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squishablesunbeam · 3 months

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Consequence of Action: Collared

This whole thing took on a bit of an outside perspective. Not sure why my brain did that but I hope you like! Continued bits from Consequence of Action series :)

CW: captured whumpee, mentions of beating, execution of side characters, collared, allusion to noncon, would be multiple whumpers, all the science inaccuracies in space

It had been hours since Thompson had caught him hacking into the ship's systems and unceremoniously bashed his head into the console. Still, Quinn remembered finishing and executing the program that would override the system and give Murphy's crew all the access they needed take down the Captain. He had managed to do his part at least, before being taken out of the fight and tossed into a cell. No one else had been brought into the brig with him so, at first, he held onto hope that it had been enough. That the plan was solid and Murphy had overthrown the Captain. But that felt like a long time ago now, and Murphy had yet to come for him.

Quinn's arms ached from being tied behind his back for so long and his head was throbbing. He'd managed to drag himself up the wall and onto his feet. He needed to move. They had been gearing up for this moment for months. Careful planning and precise timing had led them to this moment and Quinn refused to just sit on his ass while the others fought for all of their lives. He was useless in the cell, so he paced. All that unspent energy slowly morphed into a quiet, knowing panic that rooted itself deep in his gut.

It was one thing to know you were going to die, to accept that fact, but it was another to have to wait in dreaded anticipation for it to actually happen. Quinn pictured the many ways the Captain would do it. Execution by beheading? That was rather grand. Shot in the head? Maybe? A lot for the rest of the crew to clean up. Beaten to death? Possibly. In the end, the airlock was the most likely choice. He could do it. When the Captain's men come for him, he'd walk down the hall with his head held high. He'd let himself be led into the airlock and force himself to look straight into the Captain's cruel, evil fucking eyes.

He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't scream.

Quinn envisioned it a hundred times, preparing himself, before the door finally opened. He spun toward the sound of the door, his vision spinning along with him but he planted his feet firmly and stood his ground.

The tiny ember of hope that had remained died out in a quick burst of fury when it was the Captain that strolled into the brig instead of Murphy.

This was it. He was a dead man.

The Captain looked worse for wear. He had dried blood all down his neck and soaked into the hem of his shirt from a deep gash on his cheek. His hair was a mess and he looked like he'd been in the fight of his life. Quinn couldn't help the smirk that tugged up his lips.

“On your knees,” the Captain ordered.

Quinn huffed out a surprised breath, “Fuck you.”

–

They'd been sealed up in the airlock for hours. Still, every single one of Murphy's crew remained on their feet in defiance of these cowards that refused to just get it over with already and pull that damn lever that would send them to their deaths. They leaned heavily on one other, bloodied and broken, defeated, but by god, they would die on their feet.

Murphy was proud of each and every one of his crew. They had lost, spectacularly, but they'd fought hard.

He grunted as he tried to straighten up a bit and take some of his own weight off of Martinez's shoulder. She tightened her hold on the waistband of his pants, effectively holding him up on his feet. He squeezed her arm, hoping to convey something along the lines of, he didn't know really... thank you, I'm sorry, we're so royally fucked and it's my fault, it was worth it. He wasn't sure how to convey that much weight through a single death grip on her arm but he was pretty sure she got the message.

Murphy's leg pulsed, blood still trickling in rivulets from the wound Jackson had stabbed deep into the meat of his thigh. He figured he would die soon anyway by the heavy weight of blood soaking into his pants. He might as well go out with the few friends he had left in the feigned glory of an execution. They'll go out like sailors on this beloved, godforsaken ship of theirs and it will all be worth it. He wasn't sure how that could possibly be true, but he knew that trying and failing still mattered, somehow, in the end.

He glanced through the thick glass that separated his crew from the Captain's. The others stood in a lazy half circle around the glass of the airlock, waiting for the show with something akin to rabid glee. All except one. Murphy took his time taking in the measure of the man that would seal their fate. Sure, it was the Captain that would give the order, but it was Security Officer Collins that would heft that damn lever and suck all of the oxygen out of their lungs. And he would do it without blinking an eye.

Murphy had underestimated the man.

He knew that now.

He'd been afraid that Collins' time spent in the wars would have instilled in him a kind of honor that would be particularly offended by the overthrowing of his captain. Well, Murphy was right about that part, but he thought of Collins as a good man underneath all that blind duty and honor bullshit. Murphy will admit, he was hoping that Collins would, bare minimum, stand by and let it happen. He had to know that it was the right thing to do in the end. It turned out, Murphy had overestimated Collins' moral code and underestimated the man's effectiveness.

That was his first and second mistake.

Collins was a brutal and efficient soldier. He had almost single-handedly quelled the uprising in the battle that followed the first power outage on deck. Quinn had locked the Captain's crew out of all the consoles and sealed the doors to the armory. Murphy was certain the lack of weaponry and the element of surprise alone would turn the battle in their favor. His delusions were shattered when Murphy personally witnessed Collins taking out at least 5 of his crew in hand to hand combat and utilizing the close quarters of the ship's halls to his advantage. He'd made quick work of Murphy's best fighters and had them dead or on their knees in what couldn't have been more than a handful of minutes.

It was impressive.

God, if only he'd been on their side, they most certainly would have won. They had started with fifteen people willing to fight, and die, to overthrow the Captain and his ranks. Only six were left. Six good, decent members of Murphy's crew, forced into the airlock and shoved to their knees and there Collins stood, eyes front with his hand on the lever.

The ever dutiful soldier.

Murphy's gaze caught sight of the outer door to the chamber opening. He couldn't hear anything through the reinforced glass except for the exhausted breathing and barely contained hisses of pain from his own people. Everything outside those thick windows was silent. He drew in a sharp breath when the Captain stalked through the door dragging a bloodied man by his hair.

Seven. Seven of his crew had survived.

“Quinn.”

Murphy felt those around him tense as the man was dropped onto the floor and crumbled into a bloody heap. His hands were bound behind his back with what looked like wire and he'd taken a hell of a beating. Murphy held his breath, his heart swelling with pride, when Quinn slowly folded his knees under himself and tried to stand. The rebellion would never had made it off the ground if it wasn't for Quinn. The man was brilliant. He had a head for strategy that Murphy truly didn't expect and he knew all the ins and outs of the communication and security systems like the back of his hand. He had done his job expertly.

It was Murphy that had failed. It was Murphy that had gotten them all killed.

Quinn didn't make it far off the floor.

The Captain kneed Quinn in his ribs and the collective gasps of his crew in the chamber almost tricked Murphy's mind into thinking he could actually hear Quinn grunt in pain. The man folded in on himself. Murphy watched as Quinn grit his bloody teeth and quickly fought to straighten back up again. The Captain placed a single hand to his shoulder and it stopped his ascent this time. Quinn slumped, staying on his knees and silently gasping for breath.

The man was clearly struggling to stay conscious. Blood was oozing down his face from a gash up in his hairline but he managed to drag his head up and his eyes cleared the moment he saw Murphy through the glass. Quinn's eyes widened as understanding dawned on him that some of his people were still alive. Alive, and waiting for Quinn before they would be put to their death. His gaze darted over to Collins standing by the lever that would open the airlock and then back to Murphy again. Murphy saw the muscle in Collins' jaw jump but that was the only indication that he had any feelings at all about the impending executions.

Murphy took a small, careful step forward, his hand reaching out to Martinez for balance. He could see Quinn visibly trying to steel himself, preparing himself to be tossed in with the rest of them. Willing himself to be brave in the face of every sailors greatest fear.

“I'm sorry,” Murphy whispered, to Quinn, to his crew, to all those that the Captain would continue to hurt in their absence. He watched as Quinn actually had the audacity to smirk. He gave a half shrug as if he was saying, “hey, we did our best.”

Murphy smiled back.

Quinn grunted as the hand on his shoulder pressed him down, forcing his back to round and he hung his head, unable to keep it up any longer. Murphy could feel the eyes of the Captain on him and he finally relented, looking at the man that would order them to their collective deaths.

What he saw in that man's eyes, he didn't understand it, but it turned his blood cold.

A smirk of his own crossed the Captain's face as he revealed what looked like some sort of metal contraption out from behind his back.

“Captain? Lewis, what are you-” Murphy shook his head, limping himself another step forward as if he could actually reach the men not two feet in front of him. His words turned to ash in his throat as the Captain's hand that was pressing down on Quinn's shoulder dragged up the man's neck and grabbed under his chin.

“No,” Murphy swallowed bile.

–

Something in the room had changed.

Quinn dragged his face against his shoulder, trying to get the blood out of his eyes before forcing himself to lift his head and look at Murphy. A strange look had come over his friend's face and Quinn cocked his head. His expression had morphed from anger and brave defiance to what Quinn could only describe as repulsed horror? Quinn felt the firm grip on his shoulder loosen to almost gentle as it slid up the side of his neck and Quinn watched Murphy mouth the word “no” as a shiver crept through his own body.

Quinn startled back and slammed right into the Captain's legs when Murphy took two steps and kicked out at the thick glass separating them. Fingers tightened painfully around Quinn's chin but he couldn't tear his gaze away from Murphy. He was screaming without sound, fury turning his angry face red as he repeatedly kicked the glass. Quinn could see blood pumping from a wound on Murphy's thigh and he wanted to tell him to stop. He felt like it was all happening in some slow motion nightmare, the kind where you weren't entirely in control of your own body. He couldn't fight it when the hand gripping his chin forced his head up and he had to tear his eyes away from Murphy and look up at the Captain.

The volume in the room suddenly became far too loud. The Captain's men whooped and groaned out sounds that didn't make sense to Quinn.

He'd missed something.

“You hear me, boy?”

Quinn ground his teeth, hissing when the Captain tightened his grip on his chin.

“I'm not a fucking boy,” Quinn spit out, shifting his legs underneath him with every intention of standing. Then, the Captain's thumb brush through the blood that trickled down the side of Quinn's mouth and swiped over his bottom lip.

Quinn froze.

“Captain?” Someone said over Quinn's shoulder, but with one look from the Captain, he was silent again.

The Captain lifted his other hand and held something out in front of him. Quinn could hear the sound of the glass trembling slightly. He could practically feel Murphy throwing the full force of his body at the glass but he didn't dare look away. In the Captain's hand, was a collar. There was no other word for it. Two pieces of metal slid smoothly into one another, a lot like handcuffs, and there was even a slot for a key where the two pieces locked together.

“What-?” Quinn mumbled, confused. Why the fuck did he have a collar? Before another horrifying thought was able to pass through his mind, the Captain fisted his hair and dragged him onto his feet. He felt his body slam into the glass and an arm pressed against the back of his neck, and suddenly, he was face to face with Murphy.

A thread of fear unlike any Quinn had ever felt before unfurled itself throughout his body.

“Murphy?” Quinn stupidly said in a numb panic.

He didn't understand what this was. Why wasn't he being marched into the airlock with the rest of his crew? Why the fuck did the Captain have a fucking collar?

Murphy's face twisted in desperate, sobbing rage. Quinn felt the reverberation of the glass against his chest as Murphy kicked out at it uselessly before he finally gave up, his own chest heaving in frantic breaths.

He'd never seen Murphy look so defeated before. It didn't make any sense. Murphy was strong, idealistic. He was honorable. Murphy always held onto hope for a better world, if we could just stand up a little more for what was right. If we just fought back.

“Quinn,” he watching Murphy's mouth move, “Don't fight him, Quinn.”

Quinn swallowed the fear that boiled up into his throat. Even if he could hear Murphy's words he wouldn't have understood them.

Cool metal touched the back of Quinn's neck and that thread of fear ignited. Quinn jerked his head back, connecting solidly with something that felt very much like bone. Hands left his body just as more hands seized him and pressed him into the glass. He twisted and kicked out at anything he could find.

Quinn felt his body weakening as bodies pressed his own against the glass. Murphy just stood and watched. Quinn hated that he was the one to put that look on Murphy's face. He was supposed to be brave, to stand proudly and walk to his own death without fear.

This wasn't the plan.

He again felt the cool metal touch the back of his neck and he recoiled in the hands of the men. A hand pressed his face against the glass and they held him firm as the metal enclosed his throat.

Quinn screamed.

The sound of the lock clicked in some thick, distant part of his mind. This meant something he didn't yet understand. His body felt heavy and almost unreal, separate from his mind in a way he'd never felt before. Quinn realized he had closed his eyes and forced them open again.

Murphy had his forehead pressed to the glass, right over his own. The puffs of their breath fogged up the space between them. He didn't want Murphy to die. Not if he wasn't going to die too. They were supposed to go together. Brothers in arms. Quinn realized that Murphy was saying something again but a horrifyingly alert corner of his mind felt fingers brush up under his shirt and trail across his stomach. The men closed in around him and he felt someone press their lips against the underside of his jaw. He felt the man's stubble drag roughly against his cheek. Another hand was scratching to get their fingers underneath the waistband of his pants.

What was happening?

Quinn couldn't look away. He watched Murphy's face as the Captain muttered a single word...and then another, much louder this time. Quinn couldn't hear it past the thump of his own frantic heart pounding in his ears.

The lever that opened the airlock must have been hefted up because the big, metal doors slid silently open.

It didn't happen like in the movies, with a rush of air that sucked the crew out into the vastness of space. First, the airlock was depressurized. Air hissed out of the room and the crew's mouths opened and closed, gasping for oxygen that was no longer there. The door slid open and the gravity was turned off, their feet lifting slowly off the floor. Murphy was still mouthing words Quinn didn't understand, his mouth only stopping as he slowly passed through the doors with the rest of his crew and drifted off into nothing, leaving Quinn behind.

Quinn heard himself make a terrible, broken sound as the fingers under his shirt flattened against his stomach and he was dragged back away from the glass and into the hands of the crew.

Taglist: @peachy-panic, @ladygwennn, @whumplr-reader, @hold-him-down, @monochrome-episode, @dogface3000, @skyhawkwolf, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @whumpterful-beeeeee, @maddam-redder, @susiequaz12, @pigeonwhumps, @starlit-darkness

#consequence of action #this story always does what it wants #i hope you like!#collared whumpee #captured whumpee #execution #of side characters #dissociation #beating #noncon touching #allusions to noncon #innocent naïve Quinn in those early days 🥺

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patheticlittleguy · 1 year

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when a whumpee has a collar that’s too tight, and their breathing is strained and raspy

#shark prompts #collared whumpee #and they’re probably dehydrated cause it’s hard to drink #when you can’t swallow

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the-bloody-sadist · 1 year

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Fyolai lineart comm 🫶 (full on Twitter )

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2ndplanetnights · 1 year

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Tw: Whump, blood, public whump, collared whumpee.

Whumper was having a masquerade ball, one fit for someone who lived in a manor like this. The dark greens mixed with wooden accents and metal sconces, the dark velvet curtains and tiled floors. It's no surprise they called Whumper a vampire, between their love for extravagant things, elegant parties and victorian glamour. Or maybe it was the way they could charm anyone who looked into their eyes, if they didn't know any better Whumpee would agree with the whispered rumors.

They stood next to Whumper up on the balcony that over looked the large opulently decorated entry hall. They looked less like their date and more like a staff, however, with their suit that was just a little too tight. Perhaps the collar that they wore with their name inscribed on it added to the look. Whumpers hand sliding behind them and tugging them closer, however, stated the exact opposite.

Their voice stung against their ears in a hiss to Whumpee and they warned one more time "Make me look bad and the punishment will have you wishing I cut out your tongue"

Whumpee had no time to respond before Whumper looked to some of their staff, and the lights of the room dimmed and the music came to a stop. In confusion the room went silent enough to hear a pin drop, scarily so. The unearthly voice was quick to rip the moment away though "Welcome Everyone! To my first party of the winter season, I'm so happy you all could make it," their grip tightened so harshly it was painful. "I know it's odd to hold a masquerade these days, but I figured it would be quite the experience to start off this cold winter. With that being said" their voice became darker.

"Enjoy the festivities!" The look in their eyes seemed crazed like this was so exciting for them. The hand that wasn't attached to Whumpee layed on the banister as they leaned over looking down on the people like they were ants.

"Come on now, we have some talking to do" They said finally letting go of Whumpees side, which they could feel was bruising already. Starting down the stairs as the pianist started up once again, Whumpee made sure to walk right next to Whumper like they were told to hours ago.

Almost a whole hour of Whumper talking to random people, it was all the same. They would meet someone introduce Whumpee as their date and any time the other person would compliment them Whumpers nails would dig deeper into their hand. Eventually this had their hand dripping blood, and despite the pain they refused to flinch or whimper. That's what the other wanted, to watch them fail to hold it together then torture them for doing so.

Then their eyes landed on someone. They knew if cought staring at someone else they would be in much danger, but it wasn't just anyone. There in an extravagant outfit was Caretaker, even with a masquerade mask they could tell it was them.

Their heart fluttered for half a moment, but that was cut short as it seemed someone else recognized them too. Whumper was dragging Whumpee out of the room in a rush, people on the way asking what the matter was. Whumper was quick to answer throwing on the charm and telling a lie.

This night was not going as planned for either of them.

#whumper #whumper x whumpee #whump community #whumplr #whump senario #whump snippet #writing #fiction #whump tropes #whump prompt #whumpee #masquerade ball #whumper x caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #yandere #collared whumpee #public whump #Charming whumper

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whumblr · 2 years

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Attitude

The Whumper's Soiree - @the-whumpers-soiree - Continuation from Anticipation

“I swear to God, man. I will end you. I’ll fucking kill you, you’ll wish—“

A quick swipe from the cane across his chest made Whumpee cry out, cutting off his murderous ranting.

All that raw anger still spilled from the man – vocally and physically – and in those moments, his focus wavered, too blinded by his rage to see the blows coming, even with Whumper right in front of him. And he did like to tease him by circling around him.

But underneath it all, when he was quiet and steaming, Whumper could see that what he was looking for: that fear. He saw it in the man’s eyes as he kept looking at the cane, trying to anticipate Whumper’s moves and when he would strike next. Saw those eyes squeeze shut, saw his body brace itself and flinch away from him in those split seconds as he raised the cane.

The man was on full alert. Though it should be easier for him to predict what was next, because the source of pain came from his own attitude. Cause and effect. But he didn’t reel it in.

Yet.

Whumper loomed over him, cane in one hand, the cattle prod in the other. With all the vitriol Whumpee was spewing, he had to alternate between his tools very fast.

He had a simple system: Cane for backtalk, aggression, cursing, the whole nine yards the guy had to offer. But the prod was for lies.

Let’s see which of these tools he could cast aside first. Or, well, let’s see if the guy would actually realise what the consequences for his actions were.

He circled behind the kneeling and now trembling figure, dual-wielding his weapons so Whumpee couldn’t see what was coming.

But really… if the guy was smart, he should by now. It wasn’t that hard to make the connection.

The endless array of ‘fuckfuckfuckfuck’s had already left quite a number of red lines over the man’s body, some visible and peeking out from under the collar of his white dress shirt. Though most of the lines were hidden across his back. And by now he couldn’t even get a full sentence of lies out before the prod either warped it into screams or fully took his voice.

Technically, all this talk of murder could be considered lies… because Whumper would make sure he could never act on them. But, well, he had to draw a line somewhere. And Whumpee would probably make true on his threats were it not for those handcuffs.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen anyone break free of handcuffs. Unless you’re as strong as you think you are, you’re not getting out of this.”

Whumpee’s lips twitched in a snarl and he was about to open his mouth, but when Whumper casually flicked the cane upwards a little in warning, he just grit his teeth and clammed up.

“See, you’re learning already,” Whumper said, almost in praise. Damn, if this wasn’t his favourite part. That first little crack.

“Fuck you man, I am not—“ but the shudder of the next shock went through his entire body and his voice. Yes, you are, the prod corrected. “This is... this is nothing—Aahh!!” Another shock. He shook it off with a growl. “I can take it.” Another prod.

Whumper hummed at that. “I am not too convinced of that, really.” He walked back in front of Whumpee again, knelt in front of the slumped over and panting man. When he didn’t look up, too focused on getting his breath back and biting back the pain, he tilted his chin up with the end of the cane.

“If all this is too much for you… I could trade you…” Whumper paused with a grin, “and let you get away with a beating instead. Would you rather have that? It will be easier. It can be over in a matter of minutes. If I’m feeling nice I’ll even make sure you’ll wake up in your own bed. Or a hospital bed, depending how you’ll fare.”

He noticed the clear hesitation. Because who knew how long he was going to have to take this. The man’s jaw set in anger, but he didn’t outright spew his answer. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d rather get a taste of his own medicine, admit that this was worse. And that he was breaking. Already.

“No?” Whumper smiled, his finger on the button of his prod. This could count as a lie. But who was he to deny the guy a further lesson.

Even though Whumpee was desperately holding on to his broken pride, at some point the cracks would tear it further, and he himself would crush it completely in that tight grip, pressing it against his chest, cradling it in protection, until the pieces would slip out from under his arms and shatter to the ground.

And sure enough, the pressing silence – and Whumper’s smug smile probably – led him further down a beautiful path of self-destruction.

“Try what you want, you can’t break me,” he said, voice hard but shaking.

Whumper clicked his tongue. He trailed the prod over Whumpee’s collarbones, but didn’t activate it. Instead, he pulled away and stood straight.

“Yes… such stubbornness is hard to break,” he conceded. “But I think I have something that could help with that. And it may even help you out.” He pulled something from his bag, hid it behind his back and walked behind Whumpee, who tensed up again all ready for the next round of unknown pain and he twisted his neck to see.

“No need to strain your neck, here...” A hand slid over his throat, making Whumpee tilt his chin up in surprise, opening up access to his vulnerable throat.

Something slipped over and pressed against his windpipe, then tightened and pulled against his skin.

As Whumpee realized what was happening, or thought was happening, he bucked up, shooting up on his knees in a panic. His handcuffs rattled and pressed against his back in his fruitless attempts to bring his hands up to his throat and claw at the strap that took his air.

But Whumper merely tightened the collar with a sharp yank until he heard a cut off gasp and the guy went rigid, hands falling back down. He held the leather straining against the clasp with one hand, skin trapped painfully between metal and leather, and he pressed a knee against Whumpee’s back, but gently placed his other hand over his shoulder and guided him back down.

He eased up, letting the man get in a full gulp of air, but then fastened the clasp snugly around his neck. Just a notch too tight, making sure Whumpee would barely get enough air. The bare minimum. Making him work for it, and Whumpee took in a shuddering, wheezing gasp through his mouth.

Whumper fondly ran his finger over the cool clasp, pressing it into his neck before he stood and walked back in front of his captive where he knelt down.

The man’s face was all red, he was still panting – shallow quick puffs that would only make things worse – and while the fear in his eyes still shone bright the anger had fallen away. Now replaced with a confused shock. Poor guy must’ve been sure he was about to get choked to death.

Whumper smiled. A brush of death did wonders for attitude.

He brought up a teasing hand over Whumpee’s cheek, brushed a thumb over his skin in false comfort before he cupped his face and demanded attention back to him.

“There. With this, you’ll think twice about wasting any precious air on lies. Plus, it will help you come to terms with who is in charge here.”

He brushed his finger over the little metal loop that settled neatly in-between the man’s collarbones. God, as if he was made for this. It was a perfect fit. He trailed his fingers off, teasing over the clavicle, right – dipping under his shirt – and left, slightly entranced by the perfection of it all, before he settled on the metal again. He pressed it against the skin so Whumpee could feel the cold touch and he swore he felt a shudder.

“And if not…” he looped a finger into the ring and pulled him forward, hard. “It will give me other ways to bring you to heel.”

Tag list: @dutifullykrispyland @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @soopytime @down-in-the-whumps @sparrowsage @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpawink @painsandconfusion

#the whumpers soiree #whump writing #whumper turned whumpee #defiant whumpee #captured #caning #threats #electrocution #manhandling #bonus snippet turned longer than I thought #collared whumpee #my writing

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

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idk man have a whumpee ethan with a body mod collar alternative piercing

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turnthetablesonthem · 2 years

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Darkness Falls - 3

Taglist: @purple-heart-x, @whumpwillow, @briars7, and @shydragonrider

Warnings: Aftermath of torture, collar, infection, begging, poisoned whumpee, delirious whumpee, crying, whumper turned whumpee, Supervillain ‘whumperee’, past lady whump mention, reluctant caretaker, harsh caretaker (Who is quickly becoming less and less harsh.) Painful wound cleaning.

“You still have your medical kit?” Joey asked.

“Yeah, it’s upstairs, in the bathroom.” She started to stand.

“I’ll get it, Nem.” He looked down at Slipknot, who was trembling, whether from fear or pain Nemesis didn’t know. “Take that fucking collar off him.” Joey added, already heading up the stairs.

Slipknot shuddered under Nemesis’ hands, whimpering as she brushed her fingers over the tight leather collar on his neck.

“Nonononono, please, I-”

“Ssshhh.” It came out harsher than she’d intended. Slipknot sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut as tears slid down his flushed cheeks.

Nemesis sighed, unbuckling the clasp, and peeling the leather away from his neck, wincing at the infected, raw skin beneath.

Disgusted, she threw the collar into her fireplace. Slipknot looked up at her through his sweat-soaked bangs, his blue eyes full of terror.

He stiffened suddenly, groaning in pain. He crossed his arms over his stomach. His already uneven breathing turned to short, ragged gasps.

“Shadowdancer!” Nemesis called, unsure of what to do as Slipknot convulsed in pain.

Joey was there seconds later.

“What’s wrong?”

In response, Nemesis gestured to the panting Supervillain, clutching his stomach as tears streamed down his face.

“I know.” Joey said, eyes softening. “They poisoned him.”

“Do you have an antidote?”

“No. The poison isn’t fatal. It just... well, it causes severe abdominal pain, and fevers. Nothing can be done, it just has to work it’s way out of his system.”

Slipknot made a choked noise, full of despair.

Nemesis closed her eyes, for a moment, she almost forgot what a bastard Slipknot was.

Joey knelt beside the Supervillain, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Slipknot sobbed, cringing away as if expecting a blow.

Nemesis looked over at the charred, smoking remains of the collar in the fireplace, an involuntary shudder running down her spine.

A frightened sob drew her attention back to Slipknot. Joey was next to him squeezing water and disinfectant out of a cloth.

“Hold him, Nem.” Joey said calmly. Nemesis sat down sitting next to Slipknot, and holding his shoulders down as he sobbed in pain.

“Oh God, please no.” Slipknot moaned. “Please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll do anything you want.”

“Slipknot.” Joey said softly, looking down at the feverish man on the bed.

“Please! I’ll be good. I won’t cause anymore trouble! I-I- p-please, I-” He cut off with a choked scream as Joey began to wipe the clotted blood and pus out of the wounds on his chest.

“W-wait.” Slipknot gasped. “Please. I-I’ll do anything- anything you want. What do you want?” He sobbed.

“You to be quiet.” Nemesis growled, though she regretted it the moment that the words left her mouth. Joey shot her a glare as Slipknot hiccuped, but stopped begging.

“I’m sorry.” Nemesis said, though her tone was clipped. “I’m sorry.” She repeated, softer this time. “I just...” What? Hate that I have to help you? Think you’re a monster? Have nightmares about you sometimes?

“I’m not good at this.” She said instead.

He yelped as Joey began to clean the mess of infection and blood out of the next wound. His eyes widened, and he whimpered, looking up at Nemesis in helpless terror.

“I-I’m sorry!” He whimpered. “I-I didn’t mean to-”

Nemesis shushed him, her stomach twisting in guilt. Joey hadn’t even gotten through the four lashes on his chest, never mind the countless crisscrossing stripes on his back.

______

Slipknot writhed in pain, unable to remain still any longer. “Please.” He begged. “Please, stop.” The cramps in his stomach were still getting worse. He cried out as Shadowdancer continued cleaning one of his chest wounds.

“I-I can’t take this, please no more.” He pleaded, even as Nemesis adjust her grip on his shoulders. He groaned, trying to curl up.

“It hurts.” He whimpered, looking up into Nemesis’ green eyes. An odd expression crossed her face, something other than pure loathing. She looked pained. Sorry even.

Slipknot gasped as the pain in his stomach worsened, struggling thoughtlessly, trying futilely to escape the pain.

Nemesis straddled his waist, preventing him from turning away from Shadowdancer.

Blinded with panic and pain, he reached up, gripping Nemesis by the hips as he tried to ground himself.

__________

Nemesis jolted at the pressure on her hips as Slipknot shuddered in pain beneath her.

She was oddly calm about it, she would have expected to be afraid, but she doubted Slipknot even realized what he was doing, he was too absorbed in the pain.

Nemesis just sighed. It was clear that his fever was still rising, and that he was in agony.

His grip released, arms flopping back to his side.

“I-” He choked on a sob. “Please, don’t hurt me...” He begged, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Nemesis got off of him, even as Joey took a deep breath.

“It’s merciful that he passed out, before I started on his back.” He said, gently dabbing the disinfectant soaked cloth over the raw skin on Slipknot’s neck, where the collar had been.

Nemesis sat back as Joey turned Slipknot onto his stomach, as gently as he possibly could.

Even unconscious, Slipknot made a small noise of pain.

Nemesis closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the awful wounds on the man’s back, not wanting to pity him- or, at this point, not wanting to admit that she pitied him.

“That’s a mess.” She said, not quite managing to sound nonchalant.

“It’s going to be a long night.” Joey agreed.

Nemesis sighed. “So much for me taking a break and being in bed by ten. I’ll go make some coffee... and some sheets without blood on them.” She said, looking down at the already soiled sheets.

Joey just nodded, and went to work trying to clean up the mess of Slipknot’s back.

#Nemesis #Slipknot #Joey #whip wounds #infection #poisoned whumpee #poisoned whumper #whumperee #whumper turned whumpee #past lady whump #collared whumpee #sick whumpee #scared #begging #feverish #fever whump #feverish whumpee #painful wound cleaning

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flowersarefreetherapy · 1 year

Text

Shadow of Stars: Chapter 13

CW: Blood (lightly mentioned), collared whumpee, power dynamics, creepy whumper, implied past violence, sexually degrading language

“Your highness, the people are starving.”

Daniel swallows back a laugh. Of course the people are starving. He’s starving. Heartbeats fill the room. They’re no longer humans, just blood and veins and strong, strong hearts pumping blood.

“There, there’s nothing I, I, I can do. I’ve sent all, all the troops I have.”

“Send more, your highness.”

“We need someone to lead the army.”

Daniel shifts his weight, wincing as his joints pop. His legs would have lost feeling long ago if he had the blood, but he doesn’t. Whatever is left flows slower than molasses through his veins, black with lack of oxygen as the systems that fake life shut down. How long has he been kneeling here, trapped at Star’s side?

“I, I, I’ve placed Kai Nonson in, in charge.”

“We need someone with more experience.”

Experience. Daniel swallows, venom and saliva thick on his tongue. It’s been days since his last feeding. Star saying something about how he isn’t performing well enough, that he doesn’t care, that Daniel hasn’t earned his place.

What place? As your professional consort? Did you ever ask if I wanted this place?

His head dips, only to be caught by the collar. Star tugs up on the leash and Daniel forces his head back up. The burning of silver against his skin barely registers.

The door slams open. “Sir!”

“What?” Star snaps.

“Sir!” Whoever is speaking is breathless. Their heart races, hot and so full of life. Daniel whimpers softly, hating himself for imagining how delightful the blood would taste. “It’s the Shadows!”

“An, an attack?”

“No, sir, their leader, he’s here.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The throne room is silent, every breath held, words spoken below a whisper as Star settles himself. Daniel kneels at his side without prompting. His lungs heave, a primal response his body will never forget, no matter how long he lives as a Shadow. He curls over himself, trying to hide the burns and scars crossing his skin that the scant silks don’t cover.

Phantom fingers curl through his hair, exposing his neck. The wind whistles outside, cold against his tears. A flash of teeth, his gurgled screams, waking up with blood painting his body and a shadowy face looming above him.

“Sit, sit up,” Star growled, yanking up on his leash. “Do, do not cower. I want, want them to see, see, um, they can be, be beaten.”

“Star, please,” Daniel gasps. “Please, you don’t understand. He won’t care. Nothing you do will intimidate him.”

Star’s beautiful blue eyes narrow. “What, what are you- . . . What do you mean?”

“He-“

The door slams open. Guards rush in, spears outstretched ahead of a tall figure. He walks with long strides, chest inches away from their silver speartips. Behind him drags a limp body though he’s too far away for Daniel to see who. Not as if he’s looking closely. The clip of the leash rattles against the ring as he fights to keep his body from betraying his fear.

“Your guards are a mockery,” the figure says. His voice is deep, rattling like gravel against the walls. “Nothing more than straw in the wind. Though I don’t know what I was expecting, given how pathetic your soldiers were. Their fear made their blood so much sweeter.”

Daniel can’t breathe. His fingernails dig into his arms, catching on still healing blisters. The pain is nothing when compared to the man walking towards him. Has he noticed him yet? Does he see the fear wracking his body? Can he sense the stagnant heart resting in his chest?

“Who, who are you?”

For once, he is proud of Star. His voice doesn’t falter and rings out with the command of a king. For a moment, Daniel swears he can see the king he would have been, if it wasn’t for the venom that distorts his mind and face, the hatred that warps his beauty into something heinous and otherworldly. Only for a moment, and then it is wiped away with Star’s scowl, one Daniel has seen directed at him far too many times.

“My name is Ashur.” He has crossed half the throne room, walking with confidence, his strides measured. His cloak is black, lined with red trim. His clothing is simple; homespun cotton dyed black, leather boots, and black dyed leather armor. Black hair is braided back from his face, piled on top of his head in a half-bun. A golden circlet rests on his brow, a red ruby resting against his forehead like a drop of blood.

“I am meant, meant to know, know your, um, your name? It means nothing to, to me.”

Ashur laughs. Daniel closes his eyes, praying to the deities who have abandoned him that Star will keep his mouth shut, that he will not stoop to playing this game. He knows the rules and the master controlling them. If he makes this mistake, Star will not survive.

“I would expect you to. After all, you have one of my sons.”

Silence. Heartbeats fill the room. Daniel recognizes the one hanging from Ashur’s grip. It’s faint, but there. Good. He can’t handle someone else dying for him.

“Your, your son? What, what are you-”

“Oh come on, don’t tell me he hasn’t said anything. Nothing? Well, I’m surprised.” Ashur chuckles. The hair on the back of Daniel’s neck stands up. “Actually, not that surprised, considering you have him collared. Like a common whore.”

His voice is dark, dropping several octaves and taking on a layer Daniel hasn’t heard in years. Ashur remembers him. He remembers him. That means he has been looking for him. It’s been decades. Living in the woods was the only way to stay safe, stay away from people, stay away from the man he once called master!

You knew it was a matter of time. You knew he would find you.

I’m sorry, my love, I never meant for you to be a part of this.

“What, what do you want?” Star demands. The leash shakes in tandem with Star’s hand. His fingers tap against the armrest of the throne, nails clicking against the wood. The urge to bite his hand wells deep inside Daniel.

Please stop!

“I want my son back. And I already know what you’re going to say. No, you can’t have him, we’re going to kill you, you’ll never make it out of the kingdom alive. But I have someone you want and I am willing to bargain.”

Daniel looks up this time. Ashur effortlessly throws the body towards the throne, smirking when Daniel gasps and flinches forwards.

It’s the soldier, the one married to the flame-haired one. He was the one to put a sword to his throat and demand with all the righteous anger in the world that he let his partner go. He’s a fighter, a soldier, and here he lays, limp against the floor, dark hair matted to his skull with blood. His neck is a mess of bruises and puncture marks. They haven’t properly healed him after feeding.

“I’m so sorry.” The words slip out before Daniel can stop himself, ringing in the silence of the throne room.

“So he can speak! I thought all the time with the humans would have stripped your language.” Ashur’s cold grey eyes pierce into Daniel and he flinches as violently as if he has been slapped. “Is this your fault, little one?”

Little one. How long has it been since he heard those words? How long has it been since he looked at his pack leader in admiration and not fear? How long has it been since he was surrounded by his own kind, when he would feed on the humans and never once consider their feelings?

“What, what did you–what did you–what did you do?” Star growls. The guards stationed along the walls step closer to Ashur. “What did you-”

“I found him,” Ashur says, waving a hand in dismissal. “Wandering through the woods near a settlement in which we were positive everyone had been taken care of. Him and another one. We thought we would show them our . . . hospitality.”

“You bastard.”

“I’ve returned him, haven’t I? Give me my son. Now.”

“No. Dan, Daniel is mine.”

Ashur raises an eyebrow. “Of course. Daniel, my son, if you come with me, I will free the other one, you have my word. I don’t want to keep a human. They’re too much work to take care of and feed and all of that. I would much rather exchange them for you.”

Daniel can’t breathe–not like his lungs are working anyway. He stares at the ground and lets out a shuddering sigh. Deep compulsion wells inside of him, screaming for him to get off his knees, stand tall like the fighter he is, and show these puny mortals what a true Shadow is. He shoves that emotion back down.

“We, we need a, a, a day,” Star says. His voice is softer, sharp with fear. Daniel can smell it in his blood. “To discuss.”

“I don’t think there is anything to discuss. My son is returning home. With me.”

The leash jerks, forcing his head up. Daniel bites his cheek hard enough to bleed as the silver burns into his skin. Ashur steps forward, his brow furrowed and mouth pressed into a thin line. Star has gained a bit of confidence, but it’s not enough. Nothing ever is with Ashur. The only option is fear and obedience.

“He’s mine.”

Asher laughs. “So you think. But Daniel and I both knew the truth. I will give you a day, but that shall be all. Then I will come for what is mine.”

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinggrounds @pigeonwhumps (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#blood mentions #vampire whumpee #implied past violence #sexually degrading language #threats #collared whumpee #power dynamics #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #vampire whump #vampire whumper #fantasy au #vampire au #star my beloved #daniel the protector #thad #shadow of stars au

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