Augusnippets Day 21: Delirium

cw: dissociation, scattered narrative, past torture, infected wounds, substance dependency, needles

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for the @augusnippets challenge // word count: 410

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He dreams of rescue.

It's almost funny; he used to dream of rescue all the time, back when he was with Vic. Wake up and tamp it down and stop the tears before they fell; chase it away with extra training before breakfast, forget. 

Here in this cell, it doesn’t hurt so bad. Maybe it's because he knows it's a dying dream, and he's just grateful it's a pleasant one. Peace before the ending.

The spy (Sahota) (Ander) doesn't blame his team for failing to find him.

He could never blame his other team either. They didn't have the training, the knowledge. Just a bunch of kids; it wasn't their fault.

It isn't their fault.

Joy is kneeling over his body, checking his pulse, fingers grazing over the wounds that cover him

(branching pain, he screams when she brushes the bad one, just above his hip)

Jericho eases arms under him, lifts him, pulls him into a broad, warm chest. The spy (Sahota) shudders from the sudden heat, he's been cold for so long—

(is this how it feels to die?)

He can't hear what they're saying, but he can hear the worry. It's exactly how he would've staged it in a daydream, if he could've got his wits under him. Held, warm, surrounded by a gentle fear for his well-being. Hands are careful around his wounds, careful not to jostle his broken leg. He drifts somewhere else, and then his wounds are being cleaned.

(He would've thought the dream would end there, warm in someone's arms)

Smells the antiseptic, screams as it's applied.

Antibiotics, someone says, the only word he’s made out so far.

He's in pain, they hurt him, says the other voice, they hurt him so much.

Once upon a time the spy might've recoiled from the words, insisted he was fine, unbreakable.

But he is. They did. He only wants to sleep, someone watching over him to keep the monsters away, and the hands that keep him steady are gentle.

Sahota is vaguely aware of a needle at the crook of his arm, a pinch he barely feels. A second follows it.

The relief is near instantaneous, a different kind of comfort flooding his veins, warmer than the arms that carried him from the cell, whisking him away from the pain, so potently good 

(the creature stops clawing at his chest, momentarily content, wide awake)

He feels it. He's felt everything.

That must mean…

that must mean

cw: aftermath of whump, implied abuse, fantasy slavery, violence, manhandling.

based on this prompt by @howls-ghost

"Trite details bore me. I'll leave it to you to complete, and complete quickly," said Prince Acacius.

"I've had enough of your dimwitted blathering. See yourself to the door," said Prince Acacius.

"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.

Laith was sick of it. Sick of the arrogant little brat prancing around the palace like he was already king. They hated Acacius and his cold, dismissive attitude. The spoiled twat didn't know a thing about running a kingdom, and wouldn't know humility if it bit him on the nose.

The only reason the country wasn't already in ruins was due to the competence of Laith and the rest of the high council. Even the regent, as good a man he was, was taken out of commission by Acacius, forced to keep the aloof young man at his side at all hours for supposed education. Not that Laith believed Acacius absorbed any of it. He was a horrid prince, and he'd make a horrid king.

And Laith intended to do something about it.

It started as something small and reasonable; a daydream about teaching the prince a lesson, of having him whipped for insolence, or beaten in the streets, or simply pushed off the balcony.

But none of those were realistic dreams, and none of those were enough. Acacius needed a punishment that would stick, something scarring, something humiliating.

Riot Kings, page 14

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Tag List:

@appy-polly-loggies , @shydragonrider , @professional-idiocy , @burtlederp

love potions

we’ve seen them used a lot in fiction, usually for comedy, but they can easily take a darker turn, since a ‘love potion’ is essentially mind control.

What if the character who’s drugged with it acts completely smitten, but on the inside knows everything that’s happening and knows it’s wrong, but can’t do anything about it?

What if it’s more scientific than your typical love potion, and merely makes the whumpee insanely attracted to whoever’s DNA is in the mix? The whumpee is left disgusted with themselves when they start lusting after the whumper due to its effects, but they can’t just turn off their body’s reactions.

There’s a lot of potential.

no more daylight

(just a oneshot with one of my characters)

Hutch Oritz squinted as the cell door opened, spilling light across the small stone room. The Fae Queen stood in front of him, silhouetted in torch light from the hall.

"So good to see you, Master Oritz," she greeted him pleasantly, a smile crawling across her face. Hutch said nothing in response. He was out of energy, plain and simple, and preferred not to waste his breath on pleasantries.

The Queen huffed a little, likely dismayed by his silence."You must be wondering why I came to visit."

Hutch was wondering that, actually. All these days—weeks, maybe—of pain and questions and she hadn't made an appearance. Until now. He watched her glide forwards until she was standing directly above him.

"I hope you're here to kill me," he muttered, surprised at how hoarse his voice was.

Her smile returned. "Oh no, Master Oritz, I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to play games with you. Twist your  mind until it breaks. But I'm not going to kill you." Her expression changed to one Hutch couldn't quite read. All he knew was that it scared him. That was what he'd become; a helpless, fearful excuse for a man. Afraid of the sadistic queen. Terrified that her words held some truth. Still, whether because he was still too damn stubborn or because he was desperate to hold on to a shred of dignity, he ordered himself not to make his fear known.

The Queen stared him down, calmly lifting a hand. Hutch flinched instinctively, immediately cursing himself for doing so, and trying to cover it with a weak cough. But she'd seen it. And she smiled all the more.

She snapped her fingers and a guard entered, holding a long, glowing rod. Hutch clenched his jaw. So this was what she came here for? To burn him? Let her. He'd already taken such injuries in the weeks before, as proven by the half-healed burn marks scattered across his arms, chest, and back. Hutch knew it would hurt like hell, but he was almost used to it by now, morbid as the idea was.

He lifted his chin, preparing for what came next, then noticed as the guard came closer that it wasn't a rod at all. Sure, it was red-hot, but the end of it was wider, shaped like a circle with an ornate tree within it. Hutch recognized it as the Fae Royal Crest, then realized with horror that it was a brand. She was going to brand him. He began to struggle against his restraints, even though he already knew how pointless it was.

The Fae Queen laughed. "You thought I was joking, didn't you?" she said, taking the brand from her guard. "You were wrong, as usual. I own you, Hutch Oritz. You're mine." With that, she pressed the brand into his chest. Hutch couldn't hold back his scream. It was all too much of a shock. Owned. Hers. No. He was no one's but his own. He couldn't let himself become a stupid plaything to a soulless queen. But what could he do? What could he do?

Nothing. He was trapped. Hopeless. Pathetic. No one was coming for him, and why would they? He cursed himself for the hundredth time for leaving without a word to Lilac. And for pushing her away. For starting that last argument. He'd never see her again now. His fault. Trapped here forever as the Fae Queen's pet. His fault. The pain of that was almost worse than the searing metal.

Finally, she removed the brand, handing it back to the guard. Hutch tried to look defiant, but found he couldn't anymore. He was exhausted, and more aware than ever of how much pain he was in.

The Queen strode to the door, and grabbed the handle. "I hope you got a good look at the sun the last time you were outside, Master Oritz," she said, her back to him. "Because that was the last time you'll ever see it."

The door slammed shut, plunging his world into darkness once more. And this time, Hutch Oritz couldn't quite choke back his sobs.