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scratchandplaster · 3 months ago

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Tales of Arcadia - Lost

A little recapture!AU for your palate. Have you ever wondered what Shepard had planned to happen in the first chapter? Well, the more you know...

CW: stalking, manipulation, kidnapping, noncon drugging

[Masterlist] | Next

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The bass nearly deafened all other noise surrounding them. Horrible, just horrible, Lukas wished they rather had stayed at home. But no. No, Ben practically begged to go out into the screaming masses and work off his little spring fever while electronic beats assaulted Lukas' eardrums from every direction.

The redhead Ben so desperately tried to impress, surprisingly charmed by this huge klutz of a brother, only laughed sweetly.

Good for him, Lukas thought, and hoped Ben would remember that he was allowed one single drink tonight.

The last thing I need is-

Someone bumped against his shoulder from behind, nearly throwing Lukas to the ground. As quickly as they appeared, the person was swallowed up by the sea of colorful dancing shapes.

-him getting alcohol poisoning.

Squinting through the flashing lights, his lovestruck brother was visible to everyone as his companion stepped closer to dance, if this spastic twitching could even be called that.

Everything was too loud, too embarrassing - Lukas could only suffer through this farce in short laps. Not a flicker of patience in sight, he quickly gave his roommate's shoulder a few hard slaps, guiding the attention away from this doomed mating dance: "I'm going to get some air."

"Huh?" Avery screamed, too amused or disinterested to care.

Lukas just shrugged and squeezed through the mass towards the exit, suffering unknown skin rubbing against his, letting sweat soak into his clothes. Quickly swallowing down his urge to gag, he finally rushed through the side door, and took in a few gulps of the crisp night air.

Days ago, they had agreed for Ben to try his luck on campus or a local bar, but Avery - who else - brought up the bright idea to drag them to a club in the back of beyond.

The damp touches still clung to him, as did the drums inside his ears. He should have stayed home. No matter how unsuccessful Ben's efforts were tonight, in the future he was free to run around town on his own.

Walking through the parking lot, step by step away from the packed circus, Lukas passed more cars than people. The bushes separating concrete from the short piece of woodland next to the industrial district invited him with the dark peace he needed so badly.

Fingers twisting into each other with painful pressure, he simply hummed, a sound to drown out all others. He rubbed his shirt across every inch touched by others, friction cleansing him from the tacky prickling on his skin. With every step away from the building, breathing came naturally to him again.

The night was cold, and now, Lukas was too.

Great. Thank you, guys.

How long would it all take? The flirting and the chatting and the groping and whatever else they were here for; his insistence on keeping Avery and Ben apart came back to bite him in the ass.

Nobody was left to blame but himself.

I want to go home. The hum in his throat turned into annoyed hissing. The sooner, the better.

Busy walking circles on the forest floor and holding any remaining warmth inside him, Lukas suddenly felt a jacket drape over his shoulders from behind. He jumped a little, then huffed. Sometimes Avery couldn't help but act like a mother hen, despite his dismissive way.

"I'm fine, you could've stayed inside."

Silence. Lukas awkwardly hoped that his nagging didn't ruin Avery's mood: "Can we go home soon?"

"If you like to," an all-too familiar voice responded.

The air had shifted in a heartbeat, and with a chill on his skin no longer caused by the temperature, Lukas slowly turned around to meet his visitor. In the shine of a lonely streetlight, his father studied him intently.

Too close for comfort, yet still a good distance away from being eye to eye...

Lukas stumbled back. In his head, hundreds of questions with no answers in sight merged into an unstoppable maelstrom of dread that threatened to let him freeze up.

Despite the state of shock, Shepard didn't come closer. His son's troubled expression caught him like a slap to the face.

"What are you doing here?" Lukas finally gasped.

"Oh, you know my love for..." The old man squinted at the sign leading lost visitors back to the club, "...electronic dubstep."

No quips could lighten his mood at all, the demand getting even louder: "What do you want?"

"Two years, Luke. After two years, that's the first thing you ask me?"

Ben, that fucking idiot; who else could have brought him here? The older brother cursed himself and everyone around for not being careful enough. All these extra steps I took, and what for?

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Shepard mused, strangely sorrowful, "I only want to talk."

"I have nothing to say." The day for his vindication had arrived, yet any words of defense were caught in the throat of the prodigal son. As if he owed that man anything!

What he owed himself was quickly realized: taking big steps back to reach the parking lot, Lukas squeezed through rows of cars. The entrance to the club still felt miles away. Avery; he needed to get back inside so Avery could get this whole chaos settled.

"Why?" his father called out behind him and pursued, "Please, tell me why."

"Do you really want to do this right now?"

"What happened? Did I do something wrong?"

If he did-

Shock turned into rage quicker than Lukas could have ever expected from himself: "Are you fucking serious, where do I even start?"

"Just start, I'm listening."

"First of all," Lukas whipped around and came to an indignant halt, "you look insane."

He had always hated the creepy farmer look that hid the man who once was the center of his whole world, the specifically procured aesthetic for everyone who had joined them on their homestead.

His father sheepishly peeked down to his jeans and flannel; sure, it had been a rough couple of months, maybe he let himself go a bit more than usual...

All other reasons Lukas had neatly listed in his head bubbled out of him in a fountain set free:

"Second of all, I hate staying with these screwed-up hippies. I hate living on a field, I hate that whole thing you opened up my home to, ripping these idiots off for their last cents."

"Who gets ripped off?" Either he played dumb, or started to buy his own bullshit. No matter which way, Shepard hadn't changed a bit.

"Everyone who sets a foot on there, everyone who buys only one of your words, you fucking liar."

"Language, dear." Shepard watched him mumble and hiss in response, pacing on the spot, and wondered since when his boy had concerns for strangers. "They are happy."

"Exactly," he huffed, "that's the worst thing about it!"

"So how am I ripping them off then?"

Luke kicked a stone against a truck's tire, so hard it ricocheted off to skim a layer of varnish on the unlucky car next to it.

"You loved our remote living. No school, little traffic-"

"Yeah, when I was three years old!" Lukas yelled and threw his hand up in frustration. Like always, he preached common sense to a wall. "I'm not anymore, as you can see and as I've told you many, many times. But somehow you still don't get it, not even right now."

"I'm sorry, Luke, I don't want to argue with you." Shepard looked around and sighed, like he didn't just ask for this thorough lecture, hoping to shift the discussion in a more friendly direction: "How's Ben doing?"

Fantastic. Getting plastered, dancing, ruining the life I built.

"What do I know? I left him with you." Left him because I thought he was safe, you psycho. And if he sees you here, he's not safe anymore. None of us are.

Pensively watching him like Shepard spotted a rare bird in the wild, Lukas realized this back and forth got him nothing but wasted time. His father needed to get off their backs. Fast.

Despite his gall, Lukas felt powerless: physically he couldn't get very far, he had never been a good runner. And undoubtedly, his father wouldn't take another "No" serious enough and leave it at that for tonight.

Damn it. To slip away from this ghost of the past, to get all three of them home in one piece, to avoid a family discussion in the dark cold, Lukas needed to entertain this poor attempt at reconciliation.

"I don't want to argue with you either," he finally murmured, somehow trying to spin it like it wasn't Shepard alone that drove him away.

"That's good. But if you won't tell me, I need to ask again: Why?"

Why should I have stayed, Luke loved to ask back, but a firm bite on his tongue stopped his spite.

"I just wanted to be on my own. Not with these people."

His father looked like he was near tears: "Then why didn't you tell me?"

"I did, every day. And you. Didn't. Listen!" he spit through clenched teeth.

Not that it mattered. Lukas had a hunch about what happened in his absence, and of everything Ben told, he already heard enough. The three of them were long past family breakfast in the camper, like all those years ago.

Wrapping the jacket closer around himself - because he was cold, no other reason - he frantically thought of his next move. Maybe Avery had the mercy to come out here soon, or anybody else for that matter. Hidden between the cars, Lukas wished to be back in the crowd, invisible to the man in front of him.

As his father took a step towards him, Lukas flinched back. Hurt flit across Shepard's face, halting him on the spot and silence spread out again, both men unsure of what to say next.

"Would you..." His father's fingers fiddled with a set of car keys, "Can you imagine sitting down with me for a bit? We can go to a café or somewhere that is not a parking lot. And we could talk."

"I'm not going back there."

Time stood still, as did the broken family.

"You didn't change a bit, Lukas. Always so perceptive, I shouldn't be surprised you wanted to be independent sooner or later, hmm?"

His son shrugged wordlessly.

"When you say you never want to see these people again, does that include me?"

Yes, Lukas lied to himself. I don't miss you.

In fact, he missed Dad, the man always by his side and ready to be here for him. The only person who understood why the world as it was often felt too overwhelming for Lukas to live in, a man who never called him difficult, even if he was.

Nevertheless, he couldn't admit it to himself. So Lukas said nothing.

"I think of you," Shepard confessed, helpless against his son's silent treatment, "every single day."

Biting his quivering lip, Lukas let all his anger and sadness flow together: "You can't just come here and expect me to play along, it messes everything up!"

Would he be furious with Ben? With Avery, even? Anxious thoughts caught up to him, now jittery again and trudging on the spot.

"I'm sorry, Luke," the old man said and took a step back again, "I don't want to scare you. Ever."

This doesn't change anything, get a grip! It's good that I left, it's good that Ben followed.

"I'm not going back," he growled.

To this, his father only nodded, as if slowly digesting his answer.

"Okay."

"I'm not."

"I understand, it's okay." The gentle tone in his voice resonated with hurt, and this time, Lukas believed him. "I need to know that you're doing well. Are you?"

Shaking in the breeze, grinding his teeth and thinking of the many hours he slaved away his life at the sink of a rundown restaurant, the son couldn't be as truthful as he would like to be: "Yes, I am."

"That's good to hear," Shepard exhaled deeply, like a great burden was lifted from his shoulders, "I'm so glad."

Awkwardly, Lukas rubbed his soles into the asphalt. Shepard took the bait without any problem, but leaving itself was not the only sin he committed during his trip to Atlanta.

"Are you mad?"

Shepard stood much closer now, rows of cars surrounding the pair at all sides. He blinked, then glanced back questioningly.

"Because of the money." Lukas explained, "I don't have it anymore."

The bit of seed capital he took from the collective register; five thousand dollars, to be exact. A missing sum his father surely had to explain to the residents... And still, for the first time in years, Lukas saw his father smile - more amused than happy.

"No, no. Impressed, you could say, I really didn't see that coming."

His son gazed up, the same amber eyes as the old man, framed by Claire's features: "What about Birdie?"

"Oh, you know her. Don't get me started."

Good! I hope that bitch had an aneurysm.

Lukas' smirk quickly gave way to another beat of silence as he zipped the jacket around his shoulders open and close, still uneasy: "What happens now?"

"I have no idea, Luke," his father sighed somberly, "But maybe you could give me a chance to come back into your life again."

"Well..." Perhaps I can visit you, once a month or so. Lukas quickly shook this thought away. Thank goodness Ben didn't run into him, he would've begged and cried to go back already. "I need some time to think, so if you're planning on staying around here, we could set up a... meeting or whatever. "

Unless he managed to relocate himself and his brother first. Lukas wanted to throw up at the thought of explaining this whole mess to him later, as he carefully handed over the jacket back to its owner, who unlocked the truck behind him and tossed it inside.

What is he thinking anyway, Lukas wondered, driving around town and creeping through the parking lot like a weirdo?

The light from inside the vehicle let him see his father a bit better, and the deep lines of worry carved into his face. He suddenly seemed much older than he was, the beard didn't help much either, yet he wore a small smile on his lips. His old man looked relieved.

If he - by some force of nature - should come back to himself one day, Lukas may rethink his plan. But as long as their peace of mind fell victim to strangers on a meadow, he needed to keep them both away from this life as far as possible.

"I missed you so much," Shepard breathed as he turned back to face him, even closer now, and suddenly pulled him into a gentle hug.

Lukas' muscles tensed up, surprised, but there was no force behind the embrace. It felt nice, being held like that.

I missed you too, Luke thought for a second and rested his forehead against his dad's chest. Why couldn't he act like that all the time? Patient, a bit silly here and there, and attentive like he used to be; like he was most of the time.

But sometimes, he just-

In a fraction of a second, Shepard's grip tightened around his son. Before Lukas had a chance to register it, he was picked up, spun and pushed onto the passenger's seat of the truck. The impact knocked a silent scream out of his lungs.

What-

Hot flashes of pain surged from his back up to his head, where he took an unlucky fall on the center console. In his confusion, Lukas managed to lift his leg and land a kick against his father's stomach. With a twist of his hand, Shepard swiftly grabbed his ankle and pressed it down onto the seat. Big eyes full of panic gawked up at him.

"You can't-"

A cloth pressed into his face, calculated and determined. Luke tried to scream, but all efforts stayed smothered by the thick fabric.

"Shhh." The hand only held on tighter against his face.

Fumes burned inside his mouth and nose, forcing cough after cough out of his lungs. As if all air was slowly disappearing, Lukas felt his mind freeze up, paralyzed by fear and chaos.

It hurts, was the one thought echoing through him, Dad hurts me.

Haplessly, he tried to stem away from the cushion, to maybe get a leg on the ground and slip out, yet all the twisting and turning only gave him another well-meant shush and more weight pushing down on his body.

The smothered whines hurt the most, nearly ripping his father's soul in two.

"I know, I know," Shepard whispered into his hair, "it's alright."

Laying flat on his stomach now, Lukas knocked his useless feet against the locked door. Nothing more than a cry for help, he focussed his whole strength on trying to get out of an embrace that only grew firmer with every motion: nails scratching against flannel, an elbow between the ribs.

All the noise fell on deaf ears. Nobody was coming to help him.

With every kick and scream, Lukas' struggle became less and less coordinated. His dizzy vision made it hard to aim, and despite the scratchy fibers digging into his face, his skin suddenly felt warm, so warm that it felt hard to pull away anymore.

One blink, and keeping his eyes open became impossibly difficult, like the biggest chore he could manage. Images melted into each other, a kaleidoscope of colors and vertigo.

Another blink, and his tired limbs gave up the fight, leaving him to droop further into the cloth. Only his eyes still fluttered, until even this task became impossible. They shut eventually, long after the last thought got wiped away from his consciousness.

Slow, deep breaths pulled Lukas even further away until he fell asleep, calm and peaceful, in his father's arms.

--------

Inside his mind, Shepard counted. He had to be accurate, for his and Lukas' sake. It kept his thoughts from what he was doing to his son right now, but in extreme situations, a father resorts to extreme measures.

And in refusing to contain his stubbornness, Lukas had left him no choice.

Gradually, the body beneath him grew slack under his weight. After another minute, Shepard carefully pulled the cloth away from his airways when he felt confident enough that the boy wouldn't start throwing another fit.

In the dark, he listened for any unrest outside the truck, any unwanted onlookers. Nothing but the remains of what they counted as music shook through the surrounding metal. Finally, then, Shepard realized it was over.

Lukas was back. Back with him. It was unreal, like a lovely dream come true at last.

His son laid motionless on his side while he held him close, a kiss on the forehead to take away any anxiety left. Checking his breathing and temperature - his skin a bit too cold to the touch for Shepard's liking - the father only marveled at how Lukas looked exactly as he did the evening they last spoke. Nothing had changed, and soon, Shepard knew it would be just like it used to be. Only the two-

Only the three of them.

A part of him stung from having to leave Reuben behind, yet Shepard had no doubt that he would follow them soon after. He did feel a bit disappointed, though, that Lukas would so blatantly lie to him, but nobody should be surprised by that. There were bad influences all around in this part of town.

"I know it's unfair." A lone tear got wiped off Lukas' cheek. "We'll talk about it later."

Safe and secure again, he positioned him in the passenger seat, buckled in tightly to keep him from slumping over.

With a twist of the key, the engine sprung awake and let ease shake through his chest. His little one would surely be inconsolable when he woke up, but for tonight, the restless void in Shepard's heart had stopped aching.

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Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whumpyourdamnpears

#Shepard *hears stimming in the parking lot*: well well well if that isnt my dear son...#chloroform is not organic nor homegrown!#Shepard you hypocrite #poor Luke doesn't even know this trope #Lukas' recapture!AU #tales of arcadia #parental Whumper #cult setting #stalking #gaslighting #manipulation #recapture #abduction #kidnapping #noncon drugging #chloroform whump

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whumble-beeee · 6 months ago

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Just Relax (It's Not That Serious)

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 13

Content: drugging, noncon undressing, dissociation, (fear of) needles, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), tied up/handcuffs, past captivity references, begging, fear, light unreality? (related to the ptsd)

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[The first 72 hours after a hero’s capture is also massively critical to you, villain, as your hero’s keeper! When planning on long-term hero-keeping, use this time to lie low, keep your hero firmly in your grasp, and really set the mood for the rest of their stay. Set non-negotiable expectations. Show your patience. For as much as your hero may fight you, curse and jeer and scorn and defy you, they will still be only human (with select power exceptions, of course). They will still need food, water, shelter. All of which must be obtained from you, their captor! You are the one ultimately in control, no matter how much the hero may scream otherwise.

So why are these first 72 hours so important? Well, how long do experts generally agree that a person can survive without food or water? How long can they ignore you? How long before they have to rely on you for their every need?

72 hours.

Be patient.

Make them count.]

* * * * * * * *

“Finally, Christ,” Deeby muttered under his breath as Stan finished forcing the bar down his throat. It had taken him longer than he'd meant, what with the dehydration and the not wanting to be drugged and the weary pain that seeped into his every bone and the spinning of the room and the not wanting to be drugged. It was a surprisingly difficult task to knowingly poison himself. Who’d've thunk?

“Happy?” Stan finally spat with a heaving breath. There was the slightest taste of salt and battery acid twinging the back of his mouth. It made him nauseous.

Deeby absent-mindedly grabbed the used protein bar wrapper and tossed it into his plastic bag. “Yeah. Not done yet, though.”

Stan whined. It was all he could do to not start crying on the spot. “Why can't you just let me fall into unconsciousness in peace? I ate your stupid protein bar! It's-it's never-ending with you!”

“Well, it feels less gross to have you undress now than when you're high off your ass.”

Stan blinked. It was like the world had been overlaid with TV static for a moment. But he was back. Violently. Because what? “Ah– Co-come again?”

“Your uh– fuckin’... What's it called, your tank top? The transgender tank top, the one that squishes your ribs. Your… ‘tranksgender’ top.”

“My binder?”

Deeby snapped his fingers in triumph. “That's the bitch! We're taking that off now.”

“WHAT?!”

“I can help if you want. I don’t know how long it's gonna take the drug to start affecting you, considering you haven’t eaten in two days, so it might not–”

“I’m not taking my binder off!” Stan yelled, startling back from yet another all-consuming dip into the static. The worst part was, it wasn't even unpleasant. He almost would have enjoyed it, save for the predator six feet away stalking at him as if he were a wounded antelope, one hand resting on the ornate knife holstered right next to his gun. His eyes sparkled with that ever-dangerous red excitement that Stan had become painfully acquainted with again and again and again over the past two days, though there was something more serious underneath the child-like sadism. Tired eyes, deep breaths...

“I know you're not supposed to wear it for this long, runt.” The mercenary brushed the still bright-red gash on his cheek from where Stan had whacked him with the handcuffs. “And besides, I still need to get you back for this. Please make me do it the hard way.”

Stan’s breath caught between a groan and a cry and his vision swam around him, only grounded by the sudden noxious pit in his stomach. “Dee-deeby…” he panted. “Stay away from me.”

Deeby continued to stalk closer, voice taking that dangerous low twang, the light bass growl snaking through the room and slithering around Stan’s throat, suffocating him more than a literal yank by his damn collar would. “Aw…” he tutted. “That's no fun, is it chiquito? I think you just need–”

“OKAY, OKAY!” Stan skittered back, pressing himself into the wall with racing heart and rabbit-fast breath. “I'll-I'll do it, I'll do it! You don't– You–... I'll take off my binder…”

That did, in fact, stop Deeby dead in his tracks. Stan swayed. Deeby looked at him expectantly. Stan stared into the distance. Deeby raised an eyebrow and made an impatient circular motion at Stan with his hands: get moving.

The static.

“Runt, if you don’t–”

“I– jus– ju-just-just don't touch me–”

“Stan–” Deeby warned, taking a single step toward him. All the air sucked out of the room. “I'm done giving you chances. Off. Now, or I'll do it.”

Stan grit his teeth with an almost mewling whine. His cheeks burned a bright red embarrassment under near-invisible blue freckles, and his very lungs stuttered as they tried to figure out if he wanted to scream or just cry. He started to pulled the shirt over his head, slowly, as if he could go slow enough that the bounty hunter would just get bored and give up entirely.

Ha.

Then he lost his way. He searched. More fabric. Where did the holes go? Where was he? He was lost! He tangled his arms around, searching, growling with frustration as he unsuccessfully tried to free himself, genuinely trapped as time simultaneously moved way too fast and excruciatingly slow. Then a whoosh, and his cotton-polyester prison disappeared, pulled off over his head to reveal a very amused Deeby glinting back at him, eyes sparkling as always.

It was so cold in here.

Stan shoved him away, thankfully braced against the wall or else he might have fallen over himself. The world was so… tilted.

“Turn-turn around,” Stan ordered, blinking hard to keep himself present.

“What, no ‘thank you?’”

“Turn around!”

“Not turning around, bud.”

“Please, I don-don’t– don’t want you to-to see– to–...Turn around!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Please! Deeby, I’m begging!”

“Not happenin’,” he sang, deadpan as ever.

“I thought you-you-you-ou said you weren't gugh-guh-gon-gonna–...” Stan shivered and took a deep breath. This stutter was driving him insane. “Tha-at you weren't a perv!”

“I'm not. I'm not gonna do anything except make sure you're not trying to pull some shit.”

“I won’t! I'm drugged! I-I can’t even take my shirt off!”

“All the more reason–”

“Declan!” Stan pleaded, pupils blown out and wide, tension at the top of his mouth so tight he was sure he was about to start bawling. “I care. I care-are-re. I don’t wan-want you–... Please…”

His voice turned high and quiet, tears burning to fall, pressure building up behind his eyes and ready to burst.

“Plea-ease…”

Declan closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Another tired deep breath.

“Turn yourself around if you care so much,” he muttered. The knife appeared in his hands, point pressed into the taut fabric on Stan's chest. “I'm done playing games. Stop stalling. Now.”

“I’m no-ot–”

The mercenary grabbed the strap of Stan’s binder and yanked him forward, barely pulling the knife out of the way in time for Stan to not fall on top of it and instead sending him hurtling into the man’s chest with a blood-curdling screech, then flailing and shoving off of the captor as hard as humanly possible. The push mixed with a sudden heavy fog bank engulfing his mind mixed with a painful misstep on his bad leg caused him to all but crumble to the freezing concrete floor in a heap, chin banged and bleeding and dripping and staining on the ground as his face pressing into scratchy dirt particles, as he laid there confused and scared and scrambling, just trying to figure out how to silence the roaring confusion of his mind as it blindly panicked in the pressing, buzzing fog that surrounded it. Threatened to swallow him whole.

Then a force grasped him by the back of his neck. Then a knee planted into the base of his spine. The full body weight of a man at least twice his size ground into his lower vertebrates, seemingly trying to press them straight through the soft flesh of his stomach into the unforgiving floor.

Stan screamed.

Was Deeby going back on his promise not to–

GET OFF!!

His binder, he couldn't let Declan take it off.

OWOWOWOWOW– NO NONONO–

The fog the fog the fog the fog the fog the fog buzzing buzzing buzzing buzzing BZZZZZZZZZZ–

A gloved hand pressed him into the floor by the back of his neck. Others in scratchy black tactical gear held his flailing limbs down. He strained. He cried. He screamed. He screamed so loud. So loud his throat was sore. They didn’t let up.

He wanted his mom. His dad. His sister. COME HELP!! Where were they? He cried out for them, heaving sobs. Unheeded.

“DEEBY!” He screeched, feet kicking out as if they could somehow free himself if he just kicked hard enough. “Get off! GET OFF! You're not taking my binder off–!”

“Mhm, yeah, sure bud,” Deeby mumbled as Stan continued his tantrum. His fingers squeezed slightly at either side of Stan’s neck. Warning. Patient. Waiting. He was waiting him out. Stan's head spun as if filled with angry bees, cries becoming weaker, fighting more and more sluggish as Deeby just sat on top of him.

Where was his sister? Where was Chloe?! CHLOE!! He needed to protect her! That was his only task! Protect her! He’d failed, he’d failed, he needed to save her, save them, get away. Every time he raged and strained and screamed another hand just came to pin him to the dusty ground. He was an animal thrashing around in a cage, a trap that only tightened around his throat the more he struggled.

“DEEBY– Deeby… Declan, Deeb– please get off, please, I need to save her, I don't– I just– can't–... ple-ee-ea-ease…”

Deeby didn't say anything. Was it the drug that made him feel like he was floating on air as a pressure chamber simultaneously caged in his skull, teasing it to shatter? Or maybe the hyperventilating as he realized there was no escape. Or maybe the gutting hunger, or the throat squeezing thirst, or the burning panic, or the bone-deep exhaustion, or the pain, the pain, make it stop, all-encompassing, never-ending, or the violent shaking from lack of oxygen, or any number of the many other things that were wrong with him. Maybe all of them. His limbs lay stiff, as if held down by lead weights. His protests devolved into barely a whimpering whisper. He couldn't breathe. Not with the bounty hunter on top of him pressing his stomach into the floor, not with the probably broken ribs, not with the binder pressing into the swelling of his ribs and making every intake of air a monumentally agonizing feat achieved less and less each time…

“God, shut her up, I’m not dealing with this in the transport.”

“Really? It’s just a kid.”

“Unless you’d rather I shut her up myself.”

NO NO NO ESCAPE ESCAPE HE NEEDED TO FIND HIS FAMILY–

A tiny little prick on his upper arm. He screamed. Screamed until he couldn’t anymore, screamed because he couldn’t do anything else, screamed until one of the gloved hands slapped over his mouth and stayed there until he quieted, and then he couldn’t even scream. It stayed there until tears soaked through the course fabric. The edges of his vision started to go dark.

“That’s it kid, shut up, go to sleep. Don’t struggle. It’ll be easier if you just relax.”

His head fell limp against the dirty ground.

He was gonna die here, wasn't he?

Yeah.

Made sense.

He let his head lie down on the floor.

He lurched with silent sobs.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He couldn't.

This was all pointless.

He was done.

And he went limp.

“There ya go. Attaboy.”

Deeby's voice came from above him. Slow, comforting, praising, as if he were speaking from a thousand miles away.

“Attagirl…” The last voice he heard. The last time he saw his childhood home. The last time he saw his parents. The end of his first fight for his life. Failed.

The black consumed him.

Stan let out something between a whine and a sob. The mercenary took just a moment to readjust, legs now caging him in and pushing inward on either side of Stan's hips. “Yeah okay, whatever runt. Let’s just get this done.”

Deeby's fingers probed under the binder for a moment, causing Stan to squirm anew purely on instinct. Until he hit a particularly nasty bruise. An electrical storm webbed through his ribcage. A flash of white. Stan yelped a cut-off, strangled squeal, a sound he prayed he’d never have to hear again.

“Sorry…” muttered above him. His binder flipped upward and over itself, a brief squeeze, the fabric pulling lightly at his skin, his arms, his hair, then pressure relieved.

Breathe in…

Holy fuck, he was alive!

Stan gulped in the first deep breath he'd taken in what felt like years, gasping and desperate and a full, deep breath. His senses sharpened. Kinda. He still sat pinned within a sea of cotton, the static that blanketed the clouds, limbs heavy, mind slow. But he could breathe! He almost remembered that he only felt like this because Deeby forcibly stripped him. That bitch.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter whispered quietly, amazed, almost inaudible. A moment of breath-taking clarity as adrenaline shot through Stan’s system for one last, final hurrah. Holy shit?

“Wh-what, what–?” He tried unsuccessfully to turn around and see. He even managed to convince himself that he didn't care that his tits were basically out, right before he flopped face-first into the ground again. This drug worked miracles.

Declan paused for a moment. Then: “Ah… Nothing, nothing, just, your ribs are much worse off than I thought. Bruised to shit…”

Stan laughed. Really? Bruised to shit? Who could have guessed? The burning anger and hatred and desperation he expected to feel, that he'd been fighting nonstop for two or three or however-the-hell many days straight? It was now buried under layers of static and sand and that lovely familiar darkness which pressed everything that made him himself to somewhere deep in the darkest recesses of his brain, unnoticed in the rolling fog. Though the knot in his throat that made him want to burst out crying still persisted. That was weird. What did he have to cry about? “Yeah… maybe you should… not… Aheh, uh, throw me… to–... walls anymore…” he giggled. He was pretty sure at least. That’s what his voice sounded like, right?

His limbs were so heavy. He might not be able to move them if he tried. Not that he wanted to. What if he just went to sleep right here?

Ah shit, he didn't have a shirt on still.

But like, who even cared anymore? The mercenary would take what he wanted, including Stan’s shirt, including his binder. He could take everything from him. Take his freedom, take his personhood, take any slight chance at happiness or have a normal family that wasn’t shattered to pieces. Shoot him with that pretty old gun, take his life entirely. Come back again and again just to make sure Stan never saw the light of day again. Who even cared if he saw Stan’s chest? Who even cared if this was one of the most humiliating things to ever happen to him? He shouldn’t fight so hard. He wouldn't be pinned face down to the floor and chained up and drugged if he just stopped fighting. This was fine. He felt fine. He liked this.

Keep fighting, rage, rage, escape.

Oh, shut up.

He felt the white overly large shirt being pulled back on over his head a million miles away, something with Eeby-Deeby getting frustrated again and his arms getting roughly shoved through the armholes before Stan could even try to lift his leaden limbs.

Chill out, man. It's fine. It's not that serious.

The way the world swirled around him was almost a comfort now. He was drugged. He knew it, it was just a fact now. The fog and the static and the way he could barely think and the way it was kinda hard to move and the way it took a second to move even if he did actually want to move… That wasn’t really Stan. That was some other guy. He was just drugged. Drugged Stan.

It was nice. Normal Stan was always so wound up about everything. Normal Stan fought so hard to change what couldn’t be changed, made everything so much worse for himself. And for what? He’d always be captured again, always chained up, always poked and prodded and beholden to the will of others, always treated like a petulant, whiny animal that needs to be tamed. Normal Stan couldn’t seem to get that. Normal Stan was those bad thoughts at the edges of his mind, the ones that kept him screaming, running, fighting even when Deeby got up off of him and gave him water which he desperately needed, sweet, sweet, water that relieved the pain and carried all his troubles away like a gently rushing river, cooled his insides of the burning heat and anger. GOD, he forgot how nice water tasted.

It was weird. Eeber-Deeber was almost thoughtful, in his own special way. When you looked past the violence. Stan should be nicer to him, make him not have to violence so much. Maybe then Stan go home! No fight, just go home and see his family… he didn’t really have a home, did he? No… But that was okay, because he still had Marcus and Chloe! He could see them again! That would be nice. Marcus, Chloe. He loved them so much. He needed to protect them. Why was he still here? His Mom and Dad couldn’t protect them, it was his job because they were…

Dead?

Dead.

It was for the best that they were.

It was fine though. It wasn’t that serious.

…

He missed them.

* * * * * * * *

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @thebestieyoureinlovewith

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

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whumperofworlds · 1 year ago

Text

Whumper, who had lost their adult child (either by death, estranged, something like that), finds Whumpee, who bears a striking similarity to their child.

So Whumper kidnaps them, and began to treat Whumpee as if they were their own child that was gone, like feeding them foods that their child loved. Whumpee, who had a life, friends, and even worried family, tried to escape, but Whumper "punishes" them by putting them in their room (their holding cell), and even outright torturing them for "misbehaving".

#whump #whump prompt #death mention #kidnapping #captivity #recapture whump #just in case

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ronanziriano · 6 months ago

Text

Augusnippets Day 22 - Recapture

“Is this him?”

Whumpee looked up at the sound of the voice at the door. He had been lucky, so far. Lucky that the first people he found after escaping from Whumper’s home had been police officers. Lucky that they had listened to him and believed him, sending two other officers out to the address Whumpee provided and taking him back to the station to take his statement.

Now, his luck was almost too good to be true. There, standing at the door of the little office where he’d been conducting his interview, stood Whumper, glaring at him, a policeman’s hand on his shoulder.

“Yes,” he said, breathless with relief. “Yes, that’s him, that’s the guy who - God, I can’t believe you caught him already, I’m - ”

“I’m not asking you,” the policeman holding Whumper snapped.

Whumpee blinked, taken aback. “What do you - ?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Whumper grunted. “Thanks for finding him.”

The officer who had been interviewing him pushed his chair back and stood, pulling a set of handcuffs out of the top drawer as he did. “Hang on,” Whumpee said. “What’s going - hey!”

He yelped as, rather than approaching Whumper, the officer instead grabbed Whumpee, twisting his hands behind his back and locking the handcuffs in place. “What the hell?! What are you doing?! That’s the guy, that’s the one who kidnapped me! The one I was telling you, just now - !”

“God, this one’s loud,” the officer now holding Whumpee remarked.

Whumper shrugged, watching Whumpee with no discernible expression as he struggled. “Been keeping him gagged at home a lot. He’s a slow learner.”

“What is going on?!” Whumpee shouted. “Hey! Hey, someone help me! He’s a kidnapper, he’s a torturer! I can show you, I’ll show you what he’s - !”

“Could you keep it down over there?” someone shouted back from down the hall. “Some of us are trying to work!”

“Someone grab the packing tape from the supply closet!” the officer called to someone out of Whumpee’s sight.

Whumpee could feel his breath picking up. He was having trouble really grasping the turn of events playing out around him, but it was rapidly becoming clear that he had not actually escaped his ordeal, not by a long shot. He strained against the grip of the officer, continuing to yell out for help as he started thrashing at the body behind him.

“Shit, would you just - ” the officer grunted. “Help me out here, would you, he’s - fuck!” The officer stumbled as Whumpee managed to elbow him in the gut. He only had a moment to relish it, though, when suddenly his whole body jolted, taut with pain. He screamed at the fire that was suddenly rocketing through him, from his torso out to his limbs, which he could no longer move to his own will. They were stiff and tight, like every muscle was being squeezed, every nerve alight.

He collapsed to the floor, and as suddenly as it started, the pain stopped, leaving him twitching on the ground and gasping for breath. Through teary eyes he squinted upward to see the second officer standing in front of him, taser out, blue sparks still crackling threateningly toward him.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” the first officer muttered, giving Whumpee a nudge with his foot.

“Sorry,” the second officer said with a shrug. “You picked a real rowdy one this time, huh?”

“Eh, I like a challenge,” Whumper said, as another face poked into the door and held up a roll of packing tape. “Who needed this?” the new face asked.

“Give it here,” said the first officer. The tape was tossed his way, and he pulled Whumpee up by the hair and made swift work of stretching the tape over his mouth and wrapping it tight and thick around his head.

“You really oughta come out of retirement,” the second officer said, his tone as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “You want challenges, we got plenty to go around.”

“Nah,” said Whumper. “I prefer it on my own. Much less paperwork.”

The second officer laughed as the first one finished off the gag and stood to pass Whumper a small key. “Bring the cuffs back this time, all right?” he said.

“No promises,” Whumper said, pocketing the key. “You boys wanna help me get him out to the car?”

“Sure thing.” The officers moved to haul Whumpee up off the floor, the first grabbing him behind the shoulders while the second took his legs. “And make sure and keep better track of your valuables from now on,” the first officer continued. “If someone else found him first, they may not have the decency to give him back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” They pushed through a door at the end of the hall that led out to a parking lot behind the station, and Whumpee’s struggles began anew, but they proved useless. Whumper popped his trunk open with his keyfob as soon as they were outside, and all too soon, Whumpee was tossed unceremoniously inside. The hood slammed shut above him, leaving him in blackness and silence.

@augusnippets

#augusnippets #augusnippets day 22 #whump #whump writing #whump drabble #recapture #police whump #kidnapping #tasing #unnamed characters #i wrote

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whumpsday · 8 months ago

Note

I'd like to kidnap early captivity Kane and give him a belting (just a normal leather belt) and scold him for being a bad guest in Jim's house, might as well collar train him as well. Little bit of pet!whump never hurt anybody (lies)

After about a week of training him I tie him up at night leaving at Jim's front door. If Jim doesn't get him before morning, then oh well, Kane gets burnt.

I'm wondering how Kane would take to collar training and how Jim would deal with things-

I love them so much <3

(i'm going to assume you mean early recovery kane bc that's the only way this makes sense and that has to be what you meant?)

Kane is devastated to leave the first hope of safety he's had in years. He begs you to return him, tries everything he can to convince you. He's perfectly obedient in all other matters. He cries a lot.

Jim is frantic at Kane's disappearance at first, worried that Kane's escaped and will come after him, but he quickly realizes that isn't the case. Just when he's started to make his peace with them having both escaped, Kane shows up tied and screaming on his doorstep.

They both go to Liz's house for a while. Jim tries to comfort Kane, but he's inconsolable, constantly terrified of being taken away again. He doesn't take the collar off for months.

#ask #k&j ask #recapture #pet whump #kidnapping

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bedtimescenarios · 2 years ago

Text

"I know"

CW: non-con touch (not sexual), gun, needles (minor warning), sedative, use of pet names, and I think that's it? let me know if i need to add anything else

As the elevator doors opened, Whumpee started walking through the familiar hallway until they reached their apartment, a wide, genuine smile spread across their face. They hadn't spent a night out in a long while, but, as the therapy sessions were going better and they were finally healing, Whumpee decided it was finally time to start going into the world again.

They grabbed the keys from their pocket, turned them in the lock and gently pushed the door open. Still smiling, happily relieving the memories of that night, they closed the door, locked it, and threw the keys on a shelf. They reached to their right to turn on the lights.

The lights turned on before their fingers got to touch the switch.

As they turned around, Whumpee's heart skipped a beat. On their couch, Whumper sat comfortably, her lips forming a smug grin. In her hand, a gun, which she held lightly, as if she wouldn't even need it. Whumpee stepped back, their eyes wide, their smile completely fading. Their back brushed against the door. The one they had just locked.

No, no. This couldn't be happening.

Not again. Not when they were finally getting better.

"Welcome, Whumpee." She said, eyeing them up and down. "You look beautiful."

They frantically looked around, calculating an escape route. Going back through the front door wasn't an option. Even if Whumper wouldn't use her gun, she would reach them before they got to unlock the door. But maybe, just maybe, they could reach the balcony in their bedroom, on the other side of the apartment. Lock the bedroom door, gain time to call the cops. Jump, if it was necessary. Anything would be better than going back with her.

It was a long shot, but they tried anyway.

They took off running, fast, toward their bedroom. They knew something was wrong when they heard Whumper's steps. Her pace was slow, she wasn't running after them. But still, they brushed it off as her arrogance and slammed the door shut.

They only noticed the missing chunk of the door when they tried to lock it. The lock had been sawed out along with the doorknob.

"What the-"

Before they got to finish, the door flung open and they fell hard onto the floor. They scrambled backwards and propped themselves up on their forearms, looking up at the doorway in horror. They knew it was no use trying to get up, as they would only get pinned down.

Whumper tsked, but the corners of her lips were still turned upward. This was amusing for her.

She put the gun on a high shelf, approached Whumpee and crouched down to their level. "Now, now. I know you, Whumpee. I knew you'd try this ever since I saw your apartment's layout for the first time."

She'd been in their apartment before?

Breathing heavily, Whumpee tried sliding away from her more, but was stopped by a hand on their back. Smirking, Whumper sat on top of them. Whumpee's eyes filled with tears as they realized there was no way out at that point. They were going to be taken back there.

She started brushing her fingertips across their back, causing them to shiver. The grin on her face grew. She was loving this.

"I told you you looked beautiful. Don't you know it's impolite to ignore a compliment, Love?"

"Fuck you", they spat.

Her smile dropped a little, her blue eyes turning a cold gray. Her hand moved up their back, to the back of their neck... and, before Whumpee managed to pull away, to their hair. Tilting her head, she grabbed a chunk of it. Whumpee couldn't help a whimper escape their lips as Whumper pulled hard on it, tugging their whole head backward.

She leaned over. Her lips lightly touching their ear, she whispered "We'll see about that attitude of yours when we get home."

home

"I'm not going back there. I'd rather die." Whumpee protested before they could stop themselves. But it was true. They would rather die.

"Oh, sweetheart..."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a syringe.

"...I know."

Whumpee froze.

Struggling under her was useless as she easily poked their neck, releasing the liquid that was in the syringe.

The last thing they felt before passing out were arms wrapping around them, carrying them out of the apartment.

#whump #defiant whumpee #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #recapture #kidnapped whumpee #kidnapping #wlw #failed escape attempt #whump prompt #whump ideas #whumpee #lesbian #lgbtqia

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dioles-writes · 5 months ago

Text

“ADELIO”

Masterlist | Credits go to @jiphenn | Characters:Felix (he/him), Una (he/they), Adelio (they/he), Wilder (he/him), Shehani (she/her), Winola (she/her), Akali (he/him), Alzena (she/her), Nyssa (she/her), Maddox (he/him), Ms Castro (she/her), ??? (he/him), Kuali’i (he/him), ??? (they/them)

“Boy, this is interesting.”

Una hummed to themself, looking up from their newspaper and at the rest of the gang, their gray eyes glittering. “What is it?” Felix asked, discarding the comic book that he had engrossed himself in to lean curiously over his shoulder.

“‘Young survivor looking for Diantha Rose Board Game Club.’ Adelio Castro, a survivor from the Diantha Rose Diole Attack, recently woke up from his nine-month coma.” Una read out loud before glancing back up at the others again. “You guys know him?”

Felix snatched the paper, his eyes going wide. “ADELIO?!”

“I’m guessing that’s a yes.” Una said, peering over Felix’s shoulder as he furiously scanned the article to read the rest of it for everyone to hear.

“In an interview with Wolf News, the young man says, ‘I know it sounds fabricated, but the club aren’t bad people. They had nothing to do with the attack.’ Despite his horrible injuries, resulting in a limb amputation, why does the young man seem to defend the Diantha Rose Board Game Club?” Una continued. “He even stated, ‘My friend Winola, she was part of the club, but she still risked her life to save me. I don’t think any of them knew about what was going to happen that night other than the attacker.’ He mentions Winola Higgins, the Diole who killed her father and three siblings. Even going so far as to say she ‘saved him’.”

Everyone turned to Winola. Her expression was, as always, unreadable.

“He left a final message during the interview. This message was however, not for the public, instead, it was for the Board Game Club. ‘If you ever need me for anything, don’t hesitate to come find me, I know you can.’” Una finished.

Felix couldn’t believe what he was reading. He didn’t know what came as more of a shock, the fact that Adelio was still alive, or the fact that he wanted to help them, instead of kill them like everyone else.

The last they’d seen of him, he was unconscious, blood seeping through his clothes, his face pale and tight with pain as Cora went to help him. Felix hadn’t thought he’d made it through the night, much less the past few months - not with an injury so severe. The fact that he had woken up from a nine-month coma was a miracle in itself. And the fact that he was offering to help them, after everything…

Well, Felix wasn’t sure he could believe it.

Adelio had every reason to hate Dioles - to hate the Board Game Club. They had been lied to for months, not even aware of the fact that they weren’t even a part of a real club. Then, the night of the Winter Concert, Gunther had brutally exploded their arm, leaving them in a coma and permanently disabled. That was as good of a reason as any to hate Dioles, not to mention this wasn’t the first attack to wreak havoc in their life, and their family.

So why… was he so determined to prove the Board Game Club’s innocence?

“So who’s this Adelio guy?” Una asked, looking around.

“He was in the Board Game Club with a few of us.” Felix said.

“So he’s a Diole?” Shehani asked.

“No, human.” Felix knit his eyebrows together, beginning to explain. “January made a fake one. Gunther, Akali, Alzena, Rory, Kuali’i, and Nyssa weren’t in it though.”

“Oh, why’d you need a fake club?” Una asked.

“So it didn’t look suspicious.”

Felix remembered how he ruined his relationship with Adelio the day of the club fair, trying to convince him not to join. He had practically begged with them. Guilt sprung up in his gut at the thought of their face so full of hurt, smile fading the longer he frantically tried to explain the Board Game Club away.

“Well if people find that out won’t they accuse him of being a Diole?” Una cocked his head.

The realization hit Felix like a semi truck. Slowly, he turned to face Una, the colour draining from his face. “He’s going to die.”

His mouth went dry. “That idiot just gave a whole interview about how pro-Diole he is, if they find out they’re an ex-member of the Board Game Club, they’re going to murder him.”

The room went dead silent.

“Well they’re nothing we can do about it.” Wilder stated matter-of-factly.

“We can’t just let him die!” Felix shot back, furrowing his brows at Wilder. He wouldn’t allow himself to have more blood upon his shoulders, wouldn’t stand back and watch as another one of his friends was taken from him. Not again. Adelio had believed in him, believed in all of them. He had to have realized what this interview would mean for him. Yet he still chose to go through with it in hopes that the Board Game Club would receive his message. They had risked everything with this, had put their life on the line.

And Felix was determined to not let him down.

“What’re you gonna do? bring him here?” Wilder’s grating voice pulled him from his thoughts. His mouth was drawn in a sharp line as he glared at him, his stare borderline pure hatred. (Not that it was a look Felix wasn’t well-used to receiving by now. Practically every time he so much as opened his mouth he could expect a scowling glare coming from Wilder’s direction.)

“Uh, YEAH.” Felix argued. “If they turn on him and start accusing him of being a Diole he’s basically in the same boat as us.”

The room went quiet for about two seconds. “I think that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Felix crossed his arms defensively. “Well I’m not just gonna stand around and watch my friends die.” He snapped, levelling his stare.

“Yeah, like you helped him in the first place when he was dangling from Gunther’s grasp.” Wilder deadpanned.

That hit a nerve.

Felix narrowed his eyes. “I did more than you.”

“I’m guessing you weren’t running around the entire school.” Wilders eyes were practically slits at this point, his face twisted up in an angry scowl.

“I was actually helping Avil fight Gunther. Where were you, huh.”

“Maybe turning on all the taps and breaking the fucking pipes on the floor so my girlfriend could actually have water to use. By the time I got back all I saw you doing was getting your ass dragged away by your sister.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t run away from me I could’ve portalled us all to safety.” Felix glared back.

“Maybe you should’ve been doing something useful instead of being carried away while everyone else fought and ran away.” Wilder shot back pointedly.

“I WAS.”

“Woah guys, let’s all relax and focus on the bigger problem.” Una interrupted, reading over the newspaper again.

Felix scowled. His face was flushed red in anger, hands clenched, creasing the paper. Still, he obliged, biting back his urge to sock Wilder’s annoying, ugly face and going quiet.

“So is he like, good at anything?” Una asked again in regard to Adelio.

“He was really good at robotics and sports,” Felix remembered. “Uh, Gunther obliterated his arm though-“

“Oh!” Una did not think Adelio was really going to be of much help, but he didn’t say that. “Does he have family?” He asked, quickly changing the topic.

“Uh, I know he had a younger sister.”

“He had a mom.” Winola piped in.

“So a mom and a sister…. I don’t think they’d like to come down with him.”

“Well if they’re accusing him of being a Diole will he really have a choice?”

“Well instead of dragging him down here, the most logical thing to do is try to prove his innocence.” Alzena cut in, picking at her nails.

“And how are we gonna do that?” Wilder asked.

“We’ll probably have to do something that makes it look like we’re against him.” Akali said, leaning forwards.

“Wouldn’t that just make us look even worse to the public?”

“Well it’s not like they’ll be seeing us in a good light anytime soon.”

“So what’re we gonna do, attack his family?” Wilder evidently thought this was a terrible idea.

“No, we just have to make a scene.”

“Like what?” Felix asked with a frown. He was willing to do whatever it took to keep Adelio safe, but to completely ostracize himself from his former friend wasn’t his favourite plan. Adelio was the only one that seemed to be on their side since the Winter Concert. He wasn’t exactly ready to throw that away.

“Maybe we should just talk to them first.” Nyssa suggested.

“What, do I just portal to him-”

“Well that’s our only way to get to Adelio if any of you guys wanna salvage your relationship with him.”

“Well then, looks like you guys are gonna go for a little trip!” Una grinned.

Felix couldn’t help the excitement that came from those words. For the first time in months, he was going to leave the constraints of the base and go back out into the real world again. He was going to see Adelio again. He hadn’t even really realized it, but he missed them. After all this time of assuming they were dead, he was relieved to find out that they were okay and alive. Glad that they would get to see each other again, to talk again.

“So who’s going?” Alzena asked.

“Me.” Felix’s answer was instant, albeit obvious.

“I’ll go.” Winola offered.

“I wanna go.” Maddox said.

“Then I’ll go too.” Alzena added.

“I think four people is good, we don’t wanna draw too much attention.” Una said.

“Are we going now?” Alzena asked, looking towards Felix expectantly.

Felix stood up with a nod. “The sooner the better.”

“Let’s hope he’s home.” She mumbled, standing up and walking towards him.

Together, the four of them disappeared through the portal.

When they reappeared on the other side, they stood in the middle of Adelio’s little home, greeted by a comfy atmosphere, warm decorations, and a little altar in the corner. It was a stark difference to the base; dark, cold, encrusted with dried rust-brown blood from floor to ceiling, inescapable no matter what room you turned into. Adelio’s house was soft and welcoming, somewhere comfortable you could relax in. It was… calm. The exact opposite Felix had come to expect in his daily life. It was a nice change, he thought. Slowly, he glanced around, taking a few steps inside.

A bullet whipped past his head.

It collided into the wall with a loud bang, the sound of glass shattering instantly breaking Felix’s illusion of peace. “What are you doing here?! Get out!” A voice screamed.

Felix flinched, eyes darting towards the sound of the voice. Adelio’s sweet mom stood in the hallway, although she did not look so sweet when she had a gun levelled at their heads, her face set with a fiery determination that froze all of them in place.

Felix stared at her with wide eyes, too shocked to move, absolutely frozen in fear as he stared down the barrel of the gun. Out of all the possible scenarios he had been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been this.

Ms. Castro’s gaze flickered around the room, scanning each of their faces before landing on Winola. For a split second, her expression wavered, her eyes going wide, before hardening again. “I said what are you doing here?!” She repeated, her finger tightening around the trigger.

That broke Felix out of his stupor. “Uh, we’re here for, uhm, Adelio.” He mumbled, his voice coming out shakier than he would have liked to admit. “We got his uh, message.”

“Why did you come now?” Her eyes narrowed as she sharply enunciated the last word.

“Uh, we think he might be in danger.” Felix said, eying her gun nervously. “I’m sorry. I don’t- I didn’t have any other way of reaching them.”

“You THINK?”

A large crash, followed by an explosion, sounded from outside.

Their heads all snapped towards the noise. What…?

“Follow me.” Ms. Castro mumbled, before turning and sprinting down the hall.

She led them towards the basement door, quickly swinging it open and ushering them to go down. “You kids chose the worst time to come.”

“What’s going on?” Alzena asked, running down the stairs after her.

“Diole attack.”

“Where’s Adelio?” Maddox asked.

Ms. Castro fell silent.

Felix’s stomach filled with dread and he turned to stare at her with a horrified look. Were they already too late…?

“Do you need to send him a message?” She asked.

“Is he… alive?” Felix asked uncertainly, fearing the worst. This wasn’t going at all how he had expected. He hadn’t even considered the thought of a Diole attack - and all of them were definitely not prepared for one.

“Yes, he’s fine.” Ms. Castro replied. “Do you need to send him a message?”

“Where is he?” Felix asked, relief flooding through his veins.

“You don’t need to know that.” Ms. Castro snapped.

“Sorry.” Felix mumbled, glancing around. “We came here because we thought he might be in danger after the whole interview, but uh-“ He cut himself off. Diole attacks were most definitely worse.

A large crash resounded through the house.

Ms. Castro’s eyes flickered towards the basement door, her grip on the gun tightening. “Are you good guys?”

Felix hesitantly nodded yes.

“Then go get rid of the Dioles upstairs. You can talk to Adelio if you do that.”

Felix didn’t wait to be told twice. He quickly spun on his heels, sprinting back up the stairs, Winola at his feet.

Alzena turned to Maddox hesitantly, looking doubtful about so recklessly running into battle without even an idea about what they were getting themselves into; nonetheless, the two of them turned their backs on Ms. Castro and followed Felix and Winola upstairs.

Felix crashed through the door, not even having the time to blink or catch his bearings before a blade went flying at his head.

He managed to open a portal in the split-second before he was reduced to a headless body abandoned in the rubble, sending the blade flying towards his attacker. But just as fast as he dodged it, several more blades filled its place, shooting towards him.

Felix opened up another portal, larger this time, sending the blades out into the void. Before more could come flying towards him, he slipped through another portal, dropping down next to who - or what - was sending the knives towards him.

A fist went flying at his face the second he landed. Felix’s reflexes kicked in, a portal redirecting the punch before he even really had time to think about what he was doing. Smoke and debris filled the room, clouding his vision and making it hard to focus. He couldn’t see anything in this dust, much less where the attacker was.

He slipped into another portal before they could advance again, landing squarely on their back, his arms wrapping around their neck and starting to squeeze.

In an instant he felt something sharp dig into his side. Felix sucked in a sharp breath, blood seeping through his shirt. Fuck.

He portalled a knife into his hand, slashing it across their face with all his strength. It was as if their head was made of pure rock, chipping away at the blade. His attack hadn’t even seemed to affect them in the slightest. “That’s not a nice way to greet old friends, is it now, Felix?”

Felix’s blood ran cold. He stumbled away, his eyes going wide. That voice….

He knew that voice. He didn’t think it was one he’d ever forget, not as long as he lived. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time, a voice that haunted his dreams and nightmares. A voice that he hadn’t heard since….

No. No. It couldn’t be possible. It couldn’t really be-

Felix’s head felt foggy as he slowly crept away, terror driving his actions, screaming at him to run, just run far, far away. He couldn’t seem to control his legs, stuck between the urge to run and to fight. His heart pattered in his chest, the sound of its rhythmic beats so loud that it drowned out all sounds of fighting and explosions around him.

“Man, I thought you’d be a little more excited to see me.” They - no, Felix corrected himself, he - sounded almost disappointed.

Felix’s instincts took over at the sound of his voice again, a portal slicing through his stomach. The shadowy figure making its way through the dust did not lurch, did not give the slightest indication it could even feel the portal. Felix couldn’t even hear it pass through skin.

Slowly, the smoke started to clear….

Felix was met with bright green eyes towering over him. The same bright green eyes he remembered so clearly. The bright green eyes he thought he’d never have to see again, not alive. Green eyes that drove pure terror through his veins. Green eyes that belonged to the one person who ripped everything away from him.

Gunther stood before him, Kuali’i at his side.

“Surprised?” He grinned down at the four of them, taking in their four matching expressions of horror with delight.

He looked different from when they last saw him. Though his hair was the same style and length, still the wispy black-and-white mullet Felix used to think was so cool (just like everything else about Gunther), countless jagged scars now littered his body. Almost every inch of visible skin was marred by them. Not only that, but his hands looked rough and more calloused than before, and his left eye was glassy and disfigured.

“You-“ The words died on his tongue.

Felix was frozen to the spot, shock seeping into his core. He should’ve been running, should’ve been fighting, yet he found himself stuck, unable to move. When he finally managed to drag his mouth from off from where it hung at his feet, his voice came out as shaky and weak, more a question than a statement, trembling and choking over his words. “You’re supposed to be DEAD.”

“You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did ya?” Gunther said with another grin, as if this whole thing was almost amusing to him.

Taking advantage of their shock, he transformed his arm, swiftly attacking all of them.

Felix disappeared through a portal, only to be caught by a knife to the gut the second he appeared on the other side. Kuali’i stared down at him, his pale red eyes emotionless.

Felix portalled another knife to his hand, aiming a shot back at his ex-friend. “What are you doing here?!” He screamed, anger boiling to the surface. Gunther was supposed to be gone, he was supposed to be dead. Why did he have to come back, why now? Why couldn’t just one thing go right in Felix’s life for once? “Vincent said you planned to get yourself killed! Why the fuck are you still here?!”

Kuali’i dodged Felix’s attack, aiming a punch at his face. He was a lot stronger and agile than he remembered. Despite Felix’s months and months of training at the base - with two former Top Five’s at that - he was still easily overpowered by him.

“We’re on a mission, aren’t we Kuali’i?” Gunther smiled and turned away from Winola to look at his partner, but Kuali’i didn’t even so much as acknowledge that he spoke, staying stone-faced.

Felix opened a portal to deflect Kuali’i’s punch back onto him, but Kuali’i quickly retracted his hand before he could hit himself. “How the fuck are you alive?” Felix screamed at Gunther. “January crushed you!”

“We all have our own little secrets.” Gunther said with a small grin, advancing into Alzena and Maddox now that he was finished with Winola.

Kuali’i swept Felix’s feet from under him, and he fell into a portal, landing back onto Kuali’i’s shoulders. He wasted no time, attempting to slit his neck in one swift motion.

Kuali’i dodged again. The rate he was moving at seemed to be impossible.

Gunther started to pummel Alzena and Maddox. They were no match against him, not even having the strength to block his repeated attacks.

Felix aimed a portal at Kuali’i’s leg, attempting to mutilate it into his shoulder, but Kuali’i, once again, effortlessly dodged. He swung Felix off of his back and punched him in the face, a large crack resounding as his fist made contact with his head. Felix stumbled back, managing to fall into a portal, but blood poured into his eyes, making it impossible to see. He glanced around wildly, disoriented. They were going to die.

He hastily opened up a portal for the four of them to escape through. He could get Adelio and his family to safety as soon as they arrived at the base, but even with the four of them against only two, they were greatly overpowered. They had to get out of here.

A hand closed around his neck.

Gunther grabbed him and Alzena by their throats before they could crawl away. Just as fast, Kuali’i surged forwards, grabbing Winola and kicking Maddox, knocking him over and resting his foot atop his head. Maddox groaned, blood smeared across his face, gushing out of his nose and dripping onto the ground beside him.

“You think you can get away that easily?” Gunther asked, his voice low, grinning widely.

Felix created a portal through his hand in a desperate attempt to get away, but it simply flashed before him, passing through Gunther’s wrist, almost as if there was nothing to chop off in the first place.

“I’m gonna finish what I started.” Gunther’s eyes darkened as his grip on them tightened. Felix could hear Winola gasping for breath behind him as Kuali’i strangled her, simultaneously crushing Maddox’s head under his foot.

Felix was trapped.

It was as if he was back in the crumbling remains of the school, the sounds of screaming and gunfire echoing around him as rubble rained down in the audience, Gunther’s claws closing around him and squeezing.

He felt just as puny and helpless as he did nine months ago, as if no time has passed at all since he’d left the burning crisps of Diantha Rose High School. He was still the useless, weak kid desperately fighting a losing battle against someone he would never be able to beat. The hours and hours he spent training meant nothing, not against Gunther’s pure power and strength. He was nothing against him.

His vision started to blur, Gunther’s grinning face fading in and out of focus as he choked, clawing at his neck in pure desperation.

Everything started to go black, his arms falling limply at his side. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t-

“Stand back Gunther, Kuali’i.”

A voice boomed through the sounds of screaming and falling debris. Suddenly the pressure on Felix’s neck ceased, as he collapsed on the ground in a heap, choking and heaving for air alongside Alzena. Gunther and Kuali’i immediately stepped back, looking towards the voice obediently.

Felix weakly scrambled over to Maddox and Winola. They were both bleeding and out of it, Gunther and Kuali’i’s combined attacks leaving them curled up on the ground, barely conscious, but fortunately - alive.

“Are you Dioles?” The voice called out through the dust. The air grew colder as they stepped closer and closer to the group.

“Yes.” Felix coughed out, looking shakily towards the voice.

Blood and smoke clouded his vision, making the figure appear foggy as they continued to approach them through the debris. “Come with us.”

Felix slung Maddox and Winola across his shoulders, letting out a hysterical laugh.

They stood there, staring at him for a moment before their gaze flickered around the ruins of Adelio’s home. “Kuali’i, check upstairs. Gunther, go to the basement.” Their gaze returned to Felix’s shaking, bloodied body. “Why do you laugh?”

Felix picked up Alzena last. “I’m not going to Paradise with you.” He sneered, spitting Paradise like the word was made of pure poison.

“Suit yourselves.” Whoever this was didn’t seem to want to fight. Instead, they turned their back on the group and made their way back outside into the sunny street.

Felix was happy to leave the stranger behind. He portalled to Ms. Castro, landing in the basement again.

He collapsed, Alzena, Maddox and Winola tumbling from his arms, his body too beat-up and bruised to bear their weight any longer.

Gunfire rang out from in front of him, bullets zipping in all directions. Ms. Castro had her gun held up high, as she fired bullet after bullet at Gunther.

Felix quickly dropped Maddox, Alzena and Winola into a portal, safely transporting them back to the base before staggering forwards to help Ms. Castro.

The bullets just kept passing through Gunther, colliding with the wall behind him and leaving behind no real damage. He laughed, looking back at Felix with a wide smile before attacking Ms. Castro.

Before Felix could properly register what he was doing, he was leaping in between the two of them, roughly shoving Ms. Castro into a portal, using his body to shield her from the attack.

A tentacle impaled Felix straight through his stomach.

He let out an ear-piercing scream. Every nerve in his body lit up on fire, pain shooting through his torso, exploding across his body.

The tentacle disappeared, leaving him with a giant, gaping hole inside of him. Felix gagged, gasping for breath, as his legs finally buckled from underneath him. With the last bit of his strength, he opened a portal, leaving behind Gunther and Adelio as he fell into the base.

“GUNTHER.” He rasped, collapsing onto the ground into a ball, coughing and gasping for air as blood gushed out of him from all directions. He could feel himself fading away, could feel himself dying.

His eyes started to roll up into his head, and with his last seconds of consciousness, he managed to choke out three words.

“GUNTHER IS ALIVE.”

Winola belongs to @sleepsloooop || Una, Adelio, Wilder, Shehani, Akali, Alzena, Nyssa, Maddox, Ms Castro, Gunther, Kuali’i, and Seijun belong to @jiphenn

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seetheothersideofparadise · 2 years ago

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Give me a Whumpee who escaped from their Whumper and got them arrested. Over two years pass and they heal, they feel more like themselves again, until one day Whumpee is just leaving work when they see a news headline that makes their blood run cold.

Whumper escaped from prison.

Whumpee rushes home, ready to go on lockdown and hope that Whumper gets caught again soon or they may never leave their home. They get home, they start locking up the doors, but then there’s someone behind them, wrapping their arms around Whumpee as if greeting an old friend, and asking, “Did you miss me?”

Bonus points if Caretaker hears the news and rushes to Whumpee’s house, only to find the place ransacked, Whumpee missing, and a message written on the walls reading, “Too slow :)”

#Atlas Writes #whump prompt #creepy whumper #kidnapping #recapture #worried caretaker #scared whumpee #touchy whumper #escaped whumpee #recaptured whumpee

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sparrowsage · 1 year ago

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Warehouse Drabble: Unsettling Reality - Alex's POV

So, I saw a prompt on here that someone reblogged and it gave me inspiration for this piece! It's set three days after this piece. I also wanted to write Sparrow's POV for this conversation as well and you can find it here. Hope y'all enjoy it! Also, a huge thank you for @oddsconvert for the usage of her oc's Ronan, Henley and Izaak from her series A Taste of Your Own Medicine!

TW: kidnapping implied, reference to past kidnapping, vague reference to past trafficking

“Hello?” Alex said, running his free hand through his hair. It had been a long day at the hospital; he had been too absorbed in his thoughts about Sparrow. He had gone missing three days prior and both Alex and Felix had been a mess trying to work with the FBI on finding him as soon as possible.

“This is Alex Sharpe, yes?” the voice over the phone asked, his voice low and a bit husky. It reminded Alex of Dr. Greyston and he couldn’t help but frown at the memory of him.

“It is, yes. Is there something I can help you with?”

There was a short chuckle on the other end of the line that made the hairs on the back of Alex’s neck stand up.

“Not really, you’ve been enough help. I just wanted to call and thank you personally for taking such good care of my little Songbird. If it weren’t for you, he’d be dead in a ditch somewhere.”

Alex was frozen in his chair, his heart pounding. Songbird. Damon’s nickname for Sparrow.

The doctor grabbed a notepad and a pen as quietly as he could from the corner of his desk, his hands starting to shake, almost too afraid to speak.

Damon took Alex’s silence as recognition and chuckled again. “I take it you know who I am, that’s good.”

“I do, yes,” Alex responded slowly. “How’d you get this number?”

“I have my ways, Dr. Sharpe. How goes the search? I’m sure you’ve gotten some kind of lead on your patient by now.”

Damon’s remark and patronizing tone made Alex grit his teeth, but his words confirmed his suspicion on where Sparrow was. Felix, Henley and himself had hoped it wasn’t the case, but at least now there could be some kind of lead, even though no one knew where this facility was.

“It’s going as well as one would expect,” he responded, writing down the time and date in his notepad. “Why are you calling me? Isn’t it a risky move? For all you know, the police are tracing this call.”

Damon let out a huff of amusement, “You and I both know that is a lie. The FBI isn’t that smart, not this early on in the game. As to why I’m calling? It’s like I said, I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of Sparrow while he was away. There were countless times while he was in your care that he almost took it too far, but you stepped in and made sure that he didn’t.”

How on Earth could he possibly know about that, Alex thought. They had been at the hospital, which Alex, up to this point, thought was a pretty secure and safe place. He jotted down a small note about it on his notepad as he managed to stop himself from asking how Damon knew about what he and Sparrow had worked through, his mouth hanging open slightly as he tried to find something else to say.

“I was merely doing my job. He wouldn’t have gone to those lengths if you and the others hadn't treated him the way that you did.”

“We were merely teaching him what his purpose on this Earth is. I do have to say though, you have given me quite a lot to fix now that he’s back where he belongs. You’ve set back his training a fair bit, but it’ll be righted soon enough.”

Alex’s whole body was shaking now, doing all that he could to keep his cool. It felt like he was being baited, almost like the Keeper wanted him to lash out. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“It won’t last long,” he said finally. “The FBI will find you and shut that place down-”

“Oh, will they?” Damon cut in. “Are you banking on Henley remembering where this place is?”

“How do you-,” Alex started, his composure slipping.

“I know a lot of things, Dr. Sharpe. Henley’s owner took measures to prevent both him and Izaak from ever knowing where this place is. Any lead you manage to find, it’ll go cold within days. It would be in your best interest to forget about your patient. He’s back where he belongs and will stay here.” There was a pause, and all Alex could hear was the faint sound of walking before he heard a few low groans in the background as Damon stopped walking. “Have a good night, Dr. Sharpe.”

Alex was about to say something, but there was a click on the other end before the line went dead.

Alex stayed frozen in his seat for a couple minutes after the line went dead, not knowing what to do, his body refusing to move no matter how hard Alex willed it to do so.

He was terrified, to say the least. The groans he heard at the end of the call, they sounded like Sparrow and the doctor’s heart was in pieces knowing he was back with that bastard, enduring only god knows what at the Keeper’s hand.

It took Alex a bit before he could move again, writing down everything he could about the phone call before he forgot. Once he had everything written down, he picked up his phone again, dialing the number an FBI agent had given him the day before with shaking hands, holding his phone up to his ear as it rang, praying the agent would answer at this hour. Hopefully they could help now that it was confirmed where Sparrow was.

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @whumpcereal, (If you'd like to be added, let me know!)

#the warehouse #sparrow cresky #damon graves #alex cresky #recapture #implied kidnapping #disturbing phone call #alex's pov #small drabble

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rizzoto-whump · 2 years ago

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@amonthofwhump - Captivity, creepy captor

@whumpers-monthly - Ambushed

CW: Kidnapped, captivity, failed escape attempt, creepy whumper

He crept quietly along the dark alleyways, trying to stay out of sight. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way towards the street. Finally, he emerged from the shadows and straightened up, ready to make his dash for freedom.

But just as he took his first steps into the street, something cold and hard pressed against the back of his head. "Not so fast," a voice growled.

James froze in terror. He knew he'd been caught, knew that his captor had somehow discovered his plan. He slowly raised his hands, knowing that any sudden movement could mean the end for him.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and jerked him backward. James stumbled, but managed to keep his feet. He turned to face his captor, expecting to see a face filled with rage and hatred.

Instead, he was met by the cold, unfeeling eyes of a man he barely recognized. It was Ronald, but somehow, he looked different. Harder. More dangerous.

"You thought you could just run away from me?" the man sneered. "You thought you could escape so easily?"

James tried to speak, to plead for mercy, but his throat was tight with fear. He couldn't form the words, couldn't make his mouth work. The man grabbed him by the arm and began to drag him away. James stumbled again, but this time he couldn't keep his feet. He fell to the ground, scrabbling desperately to get away.

But it was no use. His captor was too strong, too determined. He pulled James up roughly and pushed him towards the door of a nearby house. "You're going to learn not to defy me," he hissed. "You'll stay here until you've learned your lesson."

James felt a wave of despair wash over him. He knew that he was trapped, that there was no way out this time. He'd failed, and now he was going to pay the price. He could only pray that someday, somehow, he'd be able to escape for good. But for now, he was trapped, and he knew it.

#whump #whump prompt #captivity whump #failed escape attempt #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #amow tropeathon 2023 #whumpee #creepy captor #ambushed #kidnapped whump #controlling whumper #torture #yandere whumper #recapture #whump OC #OC: James #OC: Ronald

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scratchandplaster · 5 days ago

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Tales of Arcadia - Adrift

The second part of Lukas' recapture!AU. Poor guy is still out, so let's see how well his brother and roommate are coping.

CW: parental Whumper, recapture, Ben being cringe when drunk

Previous | [Masterlist]

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Wake and sleep fought over Lukas' mind like a pair of twisting snakes.

Deep down, in a primal sort of sense, he knew the rumbling under him meant that he was moving. Someplace he would normally fight and spit to get far away from.

Still, the easy dizziness clouding his senses had won for a while now, swallowing up anything that may rouse him into reality again.

If anything, Lukas knew he was thirsty. So thirsty, his lips sealed shut and every breath reminded his body of how sore the inside of his mouth was. He tried to speak, to reach for the bottle on his nightstand.

Not even a finger twitched.

I'm gonna be late.

What time it was it? Usually, the noise from early IHOP fistfights or Ben stomping through the kitchen woke him up soon enough...

In a strained attempt, he managed to pry his eyelids open for a second and was immediately overcome by a wave of nausea. Somebody shushed him from the left, and a moment later, the rumbling stopped.

Split lips opened slightly, as a hand cupped his nape and held a flask to them. The liquid felt heavenly against his dry tongue. Sip by sip, Lukas let the relief push him back into his seat-

Seat? Why was he sitting?

Yet, he drank it all down - the sweet aroma of chamomile was reassuring, the chalky aftertaste of the pills hidden by warmth inside his chest. The voice, now seemingly miles away, talked quietly to him while combing through his hair, always careful to hold him upright.

The rhythmic sound of the motor started again, not quite repelling the skin-deep nausea inside him, the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

Doubts, ebbing away with the minutes, only bothered him for so long.

As the tea did its duty, Lukas' attention drifted far away. Behind his heavy eyelids and numb spirit, all was well again.

--------

"Unbelievable..." an upset Avery barked under the weak shine of the streetlights, "Lukas! For fuck's sake, this ain't funny."

After twenty minutes, a quiet suspicion had started to sprout between bass beats and Happy-Hour-cocktails. It wasn't Luke's style to take this long to calm down, and especially not to leave without them - quite impossible for someone overwhelmed by the mere concept of public transport.

Something was wrong, Avery felt it creep around like a predator hiding among them. If it didn't already, it was about to strike in no time flat.

Ben floundered close behind over the asphalt, a hot mess filled to the brim with god-knows-what. Avery had never seen him drunk. It was cute at first, no so much anymore when he stopped being able to walk straight. And the redhead he met somewhere near the bar, continuously sticking to them like shit to a boot, didn't help to soothe this premonition either.

Avery held on tight as they circled around the parking space for what felt like forever, every second more irritated by Lukas refusing to answer his phone.

"Hey!" The unwelcomed third spoke awkwardly, too nervous for comfort, in Avery's opinion. "How about you search for him and we-"

"What?"

"Your friend?" they stuttered, surprised by the rough tone, "You can search."

"Yeah, no. If you won't help, you can leave."

"Don't fight," Ben interrupted, staggering on the spot and eager to pat Avery's jacket reassuringly, "How about we...uhm...we can-"

He trailed off, either too drunk or too interested in the piece of ass he picked up to be worried. If he was a lick more sober, the realization that his brother would never walk off unannounced may have hit him sooner.

Unusual, for a guy who preached about the virtue of abstinence every time Avery dared to enjoy a late night's smoke. Clenching his teeth, somehow their new addition to the group stood out, in the most egregious way yet.

His grip on Ben's arm tightened, and so did theirs.

"Ohh, one at a time, please! I have space for everyone," Ben slurred, amused when the ginger pest refused to let go, and glitter chafed against his skin like sandpaper.

So that's what was going on here.

Avery's normally oh-so playful spirit hit its limit. The embarrassment, the recklessness, the uncertainty - all that he could handle.

A deceiving cunt on the other hand...

"What's your problem, dude?" They stared up at Avery like a pushy chaperon. Too bad; if they needed it that badly, two healthy hands could do the job just fine. Ben and him had more pressing issues.

"Not sure, you tell me," Avery answered in a low tone.

It felt desperate, how they acted so uneasy all of a sudden.

No, not desperate - wrong.

"You don't understand, I'm just trying to-"

Not letting go of Ben, Avery snapped forward. His hand snatched theirs, maybe a bit more roughly than intended, and ripped it off his roommate's wrist. He, more absent-minded than anything, still tried to protest but with a swift push against their shoulder, Avery's new acquaintance stumbled backwards against a dumpster.

Cold metal vibrated as they were held in place, an angry fist clenching their shirt.

"Do you understand?" he asked, voice sharp and impatient.

The redhead nodded, not even daring to let out breath.

"Yes?"

"I do, I do!" they wheezed, suddenly as gentle as a lamb.

"Great," Avery hissed, only his index finger still pressing against their sternum, "then piss off."

Without another objection, they took a final glance at Reuben and scurried away.

"Sam, w-wait!" he whined at the loss of attention, but without anyone to listen to him, "Why?"

Because whatever escaped Avery's radar had already struck its target. Blind to the danger, they both were left stranded on the sea of asphalt. Maybe Lukas had found comfort in the small strip of forest at its edge, felt a little homesick and hugged a tree or whatever.

"Come on, he has to be somewhere around here."

"No!" Ben spit and finally wrenched himself away from getting dragged along the pavement. Hiding his face, lit red by frustration and confusion, he weakly slumped over and kneeled on the ground.

"Seriously?" Any attempt to pull him back up got repaid with a meek slap in Avery's direction.

"Don't," he murmured, head in hand like nothing else could hold its weight, "Why can I have a single good thing?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I'm a cockblock. We'll find you someone else. For now, let's focus on getting your brother back."

Was Ben even listening? Judging how violently he was keeling over, retching nothing out of his system, he was already plenty occupied.

"First Martin...and now this."

"Martin?" The whine from his friend's lips did confuse Avery, despite the situation. If Ben wanted to talk bad about his partner, fine. It was obvious he didn't enjoy sharing attention, but he'd rather listen to it later at the kitchen table, a hot cocoa for the three of them in hand.

A nagging itch pinched his heart nevertheless: "What about him?"

"H-he ruined everything," Lips loosened by too many glasses of Malibu Sunset and Blue Lagoon trembling with every sob, he spit on the ground - not obvious whether it was the alcohol or simply good old disgust this time.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Avery groaned.

"Y-you and me."

Him and... Oh, come on! The unrelenting talent to be haunted by his careless decisions once again distracted from the pressing issue at hand.

"Ben- No, I'm not doing this with you right now. Get a grip!"

He just sat on the cold ground, shaking from side to side like a flag in the wind.

"He did! He-" Reuben slurred before cutting himself off. A sore loser, that's all what he was, a bridesmaid desperately grasping for the bouquet.

Obviously Avery would choose this weird geezer over him.

It was wrong, this was all wrong! Wiping the tears away, Ben had finally realized it too.

"Where's Luke?"

Whether the two men wanted to admit it yet or not, the cold black night had already eaten him up whole.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whumpyourdamnpears, @whump-till-ya-jump, @kawaii-cakes

#crackhead caretaker Avery strikes again #Sam gets bullied #queer on queer crime #new Ben unlocked: jealous Ben #parental whumper #noncon drugging #kidnapping #alcohol #recapture #arcadia #cult setting #mind control #conditioning #whump series #whumpeexcaretaker #failed romance #protective caretaker #recapture!AU

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whumble-beeee · 5 months ago

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Yur Gonna Get Murdalated, Rookie

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 15.5

Content: adult character perceived as a minor, kidnapping/captivity, noncon drugging, guns, recreational drug use, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The Law Enforcement Policy Handbook, Chapter X: Superhumans

[Officers of the law have the right to ask any civilian to show their upper right arm to verify whether or not the civilian bears the ‘General Super Brand’. If the civilian does possess such a marking, they are superhuman; the officer has the right to use whatever superhuman training they may possess.

If the brand indicates that the superhuman is also a ‘Latent Supervillain,’ ‘Supervillain,’ or Test Subject,’ the officer is also compelled to check the superhuman’s upper right shoulder blade for the ‘Hazardous Super Brand,’ colloquially known as ‘The Villain Brand.’ Depending on the contents of the brand, the officer may be required to arrest or otherwise subdue the superhuman. They are advised to use their best judgment to subdue the superhuman or hide and call for backup.]

* * * * * * * *

The night was peaceful. Boring, even. The type of night where you’d wanna just sit back and smoke a cigar in the amber-dusking twilight that spilled through the half-closed blinds of your office. It’s filled to bursting with old bookshelves sworn by the tests of time, a single chair for you to sit in as you work, and a sprawling, book-laden red oak wood desk, surrounded on all sides by stacks and stacks of notes, files, crucial evidence about your latest case. The scent of cigars burns your nose. You’re so close to a breakthrough, you could just about taste it on the tip of your tongue, You would find it, you always did, and you could feel it now, edging ever closer after a tirelessly rewarding and sleepless night.

And yet here Officer Kalis Brooks sat instead, bored out of her skull watching some dinky ass highway that was lucky if a car graced its beaten roads once every twenty minutes.

If only she were a film noir detective. Truly an unfair life she led.

It was a suspicious sort of fellow she finally spotted slowly making his way down the highway. A scoundrel who wore a bandana over the lower half of his face.

A person with something to hide.

Of course, she pulled him over. Simply her duty as an officer of the law.

She approached the truck and rapped lightly on the driver’s side window, and it rolled down with a gentle whirr. She shined her flashlight into the vehicle, and the view to greet her was almost something of a–

Holy shit.

The driver sat there, lazily gripping the steering wheel, looking like some sort of modernized pseudo-cowboy with a buncha scary lookin’ gadgets. A burn scar ran all the way up the side of his face, down his neck, and reappeared on his arm where his leather jacket rolled up to his elbows. His eyes were dilated, every movement markedly relaxed. Disjointed. Uncanny even.

He was definitely high. But at least he’d had the forethought to take off that bandana concealing his identity. That was a good thing, right?

Then her jaw nearly dropped when she registered the passenger. He didn’t even look at her, his gaze stiff and unseeing. Very obviously also high on some sort of drug, though Kalis reckoned this high was less than consensual. Not to mention the super-power suppression collar wrapped around his neck.

He was a super.

She wasn’t trained to handle cases like this. Was this a super kidnapping in progress?! Something more?

Shit, no time for film noir roleplay bullshit, this is serious.

This is a villain.

Her gaze snapped back to the driver, just as her hand unclipped the gun holstered at her hip.

“Sir, please step out of the car slowly with your hands up. You’re being detained under suspicion of committing an in-progress felony.”

The driver’s gaze immediately shot to his passenger. “Officer, there uh… seems to be a misunderstanding–”

“Step out of the car or I’ll have you arrested for disobeying an officer of the law.”

That got his attention. The driver blew his bangs out of his face with a slow, deep sigh, and equally slowly reached down to open the door. The metallic creak of the door swinging open was almost deafening in the moonlit night.

“I should mention I have a gun holstered on my belt,” he drawled inattentively, boots crunching the sparse gravel scattered across the shoulder of the highway. His arms stayed firmly raised, thankfully. “A revolver. Left side.”

“Thank you for informing me,” Officer Brooks said quickly. This man seemed to be an easy-going fella, thankfully, but air around him stank of danger, like the haze of the walking dead. She slipped the ornately decorated gun out of its holster and slapped all the bullets to the roadway with 6 distinctly clean clinks. Then triple-checked that the safety was on. Then a fourth time. The matching knife too, for good measure.

“I’d like to ask you some questions,” she stated, barely halting her transatlantic accent from slipping through. Stop it with the film noir. “Show me your upper right arm, please.”

He sighed, then nodded, then struggled to push up the leather sleeves of his jacket enough to show her the clear absence of a super brand.

Good, one less thing to worry about. Not a supervillain.

“Alright then, what’s going on with that boy in the truck, friend?”

“Nothin’ much. That’s Stan. He’s my ward.”

“Your ward?”

“Yuh. I have custody over him. He’s a test subject.”

“Really?” She said, voice full of faux intrigue.

“Really.”

“And who are you, exactly?”

“Handler, of sorts. A bounty hunter. I work with the police sometimes, actually, we have an arrangement.”

“Oh? An arrangement?” she asked, as if daring him to tell her all the illegal dealings he held in his hidden hand of cards.

He just shrugged.

Ugh, she hated these types.

“Fine. You have any proof?”

“Think I left my bounty huntin’ papers in my other pants,” he quipped. “Check the kid's villain brand, call in my ID, talk to your boss. Should be proof enough.”

That was absolutely not how that worked. Though she did feel a slight vindication in her chest that she would actually probably arrest this man.

“You have your ID on you?”

“Mhm.”

He flicked out his ID between forefinger and middle to the officer, seemingly plucking it from thin air before she snatched it out of his hand, noting every piece of identifying information, checking for signs of a fake. Nothing seemed to be out of order… Had he really just handed her his real ID?

“And you said something about the boy having a villain brand?”

The man– Declan Cansano, so said the ID– nodded. Then rolled his damn eyes.

“Oh, I'm sorry, am I boring you?” She smiled sarcastically. “Need I make it obvious that you are suspected of kidnapping?”

“I just have somewhere to be. It’s late. If you’d call in to ask about–”

“Are you telling me how to do my job?”

“No ma'am, I'm sayin’ you'd save yourself a lot–”

“Well stop ‘sayin'’ or I'll be ‘sayin’’ that you resisted arrest when I’m writing up your arrest report. This way.”

She had to keep from grabbing his arm and yanking him as she led him over to her cruiser and deposited him near the passenger side door. Only after ordering him to turn around so she could cuff him behind his back of course.

“Stay here until I come back,” she ordered. “And remember that running from a uniformed officer is a criminal offense.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he lulled back, almost sing-songy while leaning nonchalantly against the car. “Keep an eye on the kid, he's the type you’d have to worry about.”

Because you kidnapped him? God, she couldn't wait to throw the book at that man.

Kalis pressed the talk button on the radio clipped to her shoulder. “Officer Brooks reporting, I have a man pulled over here named Declan Cansano, roughly 6 and a half feet tall, blond, possibly… Latino? I have him detained for suspected kidnapping of the boy he has with him, a white brown-haired male, very battered and bruised and likely drugged who looks to be about… sixteen-ish? The man claims the boy is a super with villain status, and that he has jurisdiction over him as a ‘handler’ or ‘bounty hunter’ or something. Can you look him up for me?”

There was a moment of silence, then the radio crackled to life. “Report received, I'll look into a ‘Declan Cansano’ for you real quick. Do you have a name for the white male I can look into as well?”

“Not yet, I’m going to check that out now and get back to you shortly.”

“Wait,” A third voice interupted, familiar in just the right way to make Kalis’ heart flutter in her chest. Officer Frida Galleta. Her mentor, her favorite person on the force, one of the people she trusted most in this world. And… well, it didn’t hurt that she was easy on the eyes as well. “Brooks, did I hear you right? You said last name Cansano?”

Just as fast as it had soared, her heart dropped like a stone in a vacuum. She’d never heard that tone from Frida before. “I– I– Uh... yes. Why?”

“Oh god, I… Brooks, don’t engage with him– Look, I’m gonna call you on your personal cell–”

“Wait, Frida, what do you mean ‘don’t engage with him?’ I have him detained, I can’t not engage with him.”

“Officers, please keep small talk to a minimum over the radio,” Dispatch interrupted. “Officer Brooks, I couldn’t find anything on a ‘Declan Cansano’ anywhere, not the super or villain database, the criminal database, the employee database. But uh… to Officer Galleta’s point, if he said he’s a bounty hunter... Well, let’s just say you might wanna follow up with the chief about that before you make any decisions. They might have some sort of arrangement, so to speak.”

Arrangement…? Like a… Like…

Officer Brooks smelled the stinking injustice of a rat.

“Co–... Come again, dispatch?” she breathed into the radio.

“No!” Officer Galleta’s voice interrupted. “Dispatch, I’l’-I’lll handle this, no need to get the higher-ups involved. Please.”

Then her phone rang. Officer Galleta’s beautiful profile photo graced her periphery as she pulled out the phone and promptly sent the call straight to voicemail, eyes straight ahead and staring into the pitch-black night. At the car that a captive was waiting for her in.

“Kalis, please answer your phone,” Galleta pleaded.

Officer Brooks silenced her radio, that wretched squeal, and started toward crime scene in the making.

It was a pig-filled world out there. She wouldn’t stand idly by as they made the entire world their mud pit.

Her phone rang again.

A single deep breath to steel her razor-sharp wit, then slammed open the passenger side door, preparing for the occupant to do anything from attacking like a spit-fire to running for the hills to grasping onto her and holding her close as the first friendly face this boy had seen in years.

Somehow, she didn’t expect the boy inside to startle and struggle, legs scrambling and weakly kicking at her to put distance between them. He leaned precariously back on the console of the car, shaking as if he were in hell when it finally froze over, and only then did she realize his hands were restrained behind his back.

Now that she wasn’t looking at him over the angry presence of a kidnapper, she could see clearly now that her first impression of him was so very wrong; He was so much worse off than she could have imagined. Deep-set dark circles under his eyes, so many bruises lining his skin, specks of dried blood flakes dotting his body, cuts caked with disgusting oozing brown, eyes dilated and bloodshot, angry red welts peaking out from under the power-suppressing collar that only could have been from being yanked around or choked, and dried blood-stains that drip-drip-dripped down the front of his oversized white t-shirt.

Her face went ashen at the ghastly scene. What had that man done?

Her phone rang once more. She muted it. It still buzzed in her pocket.

“Hi,” she started slowly. Her voice cracked slightly. “My name is Officer Brooks, or Kalis. I'm here to help you. What's your name?”

He simply returned her a wide-eyed stare. Then glanced over to her cruiser. At the man leaning on it. Then at her badge. Then down to his lap, not a single word uttered.

The phone buzzed with another call.

“It's alright,” she soothed, like a mother beckoning a lost child home. “He can't hurt you right now. I'm here to help you, but I need you to talk to me or else I can't help you. I need to know your name. It’s Stan, right? Stan? That’s what I heard from him.”

He looked up, staring into her as if she wasn't even there again, eyes so wide, so dilated. No words. He frowned, considering for a moment. Then a vindictive determination spread across his features and he moved his gaze right back to his lap.

“Alright, that's uh… that's alright.” She felt like a kindergarten teacher with the way she was talking. Her phone buzzed with yet another call. “Can I… can I at least see the super brand on your back? Can you do that for me, Stan?”

He jolted back. “No.”

More phone buzzing. Adrenaline surged in her chest. “Stan, please. I can't get you back to your family if I can't find out who you are.”

“... fam–... family?...” His eyes widened, pupils somehow blown even wider, unfocused into the middle distance.

“Yes, Stan.” She very carefully reached for the collar of his shirt, ready to pull back at any time. The boy didn’t react. “I just want to get you back to your family.”

Kalis pulled the shirt down just enough to reveal that awful blue of the villain brand. The blue that signified a test subject.

Shit, the bounty hunter had been telling the truth.

The phone buzzed once more. Kalis snatched it out of her pocket. Turning around swiftly so Stan wouldn’t think what was about to happen next was directed at him.

“What do you want?” She hissed. “I’m trying to talk to a kidnapping victim.”

“Oh thank god, you’re alright,” Frida's tinny voice came through the speaker.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I– Look, Kalis, I know this sounds bad, but I need you to let the bounty hunter go. Now.”

Officer Brooks grit her teeth. This was exactly what she was afraid of. “Why.”

“He’s… look, alright, I’m surprised no one told you before, but the police have a sort of… deal… with certain criminals and organizations. Mr. Cansano is one of them–��

“So you’re a dirty cop, then?” Kalis interrupted, voice strained, chest tight. “And– and you’re trying to bring me down with you, now? Frida, I–... You should see what he’s done to this captive. I can't let him go.”

"I’m not a dirty cop! Not the way you’re thinking at least, I– just trust me, I can't even say over the phone but I'm on my way and I’ll tell you when I get there, I swear. Please don't do anything, for both our sakes.I know him, he's–”

“You know him?!”

“Yes, he’s–”

“How do you know him?!”

“Kalis. Listen to me.” Her voice turned deathly serious. “He's got ties everywhere. Hell, he does jobs for the police sometimes, they won't protect you if you get in trouble. He might try to kill you, and even if he doesn't and you get him arrested, now you have a target on your back from both the mob AND the corrupt police. If you try to arrest him, you're going to die. Please just leave him alone. Please."

She grit her teeth. “So that means he doesn't have any… official paperwork to prove he has authority over the super?”

“I– uh… probably not? They don't work within the law, that's why you need to let him go.”

Well then…

That’s all she needed to hear.

“I’m arresting him.”

“No! No, Khalis, I'm on my way, I'll-I’ll be two minutes, just wait–”

She slammed her phone down and turned back around to Stan, only then realizing that the poor boy probably heard everything she just said–

Nope, he was off in his own little world again.

“Stan?...”

No response.

She waved her hand in front of his face. “Stan!”

He startled back to himself, terrified, scrambling to get away from her just like the first time she'd walked up to him.

She didn't have time for this.

“Stan, honey, I'm going to arrest the man who hurt you alright? He won't hurt you anymore. I have to leave now, but one of my friends will be here very soon. She'll help you out, alright? Everything will be alright. Just please stay here. Hopefully I'll see you soon.”

Officer Brooks closed the door of the truck before she could catch a reaction, hoping that ditching Stan to be found by Officer Galleta was the best choice here.

It had to be, it was the only choice.

She steeled herself, resting her hand on her gun once more, and walked back over through the oppressive black night and into the spotlighting brights of her police car.

To face down the bounty hunter.

“Mr. Cansano, you're–...”

Then all of her built-up courage suddenly burst. What the hell was–...

She gaped.

Then scoffed.

Really?

“Are–… are you… smoking a blunt right now?”

The bounty hunter’s hand withdrew from his mouth, followed by a puff of dark white smoke. His gaze never once broke from the bright dot of red-yellow ash that oh-so-subtly lit his face. “Yup.”

She just stared at him for a moment. Then shook her head out. Whatever.

“Mr. Cansano, you're under arrest for suspected kidnapping of a super and illegal bounty hunting.” He didn’t so much as blink. “You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.” Crickets chirped somewhere in the forest sidelining them. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve spoken them to you?”

He didn’t move in the slightest through her whole spiel. He almost seemed to have paused time around him, actually, a frozen snapshot.

A pause as Kalis stood ready to arrest a few feet away, yet unable to move closer as the air turned sticky with his low chuckle.

A pause because, only then, did Kalis realize that when she last left the man, she'd left him in handcuffs.

The bounty hunter shoved the burning tip of the blunt into the metal siding of her cruiser, instantly extinguishing the bright ember. “You talked to your boss?”

She clutched her gun. “I've been made aware of the situation.”

“Brave one, you are.”

He pushed up out of his lean. She whipped out her gun and aimed it squarely at his chest. “Freeze.”

He stopped, staring at her gun hand, eyes narrowed, hands shooting up to show he wasn’t a threat.

Yeah right.

Police sirens in the distance. Couldn’t be anyone but Frida.

“Put your hands on the car. Slowly.”

He looked her up and down. It was funny, his eyes almost looked red, with the way the headlights shined off his eyes.

“Hands on the car.”

The hunter almost seemed to think about it for a moment. Then he laughed, pulled his bandana up over his face, and took a step forward.

Her vision tunneled, heart pounding in her ears. All she had to do was pull the trigger.

“Shame,” he drawled. Now he had… a string? A metal string, the type used to cut clay. Held taut between his hands. “I’ll try not to make this hurt, youu seem lie one of the good ones.”

Kalis’s gun hand shook. She should shoot him. She’d never shot anyone before. Shoot him. Shoot him. In the chest, in the leg, somewhere, shoot him, shoot him, you’re going to die shoot him shoot him do it fucking SHOOT HIM–

Her finger squeezed the trigger as he lunged forward, a flash of light, everything bright white and hot and blinding as a loud CRACK split through her eardrums, her very skull. Her gun arm knocked to the side, the gun flew from her hands. Her only chance at defending herself disappeared somewhere into the inky black night.

Suddenly she was staring right into his dark brown eyes that seemed to gleam red. His hands slammed just short on either side of her neck, the wire held gingerly between them pressing into the hard muscle of her larynx.

Just the two of them.

The crickets, the trees.

The stars, shining above so sweetly.

Her last witnesses.

She was going to die here.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered, a low grumble that reverberated her entire soul. She couldn’t look away from those blood-red eyes. Would her blood be added to that as well?

A deafening screech of tires.

His brow furrowed, gaze stuttering elsewhere. A new set of headlights spotlighted them like startled deer, two omens of death and justice heading straight for them, night turned into a shining white day.

Brighter, brighter.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter yelled. Low engine revs turned into deafening roars that wholly swallowed any screams that ripped from Kalis’ or Declan’s throats, right before a hand yanked off her feet, just barely heaved over the hood of the car and tumbling jarringonto the ground next to the man who had apparently saved them both as a giant mass of immoveable flashing red and blue and black and white metal screeched past them as it attempted to grind to a stuttering halt before flying into the ditch that sidelined the highway.

Kalis slammed into the ground.

The world spun around her.

Frida.

Ow, FUCK–

What’s–

It was Frida!

She was saved!

Or wait, was Frida trying to kill her now?

Why had the bounty hunter saved her, were they on the same side now?

What was happening?!

The door of the cop car flew open before the car even fully screeched to a halt, and there she stood in all of her gorgeous, life-saving, terrified and anger-filled glory, pointing her gun over the top of her cop car right at the man in the cowboy hat sprawled dazed on the ground next to her.

“DECLAN CANSANO, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

* * * * * * * *

Also linking this rq for anyone who didn't see bc I think I'm hilarious

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