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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"Geralt! Fucking kill it already!"
He was barely able to finish his cry before the tentacle tightened around his throat like a slick, rancid noose, and what little oxygen he was able to take in was abruptly cut off.
Written for Whumptober Day 2, for the prompt "choking".
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Whumpee: Rodney McKay
Prompt: tied to a chair
Written for the @badthingshappenbingo prompt "tied to a chair". And I belieeeeeve this is my final fill for my card!! Thank you for organising this event!
They find Rodney three days after he disappears. He’d gone without a trace, even his pack and vest taken alongside him. There had been no footprints, no bloodstains, no signs of a struggle. He was simply…gone.
John had searched the village high and low, searching every house he could without completely antagonising the entire settlement. He’d asked everyone to pass him, and had sent Ronon off tracking. None of them had found anything.
They’d settled down to camp on the third night when a young woman had approached. “I know where he is,” was all she’d said, and that had been enough for John. He’d followed her until she’d led him here – a small shack in the middle of the forest.
He’s expecting to find Rodney barely conscious. Beaten, starved, terrified. But instead he finds Rodney in the middle of an empty room with his hands tied to a chair behind his back and not a speck of blood on him.
“About time you got here!” Rodney snaps, looking so exhausted and relieved that John winces visibly. His lips are dry and cracked and his eyes are duller than John would like. But he’s alive and unhurt, and that’s honestly the best thing anyone could have hoped for.
Except unhurt might not be the right word, he realises as he and Ronon cut Rodney’s bonds. Rodney lets out a long whimper as his arms fall to his sides, his wrists swollen and bruised. His shoulders are still pulled back and he makes no move to loosen them. He just grits his teeth and tries to breathe through his nose, through the pain which is so evident in his eyes.
It suddenly occurs to John that in the three days Rodney has been here, he’ll have been in the same position the whole time. He grimaces, remembering days of captivity of his own, of the pain up and down his back and shoulders as cuffs were removed. He remembers hands on his arm, rotating each one slowly forwards for him because he’s in too much pain to do it himself.
He doesn’t even consider that Rodney or Ronon might find it weird, just goes to one knee at Rodney’s side and braces his arm with one hand on the wrist and the other on his shoulder. Muttering a quiet warning to Rodney, he lifts the arm up, pulls it straight out behind the chair and rotates it forwards, grimacing at every pained groan and hiss Rodney makes.
Over Rodney’s head, he sees Ronon nod thoughtfully and kneel at Rodney’s other side. The Satedan glances over several times as he adjusts his own hold on Rodney’s arm. At John’s soft nod, he pulls the arm back, then up, then forwards to loosen the painfully stiff muscles.
The moan of relief from Rodney is almost sensual. “Thank you,” he mumbles, rolling his neck. He pushes himself to his feet and turns to glare at the chair. Eyes narrow and jaw set, he kicks the chair hard, sending it to the other side of the room.
On the way out, Ronon and John do the same.
Fandom: Critical Role
Whumpee: Caleb Widogast
Prompt: troubled fetal position
Written for the @badthingshappenbingo prompt “troubled fetal position”.
They find Caleb in a small, dank cell in the darkest corner of the prison, behind three different locked doors. It’s clear to Nott that they’ve put him here intentionally, an attempt to keep him so out of sight that eventually he’ll be forgotten about, left to starve and rot. It’s so similar to the jail cell she met him, with the bitter smell of cruelty and death, that her hands shake as she picks the final lock separating her from her boy.
Behind her she can hear fighting, the rest of the Nein dealing with those who had taken Caleb from them in the first place. Only Beau has accompanied her, a strategic choice on both their parts – of all the group, they are the two Caleb is most comfortable with, and the fear in Nott’s mind says that he’s going to need all of the comfort he can get after this.
The lock clicks around her tools and she barely has time to pull them out before Beau is wrenching the door open.
They almost miss him when they enter, he’s so quiet and still. Nott scans the room with panicked eyes and finally she spots him, curled up so small in one corner and staring at her with wide, fearful eyes.
Nott feels sick seeing Caleb like this, with that blank, fearful expression and his mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words which cannot reach his mind. He’s buried himself in one corner of the room, his knees curled close to his chest and his hands curled around his neck. There’s blood on his arms and face and tears in his eyes, and he’s edging closer and closer to a panic attack with each passing moment. His eyes twitch between her and Beau, his gaze dull and uncomprehending. He doesn’t seem to understand a word either of them says, if the furrowed brows every time someone speaks is any indication.
He won’t even let her touch him, just flinches away and turns his head to bury his face in his bicep.
He hasn’t been afraid of her since the jail cell.
Beau is watching them with her arms folded over her chest, but to Nott it looks a lot more like she’s hugging herself. She’s gnawing on her lower lip, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Nott’s maternal instincts are flaring, but she knows the moment she tries to comfort the monk that she’ll just pull away, defensive as ever.
Instead she says, “you know what this is, don’t you? You know what they did to my boy.”
Beau looks away, but her gaze is drawn back to Caleb a moment later. She looks so young, so afraid for the man she’s come to consider a brother. Nott is secretly a little relieved that none of their other companions is with them, for all of their sakes.
Although she wishes that they’d brought Cad or Jester. They really need a cleric right now.
“Feeblemind,” Beau says suddenly, her voice coming out harsh and croaky. She frowns and then glares at the floor, filled with self-loathing for allowing herself to sound so vulnerable.
But Nott doesn’t care about that right now. “What did you say?” she snaps, heat rising in her as she processes the word. Please don’t be what she thinks it is…
“Feeblemind,” Beau says again, her voice more steady now. When Nott doesn’t say anything, she forces her gaze to meet the goblin’s. “Nott…they took his mind.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
During a long hunt, Jaskier finds himself struggling with the side effects of too many nights without sleep.
Written for the Whumptober 2020 prompts "hallucinations" and "sleep deprivation".
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Nicky has a nightmare he's back in the lab with Dr Kodak. Joe reminds him that he's safe.
Written for the Whumptober 2020 prompt "oxygen mask".
Fandom: Critical Role
Whumpee: Caleb Widogast
Prompt: raspy breathing
Written for the @badthingshappenbingo prompt "raspy breathing"
“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?” Beau snarled as she entered the alleyway next to the bookstore to find Caleb pinned beneath a large, muscular man, hands wrapped around his throat. The wizard was barely conscious, eyes rolling around his head and his body barely twitching as he fought for air. The man holding him had a wild look in his eyes and didn’t seem to notice Beau, even after she spoke. His entire focus was on Caleb.
Beau let out a low growl and charged over, her staff raised. She swung it full force at the man’s head, knocking him backwards and away from Caleb. Positioning herself between the two, she raised her staff again and glared down at the man. “What the fuck are you doing?” she asked again, putting as much fire into her words as she was able. She narrowed her eyes and widened her stance, ready to fight.
But the man just stared at her, blinking slowly in confusion. “He was supposed to be alone,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They told me he’d be alone.”
“Who?” Beau demanded. When the man didn’t answer immediately she charged forwards and landed a kick into the man’s side, drawing out a pained cry. “Who told you to find him? Fucking tell me!”
The man curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his stomach. “They didn’t give me a name! I swear, they just told me to find him and they’d pay me for it!” he insisted, his voice a little muffled as he bowed his head in an attempt to protect it from further blows.
“What the fuck do you mean you don’t -?” She stopped as the sound of Caleb’s breathing finally reached her ears. He was heaving in every breath but it sounded weak and strangled, every inhale a painful rasp which, from the look of it, took physical effort. The skin around his neck was red and inflamed, with finger shaped bruises forming rapidly. His eyes were barely open and he didn’t seem fully aware of his surroundings. He looked vulnerable in a way that wasn’t right, which made Beau feel sick to her stomach.
Anger and concern flooding her, she turned back to Caleb’s attacker and swung her staff down, stopping it mere inches from the man’s head. “Tell me what you know and maybe I’ll let you live. Why did they want to kill him?”
“I don’t know! I swear, they didn’t tell me anything except what he looks like and where to find him! Please, I swear I don’t know!”
For a hitman, he was downright cowardly. Desperate, she guessed. He needed the money and he would do anything for it. Even kill. She glared down at him, taking in his trembling form and the weak sobs which wracked his frame. “Go,” she hissed. When he didn’t move, she swatted him with her staff, a light tap but enough to get his attention. “Get the fuck out of her before I change my mind!”
He was gone in a scrambling run which looked almost humorous on such a huge man.
She turned to Caleb. “Hey man, you ok?”
Caleb didn’t speak, only heaved in another raspy breath. She winced and lowered herself to a crouch, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flinched, inhaling rapidly and spluttering as his throat protested.
“Shit, ok don’t do that. Come on, let’s go see Jester,” Beau said softly, taking one of his arms and draping it over her shoulder. She was supporting almost all of his slight frame, dragging him to his feet. As his head fell onto her shoulder, his breathing was all she could her. It was as if he’d decided to gurgle shards of broken glass, she thought and winced.
Bastards.
Whoever was hunting Caleb would have her to deal with. No one hurt him and got away with it. No one.
Edit: @redwingedwhump thank you for your comment, I'm very behind too but oneeeee day I will catch up!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Andy has a panic attack following a nightmare and Nile can't help but expect Nicky to be the one who knows how to help. But it's never that easy, and having a panic attack isn't quite the same as helping someone else through one.
Written for the Whumptober 2020 prompt "panic attacks".
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It’s minus five degrees Celsius and Jaskier has regrets. He regrets deciding to walk to Geralt’s instead of spending money on a bus or taxi. He regrets not wearing a thicker jacket and forgetting his gloves on the train the other day. And he regrets not actually owning a jacket thicker than a hoodie.
Written for the Whumptober 2020 prompt "hypothermia".
