I’ve received a lot of requests for more Signal, and though I’m fresh out of ideas for the main canon, I thought I could do a bit of a prologue, from before they were with Doctors Crane and Sampson. An anon had the great idea of elaborating upon the mentioned wind tunnel from the ask game, so I went with that! I hope you enjoy!
(Putting all anon requests at the bottom of the post, as there’s a lot!)
There was a stark contrast between Signal’s kennel and the rest of the facility.
The facility itself was boundless– No matter how long they spend inside, how many treks through the blank halls they made, Signal had never seen the end of it. The hallways themselves were indistinguishable from one another, all blending together– Signal was never sure if they had been in the same hallway before, or if they were being led somewhere entirely new.
Knowing was impossible. The facility was impossible. Impossible to understand, and more than that, impossible to escape from.
Their kennel, on the other hand? Signal’s kennel was small, simple, comprehensible. Seven feet in one way, four in the other– They’d counted, making use of their curled fingers to measure inches, bit by tiny bit. They knew every last square inch of it. The inches where they curled up to sleep, where they backed away when the scientists came.
That was where they were, now– The very back of their kennel, spine pressed against the tile wall. The chain link structure provided minimal protection from outside prying eyes, providing a pixelated view of the scientist in a lab coat outside.
Which scientist? Signal hardly knew, and more than that, they hardly cared. Just like the hallways, there seemed to be infinite numbers of them. They were all the same, all threats in the same way.
Hell, they even spoke the same.
“Good morning, dear, time to come out, now.”
Dear. The word made Signal feel sick. They bristled as they pressed against the back of their kennel, ankles straining again the short length of chain that connected them and wings doing the same, struggling to break free from the straps keeping them folded.
Every day, they tried the same tactic to keep themself safe: A mixture of growling and swiping feebly at the air in front of them, trying in vain to scare away whoever had decided to target them. Never once did it work, but it felt far better than allowing themself to be taken with no fight at all.
With the clinking of a key in a lock, the chain link door of the kennel clattered open. The moment Signal felt blue-gloved hands upon their skin, heart-pounding panic set in, sending their limbs flailing and their jaws striking out at anything that they might’ve been able to find purchase on.
No purchase was found, and nothing was struck. Before they knew it, Signal’s wrists had been cinched behind their back, shoulders held in place by guiding hands, not allowing them to twist or spin.
Led down the hallway, Signal was not blindfolded, but they may as well have been. The towering ceilings and endless steel doors told them nothing of where they were– They wouldn’t have been able to figure it out, not even with a map. Other white coats shuffled past in either direction. At some point, one joined Signal’s captor, moving at their side with jovial words.
Signal had long since stopped listening to their conversations. They couldn’t care less.
They kept their head bowed, steps forced short by the hobbling strap between their ankles.
What would it be today? They had no way of knowing, they never did. Why would the scientists explain to them anything? After all, they were merely an animal, a lab rat, what would their understanding matter? Perhaps they would be having samples taken, or the opposite, having god-knows-what injected into their veins. A physical examination was always possible, or scans– Of their skin, their muscles, their bones, their organs.
They caught a scrap of conversation between the two scientists escorting them.
“I’m taking this one for some exercise. Its doctor is concerned that its wings are going to atrophy.”
“You’re taking it outside to fly?”
“Outside? No, no, just to the tunnel.”
The tunnel? It wasn’t something Signal had heard referred to before, something that made them balk and attempt to stop their constant march forward. Yet, it was in vain– A good shove and their feeble form was moving again.
Every last door in the endless hallway looked the same, and Signal fully expected to be shoved through any one of them, at any time.
Instead, they did not stop until the very end of the hallway, where an oversized, arc-shaped garage door was settled into the wall. There was no way they were going through there, r-
They were.
With a great rumbling, the door retracted upwards.
Signal understood at once why they called it the tunnel. Taking on the appearance of a giant, sideways half-cylinder, a metal-plated room stepped out in the distance. Immediately, their gaze was flitting about, searching for where exactly the pain would come in, where the torture would begin.
Instead, they were merely led into the massive tunnel, the garage door grinding closed behind them. Without thinking, they felt themself beginning to resist.
The structure of the thing was simple, all illuminated by great, shining bulbs, aligned in a straight row along the top of the tunnel. Inside the giant tunnel, settled in one corner, sat a metal control room, windows across the sides. The rest of the space was open, except for…
At one end of the half-cylinder, an oversized fan had been embedded behind an equally massive grate. Was that going to grind them up? It was the first thought that crossed Signal’s mind, though they quickly realized that it didn’t make much sense.
“Alright, buddy.” The scientist pushing them forward patted Signal on one shoulder. “Let’s stretch those wings a bit, huh?”
Signal did not much like the idea, but that was the case for any idea that the scientists had. Yet, it did have one positive– They nearly let out a sigh of relief as they felt the straps unbuckled from around their wings.
They wasted no time at all in unfurling them, feeling the stagnant air catch through their bent feathers. The two scientists stumbled backwards.
How long had it been, since they’d been able to fly? They didn’t remember, and, yet, the action came as naturally as breathing. A pair of powerful beats later, and they were up, halfway to the top of the cylinder. With a great cheer, they flew into a loop, before realizing how stupid the action was and halting.
The scientists on the ground looked up at them with a laugh, before moving to the control room, locking themselves in.
This was… This was amazing! Sure, it wasn’t as good as outside, as feeling the real wind in their wings, but it didn’t matter! They were flying !
Signal soon let go of their bashfulness, spinning over and over again in great arcs through the air. For the first time in ages, they could feel the blood pumping in their veins, the breath coursing through their lungs.
They did not so much as notice as the scientists below turned dials and pulled levers. Yet, they very much noticed when the massive fan churned to life.
The surprise alone was enough to find them falling out of a spin. Feeling like a deer in the headlights, they hovered, watching as the massive blades groaned and grumbled, beginning to move, then turn, then spin.
Even the first few rotations nearly knocked them back. What in the- What was this?!
Signal realized far too late.
By the time they understood the idea of the tunnel, the idea of exercise, they’d already been slammed back, against the far wall of the tunnel. Their head echoed hollowly with ripples of pain as they began beating their wings, struggling to free themself from the wall like a bug from an interstate windshield.
The fan was getting louder, louder, until they could no longer hear their own pounding, desperate thoughts, slamming against the inside of their skull. When they eventually freed themself from the wall, it was far from without difficulty– their lungs were overtaken by gasping as their wings beat the air in panic.
It felt like being behind a passenger jet.
Faster, faster, they urged their wings as the horrid gusts from in front slammed into their face, nipping their nose, tearing their breath from their lungs and tears from their eyes. They could sense the wall behind them, dreading slamming into it again, but did not dare turn around– a moment of lost concentration and they would fall again.
This was exercise? This was supposed to be good for their health?! Or was it merely another humiliation, another torture, like the thousands of others?
Signal had no spare mind with which to consider the matter. Instead, they could only beat their wings, could only gasp for what air they could get. They had long ago closed their eyes, focusing only on the wind, on fighting it with every movement.
The faster they beat their wings, however, it seemed that the fan matched their increase in speed.
Their lungs burned, the cold wind threatening to rip their feathers from their wings, their skin from their face and arms.
Signal had no way of keeping track of time in that hellish place. Only the scientists below knew that they lasted 5 minutes, 43 seconds before slamming into the back wall of the wind tunnel, and falling to the ground, unconscious.
All things considered, it was a good exercise routine. Efficient, quick, and great for their wings! That was what was recorded on Signal’s file, at least, alongside another line:
CW: Suicidal character, past character deaths, past murder, past trauma
“My name is Echo.” The stranger said as the carriage started to move. “I’m Calder’s younger sibling.”
Angel’s heart stopped in their chest. “Y… you…” They breathed, mind racing and yet numb all at the same time. Suddenly feeling weak and dizzy, Angel put their face in their hands.
“Are you okay?”
Angel yelped involuntarily as Echo touched their shoulder. They pressed themself as far away from Echo as they could, tears of fear streaming down their cheeks. “I’m sorry— I— please don’t hurt me— just take me back— don’t tell Calder— please, please don’t tell them—”
“Angel— Angel, stop.” Echo interrupted. “I am Calder’s sibling, but we are related only by blood. We don’t speak to eachother. We have no familial relationship.”
Angel’s mind processed this information slowly, unsure what it meant for them. “S-so… so this… isn’t a test of some kind..?”
“No. Angel, I am acting of my own accord.”
“… I wouldn’t bond to Calder and I won’t bond to you either— I’d sooner die than subject myself to that again—”
“Stop, stop— I really don’t know what you’re talking about. What do you mean bond?”
Angel hesitantly relaxed a bit. Maybe Echo really didn’t know. “I… If you’re trying to trick me into opening my eyes, it won’t work— I won’t do it no matter who you are.”
“What does opening your eyes have to do with bonding..? What is bonding?” Echo’s voice was gentle, not demanding like Calder.
“I… I-if I open my eyes, I will irreversibly bond to the first person I make eye contact with.” Angel said quietly, shrinking back as they felt Echo shift in their seat.
“Why..?”
It occurred to Angel suddenly that Echo might not know what they were or anything about their species.
“I-I’m an Avian.” When Echo didn’t say anything, Angel continued. “Avians… we have an ability to bond to the first person we see— which is supposed to be our mother. I-if the person we are bonded to dies, then we bond again to the next person we see— which is supposed to be our chosen mate. There are traditions and safeguards in place among the Avian people to make sure that it happens that way… but…” Angel trailed off, a tear falling to the ground.
“But sometimes things go wrong..?” Echo offered, placing a gentle hand on Angel’s shoulder.
“When… When we bond to someone, we’re compelled to take care of them— to keep them safe… and, to a lesser extent, we’re compelled to obey them. We become linked at the soul and we can tell when they’re upset, or sad, or in pain. But we also share in their joy. We know when they die and it’s… it’s like… a part of us dies with them… We’re only meant to bond twice… but we are able to bond an infinite number of times…”
Echo was silent for a moment. “And you’re not bonded right now..?”
“Three times..?” Echo’s voice was laced with incredulity as they withdrew their hand. “But you’re hardly older than twenty! I mean… aren’t you..? Or do you age differently?”
“I’m twenty-three… I… things went like they were supposed to at first… I bonded to my mother, then, when she died four years ago, I bonded to… to my mate.” Angel’s voice cracked. And then there was a tragedy that struck my tribe— not many of us made it through… my mate died… I… I lived… Disease destroyed my tribe. I had to flee. I got… I got lucky… the first person I saw after my mate’s death was a human— but they were kind. They knew my culture, too…“
Echo shifted closer to Angel, causing them to flinch a little bit, but Angel didn’t draw away.
"Hayden… the human I bonded to… they weren’t angry that I had bonded to them… usually humans are. They’re not used to it… they don’t like it— especially when it’s forced upon them without their consent, like it was with Hayden… I didn’t mean to look at them… I… I sort of just thought I’d become sine vinculo— alone without a bond. I didn’t expect them to be there… If… if they hadn’t been there… it was my fault… it’s all my fault…” Angel broke down into sobs, hugging themself.
Angel didn’t fight the warm embrace that Echo surrounded them with next. They leaned into it, sobbing uncontrollably as Echo rocked with them.
After a few long minutes, Angel started to quiet down a bit. “What happened to Hayden..?” Echo asked softly.
“They… Calder ki…” Angel fought to get their breathing under control. “Calder killed them.” They breathed.
Echo didn’t say anything for a moment. “… I’m sorry… I know I’m not Calder— we’re nothing alike, but… I still feel somewhat responsible for their bad choices…”
The carriage began to slow and Echo released Angel from their embrace. “Come on. Let’s get out.”
Angel didn’t move as Echo tried to guide them out of the carriage. “Kill me…” They whispered, closing their eyes tighter.
“I… I’m sorry, what?”
“Just… just kill me… you said you want to help me— kill me. I can’t… I can’t do this again… Please— I can’t live with my eyes closed for the rest of my life and I can’t bond with someone else just for them to die again!”
“… I’m not going to kill you, Angel.”
“Why not?” Angel asked, desperation creeping into the edge of their voice.
“There’s another solution. One that doesn’t involve your death.”
“What is it?” Angel allowed Echo to help them out of the carriage.
“… I… I don’t know yet.”
Angel pushed Echo away, stumbling back and falling to the ground. “No! No, there isn’t another solution! Calder wants me to bond with them. If I bond to anyone else, they’ll kill them too! I can't—” Angel pressed their face to the dirt. “You don’t understand— I can’t do it again! I can’t lose someone else!”
Angel fought back as someone— probably Echo— pulled them up off the ground. “Calm down— calm down, please, everything is going to be okay.”
“No! No it isn’t! It’s not okay— it’s not—”
Echo began to stroke Angel’s wings gently and Angel stopped yelling, their tone quickly losing it’s passion.
“It’s… it’s not okay…” Angel breathed, starting to have difficulty thinking as their body relaxed.
Angel found themself leaning into Echo, an odd sense of peace sweeping through their limbs.
“Just calm down.” Echo insisted softly. “You’re scared and upset— I understand— but you’re not thinking clearly. You don’t have to die. There is another solution. We just need to think of it, okay?”
“I don’t like this…” Angel whimpered.
“I know… I know, but it’s going to be okay.”
“Why did you even break me out..?” Angel asked, finally able to get control of their breathing.
“Honestly..? I don’t trust Calder. I heard they were up to something and decided to check it out when they left town this weekend. Then I found you. I don’t know what Calder wants with you, but if they were keeping you locked up in sensory deprivation it can’t be anything good.”
“They… they want me to bond to them and… and something after that, but they wouldn’t say what.”
“Let’s go inside, Angel. You can rest and we can talk more later.” Echo led Angel across the threshold into a building. Angel couldn’t tell very much about their surroundings as Echo led them down halls and finally stopped inside a room.
“This is a guest room. There’s some clothes in the dresser if you find some that fit. Theres an adjoining bathroom as well. You can open your eyes once I leave the room, right?”
“… I can.”
“Good. Then I’ll leave you here for now. I’ll knock before I enter so I don’t take you by surprise.” Echo steadied Angel against a wall before leaving.
Angel shivered as they felt a presence cross the floor. The vibrations shook through their knees and they could feel it all the way at the tips of their wings.
“You seem a bit more awake today.”
As a thumb brushed over Angel’s face, they flinched hard. The fingers brushed lightly over the blindfold before pressing cruelly against Angel’s eye, making them gasp softly through their gag. When the hand pulled back, Angel whimpered involuntarily, scared of being hit.
As they had expected, a hard slap struck Angel’s face on the left side. Their head snapped to the side and a high whine escaped their throat.
“Don’t worry.” A hand grasped Angel’s chin, forcing them to face the voice. “There’s always tomorrow.”
Shea flinched as his name was called and the door opened. “Sir?”
But it wasn’t Nicholas. It was Killian. He felt dizzy all of a sudden. What was he doing there?
Killian crossed the room and knelt on the ground next to Shea. “Are you okay?”
Shea shrunk back a little as Killian reached out a hand as if he was going to touch him. “I-I-I’m fine, sir.”
Killian withdrew his hand. “You don’t lookfine.”
Shea let out a shaky breath. Why would Killian care to know? “I… I’m okay…”
“I don’t believe you.”
Shea looked to the side.
“Did Nicholas do something to you?”
Shea’s mind raced back to just a few hours prior. “… I-I… Sir, I don’t think you’re sup-supposed to be in here.”
“Please answer me.”
Shea pressed backwards, his breathing becoming uneven as Killian moved a little closer. “H-h-he… he’s… done a lot of things to me. Wh-what do you mean?”
“Imean you seem different from the last time I was here. Scared. Not just a pushover.”
Shea started to pick at his lips subconsciously, trying to keep his breathing calm.
“Shea.” Killian’s tone was insistent. “Shea, what did he do to you?”
“I-I-I can't—” Shea shook his head. “S-sir, you have to go— please— Ma-master Nicholas—”
“Stop.” Shea whimpered as Killian touched his face gently, just as he had last time. “I told you I was going to get you out of here, remember?”
It was a ridiculous claim, but Shea remembered.
“Tell me what happened.”
Shea glanced across the room at his bed before quickly diverting his attention elsewhere. He didn’t want to answer.
Unfortunately, Killian had followed his gaze. A change of expression came over his face and it scared Shea.
“Did he rape you?” Killian’s tone had changed too.
Shea hesitated. “I… don’t know what that means…”
Killian shook his head. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.” He stood and Shea relaxed a little. “I didn’t mean for this to happen… Shit— I didn’t think this would happen. I know Nicholas is a shitty person, but… I didn’t think he’d go that far… If… if I would have known, I would have made you come with me.”
Shea didn’t say anything, simply watching as Killian looked at him.
“I’m sorry. And I know you think I’m wasting my time or that you want to stay here or something, but I am going to get you out. I’m getting close to ending this shit show for everyone.”
Shea didn’t know what that was supposed to mean. He had wanted to stay here before. Maybe it was some last stand of loyalty to his old master. But now?
Nicholas scared Shea. He scared him more than anything ever had before. He got the feeling that he was just a toy to Nicholas. Something to be played with until it wasn’t interesting anymore and then thrown away.
Honestly? Shea hadn’t broken an order in years, but if Killian offered again, Shea would go with him.
Killian leaned back in his chair, listening apathetically to the ramblings of the others in the room. Sometimes he wondered why he even still bothered to show up at Nicholas’s house.
The door opened and Killian glanced over as the man with the wings came in. Shea— he had said that was his name— glanced towards Nicholas’s feet and then quickly away. Something seemed different about him… he seemed somehow even more timid than before.
“Shea.” Nicholas said and Shea flinched.
“Yes, sir?”
“Bring in some drinks.”
“Yes, sir.” Shea gave a slight nod and left the room again.
Killian watched him go.
“Killian.”
“Hm?” Killian directed his gaze to Nicholas, who had said his name.
“You like Shea?”
“He has nice wings.” Killian shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with wings as black as his.”
Nicholas smiled. “Yeah. He is kind of fucking stupid though.”
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t ever do anything except for what he’s told to do. Otherwise he just sits in his room all day.”
“Doesn’t he ever try to push back if you tell him to do something he doesn’t want to?” Killian asked, feeling that he already knew the answer.
Nicholas laughed. “No! He’s too much of a fucking coward to do that! He never even asks me to stop if I do something he doesn’t like.”
Shea reentered the room with a tray of drinks. After he had passed them out, Nicholas called him over. Shea obeyed without hesitation.
Killian’s stomach turned as Nicholas stroked Shea’s wings, causing him to flinch violently each time. Killian felt even more ill as Nicholas pulled Shea to sit on his lap and Shea’s face paled drastically.
Most people didn’t view the Winged as humans— and maybe they weren't— but whatever species they belonged to was every bit as intelligent and relational as humans. Killian wished he could set them all at liberty.
Instead, however, Killian was forced to sit in this room and watch as this poor shell of a person was mocked and taken advantage of.
Despite obvious discomfort, Shea never once made any move to resist or push Nicholas away. Nicholas seemed to be getting frustrated by this and was becoming increasingly more invasive.
In the next hour of chatting that passed, Shea glanced at Killian once and immediately looked away when he saw that Killian was already looking. His eyes seemed to be pleading for help, but there was nothing Killian could do. If he said something, it would take away any chance Killian had of getting Shea out. So he had to watch.
After a while, Nicholas seemed to get bored with trying to elicit a response and sent Shea away.
“I’ll be right back.” Killian said a few minutes later, excusing himself.
(This series is created using the prompts from @summer-of-whump) (This part is highly suggestive. Please proceed past the cut with caution. There is no explicit sexual content on this blog.)
Shea flinched as Nicholas touched one of his wings. Since making the discovery about Shea’s wings, he had hardly taken his hands off.
Nicholas grabbed Shea’s hair and pulled him backwards, brushing his lips against his ear. “Y'know, I’ve been thinking about ways to break you. Since pain doesn’t seem to have any great affect on you, I thought maybe we’d try something new.”
Shea whimpered, squirming a little as Nicholas continued to stroke his wing. It wasn’t a voluntary reaction, per se. The reaction was mostly reflex.
Shea didn’t understand what Nicholas wanted. He kept talking about ‘breaking’ Shea. As if he was put together in the first place… Master Wilson had already 'broken’ him as a child. Broken him to silently tolerate whatever treatment he received. What more did Nicholas want?
“Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you what I’ve thought of.” Nicholas kissed Shea’s neck and Shea tensed.
“S-sir— I don’t think—”
“Good. You’re not supposed to, so shut up.”
—
Shea sat in the corner of his room, knees pulled up to his chest and wings shielding him. He cried silently, trying to calm his breathing. Nicholas had left him alone now, but Shea still didn’t feel safe— not even here, in the only room he had been able to feel comfort in for years.
Shea jumped when he heard a sound, peering out from behind his wings, but there was no one there. It was just the house settling.
He didn’t want to think about what had happened. He didn’t want to remember the way Nicholas had touched him. Even though Shea didn’t know a lot— having never received any kind of formal instruction— he still knew that what had just happened between him and Nicholas was not proper or appropriate by any means— regardless of the offense committed. Shea couldn’t even think of a single thing he had done wrong.
Even though he didn’t want to think about it, it was all that was playing in his mind. Over and over and over again it played. Shea couldn’t block it out.
He wished he knew what Nicholas wanted him to do so that he would stop trying to break him (whatever he meant by that).
If he only knew, Shea would have done whatever Nicholas wanted. He just never wanted to live through thatagain.
“Shea.”
Shea jumped at the sound of Nicholas’s voice, quickly getting to his feet. “Y-yes, sir?” He shrunk back a little as Nicholas stepped closer and he thought he saw Nicholas smile.
“Get dressed. I’m having company over and you’re going to wait on us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nicholas brushed a tear off Shea’s cheek, making him flinch. “And quit crying before you come out. You don’t want people to see you like that, do you?”
“N-no, sir.” Shea muttered, wiping the rest of the tears off his face.
CW: Restraints, stress position (brief), vague threats, bruises, hypersensitivity
Nicholas returned about a half an hour after Killian left. He took his time in Nicholas the chains and finding the keys to the cuffs.
“You been crying?” Nicholas asked as he started to unlock Shea’s wrists.
“… Yes, sir.” It was obvious. Even if Shea denied it, Nicholas would find out momentarily anyway.
“Did anything happen after the group left?”
Shea’s heart started to race. So it had been a test? Had he passed? “S-sir, one of the guests came back and tried to convince me to run away.”
Nicholas paused unlocking the cuffs on Shea’s ankles. “… Excuse me?” His voice sounded tense.
Was it not a test then? Shea was confused. “O-one of… of the guests came back and took the chains off. H-he… he tried to get me to leave with him, sir.”
Nicholas moved in front of Shea and grabbed his face, forcing Shea to look at him. “Who?” His voice was like ice and it made the blood freeze in Shea’s veins.
“I… I-I’m sorry, sir— I don’t remember his name.”
“Then what did he look like?”
“I-I… ah, I-I didn’t see his face.” Shea lied. Nicholas hadn’t set this up and Shea wasn’t about to get Killian in trouble. What Nicholas did to him was admissible by nature of what Shea was, but he feared Nicholas wouldn’t restrain his anger against a human any more than he did against Shea.
Nicholas’s expression changed. “Why are you such a fucking liar? You don’t know his name or his face? And you expect me to believe that one of my friends was in here, trying to rescue you?” Nicholas laughed.
Shea felt relief calm his heart as Nicholas went back to uncuffing him. “Sorry, sir.”
“You know I’m gonna have to punish you for that, though.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nicholas ran his hand up Shea’s back once he finished unlocking the cuffs, pressing his fingers onto some of the bruises he passed, then stroked a hand down Shea’s wing.
Shea gasped involuntarily as a shudder ran down his spine.
What on earth??
“Did you just try to pull away from me?” Nicholas asked, his voice bordering on snapping.
“N-no— no, sir— I don't—” Shea trailed off. What was that? He tried to think back to when the last time someone touched his wings was.
He couldn’t remember. Master Wilson never really touched him unless it was to slap him across the face or pull him by the arm. Nicholas was never allowed to touch his wings or hurt him before Master Wilson died. Since Master Wilson’s death, Nicholas had been much more interested in beating the hell out of Shea’s face and torso than anything to do with his wings.
Nicholas took a fistful of Shea’s feathers and pulled him back. Shea screamed.
Shea hadn’t screamed in years. Had he ever screamed? He didn’t know. He’d never felt pain this bad before. It was like every sensation in his wings was multiplied tenfold— he knew it wasn’t like this normally.
If Shea touched his own wings or if they brushed up against a wall, it just felt normal. He started to cry aloud as Nicholas finally released his wing.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nicholas asked, pulling Shea’s hair so his head tipped backwards to look at him. “You’re not usually such a crybaby.”
“I-I-I’m sorry, sir— I’ll sto-stop…”
If Nicholas decided to pull Shea’s feathers again, however, Shea doubted he could keep that promise.
Nicholas didn’t pull Shea’s wing again, but he did draw his hand slowly down the length of the wing. At first, Shea reflexively jerked away, but he consciously focused on not moving, knowing it would only irritate Nicholas. Shea shivered, whimpering quietly.
“Your wings aren’t just delicate, are they? They’re also hypersensitive.” Shea could hear the smirk in Nicholas’s voice. “You’re going to regret that I found out about this.”
CW: Bruises, partial nudity, stress position, put on display
The past week and a half had been hell for Shea. Without his father to reign him in, Nicholas had become a terror. Shea had sort of anticipated it, but the sheer level of brutality had been… unexpected to say the least.
“Shea.” Nicholas threw open the door to Shea’s room. “Come out.”
“Yes, sir.” Shea obeyed quickly, keeping his eyes glued to the floor.
“Take off your shirt.”
“Sir..?” Confused, Shea’s expression faltered.
“Are you questioning me?” Nicholas leaned back against a wall.
“N-no, sir.” Shea removed his shirt, revealing the mottled purples, greens, and yellows covering his body.
“Give it here.”
Shea handed his shirt over to Nicholas, who tossed it aside.
“Follow me.”
Shea followed Nicholas down the hall into the sitting room— a room with which he was well familiar. He was not familiar, however, with the new fixture in the center of the floor.
Mounted in the floor, there were three rings, distanced from eachother, with three chains attached to the rings. The chains were of three different lengths.
Nicholas grabbed Shea by the hair and pulled him over to the rings, pushing him down to kneel between them. “Fold your wings.”
Shea did.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
Shea heard Nicholas open a drawer and remove something metal. Soon, he felt steel cuffs close over his wrists, followed by similar cuffs around his ankles. Nicholas attached the chains from two of the rings to each of these cuffs before crouching in front of Shea.
“Look at me.”
Shea raised his eyes and saw that Nicholas held a collar, which he placed around Shea’s neck. He didn’t know what he had done to warrant this punishment, but he knew better than to ask. Nicholas pulled the collar downwards and attached the short length of remaining chain to the collar.
In the end, Shea had to strain forwards to keep from hurting his neck. The chains on his wrists gave no slack.
“I’m having company over in about half an hour.” Nicholas said, standing. “My father kept you for the visual appeal and for the mark of status you show. He didn’t take advantage of it often enough.”
—
By the time a half an hour passed and guests started to file into the sitting room, Shea’s muscles were burning. The guests ignored him as they entered the room, saying hello to Nicholas and the other guests.
After another half an hour it was getting difficult for Shea to breathe.
Shea squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the conversation turn to him— people remarking about his wings and asking questions about his behaviors.
“Well, he’s not particularly well behaved.” Nicholas said at one point. “My father treated him too well— like a human, really. Not like the disobedient animal that he is. We’re dealing with his disrespect now, though.”
Shea gasped and bit back a yell as Nicholas pressed hard on a particularly bad bruise.
“Shut up.”
“Y-yes, sir…” Shea breathed. He could still feel the pain radiating outward from the bruise. He heard a few more sets of footsteps approach him.
“May I?” Said a new voice— one that Shea only vaguely recognized.
Nicholas didn’t give a verbal answer, but Shea guessed he must have either nodded or shrugged because this new person pressed their hand down Shea’s bruised arm, eliciting a whimper from Shea.
Nicholas pulled Shea’s hair, forcing him to look up as much as he could, straining his neck, spine, and arms. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”
Only a few minutes later, the group left the sitting room. As soon as they were gone, Shea started to cry. He couldn’t help it. He knew Nicholas could be back at any moment, but it hurt. And it was unnecessary.
The thought occurred to Shea that Nicholas might be jealous or upset by the words his father had spoken to Shea… Was this all out of anger?
Hours passed. Shea was shaking from the effort of holding his position for so long. The floor beneath his face was damp from both tears and sweat when the door again opened.
Shea braced himself.
But it wasn’t Nicholas. It was someone else. A voice that he had never heard before.
“Hey.” The person knelt next to Shea and immediately unclipped all three chains. It took less than ten seconds and Shea felt the relief in his arms and back instantly. “Are you okay?”
“What are you doing?” Shea whispered, his face going pale.
“Do you know where the keys for the cuffs are?”
“Don't— I mean— I— N-no, I don’t. Please put the chains back, sir…” Shea bowed his face to the ground, trying to resist stretching. Was this a test?
“Put them back? Why??”
“Master Nicholas— h-he’ll be livid… please don’t take them off…”
A hand brushed against Shea’s cheek and he flinched, but the contact was gentle. The hand gently guided Shea’s face up to look at the man who had released him from the chains. Shea avoided eye contact, but the person searched his face intently.
“I want to get you out of here.” The man said.
Shea hesitated, unsure of what he was supposed to say. “… Please put the chains back, sir…”
“Just look at yourself…” The stranger’s voice was gentle. “You’re bruised everywhere. I can tell your nose is broken. Please just come with me? You never have to see Nicholas again.”
“I-I could never— you— please forgive me— you don’t understand. I belong to Nicholas. Even if… even if I don’t like the way he treats me, I have to stay.”
The man let go of Shea’s face, reluctant. “… You really want me to put the chains back?”
Shea nodded, letting his face fall back to face the ground.
The man replaced the chains and traced a finger across a line of bruises on Shea’s back. “Sorry.” He said, pulling his hand away abruptly. “What’s your name?” He asked.
“Sh-Shea…” Shea was already trembling again from the strain.
“Shea? I’m Killian. And… I’m going to find a way to take you away from Nicholas.”
Shea discarded the promise and forgot it before Killian even left the room.
Shea was at the funeral. Nicholas had ordered him not to cry— he said it would cause a scene— but Shea was having trouble obeying. At the reception after the burial, Nicholas pulled him aside.
“I see tear stains.” He remarked.
“I’m sorry, sir, please forgive me…” Shea dipped his head.
After a moment of silence, Nicholas said, “No.” He took Shea by the arm and pulled him into a side room. “Look at me.”
Shea was getting used to that command. Master Wilson had never allowed Shea to look him in the eye, but Nicholas seemed to find it disrespectful when Shea didn’t look him in the eye.
Nicholas punched Shea in the face, sending him stumbling backwards and onto the ground.
Tears of pain streaked down Shea’s cheeks and his vision clouded as he felt blood dripping from his nose. He didn’t try to get up.
“Hm.” Nicholas said. Shea could hear him walk closer. “I always wondered how it would feel to make you bleed.” He picked Shea up by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against a wall. Shea gave a sharp cry as one of his wings hit the wall at a wrong angle. “Do you want me to stop?”
Shea took a shaky breath. “S-sir, I wish for you to d-do what you see fit… I-I disobeyed an order. If this is my punishment, I won’t protest it.”
Nicholas scoffed. “You can’t stay strong forever. I’ll break you if it’s the last thing I do.”
Shea was confused by that. He wasn’t strong. He was weak. There was nothing to break— Shea knew he was as good as worthless— especially to Nicholas.
Just as Shea’s vision started to clear, Nicholas punched him again. This time, Shea felt his nose crack. He tasted blood as it poured down his face. Shea winced as he felt Nicholas pull his hair.
“Why is your hair so damn long?” Nicholas shoved Shea into the ground. “It’s like you’re asking for people to drag you around with it.”
Shea wheezed as Nicholas kicked him in the ribs and then pulled him back to his feet by his hair.
“Clean up. You’ve got blood everywhere. All over the floor, too. Rejoin me when your done.”
“Yes, sir.” Shea breathed, trying to catch his breath.
CW: Stockholm syndrome(?), knife, blood, vague threats, death, disease, dehumanization
Shea knelt by his master’s bedside, not daring to lift his eyes even now. Likewise, Nicholas sat in a chair by his father’s bedside, although his attitude was far from reverence.
“Well, Father, I suppose this is it for you, then? Finally done fighting fate after all these years?”
Master Wilson did not answer— could not answer. The disease had taken its course and there was nothing to be done now. The man had fought his end for days now, but… something was different today. Shea could sense it. The man had mere hours left. Of that, Shea was certain.
Shea said nothing, even as Nicholas continued to speak ill to his father. Eventually, the master’s son grew bored of this and stood, making his way to Shea. Shea did not stir— did not make a sound as Nicholas tangled his fingers in Shea’s hair and pulled hard.
“Look at him. Fucking pathetic. You two are just right together.” Nicholas spat.
Shea closed his eyes as Nicholas tried to force him to look at Master Wilson. It was not his place. It was disrespect. He would not disgrace the dying.
When Nicholas released his hair, Shea let his gaze fall back to the ground. A moment later, the door slammed as Nicholas walked out.
“Shea…”
The sound of his master’s voice made Shea jump.
“Sir?” He lifted his eyes a little, as he often did when spoken to.
“There’s not… much time left for me…” Master Wilson gave a slight cough. “Before… before I go, I wanted to tell you… to tell you that you’ve been better to me… than my own son…”
Shea’s heart stopped in his chest for a moment as his eyes widened. “S-sir— I’m only an embellishment on your already perfect life— su-surely you don’t mean to speak so highly of me.”
“Don’t… interrupt a dying man’s last words…”
Shea brought his eyes back to the ground, shame sweeping through him.
“If only… if only you had been human… I would have adopted you as my own and… bestowed upon you glory and gifts as on no one else…”
Shea felt faint. He dared not interrupt again, yet he couldn’t help but feel an immense weight of guilt for even listening to these words. Surely his master would never have said these things were he in his right mind. His last words should have been a benediction to his son— not praise to someone as unworthy as he.
“You… you have been good to me… I only wish… that I could do more for your we-wellbeing after my passing… You know you shall pass into the care of my son, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” Shea said softly.
“I am sorry…” And Shea’s master spoke no more.
Shea sat by his master’s bedside for several hours yet until Master Wilson finally passed. When it finally happened, Shea rose silently and left the room.
“M-master Nicholas—” Shea let his gaze fall to the ground again, surprised to see Nicholas leaning on the wall outside Master Wilson’s room. Before he had looked away, Shea saw that he held a knife, turning it over and over in his hands.
“Well?” Nicholas asked. “I assume my father finallydied?”
“Sir, your father was a good man. I am sorry for your loss…” Shea’s voice was even softer than usual as he said this.
In a moment, Shea gasped as he was shoved against a wall, Nicholas’s knife at his throat. He turned his face aside so as to not meet the eyes of his new master.
“That isn’t what I asked.” Nicholas hissed.
Shea didn’t attempt to make another answer.
“Look at me.”
When Shea didn’t react right away, Nicholas pressed the knife closer against Shea’s skin.
“Damn you, I said look at me!”
Shea whimpered softly, turning his face to look up at Nicholas.
“Look me in the eye you fucking coward.”
Shea obeyed, finding it difficult to hold Nicholas’s stare.
“Now. Is my father dead yet? I want you to say it. Properly.”
“Y-yes, sir. Master Wilson pa-passed away.”
“No. I want you to say ‘your father is dead’. Stop using euphemisms. Just say it.”
“Y-your… your father is dead.”
Nicholas glared, pressing the tip of the knife against Shea’s neck just hard enough to draw blood before pulling back and letting Shea go. Immediately, Shea brought his gaze back to the ground.
Nicholas turned to walk down the hall. “And I heard what my father said to you after I left.”
She felt his face pale and his blood run cold. “I-it shouldn’t have been said…” He whispered.
Nicholas laughed as he walked away. “Why not? Every word of it was true. He used it against me every chance he got. The old man never stop singing your praises.”
Pics are Shea and Nicholas from this Picrew. I edited Sheas picture and added wings because they didn’t have them as an option.
CW: Child whumpee (this is the last time, promise), child abuse, it as a pronoun, dehumanization
“This is my son, Nicholas.” Master Wilson introduced Shea to a boy a couple of years older than him. “He’s ten. Nicholas, this is Shea. He’ll be joining us at the house.”
“Whatis he?” Nicholas asked.
Master Wilson laughed. “He’s part of the Winged. I’ve told you stories about them before, haven’t I? Anyway, they’re sort of almost people. They’re like exotic pets.”
“Does he talk..?”
“Yes he does, but he’s only six years old, so don’t expect too much.”
“Why are you sad?” Nicholas asked.
Shea realized he had been crying and blinked the tears out of his eyes. “O-oh… My…” He hesitated, then burst into tears. “I wanna go home!” He sobbed, crumpling to the ground. “I-I-I miss my mom— and my fr-friends— and I want A-Aubrey back!”
“Get up.”
Shea barely heard the command.
“I told you to get up.” Master Wilson pulled Shea back to his feet by his arm.“The sooner you put that behind you, the sooner you can start to readjust. Rule number one, I don’t ever want to hear about where you came from again. That includes Aubrey. Understood?”
“But—”
“Ever.”
Shea looked up at Master Wilson with tear-filled eyes.
“Stop crying. Dry your eyes. You’re fine.”
“I—”
“Rule number two, don’t talk back.”
Shea closed his mouth, trembling.
“You will answer to the best of your abilities when I or my son speak to you. Otherwise, you are to remain silent. Your purpose is one of beauty.” Master Wilson ran a hand over Shea’s left wing, making the boy shiver. “You are to be seen only, not heard. Do I make myself clear?”
“But—”
Master Wilson slapped Shea across the face. It stung— although not as much as when Thorne had hit him.
“Seen. Not heard. No talking back. No buts.” Master Wilson repeated.
CW: Child whumpee, fever, character death, dehumanization
Shea and Aubrey didn’t get a chance to escape before their captors stopped the car and hauled them out of the cage. Aubrey couldn’t stand, but the people knew she was conscious now. They carried her, grumbling the whole time. Shea walked with Jade, who held his hand as they walked up to a huge house with an oak door.
Thorne knocked on the door.
After a long moment, the door opened to reveal a tall man who looked about the same age as Shea’s mom. Maybe in his early thirties?
“Back so soon? And with two, nonetheless. But what’s wrong with this one?” The man approached Aubrey and Shea shrunk away when he got close.
Thorne shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe she tried to fly away and fell. Figured you might want her anyway. If not, we can deal with her.”
The man was quiet for a moment. “No. I’ll take her. Both of them have full sets of wings?”
“Yep.”
“Bring them in and I’ll get you your money.” The man led the way back into the house. “You can put the girl in there. Bring the boy.”
Jade and Shea followed the man into a sitting room. It was bigger than any sitting room in the community had been. He looked around with wide eyes.
“I trust that you were able to keep Thorne in check?” The man asked Jade.
“For the most part.” They shrugged. “The kid had a bit of… an experience. But he’s not hurt, as you can see.”
“Good. Come here, boy.” The man sat in a large chair and motioned for Shea to come over.
Jade gave Shea a small push forward and Shea reluctantly went over to the man.
“Do you have a name?”
Shea nodded and tried to say his name, but it came out as a squeak.
The man laughed. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be scared of me as long as you know how to be respectful. What’s your name?”
“Sh-Shea…”
“Shea.” The man repeated. “Nice to meet you. And what’s that girl’s name. Do you know?”
Shea nodded again. “H-her name’s Aubrey. She’s my cousin.”
“How old are you and your cousin?”
Shea looked back at Jade, nervous.
“They’re six and twenty.” Jade said. “Shea was separated from his mother. Her wings were burned.”
The man nodded. “Thank you, Jade. You can rejoin your group. I’ll be outside in a moment.”
Jade left the room and, for a moment, Shea thought about following them.
“Shea,” The man said, calling the boy’s attention back. “You can call me Master Wilson. I have a son who you’ll meet shortly, but it’ll have to wait until I can settle things with Jade and their friends, alright? For now, why don’t you join your cousin and keep her company, okay?” Master Wilson led Shea to the room where Aubrey was and let him in.
“Shea?” Aubrey sat up a little from where she lay on a bed when the door closed. “Did they hurt you? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. Master Wilson is really nice.”
“Who?”
“The man who answered the door.”
Aubrey looked angry suddenly.
“A-Aubrey..? What’s wrong?”
Aubrey looked conflicted for a moment, then her expression relaxed. “It’s nothing, Shea… Don’t worry about it. I… I’m sorry I couldn’t help you escape… Do you think you’ll be okay here..? At least for a little while until I… Until I can figure out a way to get us both out?”
Shea nodded.
The door to the little room opened once again as Master Wilson entered. “Hello, Aubrey.”
Aubrey glared at Shea, making him flinch. “You told him my name?”
“He asked!” Shea said, getting defensive.
Aubrey closed her eyes. “S-sorry. I’m not mad at you, Shea.”
“Well aren’t you motherly? It’s nice to meet you, Aubrey. You may call me Master Wilson.”
Aubrey glared past Shea. “If you want me to call you ‘Master Wilson’, you can call me Queen Anwyn.” She threw the blankets off. “You’re not my master and I’m not some pet for you to own.”
“I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong. That savage behavior is a perfect indicator of exactly what your kind is like. You’re nothing more than an overly intelligent parrot.”
“And you’re just an overly fat snake.” Aubrey spat, standing up. As Aubrey stood, her face paled.
“Aubrey? Are you okay?”
“I-I’m cold…” Was all Aubrey said before she collapsed.
Master Wilson managed to catch her before she hit the floor. “She’s burning up.” He set her back in bed.
Aubrey’s eyes fluttered open and she tried to push him away. “D-don’t touch me…” She slurred.
“You have a high fever. Now is not the time for arrogant pride. I’ll fetch a doctor. Shea, stay with her and don’t let her get up.” Master Wilson left the room and there was a soft click as he locked Shea and Aubrey into the room.
“He’s getting a doctor? Are you sick?” Shea jumped up and sat on the edge of the bed.
Aubrey closed her eyes. “I-I’m fine… I’ll be fine…”
“You don’t soundfine.”
Aubrey didn’t answer.
“Aubrey..?”
No answer.
“Aubrey..?”
Again, no answer. She was asleep.
A long time passed as they sat in that room, waiting. Aubrey only woke up a couple of times. Every time, she seemed less and less awake. Finally, she fell asleep and wouldn’t wake up again, no matter how many times Shea called her name. No matter how much he cried or shook her. He was scared. She looked pale. Even more pale than she had before.
Eventually, the door opened again and Master Wilson came in with another person.
The examination didn’t take long. Aubrey was dead. No one cared to explain what happened to Shea. All he was told was that she wasn’t coming back.
(This series is created from the prompts given by @summer-of-whump) (Also, Shea is pronounced [shAY])
CW: Child whumpee, kidnapped, ‘it’ as a pronoun, head injury, child abuse, manipulation, fire, lightly implied burns, implied death
Shea screamed, covering his head as flaming debris fell nearby.
“Shea!” The boy looked up to see his mother running towards him. She scooped him up into her arms and ran.
“Momma, what’s happening?” Shea squeaked, hiding his face. “I’m scared!”
“It’s going to be okay, baby. We just need to get out.” His mother’s voice was calmer than it was a moment before, although it still held a note of panic. “You remember the fire drills? It’s just like that. It’s going to be okay.”
Shea dared to peek back at the community. The fires were everywhere. People were running, some flying. To Shea’s horror, several people’s wings were actually onfire. His own mother’s wings were blackened in places.
“Momma, what happened to your wings?”
“Don’t worry about it baby— I’m fine. Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
“I’m okay.” And Shea hid his face again as his mother continued to run deeper into the forest.
Only a short couple of minutes had passed when Shea felt the unmistakable feeling of rising in the air. It didn’t feel like flying, however— the incline felt sharper. His mother screamed and held onto Shea tighter.
Shea tried to wriggle free of his mother’s hold to see what was happening. “What?? What’s happening??”
Cruel laughter broke out from the trees around them and Shea managed to catch sight of the net surrounding him and his mother before his mother managed to pull him back against her, shielding his eyes. “Don’t move.” She whispered, her voice breaking.
Shea stopped moving, confused. He felt his mother pull her wings to surround him.
“Well would you look at that? We actually caught one of them!” Someone said from the ground.
“Who are you people? What do you want?” Shea’s mother’s voice sounded harsh and a little scared.
“Damn. Its wings must’ve caught fire. This one’s as good as worthless.” Another voice said.
“Best to just leave it and check the other traps. If we don’t catch anything else, this one’ll have to do.”
Shea heard footsteps begin to walk away. “Momma, I’m scared.” He whispered and the footsteps stopped.
“Shhh…” His mother held onto him tighter.
“You got somebody else up there?” One of the voices asked.
Shea’s mother didn’t answer.
“Cut it down. I think I heard something.” The person said and the footsteps came closer again.
Shea’s mother was trembling now, whispering prayers under her breath.
There was a sudden drop and the net hit the ground with Shea and his mother inside it.
Shea couldn’t understand what happened next. There was movement, his mother was yelling, squeezing him so tight he could hardly breathe. One of the other people yelled for her to let go. The next thing Shea knew, someone was pulling him away from his mother. He kicked and yelled, trying to hold onto her, but they were separated a moment later.
“Shea! Shea, you have to get away— you have to run— Shea—” One of the other people— Shea could see now that there were three— hit his mother over the head and she closed her eyes. When they let go of her, she fell to the ground.
“Momma!” Shea screamed, struggling to get away from the person who was now holding on tight to his arm. “Momma— Let me go! I want my mom!”
“Now this one’s worth this whole trip. Its wings are perfectly intact and it’s only— what— seven years old maybe?”
“How old are you, kid?”
Shea didn’t answer, tears streaming down his face as he tried to pry the person’s hand off his arm. “Let go!”
The person holding Shea slapped him hard across the face and Shea stopped for a moment, shocked. No one had ever hit him before.
“You were asked a question, brat. How old are you?” The person demanded.
Shea’s lip quivered as he tried not to cry harder. “I just want my mom— Why did you hit me? It h-hurt!”
“I’ll hit you again if you don’t answer the fucking question.” The person threatened.
“I’m six years old.” Shea whimpered, shielding his cheek with his free hand. “Please don’t hit me again— It really hurt!”
“Just do as you’re told and I won’t have any reason to hit you, now will I?” The person started to pull Shea away. “Come on. We can check the other traps once we get this one secured.”
“No!” Shea started to pull again. “No— I want my mom!”
“Shut up!” The person yanked Shea by the hair, making him scream. “If you keep trying to make things difficult, I’ll pick you up and fucking carry you. Just walk. Your mom isn’t going with us.”
Shea stumbled as they tried to keep up with the fast pace of the adults. He didn’t want to get hurt more, so he had stopped trying to get away, but he was still crying and yelling for his mom by the time the person let him stop walking. The person tied up Shea’s hands and tied them to the outside of a cage.
“Somebody has to stay with this one while the rest of the traps are checked and it’s not going to be me. We won’t get paid if I get annoyed and kill the brat before we make it back.” The person said after they finished tying Shea up.
“I’ll stay with the kid.” One of the others said. “You two go check traps and come back with the rest of the group.”
The other two nodded and left into the woods again.
“Hey, kid.” The person who stayed behind crouched next to Shea. “What’s your name? Did I hear your mom call you Shea?”
Shea nodded, sniffling and trying to wipe his tears off his face.
The person nodded. “Good to know. Sorry about Thorne. He really doesn’t like kids. Or the Winged. Or honestly really anyone. He shouldn’t have hit you.”
“What did I do that made him a-angry at me?”
“Literally anything you would have done except for coming with us quietly would have made him angry. None of us expected that from you. You are just a kid. And we aren’t taking your mom with us.”
“Where… Where am I going..? Why can’t my mom come with me? Who areyou?”
“My name is Jade. Your mom burned her wings in the fire, that’s why she can’t come. We’re only taking people with complete sets of wings. Seeing as your whole little village just burned down, we’re giving you a new place to live. Aren’t you glad?”
“I-I just want my mom…” Shea sniffed again.
“I know it’ll be hard for a while, but you’ll be okay. After all, you’re just a kid. You’ll bounce back fast. Don’t worry about your mom. She’s going to be okay too. She just can’t come with you.”
Shea fidgeted with the ropes around their wrists in silence as he and Jade waited.
At last, there were several footsteps. “Jade. The fires weren’t really a great idea, it turns out. Most of them died or have incomplete sets now. We did find this one, though.”
“Is it alive?” Jade stood up and Shea tried to look and see behind them, but the ropes wouldn’t let them turn that far.
“It’s alive, but injured. I don’t know if it’ll live, but it has a complete set, so it’s at least worth a shot.”
“Fine. Put it in the cage. I’ll get this one in.” Jade came back to Shea and untied him from the cage, leading him around to another side. “Get in.” Jade said, opening the cage door.
Shea hesitated.
“Shea,” Jade said softly. “You need to get in before Thorne decides to see what’s taking so long. As long as you listen to me, he won’t hurt you again, okay?”
Shea nodded quickly and Jade helped him into the cage.
After Shea was in the cage, a girl was put in as well. She was sleeping and there was a big bump on her head. “Aubrey?” Shea whispered, sitting next to her.
“Do you know her?” Jade asked.
Shea nodded. “Sh-she’s my cousin.”
“Her name is Aubrey? Do you know how old she is?”
“I think she’s…” Shea thought for a minute. “I think she might be twenty?”
“Okay.” Jade nodded, closing the cage door. “We’re going to leave now, okay?” Jade didn’t wait for an answer as they climbed into the car.
The cage sat on the bed of a trailer and Shea was startled when it began to move.
Aubrey’s eyes opened a little. “Are they gone?” She whispered.
“Aubrey! You’re okay!!”
“Not really.” She muttered, closing her eyes again. “Are they gone?”
“Um…” Shea looked at the car. “They’re in the car. They said they were taking us to a new home.”
“This is really bad…”
“… Why is it so bad?”
“Shea, if they take us somewhere outside the forest, you’re never going to see your mom again— if she’s even alive still. They started…” Aubrey coughed. “… They started those fires. Half the community is dead and the other half will never fly again. We’re probably the only two people who made it out alive with both wings.”
“… How did you get hurt..?”
“I… I don’t remember. Something probably fell on my head. I don’t know. Maybe I fell from somewhere… All I know is my head hurts and I’m really dizzy and it’s getting kind of hard to breathe…” Aubrey opened her eyes and looked at Shea, undoubtedly seeing the worry in his eyes. “I’ll be okay, short stuff. But we really have to get away from these people if we can.”
Warnings: lady whump, graphic depictions of violence, blood
Anaria hadn’t thought much about her death up until recently. She’d lived a sheltered life in the castle, she realized. Yes, she’d been prepared for battle, and taught magic, but death was not a thing that had truly occurred to her.
Not until now. Not until Hakur had captured her and tortured her and played with her. Now, she figured her death would be at the end of a blade, or worse, somehow - something gory and painful.
Pain was what she was lost in. He’d cut her right thigh open, right near the artery, and she was bleeding, bleeding bad.There was so much blood. It coated her leg, drenched the floor, seeped into her clothes. She was going to die this way, it seemed.
Anaria shouldn’t have left Girad and the party of soldiers in such a rush. She really shouldn’t have, but she’d been angry.Girad had been pressing her about her motives, about whyshe was helping wage this war, why she was so intent on Hakur.
And she hadn’t been able to stand it. So she’d left. She had her coat wrapped around her, slits cut in the back for her wings to go through. Her feathers shuddered in the cold wind.
The girl’s mind was blank, having nothing to turn to in those silent moments, bar the pressure on her back. Medically, placing a bird’s wings on a human should be impossible. But it had been done, with help from less than legal friends, and several bio-magical theories.
Shivering, the girl stood in her cell, slightly loopy from the pain medication. Her face twisted, bewildered, as she saw the feathered appendages nearby her. She poked them, finding them soft. But she could-
She could feel it. They were hers.
The experience was nauseating, overall. As she regained feeling, she had no choice but to accept these limbs as hers, undeniably attached. For the first month, they dragged behind her, creating depressing masses of dust on the unswept floor.
Then, in the confines of her cell, she first moved them. Raising. Lowering. Forward. Back. She grew a bit more confident, beginning to flap them gingerly, smiling to see them work. The day she left the ground, they led her out of that tight room, offering praise. The girl’s heart leapt to think she’d done what they wanted.
But warm moments ended in black-floored, bleach-scented rooms. Before she could quite process it, she was picked up, and pressed to the table.
They took out a camera. Guns had been all too common in the corridors. Both were black, plain and simple. Both pointed at her.
Fear crept into her heart, driving her wings to flap in an unrestrained flurry of feathers, knocking away the scientists around her. Her eyes locked on one, smiling to see her so strong. The one who had led her here. The one who named her. The one who watched. Grabbing at shiny steel, the fearful mass flew from the table, jabbing the scalpel at the anesthesiologist. She raised a hand to stop it.
It went through.
Laying blow after blow on the woman, the winged girl felt her face grow warm with tears. The woman was beneath her. The girl only had time to raise her clasped hands before something hit her with a slamming force. Electricity. She collapsed into a quivering mass, with no choice but to stare at what she’d done.
The anesthesiologist’s hand was mangled, torn, bloody, and half a finger was missing. Unsalvageable.
Falling asleep, Tsu couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry.
Warnings: lady whump, angst, nudity, scar reveal, implied/referenced torture
Anaria hadn’t been naked in front of anyone since Hakur, not even servants. She shooed everyone out when she bathed, claiming she didn’t need the help when she really did. Her shoulders still ached from constant rough treatment and restraints, and it was hard to reach some places to clean, but she had to do it all on her own. She couldn’t let them see.
Because she had scars now. Oh, so many scars. And she was afraid of what people would think of her if they saw them, if they knew the destruction of her body. Would they see her as weak?
Warnings: lady whump, graphic depictions of violence, battle, blood
Anaria hadn’t wanted to face himon the field of battle, and yet everyone near her was dead or dying, and they were the only two left standing on the hilltop, the night closing in around them.
Hakur drew his sword from someone’s body, filling Anaria with rage. He turned to face her, smiling. There was blood in his teeth. She could see it by the moonlight.
“Anaria, so surprised to see you here,” he said calmly, as if they weren’t about to fight. Or, maybe they weren’t. Anaria could just fly away from him. The thought of fleeing was definitely in her mind, something that filled her with shame. “I thought you’d be weak and quivering somewhere far away.”
CWs are in the tags so you can choose to look at them or not as they are spoilers
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Si woke.
He was in his hammock at home. The room stank of sweat - it did no matter what you did to it after years of close-packed kids sneaking into adulthood here. Sunlight poked its fingers through the dirty window. Squinting, he lifted his head. The collection of hammocks and sofas and pallets and blanket nests were empty other than a few sleeping teenagers. They must have been on a job late last night. All being well, he snuggled back under his blankets, and shut his eyes tight.
A sharp kick jolted him from below.
“What was that for?” he groaned.
“Uncle’s pissed you slept in!” He couldn’t work out which of the little kids it was.
He tumbled from his hammock to the floor, and patted the backs of his shoulders. Nothing there. No wings, no tears, not even any pain. He grabbed his pack of cards from his breast pocket and flicked through them. The Ace of Hearts was missing.
