I think I'm part Targaryen

Welcome to my smokey lair. Kit. She/Her. Star Wars, Dragons, the Dark Knight trilogy and Die Hard. Black Lives Matter! 

[shydragonrider]

Masterlist (Still in Progress)

The Shadows we Know

Main Characters - Freya "Lynx” Stone and Malachai "Wolfsbane” Hill

Torn

Main Characters - Pandora “Glory” Millern and Damian “Strife” Owens

Blood on the Ash

Main Characters - Zana Merson and Max Thornton

In that Cold Darkness

Main Characters - Tallis Scott and Chase Ransom

When the Darkness Comes

Main Characters - Selena “Ember” Mitchell, Asher “Darkfall” Matthews, Zander “Caspian Sea” Mitchell, and Rachel “Huntress” Mitchell

Picrews and Face claims

In the Silence

Main Characters - Belladonna “Ghost” Oakland, Caspian “Wrath” Hall, Ben “Dusk” Holmes, Joe Lawrence 

 BEING REWORKED

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

When Your Tears have Drowned You

Main character - Melanie Rivers. Aka Red

List of Characters is here

Requests

If you wish to request something, my fandom list and rules can be found at my side-blog @i-am-dancing-with-dragons

[shydragonrider]

Can you please continue In that Cold Darkness? It’s so good and still one of my favorite series on this app!

Whoo, it's been a hot fucking minute. I will try to post more of it when inspiration hits. Thanks for the love

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Please listen to me and support us by donating/sharing our GFM campaign🍉🤍. I know you cant help all families need aid but at least you can help those who come across your life💔.

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Donate to Help my family survive famine and have secure life, organized by Mazin Fakak

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[hollowgast1]

10. Valeria's Captivity

Wisteria X co-written by @turn-the-tables-on-them

hmm...something's odd with quill today. how long will it last?

Masterlist | Previous | Next

cw: self harm, mentions of past death, briefly referenced noncon

“Repeat it. You’re still leaving your left side open when you step back,” Quill says, arms folded across his chest as he watches an amateur villain run through the motions against a training dummy.

He narrows his eyes, letting one hand casually slip down into his pocket. In his peripheral vision, the young upstart Flytrap mirrors the movement on a nearby bench. They don’t say anything, so Quill ignores them.

“Adjusting your left does not mean your right side is free game!”

The woman on the mats hurriedly fixes her posture. There are still two eyes boring into the side of his skull from the other side of the room. Quill tries to focus on pair of villains grabbing dull blades to spar with.

He closes his eyes. Pinches his temples. “What,” he grits out.

“Boss man!” Flytrap chirps, jumping to their feet almost instantly with a grin.

“Flytrap,” he says flatly. “What do you want?”

“Nothing, sir! Just wishing to inquire about your day,” they say with faux innocence. 

Quill represses a sigh. He misses when the annoying little shit was still terrified of him.

==

Valeria’s muscles spasm hard as another shock rips through her body, but she stubbornly keeps her eyes tight shut, straining against the chain with all that remains of her strength. She thrashes hard, and feels the collar dig into her neck, splitting the skin at its edges.

Blood drips against the ground and sizzles against the electrodes.

Eyes shut. This ends here. One way or another.

Either she’d overheat the collar and get it to stop shocking her, or she’d choke herself pulling against it, in which case she’d be well past caring about the fucking thing anyway.

Her ears prick up, able to hear the approaching footsteps even despite the blood roaring and her heart pounding. She convulses at another wave of electricity, her whole body trembling from the effects of the shocks.

Suddenly there’s a voice right outside her cell.

“Again, Valeria?”

She grinds her teeth, and ignores him.

==

Of course she’s managed to hurt herself with the collar. Even after the precaution of the mitts to prevent her from picking at her wounds, she finds a way.

He’s blaming Flytrap for making him want to go down here. They were blathering on and on earlier, asking him if he was lonely and other stupid questions.

“Hey, boss, you seem a little tense. When was the last time you got laid?”

Quill scowls. He’s not reading into why his first instinct was to check on his prisoner when he got annoyed with the villain. Instead, he throws open the door, undoes the shock collar, and throws it across the room. His anger is palpable. 

“Are you insane?”

She’s breathing raggedly.

“You -hhhff- really have to a-ask?” she sneers weakly.

“I thought I made it clear I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Quill snaps, manhandling her into an upright position to check for scarring. He meant for her to hurt a bit, perhaps grow sleep deprived and submit, not for her to overdo it on purpose.

“And I thought I m-made it clear,” she pants, not resisting as he examines the gouges in her skin and the deep burn on her windpipe. “I don’t listen when people tell me what to do.”

“Your teachers must’ve loved you,” Quill says sardonicly. He decides that her wounds aren’t fatal and are mostly pain-inducing on a surface level, which he almost scoffs at. The girl has only made things worse in the least effective way, and for what? To get his attention?

He won’t admit that it worked.

Her shoulder and chin still in his hand, he pauses, pretending to be deeply observing a scratch while he considers his options. His initial response is to punish her like he might’ve Calix—threaten someone she cares about, beat her, tie her into a stress position. But the first choice wasn’t applicable, physical pain had proven to be futile, and although the stress position sounded like a fun choice in the future, it wasn’t ideal for this particular situation.

She wasn’t Calix. The same tricks wouldn’t work on her. Perhaps instead of forcing her to submit through torture and causing her to harm herself more…

Quill mentally sighs. Sometimes Valeria is more work than his own missions.

“Alright. Get up. Time for a little field trip.”

She hisses at him, ears lying back as she glares at him.

He ignores her and forces her head back. The thin silver link is still there as it’s always been. Grabbing a tool from the depths of his long black coat, he molds the metal into a chain with a clip and connects it to the band around her neck.

“I’m going to take you for a walk. Behave,” he adds sharply.

Valeria, of course, ignores the command, and gives one last warning hiss to the Supervillain, digging her heels in and refusing to move.

“Oh, so we’re pretending to be a stubborn mutt, are we?” Quill says, unimpressed as he stares down at her. “This isn’t a game. I won’t ask again.” He yanks the chain harder, forcing her forward a step or two.

“You should really learn the difference between a dog and a cat, dickhead,” Valeria growls, hand darting out in a blur, and landing a sharp blow against the wound she’d inflicted during her escape attempt. She remembered where she’d cut him.

Quill lurches away, hand still gripping the chain tightly as his lips curl into a snarl. He’s overcome with blind rage for a moment, cursing her name and moving towards her with the intention to strike—

Self-mastery, he reminds himself. Breathe.

He’s got a plan. Don’t unravel it because of a bit of immature nagging.

Instead, he tugs on the chain, pulling her closer to him as he collects the length of it, stopping only when their faces are inches from one another. It’s a familiar position from more than one situation, almost always accompanied by fighting.

“You’re going to shut up,” he says lowly, eyes glinting dangerously, “and follow me. No more of this. You’re at the end of the leash and I am holding the lead.”

“Or what, big boy?” She sneers at him, lip curling. “Calix got away, and I don’t care if you hurt me.” She doesn’t struggle, instead waiting like she wants to see his reaction, if his eyes will narrow the way they always do when she strikes a nerve.

He doesn’t give her the satisfaction. “Maybe not, but I don’t plan on hurting you,” he says, and it’s evident in the way her own eyes harden that she doesn’t believe him. That’s alright. He’s telling the truth, anyway—pain doesn’t make her obey the way it did for Calix. She’s just going to keep picking at her scabs until she bleeds out if he keeps going with the physical torture.

Humiliation, however, has almost always gotten a reaction from her. It’s just a bonus to sweeten the pot of his real plan.

All in due time.

==

Valeria sits down, stubbornly refusing to budge.

“You had a shock collar on me for sleep deprivation, you really think I have the energy to get up and walk for whatever petty torment you have waiting?” she asks.

“Don’t be so uptight,” Quill says, chuckling. He looks down at her like she’s some amusing toy to him. “Come along. I’ll drag you if I must.”

When he turns, pulling on the chain with a firm enough grip that she realizes he’s strong enough to do just that, she stubbornly goes limp and lets it happen.

“Alright, I’ll consider this comfortable enough,” she tells him, though the collar cuts her breath off.

Quill doesn’t turn around to respond, but she hears him scoff anyway. “It’s cute how you must make everything so difficult for yourself.”

“So long as it inconveniences you, I’m quite willing to suffer,” she says with faux cheeriness, wondering if she’ll pass out if the collar chokes her enough. When they get to the stairs, Valeria braces herself for the pain of her burned back to be dragged over each edge, but she grits her teeth, determined to take the pain rather than submit to Silvercrow. 

She stifles a hiss of pain at the first step, but she doesn’t try to stand.

As long as it’s an inconvenience to him as well, having to drag her this way.

“Seriously?” Quill says then, sounding for once incredibly informal and annoyed, but also completely baffled. She almost laughs at the complete unexpectedness of the response.

“Mhm,” Valeria manages. “Keep going, this is just… getting interesting.” She’s running out of breath, but that’s not going to stop her.

Clicking his tongue in exasperation, Quill descends the few steps, puts his hands under her arms, and heaves her onto her feet with ease.

Valeria remains limp in his grasp, the pettiness of the action almost cheers her up, despite everything. He’s having to accept that she’s going to make this journey as difficult as possible.

Quill carries her up the stairs and dumps her on the ground at the top, resuming their journey. Each room they approach has her heart sink further, memories of chains and a glass-embedded whip plaguing her mind.

It’s almost like she can smell the sharpness of the electricity that nearly always followed.

Her mother was much better at this than Quill, and Valeria would not have dared be so petty and defiant with Flashflood. But Silvercrow isn’t that creative, nor does he strike fear into the same way her own mother could with a single look.

I’d have stopped being so difficult long ago, if she were here. She wouldn’t let me get away with this.

She didn’t completely understand why Quill did.

As more doors that they don’t go through pass by, they finally approach a fogged-glass pair of double doors, and Quill looks suspiciously focused—eager?—as he throws them open with both hands.

Valeria braces herself, expecting blood and concrete walls and hanging instruments, and instead is blinded by…sunlight? She squints, pupils constricting against the sudden, painful glare. There’s a slight breeze blowing through.

She doesn’t get a chance to absorb the open courtyard or the people fighting in one area as she’s tugged in the direction of what looks like a greenhouse. It’s not as enclosed, but a dome of glass covers it, sending pretty shadows on the ground and amplifying the heat.

The warmth is foreign compared to the chilling corridors and the bone-numbing cold of the cells.

She refuses to show her confusion, instead closing her eyes again, until Quill stops walking, and she’s lying still on the ground once more.

There’s a bench. It’s untouched, like everyone knows it belongs to Quill and is afraid to touch it, but it’s simple. It’s nothing grand like his seat in the cafeteria or impressive the way he demands things to be. It’s just a bench.

Quill sits down without saying anything. His gaze drifts to the glass dome, which she’s only now realizing covers a garden with blooming flowers and unripe vegetables sprouting from plots of soil.

She almost feels like she’s intruding for a second before Quill snaps out of it.

“Well? Sit down.”

She cautiously does so, standing up to sit down next to him, though she isn’t sure why she complies.

“Not quite the dungeon I was waiting for,” she says bluntly. “So why did you bring me here?”

“On the ground,” Quill says flatly, brushing off her question.

Valeria scoffs, standing up and moving as far as the chain will allow her, before delicately crossing her legs and sitting down in the shade.

“No. Come here,” he says insistently, motioning to the space beside his legs. 

“No,” she echoes flatly.

“I’m trying to be nice for once.”

“I’m not a dog, Silvercrow, treating me like one isn’t some grand gesture.”

“That’s not what’s happening here.” Quill scowls. “You keep hurting yourself. I’m trying to get you to stop.”

Valeria scoffs. “Right, because you think I’m your property or something equally degrading, and don’t like when someone else damages your toys?” There’s anger simmering in her frost green eyes now, and she pulls back against the chain even more, ever the petty one.

The chain still doesn’t budge. The asshole’s tight grip never wavers.

“Fine. Sit over there, then,” Quill says, crossing his arms and leaning his head back. He doesn’t seem interested in continuing the conversation, so they sit in silence. There’s chatter in the background, the faint sound of dull swords thudding against one another and her ears flatten in frustration at being dragged out here. She’d take the cell if it meant she could be alone and go to sleep. 

She lies down on her back, looking up at the glass ceiling and then closes her eyes.

“When were you going to tell me Calix made it out?” She asks, again trying to strike a nerve.

“I wasn’t,” Quill says, unabashedly honest.

“Not a very good liar, Silvercrow. You would have punished him by now if you did have him. Did you think I wouldn’t ever figure it out?”

He shrugs, not giving her much. “I figured you would. I was just taking advantage of the time I had before you did.”

Valeria doesn’t give him the satisfaction of asking why. She’s past caring at this point. 

“Come over here,” Quill asks again. His voice is softer this time. He’s still staring at the sky.

This is not the hill to die on, Valeria tells herself, and pushes herself up. Save your breath for next time he decides to put you through some other hell.

She goes over, and crosses her arms, standing in front of him.

Quill blinks at her. “Want something?”

“You insisted I come over. I’m obliging,” she says bluntly.

“Yes. Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” Valeria snarls at him, and paces off several steps, agitated by the phrasing of the command.

It reminds her too much of-

“How else would you like me to say it?” Quill asks, suddenly irritated.

“You could always just not say it at all,” she shoots back, glaring at him again.

“Fine. Keep standing, then. I’m sure that’s comfortable.”

“I was enjoying lying down. You’re the one who wanted me to get up and come over,” she snaps at him, starting to walk back to where she was. Quill reaches out and snags her wrist.

Valeria stops, turning to look back at him as her ears swivel forward in a brief display of unguarded curiosity, before they fold back again.

“Sit,” he says, and it doesn’t carry the same commanding tone as before. 

She narrows her eyes, but she listens this time, sitting in the dirt. She doesn’t bother to look at him.

“Why did you care so much about Calix?” Quill asks stiffly, a mirror of her earlier question.

Valeria considers snapping at him, but instead, she decides to be honest.

“He reminded me of someone very close to me. Someone who died because I couldn’t save him,” she says carefully, unable to fully keep the pain out of her voice. She reaches up to pick at the wood of the bench to distract herself.

Quill hums shortly, acknowledging the loss without offering pity or empathy. 

His hand falls on top of hers. Her hand goes still, and neither of them move. Valeria’s muscles are tense, poised, ready to have to pull away or lash out, but she doesn’t, waiting for the need to do so.

It doesn’t come.

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[hollowgast1]

Loving!Vera AU

co-written with @turn-the-tables-on-them

cw: torture :P

Everything was a blur, and Valeria could almost swear that she could still hear Silvercrow shouting at her that she was in for it. 

A twig snaps off to her left, and panic drives her forward, despite the nausea that threatens to choke her. If she wasn’t so badly injured, she could easily have outrun the villain behind her, but as it was, she was already struggling.

“Get back here!” someone yells, footsteps thundering, and it sounds like they’re getting dangerously close.

Valeria veers sideways, and pitches down a slope, dropping to her knees at the bottom. 

It takes longer than it should have to regain her feet, and when she does, she realizes she’s not alone.

But this isn’t one of Quill’s villains.

Flashflood looks down at her with a mixture of concern and raw fury. The footsteps are getting louder, and Vera steps forward, pushing Valeria behind her, where she finally crumples to the ground, heaving for breath.

Electricity crackles around her mother’s fingers as she confronts Valeria’s pursuer. All Valeria hears of them is a startled “Shit—” before a choked scream, and the static smell of high voltage reaches Valeria’s nostrils.

She covers her ears and retches onto the ground, barely aware of the figure she sees retreating from the corner of her eye, before Vera kneels beside her, jerking her head noncommittally to one of her men, the unspoken command clear.

Follow them.

She smoothes Valeria’s damp hair back with a sad smile, wiping the tears with her thumb as Valeria crumples into her arms with a sob of relief.

“What have they done to you, love?” she asks gently.

==

The chains burned against his raw wrists as Quill swayed, Adam’s apple bobbing with a pained swallow. His legs, weak and shredded along the back of his calves from a glass-imbedded whip, had long since given out. It forced his wrists to take the weight of his body, leaving them strained in a way that risked dislocation.

Vera was still calmly circling him, whip in hand. It was quiet aside from her footsteps and the splash of droplets of blood hitting concrete.

The Supervillainess moves closer, ignoring his flinch, and releases the cuffs on his wrists, stepping back as he crumples to the floor. She presses the toe of her boot into his mutilated back.

“Get up, Silvercrow,” she commands. “I’m done with you for tonight.”

Quill pants, hair dripping sweat onto the puddle of blood he was sat in as he processed the request. She wanted him to– He can’t. Vera had to know that, right? His legs had already given out, were whipped and likely broken, he can’t walk on them.

Wheezing, he pushes himself up with his hands, but even getting on his knees sends sharp pains up his thighs and into his lower back, igniting every wound with agony.

“Vera…” he says weakly, looking up at her through his hair, willing her to understand what he was trying to say without verbalizing.

“Get up and walk, scum. The same way you forced my daughter to, that night you almost killed her.” Vera snarls, giving him a sharp kick in his left thigh.

Quill cries out and he falls back down to his forearms, now completely red from his own blood. “It’s—hng—not the same,” he grits out, desperate to stay defiant. “It was her abdomen. She was stitched up. Her legs were fine.” She wasn’t fresh off a whipping to her back and made to walk with broken legs. 

The sole of Flashflood’s boot slams down onto his back, driving him into the floor as she grinds her heel into open wounds. He lets out a startled scream as his entire body feels like it erupts into flame.

“Maybe I should add more lashes, since you don’t seem to understand that you are not almost dead. You haven’t lost nearly the amount of blood she would have.” He certainly felt like he was dying, panting against the ground and feeling nothing but pain, and the pool of blood still growing was almost worth arguing with her over. “And unlike you, she didn’t deserve to suffer.” 

Vera crouches, electricity arcing on her fingers as she places her palm on his back, sending the power through his shredded flesh.

“I’m not here to make it even,” she whispers once he stops screaming. “I’m here to make you pay for what you did to my sweet girl. Now get up and walk.” She withdraws her foot from his back, crossing her arms and waiting.

This time, when Quill manages to force a foot beneath him, he chokes on a sob. He has to reach for the still-dangling chain to hold himself upright enough to balance on two feet, weakly grasping with all his strength. 

“Now walk,” Vera tells him coldly.

“I’m trying,” he gasps brokenly, tears coming down despite his attempts to keep them at bay. He nearly screams again when he lets go of the chain and all the weight presses down on his legs, but he still stumbles forward.

Quill makes it three feet before he realizes that this is a fruitless task, and Vera knows it. She’s waiting for him to fail, to fall, and this is all a game to her. Just like it had been to him.

So he succumbs to the stabbing agony numbing his legs and collapses.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he finds that this time he really means it. He gets it now.

“I don’t care,” Vera says bluntly, digging her foot into his back. “I don’t care how long it takes you. I have all night. You are going to walk back to your cell, and then we can discuss the shock collar you used on my daughter.” Her meaning is clear.

He doesn’t want to be hurt anymore. He doesn’t want the beating he’s sure to get from this, but if he isn’t permitted to crawl, he’s not going to make it there. 

“I can’t,” he whispers, one last plead for mercy he knows he isn’t going to get before he slumps on the ground and tenses. It won’t be as easy as her dragging him there.

Quill waits for the whistle in the air that precedes the whip striking him, or a painful grip on his hair to wrench his head up.

Vera kicks him hard enough to crack ribs, the pointed toe of her leather boot digging into the deep wounds on his lower back, before she drags him upright and shoves him forward. He cries out, scrambling to catch himself on his hands before his skull cracks against the floor.

“You’ll have too. I don’t care how exhausted you are, or how much it hurts. You’re going to walk to that cell.”

“I– I’ll go, I can crawl, but I can’t– I can’t walk,” Quill says desperately, trying to get onto his knees. It’s less dignifying, but he’ll take what he can get over pure torture.

“Not an option. Walk,” Vera snarls, and clearly, she’s losing patience.

He tries to get to his feet again, but his brain simply won’t listen and his legs remain limp and useless. Vera takes a step toward him and Quill’s pulse picks up. He holds out a hand. “Wait, wait, Vera, please—”

She isn’t swayed, and her boot collides with his chest, the impact flipping him onto his shredded back.

Quill wails, back arching as he tries to get away from the source of the pain, and his fingers scramble for purchase against the smooth floor while he tries to flip himself over. “Stop, it hurts, I’m trying!”

“Of course it hurts, you moron, it’s supposed to,” Vera sneers, pressing her foot down on his stomach.

His mouth opens in a silent scream and he thrashes, but he eventually comes to the realization that his squirming is making it worse. Sobbing, he goes limp, squeezing his eyes shut against the sharp throbbing of the open welts.

“Get up, Quill,” Vera says, sounding exasperated. She nudges his side with her foot.

Quill, mind fuzzy, can do nothing but whimper against the twinge of hurt the movement causes. “Please, please, please stop, please, I can’t…”

“You will,” Vera says, drawing her foot back, lining up for another kick.

“No!” he shrieks, able to understand at least enough to realize what’s about to happen. “Don’t, please, Vera, no—”

“Then get up,” she tells him. “I won’t ask you again.”

Quill doesn’t listen, still begging her not to hurt him further, because he knows he won't be able to obey her request but maybe if he pleads hard enough she’ll take pity on him.

“Quill,” Vera warns. Whatever else she’s about to say is cut off by a new voice, softer, familiar.

“Stop.”

==

Valeria swallows down the bile as she walks forward, reaching out towards her mother.

“Please, don’t. It… I don’t want this.”

Vera’s entire demeanor flips on a dime. 

“Valeria-”

“Please. It won’t fix anything.” Valeria whispers, and absently, she realizes she’s trembling as she kneels beside her torturer. A trail of red drags behind him in a long smear, and the parts of his hair that are matted down with blood appear black. From this close, she can see the way his limbs shake, the pattern of whip wounds that cover his entire back in a way that exceeds anything he did to her. His legs are almost as bad, completely blanketed in black and blue splotches that she realizes are bruises.

Valeria reaches out, gently grasping his shoulders to turn him onto his back, closing her eyes for a moment to fight down tears.

She never wanted this.

He cries out as soon as his back hits the ground, even though she’d been as gentle as possible about it. Quill’s face is soaked with tears and the look in his eyes is hazy, like he’s not all there.

“He needs a medic,” Valeria whispers.

“I’ll salt the wounds,” Vera replies, and she shakes her head.

“He needs a healer. Please, no more. I don’t want this. For my sake, Mother, please, don’t hurt him anymore.”

There’s a long silence.

“Only for you, my sweet,” Vera sighs, giving the man a scathing look as she steps over his prone form, and stalks out the door, leaving Valeria alone with Silvercrow.

“What are you…doing here?” 

Valeria blinks in surprise at the rough voice, looking down. This time, Quill’s unfocused gaze is turned in her direction.

“In my mother’s base?” Recovering from you. “I’m living here, at the moment.”

“Mm.” Quill blinks slowly, eyes drifting toward the ceiling. “‘M sorry, y’know,” he murmurs.

“What?” Her voice comes as a whisper, but she’s sure she misheard him.

“‘M a bad pers’n,” he says, and she realizes the only reason she’s getting to hear this from him is because he’s too mentally out of it to filter himself. “Hurt you f’r no reason. I’m sorry. You…didn’t des’rve it.”

Yeah, I know that, a snarky voice says in her head. She looks down at him for a moment.

“Quill…” 

She doesn’t know what to say.

His head lolls, looking toward the room’s exit. “Can’t walk,” he whispers, eyes welling up with tears. Valeria is suddenly alarmed. “Please. I can’t—” He cuts himself off.

“Shhh, I know, you don’t have to, it’s alright.” Valeria hesitates, then carefully maneuvers him so that his shoulders and head are resting on her legs. “You don’t have to walk.”

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, I’m sorry.” Quill keeps going, eyes far away, but he still seems to unconsciously relax at her words.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s alright. I—” She swallows, then reaches up to stroke his hair. “I forgive you.”

I'm tagging for this because it's a full one shot!

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@whatwhump

[shydragonrider]

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My name is Mohammad Salem Abu Swierh, a husband and father of… Mohammed Abu Swierh needs your support for Help Mohammed's Family From Gaza R

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5. Quill's Captivity

Wisteria X co-written by @turn-the-tables-on-them

in case you guys couldn't tell, this chapter is a flashback. im not going to add every method of torture to the CWs, just know that it's whumpy. if theres something specific you think should have a forewarning, let me know and i'll add it. enjoy!

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cw: threats of noncon, torture, humiliation, whumpee breaking

Flashflood was already in a foul mood, and Silvercrow was simply the perfect target for it. She opens the door and steps inside, eyeing her captive like a piece of raw meat as she circles him with predatory eyes.

“You’re quieter, at least,” Vera tells him, as if that’s the only mildly redeeming quality about him. “Now, you’ve never answered me before, but you will today. Where is my daughter?”

“I have,” Quill insists tiredly, eyes struggling to remain open. His arms were restrained to the wall with thick ropes, forcing him to stay upright. “I told you. I don’t know.”

“After all your bragging that you managed to capture her, you don’t know where she is?” Vera sounds amused, but in a dangerous way. “Do you think me a fool, boy?”

“She got out,” he responds caustically. “Do you not believe her capable? She’s your daughter, isn’t she?”

“She’s my failure,” Vera seethes. “Worthless and weak. A pathetic excuse of a child.”

Quill just shifts in his spot on the floor, trying to put less pressure on his wounded leg. He doesn’t really care about her personal issues with her family; he just wants her to redirect whatever burst of rage has set her off this time. For now, he stays quiet. Maybe she’ll vent it out and he can nod along.

“And somehow, you, who thinks so highly of yourself, lost her?” Those soulless eyes fix on his, and she takes a menacing step closer.

“What do you want me to say?” Quill glowers up at her through silver strands of his hair, voice low and rough. “Nobody’s perfect. You’re a wonderful example of that.” Shit. He shouldn’t have added that last part, but it felt good.

Vera grabs him by the jaw, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Liar,” she spits, and sends a bolt of electricity straight into his windpipe.

He convulses on the spot, violent trembles wracking his frame before he slumps, completely limp, letting the ropes take his weight. His nerves tingle like they’re on fire. “Denier,” he huffs. Or maybe he just thinks it—it’s hard to tell.

“Where is she?” Vera snaps, seizing his throat with her other hand and electrocuting him again. This time, she doesn’t stop.

He opens his mouth in a silent scream, fingers twitching uncontrollably, and he chokes on his own spit. It keeps going, electricity running through his body until he’s sure he’s foaming at the mouth, white spots in his eyes, fogginess in his head. When she finally lets up, he just pants against the floor, limbs like liquid.

Vera kicks him in the ribs with the pointed toe of her boot. “I asked you a question.”

Quill’s brows furrow as he swallows. His mouth is dry, droplets forming in the corner of his eyes from the stinging of his neck. It takes him a minute, but he manages to find his voice. “I. Don’t. Know.” She’s asked him this a million times; each time, he gives the same answer. The truth. At this point, she must know his story is not going to change—hell, she must know he’s being honest. She just wants an excuse to keep hurting him.

“It must be embarrassing,” Vera tells him, “that she escaped from you when, from your reputation, you most certainly tortured her. And you still couldn’t keep my worthless girl under your thumb?”

The way his throat keeps opening and closing should be sign enough that he needs to keep his mouth shut and tread lightly, but with the drunkenness that overtakes his mind, words slip out before Quill can filter himself.

“Can you just…shuddup about her?” he slurs.

Vera’s eyes flash with rage, and she grabs him by the hair, dragging his head up so that his face is inches from hers.

“Missing Jeb, are you? Want me to call him back and let it happen this time? I could stand seeing you use your mouth for something else.”

He whimpers. His Adam’s apple bobs against his throat, but even this close, he can’t bite his tongue. “Go…ffffffffuck yourself.”

Vera smiles, but it’s a cruel one. Quill shudders. “Jeb!” she practically sing-songs. “Come here.”

Within moments, her right-hand man appears, his good eye landing on Quill with a malevolent glee.

Quill can only let out an odd choke-wheeze noise in protest before he shakes his head. Vera pays him no mind, using her boot to kick him onto his stomach, straining his still-bound arms behind his back.

“He’s all yours,” Vera tells Jeb, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms.

Quill struggles weakly against the floor, pushing his chest out to fight the ropes. He receives a sharp crack across the face in response and gnarled fingers on his waist as Jeb begins to unbuckle his belt.

That snaps him out of whatever haze he’s in. Quill’s legs pull up to his chest, his fear overriding the bright agony that blooms across his already-bloodied thigh, and he screams one insistent “NO!” as he tries to squirm away from the unwanted touches.

“Quiet, boy,” Vera tells him. “You talked yourself into this. Stop whining and take it.”

The belt falls open, and Jeb leers at him, getting right into the younger man’s face.

“Stop it, stop it, Vera, please, Vera, J-Jeb, don’t, please—” he begs, pleads spilling out of his mouth in hysterics as he turns his face away.

Jeb ignores the pleading and roughly forces Quill’s legs apart before beginning to pull on his waistband.

Quill can’t even beg anymore, breathing too erratically to form words or thoughts other than complete terror. The pain of the ropes rubbing against his skin is nonexistent as he starts to force himself to dissociate out of it when thrashing away doesn’t work. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be here.

Another slap to the face.

“Don’t be so shy.”

When he falls limp in resignation, he lets his eyes wander. Quill’s gaze is drawn to the far wall where torture instruments are on display. Knives. Metal tools.

His subconscious makes the choice for him, powers acting as a mental defense when his own body fails to protect him. 

A streak of silver crosses the room in seconds, impaling Jeb’s shoulder. Quill doesn’t move from his place on the floor, still spaced out.

The man falls back with a shout of surprise and pain, but Vera doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she smiles, a new idea forming in her mind. While Quill is distracted, she pulls a second knife, holding it behind her back as she feigns alarm.

Quill’s eyes flutter when he begins to come back to himself, grounded by the cold stone floor. It takes a delayed moment to realize what’s happened, but when he does, the brief feeling of relief settles over him. Oh, he thinks to himself. It seems the power blockers have worn off.

He glances at the long, silver rod with two deadly sharp ends still sticking out of Jeb’s body, and they warp into a new shape, sliding out of the man with a sickening squelch. From there, the liquid metal hardens into a comforting dagger shape, coming to rest in front of Quill’s body.

When Vera looks momentarily over at Jeb, Quill slips the dagger beneath him and into his curled hands, rearranging it with some effort to slice the ropes. They fall away in pieces, and he holds his breath when Vera turns back to him.

Her eyes are devoid of anything humanizing, soulless and a dull greenish gray in color. And then she chillingly smiles at him, as if she’s delighted with this new development.

And she advances.

Quill scrambles to his knees with difficulty, wheezing quiet breaths and searching the room for exits. He holds his dagger like a child their teddy bear, knuckles white with the force of his grip. It’s his only hope to get out. 

Vera is still approaching. She doesn’t do anything when he weakly stumbles to his feet, so he lurches toward the one door across the room.

She lazily trails behind him, toying with him, wanting to see if he’ll collapse on his own.

Quill reaches the doorframe, digging his fingers into it as he uses it to leverage himself back up and swing around the corner. He waves his hand; there are metal fixtures in the door, but his powers are still weak, and instead of imploding like he wanted, the door just gently falls closed.

Whatever.

He keeps one hand on the hallway wall to keep upright. Quill urges his brain to let his legs move faster, each step lighting a fire in his muscles, blood sliding down his hurt leg. He doesn’t hear Vera behind him, and it only terrifies him further. He strains his ears, but all he hears is the pounding of his own frantic heartbeat. Why isn’t she chasing him?

He’d never been fond of games like this. Quill had always enjoyed a bit of wordplay and trickery, but this was too much. Too irrational and erratic. There was no rhyme or reason—he was nothing but entertainment to Vera. Quill feels a pang of regret when the sudden image of Calix’s face pops into his head, and then Valeria.

When a sickening feeling settles in his gut, flooding him with nausea, he realizes he’s not so interested in entertainment anymore—of any sort. This…doesn’t feel good.

At least I was to the point, Quill thinks with a random burst of anger when he nearly trips over his own foot. He hadn’t played the long game with his victims (and that was another thing—when had he begun to refer to his pets as victims?). He didn’t do this stupid mind manipulation shit.

Vera moves quickly through the adjacent corridor, able to hear the boy’s panting and clumsy footsteps. A sadistic glee sparks through her as she readies the thin blade in her hand. He may be able to control metal, but it’s nothing if not a good conductor of electricity.

There’s a door up ahead and she heads towards it.

On the other side, Quill quickens his pace when he sees the door up ahead. Doors are good. Doors mean away, out, escape. 

He steps away from the wall and nearly drops without the support, instead throwing his weight towards the door. His body slams against it with a resounding thud. Quill’s wounded leg gives out, but he keeps himself standing entirely with the doorknob. Dripping sweat from the exertion, he readjusts himself and throws open the door.

Valeria grins at him from the other side.

He barely gets the chance to blink. The woman moves in a practiced way, sliding her knife up and under the muscle of his back at an angle to avoid damaging any organs. Quill freezes—he’s numb for a second. It hasn’t caught up to him yet.

“You made it farther than expected. Perhaps you’re less flimsy than I thought.” With no further warning, she electrifies the dagger.

Quill does scream then, crumpling like a ragdoll in front of the doorway, tears finally streaming down his face. Blood and salty tears mix on the ground.

Vera grabs him by the arm, and roughly drags him back down the hall, shocking him occasionally to keep him from fighting.

“Don’t faint on me, I want you awake for this,” she tells him with a poisonous grin. Quill just groans in response. It’s easy to drag him into another small, barren room, just four walls of concrete and bright lights.

“Caleb!” she barks as she presses one boot into her prisoner’s back and grabs one ankle, pulling it up to tie to the opposite wrist.

“What– what are you—” Quill whispers, blinking blearily as he feels an aching strain in his muscles. He tastes copper on his lips.

She finishes the first knot, and moves onto the other leg. Quill lets out an agonized scream as the gash on his thigh is reopened and tugged on. Vera similarly ties it to the opposite wrist, leaving him in a painful hogtie, just as Caleb enters.

“Give him the blocker,” she commands.

“W-wait, Vera, wait,” Quill stammers. His ribs feel like they’re stabbing into his stomach, and his muscles are dangerously taut. 

“What did I tell you about how to address me?” Vera snaps, grabbing the needle from Caleb and plunging it into his neck, emptying its contents.

The younger villain cries out. “Stop, Ver—”

“What did I tell you?” she snarls, grabbing his hair roughly.

Quill swallows, but it hurts his already burnt and straining neck and nearly causes him to choke. “...Miss.”

“Close, but not quite. I know you remember. Last chance, boy.” She nods to Caleb, who dutifully begins heating a knife with a blow torch.

“Or– or what?” he forces out. He can take it. He can.

Vera leans forward, using her fingers to part the wound in his back from where she stabbed him earlier, and takes the now red-hot knife from her henchman.

She doesn’t speak as she slides the glowing metal inside the wound.

Quill shrieks. His entire body thrashes violently, ropes rubbing off the skin around his wrists, but the agony doesn’t stop. The pain is sharp and all-encompassing and everywhere all at once, and for a moment, it’s all he knows. He reaches for his powers in the mental space they reside in in the back of his head, but once again meets nothing but fog. 

Vera withdraws the blade, still smoking, as she looks at the charred flesh. The smell of burning blood fills the air. Sizzling accompanies the soft sound of Quill’s cries.

“Try again,” she says coolly. Caleb snickers, and that unexpectedly hurts nearly as much as the blade. It is a weapon in its own right, striking his pride.

“M-mistress,” he spits at her.

Vera sighs, bringing the blowtorch to the blade once more. “Not the brightest, is he?” she says to Caleb, who laughs again. “Even Valeria knew when to curb the attitude.”

She peels the wound open, smiling with satisfaction at the way the charred flesh crackles and splits, before sliding the blade under flesh once more.

His vision goes entirely white, and he isn’t sure the sound that rips out of his strangled throat is even human. His back is burning, throbbing, radiating all over, hurting just enough to be as painful as possible without destroying the nerve ends and leaving him numb. His mind, however, begins to whisper lullabies, urging him to give up. Pass out. Get away from this endless hell.

Vera pulls the blade free and presses her thumb down on the scorched flesh.

“Again.”

The command processes a dreadful second later. “Mistress,” he struggles, a high-pitched keen following when the sensation hits. His limbs are beginning to struggle in the hogtie position; the smoldering, gaping wound on his back has stripped him of the strength his muscles would’ve needed to maintain this shape. Quill can practically feel his muscle ligaments tearing, eyes watering beyond his control.

“Good,” Vera tells him, digging sharp fingernails into the blistering flesh surrounding the still smoking stab wound. “Now for the matter of punishment for attacking Jeb.”

Quill gives a crackling sob, but can’t help but feel like he deserves that particular treatment. Those nails had been his once, the burns someone else’s. It doesn’t keep him from being afraid, from wanting mercy. “I’m s-sorry,” he tries, praying that Vera will go easier on him if he apologizes without prompting.

“Not yet you aren’t,” she tells him, ruffling his hair in faux affection. He almost leans into the seemingly kind touch. “But since you already realize the error of your actions, I’ll give you a choice. Would you prefer heat stroke or hypothermia?”

Quill goes cold, and it’s not from hypothermia. His shaking only picks up, and he beseechingly meets Vera’s eyes. “I’ve—” He bites his tongue, but forces out the embarrassing words. “I’ve already learned my l-lesson. Please, M-mistress.”

“Clearly not enough.” Vera heaves a sigh, withdrawing her hand. “I’ll decide then, shall I?” She nods to Caleb, and he steps out without a word.

“No, no, please, Ver– Mistress, don’t, I swear I’m sorry, you don’t have to do this!”

“Come now, boy, surely you didn’t have to do these things to your prisoners. But you did.” She ponders for a moment, kneeling in front of him. “Did my daughter ever beg you for mercy? Did she cry for you to stop? Did she promise she’d be good?”

Quill gets that strange throwing-up feeling in his gut again. Truthfully, Valeria had never really asked for mercy. She’d cried, certainly, and begged that he stop, but never for herself. The only moments he’d ever seen her so broken was when Calix was paying for her defiance. Quill is not so strong. Quill is nothing like her.

“Or did she just beg to die?” Vera asks coldly. “She did that sometimes, with me. Or she’d do that ridiculous habit of pulling out her fingernails when she was anxious.” She takes his jaw in a painful grip.

“Did you ever grant her mercy when she wanted it?” Her tone is deceptively gentle.

There were very few times that he had. He rarely granted her mercy then; he doesn’t deserve it now. She had begged to die, and he’s beginning to understand why.

“I didn’t think so,” Vera says dryly, reading his expression as she stands and grabs his bound wrists, dragging him towards the door.

Quill moans lowly.

“Here’s the plan, scum,” Vera tells him, ignoring his groan. “I’ll give you one chance to talk your way out of this. You are going to repeat the rules I give you, and if you do it to my satisfaction, I’ll leave you alone for today. Promise.”

The villain looks up at her with thinly veiled hope. 

“We’ll start with one you already know. You call me Mistress,” she tells him, dull, dirty gray eyes finding his. “Say it back.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Quill echoes. It’s not as gut-wrenchingly difficult as last time.

“You do not hide your body from me.”

“I…don’t hide my body from you,” he says uncertainly.

“Say it like you mean it, boy,” she warns him.

“I do not hide my body from you.”

“Better,” she says flatly. “You are my property.”

Quill purses his lips, but doesn’t fight. He can do this. They’re just words. A few more words and the pain will cease. “I’m your property.”

“You deserve this.”

“I deserve this.” It comes out softer. This phrase, however demeaning, is familiar, and rings true to some distant part of himself. Vera just smiles in satisfaction, and it’s a reminder that this is a much different context.

“Jeb is free to use you whenever.” 

It’s said so casually that it takes Quill a second to realize what it means. For the first time, he falters. “Wh-what?” His gaze shifts nervously between Vera and Caleb. Surely she doesn’t mean it…right?

“You heard me. Repeat it. Now.”

“But—”

“Quill,” Vera warns.

The protest leaves him in one rush, leaving nothing but a pit in his stomach. “Jeb is free to– to use me wh-whenever.”

Flashflood smiles thinly. “Good boy.” She nods to Caleb, who grabs Quill roughly under his arms.

“Hypothermia it is, then, seeing how you’ve already been seared today.” He chuckles.

Quill’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “But– but you said– you promised! You said if I obeyed you wouldn’t hurt me!” he says, horrorified. “You promised!”

“I’m not hurting you. I never said Caleb wouldn’t.” Vera tells him with a wicked laugh, as she watches her henchman dump a bucket of water over him.

He trembles as they undo the ties, limbs collapsed and tingling from loss of blood flow, now dripping water. Caleb drags him from the room, already shivering and soaked to the bone, red-stained water droplets trailing after them.

Quill spends the next hour in a walk-in freezer. They let him out every ten minutes or so, just enough to bring back blood flow so that he doesn’t die or get frostbite, before tossing him back in again.

Minutes pass like hours. The cold seeps past his clothes and into his bones, leaving every crevice of his body devoid of warmth. It’s as though he’ll never be warm again.

He bundles into a ball, flinching as frost falls from his once-soaked, now iced-over hair. Quill can’t feel his hands. Every breath comes out in a visible puff, his muscles ache all over from the stress position, and his back still bleeds sluggishly.

Alone in the desolate cold, am odd sensation settles over him. Resignation. It’s the first permanent crack in his psyche. The first break of many.

At the end of the day, Vera doesn’t take him back to the cell he’d been restrained in for all the previous days. She carries him—she has to, all his limbs are unusable and his mind too far gone to form a single coherent thought—down a flight of stairs, and then into a strange new room. It’s furnished, but nothing here looks homey or used.

When Quill’s head flops down enough to catch sight of the wooden cage, he doesn’t have enough energy to conjure up fear, or any emotion at all. Vera drops him in with little fanfare.

It’s too small and cramped. There is no padding or comfort, just a solid wooden bottom and barred sides. 

Vera nudges him with her boot.

“You deserve this.”

He deserves this. He curls up in the corner of the cage, head empty.

“Yes, Mistress,” he murmurs, and it’s as easy as breathing.

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9. Valeria's Captivity

Wisteria X co-written by @turn-the-tables-on-them

back with another chapter! this one's a little more light-hearted, but still mind the warnings. hopefully the next chapter is longer. leave a comment or like, or send in an ask! we love interacting with you :)

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cw: small mentions of suicide, sleep deprivation, misgendering of a character (not malicious, just unknowingly), mentions of past child abuse

For hours, Valeria had felt on the verge of panic. She’d torn off two of her fingernails trying to get the wretched collar off of her throat, and left deep scratches on her neck during the struggle. Now she was just hopelessly trying to rip the chain at the wall. And if she succeeds, she’s going to use it to beat that arrogant smile off Silvercrow’s face. 

Valeria sat back with a frustrated huff, looking down at her missing nails, trying to remember when the second one had come off. It was a familiar pain. Nail biting had evolved into nail-pulling well before she broke that habit as a teenager.

It barely fazed her anymore.

She spent most of the first night struggling against the chain, until the exhaustion of sleep deprivation and her injuries caught up with her.

There was no telling how much time had passed before she gave up, sprawling out on the floor and trying to keep her eyes open to avoid that fucking shock collar going off. It reminded her of her mother.

The next morning—at least, what she assumed was morning—wasn't much better. Her eyes drooped every few minutes with boredom only tiring her out further, unable to distract or focus her attention on anything. Twisting her neck causes pain to throb from the sensitive nerves there.

She's snapped out of her thoughts by clunking footsteps that may as well be from a draft horse, and her ears flatten in annoyance. She doesn't bother looking towards the cell door, expecting to hear Quill's taunting tones.

“Damn, it’s kinda drab down here, isn’t it? Someone oughtta brighten it up a bit, add a dash of color, maybe some cute fairy lights. Or a nice rug.”

Not Quill. Valeria still doesn’t grace the newcomer with a response. She continues to stare at the wall, exhausted in more ways than one. Hopefully, if she ignores the speaker, he will leave her alone and go back to wherever he came from.

“Okay, wow. The silent treatment, huh? I see how it is. I guess it’s my fault for trying to be nice.”

Valeria rolls her eyes, but otherwise, she doesn’t move. She has no interest in doing anything to amuse this villain.

“Seriously, though, what’s got you in such a slump? Shouldn’t you be, I dunno…coughing up a hairball or something? Listen, I’m more of a dog guy. My older sister is allergic to cats so Mom never let us get one, something about the dandruff getting all over the place, I wasn’t really listening—”

Valeria lifts her head with effort, baleful green eyes reflecting in the dim light. She catches sight of green hair and immediately hisses, her already-foul mood only worsening when she recognizes him from the training room.

Flytrap, Quill called him. More like Flaptrap, she thinks irritably.

“Did you just hiss at me? Ohmygosh, that’s so cool! What else can do you? Do your bones go all twisty like a cat’s when they squeeze into small spaces? Do you randomly get the urge to push things off tables? Oh! Do you—”

The low snarl that ripples through her throat isn't meant as an answer, only as a warning to leave her alone, but he doesn’t seem to get it. He jolts a little bit at the sound, but doesn’t appear to feel threatened.

She rests her chin back on the floor, wondering why he doesn’t take the hint. Maybe if she answers him, he'll fuck off.

“No, I don't push things off tables. I only throw them at people.” Her voice drips with venom, but also exhaustion. Her limbs feel like they each weigh a hundred pounds.

“Oh,” he says, slumping his shoulders. There’s no wariness, just disappointment. The villain perks up immediately after, walking forward to crouch easily in front of the bars of her cell. His gaze drops to her collar and chain, and then the mitts, visibly grimacing. “What’d you do to piss off Silvercrow?”

“Tried to escape with Calix. Then tried to kill myself. I’m not sure which annoyed your possessive, fragile ego-ed boss more,” she sneers, but this time, she's hiding the pain that tears at her for her failure. And whatever happens to the boy is my fault. Quill must have used my escape attempt as an excuse.

She tries not to think about that, or she may do something stupid, like cry. She isn't going to cry in front of one of these villains.

Flytrap frowns, adjusting himself to sit crisscrossed on the cold floor. He pulls his dark green jacket tighter around himself, and this close up, Valeria can see the spattering of freckles that cover his fair skin.

“I’m no poster child for the mentally healthy, but killing yourself is definitely a no-go," he says lightheartedly, despite the fragile nature of the topic. "There’s a lot to fight for in a life like this.”

“Easy for you to say,” she scoffs, trying not to groan as she pushes herself into an upright position, a herculean task in her state. The chains rattle when she moves. “You aren't in my position, and I doubt you ever have been. Unless you're just one of those guys who feels that he knows everything about everyone.” There's no missing the contempt in her voice, nor the tired sorrow underneath it.

Flytrap shrugs, spinning a strand of curly green hair in his finger. “Fair enough. I don’t get it. But…I dunno. I think, maybe, if you died, someone would miss you. I don’t know you very well, but I would miss you.” He grins, a fang poking out. “Maybe that’s just me, though. My old therapist said I have a tendency to cling to minor attachments and overthink every interaction, so…”

This time she does look at them, her ears lifting into a less hostile position as she rests her chin on her wrist. “Silvercrow isn't the first, nor is he the real problem. He's not doing anything that hasn't already been done to me. I'm simply quite tired of being used as a target for the anger of others,” she says flatly.

It's the truth. Quill isn't anything special. He's not even that original in his torture.

It's just the straw that broke the camel's back.

The young villain nods enthusiastically, waving freckled hands wrapped with dirty bandages. His wrists and knuckles have dozens of tiny white scars, she realizes. “Yeah, I totally get what you’re saying. Between you and me, he’s in desperate need of therapy. Sometimes I sneak my old therapists’ business cards into his bedroom drawers—don’t tell him it’s me, though, he’d kill me if he knew.”

Valeria snorts a laugh. “I promise not to tell.”

Flytrap smiles a real smile then, and Valeria is shocked that she notices the difference. The crinkle beside his dark green eyes is greater, his lips quirked in a slightly more mischievous than oblivious way. She wonders if some of who Flytrap is is a facade as well.

“OH-EM-GEE I totally forgot to ask! Do you freak out when you see a cucumber?”

Well, maybe it’s not a facade. 

Valeria blinks as she processes the question. “No?” She doesn't have the heart to leave him hanging. “I can jump really high, though.”

He shrugs, unimpressed. “Basically every powered person can do that.”

“Can you?”

“…No.”

She bites her tongue to stifle her laugh. “I didn’t get the typical cat attitude traits. Just physical ones.”

“I guess that’s cool too or whatever,” Flytrap grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Not enough for me to successfully escape. Or to hold Quill off long enough for Calix.” She sighs, amusement fading as reality returns.

Flytrap pauses, nose scrunching slightly in confusion. “What do you mean? Calix got out.”

Her eyes snap up at that.

“What?” Valeria asks quietly. 

“Yeah, like, the next day. Quill sent him on a mission as a punishment, I guess, and the truck got hijacked by the heroes.” Flytrap’s eyes widen comically large. “You didn’t know?”

“No. I didn't know he escaped,” she murmurs, lips curving into a smile as realizes at least Calix is safe. “I suppose that would explain why Quill was so agitated about me tearing out my stitches. Probably couldn't stand to lose the other object of his torture.”

Valeria almost feels bad when Flytrap looks abruptly put out, as though physically saddened by the mere idea—of her dying or of her being tortured, she isn’t sure. Perhaps his therapist was onto something about the quick attachment.

Valeria shifts, scraping one shoulder along the ground to rub an annoying itch, and briefly turns her back to the young villain.

“Where’d you get those scars?” Flytrap asks bluntly, no hesitation.

“Ah…I pissed off Flashflood,” Valeria sighs.

Flytrap’s brows shoot up. “Shit, for real? I thought she was just a legend! What kind of shitty luck was that?”

“The shitty luck of being one of her offspring.” Valeria frowns. “Mother was never very good at the whole parenting thing.”

“Geez. Sounds like Thanksgiving dinner was a blast, huh?” Flytrap says sympathetically, as though having an abusive supervillain for a parent is a common occurrence. Valeria wonders if he’s ever truly shocked by anything.

“That's a nice way of describing it,” she snorts. “I'm definitely her least favorite, too.”

“Oof, I know what that’s like. My sister went to Harvard. It’s not like I wasn’t Harvard worthy, y’know? It’s just that there’s no Harvard major for supervillainy!” He glowers at the floor as though genuinely angered at even the mere reminder.

She smiles at that for a moment.

“I just wasn't what she wanted. I will never be a son,” Valeria admits softly. “She hates me for that. She's hated from the moment I was born for being a girl.”

Flytrap is oddly quiet after that. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Yeah?” she asks, curious. “How so?”

“My parents love me. I know they do. But they don’t really get me.” Flytrap plants his elbows on his knees as he absently picks at the bandages on his hands. “They try to be supportive, but they keep trying to support their daughter or their son, and I’m neither. I’m just…their child.”

“Oh,” Valeria says, realizing immediately what he—they, mean.

“Yeah.” They shrug, as they often do, and seem to move on almost instantly. Or at least try to. Valeria can practically see their internal gears still turning.

“That's… frustrating, I'm sure,” she offers awkwardly. “My younger brother was gay. We never told our mother that. She'd have completely lost her shit.”

Flytrap scowls. “Murder and homophobia? Lines have been crossed. Consider that the point of no return.”

“Don’t forget the rampant child abuse,” Valeria tells them with a scoffed laugh. She agrees. Her mother is well past the point of no return.

“How could I?” they say, rolling their eyes. Amusement remains on their face, but something in their eyes turns slightly more serious when Valeria rests her head back down. “You look real tired. Let me guess. The collar is one of those sleep-dep things?”

“Ah, seen this before then?” she sighs, and nods.

Flytrap laughs. “Silvercrow’s a real tough villain and all, but he’s never been the most original. He tends to reuse the same old tricks.” Their eyes sharpen, like a lightbulb going off above their head. “Y’know, I bet you could change the rules of the game. Surprise him. You seem to be good at that. Definitely surprised me with that bony-ass knee of yours.”

Her ears lift as something shines behind her eyes. A slight smile plays at her lips. “Your footwork needs work. You were too far off balance,” she tells them.

“Nonsense. Balance is my middle name,” they challenge.

“Lean backwards, let’s test that theory,” she says lightly.

“Psh. I could beat you in a fair match, you just caught me off guard, okay? Besides, can’t do shit to me behind these bars. I have the upper hand,” they say dramatically, dorkily waving one hand up high.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask that you let me out of here?” She tries, despite knowing the answer perfectly well.

“What? No!” Flytrap squawks, sounding offended. “You’re not supposed to ask me that. I’m a villain, I’m scary. You can’t just ask me to un-hostage you!”

“I’ll agree with the first point, but the second remains unproven.” She replies, a plan forming in her mind as she sits up for the first time since Quill left her down here. "You are definitely not scary."

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6. Valeria's Captivity

Wisteria X co-written by @turn-the-tables-on-them

Action scenes are hard when you're writing them alone. Turns out when you're doing it with a fellow co-author, it's pretty easy! I only have worry about one character's moves. I've got to say the in-scene improv is one of the most fun parts about a collab :) Enjoy a little time-jump. Here we see a whole week into the future!

Oh, and go check out the new roleplay rules, character profiles, and a visual layout of the compound! Links found in the WX masterlist.

Masterlist | Previous | Next

cw: blood. lots of it. graphic injuries, knife wounds, suggestive comments, self-sacrifice, tension

“Are you sure this is a very good idea?” Calix asks nervously, fidgeting with his thumbs as he glances out of the cell anxiously.

“Better trying to escape than sitting in here to rot away as that asshole’s toy,” Valeria replies, pressing the stick into the lock and twisting slowly, until her keen ears hear the soft click of the lock releasing.

She grins to herself, it's only the first step, but an essential one.

“What if Sir catches us?” Calix says, eyes filling with fear as imaginary scenarios play behind his eyes. “He’d kill me. He’d have to train me all over again!”

“I’ll take the sole blame, say I dragged you into it. You tried to talk me out of it,” Valeria tells him, the most she can promise. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you. I promise.”

Calix stays quiet, but Valeria takes the lack of response as a positive. He’s not protesting, so it could be worse.

“Look, Calix… I’ll hold them off for as long as I can. I will distract them and keep them busy until I absolutely can’t anymore. You get out of here, and you keep going. No matter what you hear, just keep going. You run. You live,” she tells him, her voice is barely above a whisper, but with a fervent urgency making it seem louder.

Calix stares at her with wide eyes and nods frantically, the tension in his expression revealing that he knows the severity of the situation.

She slowly pushes the door open, padding out into the hall on silent feet. It had been evening when Quill brought them back down from another day of being dragged around on those wretched chains. Valeria had waited until it was, by her best guess, the middle of the night, hopefully lessening the activity of the base, giving Calix the cover of darkness, and her the advantage of being able to see in that darkness.

She turns back towards the boy, her eyes reflecting an eerie green in the flickering torch light.

“Come on,” she whispers, praying to any god that may be listening that this works. “I’ll stay here, you run. I’ve spent all week trying to listen and learn the patrol routine around here.” She murmurs.

“Hey, um, Valeria?” Calix asks timidly from behind her, tugging gently on the hem of her shirt.

She turns to look at him with soft, kind, pale green eyes. “Yeah?” she asks him quietly, ears straining to listen for any guards.

“Are we—” He swallows, voice shaking. “Is this really happening?” he whispers.

“It’s happening,” she agrees softly. “I’m not going to let you down.”

I won’t fail you like I failed Thom.

“I’ve been planning this since he first tossed me in here. I’ve spent all of our time up in the base memorizing the guard posts and patrols. And yesterday, one of the people who addressed him by name said something about a mission tonight. Lack of security.” She smirks. “Keen hearing has its perks.”

Calix nods and bites his lip. “Okay. We should be fast.” He looks up at her with a tiny, hopeful smile, wordlessly putting his faith in her plan.

“Once we get to the door, you run,” Valeria whispers, taking his hand to guide him down the dim hallway. It had taken half until she was around nine years old to realize that just because she could see perfectly well in dim light didn’t mean everyone else could. And certainly not in what, to normal eyes, would be total darkness.

Valeria’s movements are silent as she leads the boy through the base, her ears twitching and shifting to follow every little sound in their surroundings.

Hearing voices, she pulls Calix to the side, and whispers for him to wait, before she pounces up onto one of the exposed beams decorating the ceiling. She balances perfectly, silently, and watches as two guards cross one of the intersecting hallways ahead of them.

She waits, listens, and then, satisfied that they are alone, she hops down lightly, and returns to Calix.

“What’s going on? Is the coast clear?” he asks anxiously.

“Yeah, it’s clear. Not much farther now,” she assures him, following the hallway, and beckoning him after her. It’s not as dark here, certainly bright enough for him to see as well.

“Wait!” Calix hisses suddenly, lightly touching her elbow but not grabbing her. “There’s cameras around the next corner. They’re hidden in the potted plants, we won’t be able to hide from them.”

Valeria hisses under her breath.

“Good catch,” she whispers. “Not even if we crawl?” she asks him, eyes searching the hall for another exit.

“I don’t know. I used to be able to disable them with my–” Calix’s breath catches. “Valeria. The switch,” he says urgently, terror coloring his voice.

“We’ll get it out,” she promises. “As soon as we have a safe place, we will get it out. I promise.” She whispers.

“How do we get around the cameras?”

“Is there another way out?” she asks quietly, before her eyes land on a window. It’s high, but if he stands on her shoulders, he should be able to reach it.

“Calix…the window,” she murmurs, silently making her way over to it.

“But the compound is surrounded by cursed wisteria trees,” Calix protests. “If you breathe in any of the pollen, you fall asleep, and if you spend too long surrounded by their scent, you’ll start to forget where you are. How am I supposed to get through that?”

Valeria goes to answer, but the scuff of shoes against the smooth floor grabs her attention.

“Calix,” she says calmly, knowing they don’t have long. “Run.”

“What?”

“Run.”

Calix whimpers hearing the sudden tension in her voice, backing away slowly. “I’ll– I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Now go.” She almost pleads.

Calix gives her a fearful nod and one last longing look before turning on his heel and bolting down the corridor.

Taking a deep breath, Valeria turns to face the newcomer currently rounding the corner, retreating into the shadows behind another plant, and crouching, ready to pounce. A promise is a promise.

==

Quill was having a bad day.

The most recent mission had gone off the rails. The young villains leading the escapade had been made almost immediately and failed to get the intel they were sent to retrieve. See, this is why he always sent Fallon out on missions instead of recruiting amateurs. She was a hero, pre-war; she knows how the heroes act, how they think, and where they keep the damn files because it is not in the kitchen and it doesn’t matter if there are fresh-baked goods on the counter, Flytrap!

Plus, Fallon had the advantage of being trained by some of Quill’s higher-ups, and Quill himself (although that was a different sort of training and it was more based around knowing her place). She wouldn’t act up knowing Calix was on the line, either.

He was idly wondering how her current undercover mission was going when he first heard the hushed voices.

Quill froze in the hallway, his temper already fraying on the edges. Which morons were out and about now? He stormed forward, hands curled into fists, ready to beat some sense into some poorly-trained underlings.

The sudden sound of running footsteps was what cued him into something being wrong, and Quill sped up, gripping at one of his hidden daggers as he rounded the corner.

Valeria hits him from the side, throwing her entire body into him, a screeching roar echoing from her throat as she slams down on top of him. She grabs his wrist, and smashes it into the floor, trying to force him to drop the knife.

Quill moves with the motion to not throw himself off balance and tightens his grip on his blade. His body now closer to the ground, he drives his elbow up towards his attacker, a snarl on his lips as it slams into their stomach and gives him the room to right himself as they stumble.

Not they. She. In the light of a nearby window, Quill gets a brief glance at Valeria’s face right before she attacks again.

This time she throws herself past him, grabbing his shoulders as she does, and using the momentum to hurl the both of them to the ground.

She gets up in a flash, jumping on top of him, and this time, she succeeds in forcing him to drop the dagger. They struggle for a moment at an impasse, neither budging, until Quill hooks his leg around one of Valeria’s and twists, throwing his weight into the movement to switch their positions. Quill has her pinned this time.

Valeria thrashes and bucks like a wild animal, baring her teeth and hissing at him as she struggles to free herself. Unfortunately, for all her fighting, Quill is still physically larger and stronger. An immovable statue.

Quill paints a smile on his face, the way he always does when he is brimming with fury and the balance is about to tip. Those running footsteps make sense now, and he wills any other villains to be awake at the moment to intercept him before the little fool manages to actually somehow get out.

He doesn’t want to lose his prized pet, but the one who caused this is right here in front of him, and his rage is palpable. It simmers like a living thing just below his skin, threatening to bubble up and make a mistake he’ll regret, but Quill is very tired of restraining himself. 

He palms his knife, rubbing his thumb over the familiar feel of a worn handle, and gently traces it down Valeria’s forehead, down the bridge of her nose, following the curve of her cheekbone, never making a cut but ensuring that the threat is very real.

“Do you understand what I’m going to do to you for this, darling?” he murmurs, digging the tip of the blade into her cheek a little more.

She doesn’t speak, just rams her knee into his stomach in an effort to throw him off of her.

Quill grunts, slamming her into the ground once more to keep her down. The hall is silent aside from their heavy breathing. “See, I’m having a little internal debate here,” he hums, moving the knife towards her ear to begin trailing down her jawline. “Punish you properly, or maintain this pretty face?”

The knife moves quickly, slicing the edge of her jawline near her chin and drawing a thin line of blood. “Oops,” he says coldly. “My hand must’ve slipped.”

“How clumsy of you,” she replies cooly. “Do you often slip up?”

Quill stabs the knife into the floor right beside her head, the blade going through the edge of her ear, putting a bloody notch in it. Then he tears it out by the handle and slices diagonally across the part of her chest right below one of her collarbones. 

His glaring eyes are an eerie silver-white color in the hollow moonlight streaming from the window.

Valeria doesn’t flinch. Deliberately and calmly, she moves her hand to his wrist and lightly pulls, positioning the knife so it presses into the hollow between her collar bones. She presses it forward until blood begins to bead out.

“Go on. Punish me,” she challenges him, the green sheen in her eyes is inhuman, but does nothing to disguise the utter lack of fear. “If I’m such a problem, and you hate me so much, then kill me, right now. I won’t fight you. You have something to prove, don’t you, handsome?” She sneers. She means it. She’s ready to die here, if it means that Calix will be able to escape. It’s not the end she’d hoped for, but at least it’s for something.

Their faces are level with one another, only a few inches apart. One below, one above. Valeria’s expression is determined and proud and unafraid.

Quill will admit he’s losing his composure, but he holds position and meets her gaze, unmoving with the knife against her neck. He wants desperately to call her bluff, but the look in her eyes makes him think that isn’t going to happen.

Valeria tilts her head back, letting the blade press into her windpipe. Offering no resistance. Offering her life.

“Go on.” Her voice is soft this time, but it doesn’t waver.

Quill presses the knife down harder. The skin against the sharpest point of the blade pricks, a tiny spot of blood welling up before Quill realizes this isn’t something he’s going to be able to do.

You may have won this battle, Valeria, he thinks to himself. But I will win the war.

At the last second, the knife melts in his hand, pouring down Valeria’s throat. It never meets the ground—instead, a shiny new metal band forms around her throat, and Quill smiles. It’s as good of a collar he’s ever going to get around that pretty neck, and this time, only he can remove it. It’s perfect.

She’s his.

==

Valeria closes her eyes, and waits. He’s not going to kill her. He would have done so by now.

The barest hint of a smile tugs at her lips as she feels the knife begin to melt, only for it to vanish as the metal snakes around her neck and goes rigid in place, like a choker.

Like a collar.

Valeria snarls at him, free hand clawing at the metal loop around her throat, before she regains her composure, and punches him in the windpipe as hard as she can.

Quill’s breath leaves him in a second, eyes watering at the burning sensation and freezing him still before the oxygen rushes back in.

Valeria takes the chance to struggle free, kicking the man in the chest for good measure, before she hops to her feet, and deftly plucks one of the knives from his belt, snarling at him as she again claws at the band on her throat.

She doesn’t even bother to hide how much she wants it off.

Valeria darts forward, and this time, she slices him across the chest with the stolen knife, hissing at him as she dances back.

The sting of the wound barely registers in his adrenaline-fueled attack. Quill moves quick, faster than a human ordinarily would (albeit not quicker than the feline-enhanced rogue hero), grabbing a fistful of hair on the left side of her head as he slams her to the right, bashing her head up against the wall. He knees her in the abdomen, fitting payback for the hit to his windpipe as she suddenly can’t breathe.

The knife slashes across her middle a second later, so fast that the glint of metal is all she gets before the weapon disappears into Quill’s coat again. Silvercrow only gives her a cold, unremorseful glare.

She screams, for real this time, not the enhanced screech, but a genuine shriek of surprise and pain, and kicks him in the stomach, sending him stumbling back as blood sheets down her stomach and legs, painting her fair skin a sickly dark red.

She hisses, even as the severity of the wound begins to register. She steps back, and on pure adrenaline fueled instinct, she bolts. 

Panic is making it hard to think, and it takes all of her focus not to stumble, or to slip in the blood.

She ducks into the first doorway she finds,  eyes darting around to frantically take in her surroundings. 

It’s a lab, she notes in the back of her mind, even as she drags herself into the cupboard. She’s lightheaded, and breathing is getting difficult. She goes to try and staunch the bleeding, ripping at her tank top, before her strength leaves her, and she collapses onto her side, gasping.

She’d always had a thing about playing with fire, and she supposed there had to come a time that she got burned.

She just hadn’t expected it to be from Silvercrow. She’d paid for her defiance, quite possibly with her life after all.

Another gush of blood soaks her skin, hot against the cold sweat, as the sickening smell of wet iron becomes overwhelming.

==

Calix runs, like she told him to. He trusts Valeria.

But he’s scared.

He hears Sir’s—Quill’s—voice echoing in the hallway he left behind, and even as his aching feet pound against the compound’s smooth floors, he’s overcome with guilt. Valeria cares for him. She’s good. She’s kind. She reminds him of Fallon, who he feels like he hasn’t seen in ages.

She’s facing off his worst nightmare and the sounds of snarling and skin against skin only spurs him to run faster, even though his gut tells at him to turn back, help her fight, why would you make her give up so much for you, you worthless—

But Valeria would want him to keep running.

So he does.

Calix doesn’t make it to an exit—not a door, not a window, nothing—before he’s intercepted. He screams and thrashes, but he should’ve known better. The security is too great, their plan too spontaneous. He’s not Valeria, anyway. He was never going to make it out.

I’m sorry, Valeria. I tried.

They drag him back to his cell squirming and crying, blank-faced and uncaring no matter how much he begs.

(Quill sends him on a mission the next day, determined to get rid of Valeria’s ‘distractions,’ but the plan backfires when the van taking him back to the compound post-mission is hijacked by a team of heroes. He ends up escaping, after all.)

==

Quill only takes a few minutes to compose himself once more after Valeria retreats. The smell of sweat and victory permeate the air, but the high of winning begins to turn to stone in his stomach as the minutes go by. This…doesn’t feel as good as he’d hoped.

Why does he keep hearing that anguished scream replay in his head? He doesn’t care about her. He doesn’t. He—

Because that’s the sound of a fatal wound, dumbass, he scolds himself, and quickly follows the trail of…an unnerving amount of blood down the halls.

He finds Valeria in a lab. Well, he finds the cupboard first, a puddle of blood seeping from the crack at the bottom of the door, and throws it open. 

She’s panting raggedly, in short, sharp gasps, sweat shining on deathly pale skin. Her eyes are glazed and unfocused, and weak spasms run through trembling muscles, sending ripples through the spreading lake of blood that has formed around her. Her middle is almost completely slashed open, and she’s bleeding out quickly. 

Quill did that. Quill did that. Normally the sight of blood wouldn’t make him squeamish, but this– her blood– “Fuck,” he whispers.

What have I done?

Follow Calix's Escape!

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[hollowgast1]

5. Valeria's Captivity

Wisteria X co-written by @turn-the-tables-on-them

Any and all references to past noncon are non-explicit and occurred in the past. There will be no active noncon in this series, and nothing was or will be done by Quill (outside of speculation, which is cleared up). Also, what's this I smell? Is that...worldbuilding? Lore??

Masterlist | Previous | Next

cw: discussions of past noncon (!!)

Valeria’s cat-like eyes allow her to see perfectly in the cover of black. She moves silently, swinging the wooden sword like a club, bludgeoning whoever is unfortunate enough to get in her way. 

Adrenaline pulses through her, dulling the pain from her burned back and aching chest.

Her senses are heightened, blood pounding, keen eyes locked on every movement, and she goes to strike once more.

“Enough!” Quill booms, freezing everyone in their tracks. The room is completely still and dead silent, aside from Calix curled up and shivering on the floor, oozing blood and crying into his arms. “This is getting ridiculous!”

He goes and collects Calix, yanking the boy to his feet and reattaching his leash. “Quit your disgusting crying. This is why you’re such a hassle sometimes, you stupid little pup,” he spits, shaking him. Calix just whimpers and mouths frantic apologies. He then goes to recuff Valeria, but she snarls at him, ears lying flat as she bares her teeth, circling him like a feral animal.

“This unruly behavior has got to stop!” he snaps. “I’m not fond of wild animals. Keep it up and I might just put you down.”

“Then do it. Put up or shut up. You have me right here, if you’re going to kill me, then do it now.”

Quill darts forward, but instead of attacking, a reinforced, tighter metal cuff bubbles up around her wrist, and she doesn’t try to dodge. Instead, she lashes out quickly and plants her foot against his stomach, kicking him away from her with a snarl. Quill catches himself easily and balances his weight, drawing a knife slowly. He throws it with perfect aim at the center of her chest, the metal turning to a heavy weight seconds before impact. Valeria ducks sideways, her catlike reflexes giving her the advantage.

But there’s no point continuing this fight, so she just tilts her head, and her ears perk forward.

“Fine.” She huffs and extends her arm with a bored look. She’s made her point. He’s not untouchable, and she’s unpredictable.

He turns the metal weight into a chain and it links back to her cuff, immediately pulling her out of the room. Both her and Calix have to walk at a quick pace to keep up.

Valeria glances over at Calix in worry. He’s holding his breath to make his crying silent, not wanting to be heard by their furious captor, and swallowing against the tight collar. Valeria slips closer to him, and he peeks up at her with big, fearful wet eyes.

She offers him a small smile and nudges his shoulder with hers. He sniffles quietly, trying to muster up a smile in return.

Reaching up gently, she brushes his tears away with her thumbs, and then gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Just like she used to with her brother.

Quill nearly pushes them down the stairs, throwing them aggressively into their cell without a word. He hooks Calix’s chain to a loop in the cell wall, giving the boy only a few feet of space to move around in, and ignores Valeria entirely.

“Wow, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?” Valeria snarks.

Quill shoots her one poisonous glare before slamming the cell door shut.

“Don’t be so mad, big boy, I kept my promise,” she calls. “I didn’t scream, and I didn’t bite you.”

With that, she leans back against the wall, and Quill is already gone.

Valeria grins, pleased with the knowledge that she had royally fucked up Quill’s day. She hums to herself, before kneeling beside Calix.

“Are you okay?”

Calix sits with his back against the wall, knees pulled to his chest, and sniffles quietly. He looks over his knees at her, sucking in a small breath before asking a quiet question. “Why are you nice to me?”

Valeria smiles gently. “Well, I’m not a complete asshole…but you…you remind me of someone that I lost. My younger brother.”

Calix looks at her curiously before his blue eyes go sad and miserable again. “But– but I just get you in trouble. And I’m not worth all that. I’m just a– a–” His voice drops to a whisper and he buries his face in his arms again. “–a stupid little pup,” he echoes, voice cracking.

“You are worth it. And you’re not a—” She almost chokes on the word. “Not a pup.” Valeria closes her eyes, and in a strangled voice, she asks.

“Does he– does he rape you?” She asks, her entire body tensing with disgust at the thought.

Calix’s head shoots up at that, eyes wide as she’s ever seen. “What?” he asks, nearly breathless. “What– no. I– no. He doesn’t. Where did you– I haven’t been– I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he stammers, half hysterical.

“The things he calls you. ‘P...pup,’ or ‘baby’...It made me worry.”

“It’s not like that,” Calix says quietly. “He just– he’s possessive. He likes pet names. Why? Have you…”

Valeria nods, blinking back the tears that spring into her eyes. She swallows hard.

“The person who used to do that to me… he– uh, he called me ‘pup’ or ‘puppy,’ and it’s…never quite been the same for me to hear it.”

“Oh.” Calix nods, almost to himself. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” They sit in silence for a long moment, a hesitant understanding between them, before Valeria asks her next question.

“What…what’s his full name?”

“Who? Sir?”

“Yeah. Quill. That’s got to be his last name.”

Calix shrugs. “No one knows. He’s never told. I hear it’s his most closely guarded secret, and anyone who knew it never lived to spread the word.”

“Hmm.” She thinks that over for a minute, before asking another question:

“What did you mean, a switch?”

Calix tenses, hand raising absently to his neck. He reluctantly tilts his head, showing off a small raised scar behind his ear. “In the beginning, Sir put a chip in Fallon and I. It turned off our powers. Made us easy to control. It– it’s like an on-and-off switch. He’s got this remote. Push a button and the entire part of our brains that connects us to that side of ourselves is locked away.” His lip trembles. “I don’t like the switch. He– he doesn’t let me have my powers much anymore.”

“What are your powers?” Valeria asks, making a mental note to ask who Fallon is later. The switch made sense now, her mother had similar cuffs that she could use. Power suppressants. Valeria suppresses a shudder at the memory of the hissy fit her mother had thrown when the only thing it affected for Valeria was her powered scream.

Calix swallows heavily. “T—” He seems to really struggle getting it out. “Telekinesis.”

Valeria stares at him, eyes widening briefly. “You’re a telephrite?” Telephrites were incredibly rare. It was believed that only three existed in the world at a time; one with telekinesis, one with telepathy, and another with powers of teleportation. Find all three telephrites, and you’d be unstoppable. It was no surprise Quill would keep one for himself the moment he realized the value of what he had.

Calix nods, letting out a small unamused laugh, the first Valeria had heard from him. “Yeah. I guess it was always destined to be like this. Once Sir knew, he’d never let me go.”

“Just because he won’t let you leave, doesn’t mean you’ll never be free.” Valeria murmured. “Flashflood didn’t want to let me go either. She went to a lot of trouble to keep me under her thumb.”

“Flashflood,” Calix murmured. “Isn’t that…isn’t that that one villain? Didn’t she disappear or something?”

“She dropped off the grid for a reason. It wasn’t death, it wasn’t fear…it was to prove she could.”

“How do you know her?”

“I…I’m her second born child. There were three of us, my older brother, me, and Thom. Thom died in an accident eight years ago, Wade joined our mother as one of her right hand men, and I ran away.”

Calix leans over, tilting until he falls against Valeria’s side, and cuddles against her. “Tell me about your little brother?”

Valeria closes her eyes, remembering the last day her brother had lived. 

Remembering how she failed to save him.

Eight years ago.

The river had flooded more than usual this spring. Valeria didn't think she had ever seen the water so high above the normal level.

And so dark. The deep water was unsettlingly black.

“We shouldn't get too close,” Valeria called after Thom, her ears flicking to follow the sounds of the surrounding woods. A low rumbling noise caused the teen to startle, and her ears folded back slightly, a worried expression crossing her face. “Did you hear that?” she asked, looking up at her older brother.

“Hear what?” Wade replied, and for some reason, this only agitated her more.

“Thom,” Valeria called, picking her way down the muddy slope with inhuman ease. “I think we should go back.” She turned back to her older brother when he called her name, and so she did not see what happened next.

But she certainly heard it.

The sickening crack that would haunt her for years to come.

She hadn't made any conscious decision to move. Time seemed to slow down as she leapt down the bank. She could hear Wade shouting, cursing, but the words were lost on her as she plunged into the flooded river after Thom.

Freezing water shocked the air from her lungs, and Valeria fought as her muscles began to seize up with shock. She broke the surface, coughing and gasping, before she dove a second time. The current was ferocious, sweeping her away at frightening speed, no matter how hard she fought. She flailed around in the dark, cold water, and the only thing she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

Her thrashing limbs connected with a leg, and she latched on, curling around her brother’s limp body, and grabbing him under the arms.

Her chest felt like it was on fire, but she clawed her way towards the surface.

Gasping, she choked as she took half a lungful of water, fighting with all her might to keep Thom's head above the water.

She reached out, scrabbling desperately for purchase against the sheer banks of the river. Her fingers catch a tree root, and the force of the current nearly wrenches her arm from its socket, but she holds on.

She can hear Wade shouting, and suddenly, he's above her, reaching down towards them. Relief flooded through Valeria as he caught Thom's limp wrist and hauled him up, out of the water.

She was so focused on her siblings, on her worry for Thom, that she couldn't tear her eyes away.

And so she did not see the log, carried by the swift current.

It collided with her side, and she heard the bones snapping before she felt it. She didn't remember sinking under the water, but she was no longer at the surface, and she had lost her grip on the tree root.

Pain overtook her, and she struggled weakly, her lungs searing with an urgency that overtook the agony of her broken ribs.

She tumbled helplessly in the current, dizzy, unable to tell up from down. Her vision was darkening, and the world seemed to spin more than just the current. Suddenly, the water released her, and she flopped down onto the rocks of the bank, ribs heaving as she gagged and retched, sobbing in pain as her ribs protested each breath.

Disoriented, she crawled to her hands and knees, trembling, gagging again as blood dripped over her lips. Polished black boots appeared in her line of vision, and it was only then that Valeria realized what had happened.

“M-m-mother?” she stammered between heaving, agonizing coughs.

Vera, of course, showed her no hint of concern.

Valeria yelped as gloved fingers curled into her hair, and yanked, hauling her to unsteady feet. She stumbled to keep up with her mother's strides, her legs trembling and threatening to give at any moment.

It was almost a relief when Vera shoved her to the ground, but it was short lived as her pain-hazed mind finally recognized what was in front of her.

Thom.

His head was covered in blood, leaking from his ears, his nose, and from the huge wound on the back of his fractured skull.

“Thom?” Valeria asked, and it came out as a sob. 

She reached out, as if to shake him awake before her mother kicked her wrist away. Valeria scrambled backwards with a gasp as Vera’s shadow fell over her.

“What. Happened?” The supervillainess thundered, as her two living children cowered back.

"He fell." Wade managed, earning himself a sharp back-hand from Vera. Valeria shuddered, each sob sending an agonizing spasm through her shattered ribs.

“You were supposed to be watching them.” Vera snarled at him. “I gave you a simple task, watch your siblings, your teenage siblings. How hard is that?” 

“I-”

“How fucking hard is that?”

"W-we tried." Valeria whimpered. "M-mother, we tried, please, we tried to save him." She cuts off with a scream as Vera’s boot collides with her broken ribs.

“You remain silent.” Vera spat, glaring down at her daughter. “You are only marginally less useless.”

Valeria curled up, avoiding her mother's eyes.

“Worthless.” She seethed at Wade. “At least your sister tried to do something. How can both of you be complete failures?”

Valeria reached for Thom's limp hand, and wept.

Valeria shivered at the memory, and glanced down at Calix.

“He was a kind boy, his power was electrokinesis. I used to joke that he was the world’s best mosquito deterrent. Forget the electric fly swatter.” She smiles fondly. “He would have liked you. You’re similar. Gentle, kind. He liked it when I’d sing to him.”

Calix fiddled with his fingers, hesitantly looking up at her through his bangs. “Can– May you sing for me? Please?”

“Yeah…” Valeria murmured. “I can sing to you.” She leaned back against the wall, and began to vocalize. It was enthralling, almost like a siren, melodious and gentle.

Calix closed his eyes, the two of them much more comfortable together than a night ago, and let the soothing melody coax him to sleep.

==

Sitting on the spiral staircase and hidden out of sight, Quill was closing his eyes, too. He hadn’t heard such song in a long time, maybe even ever. He wanted to think the great Silvercrow was above this, but alas, villain or not, he was just a mortal man.

Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @whumpinthepot @doctorsawyer @whump-is-my-second-name @pigeonwhumps

@stuck-in-this-mortal-form @whumpilicious @littlespacecastle @alwaysalilhigh @oddsconvert

@zaythemischief @lili-likes-whump @pattonvirglsanders @mj-or-say10 @thebestieyoureinlovewith

[hollowgast1]

4. Valeria's Captivity

Wisteria X co-written by @turn-the-tables-on-them

Masterlist | Previous | Next

cw: degradation, dehumanization

Calix is startled awake by two sensations; one new, one familiar.

He isn’t used to the solid warmth that surrounds him, a physical comfort provided by the woman wrapped around him. It’s nice in a way he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

What’s not nice is the easily recognizable thundering of Sir’s footsteps coming down the stairs, making Valeria rise as quickly as his heartbeat. He shrinks in on himself, a scared sound caught in the back of his throat. If Sir is being loud, he wants them to know he’s coming, and that is never good news for him. Them, now, he reminds himself. Not good news for them.

Valeria’s eyes reflect an eerie green in the dim light, her ears laying back in a distinctly unfriendly manner. She watches, tense and wary, for the man to come into view. With only the candle-lit lamps between cells lighting the prison, Quill seems to melt out of the shadows, a neutral expression on his face as he waves his hand. The metal bars of their cell ripple and twist out of the way.

He steps inside and crouches in front of Valeria, not bothering to block the exit from Calix. As expected, Calix is frozen in place, too afraid to move. Holding a fist out, Quill opens it slowly, and the metal of her muzzle warps. It falls from her face and straight into his free hand.

Valeria gives him a bored look. 

“Well, aren’t you a show off.” She sneers, stretching her stiff muscles, and keeping her expression neutral despite the blistering pain searing through her burned back. “Is the door not good enough for you?”

Quill ignores her comment, but his eyes still spark with amusement. “If I take this off for the day, are you going to be a good girl for me?”

Valeria barks a laugh, pushing past the pain in her chest. “Define ‘good,’ why don’t you? Because if we’re talking in the usual terms, I’ve never been a good girl for anyone in my life,” she tells him, before lying on her back, ignoring the pain, and crossing her arms. “And I can’t see that changing for you, you just aren’t that special.”

Quill chuckles and turns to Calix. “Come here, boy. Why don’t we show your new cellmate what it means to be good?” He holds one hand out, palm toward the ground.

Calix’s eyes widen, darting anxiously to Valeria for a split second before he obediently moves forward. The boy dips his head and lowers himself, bringing his head up just enough to rest under Quill’s hand, and pausing just a second before nuzzling against it. Like a dog beneath the hand of its owner. Quill smiles, a sadistic thing, and glances back at Valeria. Calix can’t see the man’s expression, but Valeria understands the unspoken threat directed towards her.

Calix obeys with little hesitation. Quill has full power over the boy. He can do whatever he wants to him. He raises his brow, sending her a silent question with just a look—is she willing to risk Calix’s safety with her own disobedience?

Valeria tilts her head. “Right, well, if you want my assurance that I won’t scream at you, or bite you again, then fine. I suppose I can live without that, handsome.”

It will be a cold day in hell that she kneels for this prick.

“That’s all I ask from you,” Quill says, “for now.”

He pets Calix one last time before standing. A knife slips from a hidden compartment at his waist to his palm, molding into something new. It’s always fascinating to watch his powers at work; metal bending beneath his hands, even growing in quantity. Creating something from nothing.

The warping liquidized silver solidifies into a chain with a clip on one end and a loop on the other. Quill connects it to the collar around Calix’s neck, eyeing Valeria as she watches.

“What? Did you want one too, darling?”

“I’m more of a gunmetal type of girl,” she tells him. If she’s impressed, she doesn’t show it. Her expression is unreadable, cold.

“Alright. Enough dawdling.” Quill tugs on the chain leash, drawing a choked noise from Calix. “Up, pup.”

Valeria tenses slightly at the word, her breath catching, almost imperceptible, but not quite, as the memory of latex gloved hands creeps into the forefront of her mind, the way they’d crept over her skin, traced up- no. She brushes the thought away; she has more pressing issues right now.

“Your turn,” Quill says, turning to her. He forms another chain and a cuff, then looks expectantly at her.

“What, no offer to carry me?” She snickers, before heaving a dramatic sigh, and offering her right arm for him to cuff. He attaches it without a word, then slips both chain loops into one hand and exits the cell.

The small flames of the lamps make the shadows on the floor dance as they walk. The staircase at the end of the hall is a spiral leading upwards to the ground floor, and the windows in that first corridor let in the first sunlight Valeria’s seen in a while.

She blinks as her eyes adjust from the darkness, but it doesn’t take long. The first thing she notices is the bright hallway is the shocking splash of color—lavendar banners hang on the walls between windows, separated by several feet. At the center of each banner is the white outline of a stylized wisteria blossom. A simple logo, yet so out of place for a villain organization. 

Valeria eyes it for a moment. It’s almost comically unfitting, something so delicate and beautiful, but a sinister feeling undermines any amusement she might have felt.

Quill takes them down several halls, checking on several younger or older villains resting at the base, before he addresses them directly.

“Are my two lovely pets hungry?” Quill asks, a sharp brow raising in question. Calix perks up slightly but doesn’t respond, instead glancing between the man and Valeria as if the two of them were the deciding factor in whether or not he’d get to eat.

Valeria debates answering. She is hungry, but not enough to really do anything if Quill intends to make them earn something to eat. A glance at Calix softens her expression slightly, but she waits, uneasy, and then shrugs.

“I could eat.” she says noncommittally, but that’s all. Calix’s head swivels to Quill.

Quill tuts, frowning. “You don’t sound very certain.”

Calix looks right back at Valeria, following them both with rapt attention. Her ears pin back again. “Is it a both or neither situation?” she asks finally, through gritted teeth.

“Would you like it to be?”

“Does it matter what I want?” she shoots back, tired of his stupid mind games.

Quill laughs loudly then, with genuine humor. “Now you’re getting it.” He leads them to a new, wide, open-spaced room similar to a cafeteria, but much homier and furnished with much less plastic. He sits at the head of a large, surprisingly wooden table, crossing his legs and leaning against the back of the grand seat. The chains clip to small metal loops on the side of the armrests, and Calix immediately drops onto his knees beside the man’s legs.

Valeria stays standing, not moving from her position at the very end of the chain, her arms folded across her chest.

Quill doesn’t spare her a glance as one of his henchmen run off to fetch his meal. Instead he lays one hand in Calix’s hair and the other rests in his lap. “You just going to stand there?”

Scowling, she neatly folds her legs, crossing them and sitting in the same place. It’s petty, she knows, but she’s not going to give him anything easily. Quill doesn’t comment.

When the food comes, Quill indulges himself, finishing off one plate and pulling the second closer. He palms a handful of berries and reaches his hand down to Calix. And Calix eats them.

From his hand.

When Quill takes up a few pieces of chicken and holds them in his hand, directed to Valeria, she stares at him, and then snorts. “You’re crazier than I thought if that means what I think it does.”

“What?” Quill asks innocently. “I thought a carnivorous kitten like yourself would like meat. Am I wrong?”

“If you know so much about cats, you’d know two things. One, they’re picky, and two, they can ignore you all day.” She sneers at him. “And I can do both just fine. You want me to eat out of your hand? The only way I’ll do that is if I’m getting to bite off fingers.”

Quill slaps her, a resounding smack echoing in the otherwise deserted room. Her cheek stings angrily after a short delayed second. “You don’t bite the hand that feeds you, brat. Isn’t that right, Calix, baby?”

She fights down a shudder at that, uneasy at the way he addresses the boy. It reminds her too much of things she wishes she could forget. And for some reason, more than just fear, she doesn’t want to believe that about Quill.

Calix looks up, alarmed, visibly gathering the courage to respond. Valeria can practically see him battle for the correct answer in his head. “Y-yes, sir.”

Quill grabs her by the front of her shirt and yanks her closer. “See if I’m so nice the next time your belly rumbles, darling,” he snarls. “You might find that my affection is not the same when you’re not in my favor.”

Valeria looks at him, unflinching, and licks the blood from her lips. “Don’t worry, Quill.” She snarls at him. “I’d rather eat my own entrails than food out of your hand.”

Quill watches her coldly. “We’ll see.” He feeds Calix a few more berries and rabbit food-esque items before taking the two chains and directing them out of the room. The new place Quill takes them makes Calix momentarily freeze in his steps, and Valeria catches it immediately, and her eyes dart to take in the surroundings.

It’s a training room, nothing too out of the ordinary; dark blue mats on the floor, dull weapons hanging on the wall and extra clothes in cubbies. There were a few in her mother’s old base. Standard practice.

But that alone surely wouldn’t frighten Calix, and that’s what makes her so uneasy. 

Waiting for what comes next.

Two of the villains are sparring with fake swords, but the two others turn their attention towards Quill and the prisoners he has with him. Valeria hisses softly as she realizes where this is going.

“Yo! Silvercrow,” one of the younger villains-in-training greets, maybe in their early twenties. Their hair is short, light green, and their knuckles are wrapped, blood staining the white bandages. Valeria tenses as another, larger man who is definitely not in training, sets down a large wooden staff.

“Quill,” the man rumbles, evidently on a first-name basis. “Who’s this?”

The green-haired villain laughs. “Get a new pet already, Crow? Calix borin’ you out? I’ll take him off your hands.”

Calix flinches, subtly inching behind Quill’s frame. Valeria bares her teeth at the newcomer, ears flattening as she lets out an eerie hiss.

Quill’s expression gives nothing away, but he still manages to look highly unimpressed. He maintains a professional air about him, hands folded in front of him. “I figured since you’ve been needing so much extra help in training lately, Flytrap, I’d give you and your little team an extra training tool.”

Flytrap stops smiling at the rebuke, the other villains snickering. But they immediately perk up as their eyes drift to Calix. Something in that gaze turns dark and hungry, and Quill shoves the boy further into the room. She didn’t even see him take off the leash.

Valeria growls again, her muscles tensing in a way that suggests she’s just dying for a shot at the young villain. 

Calix is standing with wobbly legs in the middle of the training room, a deer caught in headlights as four different villains look at him like he’s their prey. The large man from before gives him a little push, sending him stumbling to the left and straight into a woman with short French braids. She scowls, pushing him to her right, and Calix careens into Flytrap. Flytrap laughs and gleefully throws him at the fourth villain, and Calix is tossed like a ragdoll between the trainees, back and forth, back and forth.

Quill stands in the doorway, stonefaced.

Valeria quiets, and watches. Or rather, pretends to watch, as she uses her free hand to press the edge of the metal cuff on her wrist into her skin, twisting her wrist sharply. On the training mats, the two villains that had been training with a wooden sword both hook the dull, fake blades behind Calix’s ankles and send him slamming against the floor. He cries out, a scared sob escaping him.

She twists her wrist again, and this time, the metal slices it open.

Slick, hot blood spills from the wound, making her skin slippery and easier for her to squirm free from the cuff.

It only takes a second.

Her eyes dart to Quill, who isn’t paying attention to her. The large man on the mat takes his staff and hits Calix’s back with the end of it, pinning him against the floor. Flytrap lands a swift kick to the boy’s ribs, drawing an agonized shout.

And then she drops the cuff, and pounces straight onto Flytrap with a roar similar to the scream of a mountain lion.

Both of them drop and she makes sure she lands on top, her weight centered on her left knee, which is planted firmly in the green-haired villain’s gut, leaving them wheezing and gasping for air.

A whistling sound tells her to duck, and she does, just as the wooden staff wielded by the larger man whistles past her head.

She snarls, getting to her feet, and picks up one of the wooden swords, before baring her teeth in a fearsome grin. Still at the door, Quill makes an aborted move forward. He ducks out of the room and comes back with several henchmen, and they all go straight for Valeria.

Valeria charges forward, and she jumps. But she isn’t trying to get away.

The wooden sword smashes into the light in the center of the room, plunging it into darkness.

Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @whumpinthepot @stuck-in-this-mortal-form @doctorsawyer @pigeonwhumps

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@zaythemischief @lili-likes-whump @pattonvirglsanders @mj-or-say10 @thebestieyoureinlovewith

[hollowgast1]

2. Valeria’s Captivity

Wisteria X co-written by @turn-the-tables-on-them

Masterlist | Previous | Next

cw: burn torture, forced to hurt, whipping, intimate/possessive whumper (contains suggestive comments but there is no intent or action beyond a kiss)

Quill steps down the stairs the next morning, smirking at the glare given to him by his newest catch as he sidles up to the gleaming silver bars. “What, didn't you miss me?” he asks her. Hopefully, a single night with his pet was enough to give her a glimpse of what her future might look like. Maybe it’d tamp down on those defiant urges he knew she’d be having.

Valeria rolls her eyes at the comment, not bothering to even laugh in mockery.

“It puts something of a dapper on your charm when you lock me in a cell for hours with a kid you traumatized. What were you expecting, Muscles?” she sneers, her ice green eyes never leaving her captor’s.

“Hmph.” Quill takes a few steps to the right, placing himself in front of them. His eyes narrow in on the boy—his pet, how dare she—in the woman’s arms. “I hope you know what a fool you look like, clinging to that thing. Your bleeding heart will be fun to break.”

“Funny how you seem to be all bark and no bite with me,” Valeria replies coolly, then, digging in where she knew she'd hit a nerve; she continued, “I mean, your confidence is starting to look rather fragile.”

Quill’s eyes sparkle with something dangerous, and she smirks slightly. “Fragile?”

Calix wakes to the sound of a familiar voice. A very familiar voice. He jerks upright, back screaming in agony at the sudden movement. He looks up through the bars at a leering, horrifying face, heart rapidly speeding up. Calix lets out a terrified noise and clings to Valeria, ducking his head. Any chance, any hope that she’ll– that she cares enough to– “Please, please,” he whines, burying his face in her shoulder.

“Mhm, almost like you're scared I’ll prove you wrong. And I wouldn't expect that from your attitude. To be afraid of someone a lot smaller than you...you're not afraid of me, are you, big boy?” she asks, flashing a grin at his expression, which is slowly growing colder. She’s testing the waters, now.

Quill bristles at the words, but keeps his charming smirk in place. He instead focuses on the weak little thing sniveling and crying for the girl to protect him. Quill tsks, unlocking the cell and entering. He only has eyes for his pet. In two quick strides, he grabs Calix’s ankle, dragging him away screaming from the girl. “I thought I'd taught you better than this, sweet thing,” he murmurs to the crying boy on the floor. And then the girl speaks again.

“Coward.” Valeria sneers, locking eyes with her captor. “You're scared. You have to pick on someone you already know is afraid of you. So I guess it's not just your confidence that's fragile, huh? Scared I'd break you instead?"

Quill drops Calix's ankle. The boy curls up on the floor and cries softly. “What, girl?” he spits. The charming smile finally falls. “You cannot break me. I am stronger than the strongest of metals. You are nothing but a child with a bratty mouth. Do you want me to put you in your place? Are you asking for it? Because I will give it to you.”

“Put up or shut up then. Prove it, because I. Don't. Believe. You,” Valeria tells him, already bracing herself for the pain she knows will be coming. “I dare you.”

Calix is immediately forgotten. Quill snarls, stalking toward the girl and striking her across the face, which only earns a barked laugh. Then he crouches beside the fierce woman, gripping her jaw in his iron grip and leaning forward. He takes a great effort to let his blinding white smile spread across his face. “You won't be daring me to do anything by the end of the night, darling,” he growls.

“Oh, there's some fire. Wanna bet, Muscles?” She grins despite her split lip, making no move to pull away from his grip on her jaw. “Because I'm just that spiteful.”

Quill’s head tilts, a patch of his silver bangs flopping into his face as his lips quirk. “Hm. Fire. That gives me some ideas. I did promise you a punishment, didn't I?”

“Mhm,” Valeria agrees. She can think of a dozen different ways off the top of her head that this could go. None of them are pleasant. But she just shrugs. “Don’t keep me waiting. I hate boring men.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He grabs her by the upper arm and hauls her to her feet, grin widening. This is the fun part, and he’s been awfully tense lately. Playing with his broken toy hasn’t been quite the stress relief he’s wanted. “I have been dying to hear you beg, anyway.”

There's a protesting sound from behind them, and Quill is abruptly reminded of their audience. He turns to glare at Calix, but a hand hooking into his suit directs his gaze back toward his newest captive.

“You won't hear me beg,” Valeria says quietly, hopefully keeping his attention on her. “I learned years ago that it wouldn't help me, and you…well, you don't seem like the type to be swayed by anything I say, handsome.”

The flirting is cute, although he knows exactly what she’s doing. It’s a tactic one or two others have used before—not that he won’t allow himself to indulge. He might even say they’ve got chemistry in a cruel twist of irony, and the thought brings another amused laugh to his lips. “If you insist, sweet thing,” Quill replies, winking to make it obvious he doesn't believe her. “I think I get a plead of out you yet.”

Valeria hisses at him, cat-like and eerie, following his eyes the whole time.

He drags her carelessly out of the cell by her bruised arm, leaving the crumpled boy behind and leading her toward his favorite room in the prison of his base. It’s separated from the rest, walls lined with tools, chains hanging from the ceiling and D-rings in the floor. He takes her towards a chair with a tub in front of it filled with dark water. Starting off easy, just to see what makes the girl tick. He’s got all the time in the world to find out what breaks her. Every hero, rogue or not, has got a trigger of some sort.

“You haven't told me your name,” Valeria notes as he brings her forward, careful not to reveal that she already knows it. She doesn’t want to sell out Calix.

Quill laughs. “Trying to interrogate me now, are you?” He strokes her hair once as he shoves her into the chair and bends down to strap her ankles and wrists to the chair’s arms and legs. “You're free to call me sir, as a polite lady like yourself ought to do. Or,” he adds, sliding in a suggestive smile, “if you wish, I also find myself referred to as Master.”

“Gonna have to earn those titles, stud.” She chuckles, tuning out the sensation of leather tightening around her limbs. Valeria doesn't struggle, balk, or show fear—not without a fight. And he hasn't even started yet. “But I'll just continue calling you whatever I want until you tell me your name then, shall I?” She tilts her head. “Do you know my name or not?” That's out of genuine curiosity.

“I don’t learn the names of my pets unless I decide to keep them for a while. Whether that includes you…well. I guess we’ll just have to see how pretty you scream.” He grabs a handful of her hair, shoving her head underwater and holding it there.

Valeria doesn’t panic when her face slams against the cold water. In fact, she’s rather amused by that last comment. If there was one definitive thing to be said about her enhanced scream, it was that it most certainly wasn’t pretty. For her or anyone else. She waits until he pulls her head up, taking quick breaths. “You won’t like my scream, big boy.” She knows this with all the certainty in the world.

Quill's eyes sharpen at the comment. “No? That’s quite a shame. I'm growing fond of your lovely voice.” The girl opens her mouth to speak, but he tuts, interrupting her. “Now, now. I’m asking the questions at the moment. Did you want to explain what you were doing, snooping on my men?” 

“Unhappy coincidence. I was looking for someone else entirely.” And she makes you look like a minnow.

Quill’s expression hardens, all amusement draining away in an instant. “Cute, but not what I’m looking for.” He slaps her across the face hard enough to cause a fracture, voice low and demanding. “I think you’ll find I don’t take kindly to liars. Either answer the question or fuck around and find out, darling.”

“Just did answer the question. I don't even know who you are. But you're certainly not my mother.” Valeria tells him, equally cold. She’s not going to give him the satisfaction of fearing him. It wouldn’t help anyway; she learned that as a child.

He chuckles, but the sound is distinctly humorless. “That’s adorable. Everyone this far north knows who Silvercrow is. Any hero or villain in the country worth the title has heard my name, and those foolish enough to cross it end up like that boy you so vainly tried to comfort. So I’m going to ask you one more time.” Quill leans forward, gripping her hair tighter and pulling her head back enough to strain her neck. “Why were you spying on my men?”

“I wasn’t. I’m a focused type of girl. I was looking for someone worse than you.” She hisses at him through gritted teeth.

Quill stares at her for a moment, silently judging the truth of her words. He hasn’t spotted any tells, and he didn’t get where he is today by not being able to spot a liar. Oh, well. Truth or not, he hasn’t changed his mind about breaking her. He pushes her under again, holding her under for several seconds longer, planning on keeping her there till the last second.

Darkness closes in on Valeria’s vision and her shoulders shake with the lack of oxygen, but she wills herself to stay still. After all, the worst he could do was kill her and lose his new ‘Pet,’ and really, she can accept that purely out of spite.

Just as she begins to lose control over her lungs and take in mouthfuls of the murky water, he pulls her back up, letting her choke and splutter and cough. “Are you as bored as I am right now, darling?” He unstrapped her limbs and tugged her up. She moved quickly at the yank, still a bit dazed from the drowning. They were inches apart.

“Quite.” She pants, water trailing down her chin, the front of her shirt soaked and sticking to her skin. “Why, did you want to spice it up, handsome? I told you, I hate boring men." She drawled, breath stuttering now and again, her chest still heaving as her lungs demanded air, but she kept her expression amused.  “I can think of a few things I could do with you.”

Quill clicks his tongue. “I’d love to spice it up. What, did you have ideas? Suggestions? Because I’ve got plenty.” He flips a switch on the side of the tub and takes her over to a square table. There’s a ring in each of the top corners to lock the wrists cuffs on, stretching her arms above her head as she’s forced to bend at the waist and lay on her stomach. Quill feels excitement bubble up in his gut, thrilled to play with his tools again. If he’s lucky, her legs will give out and she’ll be lying helplessly against the table. “You mentioned something about fire, didn't you? No– wait, my bad. Go on, darling. I want to hear your ideas.”

Valeria grits her teeth. She hates this kind of restraint. “I’ll start slow,” she says, still breathing heavily, puking up water between breaths. “If you're going to whip me, be a gentleman and unhook my bra first. I’d hate to lose that, er, support.” She snarls to herself as her legs give out and she collapses onto her stomach, the metal cold against her damp skin.

Quill rolls his eyes, ignoring her request. He doesn’t care if the conversations are fun—he’s not here to be a gentleman. “Still acting tough, are you? I’ll go ahead and set the rules. For every snappy comment, I’ll add another lashing. How does that sound?”

“Wonderful. My right shoulder is itchy, mind getting it for me, handsome?” Valeria asks him, a smirk still playing over her lips.

Quill grins. Perfect. “That's one, darling.” He looks over his shoulder and holds out his hand in the direction of the metal tub. It ripples, and the metal liquifies, sliding across the floor towards him, following the movement of his hands. It settles right beside Quill. Refilling it is quick, and heating the metal up is just as easy. The water is already boiling, and he can feel the heat against his leg.

Valeria shifts. “Oh, this looks delightful,” she says dryly. “Want to explain it to me? I can't stand the anticipation.” Her voice is amused, but her blood is cold. She knows this is where the true pain will start, and she knows that for now, she will not be able to stop him.

“What, losing your snark? Are you scared, honey? I have to be honest, I was hoping you’d hold out a little longer. A single lash just isn’t very exciting.” He grabs a spare knife from the nearest wall, easily reshaping the metal into a cup to suit his needs. He sets the cup beside Valeria's face just to taunt her as he pulls on dark gray leather gloves that match his suit. Wouldn’t want to burn himself.

“Go on then. Don't back down on me now, handsome. That would be quite a disappointment.” She watches his movements from the corner of her eye and pretends not to hear the minor tremor in her voice.

Quill dips the cup into the boiling water, relishing in the curl of steam that rises from the top. He carefully moves it over to the girl, tugging her shirt up to expose her badly scarred back, and starts out with a slow drizzle. Her skin sizzles on impact, and her body twists instinctually to get away from the source of agony. He can imagine how much pain it would cause to go so slow and carefully.

Valeria grits her teeth. The blistering pain feels like it’s going through her flesh and trembling muscle, seeping into her very core, and she fights back a pained shout.

“This is the slowest shower I've ever had.” She told him, voice tight, as she closed her eyes. “Don’t think I’ve ever been able to take my sweet time like this.”

“That’s three,” Quill says, humor in his voice. “Forgot to count the last comment. It is rather inspiring, though.” He tips the cup suddenly and pours the rest all over her back.

She spasms and gasps at the sudden agony, swallowing a groan of pain as her muscles tighten and shake uncontrollably. “Well, I’ll–ffffffh–give you credit. You do know h-how to make things -hah- hot,” she manages, breathing hard.

“Four.” He leans against her and trails his fingers gently against one of her raised scars. “This one's pretty. I’m almost jealous of whoever got to give it to you.” He goes to fill the cup again.

“Ha. Well, tell me your name, and I’ll tell you who gave it to me,” she pants, shuddering for two different reasons. No one has ever touched those scars, and she hates the fear that thrills through her stomach at that knowledge. She never let anyone get so close. She should have tried to kill his men, then she wouldn't be here.

She was trembling, but that was only because of pain. Definitely not a little bit of fear over this new development.

“Still going on about that? Darling, my name is a valuable. You think you deserve it on your tongue?” He pours the hot water along one of the biggest scars, making sure the boiling liquid follows the most sensitive parts of her old wounds.

Her throat spasms with a shriek and she bites her lip so hard it bleeds, refusing to let it out. A single high-pitched whine is the only sound that escapes. “Well–hah–maybe it would be useful to know exactly who has me.” She gasps for breath, her lungs feeling restricted as her chests presses against the table and the pain of her back throbs. “The offer–ah!–the offer stands,” she wheezes. "Unless your name is just really embarrassing. Like Fussworth or something."

Quill leans down, his suit pressing against her bare, burning back, and whispers in her ear. “Five, six, seven. Your panting makes me want to keep you here longer, sweet thing.” He idly traces his gloved finger along her burn, spelling out QUILL in loopy letters. Then he digs his fingers in, remaining close to her so he can hear her sounds.

Valeria shudders under the man, breathing becoming more and more ragged, sharp and shallow, with a whimpery undertone that she despises but can't help. Just like she can't help the way she shivers as he traces his name along her burned, blistering flesh. She goes to answer, but she groans softly, weakly, and she hates herself for that, biting her already bloody lip again to silence the sound from tapering into something horribly close to a whimper as his fingers dig in. 

“Keep me as–hnnn–long as you w-want…Quill,” she says, voice shaky and tight with pain, but her tone is still mocking, even with the stuttering. “I-I’m just starting to–nhhh–e-enjoy this.” A lie. She gives a breathy laugh, but falls almost silent before it can turn into a sob of pain at the fabric grating over her back. She makes a noise that’s too close to a whimper for her liking, and she mentally curses to herself.

Quill rakes his nails down her back, enjoying the noises she makes. “Eight, nine. Shall we round that up to an even ten? Just for fun?” He fills the cup again and pours it all over her bent hip, letting the water trail down her left leg. She outright thrashes then. “Come on, darling. Don’t leave me hanging. I don’t want that fire of yours gone yet.” He drops two kisses against the burns on her back again, ever possessive.

She makes a thin, breathy, pathetic whimpering noise as his nails rake down her back, and she hates the weakness.

 “Oh, I’d h-hate to disappoint you, handsome. Why not–hhhhff–why not f-fifteen. I’m sure I’ll be in the th-throes of pleasure by then.” She’s unable to help a small gasp as the water sears into her hip and leg. She bites her lip as his fingers brush over her burned back. “And I still–a-aagh–have to k-keep my end of the bargain and t-tell you who gave me those whip scars.”

“Fifteen?” Quill chuckles, stroking her back gently. “Enthusiastic. Exactly what I look for in a woman.” He moves to undo the restraints on her wrists and pulls her to her feet, giving her a little shove. She immediately collapses, her knees hitting the concrete floor. “Go stand under that hanging chain for me.”

This is the part that really tests the defiant ones, he knows. Remove all the restraints and let them go free, and they still won’t run. They know they can’t get far and it damages their pride. Once they accept that there’s simply nothing they can do, it’s the first step towards a broken pet.

Valeria grits her teeth. She’s shaking uncontrollably now, but she tries not to show the exhaustion or pain on her face. “And just–haf–why w-would I do that without you guiding m-me, big boy?” she rasps, her voice hoarse from the effort not to cry out.

Quill wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her flush against him in one smooth movement. “Because,” he whispers against her ear, “you don't have a choice. And where would you go, hm? You think you could run more than five steps? You think you can fight me like this? Think you can get past levels of meticulous security and my wrath?” He slips off his glove and cruelly drags sharp nails against her fresh burning wounds, knowing he’s called her bluff.

“No.” Not yet anyway. She fails to completely stifle the pathetic noise she makes as he scrapes his nails over her back and tears open the burn blisters again. “I’m n-not deluded, handsome.” But when I do escape from you, I'll take the boy with me, so you can't hurt him again. She groans softly but doesn’t shy away from letting her cheek rest on his chest. “Maybe one g-good jump, a-and a scream that would do me more harm than good.” She closes her eyes. “It was my m…my mother,” she manages, keeping her end of the bargain.

Quill makes an almost sympathetic tutting noise. “Mothers,” he huffs, voice sounding distant for a moment. The room is still and quiet for a minute as they stand. The moment passes. “Wait a sec, sweetheart. We aren’t done here. You've still got an order to fulfill, remember?”

“Didn't think we were,” she pants, “but I have to a-admit. You make me q-quite weak at the knees, Quill…” She shudders again at another wave of pain crashing over her. “I don't think I'll be st-standing without some support.” Despite her jesting tone, she truly hates to admit it.

Quill’s laugh is more of an amused rumble, but he guides her to the chains anyway. Her wrists cuff together and the chain connects to the cuff, pulling her arms together over her head and forcing her to her tiptoes. “Is that enough support?” he asks with a smile, wondering how long she’ll hold out before letting the chain take all her weight and strain her shoulders.

“Hmm, well, I-I prefered you, but it will do in a p-pinch, I suppose.” She groaned quietly. “You said ten, I said fifteen. Bet I make it to your ten without crying,” she says shakily, her chest heaving with each breath.

“Oh. Oh, darling.” Quill steps forward to close the distance between them. He grips her jaw, searching her eyes for only a second before pressing his lips to hers in a long kiss. He smiles against her lips and pulls away, fake pity in his pout. “I'm sorry, I didn’t tell you, did I?”

Valeria shoves back the sudden fear that seized her, instead closing her eyes and playing along with Quill, returning the kiss without as much disgust she should have felt. Why is this so fucking easy for me to play into? Why don't I want to throw up?

Quill laughs again. “Darling, I never said I’d be whipping you.” “W-what?” she whispers, a cold dread building in her stomach.

Quill pets her hair, humming softly. “I told you I’d break you eventually, didn’t I?” He leans in close. “You kept your promise when you told me about your mother. It's only fair I kept mine.”

She shudders. “What are you going to do...?” She’s never wanted to be wrong more than she does now.

He smiles and turns on his heel, leaving her question unanswered. “Stay right there, doll. I'll be right back.” 

Valeria struggled uselessly against the chains, a sick feeling of anticipation creeping up her throat, tasting of bile and blood. She doesn't want to be right, but if he isn't whipping her, then there's only one other person he could mean…

Calix.

She's failed him just like she failed Thom, and that is something she will not allow to go uncorrected.

When Quill returns to the room, he’s leading a smaller boy in, a collar wrapped tight around his neck and a terrified, frantic look in his blue eyes. Valeria's blood runs cold, despite her knowing that this was coming. No.

“You can’t be serious,” she breathes, tugging slightly on the chains in her panic.

“Deadly.” Quill leads Calix to the D-rings in the middle of the room, forcing him to kneel. A loop on Calix’s wrist cuffs connects them to the ring in his collar, and the collar is linked to a chain that leads to the floor. The position forces Calix into a knee-spread kneel, bent slightly forward with his hands tucked under his chin. The chain is too short for him to sit up completely. It leaves his back entirely exposed when the shirt is torn off him.

“Don’t,” Valeria says—begs. “Don’t do it. I’ll—” She sucks in a breath, hating everything about the current situation. “You win. Please don’t,” she whispers. “Please don’t whip him instead. I—” She grits her teeth. “Master.” Valeria spits the word like it leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. “You win.”

Quill smiles, and it’s both victorious and cruel. Like he knew this would happen the entire time. “Would you like to tell my little pet how many lashes you picked out for him?”

“I thought they were for me,” she hissed, hiding her desperation. “I was half–hoping you’d kill me and put me out of my misery. You won. I broke. Please, don’t hurt him." Tears well up in her eyes, making her hate herself more.

Quill plucks a bullwhip off the wall. “Okay, darling. I won’t.” He turns around. “You will.”

She visibly recoiled, breath catching. “N-no. Please, sir, leave him out of this,” she whispers. “I’ll do whatever you want. You’ve already won.” For the first time in years, she let the tears fall.

Quill tuts in disappointment. “Darling. I don’t finish until I get what I came for. You’re going to give him the fifteen lashes you chose—it would've been ten, but you had something to prove—or else I’m going to do it. And I’m not going to stop at fifteen. I’m going to whip and beat him to an inch to death, till his throat gives out from screaming, till his back is nothing but a bloody canvas of gore. Then I’ll do the same to you and make you wish you were dead.” Quill walks over to her. “Or you can do it. Fifteen, no slacking, and it’s over for both of you. And, of course, you call me Master.” He pauses. “Your choice. What'll it be?”

She shudders, badly, closing her eyes then opening them and looking at Calix through her tears. “I'm so, so sorry,” she all but sobs. “I thought he was going to whip me.” She looks up at Quill, tears streaming down her face. “I—” She swallows back bile. “I'll do it…”

Calix squirms in his restraints, letting out a quiet whimper. His limbs are already trembling from holding the awkward position.

Will she make it hurt worse? Will she taunt him, too? Sir always liked to remind Calix of everything he should be grateful for. Calix would have to thank Sir for each hit, and he assumes the rules with Valeria will be the same. He realizes belatedly she’s talking. Is– is she apologizing? To him? Calix stares at the floor, confused and overwhelmed. But more than that, he’s trembling and scared, his bare back cold in the drafty room.

Quill unhooks Valeria’s chains and places the whip's handle firmly in her hand, giving her an expectant look.

She shudders, grabbing the chain again before her legs can buckle, gritting her teeth against the pain and sorrow and fury. She wants to whip Quill instead, strike that smug smirk off of his face. But it won't help. Not now, so she’ll wait. 

Her hands are shaking, even more than the rest of her body. She takes deep breaths to steady them, to better control them.

 “I'm so, so sorry, kid,” she said hoarsely. “It was supposed to be me.” She brings the whip down and her heart nearly stops at the terrified, pained cry Calix lets out. She does it again, repeating a tearful “I'm sorry” over and over, after each lash and during. She knows all too well how to use a whip. She counts to herself through the apologies, each crack causing her to shiver. Red is slowly blooming across his back, blood trickling down.

She drops the whip. "There,” she spits at Quill, before crouching beside Calix. “I'm so sorry, kid. I didn't want him to hurt you worse.”

Calix is sobbing by the end of it, practically collapsed on his knees and fallen forward, face pressed against the floor. He'd been whipped before, but it never stopped hurting. The strikes felt almost lighter than usual, though. But the only thing that could ease the ever-present burning agony searing through his back was the apologies from his torturer. No one had apologized for hurting him before. Calix is still scared, still in pain. But he isn't as upset. Isn't hurting as much as he could’ve been. “‘S okay,” he slurs between shivers. “‘m f-fine.”

“I thought he was going to whip me, not you, kid, I swear. It was supposed to be me. I'm so sorry,” she murmurs, glaring up at Quill with those pale green eyes, burning with fury and hatred. Begging changes nothing. You just proved it again.

Quill stalked forward, bending down to tilt Calix's head up. “Now. What do you say?”

Calix blinks through tears. “Th-thank you,” he hiccups. 

Quill tsks. “Not to me, brat,” he says, forcing Calix's head to face Valeria. “What do you say?”

Calix ducks his head and mumbles out another gratitude. Valeria hisses at Quill, baring her teeth in fury. I'll make you pay for this, she thought, even if doing so will hurt me too.

Quill only admires his two pets for a moment before he releases Calix's restraints and takes him back to his cell. He walks back to his torture den with a skip in his step.

Valeria takes deep breaths, preparing herself for the pain that is going to follow, and Quill enters the room to find the girl right where he left her.

She glares up at him, bracing herself.

“What's with the salty look, darling? Still think I'm a coward, hm? All bark? No bite?” Quill laughs.

Valeria half smiles. “There was one other thing you asked for, Quill. Be careful what you wish for.” And then she screams—a piercing, agonizing sound, sharp and stabbing. Pain erupts through her chest at the magnified wave of sound, as if she were burning from the inside, but she doesn’t stop for pain. She doesn’t stop until she begins to choke on blood.

Heaving for breath as crimson liquid trails over her lips, she crumples to her knees, finding solace to see that Quill isn't standing there looking so smug anymore.

The first thing Quill processes is the ear-shattering screech. It’s agonizing, leaving the world tilted and a high-pitched ringing in his ear. When sounds cleared and he feels like he can breathe again, he realizes the wave of power and agony had come from the girl who was now on her hands and knees, coughing.

Valeria strains for breath, blood splattering down onto her chest with each labored hack, and she spits red liquid onto the floor, locking eyes with Quill, whose hands have come up defensively. His smile is gone, eyes narrowed and focused the way they might be when out in the field. He looks like a supervillain.

She screams again, and this one is more ragged, somehow even worse to hear, even to her. The pain in her chest doubles, as if her lungs were shredding themselves apart with every passing second.

Through her watery eyes, Valeria sees the glint of silver metal shielding the man she’d been trying to attack. He looks…angry. Even as her scream tapers off, the slightest bit of fear roots itself deep in her chest, and she knows she has to get out of here before that fear can grow. Before she can become like Calix.

Her vision is going dark, and Valeria gives up trying to fight it. She spits a fountain of blood at the supervillain, one last display of defiance that earns a disapproving glare from Quill. Her eyes roll back, and she blacks out.

Quill shoots to his feet, running for the girl—his girl—before she can hit the ground.

==========

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[hollowgast1]

1. Valeria’s Captivity

Wisteria X

Welcome to the first installment of a crossover/collab I'm doing with @turn-the-tables-on-them and their rogue hero character, Valeria! This takes place in the later stages of Calix's captivity in my original series, Wisteria. Chapters will be posted in turn by both of our blogs.

Masterlist | Next

cw: referenced past child abuse

Valeria plants her feet firmly against the ground as she's dragged forward by the…Guard? Thug? Complete asshole who was manhandling her. She hisses between her teeth and stomps down on his foot, growling low in her throat. Her unpleasant mood is not improved when she's dragged into a huge hall and shoved roughly forward. She braces, regains balance, and stands, headbutting the guard as she's pushed down onto her knees.

The supervillain in front of her is tall, wearing a dark gray kevlar-and-leather suit with intricate silver designs and a black domino mask. His hair is an unnatural silver, and eyes a shade of stormy gray. So this is the feared Silvercrow, infamous for his metal-bending abilities and ruthless cunning.

Valeria curls her lip in a sneer, eyes cold and simmering with anger. 

All this over a wrong turn while exploring the forest. What a wonderful day.

She studies the man before her for a moment, still scowling. He's lounging in a way that suggests he thinks he's the greatest thing ever, but Valeria isn't fazed. She's met dozens with the same attitude, and they certainly weren't anything special.

Quentin Quill, aka Silvercrow, stares emotionlessly down at his newest prisoner. Her hair is long and dark chestnut in tone, a stark contrast to her ice green eyes. She's narrowly built, and looks incredibly unimpressed. The girl—woman, really, she isn't that much younger than him—is saying something, but he tunes it out. It’s the usual defiant nonsense he’ll be sure to get rid of when he breaks her.

“You know, the last person who handcuffed me and dragged me around like this at least had the decency to buy me dinner first,” the girl huffs as he crouches to grab her arm. “And for the record, I was a lot less put out than I am right now,” she hisses.

Quill’s demeanor flips on a dime, a charming and sadistic smile spreading across his face. He loves it when his pets have a little flair to them. It’s a light in their eyes he gets to watch slowly drain away.

He grips her arm a little harder, hard enough to form a bruise, and sneers at her with an award-winning grin. “Ah, so this is a common occurrence for you? That will certainly make things easier when I return to teach you how to behave.” He pulls her along and she stumbles at his pace, taking the stairs down the prisoner's sector with long strides. Up ahead is his little pet's cell. Quill considers leaving the spitfire of a girl in her own cell, but why would he do that when this will be so much more fun?

He slides open the cell door and tosses her in, watching for a moment before leaving the prisoners to get acquainted. He’ll question her later.

“Oh, yeah, lots of people have tried to fix how I behave. It's never worked before, so I hope you have a plan. I get bored pretty easily,” Valeria shoots back. She knows where this is going. How original. She rolls her eyes, barking a laugh as she’s tossed into a cell. Never been thrown like a sack of potatoes before, she thinks to herself.

==

Calix hears the familiar shudder of the prison's door and footsteps heading down the stairs. Two pairs of footsteps, he realizes in horror. Sir only brings a doctor to stand by when he’s going to be tortured, not just punished (Calix personally thinks that his punishments are torturous enough, but Sir said they were lessons. They make him better. It's what he deserves for his villain past.)

His master’s obnoxious, snide voice answers a more feminine one, and Calix trembles in anticipation. Then he catches sight of Sir’s companion when they come into view of the cell. She’s . . . wearing cuffs. Not a companion, then?

But Sir is going towards his cell. He opens the door and throws the girl inside, letting it slam shut behind her. Calix waits for a command or a gesture, but Sir just ignores him and smirks, turning on his heel and strolling away. He shifts his aching body to watch the girl warily, curling up defensively in his corner—she looks over and meets his gaze with pale green eyes. He lets out a soft whimper. Will she hurt him too?

Valeria manages to get her knees under herself, flipping the bird towards the man who’d brought her here. 

Both, in fact. The only bonus of having her hands cuffed together.

“Dickhead,” she mutters before looking over at her cellmate.

Calix blinks in surprise as the girl curses. She’s already sitting herself back up, and Calix can see that she’s older than him, blessed with sharp, intimidating features. The anger in her voice scares him. He curls up smaller, pressing himself into the corner, hoping she won't punish him for her frustration.

“Fuck’s sake, is he just collecting random people like Pokémon cards?” Valeria asks, eyeing the boy across the cell. Scared posture, young, probably not a threat, she notes, and a painful familiarity surrounds him, the way he positions himself, the almost resigned fear.

Like looking at a ghost, in a way, because he isn't far off in age either. 

Her younger brother had been just like this whenever he was afraid.

Calix swallows, peeking over his knees. “I– um.” It takes a moment for her words to process. Answer her already, moron. Don't keep her waiting. “S-sir likes v-valuables, Miss.” It was true. If he’s keeping her alive, there’s probably something he wanted to use her for, or else he’s keeping her for information. In that case, she’ll be dead as soon as he hears what he wants. 

“Oh, he’s that kind of asshole.” The woman scoffed, rolling her eyes again. “Who are you?”

He tries not to flinch at the insult towards his Master, but fails. “I'm Calix, Miss. Or Pet. Whichever you p-prefer,” he answers quietly, trying not to stare too long. He's not supposed to make eye contact with his superiors.

“Valeria,” she replies. “And who is the dickhead? He didn't have the courtesy to tell me on the way here.” She knows exactly how much trouble her mouthing off could get her in. She doesn't care.

“He– he is Sir, or Master,” Calix says carefully. He isn't sure how to answer this question, and the girl—Valeria—will only take a correct answer. He has to get this right. Logically, he knows this woman isn’t Sir, but he can’t help but compare them. He doesn’t know her. Plenty of other ‘temporary’ captives who’d been shoved into the same cell with him had been of the violent sort, unafraid to take out their rage on him. Sure, Sir had punished them gruesomely, but he’d still been amused. It hadn’t made the bruises hurt any less.

“His name?” Valeria presses. “I'm not calling him either of those things without putting up a fight first,” she mutters, “and hopefully I'll die long before we get to that point. I'd hate to give him the satisfaction.” 

She knew pain, and she knew fear, and she'd long since learned to hide both.

Calix's breath hitches when he realizes his response is the wrong one. Don't cry, you pathetic doll. There is no sympathy for you. Take your punishment.

“Sir's n-name is– is Quill, Miss. I– I'm sorry. I didn't mean– I'm s-sorry.” He ignores his instincts rebelling against using the name, but still glances frantically towards the bars at the front of his cell in paranoia. He knows what would happen if Sir caught him using it.

“Huh. I'm guessing from your expression we keep that between ourselves? I won’t tell him you told me, kid.” It was the term of endearment she used for most of the younger recruits back when she still worked on a team.

It feels like a dozen weights have been taken off his shoulder. He relaxes just a fraction, trying for a weak smile to show his gratitude. “Th-thank you, Miss.” Calix tries to uncurl himself a little, just to free his tense limbs and improve blood flow, but hisses as the whip marks on his back stretch. He whimpers at the pain, collapsing back against the floor.

“You don't have to call me miss. I get called a lot of things, that isn’t one of them,” she offers, inching closer. “Hell, you can call me an old bitch for all I care.” It's a gentle attempt at a joke, an effort to be less intimidating. He reminds her so much, too much, of Thom, and the bitter memories that always accompany any thought of how she had failed him.

Calix's eyes widen and he looks up at her from his place on the floor. “Oh, I would never! I would never, Miss– or, um…Val-Valeria?” he tries timidly, hoping he said it right, or at least didn't offend her. She’d told him not to call her Miss, so was he supposed to use her name? That wasn't a test, was it? What if it was a test? Is he—is he overthinking this?

She chuckles softly. “You don't have to be scared of me. I'm not angry at you.”

Calix sits back up, taking comfort in his little corner again. He isn't…he isn't sure of her words. He doesn't know what to think. She’s scary, and she should be angry at him. He doesn’t understand why she hasn't beaten him yet for all his disrespect. Calling her by the wrong name, calling Sir by the wrong name, talking back, flinching, stuttering. He’s messed it all up.

Is– is she moving towards him? Is she going to punish him now, the way she should've? She looks focused, is she going to try to look at his back? She’ll see his punishment, she’ll see how bad he is, she’ll– she’ll—

Don't cry. Don't cry. Quill hates it (loves it) when you cry. Don't— It's too late. A tear escapes, and Calix knows he deserves whatever she's going to do to him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Valeria says softly. “I won't come closer if you don't want me to…” She sat back, keeping her anger concealed. Not that it's the boy she's angry at. Not at all.

“No, I—” Calix sniffles. He winces through the pain as he shifts to rest on his knees, the way he's been taught. Submissive and small. “You m-may do whatever you like to m-me.”

Valeria grimaces. “I don't want to hurt you. I'm not going to. That's…not something you have to worry about from me. We're in the same boat now, aren’t we?” She withdrew as she said it, back into the opposite corner.

Same…boat? Calix hadn't thought of it like that. Valeria hasn't moved. Calix isn't sure what to do now. He doesn't know what he wants. He's so tired, and he hasn’t seen his old cellmate Fallon in ages, he just wants one of her hugs...one of her…

Calix looks over at Valeria, hope rekindling in his chest. She wouldn't—would she? Calix swallows, thinking it through. If she's lying to him, he'd rather know now. If she's not, then he might get to have a—

Valeria sat down, leaning against the walls. “Does he come often? The prick with the silver hair?” she asks finally, unsure of what else to do in the awkward silence.

Calix startles at the sudden change of subject. “Um, sometimes? He– he likes to leave me for a week or two s-sometimes, because he knows I– I don't, um, like to be alone. But– but if you’re here, then, then yes. Sir will come tonight.” Calix stares at his lap. Sir always comes when there’s a new prisoner. His master has to remind Calix who his favorite is.

“I see,” Valeria mutters, a thousand possible words coming into her head about what she thinks of Quill. “Don’t worry, kid. I won’t tell him what you told me.” He looks at her just like her brother Thom did whenever their mother was in a foul mood and looking for someone to punish for whatever reason she could come up with.

It brought her back to when she was seven and Thom was five. She had heard their mother approaching the house; it was her biggest benefit as a child, the enhanced hearing, and she'd heard the cursing. She'd grabbed Thom like a sack of flour and run downstairs, hiding in the crawlspace under the kitchen.

Running never did any good. Vera would simply set the goddamn fighting dogs on them, wait until they had them trapped up a tree or some other area out of their reach, and then she'd punish them twice as much.

She’d always promised herself to be better than her mother, just as Thom and their other brother Wade had, but Wade had broken that promise after what happened to Thom. Only Valeria had ended up keeping her word, doing a brief stint with a hero team, before ultimately deciding it was best to work alone.

Or rather, her team leader had decided she was too much of a loose cannon and too difficult to control. He'd suggested Valeria work alone, and on that much, they agreed. She'd never have gotten over the paperwork anyway.

Valeria’s reassuring words soothe something in Calix that hasn’t relaxed since months ago, when he last saw Fallon (he hears Sir’s voice in his head reminding him that bad pets don’t get playmates). He licks his lips, gearing up to ask the question. “I– um, Va-Valeria?”

“Yeah?” She turns to look at him again, her expression softer now.

“I w-was just– I was wondering– well, I wanted to know—” You don't have wants, idiot. Calix hurriedly corrects himself. “I was– is it– um, is it okay if—” SPIT IT OUT. What is wrong with you? Sir would’ve slapped you by now.  “—if I could, maybe, possibly…have a…hug?” Calix chokes out, waiting for the inevitable snap. This is it. This is where the undeserving kindness ends.

Valeria blinked. “Sure, of course,” she told him, standing up again. The cuffs make it difficult, but she manages to maneuver her arms. “You cold, kid? You're shivering.”

A small, shocked, broken noise escapes his lips as Valeria's arms settle around him. He sits stiffly, feeling human warmth he hasn't felt in months, trembling violently. He's reminded again of his touch starvation as he hesitantly leans into the older woman’s embrace, unable to contain his pathetic whimpering. He isn't sure a “thank you” would be enough for drawing away the cold void inside of him.

Valeria winces inwardly. “It’s okay, kid. I know, I'm here.” She rests her chin on his shoulder.

Calix knows his tears are soaking the shoulder of her shirt. He would regret it if he weren’t so blissed out at the moment. Then he flinches as Valeria's hand brushes his bare back. His own shirt is in tatters, and the back is almost completely shredded from beatings and whippings. Valeria will be able to see his past punishments now. He’d be scared of her reaction if he weren’t soaking in the physical affection right then.

That brute, she thinks furiously, protectively, like an older sister—but just pats the boy's shoulder as best she can, murmuring soft words of comfort as she holds him. She knows how badly whips hurt. She knows from experience. She was probably younger than him, the first time it happened to her.

Calix closes his eyes, feeling somewhat safe for the first time in a long time. He barely notices when he starts to fall asleep, drifting as gentle words float over him.

==========

I went ahead and tagged anyone who was on the taglist for Wisteria. If you would like to be added or removed, please let me know via comment or ask. Thank you!

Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @whumpinthepot @pigeonwhumps @stuck-in-this-mortal-form @whumpilicious

@littlespacecastle @alwaysalilhigh @zaythemischief

@lili-likes-whump @pattonvirglsanders @mj-or-say10

[hollowgast1]

2. Quill's Recovery

Wisteria X co-written by @turn-the-tables-on-them

Masterlist | Previous | Next

cw: vomiting/fever

It took Valeria longer than she would have liked to drag Quill’s deadweight out to the vehicle she’d parked nearly a mile off. She hadn’t been at all prepared for this.

And she still isn’t.

What the fuck do I do now? she asked herself for the eight hundredth time, eyes darting from the road to the rearview mirror, watching for any signs of movement from the unconscious supervillain.

I should just take him to the heroes. He isn’t my problem. That was the smart option. Clearly, it was the plan she should follow.

Yet when it came time to choose, she found herself steering the car down the gravel road in the forest, toward the isolated cabin she called home.

I’m completely fucking crazy. What am I doing? He tortured me, I owe him nothing.

She tries her hardest to ignore the memories that try to wriggle into the forefront of her mind. Glaring white light, everything hurting—

Valeria shakes herself, but it isn’t quite enough to banish the memory of how she’d felt, like she wanted—

No. Valeria grits her teeth. She isn’t going to dwell on that. She’d been too sick to trust any feelings or memories. It was probably all a hallucination anyway. Just a fever dream.

She knows damn well that’s a lie.

It’s well past nightfall by the time she arrives to the little footpath that leads to her cottage. Valeria sits there for a long moment, struggling with herself.

Turn around, go to the base, it isn’t too late.

She gets out of the car, and, taking deep breaths, goes to retrieve Quill from the back seat, so she can… Fuck, she doesn’t want to put words on whatever she’s doing. She shouldn’t be doing it for him, she’s still so fucking angry, and yet, here they are.

Too late for regrets.

So she hauls the injured man out of the car as gently as possible—not that he deserves that, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on the simmering anger at the moment. Cursing under her breath, she laboriously drags him inside and up the stairs, which is a goddamn nightmare.

She almost collapses in relief once she’s laid him on the bed, before another blow from reality snaps her out of it.

Fuck. Do I still have the air mattress?

She hopes so, or else she’s in for a cold night on the floor.

==

Quill wakes cold.

That isn’t particularly strange anymore. The hungrier he gets, the colder he gets—no one ever mentioned that part of starvation. The loss of fat and muscle let the chill seep into his bones, unyielding. He’s not emaciated, Vera liked having control over someone bigger than her and she would never let it get to that point, but she’d string him along until he couldn’t stand it and then feed him again.

This, he belatedly realizes, is a different sort of cold. He knows that gentle breeze. Air conditioning, prickling against the sweat on his forehead.

The air conditioning doesn’t normally reach him in his cage, which must mean Vera has taken him out.

That thought fills him with a third, darker, scarier type of cold. He hasn’t gotten to heal from his legs yet, the failed escape attempt– Vera said she was going to leave him. What had changed? Does– does she have a plan for him, or—

The walls are wooden, like…logs. Quill doesn’t recognize these walls. Vera’s base was metal and concrete. Did she move him? She must’ve moved him, she– what was she planning? Quill tries to keep his breathing even and quiet, not wanting to catch the woman’s attention in case she’s just around the corner or watching him through cameras, but for some reason, every inhale and exhale is ragged.

 Wooden walls. He’s…he’s lying on a bed. Quill’s weak hands curl into the fluff of the blankets and he closes his eyes, cherishing the feeling of it against his skin. He hasn’t felt this in a long, long time.

Vera’s being particularly cruel today to give him all this. Any moment, she’ll rip it away and leave him alone, and cold, and hurting. It’s just a matter of time.

The sound of a door clicking shut makes Quill’s eyes fly open. She’s back. Vera’s back and she’s going to—

That’s not Vera.

Quill opens his mouth to say her name, heart pounding in rhythm to the sudden desperation rushing through him, but his throat catches and the only sound that makes it out is a small whimper.

He tries to lift his arm, reaching in Val– Valeria’s direction. Please. Please, don’t leave me here with Vera.

She’s watching him, icy green eyes wary, but not outright hostile.

“Quill?” She sounds almost anxious, tense, like she’s ready to bolt.

Quill curls in on himself, arms wrapping around his middle. He coughs, wincing and ducking against the blankets. “V-Valeria. Help…p-please,” he begs.

The girl tilts her head, ears flicking slightly as an odd look crosses her face. She pads over to him, silently, stopping only inches away.

“You’re not there anymore.” She tells him. “You’re not with Vera.”

Quill’s brows furrow, expression painted with confusion. He pushes himself onto his elbows with visible effort, leaning towards her and trying to grab her hand with uncoordinated limbs. “No, I– She’s here, she’s coming back, she—” 

Valeria watches him shakily reach out, and seems to be warring against herself.

A moment passes, and she stiffly reaches out, letting him catch her hand and hold on.

Once more, she looks oddly…worried?    

“Shh, lie down, you’re going to strain your injuries,” she tells him, her voice has a strange waver underlying it.

Quill obeys, flattening his body against the bed and turning his head to look up at her with tears welling in once-cruel silver eyes. “Valeria. Please, please, Vera is…she– I’ll do a-anything if you ju– just get me out. Please.”

“You’re already out. You’re here with me, not with her. She isn’t here. She’s already… she was already gone when I found you.”

Quill goes still. Found him? He doesn’t remember– well, when he thinks about it, he can’t remember anything for a while now. The last thing on his mind was the fuzzy line of light around the door in the room Vera kept his cage in. After that, it’s a smattering of too-hot too-cold too-tired too-hungry too-weak. Then a woman’s voice. Then nothing.

“She’s…gone?” Quill whispers, the first tiny flame of hope blooming in his chest.

“Yes,” the girl tells him, her eyes softening. He's still holding her hand.

“Vera’s gone.” He says it quietly, mostly to himself, but it feels more real that way. Yet his relief is short-lived, because the daughter of that horrible, vicious woman is the same girl he tortured and kept in captivity for months. And she’s here, in front of him, when he’s at his most vulnerable.

Quill can only think of a few reasons why an ex-captive of his would go out of her way to steal him away from his own captor, and none of them are good. She’s touching his hand, full of fragile, breakable bones, and he represses the sudden terrified urge to rip them away.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, pathetic tears spilling over. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry. I'd take it back, I'd take it back, please, I wish I hadn’t– please don’t– I can’t—” Fuck. Quill clutches his stomach and gags, covering his face with his free hand. He doesn’t want to be hit, he’s so scared, he feels sick.

Valeria moves faster than any human should, her cat-like reflexes kicking in as she grabs a bucket from under the nightstand just in time for him to empty his stomach, although it’s mostly just bile.

A strange panic dances across her features, and she looks uncertain.

And then, she starts to sing.

Quill recognizes this melody as one he’d heard when she was his captive. It instinctually loosens his muscles and he nearly melts into the blanket, still recovering from the sour feeling in his stomach and the acidic taste on his tongue. His head is still pounding, but it’s not as bad with the soft notes drowning out the ringing in his ears.

Valeria doesn’t waver, even as she kneels at the edge of the bed, still singing.

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