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MCU Flashfic Meme - Weekly Prompts!
Week 7 - A story about a journey
Week 7 - A story about a journey
Here we go:
A story about a journey.
This prompt runs until next Friday, so pack your bags and hit the road!
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2016-02-19 09:59 am (UTC)
Captain America (Movies) Captive Prince (Books)
Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson
Captive Prince AU, Slave fic, Torture, Hurt/comfort
He woke at the touch of metal to his skin, and through slitted eyes saw dark figures surrounding him.
In an instant he kicked out at the knees of the closest men and swung his fist wildly, revelling in the grunts of pain as he struck true, but there were five of them and one of him, and it only took a blow to the fever-swollen flesh of his ruined arm for the fight to leave him in a dizzying rush of pain.
James slumped back, insensate as the blood roared in his ears and the bile rose in his throat. A sharp kick to his side had him turning to face the floor, the wood muffling his hoarse yell when a booted foot stamped down on the worst of the bruising on his ribs. On his next exhale red-tinged bile sputtered down his chin, stinging against the cuts on his face. A knee to his back had his face pressing into it, more pressure on his legs and uninjured arm as the men pinned him down. He struggled uselessly, trying to buck the weight from his back and stopping short when a hand gripped his hair tightly and slammed his face against the floor until he was blinded by blood.
By the time the circle of metal closed around his neck, it only registered as a faint touch of cold among the rest of the blazing agony. There was more metal: his wrist, his ankles, and then, sickeningly, the wrist of the ruined arm. For a few seconds it felt blessedly cool against his overheated flesh, but soon that too turned to pain; he heard the jangling of chains out of sight, and then his wrists were being tugged up above his head and his neck was being raised up along with them, while his feet remained secured to the floor. By the time the chains stopped moving his body was pulled taut, every slight movement sending another shudder of agony rippling through him.
The Kors were known for their barbed weaponry. The flesh of his arm had been cleaved by the spear meant for Steven's throat. The head of the spear had had curved hooks along the bottom edge, so that it could not be pulled cleanly free; Bucky could feel the cool metal shifting within the gristle of his arm at every slight move.
He remembered pushing Steven aside, remembered the shock of white hot pain as the spear pierced his arm, remembered falling and Steven reaching for him and the roiling mass of fighting men separating them. He remembered the weight of their boots on his armour, the thick sucking mud on his skin and the taste of blood in his mouth.
The space between then and now was a black abyss. There had been pain, and sound, but beyond that he could not recall.
He blinked the blood from his lashes and looked at his captors through the eye that had not yet swollen shut.
"Where am I?" he asked, forcing his voice into steadiness.
One of the men stepped forward, a thick wooden stick held in their hand, face shadowed in the dim candlelight.
"The Navarian dog thinks that it can ask questions," the man sneered. In an instant he lashed out, cracking the stick down on James' knee. His leg buckled, forcing his arms to take his weight, the collar on his neck digging into his throat and choking him. He did not have the air to scream. Hot blood dripped down his back; the wound had reopened.
It took James several long seconds to regain his footing, mind reeling as he gasped for air. He had known it the moment his eyes had opened, but that did not stop the wave of dread from rolling over him at the confirmation of his fears. The man had the harsh accent of a Korsian soldier; James had been captured by the enemy.
The man stepped in close again, scraping the thicker end of the wooden stick in a line up James's unclothed chest as it heaved for breath. James stared resolutely back, unblinking. After a long moment, the man stepped back.
"Leave him," he said. "If he survives...he will wish that he had not."
The men left the cramped room -- the cell. The last of them doused the candle.
James was left in the darkness, alone, the chains he was bound with rattling faintly with every moment of his body.
He did not sleep. Could not, for the collar on his neck prevented him from lowering his head without putting pressure on his throat, and he could not take the weight from his aching legs unless he was willing to bear the agony as his wounded arm was pulled taut.
But he was not fully awake, either; in the pitch darkness it was hard to tell anything beyond the constant pain and the strange rocking motion of the room around him, his body consumed by a battle of ice and fire, his arm the battleground upon which they fought.
It was impossible to tell the passage of time. The men did not return. James received no food, no water. His lips cracked, and he licked the blood from them. His arm throbbed with agony, and then was numb. Now he could barely feel it at all.
He had killed a great many Korsian men on the battlefield, and this was his punishment: a long slow agonising death, whether from the fever or the infection or the lack of water,
or all three.
He closed his eyes, and waited for death to take him.
His eyes rasped open at the faint creak of the door opening. There were footsteps, and the sound of breathing, nearly deafening compared to the quiet of before, but whoever they were they seemingly did not want to be seen; the wall torch remained unlit. He heard their sharp intake of breath as the foul stench of blood and piss and sickness washed over them, but they were not deterred from their mission.
James felt the flow of air as they passed behind him. The chains jangled, momentarily tightening and then relaxing entirely, unmoored from the hooks they had been fastened to. The sudden loss of what had been keeping him upright for what felt like months sent James to his knees, and then his side, as his overwrought body gave way. Dimly, through the rush of pain, he registered that the man had walked towards his prone body and was know kneeling beside him.
Shuddering with the growing agony as his muscles came back to life, James did not have the energy to flinch away when their hand touched his brow, skin cool against his fever-wrought flesh. It took all of his willpower not to lean into the sensation.
"How long have they kept you like this?" the man asked quietly.
It took James several seconds to realise that he was being addressed. It did not matter; his mouth was too dry to speak.
The man's touch pulled away. There was the sound of liquid sloshing, and then a cork pulled free. A second later there was something pressed to James' mouth, tilted until water flowed over his lips. He licked at it carefully, and then opened his mouth and began to swallow desperately; this might be the only water he received. Weak as he was, he could not raise his head from the awkward angle it lay at, and after a few seconds he choked. The man's hand carefully slid around the back of James' neck, fingers brushing the edge of the collar, before they gently lifted his head and brought the water back to his lips.
"Easy, easy now; not too fast," they warned. After a few more seconds they pulled the water away. James growled at the loss.
"Any more will make you sick," the man murmured. "But I will bring you more soon. They should--" his voice sharpened, "they should not have kept you like this. If I had known, I would have stopped them."
"Where--" James tried, swallowed, attempted once more. "Where am I?"
"We're on a ship," said the man. "Headed to Luhara for resupply, and then on to Kors."
To Kors. To the heart of the enemy. James shuddered. He knew the rumours, of the way they treated people with collars such as the one they had affixed to him; he had heard of the arenas that they fought in, that they were forced to fuck in, nothing like the gentle ways the Navars treated their own slaves. And if that was how the Korsians treated slaves from their own land, James did not want to find out what they would do to a Navarian prisoner, no less a man who had killed a great many of their men in battle.
"Please," James murmured, reaching out with his uninjured arm. His fingers closed around cloth. He held it as tight as he was able to, weak as he was. "Let me die."
The man inhaled sharply. "I cannot," he said after a tense pause, though he sounded conflicted. "I swore an oath." He exhaled heavily, and pulled away, out of James' grasp.
"Then you should know the name of the man that you have condemned to Hell," James ground out past the tightness in his throat. "I am no slave. My name is James."
The man rose to his feet. "I will be back soon, James," he said. "With food and water, and supplies to treat your wounds."
Now the man was a silhouette in the doorway, faintly outlined in the darkness. He turned back, for a moment.
"My name is Samuel," he said quietly, "and I cannot let you die."
Then he was gone, and James was alone once more.
So I read the first Captive Prince book in one sitting (when I really should have caught up on sleep instead!) - slave fic pretty much hits all my hurt/comfort buttons when done well, and now I've been inspired to try and figure out my own version for this AU, so: another AU added to the list of things I wish I had time to dedicate myself to writing! Tumblr url is the same as here.
2016-02-19 10:02 pm (UTC)
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2016-03-17 08:03 pm (UTC)
I have been meaning to comment on this earlier. This is intriguing and a really great start!
I have never heard of 'Captive Prince' before I read this and it got me curious. So I downloaded a sample of the first book to read. And damn why have I never heard of this book? So I want to thank you for introducing me to it. And do please continue with this AU if you can ( I know you have a full plate of AUs ideas already). I'd like to read more of what you come up with.
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2016-03-18 10:23 pm (UTC)
Thank you; this is really encouraging to hear. I'm glad that you're liking Captive Prince - it was the first non-fanfic thing that I'd read in a while, and I was captivated (ha!) pretty much instantly! Since I started plotting this AU out I kind of slipped into shipping T'Challa/Bucky, so this fic is probably going to be Sam/Bucky/T'Challa, but we'll see.
It's funny; I'd planned to write each week for this meme, to help get me back into writing after not doing it for over a year, but it got to the point where it was spawning too many new fic ideas so I couldn't focus on just one thing. I think now I'm probably only going to write something for the meme if I can fit it into the things I currently have in progress, otherwise the AU ideas are just gonna keep piling up until I'm buried!
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