So like... my knees hurt and likeeee I love projecting onto fictional people I love so I was wondering if it was possible for Kai to like have chronic pain? Bc like a lot of the time it's not something you can heal... your body just hates you. So would it be possible for Kai to develop it?
Disclaimer: I’m not very familiar with how chronic pain works, so I hope you will allow me some imprecision here. I’m also sorry your knee hurts, although this ask was from literally two years ago —you and Kai both deserve some comfort!
CW: long-term captivity, chronic pain, mention of past amputation, collar, exhaustion whump, mention of past violence/war crimes? And comfort! There is actually comfort here!!!
The morning of the three hundred and forty-seventh day of the fourth year of his captivity, Kai woke up in pain.
Or at least, in a different type of his regular pain.
The boy groaned, tensing in the silken sheets of his childhood bed, his body naked and still littered with bruises from the night before in Kyriel’s care. His hair was ruffled, white locks half plastered to his head and half sprawled over the pillow, silver eyes shining bright in the low firelight.
His back ached, a deep groaning throb where his wings had been.
The thing about amputations, Kai thought, was that the body never fully understood that the limb was gone. The pain, the phantom feelings over flesh long removed, often resurfaced like an unwelcome ghost in the few hours he was given to rest at night. So that the space where his wings had been, his beautiful white wings Kyriel had cut off him, ached stubbornly when he tried to sleep — as if the wound still bled, as if the phantom limbs demanded to be stretched and moved as they were designed to.
There was no relief possible when his wings were no longer there to be soothed. And in the bad days, when the ache grew persistent and the throbbing impossible to ignore, the pain became bad enough to wake him up.
Kai groaned again, turning in the sheets. He buried his face in the pillow, his fingers clawing at it to the point of almost tearing it, the boy fighting against the stubborn pain in his back.
He could almost feel the muscle he would need to press for release, which part of his wing was cramping. Knew what would make it better, if only the muscle to massage had still been there.
“Fuck,” Kai breathed. He screwed his eyes shut, uselessly trying to stretch his shoulders to chase some relief. He shifted in the sheets. “Fuck.”
He couldn’t afford to lose hours of sleep, he thought, precious and little as they were. Not when Kyriel deliberately kept him exhausted as a mean of controlling him, when he filled every waking hour of his days with mind numbing duties that either grounded him to dust or overloaded him to the point that thinking of rebellion became a fanciful impossibility. When Kyriel didn’t let him sleep, after having forced him to go through a daily ungodly amount of readings and presenting him with a new challenges to overcome in the arena, all too often keeping him chained to his bed for his enjoyment until the late hours of the night. So that when Kai did manage to crawl back to his rooms, when he have a few precious hours for himself at night, he only collapsed face down on the mattress and didn’t re-emerge until it was time to start it all over again at dawn.
He didn’t have the energy to do anything else. His mind numb, desperation lapping at his soul wherever he turned. And ever since Ashe— and Kyriel had brought him back to the battlefield…
Kai screwed his eyes shut, the memory of the sounds of his people’s screams filling the silence of his rooms.
The boy sat up in his bed, panting as the silken sheets pooled around his waist. He was bruised, and he was pale, blue-purplish bruises littering his chest from when Kyriel had cracked his ribs just a few hours prior. He threw the covers out, standing before he begun to scream himself — the low fireplace casting deep shadows over his face, almost masking the heavy bags under his eyes there.
He grabbed his dressing gown, fastening it over himself with trembling hands. Knowing that, with the combination of his phantom pain and the memories of his shame, there would be no getting back to bed now.
He threw the doors of his rooms open next, into the corridor of the Tower only brightened by low torches on the walls.
There were six Fallens standing guard there, all six in full armour and with spears long enough to keep him and a sword at bay. They hoped it would, at least, Kyriel’s Court having learned not to provoke him — for the angel had been clear, a blessing among the despair, that Kai was to defend himself if provoked. And while the boy had delighted himself in testing the boundaries of that specific command, which provocation the runes allowed him to respond to — physical violence was always, always one he could react to.
Which made the whole concept of guards ludicrous, unless their only purpose was to die. Possibly screaming loudly enough to alert Kyriel his pupil was up to mischief and to give the rest of the Court a head start to run, or perhaps Vasilije simply did have some soldiers he really didn’t particularly like.
Kai watched them all look up with genuine alarm, their armour clinking from where they’d been slacking against the wall.
“I’m going upstairs,” Kai announced. “You guys might follow if you wish.” He strode ahead before any of them could have the brilliant idea of using those long spears of theirs to bar his way, which might or might not be what they were for after all. “I promise that if you keep out of my way, I won’t cause trouble in turn.” His jaw set. “I just need some fresh air.”
That statement would have normally been cause for great alarm, had Kai not resolutely made his way towards the corridor that led upstairs. He heard the guards scramble behind him, that stupid armour of theirs announcing their every step.
“Ehm, sir? My Prince?” One of the Fallens, the one with the tallest feather on his helmet, in case Kai needed a target and couldn’t find himself an easy enough one, flanked him anxiously as he walked. “Couldn’t you do what you need in your rooms?”
“No.”
“We— We’d be happy to have you brought what you need—“
“Can you bring me some peace?” Kai snapped. His eyes flashed, his back aching as another stab of phantom pain ploughed where his flesh had been. He winced. “No? Didn’t think so.”
They’d reached the end of the corridor, at least, facing heavy wooden doors that were darker than those that led to his and Kyriel’s rooms. Two twin columns flanked them, the same rose-tan colour of the stones that Kai knew made the floors of the room beyond.
That was where him and Kyriel had breakfast in the morning, the Dawn Room that faced to the east.
“Ehm, sir—“ another Fallen, this one sounding even younger than the first. “Are you allowed to…?”
Kai grinned, all teeth. He pushed the doors open.
“Of course I am.” He shrugged, every inch Kyriel’s pupil. “Do you think there is anything I can do that doesn’t have the blessing of your god?”
He left it there, knowing perfectly well that Kyriel’s Court still reeled from what he’d done to them two years before. That the punishment Kyriel had inflicted him had not been enough to dispel the fear — that there were whispers now, those who said that it would have been safer if Kai had been killed and brought back. Doubts, sowed among Kyriel’s loyals, about the angel’s ability to contain him — suspicion that he’d let Kai do kill so many of them on purpose, or through negligence at best. That it had been intentional.
The boy paled, doing his best not to show his pain as the runes on his back flared red in immediate punishment at his words. The compulsion unhappy at the defiance, at the sewing of doubt that was only a step away from outright sabotage.
Fine, Kai thought. I might have deserved that one.
He didn’t have to keep the facade for long, as his guard thankfully left him some distance as soon as he entered the Dawn Room. He felt, more than saw, all six of them take position around the doors and by the walls, the burning of his runes subsiding the further away they got — for the Dawn Room had no exits beyond where they’d come from, and so there would be nowhere for Kai to run. The room was a large semi circular space with floors made with those same rose-gold stones of the columns at the doors, with enormous windows that faced a large terrace encircled by a balustrade covered with flowering vines — and also the place, incidentally, where Kyriel would expect to find him in just a few hours.
The night air was a small shock, still, when Kai opened the doors to the terrace outside. The cold sharp and deep, slamming into his front and bringing him back into his body.
Kai shuddered, looking up to the sky.
It was a special type of cruelty, he thought, that Kyriel didn’t allow for the windows of Kai’s rooms to open at all. That the only time the boy got fresh air was either when he was strolling leashed with his captor, or when on the battlefield to do his bidding with a collar around his throat. And it wasn’t by chance that the fucker’s favourite punishment was to lock him far away somewhere dark — for he knew, like Kai did too, how badly the boy longed for the sky. For the wind, the wildness of the rolling clouds, the thunder of the storm and the freedom of it all. The night, the sun, the infinite freedom of the open air. The power, free at his fingertips.
Kai grabbed one of the wool throws placed in the basked next to the doors, huddling down on one of the low divans placed against the outer walls of the Tower. He kept his head up, eyes trained towards the sky — for what a wondrous, stunning thing it was that up high. It was enormous, rolling black and jewelled with a thousand stars — it swelled, dark and wild, yet shining with an entire firmament of lights slowly moving across the sky.
Kai felt his heart fill with wonder, the sheer beauty of the universe heal his soul.
Yes.
He’d happily spend all night there, he thought, cold and alone but able to feast on that sight above. Better than the stuffiness of his rooms, of a luxury that hid the bruises — of a golden cage filled with comforts that were meant to keep him tame.
He could almost feel how flying would be like, as he looked out to the sky. Could imagine stretching those phantom wings of his, large and wide, behind his back — could feel the pull of that muscle that hurt still, the cramp that throbbed and didn’t let him sleep.
He could imagine relaxing it, free from pain at least.
Kai shuddered in relief, closing his hands in fists. He looked up, hungry, wishing he could stand up and leap. Jump in the air, fly away from the Tower and Kyriel there.
He flinched, jumping on his seat, when a small popping sound cracked next to his ear. He turned, following the clunking sound of ceramic rattling on glass, finding a steaming mug on the low table next to his sofa.
It was hot chocolate, its dark and sweet scent filling his nostrils.
Kai looked up, suddenly alarmed, searching for a sign of his captor on the terrace. As if his traitorous thoughts would have been enough to summon him, as if merely wishing to run away could summon the consequences of punishment on him — but there was no one on the threshold of the door, no shadow of wings over the balustrade or by the columns. Just the soft murmur of the vines wrapped around the stone, the flowers opening and closing as the greenery of the Tower slowly moved.
Kai shuddered, realising where the chocolate had come from. What else could have summoned it for him.
“Thank you,” he whispered, low, to the ever watching Tower. He reached out for the mug. “Thank you. I like this one.” He took a sip, almost tearing up for how good it was. He looked up, a thought suddenly making the chocolate sour. “Please, don’t wake him up.”
He could almost feel the Tower purr, a low rumbling laugh running through the stones. For the Tower liked him, had liked him ever since Kai had been a kid — but that didn’t mean it would not enforce Kyriel’s commands, even when Kai oh so wished it would show him a way out. But it would help, he knew, whenever doing so would no go against the spirit of their master’s design.
Sneaking out of his rooms to look out at the sky did not apparently amount to a snitchable offence that night.
Kai sank back into his seat, relaxing a beat despite himself. The mug was hot and solid in his hands, warming him inside and out.
The sky surely was beautiful, striking and rolling all above. The stars shone like jewels, the night sky open and wide, infinite and wild. Only the sound of the wind, of the murmur of Kyriel’s capital below, interrupted the quiet of the night — the air cold and sooting over Kai’s body, pacifying his heart.
Kai felt his eyelids grow heavy, after a while. And for once, knowing himself to have a few hours of peace before breakfast still, he allowed himself to succumb under the watchful gaze of the night sky.
Whump scenario: A proud, brilliant military strategist surrenders to the new victorious regime. He gave it his best, he fought valiantly, and he takes the loss with grace.
He believes in mind over matter, and knows his value - if he plays things right, he could have a place in the new order. Maybe he could teach new generations of commanders. Maybe he could test battle-plans to make them watertight - anything meaningful, anything that would still bring him pride in who he is.
But none of this comes to pass. He is, instead, discarded.
He is thrown into a cell and almost forgotten. Sometimes, the enemy officers ask him things he has no right or reason to know, and they're not being gentle. Nobody listens to his desperate pleas for reason.
Maybe the new regime has no more need for war - they have already won, and plan to reign forever. Maybe they consider owning anything to their enemy, or someone of his heritage to be beneath them. Maybe their failure to acknowledge him is an act of revenge.
With no maps, no paper to put his thoughts onto, no one to truly talk to, no purpose - it becomes more and more difficult to formulate even the simplest of thoughts. And although he is not young anymore, the commander begins to understand that his body will outlast his once bright mind.
Genre: Angst, post apocalyptic, zombies, vampires, family
Word Count: 3,507
Point of View: First Person
Prompt: Long-Term Captivity
Set: A Season for Falling Apart (Maylancholy 2026 / @may-lancholy)
The lock clicked, the wooden door creaking open. I glanced up from the book I was reading at the bay window. In walked Mikael, dressed in his black butler uniform and carrying a silver tray. He set the tray down on the desk before lifting the silver dome lid up, revealing a plate of food.
The smell was honestly heavenly, my mouth beginning to water and my stomach twisting with anticipation.
“I have brought your lunch, mistress.”
“Not hungry,” I replied simply, returning my attention to the book, pretending to read.
“You must eat something, mistress.” He replied and I could hear him frowning. “You skipped breakfast, as well.”
I shrugged a shoulder, making him sigh.
“Please try to eat at least a little bit. Lord Drago will be worried to learn that you're not eating.”
I snorted. “The only thing that jerk cares about is himself.”
“I assure you, my lord cares very deeply for you, mistress.”
“Whatever.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“No.”
“Very well. If you need me, please do not hesitate to ring for me.” Mikael folded one arm behind his back and the other over his stomach before bowing to me. He then turned and left the room, the lock clicking once more.
I closed the book, scowling at the door. I waited a few minutes for him to reach the stairs before I stood up and approached the door. My fingers curled around the doorknob, turning it in an attempt to open the door. It didn't budge, making me click my tongue.
I wasn't surprised by this at all. I was prepared this time, though. I pulled out the bobby pin I had stolen a few days ago, inserting it into the old lock. I have never done this before but I read about it in the mystery book I'm currently reading. I don't have high hopes, but I have to at least try. I'm tired of being locked in this damn room, in this damn house.
I just want to be free.
I slid the pin into the lock and started to wiggle it around while jiggling the doorknob. This continued on for several minutes to no avail. I was just about to give up when I heard a click. Carefully, I twisted the knob and pulled the door open just a crack so I could peer out into the hallway.
I could hear Mikael moving about downstairs and, despite how big the manor is, he's the only servant. Drago’s room was down the hall from my own, but he was always fast asleep during the day. It would be hours before he woke.
‘I have to get out of here before that happens,’ I told myself, feeling determined.
Mikael may be spry for his age, but he's still quite old and I felt confident that I could escape him if it came down to it. I don't want to hurt him, though. He's always been kind and patient with me. Plus, he's just following his master's orders.
I grabbed the backpack I had hidden under the bed, quickly slipping it onto my back before heading out the door. I was thankful for the ugly red carpet that muffled my footsteps. I couldn't say the same for the wooden staircase, though.
I leaned over the railing, straining my ears. It sounded as if he were on the other end of the house. Still, I wanted to be safe rather than sorry so I took my time, descending slowly. At even the smallest of creaks, I froze and waited a moment to make sure he hadn't heard.
It took longer than I would have liked, yet I made it to the bottom of the steps without incident. I was nearly free. The door was right there, kept securely closed by three different locks, a chain and a bolt. I cursed under my breath as I carefully undid each one.
My heart was racing in my chest as the final lock clicked. I tugged the door open, squinting at the bright light that flooded the entryway. All of the windows inside were covered by blackout curtains, the glass tinted gray to block out the light. This was the first time in a very long time that I was seeing the full brunt of the sun without a filter.
I glanced over my shoulder just as Mikael rounded the corner. His silver eyes widened, a look of alarm on his wrinkled face.
“Mistress, please don't!”
I darted out the door, the hot wind whipping across my face as I ran.
The manor was per head atop a large cliff that overlooked the sea meaning there was only one path in or out and it was a long one. Small pieces of rock broke away from the path as I ran, tumbling down, down, down toward the ocean. We were up so high that it made me feel a bit light headed.
The path slowly began to slope downward and I had to slow my speed to stop myself from tripping and falling. At the end of the path was a line of dense trees, towering high into the sky. I didn't hesitate to enter the woods, dodging low hanging branches and thick roots that stuck out of the ground.
I ran until I couldn't any longer, a stitch in my side and breathing heavy. I leaned against a tree, trying to catch my breath. It was hot as hell out here, sweat covering my body and making my clothes stick to me.
Once I caught my breath, I started forward again, this time slower. What was my plan here? I suppose I just wanted to get away from Drago. I wanted to no longer be a prisoner.
‘I just have to find a road, then a town and tell the cops I've been kidnapped. Unless he intends to kill everyone there, I should be safe.’
I paused for a moment, wondering if he would kill everyone to get me back. He was certainly strong enough to do so, but he's never shown any aggressive or cruel behavior. To be fair… Drago has always been really nice and patient with me. He's never gotten mad or raised his voice. He's never hit me or hurt me.
Why did he kidnap me all those years ago? Why does he not let me leave? I've asked these questions many times to both men, but neither would answer me. I shook my head and continued on. None of that matters now.
After what felt like hours, I finally found a road. It was cracked in multiple places, thick foliage pushing through the asphalt. It looked as if it hadn’t been used in ages. With a frown, I glanced back and forth, trying to decide which way to go. Finally, I chose to go right, following the road in the hope that it would lead to a town or city.
The sun was beginning to set, casting orange hues across the sky. I cursed, picking up my pace. As soon as the sun was gone, Drago would be awake and he would be hunting me down. I was running out of time.
I started to run, trying to ignore the intense heat that weighed down on me. The manor was always so cold so I assumed it was cold outside, too. It was like night and day!
The moon was out by the time I saw civilization, large and full. It cast an eerie light over everything, making the town seem to glow as I approached it. Even though it was getting late, I expected to see people out and about or, at the very least, driving home from work.
I saw no one.
The road was just as fucked up. Cars sat on the road, unused and broken, covered in layers of dust and rust. Shop windows were shattered, pieces of glass covering the sidewalk. There was trash everywhere, scraping across the ground in the breeze. The town was as silent as the fucking grave, making my ears ring.
Where in the world was everyone?
Maybe they were all asleep.
I approached the first home I saw, climbing the short steps to the door. My knuckles rapped against the wood and, to my surprise, the door creaked open. It hadn’t even been fully closed. With a frown, I pushed it open, wincing at the loud creaking sound it made.
“Hello?” I called out to the darkness, listening for any sound of movement. “Is anybody here?”
Silence.
I didn’t feel comfortable entering someone’s home so I turned around and started down the street once more. The police station sat at the end of the street, though it looked just as bad as every other building. The front glass was shattered and thick boards had been put up to cover the holes. I tried to push open the door but it wouldn’t budge. It didn’t appear to be locked, so why wouldn’t it open?
I slammed my palm against the door. “Hello? Is anybody in there? I need help!” I heard footsteps inside. “Hello! Please open the door!”
When I received no response, I clicked my tongue in annoyance. Carefully, I stepped over the glass sticking up from the large front window. I checked each wooden board, finding one that was loose. I threw my shoulder against it, grunting at the pain. Afew hits and it came free, flying back into the station. I peered through the hole I had created, finding only darkness inside.
What the hell is going on?
Has this town been abandoned? But why?
“Hello? I know someone’s in here, I heard you!”
I heard shuffling to my right and I squinted, trying to figure out what it was. Suddenly, a hand shot out, trying to grab me. I cried out in surprise, stumbling backward, tripping over the raised edge of the window. I landed in glass, feeling it piercing through my arm.
The arm shot out through the hole, slashing wildly. I could just make out the bald head of… was it a person? The skin was yellow like old paper, torn and blistered in multiple places. The eyes were white and milky, darting around wildly as if it couldn’t see me. Its teeth kept gnashing as if trying to bite the air, black and rotted.
“What the fuck…” I muttered, heart hammering inside my chest. I turned my head to get a better look at my arm only to see movement from the corner of my eye. When I turned, I saw another creature rushing toward me. I cried out, scrambling to my feet just seconds before it crashed to the ground where I had been.
I didn’t hesitate, turning on my heel and running down the street, trying not to trip over trash or the cracks in the asphalt. ‘What do I do? What do I do?!’ I glanced over my shoulder to see the creature gaining on me. How in the hell was it so fucking fast?
I looked forward too late, tripping over a thick vine that was sticking out of the ground. A cry left my lips as I hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from my lungs. I turned over, eyes wide as the creature dove at me.
There was a flash of black and red before the creature’s head was sliced clean off, rolling across the ground. Its body dropped just inches from my feet, black ooze dripping from its neck. What… just happened?
“You are injured, my dear.”
I reconized that deep voice instantly. My eyes snapped to the right where Drago stood, tall and proud. His pale skin seemed to glow under the light of the full moon, pale blue eyes observing the fallen creature. The red cape he always wore fluttered behind him gently in the breeze.
“It seems you had quite the adventure.”
“D-Drago…” my voice trembled and I couldn’t find the words to express how relieved I felt to see him again.
His eyes met mine, softening a bit. “I am sure you have many questions. Come, let us return home first. It is dangerous here.”
“You… you won’t answer them… you never answer them!” I replied as I pulled myself to my feet, trying to ignore my shaking knees. My legs felt like jello and I couldn’t stop trembling.
For a moment, he was silent. “You are right. I have not been very honest with you. I believed that, by doing so, I was protecting you. I see now that I was wrong. Forgive me, my dear.”
Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, expression hardening. Before I could process what was happening, he had launched himself in my direction. I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking he might be about to punish me for my insolence. Instead, I heard the high-pitched cry of something behind me.
Slowly, I peered over my shoulder.
Yet another creature fell to the ground, its head taken clean off its body.
Drago sighed, flicking his hand with a look of disgust. “Such nasty creatures. Please, my dear, let us return home.”
I nodded slowly, resisting the urge to fire a million questions at him. “Okay…”
He offered me a smile as he approached, easily lifting me into his arms. “Close your eyes, my dear,” he whispered.
I did as he ordered, clutching tightly to the front of his suit. I felt a strange sensation wash over me, as if I were being pulled in one direction too fast for my brain to register. I could feel the hot air whipping around us and I couldn’t wait to take a cold shower.
And then it was over.
“Welcome home, my lord.”
I opened my eyes, seeing Mikael in the doorway, bowing to us. I felt guilty just looking at him. He must have been worried… would Drago scold him for not watching me properly.
“Will you prepare the bath, please, Mikael?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Wait.” I called out, making both men pause and look at me. “Please, I… I just need answers.”
The two exchanged a look before Mikael cleared his throat. “I’ll make some tea. Is honey milk tea okay, mistress?”
“Yes… that sounds lovely,” I replied softly, unable to meet his gaze.
Drago carried me into the manor and Mikael closed and locked the door before disappearing into the kitchen. I was brought to the living room, set carefully onto the couch. His longer fingers wrapped around my arm as he inspected the cuts.
“Are they… bad?” I wondered, too afraid to look. It was throbbing something terrible.
“It does not appear so. However, we need to clean them as soon as possible. One moment, my dear.” He offered me a smile before leaving the room.
I frowned, listening to the tick, tock, tick, tock of the grandfather clock by the fireplace. I felt so… confused. And tired. So very, very tired.
Drago returned with a first aid kit, settling down beside me before angling his body so he could better reach my arm. “This will sting, I am afraid, but please just bear it. It will last only a moment.”
“Okay.”
“Good girl.” He placed a cotton ball at the top of the alcohol bottle, titling the bottle until the ball was wet. He then gently dabbed at the wounds.
I hissed at the sharp sting, feeling each cut beginning to throb.
“I see no glass inside the wounds. You were lucky.”
Lucky… yeah right.
He was just wrapping my arm with a white cloth when Mikael appeared with a silver tray, carrying a single cup of tea. He sat the tray down on the coffee table before handing me the cup, warning me that it was hot. He then left the room.
Silence settled over us.
“What were those things?” I questioned softly, watching the steam rise from my cup. The warmth of it between my hands was oddly comforting.
“They have many names,” said Drago as he made himself more comfortable. He sat up on the couch, one leg crossed over the other. “Walkers. Shamblers. The rotted ones. The walking dead. Zombies. They are humans that have been twisted and warped by a virus. There is no cure. Not yet, anyway.”
“Zombies…” I breathed out in disbelief, leaning back against the couch. I remember seeing those kinds of movies when I was a kid.
“That is why I took you,” Drago spoke softly, his eyes focused on the dancing flames in the fireplace.
“Why me? Out of all the people in this world, why choose me?”
“Do you not remember?” he asked in surprise, turning to look at me.
“Remember what?”
“The day we first met.”
“Of course, I do. You came into my room while I slept and -”
He shook his head. “Not the day I took you. The day I met you.”
My brow furrowed as I tried to recall the memory. “I… don’t remember.”
“I am not surprised. You were only eight and human memory can be quite fragile. I was injured, resting in an alley until I regained some of my strength. It was raining that night yet the streets were filled with people. They saw me, of course. I saw them glancing toward me. I heard them speaking of me because they thought I could not hear. No one cared enough to see if I was okay. To offer their aid. No one… but you.”
My eyes widened as the memory started to surface, like ripples on a still pond.
“You approached me without fear,” he chuckled, softly. “At the time, I thought you a fool, though I was grateful for you. When you realized I was injured, you even ran home to get the first aid kit. It did not seem to matter to you that you were soaked by the rain. You cared only for making sure I was okay. You shined so much brighter than all the other humans around you. I knew then that you were special.”
“I didn't want you to be alone,” I said softly. “You seemed so scared.”
His hand found mine, fingers threading together. His skin was like ice compared to my own. “You said the exact same thing when I asked you back then why you chose to help me.”
I was quiet for a moment. “Did you know? That this was gonna happen. Is that why you took me?”
“I sensed it as soon as the first human became infected. This is not the first time this has happened nor will it be the last. This infection takes hold and wipes out most of humanity every 200 years or so. Perhaps I made an error in my judgement, but I could not simply sit back and watch such a sweet girl be devoured by such a horrendous curse.” He gave my hand a squeeze before bringing my hand to his lips. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” I replied, looking at him in disbelief. “You saved my life. Multiple times.”
“While that is true, I also took you away from your friends and family. I locked you away inside my home without explaining anything to you. Everything I did, I did for you, but that is no excuse for the distress I caused you.”
I exhaled deeply, leaning my head on his shoulder as I held his hand to my chest. Could he feel my heart beating beneath my skin? Could he hear it? “I resented you for a long time before I didn't understand. I didn't know the horrors that were waiting outside for me. At the same time, you've always been kind to me. You've protected me and given nearly everything I ever asked for. I'm sorry for misunderstanding you. I've said some… mean things over the years.”
He chuckled softly, leading his head against my own. “It is okay, my dear girl. I understand why you said such things and I cannot blame you for it.”
“Are there… other humans out there that have survived?”
“A few dozen are scattered across the globe, clinging to hope and the last shred of humanity.” He paused for a moment. “Do you wish to be with your own kind?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “Not really. And for the record, Drago…”
“Yes?”
“I had no friends and my family was… complicated. I'm still sad they're gone, but… I don't feel as if I lost much. However, I feel like I've gained a lot.”
“You are… happy here? With me?”
“I am. I'm sorry for running away, I just… I was tired of feeling like a prisoner.”
“I see. If you so wish, I will accompany you when you wish to leave. I forget that humans are not used to being in one place for so long. A change of scenery will do us all good, I believe.”
A smile tugged at my lips and I nodded. “That sounds good.”
I thought of this scenario you should do with Jonah and Vincent ( No pressure at all!!)
maybe there both watching the news and a picture of Jonah’s comes on the screen and they talk about how the police are stopping investigating for him
And Jonah is broken knowing nobody is looking for him anymore
Written in Blood masterlist
CW: long-term captivitiy, police mention
’29-year-old Jonah Bennington has been reported missing by his neighbour in April 2020.’
A picture of him appeared on the tv screen and Jonah gasped.
‘Nice one,’ Vincent smiled, ‘That’s the one from your ID card, isn’t it? Damn, you look so young there… Wonder if I still have it somewhere, the way you try to smile but just fail miserably is adorable!’
He laughed and leaned back, one arm slung around Jonah’s shoulders.
‘Oh, don’t give me that look, honey - enjoy that little moment of fame!’
They both turned back to the tv and watched the BBC reporter interview a blond woman wearing a yellow shirt and a brown apron who was holding a bag of coffee beans in her hand.
‘He didn’t show up for work the other day, but initially, no one was too worried because he had only started working here a few weeks ago and - well, you know how these young lads are, they quit as soon as they find something better, I have to admit that we’re kinda used to that… He never seemed to be one of those people though, I always had the impression that he liked that job… But when I called him, I got redirected to voicemail straight away and in the end, I had to dismiss him.’
A met police inspector appeared on-screen.
‘It’s been nine months since investigations started and by now, we have no reasonable hope that new information will arise that will help locate the missing person in the short term. Should that be the case, we will reassume investigations immediately, of course.’
His picture, along with his name, age, physical characteristics and the contact details of the Metropolitan Police Service appeared on screen again.
‘They seem to have given up on you, darling,’ Vincent purred, switched off the tv and ran a hand through Jonah’s hair, while the young man sitting next to him was frozen in shock.
He had hoped against all hope that someone was searching for him, that somebody had noticed his disappearance… But now even that tiny bit of hope was shattered. He suddenly remembered walking past a missing poster of a 19-year-old girl, thinking that she probably just ran away from home and would come back sooner or later. Now he was the one whose face appeared on these posters, he was the one the people would forget just seconds after looking at the picture and his description. A 29-year-old male who went missing after work. No one would be too worried about him, he was an adult after all, and adults changed their plans all the time. Especially if they had no one to care about. Parents. A partner. Maybe children. He had none of those, he was footloose and fancy-free and would show up again eventually, probably somewhere at the other end of the world…
No one would look for him anymore. No one cared about his whereabouts. He was stuck with his captor and would never leave this house again. He buried his face in his hands as he started to cry.
‘Oh, don’t cry, my sweetest darling,’ Vincent whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, ‘There’s no reason to be sad… they never really cared about you, but that’s okay. I care about you. And now we can finally be together without anyone bothering us. Forever.’
Spoiler: This is an excerpt from The Wrong Time-Travellers
Ahsoka is pressed against his side as if he’ll disappear if she lets go, not that Anakin can blame her. They’ve been together only a couple weeks after not seeing one another for months. Ahsoka may not have been in total seclusion, but Anakin was, and after having seen the next half-decade or so without each other, there’s nothing either of them want more than this.
He still doesn’t understand how they saw these… visions. He can’t figure out who caused it, if anyone at all, or if it were simply meant to happen.
It’s nice to have Ahsoka here – it gives him someone else to focus on. He would do anything for her, because he loves her, and nothing else. It’s… not the same with Obi-Wan. It never has been, but that’s truer now. No matter how many times Anakin reminds himself over and over that his master would never hurt him and that was just part of a possible future, he still finds himself tensing anytime he moves too fast.
Obi-Wan finally reenters the room – he’d been off on Council meetings or something of that nature. Once Ahsoka would have had the sense of mind to pull away, but she doesn’t now. Neither of them moves, and quite honestly Anakin doesn’t care what his master thinks about it anymore.
“Anakin,” he says on greeting, pausing before slowly approaching them. Their relationship is awkward now, like they don’t know how to be around each other. It’s like they’ve forgotten how to interact.
“Master,” he responds quietly.
“You can call me Obi-Wan. I am not here as you’re superior anymore. I’m here as your friend.”
“I don’t really have friends,” Anakin mutters. A year ago, he would’ve appreciated hearing that. Now, he doesn’t know. He also knows how he’s spiraling down a pit of depression from which it feels like he can never come back.
Ahsoka leans a little closer, and Anakin lets her. She’s warm against him and it feels so… right.
Obi-Wan settles down on Anakin’s other side, gently laying a hand on his arm. “Anakin, let me help you.”
it’s a fairytale title so you know it’s liam and delilah!
after this i’m feeling a bit low on ideas so please please please drop an idea if you’d like to see more of L&D :) if we wanna make it a lil ask game, drop a fairytale title and a method of torture that you think fits with that and i will see what delilah thinks of your offering ;)
tagging @hearse-song, @brutal-nemesis, @lonesome--hunter, @whumpy-writings, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump . let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!
CW: male whumpee, big whumpee, little whumper, female whumper, intimate whumper, noncon touching (nonsexual), electric shock, Taser, control, captivity, aftermath of hypothermia
The morning after his afternoon in the yard, Liam wakes too warm, sweaty in all his layers of clothes. He comes to slowly, recognizing the dampness in his hair, and then the weight of blankets on his chest, somehow much heavier than where they rest on his legs. Groaning, he tries to shift, wanting to peel a pair of socks off, or maybe a sweater. Maybe he’ll throw the blanket off altogether, or maybe he’ll luxuriate a little in the feeling of being too hot.
But the blankets don’t move the way he expects them to, and he realizes it’s not a blanket weighing on his chest, it’s not –
He looks down to Delilah wrapped around him, her cheek resting on his chest, arm looped over his waist, holding him tight and secure.
Bile rises in his throat, and Liam turns his head to the side, gasping. All at once, his breath is coming shorter, panicky. He wants to shove her away, peel her arms off and throw her to the other side of the bed, but fear stops him and holds him in place. It’s a nameless, squirming fear, a dread that Liam has come to hate. He shouldn’t be afraid of her. Delilah is tiny. He shouldn’t be afraid of her.
Liam is so afraid.
As if she hears the pounding of his heart, Delilah stirs, yawning against Liam’s chest. Even her yawn is cute, small, the kind of vulnerability that might’ve made Liam smile before all this. Now it just makes his dread deepen, knowing that soon, she’ll be awake. Lying stiff as a board, he prays that she’ll sink back into sleep, and that maybe he’ll be able to ease out from under her – but instead her arm tightens, viselike, around his waist.
“Morning, baby,” she mumbles, voice sleepy and contented. Liam can’t reply. His throat is too dry. “How’d you sleep?”
Now he has to answer, or Delilah is going to get angry. “I-I slept well.” His voice comes out strained, but Delilah hums, sounding pleased. “I’m, um, a little…a little too warm, th-though? Maybe we should…should, uh, get up.”
He’s moving too quickly. He’s showing his hand. He wants Delilah off him so bad, but she’s going to see right through him, the cracks in his voice. Head coming up, Delilah looks at him, and Liam drops his head back, focusing his gaze on the ceiling. He can feel her eyes on his face. “That’s great!” She squeezes him again, and Liam fights to still his flinch. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better. You were in such a state last night.”
“Y-yeah.” Liam draws in a shaky breath. “I was…I was pretty messed up.” Feeling distinctly unreal, he watches the boards of the ceiling and makes himself say it, the thing he’s been thinking in the back of his mind. “Th-thank you. For taking care of me. I…thank you.”
“Aw, of course,” Delilah coos, face brightening. She squirms even closer to him, and Liam lets his eyes fall shut, trying to breathe steady. “You’re my prince. I’ll always take care of you.”
Liam nods, eyes still shut, hoping that she won’t make him speak again. He’s afraid his voice is going to betray him if he does. She seems to wait for him to say something, but when he doesn’t, she just sighs, and relaxes against his chest. They lie together like that for what feels like hours.
Finally, Delilah sighs and starts to sit up. Holding himself stiff, Liam doesn’t let himself exhale in relief, afraid that she’ll feel the release of his lungs and grow angry. When she finally does clamber off of him, he sits up slowly, tentatively, still afraid he’s doing something wrong. He lifts off one sweater, then the next, ignoring the way that Delilah peeks, delighted, at his midriff. Once he’s pulled off the second pair of wool socks, he finally feels appropriately warm. He feels, in fact, better than he has in a long time, because he has socks and a shirt and he’s not totally exposed to Delilah’s eyes.
Hopping out of bed, Delilah waves him into the main room and Liam obeys willingly. The new, longer chain allows him to sit on the couch while he waits for her, and the give of the cushions is another huge improvement over the cold stiff boards of the cabin floor. Liam even has the time to tuck the wool sock he’s wearing under his ankle cuff, so it isn’t always rubbing at the thin skin of his ankle. As he does it, he wonders idly when he came to be grateful for these meager things – clothes, a lack of pain, a place to sit. It used to be that he only noticed the lack of them. Now, his feverish, cowardly little brain wonders if he should thank Delilah, for a better chance of keeping them.
All too soon, Delilah swans through the door in a pretty floral sundress. With all that skin exposed on her legs and arms, she must be freezing, but Liam’s captor gives no sign of it. She smiles at him, beatific, and then she snaps her fingers. “You said you were too warm, didn’t you, darling?”
Trepidation already building, Liam nods nervously. “Y-yeah, earlier, but I’m actually fine now-”
“You should take your socks and shirt off. You’ll be cooler that way.”
Flushing, Liam swallows and wonders if he should argue. The socks come off slowly, reluctantly, and he balls them up and places them in Delilah’s outstretched hand, feeling like a sulky child. The shirt, though…it’s tight, and thin, but it’s a real, long-sleeved shirt. It keeps him covered from her covetous gaze. “I, um, I’d like to keep the shirt?”
Tipping her head, Delilah looks at Liam for a long moment, her face blank and empty. Then her lips pull down in a terrible, tragic expression of sorrow, and Liam’s stomach strangles him with nerves. “Darling,” she says mournfully, and Liam knows that tone. Liam knows that face, and that sadness which always precedes pain. She advances towards him, and Liam scrambles backward, bracing himself against the couch. “Oh, darling.”
“S-stay away from me,” Liam manages, feeling ridiculous. She’s tiny. She’s tiny! He’s not going to come at her with an axe, but he can certainly catch her hands and prevent her from hurting him. For once, he’s rested, he’s not drugged, and though he’s hungry and thirsty, he’s operating with a clear head. A small measure of confidence is coming back to him, lending him strength and loosening the tension in his limbs. Delilah is tiny. What is she going to do to him?
“You know, when you went crazy, yesterday.” Delilah is twirling something in her hands, a black stick that looks like a baton. Too small to do any real damage. “I went for a drive. To clear my head.”
Nodding cautiously, Liam keeps his eyes on her hands. She’s not stepping closer, but he’s not ready to relax yet. There’s some kind of game going on here, something Liam doesn’t see, lurking under the surface.
“When I felt better, I went shopping. I got something, just for you.”
That’s when Delilah flicks a finger, and Liam hears the terrifying crackle of the Taser.
He’s only ever heard it on TV before, but that loud and deadly snapping is unmistakable. Eyes widening in horror, his gaze snaps to Delilah’s hands – there.
What he thought was a baton, or maybe a very small club - it’s a thick black cylinder, looking almost like a flashlight. A glaring, white fiery light erupts from the tip of it as he watches, and it’s accompanied by that way-too-loud, terrifying sound. Heart in his throat, Liam looks back to Delilah, shaking his head.
“No. No.”
She takes another step forward, and Liam gulps. He’s ripping the shirt off his back, throwing it her way, but Delilah won’t stop advancing.
“You know what this reminds me of?”
“Delilah – Delilah, please, please, the shirt’s off, I don’t want the shirt, I’m sorry-”
Another burst of sparks from the Taser. “I said, do you know what this reminds me of? You have to listen to me, darling.” She pokes the Taser his way to emphasize her point, and though she’s still three feet away, Liam flinches.
Swallowing hard, Liam falls silent and shakes his head. When she lifts her eyebrows expectantly, Liam swallows again, trying to find the air to speak. “I…I’m sorry, I, I don’t know what this reminds you of.”
“Beauty and the Beast,” Delilah pronounces, with no small satisfaction. “You know, Belle tended Adam after he was attacked by the wolves.” She nods to herself, as if picturing the scene. “Even though she was running away, he went after her and saved her. And then he got hurt. And then she cleaned his wounds. Even though he’d kept her prisoner. Even though he’d terrorized her.”
She looks up then, fixing her eyes on Liam, and he manages a nod. He wonders which of them is supposed to be Belle. He wonders who, between them, is the Beast. “Yeah. Yeah, um, that was…good. Of her.”
“It was.” The fervent tone in Delilah’s voice is almost worshipful. “Like yesterday. When you betrayed me.” Liam’s mouth falls open, but he can’t exactly argue. “I still took care of you.”
“You, you did,” Liam agrees nervously, eyes darting down to the Taser, currently silent in Delilah’s hands. “That was very kind.”
“But you weren’t really hurt.” Delilah tips her head as she considers him. “You didn’t get hurt when you betrayed me. You didn’t really learn your lesson.”
The idea that he didn’t get hurt knocks the wind out of Liam, makes him weary beyond expression. When he speaks, Liam’s voice is exhausted, breaking on the words. “What lesson, Delilah?”
Thrusting the Taser out before her, Delilah snaps it in Liam’s face and he recoils, gasping. “Not Delilah,” she snaps. “Belle.”
“S-s-sorry, Belle. I’m, I’m sorry, B-Belle, I was confused.” Liam is holding both hands up, palms out, trying hard to sound calm. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I betrayed you.”
Placated, Delilah smiles her dreamy, disconnected smile. “That’s all right, Adam.” She takes another step forward, the Taser still held out before her. “But you have to let me tend your wounds.”
Shaking his head, Liam keeps his eyes on the end of the Taser, dark and silent for now. He wonders if he should grab for it. “I’m, I’m not hurt.” The words are almost a whisper. “I don’t have any wounds.”
“Adam.” She tips her head. “You have to let me tend your wounds.”
Then, the Taser is on, and she’s moving toward him, and there’s no question of grabbing it for himself because it’s cracking loud and angry and the white light is too close, too bright, zeroing in on all Liam’s exposed skin.
It hurts like nothing has ever hurt before. It hurts worse, yes - but it also hurts differently. The electricity that sparks through his body is hard and hot and makes Liam’s muscles clench and seize, makes his skin feel on too tight, his bones sore, his body jolting. It goes on forever.
When Delilah pulls back, Liam is left panting, groaning, body still twitching under the onslaught of remembered electricity. “Adam?” she asks, and her voice sounds so anxious it’s as if she doesn’t know she’s the one hurting him. “Adam, are you all right?”
“N-no, you crazy bitch,” Liam spits, tears threatening in his voice. Her face grows dark, and he knows he shouldn’t, but nothing has ever hurt like this, not with this bizarre, stinging, prickling pain that ricochets through his body. “Get away from me! Get-”
The prongs of the Taser land in his chest this time because his arms are too weak to block her. This time, Delilah leans into her thrust so hard that Liam feels, even through the electricity, the barrel of the Taser pressing against his pec. Mostly, though, what Liam feels is pain. The sharp, demanding ache, like the startled snap of a rubber band multiplied a thousandfold, searing down every nerve, agonizing in his bones, his veins, on every inch of his skin.
When Delilah steps back, Liam is gasping through gritted teeth, but as soon as his muscles are his own again, the big guy is sobbing. He’s sprawled back against the couch, unable to move, to think, almost unable to breathe. The sobs hitch through him and bawl out his open mouth unrestrained as he gasps for breath.
Liam should at least try to control himself. Delilah doesn’t like it when he cries. With the leftover pain in his body, even taking a controlled breath feels beyond him, so Liam lies weak against the pillows and weeps, hoping against hope that he’ll be too pathetic to hurt.
Delilah’s shadow falls across him, and Liam shuts his eyes to avoid looking. She stands there for at least a few minutes, seemingly considering, deciding what to do with him. Eventually, she sighs lightly, and when he dares to crack his eyes open, she’s tucked the Taser away somewhere – no doubt for later use. “Oh, Adam.” She throws herself down beside him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Adam, I’m so sorry.”
Liam knows she’s not apologizing for hurting him. In her head, it probably wasn’t even her who did it. “It’s – it’s all right,” he tells her hoarsely, and he doesn’t know if he’s comforting her, or if it’s a pitiful, self-driven attempt, the only comfort he can offer himself.
CW: cursing, captivity, torture, interrogation, multiple whumpees, forced to listen, lady whump, hand whump (threats), no Kell or Jinn
Jack took in a shaky breath. Then another.
It didn’t help. His whole body was shivering uncontrollably. The room spun around him, and his eyes burned with unshed tears and exhaustion. He was tired. So damn tired.
He let his throbbing head sink against the wall behind him.
Right now, it was quiet, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. It never lasted long.
Pain pulsated through his body. The fucking guards hadn’t been careful when they’d dragged him down here and somehow, he’d twisted his ankle. It had swollen three times its normal size and the cold concrete he was sitting on was a harsh contrast to the fire in his leg.
Dried blood was itching on his face. He’d tried to wipe his face against his shoulder but given up after several tries. His hands were chained so tightly behind his back, he could barely move his fingers.
Another shiver ran through his body. Still, he was sweating. He cursed himself. He cursed Oryn and the Varsennan in general and most of all he cursed Kell.
If he’d ever see him again, he’d rip his head off. Jack wasn’t entirely sure if he really was the stupid idiot he seemed to be or if he’d betrayed him on purpose to gain Oryn’s favour.
It didn’t matter anyway.
A pained whimper echoed through the corridor and Jack’s stomach turned.
“Please,” the girl in the cell across from his begged and her voice was so hoarse it must hurt. She had been quiet for so long Jack had hoped she had become unconscious.
He slumped even further against the wall. He tried to ignore the pain, but it got harder and harder with every second. If he could just move his arms a little bit. If he could just lay down and rest but her screams had prevented him from getting any sleep.
Sooner or later Oryn would pay him a visit. He’d ask questions. Jack needed all the concentration he could scrap together. He desperately needed sleep.
Her cries got louder, and Jack closed his burning eyes.
If Kell had just kept his traitorous mouth shut, Jack wouldn’t be down here. He wouldn’t be injured and cold and so fucking tired. He wouldn’t have to listen to her endless screams. Hell, he wouldn’t be waiting for his turn to scream his head off.
The pressure across his chest tightened and he tried to swallow it down, but it just tightened and tightened, and Jack scrambled for something to hold on to.
He’d sworn to himself he would never become a pitiful shadow of himself.
He wouldn’t.
But somehow, he wasn’t so sure anymore.
A gasp and then a scream pierced the dark. His head jerked up and he felt cold and hot at the same time. He pressed his eyes tightly shut. It didn’t do anything to muffle the screams. They turned shriller and shriller, and Jack’s hands twitched behind his back. Pain shot through his wrists. A sharp reminder of all the times he’d stupidly tried to cover his ears and failed.
He’d never felt so helpless.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
Her screams pierced through his head like needles. His hands were shaking from how hard he was making fists as her scream turned into a hoarse burble. Then finally it stopped.
Jack took a deep breath. Relief flooded his body.
Hopefully she’d lost consciousness.
Guilt sparked through him hot and painfully and vanished as fast as it had come.
The empty hallway distorted Myra’s voice so Jack couldn’t understand a word she said but it wasn’t necessarily. Her tone was enough. And when the screams started again, Oryn suddenly seemed like the lesser evil to deal with.
***
Jack wasn’t sure how long it took until the door on the opposite side of the hallway opened with a sharp squeak.
He held his breath as Myra walked past his cell, prayed she didn’t know he was here, prayed she wouldn’t decide to pay him a visit as well.
He tasted blood and he realised his lip had cracked open again. When Myra’s steps finally faded away it was quiet. Jack swallowed hard. He should say something. Ask her if … if she was all right? What would that do? If she’d answered at all. She probably was unconscious. Or dead, his brain offered helpfully. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t help her anyway.
He didn’t even know who she was. He didn’t want to know. The less he knew the easier it was. He had learned that a long time ago. Another reason why he’d wanted Kell to be gone. He cursed himself for thinking about him. He was probably lying in his bed right now sleeping peacefully and not even remotely thinking about Jack.
The jingle of metal interrupted his thoughts and his stomach turned. Footfalls moved closer and closer and closer and again pain shot through his wrists as he instinctively tried to move his arms.
His mouth was dry, and he took a deep breath. Then another. The cell suddenly felt suffocatingly small. His breathing turned shallow as the footfalls stopped, replaced by a new sound and just as a key moved in the lock Jack realised Oryn was humming.
Anger washed through his veins and Jack was almost thankful as it drowned out his panic.
He swallowed as Oryn came closer, his skin itching and tingling.
“You poor little thing” Oryn cooed as he brushed his thumb over Jack’s busted lip. Jack turned his head away, but he couldn’t escape Oryn’s hand patting his head like a child with a scraped knee.
“Get your hand away from me or I swear I will bite your fingers off,” Jack hissed.
Oryn snickered and even though he let go Jack could feel his touch lingering on his skin. Oryn studied the smear of Jack’s blood on his thumb. Then he looked him over. His eyes lingered on his twisted ankle for so long Jack’s heart started to race. He crouched down in front of him. “I’ll warn you only once to mind your tongue, Thrasher,” he said, and his voice took on a sharp edge. “It has already brought you in a lot of trouble.” He tapped his index against Jack’s ankle and pain exploded in his foot. Jack gritted his teeth and tried not to scream. He couldn’t give Oryn that. Not that early.
“Ouch,” Oryn said and looked down on him in fake empathy. “It looks like it hurts pretty badly. If you’d only complied …”
“They threw punches before I could say or do anything,” Jack said, still fighting against the waves of pain.
It was true. The guards hadn’t given him time to comply. Jack hadn’t even known what was happening.
He could still feel heavy boots on his ribs, his legs, his head …
“Ah yes. Maybe I told them to teach you a lesson,” Oryn said like it was an afterthought. “But it doesn’t seem like you’ve learnt it yet.”
“If the lesson was that you are a violent, possessive asshole with an inferiority complex then …”
He was interrupted as pain exploded through his already throbbing head. With his hands still bound behind his back Jack lost his balance and fell hard on his side. He tasted blood. Tears and sweat burned in his eyes.
Hands harshly yanked him back up right and his ankle got dragged over the floor. For a moment Jack couldn’t breathe.
“Hitting a bound man? That’s low, even for you,” Jack gasped between winces.
Oryn sighed again as if this whole endearment was exhausting for him. Jack heard him walking through the small room. “Apparently you are still not ready to answer my questions.”
“You can shove your questions …”
Oryn slammed an elbow into his face and Jack heard a wet crack. His nose exploded in pain, and he screamed in anguish. Tears rose to his eyes and blood poured from his nose. For a moment he wasn’t sure if he’d black out or retch his guts out. Then the waves of darkness slowly faded away and Oryn’s voice swam back into focus.
“... he told me all about your little schemes.”
Betrayal tasted bitter on his tongue. He had known all along Kell was the reason he was here. He’d been the only one who’d known about his plans. One of the reasons why he’d wanted to get Kell out that fast. He talked too much.
“I hope you gave him a reward for telling you,” he spat out. Blood trickled down his chin as he spoke. The metallic taste was so thick he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to taste something different.
“Do you know how much trouble you caused me?” Oryn said instead of an answer. His voice was scarily calm, and his eyes were steel.
“Apparently not enough, you bastard,” Jack muttered, hoping to provoke him into going just a bit too far.
Again, pain shot through his face. It was pure agony as his fist connected with his already broken nose. His scream turned into coughs as he choked on his own blood. It took a few moments until his vision was clear again. His breath came in fast, shallow bursts as he clenched his jaw, swallowing down the pleas on his tongue.
Fingers curled around his chin. Jack weakly tried to turn his head, but Oryn just gripped his chin harder and moved his head forcefully towards him.
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Jack fought against Oryn’s grip, but his hands were like iron and panic rose slowly in Jack’s stomach as he realised how strong Oryn was. His eyes pierced into his own, hard and unyielding and suddenly Jack felt very small. It took a few moments until Jack gave up on struggling out of Oryn’s grip.
Only then Oryn started to talk with a sly smile. “I know what you’re trying to do, but you can’t distract me with your insults,” Oryn said in a dangerously calm voice. “You caused me too much trouble to end this quickly.”
The words felt like ice on Jack’s skin. He opened his mouth, but Oryn’s grip tightened around his jaw, squeezing new tears into Jack’s eyes, forcing him to keep silent. “You broke into my study as well,” Oryn said, tilting his head. “I noticed some documents missing.”
Jack didn’t answer, but he knew his eyes were telling Oryn everything he wanted to know. He had been so careful. He had been so sure Oryn hadn’t noticed. He had put them back as soon as he had gotten their real names.
“I see. And what were you planning to do with my dagger? Murdering me in my sleep?”
Oryn’s eyes were gleaming and Jack remembered the small dagger he had once found in one of Oryn’s drawers. Barely the size of his palm it had almost looked harmless. He’d thought about taking it. But he’d never even touched it.
“What dagger?” he asked.
Pain shot through his body as Oryn gave him a single shake. “Don’t act stupid. I know it was you. Where is it?”
“Even if I knew where it was, I would never tell you.”
“I already searched your room,” Oryn said quietly. “But you are too smart to hide anything of importance there, aren’t you?”
Jack didn’t answer.
“I will find your hiding spot soon enough,” Oryn said, his hands slipped down to Jack’s throat and squeezed just enough for the sharp edges of panic to creep up. “And you will regret every second you chose to hide it from me.”
***
Jack knew Oryn was talking to him, but he could barely comprehend his words. His head was heavy with exhaustion and his mind a mess. Breathing was a challenge since his nose broke and he swallowed hard against his burning throat. His stomach felt heavy and tight, and he would have thrown up if he’d eaten in the last few days.
Hands grabbed him by his collar and suddenly his body was moving. Jack was screaming before he even knew what was happening.
“Who are you working with?” Oryn emphasised every single word before he let go of Jack again. Jack tried to catch himself, but he hit the floor hard.
Jack wasn’t sure how many times he’s already asked that question. He’d stopped counting. He’d given up on answering Oryn’s questions and silently stared into his eyes, daring him so torture the answers out of him, because otherwise he wouldn’t get any.
Then suddenly Oryn’s hand sprang forward and grabbed his head. “You are going to tell me everything I want to know,” Oryn said. His eyes hardened. He abruptly let go of Jack and his head bounced against the wall behind him. “Nothing is going to change that. So go on and continue making this hard. It will be so much more fun this way.”
Jack’s insides turned to ice at his words, but he put all his strength into keeping his face straight. “Go fuck yourself. It would be better for both of us, if you’d just give up and save us the hassle. I will never answer your questions. Even if your dumb face is the only satisfaction I can get.”
Anger glimmered in Oryn’s eyes but his touch was gentle as he caressed Jack’s cheek with his knuckles.
“I wish I could cut out your tongue,” Oryn said softly.
Jack instinctively pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“Maybe I will do that after you gave me all the answers I need.”
Jack’s stomach churned, and his lungs suddenly felt too small. “Why don’t you ask your Bluefinch?” he spat back. “Or is he too dim-witted to comprehend simple questions?”
“How funny you’d mention him. I would have bet that he would be the first to break. But he still refuses to give up any information about you,” Oryn said. “He didn’t even want to tell me your name. It’s so cute how he struggles to keep it to himself.”
Jack stared up at him in confusion. Ice tingled in his stomach. His mouth suddenly felt dry.
“He … what? …,” Jack started flabbergasted. “Then who …?” Who had told Oryn about him. Why was he here, if not for Kell?
“Seems like I hit a nerve,” Oryn said amused. “I know you were trying to help him. I know you care about him. So how about you answer my questions if you don’t want me to hurt your friend?”
Jack forced a laugh but it sounded too hollow. “Do you really think I am stupid enough to tell him anything important?“
Oryn tilted his head. “Maybe not. But I don’t really care about what he knows. I am more interested in what you know.”
“I don’t care about him. I only care about the reward. As far as I’m concerned you can punish him, torture him, hell, you can kill him if you want,” Jack said, and his heart skipped a beat. “I won’t tell you anything.”
Oryn crouched down in front of him. “You don’t mean that. You risked your life to get him out of my theatre.”
“Someone was interested in him,” Jack said, and it wasn’t even a lie. Not really. “They paid me to get him out.”
Oryn stared at him. Jack had expected him to ask him who it was, but Oryn kept quiet and that was unsettling. Maybe Jack had given away too much already.
“They paid you for him,” Oryn repeated, and Jack didn’t like the way he said it. “What did they pay you?”
Jack looked away. He wouldn’t explain about the favours he’d gained. It was a currency far too valuable to give up.
“I see. You don’t want to talk. And Bluefinch doesn’t want to talk either. But don’t worry, I will get him there. It’s going to be fun to see him struggle to keep something I already know. And who knows? Maybe he’ll surprise me with something I don’t know yet.”
Anger burned through Jack’s veins. “You’re so sick,” he spat. “He didn’t do anything. Do you know what an effort it was to get him to even think about running away? I had to lie to him. I told him, I would get Jinn out of there too. He wouldn’t even try without him. So, I told him Jinn was already gone. I told him and he believed me. He would have never tried to if I hadn’t lied to him.”
For a moment the only sound was Jack’s breathing.
“That was a very hearty speech for someone who doesn’t care. I thought you don’t like him?”
“I don’t,” Jack insisted breathlessly.
Oryn smiled. “I see.”
Jack wanted to cut the smile off his face. He was too angry to keep his mouth shot. “I thought I already explained it to you. Let me make this absolutely clear: I don’t care about him but unlike you I am a decent human being. I take no pleasure in seeing other people hurt.”
“I am counting on that,” Oryn said with an expression that made Jack’s stomach drop.
***
A sound jerked him out of his doze and his head shot up.
Oryn crouched before him and stared at him. He was too close and Jack violently flinched away only to bump against the wall behind him.
A sly smile started to spread on Oryn’s lips. “You knew, didn’t you?” he asked finally.
Jack’s voice was barely more than a croak: “That you are an asshole? Of cou-...”
Oryn moved too fast for Jack to react and then Jack’s lip started to bleed again. The room spun around him, and he blinked against the nausea in his stomach.
“I did what you suggested.”
Jack stared at him in confusion. “What- …?”
“You mentioned that Bluefinch didn’t want to leave Sparrow behind, so I made him choose.”
Jack felt sick. “What did you do to them?”
“I am not here to answer your questions,” Oryn interrupted him sharply. “You are here to answer mine.”
Oryn pulled a stool closer and sat down. “I know how much you Tharlians worship your singers. And I always wondered why, until I discovered that most of them seem to have magic in one way or another.”
At his words Jack’s heart slowly turned to ice.
“So when I first heard his voice, I knew there had to be something. I always know.” Oryn smiled down at Jack. “But you knew that already, didn’t you? You knew he has magic.
Jack stared at him, and the coldness flowed through his blood. He had suspected Kell of possessing magic, but he had never seen him using it. Oryn knowing was anything but good. He would use him. He would use him the way he used Blackbird.
“I didn’t,” Jack whispered. It was the first true reply he gave Oryn. “How did you … find out?”
He didn’t expect an answer.
“He healed himself,” Oryn said, like he was talking about the weather.
Of course. He should have known Kell was a healer. He remembered how quickly his hand had healed back when he had arrived at the theatre.
Jack winced as he thought of what Oryn had done to Kell to trigger his healing magic.
If only he had paid him more attention ... If only he had acted earlier ...
“I wonder …” Oryn started slowly. “I wonder if he can heal others too.” He looked down at Jack. “What do you think?”
Jack didn’t answer. He had a feeling where this was going.
“Maybe you can help me find out.”
Jack involuntarily shook his head.
Oryn grabbed his hand. “We could start by cutting off your fingers.” Oryn’s hand stoked the back of his hand.
His index slowly brushed over Jack’s pinky finger. “One by one,” he said and continued with his ring finger.
Jack didn’t move his hand out of his reach. His chest burned with shame. It felt like he was falling endlessly with nothing to catch him.
He knew he had lost.
“Maybe he can heal you in between ...” Oryn said.
Jack watched as he stroked his middle finger; then his index finger. The touch was light as a feather but still it burned like poison.
“And maybe not,” Oryn continued as he reached his thumb. “But it’s going to be fun either way. The audience is going to love it.”
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Thank you for reading! @whumpzone @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @whump-cravings @tears-and-lilies @imagination1reality0 @suspicious-whumping-egg @i-can-even-burn-salad @siren-of-agony @villainsvictim (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!)
CW: captivity, aftermath of trauma, everyone is sad, confused, hurt, scared and generally unhappy
Days blurred into each other, and Jinn did his best to stay busy.
Nights were harder. Nights were impossible.
And the lack of sleep was starting to get a problem. His head was throbbing, and his left eye didn’t stop twitching and he had trouble to remember his lines. He had tried to catch some sleep during daylight but then he’d been late for a rehearsal and the punishment had been worse than his eternal exhaustion.
It was nine days since Kell ... he tried not to think about it.
Jinn had never felt so lonely. He hadn’t realised how much he had depended on Kell and even though he’d have never believed it possible, Robin had become even worse as well. Jinn tried to avoid her as much as he could.
The day felt so much longer than usual, and Jinn desperately wanted to withdraw to his room. Practice would be horrible. Panic settled into a heavy knot deep down his gut just thinking about it.
It wasn’t really anybody’s fault, but they were just not enough to close the hole Kell and Thrasher had left.
His heart twisted in his chest and he tried not to think about them, but just before practice was about to start, a movement in the corner of his eye made him turn.
He felt cold and hot at the same time.
Kell was standing in the entrance. His face looked haunted, his eyes glazed and empty.
For a moment he was convinced he was imagining things. Could sleeplessness cause hallucinations? He looked over to the others. Everyone was staring at Kell.
Jinn started for him, but a hand held him back.
“Give him some space,” Koel said, before Jinn could tear out of her grip.
Kell didn’t look up while heading to his usual spot.
Jinn felt frozen. Numb. He couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears. The coldness creeped up his limbs until it closed around his heart. He was trembling so violently it was hard to keep his weight on his feet.
He missed the cue, and he was glad Oryn wasn’t here. He tried to concentrate but it was hard, when Kell was standing just out of reach.
Questions bubbled up in his mind and he couldn’t stop staring at him.
Was he okay? Of course, he wasn’t. He measured him with his gaze. There were no visible injuries except for a bandage on his left hand, but Jinn knew how bad his arms had looked a few days ago and he was anxious about what else he was hiding under his clothes.
What had happened in the last few days? Jinn wasn’t even sure he wanted to know. He had survived. That was all that mattered. Right?
Kell hadn’t even looked at him. He hadn’t looked at anyone or anything for that matter. It reminded Jinn too much of Blackbird.
What had Oryn done to him?
As soon as they were dismissed Kell fled the room.
He was avoiding Jinn. The thought ripped a hole in his heart. Maybe Koel was right. Maybe he should give him some time.
He’d survived. But still he was gone.
***
When Jinn opened his door, he froze. The room wasn’t empty. Kell was standing at the window. He turned around when Jinn stepped inside.
Their gazes met. Kell’s eyes were empty, and desperation tugged on Jinn’s heart. What if there was nothing left of him inside?
Then something in Kell’s eyes flickered and Jinn was moving before he was even aware of what he was doing. And then he was directly in front of him.
His face was pale and there were dark shadows under both of his eyes. He hadn’t moved. He looked haunted and his eyes were jumping over Jinn as if he was searching for something.
Jinn’s chest was aching. He didn’t know what to do.
“Kell,” he whispered. His name sounded like a question.
Kell’s gaze snapped up to his face and his eyes were screaming.
“Kell,” Jinn said again. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hug him. He wanted to do something, but he wasn’t sure if it would just cause him pain. Or maybe he despised him now. Or maybe he couldn’t stand his touch anymore after Blackbird. Or maybe ...
Tears pooled in Kell’s eyes, and his next breath came in a choked shudder. And then suddenly he was sobbing uncontrollably. He dropped forward into Jinn’s arms and together they fell to the ground.
Kell’s head dropped against Jinn’s shoulder and tears almost immediately soaked through Jinn’s clothes.
“Kell,” he whispered, pressing his arms around him.
Kell was violently shaking under his touch. His sobs tore the silence and his hands held onto Jinn for dear life and Jinn’s heart was aching.
He stroked his hand over his back, but otherwise he wasn’t moving.
His hands were shaking too.
He scrambled for words but there was nothing he could say.
“I’m sorry,” Kell finally sobbed into Jinn’s sleeve.
“There is nothing ... nothing you have to be sorry about,” Jinn said. “I am the one who has to apologize. I should have told-...”
“Don’t,” Kell said. “I don’t ... I’m not ready to hear about it yet.”
It took a long time until Kell had calmed down.
And Jinn couldn’t stop asking himself what he had been forced to do to survive.
Oryn had never let anyone live. But he had made an exception for Kell and Jinn knew this wasn’t over yet.
Not when Oryn knew Kell was a healer.
And Jinn wondered what Oryn needed a healer for.
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Thank you for reading! @whumpzone @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @whump-cravings @tears-and-lilies @imagination1reality0 @suspicious-whumping-egg @i-can-even-burn-salad @siren-of-agony @villainsvictim (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!)
