soaking wet body once more. “What did they do to you?” Her mouth moves, but she also signs it as best she can with one wrist cuffed to the wall. “We were so worried!”

Quinn’s eyes drift shut, and he shakes his head again. “I don’t…want to talk about it. Not yet.” He'll have to, eventually. He has to prepare them for what they might face. 

They have to figure out a way out of here before that happens. 

[reshiramen-zekramen]

does anyone know what berries cure paralysis and burns and where can i find them.

i cant feel my legs.