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adamsrcnan · 1 year

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Thinking about Wymack picking up Neil from the airport at new years. It takes him a while to spot Neil because of course his hair is back to it's natural colour but Wymack would notice those hunched over shoulders anywhere, shoulders that look like they're carrying a weight so heavy Wymack would never know the pressure of it. And that's how he knows it's his Neil. His hands always fisted around the strap of that goddamn duffle bag.

Then Neil is sitting in Wymack's car, and he can sense the tension in Neil's body, the careful way he holds himself hiding how much pain he's in, how broken he is in that moment. Neil falls asleep within minutes, so Wymack spends the rest of the journey driving as careful as he possibly can so as not to jostle Neil in the car as he sleeps. He turns the heating up too keeping Neil warm and comfortable. He tries not to think about all the questions that make his grip tighten on the steering wheel.

Next is the mission of getting Neil up to his apartment. He doesn't want to wake him, though it doesn't seem like it would be possible right now anyway. Neil seems completely gone. If it wasn't for the steady rise and fall of his chest he could be dead. So Wymack grabs Neil's bag, throws it over himself before gently reaching into the car to carry Neil out. He's heavier than Wymack would have expected, considering how small he seemed when he first spotted him hunched over on the curb outside the airport.

The ride up on the elevator seems longer than usual, and at some point Wymack feels the weight of Neil's head falling back so he gently shifts him so his head lands on Wymack's shoulder instead. He sighs deeply and curses under his breath, at what he doesn't know. For a second he's back in the hallway of his apartment watching Neil flinch from him for the first time, and now he's asleep broken and bruised in his arms. There's something to be said about the irony in that he's sure.

Finally he's in his apartment, gently laying Neil down onto his sofa. He pries his shoes off and then hesitates. His hands moving automatically to unzip Neil's coat to make him more comfortable, but he doesn't want to touch him without his consent. So, he leaves the jacket. He shoves a pillow under his head though, his hand resting atop Neil's now burnt orange curls a second longer than was necessary.

He drags his desk chair into the room, careful not to make too much noise. He needs to be by his side, needs to be there when Neil wakes up so he doesn't panic. He pours himself a drink and watches Neil sleep, his eyes fixed on his chest again, focused on that steady rise and fall. Wymack drinks. Neil sleeps. Those million questions are running through his head again, but the most burning and pressing of them all is how could I let this happen to one of my kids?

#this part is one of my favourite scenes #it's so devastating #and i just can't imagine how tortured Wymack felt in this moment #he spent his holidays assured all his kids were fine #then one calls him out of the blue utterly destroyed #wymack is an underrated driving force and i adore him so much #david wymack #neil josten #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg

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ourpleboy · 4 months

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cozy ^_^

#my art #dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #dsaf dave #dsaf jack #davesport #this was fucking torture to make #never try to use the animation feature on firealpaca it'll Kill You #anyway heres my late holiday art

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dollya-robinprotector · 3 months

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Lunar New Year is coming so I have to travel back to my parents' home for maybe 2-3 weeks.

Since I cannot bring my entire work data with me and my laptop cannot handle big files like I do in my CPU, I ask for clients to be patient and wait for my contact. Smaller commissions like dance cp or sketches, lineart would still be updated in the meantime, but bigger pj like character design, comics, nsfw,... will have to be postponed until I can be back to my usual workplace.

Thank you for your understanding!

#notice #Tết mới chả nhất #this will be hell of a break because I won't be able to draw sexy shits during my stay at my parents' house and that's literally torture #pray for me #or the holiday go smooth #or I'll be a disgrace to my family again and flee like an ugly crying mess pray for me

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caitlynmeow · 1 month

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Alcina, after putting her daughters to bed, would dress up as Santa and discreetly place the many many presents she got her bug spawns under the tree in the main hall knowing that there would at least be three different curious flies keeping an eye on their yearly visitor.

And sure enough, after leaving, she can easily detect the three out of bed and down in the main hall examining the boxes and wondering what they got this time around.

#house dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #bela dimitrescu #re8 #in game canon makes me belive alcina told her daughters all those stories #and the girls still belive in magic and all of that because of their limited knowledge of the outside world #seeing how awe struck her daughters were alcina vowed to make the holidays memorable #every single time #pls just picture bela and cassandra torturing maids in the cellars while waiting for santa to bring them gifts in a few days #this is such a castle dimitrescu core #headcanon

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whumblr · 1 year

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Whump dialogue #48

"But... but w-wait! You... you already know how I scream? Right? And you liked it. So... so now you know. Your curiosity must be sated. Right?"

"Oh, sure, baby, sure. But think of your favourite song. You don't listen to it just once, now do you? You keep listening. Over. And over. Again."

#whump #whump dialogue #implied torture #whump prompt #creepy whumper #creepy captor #intimate whumper #angst #whump writing #my prompts #my dialogue prompts #my writing #holidays over back to routine!#and writing hopefully lots of writing mostly angst

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senselessalchemist · 1 year

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happy holidays (?)

#saroart #dead cells #this was going to be something very different but then i made this instead #and then decided to torture myself with actual inking and stuff #mild beheaded/collector content #i drew so many hands in so many annoying poses and for what #this took way too long for what it is but most of it was the fucking lineart which i am bad at #anyway happy winter holidays #this is extremely dumb but i hope that it brings some enjoyment to people #the original was more serious (as much as i can be serious) but this was cute and stupid and more fun #also yes i did not draw mistletoe in the kiss panel because i was fucking done with drawing mistletoe #it got dropped so thats why its not there u.u

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suspensefulpen · 3 months

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Mine & Mine Only

TW: Stockholm Syndrome, Bad Caretaker, Discussions of Torture, Manipulation

Since I didn't do Febuwhump, I decided to write a special for Valentines Day for the amazing Whump Community. A very strange story for a very strange holiday. An insanely mad happy Valentines Day from me to all of you <3

Whumpee frowned in disgust at the calendar. February 14, Valentine’s Day. Ugh, they hated the very thought of it. Sometimes, they hated the month in general. This was the day Whumper so tirelessly prepared for, just for Caretaker. This was the day Whumpee suddenly didn’t exist anymore. This was the day Whumpee realized how much they actually hate Caretaker.

Ever since she came around, Whumper paid less and less attention to them. That was unless Caretaker gave them attention, Whumper would at the very least acknowledge them. But it wasn’t long before she stopped giving them attention too. Whumpee became irrelevant, almost like they were a ghost casually hanging around the house. No, they weren’t a ghost. They were sure the couple would be more likely to acknowledge them if they were.

It felt as if they were indirectly saying Whumpee didn’t matter anymore.

No, they were sure it was directly. Whumper used to leave them little gifts on Valentine’s Day as a reward. He even did it for other holidays. Whumpee hadn’t seen a gift with a name even remotely close to theirs written on it in six months. This was no mistake. This was a message. Even if Whumper gave them half baked apologies for forgetting about them, they still haven’t gotten a gift since. And it was all because of Caretaker.

Whumpee scoffed and walked away. Whatever. They were going to just ignore everyone else too. For the entirety of tomorrow and maybe even the rest of the month. They didn’t acknowledge Whumpee, so why should they acknowledge them?

“What’s wrong Darling?”

Whumpee instantly brightened when they heard Whumper’s voice behind them. They turned around only to find Whumper wasn’t even looking at them. He was on the phone, presumably talking to Caretaker.

“Are you sure? You sound upset.”

Whumpee grimaced as Whumper walked by them without glancing over. They stomped out of the kitchen with a huff to finish the rest of their chores.

When they got the mail, a package was placed on the porch. Curious, they picked up the box and shook it lightly. Whatever was inside had some weight to it and was sealed tight enough not to move around. It was addressed to Whumper, maybe they should ask what it is. Opening the mailbox, they shrieked when a large bouquet of roses popped out. They knew exactly who those were for.

Would Whumper get angry with them if they threw the flowers out? Who were they kidding, of course he would. He’d probably yell at them and beat them and…

Wait… If they threw the flowers away, they’d get yelled at by Whumper! And if they got yelled at, they’d get attention! Yes! That was a perfect idea!

Whumpee paused again. No, that wasn’t a good idea. How long would it be until he noticed the flowers were gone? Hours maybe? No. Whumpee didn’t want to wait that long. They wanted attention now.

They marched back into the house with the mail, making their way to Whumper’s office, holding their head high. He briefly acknowledged them when he pointed to the empty space on his desk. Without a second thought, Whumpee dropped the box on his desk. Whumper’s gaze instantly snapped away from the computer screen.

“Whumpee! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“What… What do you mean sir?” They asked dumbfoundedly.

“The box clearly says fragile. Why the hell would you drop it on my desk like that?”

It did? Whumpee glanced down at the box, now noting the red stamp. When did that get there? They didn’t respond, staring silently at Whumper. He stood from his chair, his hand connecting with Whumpee’s cheek in a swift motion. They were sure their face was bright red now. But that didn’t matter. They got attention! They kept their head turned, hiding their smile. It was quick to dissolve when they were thrown against the wall, the same hand going around their neck.

“Don’t start acting up because it’s almost Valentine’s Day Whumpee. You forget, I can still put you in your place. Just because I’m not paying attention to you doesn’t mean I won’t do it. I’ll put you back in the basement and leave you down there to starve. Is that what you want?”

What?! No! That’s not what they wanted! Whumpee rapidly shook their head, wheezing out their words. “No sir!”

“Then you better start acting like it.”

When Whumper let go of them, Whumpee almost felt sad at the loss of contact. The warmth from Whumper’s hand was gone and they wanted it back.

“Whumpee get out of my office. Now.”

They quickly scampered away.

Whumpee watched as Caretaker “helped” them tidy up. It felt more like she was trying to be in the way. She already was in every aspect of Whumpee’s life. She was just there. Taking up space. Existing. They frowned and glanced at the glass vase next to them. An idea instantly formed in their head.

They swiped at it, knocking it to the floor. The shattering sound almost made them feel satisfied. They needed that to happen to Caretaker and her relationship with Whumper. They wanted to see it up close and in person, falling at their feet just like the glass.

They picked up a shard, allowing it to pierce their hand. They dropped it and screamed in pain as Caretaker rushed over.

“Whumpee, what happened?” She gasped when she saw the blood.

“I don’t know! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!” Whumpee cried, forced tears rolling freely.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake. Step this way so I can clean that cut.” She ushered Whumpee to the couch before leaving to grab medical supplies. Whumper stood in the doorway, glaring at Whumpee. He only shook his head before rolling his eyes and walking away. Whumpee didn’t know what that meant, nor did they like that.

Caretaker came back and began patching up the wound. Whumpee glanced around before lowering their voice. “I hate you.”

Caretaker didn’t react. “The feeling is mutual.”

Whumpee stared at her in shock before frowning. “Clearly not if you care so much.”

She smiled and raised her gaze. “You really think I care about you, Whumpee? You really think you matter to me?” She laughed. “I only do this to make Whumper’s hobby more fun. He gets the satisfaction of breaking you like a brand new toy.”

They narrowed their eyes. “So you’re only here for his sake?”

“Why no, of course not. There’s always more.”

“Well I think you should leave. You have no place here and you don’t deserve Whumper.” Whumpee smirked. “Wait till I tell him how phony you are.”

“Me?!” Caretaker repeated. Her surprise was very obviously fake. She laughed. It quickly turned into a fit of giggles, leaving Whumpee beyond confused. She took a deep breath and smiled again. “You really think that’s going to work? Oh Whumpee, you’re a lot more hopeless and pathetic than I thought.” She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Listen to me Whumpee, I have your precious Whumper wrapped around my finger. He’ll listen to anything I say, no matter what it is. He’s never going to give you what you want. Even if that is just his attention. You’ll never get it. Because Whumper is mine.”

“Well I had him first. He was mine before he was anybody’s.” Whumpee frowned.

Caretaker giggled again. It weirded them out. Why was she laughing? Whumpee was being serious. It wasn’t meant to be funny.

She exhaled, still smiling. “You really are pathetic, aren’t you? You really think Whumper cares about you? You are nothing but a toy. A plaything. A servant. A maid. That’s all you are and that’s all you’ll ever be. You don’t matter. If something ever were to happen to you, you’d just be replaced by someone else. You’re not as important as you think you are. Just because you were first doesn’t mean anything. You only keep him entertained. These feelings you have for him aren’t being reciprocated. Because he does not care about you.”

“And what makes you think…” Whumpee trailed off, confused when Caretaker grabbed their hands. They watched in silence as she brought them up to her neck. Panic rushed through their body as she used their hands to choke herself. Whumpee did their best to remove their hands. While they hated Caretaker, they wouldn’t hurt her this way.

Caretaker pushed Whumpee away and gasped loudly, standing from the couch. “Whumpee?! What’s wrong with you?!”

“I didn’t—”

Whumper instantly appeared in the doorway, a deep frown on his face. “What happened now?”

“They tried to choke me!” Caretaker cried.

“No I didn’t! She’s lying!”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s shirt, almost picking them up from the couch. “I’ve had enough of you lately.”

“Sir, I didn’t do anything! Honest!” Despite all of Whumpee’s earlier attempts at getting attention, this was not the kind of attention they wanted. Whumper looked way angrier than they’d ever seen him.

“No, don’t act like that now. You want my attention, right? Well now you have it.” He let go of Whumpee.

The last thing they saw was Whumper’s fist and the world went dark.

Whumper sat furious, frowning deeply with his hand propping up his head against the arm of the couch. Caretaker who was putting away her new present, noticed the look. She sighed and scooted closer before wrapping her arms around him. “You shouldn’t let them bother you.”

“I’m not. I’m just…pissed. I should force them to fix it.”

Caretaker glanced at the jewelry box she’d gotten. The mirror inside had been shattered, thanks to Whumpee dropping the box. Despite how calm she looked on the outside, she was furious as well. “We can always get another one.”

Whumper didn’t respond, still staring into space. A smile slowly grew on Caretaker’s face as a devious thought came to her. She tried her best not to laugh. That’s a perfect idea…

“I really should drag them back up here and make them fix it. Then strangle them until they’re unconscious, starve them–”

“Actually, I have a better idea…”

Whumper turned his head to meet gazes, his frown briefly faltering. “What’s that?”

“I think you should get a whole new plaything.” He raised a brow but didn’t interrupt. “Clearly, Whumpee has forgotten their training. Why don’t you just start fresh? A clean slate.”

Caretaker grinned widely as she watched the gears begin to turn in his head.

Whumpee perked up when they heard Whumper open the door to the basement. It was obvious that he was still angry with them. His stomping made it evident. Yet, instead of any kind of scold, Whumper began to unchain them.

What was going on? Were they going back upstairs? Did Whumper change his mind about punishing them? What was happening?

Whumper placed handcuffs on their wrists and Whumpee raised a brow. “What’s going on?”

He raised his gaze. “You’re leaving.” He pulled them up and began dragging them to the staircase.

“Leaving?! You’re getting rid of me?!” Whumpee tried their best to break free. Before they could think, they were thrown to the floor. Tears filled their eyes as they looked up at their captor.

“I’ve had enough of you Whumpee. Acting out just because you’re jealous of Caretaker and you want attention. Clearly you’ve forgotten your place in this house. You’re only a servant. A maid. Your job is not to beg for my attention, it’s to do what I asked you. But I see you can’t remember that. So since your memory is getting so bad, I’ll just have to get rid of you.”

Whumpee couldn’t believe the words they were hearing. There was no way Whumper meant anything he was saying. He couldn’t mean it. That wasn’t something he would say. Their gaze shifted to the doorway, catching Caretaker grinning smugly.

They frowned deeply. Of course they weren’t Whumper’s words.

They were hers.

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doubledyke · 5 months

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thinkin about edd today

#apparently im one of those fans that loves to torture edd #but it aint my fault his parents dont love him #i imagine eddy's mom knows hes alone a lot and invites him to join them for thanksgiving but he's like #“i have no idea what youre talking about mrs. mcgee my parents who definitely love me are home right now yes indeedy”#then he goes home to heat up his little free range turkey and whole wheat stuffing and eats alone at a big empty table #if he's feeling dangerous he might eat on the couch and watch PBS #after dinner he calls eddy who regales him with stories about fucked up relatives #and he almost considers himself lucky for not having a close-knit family #i kinda picture edd moving to pc from out of state so his extended family doesn't live close #of course his parents might get the occasional holiday off so im sure he's not alone every year but #idk i've embarrassed myself before by sharing my thoughts about edd's parents and i'm sure it won't be the last #i'd like to write a long overly dramatic fic about a day in his life that takes place in the timeline of the show #but im knee deep in angst as it is #text

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hexjulia · 13 days

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i feel like i might actually physically explode if i continue like this but it's not like there's really an alternative

#hey girls did you know that uhmmm #i had some conversations and turns out mycoworkers are NOT tortured by visions #like they have dreams and stuff but mostly they're not about needing to make things #they're about holidays it seems. cars also #i've had this conversation before with other coworkers. same result. well ok

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 4 months

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By: Paul Mulshine

Published: Dec 28, 2015

Around this time of year, various journalists run sanitized versions of the creation myth of Kwanzaa. They report that it has roots in African culture and overlook the fact that founder Maulana Karenga has a past that discredits both him and his made-up holiday.

So, it was interesting to see this article in which the writer notes that Kwanzaa is even less popular than Festivus, that holiday made up for the Seinfeld show.

Click here for the in-depth article I did for Heterodoxy Magazine on Kwanzaa back then.

Below is my 2002 column on the subject:

ONE OF MY READERS called me the other day to inform me that the public schools in New Jersey aren't allowed to celebrate Christmas but are celebrating Kwanzaa.

This is intriguing. Christmas celebrates the legacy of Christ who, by all accounts, was a nonviolent man who believed that people of all types could learn to live in peace. Kwanzaa celebrates the legacy of an extremely violent man from California who has dedicated his life to spreading dissension among the races.

More on that later. First let's deal with the question of why schools can propagate a belief in Kwanzaa but not Christmas or Chanukah. For an answer, I called Ed Martone of the American Civil Liberties Union.

''Kwanzaa isn't a religious holiday," said Martone. "It's a cultural holiday. It doesn't have the same restrictions as Chanukah or Christmas."

I'll grant that there is a certain logic to the view. After all, once the government gets involved in religion, the potential conflicts among Catholics, Protestants, Jews, Muslims and atheists are so complex that perhaps we are better off avoiding them altogether.

But by that same logic, the public schools should not be pushing certain cultural practices. And the schools especially shouldn't be endorsing cultural practices created by a character with the beliefs and the background of Ron Karenga.

It is not easy to get a hold of the facts about the background of the creator of Kwanzaa. In fact, it is nearly impossible. The history of the founder of Kwanzaa has disappeared into an Orwellian time warp.

If you look up the name "Ron Karenga" on any of the many newspaper data bases that are available these days, you will read a glowing account of a deep-thinking philosopher who comes across as a sort of jolly Father Christmas for African-Americans.

You won't find any reference to murder or torture. Yet murder was a specialty of US, the paramilitary organization that Karenga ran in Los Angeles in the late 1960s.

As for torture, Karenga took that more personally. The accounts of his personal role in a particularly sadistic episode of brutality have been largely lost to history.

The episode seems to exist only on a few microfilmed pages of the Los Angeles Times. It took two days of research and phone calls to track them down.

Here is an excerpt from an article headlined "Woman describes two days of torture" on the May 1971 trial of Karenga for torturing two dissident members of his group:

''Deborah Jones, who once was given the Swahili title of an African queen, said she and Gail Davis were whipped with an electrical cord and beaten with a karate baton after being ordered to remove their clothes. She testified that a hot soldering iron was placed in Miss Davis' mouth and placed against Miss Davis' face and that one of her own big toes was tightened in a vise. Karenga, head of US, also put detergent and running hoses in their mouths, she said."

Karenga was convicted and served more than three years in a state prison.

This was not an isolated incident. In 1967, Karenga was accused of having his thugs beat up a student who asked him an impertinent question at a college forum.

In 1969, US got involved in a struggle with the Black Panthers for control of the black studies program at UCLA. All involved carried guns on campus. The US guys were quicker on the draw; they killed two Panthers in a shootout at the student center.

It would be nice to say that after Karenga got out of jail in 1975 he repented, saw the error of his ways and invented Kwanzaa as a means of atoning for his past.

Nice, but untrue. Karenga has never atoned for his thuggery, probably because no one ever asked him to. And his sole concession to repentance was his 1975 conversion to Marxism. For him, this was considered to be a sign that he had moderated his views.

Karenga invented Kwanzaa at the height of his gang days, in 1966. And he made it up not to bring peace among the races but to divide them. That's why he placed this alleged "harvest festival" in competition with Christmas, which he derided because of its ties to the hated capitalist system.

It may be true that Kwanzaa has evolved into a ceremony that has importance to a great number of well-intentioned people, people who have no knowledge of its creator's questionable history.

But Karenga himself continues to champion the holiday as an example of what he terms "cultural nationalism." This is the view that black people are a separate "nation" within a hostile country. During a visit to Newark in 1987, Karenga defined America as "an insane, socially decaying society." "We need a value system and a support system . . . because the world is organized against your Africanism," he told Newark residents.

Karenga remains a leading spokesman for the multicultural movement, a movement based on the idea that Americans should emphasize their differences rather than their similarities.

The idea of Kwanzaa fits firmly within multiculturalism. And however you feel about multiculturalism, you must admit that it is a political movement and therefore one that should not be supported with tax dollars.

As for Karenga himself, he should be given all the respect due a convicted torturer.

Call me an old fuddy-duddy, but I believe that once a man inserts a hot soldering iron into a woman's mouth, he should be excluded from public discourse for eternity. I may be wrong, however. Certainly, the people in California don't seem to share this view.

Karenga is now a professor at California State University in Long Beach.

That's California for you. By that standard, there's a university presidency waiting somewhere for Charles Manson when he finally gets out.

COMMENTS:

Note that I'm not arguing here that people shouldn't celebrate Kwanzaa. It's a free country and people can celebrate what they want.

I'm arguing that the media should not cover these celebrations without including the key facts about its founder. That's just basic journalism.

Why the Vice President of the United States feels compelled to pretend that her family has a long tradition of celebrating a fake holiday that apes African tropes and Judaism, concocted by a brutal felon and sociopath, and which was invented when she was two years old is a question worth seriously contemplating.

#Ron Karenga #Kwanzaa #Happy Kwanzaa #fake holidays #holiday of torture #Kamala Harris #seven principles #cultural nationalism #black nationalism #black separatists #neo marxism #religion is a mental illness

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whumpacabra · 4 months

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20. 10/10 Interrogation

Angst, past trauma, past captivity, referenced military setting, referenced torture, referenced murder, fictional politics

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

“Sargent Harrison Gomez. Translator and technician for TF-42, deployed from Carson City, Nevada Tuesday June 3rd, 2003.” The words were practically a script, slurred between bloodied teeth between screams from broken bones. A prayer, a litany against surrender. But he wasn’t there anymore - there was no surrender to fear here. Wherever here was. Harrison paused as the Deputy scribbled down the information in his notebook. “Can I ask a - a dumb question?”

“Sure.” Thomas looked up, still parsing the words he had transcribed.

“Where - where am I? Where’s - I know this is Cedar Creek or - or something - but…”

“You’re in Cedar Hills, Idaho. Southwest corner of the state - just north of the Nevada line.” His eyes scanned over his notepad, brow furrowed. Harrison interrupted whatever thoughts were churning behind those dark eyes.

“Okay - okay. Okay. Dumb question number - number two - what’s today date?”

“February 29th, 2004. Leap year and all.”

8 months.

He had spent the last 8 months buried beneath the same soil he was sworn to protect. He had spent the last 8 months bleeding and starving and bearing witness to horrific human rights abuses on that soil.

8 months.

It felt longer - it felt wrong that years, or decades hadn’t passed. It felt wrong that more than a few days or weeks had been lost to pain and fear and grief. Had they been declared MIA? KIA? He was supposed to see his mother for Christmas that year - his niece Mel was so excited to show grandma her new knitting skills.

8 months.

He missed the new Lord of the Rings movie.

He wanted to laugh and cry and scream.

“Okay.” Harrison nodded, voice flat and expression blank. Laughing and crying and screaming didn’t help in the bunker, and it wouldn’t help now. He was lucky this small town cop hadn’t shot him on sight - a haggard, blood covered man of color half hysterical with panic and dehydration.

“You don’t seem okay with that…are you sure you’re - ”

“No, but it won’t change time and space if I was.” Harrison shrugged, shaking his head as if it would help clear the desire to scream until his lungs gave out. “Sorry, just - just wanted to get myself oriented. What were you going to ask next?”

“Sure, sure…” Thomas wasn’t convinced but the suspicion in his eyes was drowned by gentle curiosity. “You’re Sargent Harrison Gomez, and he is..?” The deputy nodded his head toward the door they had taken Wolf through.

“Wolf.” Harrison swallowed the half formed sentences on his tongue. He tortured me, my squadmates - killed my CO with a rabid dog and made us watch. He was tortured in ways I can’t imagine surviving. He got thrown into the same dark hole as me when we were left for dead. He got us out of the Box. He saved me from a fate worse than death. He took a bullet for me. I hate him and I can’t at the same time. “Just - I only know him as the Wolf.”

“He’s not one of your squadmates?” It was an honest question, Thomas’ brow pinched in thought. Harrison strangled the flare of offense in his gut - how dare he put the Wolf on the same level of comradeship as Elias and Merrick and Orson and Thatch and Clement -

“No. No, he - he was just in the shithole as us.” They had been there for 8 months. How long had the Wolf been down there? Was his real name on one of the dog tags weighing heavy in Harrison’s pocket?

“Oh. You two seemed…well acquainted.”

“Between getting shot at together and talking to him for however long to keep him awake until…until he stopped talking…well, we aren’t friends, but he’s not some random stranger.”

It was odd to consider. He knew more about his torturer than he knew about Thomas, or Dan, or Merrill. (Not that he knew much.)

“Is there anything identifying you know about him? Outside of his name, of course.”

“German. I think he’s German - he - he spoke German when he was…scared.” Harrison swallowed thickly, forcing down the memory of the Box and the Dark and the smell as the Wolf begged him not to touch him. “His Arabic is good. Accent was always just a little off - makes more sense after hearing him in his mother tongue.”

“Why was he speaking in Arabic?” Harrison opened his mouth, and then closed it. Thomas’ body language shifted, a tension gathering in his jaw. “Son, we won’t hurt you boys, but if you know something that could save lives - ”

“They weren’t terrorists.” Harrison bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing back the spark of anger in his chest. He thought they had been. He thought for so long he was under a different continent’s sand. “They were American.”

“Are you sure?”

“I - I’m not crazy.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

“Don’t.” Harrison felt a cruel laugh bubble in his throat. “Don’t you fucking dare - I’ve spent the last fucking 8 months thinking I was watching terrorists torture and - and murder my squadmates only to crawl out and find I’m not a day’s travel from home.” The laugh hiccuped into a sob. “If they’re terrorists and - and they somehow got set up out here then this damn country is fucked. They’ve got enough men and firepower there to wipe out this town overnight.”

“You’ve been through a lot.” What a polite way to call him insane. But he didn’t have the energy to flinch away from Thomas’ gentle, steady hand as he rubbed Harrison’s shoulder. “How about we talk once you’ve rested up a bit? I’ll…keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“The hard drive…” His voice was hoarse, throat strangling his words. “The - there’s a duffel in the truck. We grabbed anything we could - I, there’s a hard drive.” Thomas’ eyes flicked away, guilt in his voice.

“We don’t have any computers in town. County library has a few…”

Of course this hick town wouldn’t have a single computer between them. Harrison’s sobs turned to gasping sighs.

“I’m sorry. I’m - I’m not lying. I wish - maybe - 8 fucking months.”

He was too tired to cry anymore today.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds

#whump #angst #past trauma #past captivity #military setting #reference torture #referenced character death #fictional politics #<- kinda but also. not? post 9/11 us culture was insane yall it poisoned everything #freelancers au #queueing this up bc idk what its gonna be like now that im Home w the Family for the Holidays tm #also yeh: im happy to tag anyone who wants to be tagged!!! pls let me know :]

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