Aus, UK, Can, Oz – Traumatic Experience/Being Tied Up
anonymous
May 5 2011, 04:32:48 UTC
Not sure if I’m doing this right, but to be clear the preferred characters are: Austria, England, Canada and/or Australia
I would like to see the four mentioned nations involved in a traumatic experience where they’ve been tied up. Example; a car-jacking where one of the nations is tied up and thrown into the trunk. Or a bank robbery turned hostage situation. Or a kidnapping where they’re locked away somewhere.
I don’t want to see rape; there can be attempted rape and fear of rape, but no actual rape. I want to read more about the psychological aspect of the experience. Focus on their fear; fear of not know what will happen to them, fear that they have no control when they realize can’t remove their bindings, fear that they may never be found alive.
I would also like to see the nation of choice being rescued/freed by any other nation so we can see/feel their relief when they realize they’re safe.
Bonus: Be creative with their bindings; rope, duct-tape, electrical cord, whatever. Also, you can be as creative as you like regarding the traumatic situations.
Artfills, multi-fills, multi-oneshots, microfills; they’re all welcomed.
Oftentimes Canada hated the fact that he looked like America. At other times he found his invisibleness and forgettable nature to be a burden. The times Canada hated the most was when the two instances collided, and people thought he was America and didn’t take notice of what he said. Times like now, in fact.
'Look. I'm not Alfred Jones, eh? I'm Canada-ian. I can't help you!'
Canada wondered if he was shouting (no louder than America talking, though) into an empty room. Maybe the men (plural? Singular? Women, even? He didn't know) had left him and forgotten he was there. Maybe they would never return, just leave him here to fade away to nothing. Even more nothing. Would anybody notice he was gone? Cuba, America, France, England? How many months would it be before any of those stupid jerks remembered him for long enough to search for him?
'Hey, kidnappers! I'm still here!' He tugged at the duct tape tying him to the pole. Just like the last time, it wouldn't budge. 'Hey! Don't forget about me!'
Canada was vaguely pleased when he felt a gag get put over his mouth. At least they had heard him. He hadn't been forgotten, yet.
He heard a pair of footsteps wander off, followed by a door opening and closing, the sound echoing around a large empty area. Canada shook his head wildly, trying to remove the blindfold. It didn't budge. He started shouting again, trying to get any sound past the gag. The faint sound didn't even reach the walls to bounce and echo.
'No! NO!' Canada tried to scream, but the sound was too muffled to make any difference. He wanted to collapse, but the tape around his arms and legs and waist kept him upright and stopped him from falling to the ground. The only thing he managed to do was make his blindfold a bit damper, but that didn't help him at all. He slumped against the bonds and tried to get his breath back.
After a minor breakdown, Canada decided he would get out of here. He strained his muscles as he pulled at the tape, trying to escape it. It would have to give eventually! He gave up when his muscles screamed so much he felt he would be sick. Then he started sobbing again. He would never be found. He would never get out. Would the kidnappers even come back? What would they do when they realised he wasn't America? He didn't even try to fool himself that they might just let him go. The best possible outcome he could hope for would be a bullet and a (very) shallow grave. He could survive that.
He tried not to think of the worst. Weighted down and tossed in the river to drown, again and again and again. Buried so deep he couldn't dig his way out, placed in a box or wrapped in tarp. Burnt.
He couldn't prevent the bile from rising up the back of his throat at the last thought, memory. He tried to spit it out only for it to get trapped on his gag, making the nausea worse.
He vomited, sobbing as the chunks caught on the gag, and what made it free landed on his feet. He flopped his head forward and just left it hanging there, not bothering to move, caught in his depression.
He didn't know how many hours he'd been hanging there before he heard more footsteps coming across the floor towards him. He tilted his head up slightly. More than one person. Who..?
There was a slight gasp as he lifted his head. Canada frowned; that gasp almost sounded familiar. A large hand tugged the gag down from his mouth and a bottle was placed against his lips. 'Drink.' The voice was gruff yet familiar. Canada almost couldn't believe it might be true.
'Sweden?' The blindfold was tugged off his eyes, and after a few moments blurriness, during which a pair of glasses was put over his eyes, he found himself staring at the large nation.
'Y’ done with th’ tape?' Sweden glanced down, to where Canada could now feel a tugging at his clothes, which was identified as Finland cutting away at the tape with a small knife.
'Nearly!'
Canada found himself looking between the two. Never in his entire life had he been happier to see them. And how had he ever thought Sweden to be scary?
'How..?'
'Ah! Sealand was looking for you, and saw you being attacked by some strange men, then came to get us.' Finland finally finished cutting the bonds, leaving Canada to sag into Sweden’s strong grip as his numb legs refused to work.
'I'll have to thank Sealand later.' Canada mumbled, as the other two helped him from the building.
Oh, this was good. I liked this a lot. Nice choice on who saved him, too. Wasn’t expecting Sweden and Finland to be honest, but the fact that Sealand witnessed Canada being kidnapped was a very nice touch.
Enjoyed this immensely, author-anon. Thank you very much.
Austria silently cursed his lacking sense of direction. If he hadn't been forced to stop and ask for directions, he would never have been caught up in the- He grit his teeth as the car jolted over a pot-hole -the robbery. Of course, the robbers might have made their get away WITHOUT taking a hostage if the police hadn't surprised everyone and shown up.
But there was no use dwelling on these things. He flexed his hands, trying to get the blood to circulate properly. He could get almost no movement past the thin plastic ties that were digging painfully into skin. Hopefully -Ah! He would have to have a talk with Australia about these roads- the too tight binds wouldn't damage his hands. He hated being useless, and even when he had been confined to a chair he had still been able to write and play his piano. He shuddered as he remembered that time, and flexed his hands harder. He refused to become helpless again! He kicked out at the lid of the boot, trying to force it open. Why was he always so weak? He placed both feet against the lid and pushed with all his might. For once he needed to protect himself, and he still couldn't. H-
He was thrown across the boot as the car went around a steep curve and ran onto gravel. What if they crashed? Austria forced his breathing to remain calm, but couldn't prevent a hitch at the thought. He could picture the car becoming a crumpled mess against the trunk of a tree, and he wouldn't even have a seatbelt to protect him. Maybe his back would break, and he'd not only have useless hands, but useless legs as well. He’d have to ask Hungary to dig his old chair out of the attic! His closed his eyes and forced a breath out. His country was going well, his economy was strong; he'd heal soon, if something did happen.
He pulled his legs up to his chest in an attempt to protect himself from the inevitable crash, and then the road smoothed out again and he relaxed. How long had he been trapped in here for, anyway? Time seemed to be meaningless in the enclosed, dusty space. This small, dark area. Austria took a deep breath and coughed as dust entered his lungs. He would not be kept here forever! He kicked against the lid until he exhausted himself.
The car would have to stop sometime, Austria reassured himself. But then what would happen? Would they let him out of the car, or just leave him in the car to be found by the police or a passerby, if at all. What if nobody found him? He would just stay in this small area and die of dehydration and starvation. Or maybe he would bake, in the heat of the Australian summer. His corpse would be nothing but a mummified husk, how long would it take to get better from that? He could feel the sweat pool beneath him and in his armpits, trickling down his face and stinging his eyes. He gasped and coughed again. Baked alive like he was in a giant oven. He shuddered at the thought and the ima-
Then the car stopped with an abrupt jolt that threw Austria against the back seat of the car and made him hit his head. It was still idling, but the movement had ceased. Austria pushed himself further towards the back of the boot, getting ready to fight off his abductors as soon as they came for him, whatever they planned on doing. He tensed as the lock clicked and blinding light crept into the dark interior. He winced and closed his eyes against it, but opened them when he felt hands beneath his armpits pulling at him.
He opened his mouth to shout, but felt a hand covering it. 'Shhh' a voice hissed into his ear. 'I'm getting ya out.'
Austria frowned. That was nation-speak, but it was definitely not Australia whose thin arms were around him and dragging him out. He finally got his legs into gear and pushed himself over the lip of the boot.
He stared at the small old man, a question on his lips which he dare not voice for fear of arousing the other men’s attention (Not that they would have been able to hear him above their own astonished shouts of "where's your phone!?" and "it's a fuckin’ yowie!"), and allowed himself to be pulled into the surrounding bushland. A large knife was pulled from... somewhere, and the man turned Austria around. Austria held his breath, and told himself not to be stupid; the other man wouldn't hurt him. The knife was slipped between his wrists and his bonds were cut, then rough calloused hands were rubbing his own soft ones, helping the blood to flow. 'Don't tell Australia y'saw me.'
'Who are you?' Austria questioned the man, who just grinned back at him and shook his head.
Austria tried again. 'I'm Austria'
'Ah!' The man’s grin got larger. Austria was starting to see a resemblance between him and Australia. 'Inspector Rex!'
Austria sighed, definitely one of Australia's, and turned back to look at the road. Whatever had distracted the men seemed to be gone, as was the car, which was pulling off into the distance. When he turned back to the man, all that was there was a water bottle and a mobile phone.
Oh, Austria. You are most certainly taking a beating today. Being baked alive in a hot car would take some time to recover from, huh? So, a yowie stopped the robbers dead in their tracks, huh? I liked that. Definitely would have scared the shit out of them.
I’m a little confused, though. Who was this Inspector Rex?
Sorry about the refernce, Aussie Anon was having a cultural moment. Inspector Rex is an Austrian show about a police dog, which is repeated constantly on an Australian tv station, and quite popular. Therefore, Austria= Inspector (kommisar) rex.
Traumatic Experience – Austria 1a/1
anonymous
May 9 2011, 06:09:56 UTC
AN: Hi there! Second anon is back. It was kinda meant to be a 2 page oneshot, but it kinda got away from me. I don’t know what happened, to tell you the truth. No significant warnings to speak off. Of course, other than Austria being put through a traumatic experience. And, maybe a small hint of the pairing Germany/Austria, but there are no real defined pairings in this. Well, I hope you like it, OP~ -
It was funny how a life of routine could change in an instant.
Austria was in the process of walking to his car after attending a meeting that went late into the night. He had walked the same path many times before, so thought little of it as he had encountered no incident before.
Until tonight.
He was halfway across the darkened car lot when he heard the faint sound of feet hitting the gravelled ground at a running pace. It was quiet at first, off in the distance, but quickly grew in volume. On reflex, Austria glanced over his shoulder just in order to give a curious look. He saw a shadow and a glint of something metal.
A moment later he felt a heavy weight fall over his back of his shoulders, so sudden that he dropped his folders and stumbled forward, the force causing his glasses to slip from his nose and tumble to the ground. He felt something close around his throat and his upper arm, and he was abruptly turned around in the opposite direction of where he was walking.
He was being dragged to the other corner of the parking lot.
“Stop it!” Austria called out on reflex, immediately starting to struggle against whoever it was that was holding him.
“Shut up!” a deep and unfamiliar voice hissed at him, and lifted something into his line of sight.
A knife. A filleting kitchen knife, to be exact.
“What are you doing?” Austria demanded loudly as he tugged strongly on the arm around his throat, his eyes never straying away from the knife in front of him.
The man holding him grunted, lifting the hand holding the knife and pressed it under his chin, causing Austria to tilt his head back to try to avoid it. However, by doing so the back of his head rested on his attacker’s shoulder and the man hissed warningly in his ear.
“Move and I’ll slit your throat.”
“What do you want?” Austria asked as he momentarily ceased in his struggles. “I don’t have any money on me.”
“Shut up!” the man snarled as he continued in dragging him. “Shut the fuck up!”
Austria was suddenly whipped around and was pushed forward. He felt his cheek hit the cool, flat surface of a car -certainly not his car-, a hand on the back of his head pushing him down - and keeping him there. He grunted when he felt his arm roughly, painfully being pulled behind him, pinned against his back. The filthy hand on his head disappeared, only to grab his other arm, mimicking the motion.
His arms were pulled back, his wrists crossed over against the small of his back. They were being held there with one large, callous hand, and no matter how hard he tugged, he couldn’t loosen the man’s grip.
No, he needed his hands to escape.
Austria tried to push back against his assailant, but he was in a vulnerable position, no leverage for him to retaliate and he was soon restrained...by the man’s body pressing against his, one of the man’s legs between his.
Oh God, he wasn’t planning to...?
A sickening feeling of dread appeared in the pit of his stomach when he felt something being wrapped around his wrists. A rope of plastic fibres; harsh against the fragile skin of his wrists. The rope was wound in a cross like manner around his wrists; alternating between vertical bindings followed by horizontal, the interlocking layers kept a firm grip.
The finishing knot was just as secure. He couldn’t move his hands at all.
He was making quite a bit of noise, hoping that maybe someone would stumble upon them and his attacker would get nervous and run off. But no one seemed to be around. No one came for him. The man was yelling at him, spitting and swearing with a rather limited vocabulary, but it wasn’t until he felt something cool and sharp press against the back of his throat did Austria stop in his struggles.
“I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll fucking cut your throat!”
I would like to see the four mentioned nations involved in a traumatic experience where they’ve been tied up. Example; a car-jacking where one of the nations is tied up and thrown into the trunk. Or a bank robbery turned hostage situation. Or a kidnapping where they’re locked away somewhere.
I don’t want to see rape; there can be attempted rape and fear of rape, but no actual rape. I want to read more about the psychological aspect of the experience. Focus on their fear; fear of not know what will happen to them, fear that they have no control when they realize can’t remove their bindings, fear that they may never be found alive.
I would also like to see the nation of choice being rescued/freed by any other nation so we can see/feel their relief when they realize they’re safe.
Bonus: Be creative with their bindings; rope, duct-tape, electrical cord, whatever. Also, you can be as creative as you like regarding the traumatic situations.
Artfills, multi-fills, multi-oneshots, microfills; they’re all welcomed.
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'Look. I'm not Alfred Jones, eh? I'm Canada-ian. I can't help you!'
Canada wondered if he was shouting (no louder than America talking, though) into an empty room. Maybe the men (plural? Singular? Women, even? He didn't know) had left him and forgotten he was there. Maybe they would never return, just leave him here to fade away to nothing. Even more nothing. Would anybody notice he was gone? Cuba, America, France, England? How many months would it be before any of those stupid jerks remembered him for long enough to search for him?
'Hey, kidnappers! I'm still here!' He tugged at the duct tape tying him to the pole. Just like the last time, it wouldn't budge. 'Hey! Don't forget about me!'
Canada was vaguely pleased when he felt a gag get put over his mouth. At least they had heard him. He hadn't been forgotten, yet.
He heard a pair of footsteps wander off, followed by a door opening and closing, the sound echoing around a large empty area. Canada shook his head wildly, trying to remove the blindfold. It didn't budge. He started shouting again, trying to get any sound past the gag. The faint sound didn't even reach the walls to bounce and echo.
'No! NO!' Canada tried to scream, but the sound was too muffled to make any difference. He wanted to collapse, but the tape around his arms and legs and waist kept him upright and stopped him from falling to the ground. The only thing he managed to do was make his blindfold a bit damper, but that didn't help him at all. He slumped against the bonds and tried to get his breath back.
After a minor breakdown, Canada decided he would get out of here. He strained his muscles as he pulled at the tape, trying to escape it. It would have to give eventually! He gave up when his muscles screamed so much he felt he would be sick. Then he started sobbing again. He would never be found. He would never get out. Would the kidnappers even come back? What would they do when they realised he wasn't America? He didn't even try to fool himself that they might just let him go. The best possible outcome he could hope for would be a bullet and a (very) shallow grave. He could survive that.
He tried not to think of the worst. Weighted down and tossed in the river to drown, again and again and again. Buried so deep he couldn't dig his way out, placed in a box or wrapped in tarp. Burnt.
He couldn't prevent the bile from rising up the back of his throat at the last thought, memory. He tried to spit it out only for it to get trapped on his gag, making the nausea worse.
He vomited, sobbing as the chunks caught on the gag, and what made it free landed on his feet. He flopped his head forward and just left it hanging there, not bothering to move, caught in his depression.
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There was a slight gasp as he lifted his head. Canada frowned; that gasp almost sounded familiar. A large hand tugged the gag down from his mouth and a bottle was placed against his lips. 'Drink.' The voice was gruff yet familiar. Canada almost couldn't believe it might be true.
'Sweden?' The blindfold was tugged off his eyes, and after a few moments blurriness, during which a pair of glasses was put over his eyes, he found himself staring at the large nation.
'Y’ done with th’ tape?' Sweden glanced down, to where Canada could now feel a tugging at his clothes, which was identified as Finland cutting away at the tape with a small knife.
'Nearly!'
Canada found himself looking between the two. Never in his entire life had he been happier to see them. And how had he ever thought Sweden to be scary?
'How..?'
'Ah! Sealand was looking for you, and saw you being attacked by some strange men, then came to get us.' Finland finally finished cutting the bonds, leaving Canada to sag into Sweden’s strong grip as his numb legs refused to work.
'I'll have to thank Sealand later.' Canada mumbled, as the other two helped him from the building.
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Enjoyed this immensely, author-anon. Thank you very much.
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Austria silently cursed his lacking sense of direction. If he hadn't been forced to stop and ask for directions, he would never have been caught up in the- He grit his teeth as the car jolted over a pot-hole -the robbery. Of course, the robbers might have made their get away WITHOUT taking a hostage if the police hadn't surprised everyone and shown up.
But there was no use dwelling on these things. He flexed his hands, trying to get the blood to circulate properly. He could get almost no movement past the thin plastic ties that were digging painfully into skin. Hopefully -Ah! He would have to have a talk with Australia about these roads- the too tight binds wouldn't damage his hands. He hated being useless, and even when he had been confined to a chair he had still been able to write and play his piano. He shuddered as he remembered that time, and flexed his hands harder. He refused to become helpless again! He kicked out at the lid of the boot, trying to force it open. Why was he always so weak? He placed both feet against the lid and pushed with all his might. For once he needed to protect himself, and he still couldn't. H-
He was thrown across the boot as the car went around a steep curve and ran onto gravel. What if they crashed? Austria forced his breathing to remain calm, but couldn't prevent a hitch at the thought. He could picture the car becoming a crumpled mess against the trunk of a tree, and he wouldn't even have a seatbelt to protect him. Maybe his back would break, and he'd not only have useless hands, but useless legs as well. He’d have to ask Hungary to dig his old chair out of the attic! His closed his eyes and forced a breath out. His country was going well, his economy was strong; he'd heal soon, if something did happen.
He pulled his legs up to his chest in an attempt to protect himself from the inevitable crash, and then the road smoothed out again and he relaxed. How long had he been trapped in here for, anyway? Time seemed to be meaningless in the enclosed, dusty space. This small, dark area. Austria took a deep breath and coughed as dust entered his lungs. He would not be kept here forever! He kicked against the lid until he exhausted himself.
The car would have to stop sometime, Austria reassured himself. But then what would happen? Would they let him out of the car, or just leave him in the car to be found by the police or a passerby, if at all. What if nobody found him? He would just stay in this small area and die of dehydration and starvation. Or maybe he would bake, in the heat of the Australian summer. His corpse would be nothing but a mummified husk, how long would it take to get better from that? He could feel the sweat pool beneath him and in his armpits, trickling down his face and stinging his eyes. He gasped and coughed again. Baked alive like he was in a giant oven. He shuddered at the thought and the ima-
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He opened his mouth to shout, but felt a hand covering it. 'Shhh' a voice hissed into his ear. 'I'm getting ya out.'
Austria frowned. That was nation-speak, but it was definitely not Australia whose thin arms were around him and dragging him out. He finally got his legs into gear and pushed himself over the lip of the boot.
He stared at the small old man, a question on his lips which he dare not voice for fear of arousing the other men’s attention (Not that they would have been able to hear him above their own astonished shouts of "where's your phone!?" and "it's a fuckin’ yowie!"), and allowed himself to be pulled into the surrounding bushland. A large knife was pulled from... somewhere, and the man turned Austria around. Austria held his breath, and told himself not to be stupid; the other man wouldn't hurt him. The knife was slipped between his wrists and his bonds were cut, then rough calloused hands were rubbing his own soft ones, helping the blood to flow. 'Don't tell Australia y'saw me.'
'Who are you?' Austria questioned the man, who just grinned back at him and shook his head.
Austria tried again. 'I'm Austria'
'Ah!' The man’s grin got larger. Austria was starting to see a resemblance between him and Australia. 'Inspector Rex!'
Austria sighed, definitely one of Australia's, and turned back to look at the road. Whatever had distracted the men seemed to be gone, as was the car, which was pulling off into the distance. When he turned back to the man, all that was there was a water bottle and a mobile phone.
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I’m a little confused, though. Who was this Inspector Rex?
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-
It was funny how a life of routine could change in an instant.
Austria was in the process of walking to his car after attending a meeting that went late into the night. He had walked the same path many times before, so thought little of it as he had encountered no incident before.
Until tonight.
He was halfway across the darkened car lot when he heard the faint sound of feet hitting the gravelled ground at a running pace. It was quiet at first, off in the distance, but quickly grew in volume. On reflex, Austria glanced over his shoulder just in order to give a curious look. He saw a shadow and a glint of something metal.
A moment later he felt a heavy weight fall over his back of his shoulders, so sudden that he dropped his folders and stumbled forward, the force causing his glasses to slip from his nose and tumble to the ground. He felt something close around his throat and his upper arm, and he was abruptly turned around in the opposite direction of where he was walking.
He was being dragged to the other corner of the parking lot.
“Stop it!” Austria called out on reflex, immediately starting to struggle against whoever it was that was holding him.
“Shut up!” a deep and unfamiliar voice hissed at him, and lifted something into his line of sight.
A knife. A filleting kitchen knife, to be exact.
“What are you doing?” Austria demanded loudly as he tugged strongly on the arm around his throat, his eyes never straying away from the knife in front of him.
The man holding him grunted, lifting the hand holding the knife and pressed it under his chin, causing Austria to tilt his head back to try to avoid it. However, by doing so the back of his head rested on his attacker’s shoulder and the man hissed warningly in his ear.
“Move and I’ll slit your throat.”
“What do you want?” Austria asked as he momentarily ceased in his struggles. “I don’t have any money on me.”
“Shut up!” the man snarled as he continued in dragging him. “Shut the fuck up!”
Austria was suddenly whipped around and was pushed forward. He felt his cheek hit the cool, flat surface of a car -certainly not his car-, a hand on the back of his head pushing him down - and keeping him there. He grunted when he felt his arm roughly, painfully being pulled behind him, pinned against his back. The filthy hand on his head disappeared, only to grab his other arm, mimicking the motion.
His arms were pulled back, his wrists crossed over against the small of his back. They were being held there with one large, callous hand, and no matter how hard he tugged, he couldn’t loosen the man’s grip.
No, he needed his hands to escape.
Austria tried to push back against his assailant, but he was in a vulnerable position, no leverage for him to retaliate and he was soon restrained...by the man’s body pressing against his, one of the man’s legs between his.
Oh God, he wasn’t planning to...?
A sickening feeling of dread appeared in the pit of his stomach when he felt something being wrapped around his wrists. A rope of plastic fibres; harsh against the fragile skin of his wrists. The rope was wound in a cross like manner around his wrists; alternating between vertical bindings followed by horizontal, the interlocking layers kept a firm grip.
The finishing knot was just as secure. He couldn’t move his hands at all.
He was making quite a bit of noise, hoping that maybe someone would stumble upon them and his attacker would get nervous and run off. But no one seemed to be around. No one came for him. The man was yelling at him, spitting and swearing with a rather limited vocabulary, but it wasn’t until he felt something cool and sharp press against the back of his throat did Austria stop in his struggles.
“I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll fucking cut your throat!”
The knife, Austria realized. He still had it.
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