Whumpee trembled on the cold concrete floor, heavy breathing interrupted by the occasional hiccup or sob. Their body didn't feel right, shaky and weak.
Pain radiated from the spot on the small of their back, the spot Whumper had chosen to mark. If the branding iron wasn't lying discarded on the floor beside them, they would have sworn it was still pressed into their skin, sizzling as they tried to bite back their screams.
Now, whumper was waiting, foot tapping on the floor impatiently. Whumpee wanted so badly to curl up and cry, but this wasn't over. Not yet.
"It hurts, doesn't it, Whumpee?" They finally mused, excitement peeking through their cold facade.
"You fucking branded me," they muttered, squeezing their eyes shut tight. "Of course it hurts."
"Let's try something, hm? I'm... interested, to see what effect this will have on your behavior." They paused for a moment, and Whumpee braced themself for the kick or hit they assumed was coming.
Instead, whumper delivered one simple command. "Kneel."
Whumpee had a meer moment to feel the relief of not being beaten.
Then, the brand on their back was on fire once more.
They had thought it hurt to be branded the first time. Somehow, this was worse.
They shrieked in pain, limbs spasming as the agony traveled up their spine, radiating through their very soul.
Somehow, some part of them remembered that last command, and they managed to push themselves up, into a pose that could possibly be called kneeling.
The burning died down after a moment, returning to the manageable throb of before. Whumper grinned, slowly circling their quivering, kneeling form.
"I don't think disobedience will be a problem much longer, don't you agree? There are some cases, Whumpee, where pain really is the best teacher."
Whumpee sat limply on the ground of Whumper's office, dressed in Whumper's clothes— even down to his glasses. He couldn't remember much from earlier except for Whumper's panicked ramblings about cops and the evacuation of the other captives. Whumpee wasn't carefully restrained and hauled out of the house like the others... no, he was left for last.
He vaguely remembered some pain and then the blackness of sleep. Whumpee struggled to sit up, groaning. He spotted a pill bottle beside him— unlabled, but spilled over with white capsules.
Suddenly, the door was thrown violently open, and people poured into the room. They all had guns aimed at Whumpee, big SWAT shields blocking their bodies.
"Hands up," one of the officers barked, his voice grating on Whumpee's ears. He obeyed instinctively and flinched as the man shouted again, "It's the end of the line, Whumper!"
Whumpee looked around helplessly, blinking with confusion. "Wh... whumper? H- he left, I don't..."
"Dont play stupid," another officer spat, her voice venomous. "You've run from us enough. It's over, and you're going away for a long time."
Whumpee's voice was slurred. "Ple... please, you don' understand... I-" He cut off with a grunt as the officers grabbed him. The grip of both of the officers' hands was unforgiving. Whumpee did his best to fight back, but it was absolutely useless. Everything was hazy as he was dragged violently into the daylight— oh, how he'd missed the beautiful daylight!— and forced into a black government van.
It dawned on Whumpee's sluggish mind that he'd been framed. Of course, the cops would realize eventually that Whumpee wasn't the serial murderer that they were looking for, but who knows how long it would be?
Whumpee wasn't a suspect. No, he was a decoy. And he was sure Whumper would be back to take his dearest captive.
Molly keeps her promise, and Tracy finds that the achiness and other symptoms have faded a lot by the next day. At least she won’t have to feel like that ever again.
What would it be like, if your priority was your own health and happiness?
Molly’s words keep intruding into her thoughts, which is especially weird because Tracy already knows the answer. She would be a different person if she prioritized herself. So why does the question loop in her mind?
It doesn’t matter. She needs to escape, to get back to Alicia. But… when she had a chance to escape, she failed. She doesn't even know why!
She takes a deep breath. That train of thought goes nowhere. Just… think about it logically. Stop being stupid and think of it like a puzzle to be solved instead of a potentially hopeless situation.
Okay, the main obstacle in the way of escape right now is that she can’t hurt Molly. Since she doesn’t know why she can't hurt Molly, the logical next step towards escape is to figure out the reason, right?
How does one figure out why they couldn’t do something, though? She knows she was interrupted by a memory that made her lose focus, but she doesn’t know why that happened. It’s not like being violent is so out of the ordinary for her. She’s always been able to do what she had to do, so why can’t she now?
“…hey.” Molly pulls Tracy from her thoughts and sets down a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. "Um.. how are you feeling?"
"Better. Uh… thank you. For not keeping me like that. And for breakfast." She's not really grateful, of course, but keeping Molly happy certainly can't hurt anything.
Molly sits down. "So… do you want to talk about why you're so sure you can't get sick?"
"I don't get sick."
"...Most people do get sick sometimes, though, right?"
She's waiting for Tracy to answer, so Tracy gives a quick nod. It would feel like Molly's talking to her like she's a toddler if she didn't know that Molly always talks like this.
"So why are you different?"
"I don't know why, I just know that I don't get sick."
"But how do you know that? If it was just that you've never been sick before, why would you be so sure that you can't get sick now or in the future?"
Tracy eats some of her eggs. "I just know."
Tracy knows she's being frustrating, causing the conversation to go in circles, but Molly doesn't seem annoyed. "While you were… feeling not so great, you said that you weren't sick because you're not weak or pathetic. Do you feel like people who get sick are weak and pathetic?"
"...I guess."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, 'why'? If you're sick you're obviously weaker than normal, and you need people to take care of you."
"And… that's pathetic?"
"Yeah? Y'know, you're not my therapist, you're my kidnapper. I don't want to play whatever game this is."
"You seem frustrated."
"I am! Can you let me eat in peace?"
"Of course. I'm sorry." Molly starts eating her own breakfast.
They eat in silence for a bit, allowing Tracy to go back to her predicament. How does one figure out why they couldn't do something?
The options can be broken down into two potential answers: it was either something about trying to give someone a concussion, or something about Molly specifically.
The first seems more likely. She's never given anyone a concussion before, and it's a bigger deal than slapping someone or pulling their hair. It's… only human that she hesitated. It's only human that she thought back to how it felt when it was being done to her.
So, how can she fix being human? How can she make hurting someone seriously feel the same as slapping someone or pulling their hair?
"What're you thinking about?" Molly asks.
"Just enjoying my food." She eats the last bite of her breakfast.
Molly takes Tracy's now empty plate and stacks it on top of her own. "I'll go wash these. After that… Do you wanna play chess?"
"...sure. I'll set it up while you're doing that."
Molly grins widely and goes into the kitchen.
Tracy finds a chess board with the other board games, puts it on the table, and sets up the pieces. She can multitask, it shouldn't be too hard to play chess while figuring out how to turn off the part of her that cares about causing someone brain damage.
Molly finishes with the dishes quickly and sits down across from Tracy. "Do you want white or black?"
"How good are you at chess?"
Molly laughs. "We've played chess together before, when I was your therapist. Do you remember at all?"
Tracy shakes her head. She really doesn't remember anything from those sessions.
"How about we just do rock, paper, scissors for who plays white. Does that sound good?"
Tracy nods. Molly plays rock and Tracy plays scissors, so Molly ends up with the first move.
Tracy has to remind herself not to get too engrossed in the game, no matter how much she enjoys chess. She still needs to be focused on escape. How can she fix the part of her that hesitated at hurting Molly?
If she can just fix that, she can retry what she did last time. Grab some handcuffs from the backpack, catch Molly by surprise, hit her head hard enough to disorient her, take the cattle prods, restrain her, take the keys, and escape.
Molly will probably be anticipating her trying something like that, so she'll be on guard. She's already started taking the backpack with her when she goes to the bathroom, which she didn't do before the incident. Tracy could've tried that strategy long before Molly accidentally left the restraints when she went upstairs… but it would've failed, because she hasn't fixed the part of her that hesitated.
"You've always had such an aggressive playstyle." Molly once again interrupts her thoughts. "I'm more like Alicia, I prefer to focus on defense."
Tracy's stomach drops. Molly may have played with Tracy before, but she's never played against Alicia. “How do you know that?”
Molly winces. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Is there any answer to your question that could make you happy?”
“No, but not answering it doesn’t make me happy either!” Tracy tries to keep her breathing under control.
“I think… you’re happier now than you would be if you knew.”
“That’s not fair. Why do you get to decide that? Why can’t you just listen to me? I want to know! I hate not knowing, I hate looking back on private memories and wondering if you were somehow there! I hate wondering if Alicia is safe from you or if you're watching everything she does!" She sweeps the pieces off the chess board and lets them clatter to the ground. It doesn't make her less angry.
“...I'll tell you if you can calm down, dear."
"That's not fair!"
Life isn't fair. Calm the fuck down.
"You stalked me and won't even tell me how and I'm supposed to not be upset about that?? Why is everyone allowed to get angry but me!? Why are you allowed to kidnap me and shock me with cattle prods and restrain me, but me getting upset is too far?? Tell me, now, or– or–"
What can she threaten? She's completely powerless, even over her own emotions. Now that she's opened the floodgates, she finds herself sobbing uncontrollably. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you–"
"C'mon, just take some deep breaths. In… and out… In… and out…"
Tracy abruptly stands up, sending her chair flying, and flees to her room. She locks the door behind her despite knowing that Molly must have a way in and starts throwing things. The spinny chair, books from the bookcase, clothes, pillows, anything she can find.
All she achieves is tiring herself out. She screams until her throat is hoarse, but Molly doesn't even knock on her door or try to talk to her. She punches her mattress until her arms are sore, and still, nothing happens. Her rage is meaningless. She's not even going to get punished, much less listened to. No one cares. No one cares at all.
She cries until she's emptied herself out. That should be calm enough for Molly, right? She takes some deep breaths, unlocks the door, and exits her room. "I'm calm now. Tell me."
Molly is sitting on the couch, staring at Tracy. "I… I had a lot of things. It was a lot of hacking, mostly. Um…" she takes a shaky breath. "You're going to be upset."
"Yeah. Did you not know that when you did it?"
"I… I don't know…" She closes her eyes. "The cameras. The cameras that your parents set up in your house, I watched through those."
Tracy feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. She thought she was too exhausted and numb to feel anything, but she was wrong. She's not even sure what she's feeling, but it's definitely something besides exhaustion and numbness.
It was violating enough to have her parents watching. It never even occurred to her that the footage could be being watched by someone else. What if Molly wasn't the only one? God, Molly probably didn't even have to do anything but guess the password a couple of times! Tracy wouldn't be surprised if the password was 'password' or one of their birthdays.
"So… Alicia…"
"There aren't cameras in her foster parents' house," Molly confirms. "I follow her foster parents' social media, and I can access Alicia's email, but… that's it."
Tracy doesn't remotely believe that that's all, but she does believe that there isn't a way for her to watch Alicia anymore. "If I asked you to unfollow them and log out of Alicia's email, would you do it?"
"...yes. But it would mean I wouldn't be able to tell you how Alicia is doing, would you be okay with that?"
"Of course I'm fucking okay with that!" Tracy snaps. "I already asked you to leave her alone, but I guess you don't care about my wishes as much as you pretend you do." She's proud that her voice is able to sound cold despite the fire raging inside her.
"...I thought that as long as I didn't contact her–"
"Let me make it clear, then. I don't want you to have anything to do with her. I don't want you to surveil her in any way. I want you to be completely clueless about what's going on in her life."
"Okay. I'll do that. I'm so sorry, Tracy."
Tracy doesn't dignify that with a response. She locks herself back in her room. She doesn't think Molly will actually stop stalking Alicia, but… there's a chance. That'll have to be enough for now.
There is another small comfort– the cameras were only meant to make sure she and Alicia followed the rules when their parents weren't home, and her parents turned them off when they were able to keep an eye on her and Alicia in person. If Molly's main source of information was the cameras, she didn't see the worst of it. She didn't see Tracy at her most vulnerable. She tries to remind herself of that, but it doesn't make her feel any less violated.
Maybe Molly was right. There was no answer that could've made her happy, so she shouldn't have asked.
tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @iamheretohurt
(Try Not To) Kill All Your Friends masterpost - Next: Part 2
Contains: kidnapping, captivity, torture, broken bones, restraints, forced to watch
The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous. If Ryker and his men didn’t come soon, Vale was going to kill all of them. They shouldn’t have even let this happen—they were professionals, for God’s sake. Vale couldn’t fathom how he and Phantom had been captured in the first place.
“Are you making any progress?” Vale asked, for what felt like the umpteenth time. He hated to repeat himself, but Phantom hadn’t updated him in a while.
Phantom made a face, staring up at the ceiling as he focused on the ropes restraining his hands. “Um, sort of,” he said. Vale sighed, and Phantom muttered, defensively, “Let’s see you untie knots with your mind.”
“Phantom.” Vale could really do without the attitude at the moment. It was bad enough that he’d been kidnapped, sitting on the floor of some concrete cell God knows where, but it was even worse that he had to rely on Phantom to get them out. The boy was talented, certainly, but Vale preferred not to put his skills to the test when both of their lives were potentially at risk. “Why don’t you untie me first?”
“Because I’m halfway done with mine already,” he retorted, hands shifting behind his back.
“Well, hurry up,” Vale snapped. Phantom fell silent, getting that teenagery, exasperated look on his face that said, Yeah, yeah, I’m on it already. Vale took a deep breath, flexing his wrists, already feeling the ache in his muscles. “I’m impressed,” he admitted, “that you’ve managed to stay calm during this.”
Phantom’s eyebrows flicked up, and he shrugged. “Well, this isn’t my first kidnapping.” He frowned, eyes roaming the ceiling as he thought. “Actually, it might be the … fourth?”
Vale frowned back at him. “Fourth?”
“Yeah, there was Amoret, and then … you,” he said, “and then that time with Oliveri, and now this. That makes four.”
“Ah.”
After a minute, Phantom spoke again. “Did you forget that you kidnapped me?”
The boy had always had a smart mouth; the question shouldn’t have surprised Vale. He sighed impatiently. “Phantom, this is hardly the time.”
“I’m just wondering,” Phantom said, “because how else would you lose track of something like—” He cut himself off, head swiveling toward the door. “Someone’s coming.”
Vale struggled to his feet and moved away from the door, watching it warily. Phantom joined him. Vale hoped whoever came in wouldn’t check the restraints.
The door opened, and a woman stepped through. She was wearing fitted combat fatigues with platform boots, her hair in loose curls around her shoulders, and her makeup was just slightly too gaudy to be tasteful. A handful of others spilled into the room after her, but they were all dressed in the same sort of plain black attire that Vale’s own men wore, which indicated that they were lackeys, not the ones in command.
The woman’s pink lips split into a slow grin as her eyes roved over Vale and Phantom. “Well, well, look at this,” she said. “The great Axton Vale, finally brought down low. How does it feel, hmm? I just want to get a baseline before I drag you down lower.”
Vale schooled his expression into one of annoyance and disdain, which wasn’t far from how he was actually feeling. “Who are you, and what do you want?” he asked flatly.
The woman cocked her head, resting a manicured fingernail on her chin. “You don’t remember me? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. It was the worst day of my life, but for you—I’m sure that was just an average Tuesday for you, wasn’t it?”
Vale tried again. “Who are you working for?”
Her laugh was so high-pitched it would’ve made a dog whimper. “Oh, that’s rich,” she said, a broad grin spread across her face. “My name’s Danielle Angel, and I happen to be the one in charge here, honey.”
Oh, just perfect. Vale had not only been kidnapped, but kidnapped by some kind of living Barbie doll. He took a measured breath. “And what is it that you want with me?”
Her unnervingly white smile never wavered. “Weren’t you paying attention? I want to kick you off your high horse, Axton.”
He felt a twinge of irritation at the disrespect, but he managed not to show it. “Really?” he asked indignantly.
“Oh, absolutely,” said Angel. “And I think I’m going to start with …” She pointed a shiny pink nail to Vale’s right. “You!”
Phantom bristled, taking a step back, which put him right up against the wall. “I don’t think that’s—” Before he could finish, two of Angel’s men marched forward and grabbed him. The last man pulled Vale back by his shoulders.
Vale stumbled, struggling to keep his footing as he was dragged away from Phantom. “Leave him alone,” he said, keeping his voice steady.
“Sorry, Axton,” said Angel, “but you’re not the boss around here—you don’t get to make demands. Now, if you asked me nicely, I might consider leaving him alone, but otherwise …” She snapped her fingers, and one of her men drove his fist into Phantom’s stomach.
Phantom doubled over, wheezing. Vale surged forward, only for the henchman to yank him back, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his tied wrists. It shouldn’t have been enough to keep him restrained, but he just couldn’t get any damn leverage. “I said, leave him alone,” Vale snapped. The henchmen were twice Phantom’s size. With his hands tied like that, he didn’t stand a chance.
“You’re not a very good listener, are you, Axton?” Angel stood back with her hands clasped in front of her, watching her men rain punches down on Phantom. Vale set his jaw and watched.
Phantom put up a good fight, all things considered; Vale was proud of him for that. Each time he went down, he got back up, trying to ram the men with his shoulders. He tried to use his powers on them; that became clear when one of the men winced in pain, grabbing at his leg. Then the man struck Phantom across the head, dazing him. There was only so much Phantom could do with his powers when he couldn’t focus, and each injury was just another distraction.
Finally, Phantom collapsed on his knees, blood dripping from his nose. Vale watched him intently. Get up. Don’t just quit. Get back up. Phantom began to rise, but one of the men shoved him down by the shoulder, and he winced as his knees hit the floor. Angel laughed, flicking her gaze over to Vale. “He’s a fighter, isn’t he?” Then she sighed and tilted her head at her men. “I can’t help but feel, though, like you guys are going too easy on him.” Phantom’s shoulders stiffened. His eyes were glassy with barely-restrained tears. A single one traced down his cheek. “I think you should break his arm,” Angel said.
“No.” The word slipped out unbidden, barely a whisper. Vale pressed his lips shut.
It was too late. Angel’s head swiveled toward him, her ridiculous hair bouncing. “What was that, Axton?” she asked sweetly. He glared at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction. It didn’t matter; regardless, she wasn’t going to stop.
She watched Vale for a moment, then shrugged, turning her attention back to her men. “Well, go on, then,” she said, motioning them into action. “You can even untie his hands; won’t that be nice?”
The men yanked Phantom to his feet, and one of them pulled out a switchblade to saw away his restraints. Phantom winced as the ropes fell and blood trickled down his wrist. His face went white as two large hands gripped his forearm. “Please, don’t,” he breathed. His gaze flickered over to Vale, and then landed on Angel. “You’re—you’re trying to get at him, right? He doesn’t care. I promise, he—”
Angel sauntered forward and grabbed Phantom by the chin, her long nails digging into his jaw. She locked eyes with Vale. “That’s an interesting theory,” she said. “Let’s put it to the test, hmm?”
Vale wasn’t going to react. All Angel wanted was a reaction. She stepped back and signaled to her men. Phantom’s arm cracked down over the henchman’s knee.
“Stop!” Vale lurched forward, but a pair of hands held him back, fingers digging into his shoulders. Phantom’s knees buckled, and the henchmen held him up, one pair of hands under his armpits and the other still on his arm, hanging at an unnatural angle. The hand on his forearm squeezed. Phantom let out a choked noise that barely sounded human. “Stop, please!”
The room went quiet. Slowly, Angel turned to Vale, her face lit with a predatory grin. “Oh, that was delicious.” She stalked over to him, snapping her fingers, and Vale stumbled as the henchman released him. When he righted himself, he found Angel standing too close for comfort. He tilted his chin to look her in the eye. “All I wanted was for you to ask nicely,” she said, pouting. “Can you do that for me, sweetie?”
Vale clenched his jaw. For a moment, the room was quiet. The silence was broken by a single, strangled sob. Vale’s hands curled into fists. “Please, stop.”
“Oh, come on.” Angel’s finger traced down his jaw. His muscles rippled with involuntary repulsion. “You can do better than that. Get on your knees.”
Vale swallowed. From behind Angel, he heard a flinching sort of noise, anticipating pain. Slowly, Vale sank down.
As he looked up at Angel, he imagined himself plunging a knife into her chest, slitting her throat, carving that smug grin off her face. But the thoughts didn’t change his reality. She gently tilted his chin up. “Now ask nicely,” she whispered.
“Please. Stop hurting him.”
For a long moment, Angel gazed down at him, drinking in the sight. This wasn’t going to help. She wasn’t going to stop.
Then, suddenly, she ruffled Vale’s hair and straightened up. “Was that so hard?” She snapped her fingers, and her men stepped away from Phantom. “I think that’s enough for now. Let’s leave them alone for a little while.” Vale stared, open-mouthed, as Angel sashayed out of the room with her men, locking the door behind her.
-
“I can try to untie you, if you want.”
It was the first time Phantom had spoken in hours. Vale looked up to see him slumped against the wall on the other side of the cell, right where he’d collapsed when Angel left. There were bruises on his face, a crust of blood beneath his nose, and his arm was arranged carefully in his lap. “Your arm is broken,” Vale said, feeling as though it was a redundant observation.
Phantom shrugged one shoulder, his face expressionless. His cheeks were tacky with dried tears. “My other arm isn’t.”
Vale wasn’t sure it would stay that way if Angel found out about this, but his hands had gone numb a while ago, and he suspected they would both be better off if Vale had his hands free. He crossed the cell and sat with his back to Phantom. He exhaled slowly as the boy started tugging at the ropes.
They didn’t need to talk. Vale had always preferred silence. But for some reason the quiet was poking at him now, like an errant feather out of a down pillow. “I could have ended it sooner.”
Phantom’s fingers went still. “What?”
“All she wanted was …” Vale took a deep breath, forcing away the memory of his knees hitting the ground, of her nails under his chin. “I could have given it to her. I just …” Didn’t think it would help. Didn’t want to give in. Thought that you could handle it.
This was exactly the type of situation Phantom had been trained for. He’d been through the same interrogation and captivity trainings that all of Vale’s men went through. This wasn’t even the worst he’d been injured in recent memory; he had collected more than his fair share of scars. But this was the first time that Vale might have prevented it. There was no reason he should have wanted to, given Phantom’s role. Some people had taken to calling him Vale’s guard dog. Vale thought it was a crass moniker, but he had to admit it was fitting. A guard dog did the protecting; it didn’t need to be protected.
“Is this your way of apologizing?”
Vale bit back the instinct to chide Phantom’s tone. “I suppose so,” he said slowly.
Phantom silently picked at the knot. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “It was a power play. You couldn’t have known she’d actually stop.”
Vale’s shoulders relaxed as much as the restraints allowed. “That was my thought, yes.”
Phantom paused. After a long time, he spoke in a quiet voice. “Now that you know, though …” He left the sentence unfinished.
“We’re going to get out of here before that happens again.”
“Right.”
There was a world of uncertainty in that single word. Vale decided that silence was best.
Caretaker is minding their business one day, lost to their melancholy thoughts, when suddenly they’re grabbed/knocked out/forcibly subdued in some way. When they come to, they find themselves restrained, face to face with Whumper, whom they’d hoped was gone from their life for good. Whumper smirks in their terrible victory.
Whumper tells Caretaker “you’re mine now,” and that they’ll do whatever Whumper tells them, or else Whumper will cut them loose and recapture Whumpee instead. Caretaker’s stomach drops. They know how hard Whumpee fought to escape from Whumper, to get over what Whumper did to them in that place. Caretaker knows they’re still struggling terribly. So they agree. They agree to endure whatever sickening demands Whumper gives, whatever cruel torture and stinging wounds their strong hands inflict; whatever nasty words and psychological torture comes atop the physical.
Whumper taunts Caretaker, laughing because Caretaker knows what’s coming and is agreeing to it all regardless, all to protect their partner, Whumpee.
What Whumper doesn’t know, however, is that Caretaker and Whumpee aren’t together anymore. They couldn’t make it work. They had a terrible argument and left each other heartbroken. They haven’t spoken in months.
But Caretaker endures it all regardless. Anything to protect Whumpee, even now.
“Okay,” they tell Whumper, terrified but resolute. “I’m yours.”
(Multimuse meme | Accepting, but might get hoarded for a while!)
This is entirely off the wall but honestly the first thing that comes to mind is Smokes and Fully Alien Skitter! Except I think it would mostly be bad times for Smokes. xD
Various notions: Wrong place wrong time, Skitter is hunting Smokes? Reverse wrong place wrong time, Smokes is sent to deal with the Mystery Vermin knocking over the trash bins except oh, that’s a 40 foot long monster, not a dog? Smokes’ gang (? am I remembering correctly that that’s a thing?) has purchased Skitter in some kind of questionable deal, Smokes either Has Concerns or is put in charge of care and it is going poorly because turns out keeping an intelligent alien caged is a bit harder than doing the same with a fighting dog?
I don’t really know enough about Smokes to know how plausible any of those notions are, but it’s what comes to mind, ahaha.
Otherwise…
Alien Skitter and Fetch might be interesting too!
I have exactly one plot notion that’s come to mind so far that might let me explore writing Mila and Kim a bit better, and that’s to have someone wash up on their door step in need of a place to stay for a while, and honestly I feel like that could be a lot of fun with Archer. Do you want Archer to be brusquely fussed over by a pair of old lesbian aunts? He could be fussed over by a pair of old lesbian aunts.
Fetch and Mirian perhaps? Oh dear Mirian absolutely might wind up working someplace like ODIB.
Luke, how are you these days? Are you still happy with your gorgeous Marco?
(features @card-games-and-pain 's own Marco and Lee)
Luke sits on a long, deep, plush couch. Marco is curled up on one side of him, Luke's arm around his waist, wearing his pretty chain collar with the tag that says Gorgeous. Marco wears a small, distinctly sad smile, draped in what can only be called luxury pajamas.
"Of course I am." Luke sighs, content, smiling brightly as another man comes into the room. Lee's teeth are nearly audibly grinding together as he places the glass of whiskey on ice into Luke's free hand and settles onto the couch on Luke's other side. His pajamas match Marco's, as does the collar - only his reads Beautiful.
"Everything is perfect. I work for a week or two, come home for a week and get seen to by the best pets time and effort can buy... What's not to be happy about, hm?"
( adria arjona . genderfae . she/they ) — blasting DtMF by bad bunny down main street we’ve spotted AURORA 'RORY' OTERO sporting self-made citric & wooden signature perfume, a family heirloom her best friend gave her the last time they saw her, her favorite nirvana shirt under a leather jacket & her rebel caramel waves. the thirty-three (431) year old GORGON who’s been in town for seven years often can be seen throwing darts at the old haunt with her squad members, working out to let go of her stress, mixing scents to come up with perfumes for her loves ones, teaching self-defense classes at the community center & laughing out loud during trivia nights, or working as a LIEUTENANT at STATION 13 & OWNER of SPELL & BOURBON. people say they display protective and hot-headed traits, but we rather trust their vibes: the overachiever older sister with a hero complex, carrying the world on her shoulders and eventually crumbling only to pick herself back up again, fighting for the weaker and innocent, abusing madam duala’s herbs to try and erase a past she can’t forget, doing anything and everything she can to keep her loved ones safe. also, we’ve heard they love CHERRY-FLAVORED CANDY ! aren’t they fascinating ?
— possible connections: squad members / people from station 13, people she met either before or after her years of captivity (from the 80's forth), dance partners, former lovers, friends, close friends, self-defense students, favorite barista, her go-to person at madam duala's, neighbors, gym buddies.
✦ the basics ›
full name ⋆ aurora (first name) otero (last name) lascaris (previous last name)
nickname ⋆ rory (by everyone)
age ⋆ 431 ∖ physical age ⋆ thirty-three
date of birth ⋆ october 27th, 1594 ( scorpio sun, aquarius moon, capricorn rising )
place of birth ⋆ puerto rico
has lived in portum since ⋆ february 2023
gender ⋆ genderfae ∖ pronouns ⋆ she / they
orientation ⋆ demisexual ; demiromantic
species ⋆ gorgon
piercings ⋆ two on both ears
tattoos ⋆ some abstract lines on her wrists covering her scars
hobbies ⋆ cooking, playing FPS games (CS is her favorite) & dancing
pets ⋆ a white (superarctic leucistic) hognose snake called Luna & a long-haired baby daschund called Dina
inspirations ⋆ tbd
↺ the background ›
disclaimer — triggers for death, kidnapping, mentions of captivity, mentions of war
Aurora was born in a land almost as new as her birth, where conquerors came and went and took everything they could–including her biological mother’s life. Dead, by the hands of a cruel man who took the months-old baby to Spain with him and presented it to his wife, as the two could not have children of their own. For the next few years, she lived there, mostly sheltered from the world and society in general, raised with love and tenderness by a woman she learned to call mother. However, as the gorgon grew older and was slowly introduced to the Spanish society, her powers began showing more often, thus causing people to grow wary of her, especially her mother. The lack of guidance made young Aurora become less and less in control of them and, out of fear or out of love, her parent's most trusted maid blindfolded the child and fled in the middle of the night with her. For the second time in her life, she was taken.
For better or worse, the maid had been brought up hearing old tales of women descending from the great serpent Goddess Coatlicue. Women that could speak to serpents and turn living beings into stone. So, she hid eight-year-old Aurora and embarked on a ship towards a small land in the new world, where it was told her that a creature as powerful as Aurora lived. A place where the young gorgon was taught more lessons of love, happiness and that her powers were a blessing, not a curse. A place where she became an Otero. Not by birth, but by the love of a sweet and caring mother. And that was all she could ask for.
In her youth, and once she became more confident in her powers, the young gorgon asked for permission to travel. Memories of her old family in Spain sometimes still came back to mind, but more than that, she wanted to see the world herself. At the early age of sixtee, she thought she was old enough to travel, that she could take care of herself, Aurora told her mother. Human diseases didn’t get to her, men were too weak to touch her without her consent and with that in mind, she was back in a ship towards the old world, to see places and people she wasn't allowed to in her childhood. By the time she arrived in Spain and was able to track her old family down, they had already died. Julián Lascaro had died in one of his trips and Ynes Lascaro had succumbed to her own mind and sent to a monastery.
When visiting England was where she met the Carrasco family. They took her under her wing for some reason, and for a few years, Aurora remained by their side, learning how to act like a proper lady her age (and hating every minute of it). One reaper and one demon later, she didn’t feel like a stranger supernatural in a human's world anymore. But then, when a couple’s quarrel broke, Aurora sided with the one person she trusted the most aside from her mother and left England to travel with a friend for a few more years.
Eventually, her heart ached for home and Aurora realized it was time to return to the warmth of her mother. When she met the Otero woman again, Rory had aged. She had allowed herself to look older in order not to call attention on herself and her supernatural nature, and now, she had plenty of stories to tell her mother for the next century or so. Stories that tucked her sisters in at night in the upcoming years, with vivid details and lots of care in them. Aurora also realized that there was little that she couldn’t remember if she focused, something people would eventually call as eidetic or photographic memory, and for the years that followed, once tragedy hit her family, she wished she hadn’t been granted such a gift.
She wished she could forget about the time the cruel men came again and destroyed her little village, they pried her and her sisters from their mother’s loving arms and for a long, long time, their powers were used to win battles that weren’t theirs. Under their control weeks became months, months became years and years became centuries. If she were counting, she would know there had been two. Two centuries.
When the Otero siblings managed to escape, they bore more than psychological and emotional scars. Some of them had been permanently damaged and had suffered in their own way, all because of the greed of men.
It took her more years to build herself back up. Rory pushed others away and she bottled all the pain inside. She did what she had to do to survive, and surviving meant keeping things where others couldn’t see or touch. She had kept Juni the closest, since Perri didn’t seem to want to be around, but like the stubborn gorgon that she was, Rory still tried. She pushed buttons, she pulled strings and she remained by her sisters’ sides. Through thick and thin. She couldn’t fix what had happened to her sisters, but she could try and fix her family.
Her coming to Portum had a lot to do with her sisters and little to do with herself. She needed them, and she also needed her best friend around, so, the gorgon packed her bags and found herself a nice apartment downtown. Her dire need to help others pushed her towards start working as a firefighter, eventually becoming a lieutenant, and, in order to sink her roots deeper into Portum, she bought Spell and Bourbon from the previous owner, that being her definite attachment to the supernatural haven.
