#demetrios agathangelou | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

no-whump-on-main · 3 years

Text

Apartment 307-5

TWs: Parental grief, implied death of a child, mention/recount of torture

Sunday night was cold and dark; large, gray clouds hung in the near-black sky, joined by the splatter of shining stars. It was going to rain soon. Even if it did, Jodie Larkin didn’t care. She was busy desperately trying to get a hold of Demetrios. The end of November was in sight, the air far too frigid for one to be outside without a coat, but Jodie was out on her porch in a dress and sandals anyways, too frantic to bother changing out of her Sunday best. She paced back and forward as she held her phone up to her ear, praying the man on the other end of the line would pick up. He didn’t the first time she called, nor the second, nor the third, but she was too worried to give up and leave him alone for the night.

Finally, on the last ring of the fourth call, just when she had begun to lose hope, a familiar, deep voice spoke through the phone’s speakers.

“Hello? Is everything alright, Jodie?” Demetrios asked, his tone softening with worry. It was unusual for her to call several times in a row, especially so late in the evening on a Sunday. It was nearly ten o’clock.

From her porch, Jodie sighed heavily with relief, gently rubbing her temples.

“Hi! Hi, thank god. I’m so sorry to be bothering you. I was just-Oh, god, I think something is wrong. I-when was the last time you saw Elora? She was meant to be here for dinner four hours ago. I tried calling her, but her phone went straight to voicemail, and my texts won’t go through, either. I know it’s only been a couple hours, but it’s weird, you know? I’m worried. I thought it was strange when she didn’t text me about her day or anything yesterday, either. She usually does when she goes out and does fun things. So there’s that, and now she just didn’t show up, and it’s worrying me. God, I’m rambling, I-” she paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s a parental thing, you get it. I just wanted to know the last time you heard from her.”

In his home, Demetrios sat in a leather recliner, his expression slowly becoming troubled as he listened to Jodie’s frantic rambling. His wife, Lucia, sat a few feet away from him on the couch, a blanket tossed over her legs and a book nestled in her lap. She could faintly hear the conversation through Demetrios’ phone, though, and closed her book upon hearing that something was wrong with Elora, setting it to the side as she stood and walked towards him. He motioned for her to hold on, clearing his throat.

“I saw her leaving the bakery Friday night,” he explained calmly. “I offered to drive her home, and she refused, like always. You’ve raised a headstrong girl, Jodie. Look, I’m sure everything is alright. She probably got caught up with friends or nature or a sewing project. I’ll let you know if she doesn’t come into work tomorrow, alright? I’m sure she’s fine. She’s more than likely just making the most out of her last couple months as a teenager and being a delinquent.”

He chuckled, the familiar sound calming Jodie’s nerves. She sighed deeply, nodding to herself. She knew he couldn’t see her; the action was to reassure herself, more than anything.

“You know, you’re probably right. I just...worry about her. She’s my whole family, you know? Just call me as soon as you can in the morning, alright?”

Demetrios sounded sympathetic. He knew, better than anyone, what it was like to lose a child. Only, he knew the pain of losing one forever, not just for a few worrisome hours.

“Of course.”

“Thank you again. I don’t know what we’d do without you. Sorry for being so frazzled. You know how I am.” Jodie chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s normal to worry, Jodie. She’s still your baby even though she’s growing up. You have a good night, okay? Get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”

She nodded, again, for her own reassurance. “Right. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Jodie hung up the phone and headed inside, sighing deeply. She kicked her shoes off and headed into her bedroom, deciding to take Demetrios’ advice and relax. Get some sleep.

This would all just be a funny story in the morning. Elora would come home and she’d scold her and then everything would be okay. She plugged in her phone and rolled over, facing away from it. The house felt scarily empty, the same way it had for months since Elora had moved out. Only tonight, it felt even emptier than normal.

Five text messages were left sent, but not delivered, on her phone.

11/29/18 6:15 PM: You’re late! Hurry up, kiddo, lasagna’s getting cold.

11/29/18 6:42 PM: You okay? Call me.

11/29/18 7:27 PM: Please call me.

11/29/18 8:59 PM: What’s up? Where are you?

11/29/18 9:36 PM: I love you, E. Please call me as soon as you see this. Love you.

“What was that all about?” Lucia asked, her hands on her hips and her brow furrowed with worry. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

“It was Jodie,” Demetrios explained. “Elora didn’t show up to dinner and her phone’s going to voicemail. She’s worried, but I think she’d probably just sidetracked with something. Or partying. I don’t know. She’s still practically a kid and I gave her a free weekend. She could be getting into all sorts of things.”

Lucia nodded, considering for a moment. “I’m sure she’s fine. I wouldn’t worry until tomorrow. But it’s natural for Jodie to worry, she’s her only baby and she just moved out. We’re both working the morning shift tomorrow. I’ll try to reassure her.”

“You’re an angel, you know what?” Demetrios smiled.

Lucia leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, smiling back. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, I love you.”

Demetrios nodded. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

With that, Lucia nodded and walked off.

Eventually, Demetrios joined her in bed, and the pair slept peacefully, curled up with each other in a messy tangle of limbs. Together, just the way they liked it.

Somewhere far away, Elora was sleeping, too. Or at least trying to. She couldn’t get comfortable, surrounded by walls of hard ceramic and chains and blood. So much blood. She assumed that today, Sunday, had been the man’s day off, because he’d spent what felt like the whole day with her, only giving her a reprieve after hours of what she could only describe as torture. Her head was still pounding from the night before, but he didn’t seem to care, as he shouted at her again and again about that stupid little aloe plant. He still wanted her to grow it, but she wouldn’t give in. Couldn’t. She needed to be strong. At first, he’d just slap her, then ask again, but after a bright red handprint from repeated impact was clear across her cheek, he moved on, bringing back the pocket knife. He cut her across her arm, again and again, then went back and dug his fingernails into the gashes. She thrashed and cried, but still didn’t give in, for the whole day. Now, though, she almost wished she had. The dull sting in her arm was a constant, bitter reminder of her defiance, and one of the only sensations she had in the dark room. She couldn’t see an inch in front of her face in the darkness, but she could feel the sting. And the throb from her thigh. Constantly.

She stared up at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from welling up. She didn’t know why she kept trying to hold them back; they always came and slid down her face, anyways, no matter how hard she tried. Maybe it was just the shred of dignity she had left, begging to be held on to.

It was cold in the bathroom. There were no windows for heat from the sun to seep through, and she wasn’t sure if the apartment even had a formal heating system. If it did, the man wasn’t turning it on. It was cold enough to amplify her misery, but not actually harm her. Probably intentional.

She didn’t actually fall asleep for a long time. She rotated around near-constantly, trying to get somewhat comfortable to absolutely no avail. There was no way to position herself without agitating something. Her aching head, her stinging arm, her sore thigh-one always screamed out in complaint from the way she laid.

When her eyes finally did shut and her breathing became even, it was more of passing out from exhaustion than true sleep.

Still, that night, she dreamed of her mother. Her mind painted a vivid picture of the two of them picking apples at an orchard together, the rows and rows of trees bringing about the most poignant feeling of peace. The breeze was soft, the fall weather still just warm enough to wear her favorite shorts. In the morning, she would wake up with a sad sense of longing, wishing it had been real, but for the moment, she was happy.

Demetrios got ready for work just like normal the next morning. He hardly even remembered the conversation he had with Jodie the past night, paying it little mind. He was certain that Elora would come into work like normal, perhaps a little hungover, and he’d be able call her mother and assure her of her safety.

And so he kissed Lucia on the forehead and drove to the bakery, dressed in his usual uniform of khakis, a t-shirt, and an apron that had seen many years of stains. He pulled into the parking lot in his spot, unlocked the front door, and began opening like he always did. He cleaned, prepared ingredients for the day, filled the cases-everything like normal. They didn’t open until 8, and it was still only 7:30 by the time he finished preparing everything for the day. He didn’t worry.

He started watching the window around 7:40. He was sitting behind the register, with a clear view of the parking lot. He was sure he’d see Elora walk through the doors.

Three of his other employees came through the front door between 7:40 and 8:00, smiling and waving obliviously.

But Elora never came. She usually came in right around 7:50, but there was still no sign of her by 8:00 when they opened.

Maybe she was just late. He tried to convince himself of that, but when 9:00 came and he’d been acting so nervously that even the regulars noticed it, he knew he had to call Jodie.

He ducked outside quickly before any employees could question for him, anxiously tapping his foot against the deck. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed Jodie, breathing deeply. It was going to hurt to tell her this.

Jodie answered on the second ring, clearly having been waiting for him to call. She stepped out into the hallway, away from all the rooms, praying that Demetrios was calling because Elora just got in a little late and a little disheveled.

She spoke first, hope potent in her voice. “Hello? Is she there?”

Demetrios sucked in a breath. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened, but I’ll help you figure it out, alright? Lucia and I will. We care about her, too. You’re family and we’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

It felt like a few years of her life force was sucked out of her when she heard the answer. No. Your daughter isn’t here, Jodie, she could be somewhere, anywhere, hurt or dead or worse.

She wanted to break down, she really did, But she had patients to tend to. And so she shoved down the pain, compartmentalized it into a little box and set it to the side to be dealt with later. All she could offer was a tiny squeak of acknowledgment, not wanting to speak too much for fear of bursting into tears right then and there.

She hung up the phone before Demetrios could say anything else. When she turned around, prepared to head back into the ward and continue her rounds, she found that Lucia had followed her out.

Lucia didn’t even have to ask her. Jodie just shook her head. Lucia frowned, then stepped forward, putting a gentle, reassuring hand on her back.

Jodie rested her head on Lucia’s shoulder and sobbed.

“What if no one finds her?” she asked between cries, shaking her head. “It’s not like her. It’s not-no one has seen her since Friday.”

Lucia rubbed her back lightly, shushing her gently. “After our shift, we can go down to the police station and file a report together, okay? It’s gonna be okay, Jodie, I promise.”

The other woman sniffled and held back another sob. Your job, Jodie.

She nodded, her chest heaving with a heavy breath as she leaned into Lucia. Their shift was another nine hours, they were losing time, she was losing time, she was losing her daughter-

She swallowed and nodded.

“Okay.”

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas

4 notes · View notes

no-whump-on-main · 3 years

Text

Apartment 307-8 (Grabbed by the hair)

Hi guys!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. School and work have been crazy but luckily I'm out of school next week so I'll have much more time and be posting more frequently! Apologies for the short chapter, I have no idea why but it just kicked my butt lol. I tried doing some cool multimedia stuff, I hope you enjoy! This is @sableflynn's BTHB request, grabbed by the hair.

TWs: Creepy, possessive whumper, mention of branding, also this chapter made me sad bc I love my mom and Elora's mom is sad so warning for that lmao

Elora was still lying there crying hours later. The tears had slowed from her initial keening sobs, but they still fell steadily down her face, accumulating in a small puddle on the tile by her head. She could see a bit of her reflection in the salty water; just her eyes, mostly. She saw green eyes that had once been so full of hope and life that were fading, the slow abandonment of hope almost making them gray out. She wanted to lie there forever, staring into her own eyes, until oblivion took her. If she cleared her head enough, she could pretend she was elsewhere, somewhere warm and loving; the blanket draped over her body did help with the fantasy, though she always knew somewhere in the back of her head that it was just that: a fantasy. She was still here. With him.

Clyde tried to give her time to recover, but his patience wore eventually. He began to get antsy after a few hours of watching her lie there, doing nothing but cry. Admittedly, he did enjoy it at first-seeing her so weak, so docile, because of him-but it eventually grew tiresome. Watching each tear drip down into the puddle became like watching paint dry.

He stood up abruptly. Elora was startled by the motion, flinching before stilling and watching him very carefully. What was he going to do?

“Get up,” he said simply.

Elora froze. She still felt sick, dizzy with pain and the lingering scent of her burning flesh in the bathroom. But why would he care about that? Why should she disobey him, when she knew what would happen?

Yet pride and pain got the better of her again.

“I can’t,” she whimpered. She felt weak. “I hurt. You hurt me.”

The piercing sound of a loud, sudden laugh began to echo through the bathroom. It reminded Elora of the laugh of a hyena. She winced.

“Darling, did you not think that was the point?”

Her expression hardened and her heart thumped in her chest. That was the point. She wanted to say something, but her mouth suddenly got dry.

The man simply grinned. “Get up,” he repeated, but she didn’t. She just laid there, dumbfounded.

He groaned angrily, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Be that way.”

He gathered up her hair in his hand, locked his fingers in a tight fist, and pulled up. Elora yelped and scrambled to get to her feet to relieve the pain, but he didn’t give her the chance; he carelessly dragged her off, out of the bathroom, through the hallway, and into the living room. She screamed and thrashed wildly, her hands desperately trying to push him away as her scalp burned like fire. Again and again, her feet scraped the ground to no avail, kicking and kicking but never able to gain enough traction to stand as she was mercilessly dragged. The man finally dropped her on the floor at the foot of a worn leather couch, releasing his death grip on her hair. Her hands immediately flew up to her head, applying gentle pressure to her scalp to try to ease the burning pain as she looked around the new room.

The living room was barren, like the man had half moved into it then given up. There was a dusty box in the corner, the couch, a worn coffee table, a small stand, and an old TV. Other than that, it was empty, in an eerie way. The aged carpet spanned the floor like an ocean.

The pressure didn’t do much and Elora dropped her hands, still wincing as the man plopped himself on the couch behind her, the leather making a loud crackling noise as he sat. She whipped her head around as her shoulders raised up to her ears instinctively. The man made a sour face, his features twisting into an ugly frown.

“Relax,” he commanded, forcefully pushing her shoulders down. At first, she tried to wiggle away, but that idea was abandoned when he tightened his grip, clearly as a warning. He grabbed the TV remote from the arm of the couch and turned it on. It started on some history channel documentary about cars, but Clyde quickly flipped through channels until he found the local news station.

A grin spread across his face as he read the blue banner spanning across the bottom of the screen. They were just in time.

UP NEXT: CAPE COD GIRL GOES MISSING; DESPERATE MOTHER PLEADS FOR HER RETURN

His hands wandered to Elora’s scalp and began to gently card through her hair. She inhaled sharply, and it took everything she had in her not to immediately shove him off. Somehow the gentleness felt worse than the pain; the false sense of care disgusted her. He was a maniac. He hurt her, he branded her, and now he was sitting on the couch petting her hair, pretending like none of it happened. It didn’t escape her attention how he set her on the floor instead of the couch, below him, like a dog.

The banner was bad enough, but she felt sick to her stomach when the station cut to a reporter sitting at a desk with a picture of her on half of the screen. It was the picture her mom took of her at the orchard last fall. It was candid; she remembered it. She was intently focused on a butterfly off on a tree, ignoring her mom as she snapped the photo. It was one of her favorite pictures of herself. And now, it was plastered all over the news.

The reporter on the TV began to speak. “Tonight, a desperate mother pleads for her missing daughter’s safe return. Elora Larkin, nineteen, of Barnstable county, Massachusetts has been missing since Friday night. She was last seen walking home from her job at Agathangelou’s bakery, wearing khakis, a black t-shirt, and black sneakers. The police have opened a tip line and are offering an unspecified reward for any information that leads to Miss Larkin.”

Elora felt a lurching sensation in her stomach, so visceral she wanted to throw up. That was her. On the news. Gone. Missing.

Behind her, the man chuckled.

“Look at that, baby. You’re all over New England.”

“I’m not your baby,” she snapped, turning around. But her head was spinning. All over New England? It wasn’t the Cape Cod news station on the TV. It wasn’t even a state news channel. It was entirely unfamiliar, the reporter’s face one she’d never seen.. So he’d taken her across state lines, making her chances of being found lower yet.

The man shushed her and put a finger up to her lips. “Watch.” She almost bit him, but decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable punishment that would follow. Besides, they might say something useful, something that could help her. She needed to pay attention.

The screen changed, and a missing persons poster popped up. Hers.

It was up for a minute before it faded away as the reporter came back on the screen.

“Such a sad story. Everyone in the studio is hoping and praying for her safe return. Unfortunately, vigilance is so important in this day and age. Up next, we have a recording of a press conference with the girl’s mother.

The girl’s mother. Her mother. Elora felt her heartbeat thumping in her chest.

And there she was. Jodie was standing at a podium in a building that had to be a police station. Demetrios was standing by her side, offering support by merely being present. While Elora hadn’t seen him cry even once in all the years she’d known him, he now looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Her mom started to speak. She looked so sad. Withered, like the life had been sucked out of her, from fear and overthinking and sleepless nights.

“My daughter-My daughter Elora has been missing since Friday night. She’s got-she’s got blonde hair, and green eyes, and she’s real tall. I’m sure pictures have gone around by now. She was walking home from work and-and then she disappeared. We were supposed to have dinner Sunday and she never came. It was supposed to be her weekend off. I- If someone has her, please, I’m begging you, let her go. Bring her home safe. She’s a good kid, she works hard, she rescues cats in her spare time...she doesn’t deserve this. And Elora, if you’re seeing this, I love you. I love you so much, honey. If you chose to leave, please just tell us you’re okay. It’s okay. You can go see the world, just tell us you’re okay. And if something-something bad happened, we’re gonna find you. I promise, baby, I love you and we’re gonna bring you home. Promise.”

At that point, she set the microphone down and began to cry, tears streaming down her face as she hurried off to an exit, the cameras following her for a few moments. Elora’s heart twisted in knots. Seeing her mom’s face brought her so much joy, yet knowing how worried she had to be made her feel sick with guilt.

But she promised. She promised she’d find her.

“That your mom?”

Elora stilled. He already knew the answer.

"She’s kinda pathetic. Could barely keep it together long enough to tell them about you.”

She went cold. “Stop,” she seethed. Her voice was eerily calm, given her anger.

"Or what?” he replied, twisting her hair up in his hand and giving it another tug.

Elora was silent. There was no or what. She knew that.

The reporter came back on the screen.

“Well, folks, that’s all we have on the case for tonight. Remember to be safe and vigilant. This has been Hannah Brown with News12.”

The man released her hair, picked up the remote, and turned off the T.V.

“Notice how they only talked about you, not me?”

Elora turned her head around. She was crying.

“What?”

He scoffed. “I said, notice how they only ran their mouths about you the whole time. Never said a word about me. You know what that means? They don’t know jack shit about me. They don’t know who you’re with or where you are. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we’re in Connecticut. We crossed state lines twice. They’re never going to find you, you know that?

She tried to hide it, but he could see her expression falling with every word he said, hope beginning to seep out of her. She shook her head vigorously, her bottom lip trembling.

“N-no! No, they will, you’re just crazy! You’re just fucking crazy!”

A scowl formed on his lips. “No, they won’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but in a split second, his hand was gripping tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. Her eyes went wide.

“No one is coming to save you.”

Elora swallowed, fear bright in her eyes. She tried to rip herself away, but the man raked his fingers across the fresh brand on her collarbone, sending her to the ground, keeling in pain.

“We could’ve had a nice evening if you behaved. Listened,” he grumbled, standing and once again grabbing her hair tightly before dragging her off towards the bathroom.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out @badthingshappenbingo

#bad things happen bingo #whump #whump fic #whump writing #my writing #whumper #human whumpee #possessive whumper #creepy whumper #Elora #elora larkin #lady whump #whump blog #psychological whump #physical whump #apartment 307

21 notes · View notes

no-whump-on-main · 3 years

Text

Elora Series-1

hi friends!!

I’ve been meaning/wanting to turn my Elora shorts into a full fledged story for a while now, but never had the proper motivation and ideas to do it, but I’ve decided now is the time to start! I’m super excited to share this with you all :) I’m going to try to post consistently, let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist!

TWs-nothing too bad is happening yet. Drugging and kidnapping, obviously.

Enjoy!

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home, kiddo?”

Elora Larkin gave a wry smile from behind the register of Agathangelou’s, the local, well-loved bakery native to Cape Cod. She’d gotten her very first job here as a bright-eyed sixteen year old with trouble telling sugar from salt, but over the past three and a half years, her boss and the owner, Demetrios Agathangelou, had the pleasure of watching her flourish into not only a hell of a good baker, but also a confident, well-adjusted adult.

Elora was a tall, willowy woman, with long blonde hair that fell to the small of her back in waves. Her eyes were a deep shade of green, complimented by a few freckles that dotted her rounded facial features. Her body language seemed to nearly constantly be open and friendly.

Demetrios was an older man, with graying hair, bright blue eyes, and lines across his face that made him look like he was always smiling, which wasn’t far from the truth. If anyone in his life were asked to describe him in one word, it would undoubtedly be kind. He cared for his family and his employees above all else, far above any concerns of profit or productivity. The incredible workplace he’d created through his gentle nature, though, meant that there were very few worries about any of that nonsense, anyways. They made plenty of money to keep everyone afloat, with enough left over to buy fancy new machines that made Elora extra excited to come in to work every once in a while.

His kindness was why he always asked her if she’d like to be driven home after her evening shifts like clockwork. She’d bought a small cottage just a mile down the road only a few months ago, and ever since then, she’d begun walking to and from work, both for the joy of the outdoors and to cut down on her carbon footprint. Before then, her mom would drive her every day, always stopping in for a few minutes to greet Demetrios. Their connection was how Elora got the job in the first place; his wife, Lucia, worked as a neonatal nurse at the local hospital along with Elora’s mother, Jodie.

Elora’s walking habit always worried Demetrios, especially when she worked late and it was dark by the time she clocked out. She always passed on his offers to drive her home, though, despite his insistence. She was a stubborn girl, set in her ways; that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

She wiped her hands off on her apron before untying it behind her back, locking up the register and stepping out from behind the counter.

“I’m okay, Dima. Promise.”

Demetrios gave her a look that was almost fatherly, resisting the urge to put his hands on his hips. Elora grabbed her backpack from the break room and put her apron away in it, her grin cracking wider at his expression.

“Oh, come on. It’s nice out. Autumn breeze and everything.”

Demetrios simply shook his head at her, smiling back.

“Go home, you mule. See you Monday.”

Elora grinned. She was excited to have the upcoming weekend off; she usually worked a Saturday or Sunday shift, at least, but Demetrios had insisted on a nice long break, and she was looking forward to it now that she had gotten used to the idea of it. She already had plans; tomorrow she was going to go down to the beach and read out there all day, and Sunday, she’d go over to her mom’s for dinner.

“See you Monday.”

She slipped out of the front door of the charming bakery, giving one last wave through the window before she headed off towards her home.

The streets were just as quiet as usual, the sidewalk covered in leaves that crunched under her feet as she set on home. When she’d first moved, going home alone at night had unnerved her, but now, she was familiar enough with the whole route that she didn’t have a single worry. It was the same old walk every morning and night she worked. Nothing was ever wrong.

And she was right-tonight, as usual, nothing was wrong. Following a few minutes of walking, she could see her cottage at the end of the road after taking her normal right turn.

Nothing was out of the ordinary until a car she didn’t recognize started following behind her. She looked over her shoulder, the bright headlights shining right at her.

Okay, that was weird, but not too weird. Maybe they’re just lost. Oh! Or maybe they’re the one who moved into that house up on North street. That would make sense.

The car was just a small black sedan, anyways. It looked shabby, and Elora really had no reason to fear it. She turned her head back in front of herself, continuing to walk on like normal. It was probably better to mind her business, anyways. She didn’t want to be rude. She kept on going, shaking off any fears she had.

Just a few seconds later, she heard the car abruptly break, and the driver’s side door opened with a pop. She whipped around, turning on the flashlight on her phone and pointing it towards the car. Instinctually, a strong pulse of magic flowed and sat around her fingertips, its energy buzzing beneath her skin.

“Hello?” She called into the night, ready to change from the flashlight to the phone app to dial 911 in all but an instant.

There was dead silence. A figure stood there, unmoving, their features indiscernible in the low light. Yep, okay, time to call the police, time to run-

She didn’t have enough time to get past the nine before they pounced.

Elora screamed at the top of her lungs as her phone was knocked out of her hand. The attacker tried to wrap an arm around her neck, but she shoved it off, muttering a spell under her breath that sent a shockwave of sharp pain through them. She winced at the sound of the load groan of pain that resulted, guilt eating her.

Magic isn’t supposed to be used like this. But she-there isn’t another choice, is there?

The attacker had already picked up her dropped phone, leaving her with no choice but to turn on her heel and sprint back towards the bakery. It was a ten minute walk from this point, but she could make it a two minute run.

Unfortunately, the attacker was right back behind her in seconds. Frustrated by their initial failure, they lunged at Elora, their weight sending the both of them tumbling to the ground. Elora screamed gain, her cry sharp in the silence of the night.

Before she could even think of what to do next, they flipped Elora over, straddling her waist. She kicked and clawed at their face with her nails, but in one swift movement, they pinned both of her arms against her sides by leaning down and draping one large arm across her upper body, applying all the force they could. Without hesitation, they used their free hand to hold a rag they’d been carrying since they got out of the car to her face, their fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

Elora thrashed with everything she had, desperate to get away. They weren’t far from the bakery; if she could just get up, she’d have a fighting chance…

The rag smelled like chemicals. She knew instantly that this was bad, really bad. She held her breath while kicking and trying to utter spells that were too muffled by the fabric to have any effect. She could only resist breathing for so long, though; after hardly half a minute, her body forced her to gasp for air, taking the chloroform soaked into the rag deep into her lungs.

Her thrashing stopped a few moments later. And a few moments after that, she was out.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas

#elora #elora larkin #new series #elora series #whump #whump fic #whump oc #oc writing #super excited to be starting this #i am so nervous #lady whump #physical whump #psychological whump #kidnapping #kidnapping fic #tw drugging #tw kidnapping

9 notes · View notes