#my whumpees say “fuck you” a lot

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Alcohol, addiction, recovery, relapse, experimental whump, lab rat whumpee (kind of), non-con drugging (kind of), mentioned withdrawals, mentioned multiple whumpers.

"Have you been drinking?" Caretaker asked as they sat down their bag beside the living room couch. Much to their disappointment, Whumpee's slurred speech was enough of an answer without even having to listen to what they were saying. "Whumpee..."

"I've heard it all b'fore," they mumbled. "I don't care anym're."

Caretaker crouched down in front of them, resting a hand on their knee in an attempt to gain their attention. "Hey, we're gonna get through this, okay? It's just a little setback. That's to be expected."

"Shouldn't have t'get through it." Whumpee's voice broke as they said it. "Was doin' well. Had a job, 'n' friends 'n' family. Then- then they had to ruin it."

They knew it was wrong to ask. Whumpee had been so secretive about what they'd gone through, it was hard to pinpoint why they'd developed a lot of the behavioral habits that they had now. They clearly didn't want anyone to know, and yet Caretaker couldn't help it.

"How did they ruin it?" they asked gently. "What did they do to you?"

There was a small pause as Whumpee seemed to have an inner fight with themself over what to say. For a moment, Caretaker thought that they might refuse to answer, like they'd done so many times before. However, the words eventually started to tumble out one by one before they could stop.

"They gave me this f-fucking addiction." They held the half-empty beer bottle close to their chest, staring down at the floor beneath them. "Kept usin' me as their little lab rat. Feeding me different alchohols t'see how I reacted to it. There were three of 'em... They only wanted me gone when my withdrawals b'came too much t'handle."

Caretaker remained silent, gently stroking Whumpee's knee with their thumb as they waited for them to continue. The weight in their chest was getting heavier, the moisture in their eyes getting more noticeable. They hated the vivid images that played in their mind. It was hard to tell whether they regretted asking or not.

After a few long moments of obvious consideration, Whumpee sniffled and shakily placed the bottle down on the side table closest to them. "I can't sleep without it. I can't feel anything without it. It's- it's not that I w'nna be dependent on it, b't..."

"You don't have to keep talking about it," Caretaker whispered. "Thank you. Thank you for telling me, and I'm so, so sorry that you had to be there for so long before someone found you."

Whumpee rested their head back against the couch, shutting their eyes for a moment as a few tears fell down their cheeks. "I w'nna try again tomorrow. To- to stop, I mean."

"We can do that." Caretaker took a deep breath, as though trying to rid themself of the weight of the conversation. "I don't think you're going to remember a lot of this tomorrow, though."

They gave a sluggish head shake. "Y'can tell me all about it when I wake up."

Caretaker nodded. "I will."

#whump #whump stuff #whump things #whump thoughts #whump tropes #whump prompts #whump ideas #whump scenarios #multiple whumpers #recovery whump

[kabie-whump]

♡ Febuwhump Day 21: Unresponsive ♡

@febuwhump

Low key a continuation of day 19 (but if im being honest you could totally connect all of my generic febuwhump posts into one story if you try hard enough)

Content: unresponsive whumpee, ptsd, disassociation, worried/guilty caretaker, post-rescue, referenced finger amputation

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It's been a month.

One month since Whumpee made the most idiotic decision of their life and volunteered to be captured by Whumper for the opportunity to gather information about them.

One month since Caretaker tearfully begged them not to go and one month since Whumpee turned their back on their best friend.

Caretaker isn't involved in the rescue mission. All they can do is sit outside the infirmary and mentally reherse what they're going to say to Whumpee when they get back. ("Fuck you for being an absolute idiot and being so careless with yourself and making me worry you dickhead you could've died what is wrong with you-")

Doors burst open. Whumpee is brought in on a stretcher wearing nothing but a thin blanket that is already stained red in some spots and god they've never been this skinny before. Their eyes are open, staring up blankly at the ceiling as they're rushed into another room.

All of the harsh words Caretaker had been saving for Whumpee disappear because one month.

It takes hours, but Caretaker is eventually allowed to see Whumpee. The nurse who leads them in gives them a sympathetic look, muttering something about "be patient and give them time" but Caretaker doesn't hear it as they rush to Whumpee's bedside.

Whumpee's awake. At least, their eyes are open. But they don't even look at Caretaker as they perch at the edge of a chair next to the bed, don't even flinch as Caretaker takes their hand.

"Whumpee? How are you feeling? Are you alright? I was so worried."

Silence. No sign that Whumpee even heard them.

"I'm sorry for how we left things. I just didn't want you to get hurt. You don't have to give me the silent treatment."

They did get hurt. Whumpee is wrapped in bandages and hooked up to an IV and oxygen. Their left knee is in a cast. Their whole right hand is cocooned in gauze and Caretaker tries to pretend they don't know why.

(They'd overheard it a week after Whumpee's capture: "Leader was sent Whumpee's finger in an envelope this morning. Don't tell Caretaker, they'll freak.)

"Whumpee, please. Say something."

Nothing; just a haunted stare. The harsh overhead lights must be hurting their eyes, but still they go an unsettlingly long time between blinks.

A lot of damage can be done in a month.

Caretaker bends over, pressing their forehead to the mattress as silent sobs shake their shoulders.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

#febuwhump2024 #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhumpday21 #febuwhump day 21 #whump #whump tropes #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump scenario #whumpee #whump ideas #whump prompt #recovery whump #unresponsive

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Eden part twenty-two

TW: stockholm syndrome, religion, referenced murder, referenced kidnapping, pet whumpee, creep/intimate whumper

Note: After nearly abandoning this story multiple times, I've finally finished it. I hope you all have enjoyed yourself reading this far.

The drive home was a long one. Try as he might, Ezra couldn't convince himself to feel anything but joyful.

Reasonable emotions, befitting of a real person, refused to be sown in the garden of his heart. He was too far gone for that.

The music playing from Christopher's car radio was much the same that played in their house, and Ezra recognized it as Tchaikovsky. Funny, how a month ago he wouldn't have known Bach from Mozart.

"I love you," Christopher said, as though Ezra could possibly forget.

"I love you too." Ezra stared at the fields rushing past the passenger side window, blurs of winter tinted whites and grays. "Thank you for bringing me home."

"I wouldn't have dreamed of leaving you."

Christopher drove like any man who learned in the eighties, with one hand over the steering wheel and the other relaxed as his side. Ezra had learned a far different position, requiring both hands on the wheel, but took advantage of their difference in education to hold Christopher's hand.

"I may have told my roommates your name," Ezra admitted. "That was so fucking stupid of me. They don't know where you live though. And neither of them have the brain cells to file a missing person case."

"I know half the sheriff's department personally," Christopher assured him. "They won't suspect me. And even if they find you, I have no doubt that you'll vouch for my innocence. It isn't a concern."

"Thank God." Of course Christopher knew how to handle things. There wasn't any need for Ezra to worry. "I couldn't live with myself if I got you in trouble for the… um, stalking and kidnapping and murder."

Christopher laughed, much quieter than Ezra, who broke into mild hysterics. What a life. What a life.

After he had calmed himself, Ezra texted his friends goodbye. It was a hard thing to write, but he couldn't leave them hanging again. At the end of his message, he thanked them for all the good times they had together, and promised to stay safe.

Pressing send was far more difficult than he had anticipated. But finally it was over. He threw his phone out the window so it couldn't be tracked, hoping it didn't pollute anything too much.

Ezra smiled at Christopher, wishing for a shorter drive home. He wanted nothing more in the world to cuddle in bed, and never have to get up again. Holding hands during a car ride wasn't nearly enough.

"I missed your smile," Christopher said. "You're so… handsome."

This was the first time anyone had bothered saying such a thing to Ezra, and it took him a moment to process his joy before responding.

"Is that all you missed?" he teased. "And here I thought I was good company."

"Of course not. I got so horribly lonely without you. I'm afraid adopting a cat wasn't a very good substitute for human company."

"You got a cat?"

Ezra knew better than to be jealous, but he wasn't pleased that Christopher had tried to replace him. Sure, it had been his choice to run away in the first place. But that didn't mean that Christopher just got to move on with his life. No. Absolutely not.

"Her name is Gale. I found her catching mice in my garden. She's a bit feral, but a sweet little thing."

"My grandparents used to have cats. It's a Muslim thing, I think. Because they're such clean animals. They were always fostering half a dozen cats at a time and encouraging the people at our local mosque to adopt them. Man, I haven't thought about that in years."

"My family had a lot of animals growing up. Farm animals, mostly. Chickens, hogs, turkeys, sheep, honey bees, all the usual suspects. But a lot of the barn cats and herding dogs were quite friendly."

"I didn't know you grew up on a farm. That sounds really nice. My family always lived in small towns."

"We moved around a lot. I spent my younger years in Moscow, Idaho, among other towns, and finally settled down during my teenage and young adult years on farmland my parents bought. I think my younger siblings were harder to herd than our cats and roosters."

Ezra laughed softly to himself. How, in all their weeks of knowing each other, had he never asked Christopher about his childhood?

The numerous gaps in his knowledge of Christopher's life had never bothered him before this moment. But now he wanted to know everything.

"When did we get so casual?" Ezra asked. "This feels so… different."

"I prefer it." Christopher slowed his car to allow a white tail deer to dart across the road without being hit. "You mean a lot to me. I want you to be happy."

Ezra blinked a few stray tears from his eyes. "You're the only one. I guess you know that, but it's still hard. I wish I had known you for years, instead of just this winter. My life would have gone so much better."

Christopher squeezed Ezra's hand, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. "You're worth everything I could ever give you. I just wish I knew what would make you happy."

"You make me happy. I've never felt better than when I'm with you. I never knew what I wanted from life. Just surviving was nearly impossible. Now I can actually want things. Like warm meals and a cozy bed and lavender tea. Thank you, for everything."

Christopher pulled into his driveway and parked his car. The moment they stepped out of the car, Ezra fell into Christopher's arms, just as he had done so many times before.

It was a welcoming sensation, a sense of security buried within the lack of freedom. Guilt from running away finally melted off Ezra's soul, leaving him to enjoy his life.

When they walked inside, a silver tabby darted up to rub against Christopher's legs. He scratched her behind the ears and left his shoes by the door. Ezra followed his example in both actions.

"Hello Gale," Ezra said softly. "You're a cute little thing, aren't you?"

"I'll start on lunch," Christopher said. "Get settled down."

Ezra wandered through their home, leaving Christopher and Gale alone in the kitchen. Everything was so familiar, the oil paintings hanging on the walls and soft carpet under his feet exactly how he remembered.

But it felt so wrong, seeing the places Jay used to hang around, and knowing he would never see them again. They had sat on the sofa, trusting him to put his arm around their shoulder even after all that torture. It was enough to bring him to tears.

Finally, after all these days of denial and trauma dumping to his roommates, he could process what had happened. Jay was in a better place now. They had to be. Even if Heaven wasn't real, something had to be.

Lunch with Christopher was nice, despite Ezra's melancholy. Even if Jay couldn't have a happily ever after in life, he still could. And he knew they would have been happy for him, in the end.

He finished most of his salad, and let Gale lick his plate clean. Christopher clicked his tongue, but held back on chastising him.

"I want to read Paradiso now," Ezra said. "I know that would be skipping Purgatorio, but I'm in the mood for a tour of Heaven."

"Alright. We can always take a tour of purgatory later. Whatever makes you happy."

Christopher found a leather bound copy of Dante's Paradiso on his bookshelf and sat down beside Ezra on the sofa. His living room smelled more strongly of lavender than the rest of his home, an ornate oil diffuser sitting on the coffee table.

Ezra leaned against Christopher as he started reading. Gale tried to jump on the open book for attention, but settled down on Ezra's lap when Christopher nudged her off.

"The glory of Him, who moves all things, penetrates the universe, and glows in one region more, in another less," Christopher read. "I have been in that Heaven that knows His light most, and have seen things, which whoever descends from there has neither power, nor knowledge, to relate: because as our intellect draws near to its desire, it reaches such depths that memory cannot go back along the track."

Ezra closed his eyes, grounding himself in reality with the aid of fantasy. He had thought, during their reading so long ago, that Hell must smell of lavender. But now he knew that Heaven was much the same.

Unlike Dante in this fictional account of his travels, Ezra would never have to return to earth. He would stay here. In Hell. In Heaven. In Purgatory. Guided not by an ancient poet, but by a kind man who wanted nothing more than to keep him safe.

Blissful eternity had reached them both far before their death. If only Colt and Jay had been half as lucky.

Taglist: @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @heavenlyeden @melancholy-in-the-morning @snakebites-and-ink @suck-my-clit-loser @i-eat-worlds @scp-1296 @chiswhumpcorner @skittles-the-whumpee @whumpkinz @dokidokisadness @enbygesserit @canislycaon24 @be-gay-do-crime-ahaha @a-crumb-of-whump @pixelated-whump @whumpytine

#Abraham original: Hot off the press #Whump #Eden #Pet whump #Whump writing #Whump series #Stockholm Syndrome whump #Final chapter #Pet whumpee #Creepy/intimate whumper #Recapture

[painsandconfusion]

Hi! If this counts as writing advice, I was wondering, how do you avoid romanticizing violence and abuse in writing? Like, at its core, what’s even the difference between “enjoying whump” and “romanticizing abuse”, and how do you make that distinction clear within a story? I hope this doesn’t come off as accusatory, I just don’t want to accidentally create something harmful ;-; Thank you!

I’m gonna answer this as a normal ask instead of a full writing advice thing cuz the answer is simple

Write form your characters pov. You can enjoy the content all you like without romanticizing it, but neither should directly come across in your writing if you write from a characters perspective.

If you’re writing from whumpers pov, you can romanticize it all you want and it’s all the more twisted and horrific that way. If whumper is talking about ‘coaxing out exquisite screams and delicious agonies’, that just makes them sound obsessy and fucked in a way that your reader can enjoy as whump. But. No one’s gonna blame you for condoning what your character does. At least they shouldn’t. That’s just good writing.

But. If you’re writing from whumpee’s pov, ‘exquisite screams and delicious agonies’ just doesn’t really fit, y’know? They’d say something more like ‘an unearthly screech clawed it’s way up their throat, snapping in half on its way out’. Making it visceral and wrong and bad helps solidify whumpees pov.

If you write from an ambivalent, omniscient perspective over the entire scene (or switch between the two ocs without warning or break), you’re going to run into the romanticization issue a *lot* more. Because at that point it’s speaking objectively about the characters. Then you’re going to have to apply any positive and negative adjectives directly to the characters thought process to separate them out. ‘Whumper loved listening to the pretty little sounds Whumpee made. Whumpee, however, couldn’t hear them - they were too focused on the darkness creeping into the edges of their crackling vision’. See how each adjectives connotations are directly applied to the character? It makes that separation easier.

Personal opinion that using anything besides the most basic descriptions during a scene -where no OC is taking over the perspective fully- is going to fun into the romanticization issue. Adjectives hav connotations. Connotations read as opinions. SO. If those adjectives/connotations/opinions aren't anchored to a character, they'll be attributed to the writer instead.

It's also my opinion that the content will be less engaging for the reader if you write from an ambivalent, omniscient perspective. It’s harder for the reader to step into the characters shoes and fully get fit punched by those whumperflies if they can’t see through the characters eyes and feel what they’re feeling.

tl;dr Romanticizing whump is an issue of the authors speech, not the characters. So he sure to write from the characters pov and you’re good to go.

Hope that helps!!

#sand asks #writing advice #whump community #writing tips

[justplainwhump]

Shifting

Under the hands of rogue WRU handlers - and her best friend - Angel falls apart.

Written with @wildfaewhump, and part of the very fun (for us) AU where rogue handles Fin and Piers make themselves at home in Angel's house to teach the runaways their place. Lourdes and Fin are their characters. This complements this piece from Lourdes' pov, written by Vic; the AU is kicked of by this and this piece.

Cw BBU, recapture scenario, (re)conditioning, dubcon, referenced past and implied future noncon, past beating, dissociation home invasion, pet whump. Whumper POV in the beginning (whumpee POV later).

"Alright, Piers. I’ll bite." His boss has been rummaging through Freckles' freezer. When he turns around to face Piers, there's a bag of frozen edamame in his hand, pressed firmly to his bloody chin. 

Piers smirks. Fin looks like an idiot. Getting himself punched by that pet, as she was almost getting away - there’s not much more humiliating for a seasoned handler like him.

Fin grimaces. "Ten bucks says Freckles is just as much of a bitch when your Doe-eyes is done with her. She almost broke my skull with that fucking bolt cutter. She would've pulled through, if we hadn't fucked that dumb stubborn strength right out of her." 

Shrugging, Piers reaches for his beer and takes a swig. "She looked hot doing it though. And you got all your punches in in return. Trust me. Her body is worn down. Some... softer persuasion now, and her mind will follow suit."

"Bitch was about to sacrifice herself for Doe-Eyes."

"And Doe-Eyes is about to sacrifice her to us." Piers grins, remembering the little talk with his own pet before. Oh, they were devoted. They wanted to be a good pet - and they wanted Freckles to be a good pet with an adorable, naive despair. As if it'd do any of them any good. "Who's suited better to wipe out all the idiot beliefs she clings to, than the sweet little pet she claims to love?" He points at the dossiers on the pets' training they've gotten from the WRU servers. "All she needs to be is hardwired in her stupid head already. Let Doe-Eyes push her buttons, and Freckles will be as good as a factory reset."

Fin clicks his tongue. "And just how are they going to do this?"

"Sharing a bath." Piers points upstairs. "Freckles is pretty much out of it, but Doe-Eyes is pulling all the stops. It's fucking hot. You might want to go watch, I'll hold the fort. My gift to you."

Fin scoffs. "It needs to be a lot more than a sexy bath to earn you those ten bucks. I want my pet sweet, stupid and docile; and if she ever gets her hands on a fucking bolt cutter again I want her dumb little brain to know that the only way she's going to use it is to fuck herself with it, while I watch."

"Mhhh." Piers just smiles, as he raises his beer. "Bet."

- 

"Please," Angel whimpers in the bathtub, as Lourdes’ expert fingers wander between her legs. Her friend’s touch is soft on her torn body. Gentle. Loving. 

Relentless.

They don’t hear her. They just go on. Kissing her. Touching her. Soothing, promising, arguing. 

She’s loved them, she thinks. They’ve loved her, too, differently. 

Do they, still? 

Does she, still?

Does it matter?

"It doesn’t matter," Lourdes whispers, as their fingers circle her clit. "You can keep making it hard, and keep hating it, and it's still going to happen. Why not let it be good? You know it could be so good."

Angel lets her head sink back against the side of the bathtub. There’s a bath cushion mounted there, softening the edge. She’s bought it, for them both, after they moved in, when they established their tradition of bath day, entire evenings spend in the warm bathroom and each other’s company, talking, drinking, listening.

Bath days are over.

It was an interlude.

Lourdes’ lips are on hers, tender and unrelenting. Their fingers slip into her, just as their tongue slips into her mouth.

Why not let it be good?

It’s up to her. 

She can make it good. She knows. She’s been made to be good. Just as they have.

She just has to let go. Of the past, of the pain, of the lie she’s lived. Let go of Angel Harris. Let go. 

Just be good.

Angel lets go.

The pet kisses back. 

She still kisses back, when the face in front of her is pulled away, pressed down, replaced by someone else, a man, a handler with a deep gash on his chin and a cruel smile. The pet - 238, Freckles, Angel, it doesn't really matter, as long as she's being good, as long as she's feeling good - doesn’t even flinch.

She's still good.

Good pets don't remember.

They don't, they shouldn't remember being in this very same room, being a person, being assaulted by that same man in their own bathroom. Good pets don’t remember the dread, the struggle, the resistance.

Good pets don't care about anything but their owner's pleasure. Good pets don't care about other pets. Good pets don't have friends, who they need to worry about, drowning or hurting or dying. Friends are for people. Pets only have owners.

Handler Fin is the centre of her world, and he's kissing her, he's making her feel good, and she's kissing him back, with desperate passion.

Her hips shift as she spreads her legs wider for the attention of the other pet, a tool in her owner's hand, she doesn't know how to worry. She knows how to fuck and to kiss and to be good.

The other pet, the one kept under water, the one she doesn't worry about, is keeping their mouth over her clit, gently sucking at it.

"Good girl" he whispers in her ear. "But Freckles may only come if she persuades me that she wants it. Tell me how badly Freckles needs this."

Underwater, the other pet twitches, the handler’s hand pressing keeps them down. 

The pet kisses him like she's she one drowning, desperate, needy, letting the warmth in her lower body simmer, wait, hold back for him. "Sir," she whispers, voice husky, just as she's learned. "I... I want this, I need this, but... I need you more. I... My pleasure is yours, Sir, please, allow me be good, let me finish, please." 

Let the pet finish, please, let them go, let me stop caring, please, let me be good. 

His free hand rests on her throat, squeezes lightly, almost loving. "Freckles has forgotten that I and me are no longer terms for her," he says mildly. "Freckles is not being very good. Why should a bad pet be allowed any pleasure?" 

Under the surface, a hand digs into her thigh painfully. 

The pet closes her eyes. She doesn't care. Please. 

That's what pets are for.

That’s what the one under the water is for. The one whose mouth has lost its former expertise, whose tongue is just twitching desperately. Who still sends ripples of pleasure through her body, because she's made for pleasure, for giving and receiving, always, whenever.

That's what she's for. Her. Freckles. 

"Freckles," she breathes. "Freckles is sorry, Freckles' learned other words for herself in training. Freckles mind is slow, because she's so confused, she has to learn so much, but... But she... She'll be better, she... Freckles is yours, Sir."

"Yes, Freckles is slow," he says. He tilts her head back against the tub, pulls her body by the neck until her back arches. "But Freckles will learn eventually. She has the rest of her life to learn." 

She feels him shove the other pet’s head firmly against her cunt. "Come, Freckles," he commands. 

The sound of his voice almost tips her over the edge almost as much as the pet's mouth, desperately sucking at her clit. 

Waves of pleasure wash over her, make her forget the ache lingering deep in her body, as she lets her back arch even further, gives him everything she has to offer. 

She's his. She knows. She's always been.

Her owner hauls the other pet out of the water by their hair, choking and fighting for breath, but Freckles has only eyes for him, and the affection she sees in his eyes. She is still trembling in the afterglow of her orgasm, the smile on her face all perfect, natural instinct. 

"Good girl, Freckles," he praises. "Freckles is beautiful when she comes for me."  

There's blood on her owner's chin, still. He's been hurt, by someone who didn't understand. Her fr-, Lou-, the other pet, they had always known. 

It's stupid to fight. Pets are meant to lose. Made to lose. But if they accept that, if they do lose in just the right way, if they do what pets do and they are pretty and desirable and fuckable, they can be rewarded still. And she wants to. She wants to be good and loved, and safe, she wants his hands on her like just now, not like - not like on the previous her. The before. The bad pet.

He reaches into the water, lifting her out with ease. It's a short shock, when he lets go of his hold. She finds footing, but the muscles in her legs aren't prepared, are too weak to hold her upright.  Her legs give in, and she yelps, as she collapses on the tiles at his feet, almost forgotten aches flaring up again all over her, echoes of him, her resistance, his anger. "I'm sorry," she whispers, gaze cast down in instant submission, "Sir, Freckles is so sorry, she's... You've had to punish her, and she's still hurting, still learning. It’s her fault."

"It’s alright." He smiles and strokes her head. "Freckles can crawl, if she can't stand." The affection in his touch makes the pet feel warm, in a way she hasn't felt warm for a long time. She nods, grateful for his guidance. Pets should always be grateful.

"Yes, Sir."

She can crawl, she can be on her knees, or on all fours, like a good pet. 

"Dry yourself first," he commands, settling himself on the side of the bathtub.  

She smiles at him, as she gets on her knees and lifts the towel to dry herself, careful and sensual, making sure the movements of the towel emphasizes every part of her body. She knows he likes her breasts, she's seen him leer at them so often, and thus she starts there, working through the pain when the towel runs over welts and bruises. 

She knows he likes her pain, too. She’s known before, she knows now, as he palms himself lazily through his pants, watching her.

By her side, she knows the other pet is drying themself as well. She doesn’t look over. She doesn't care about them, because it would only hurt them. Which doesn't make sense, because not wanting them to get hurt is caring, and she does not care. She bites her lips. It's okay to not understand. Pets are stupid. And she's nothing more than a pet. 

"Let's go to your room," her owner orders. "Get you ready."

She tries to push herself up to her feet once again. Her legs still can't make it. And he's leaving, steps out on the corridor expecting her to follow. She lets herself sink down on all fours and crawls after him, fighting through the burning sting of the soft carpet on her chafed knees.

 "Gonna find you something cute and fuckable to wear, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. The pet name soothes her pain, and she lets the warmth of her own affection for him wash over the strange feeling of wrongness. This is not his house, but she is his - and so it's natural for him to move around like he's a ruler, and for her to follow. 

He stops in front of the bedrooms, as if waiting for her to show him which door to open, and she glances at the one he's looking for, crawls into the room when he opens it.

The bedroom is large, all oriented towards the big windows, decorated with soft colours and light wood. The pet remembers being happy about this room, about it catching the vibes of the sky on a spring day. A bouquet of fresh flowers stands on a desk in the corner, next to a computer and headphones and a half finished glass of water. The bed isn't made, the blue duvet crumpled next to a stripped off set of clothes. The person who lived here has just left to take a shower.

The pet knows she won't come back.

#bbu #pet whump #nsfwhump #lourdes the romantic #angel the romantic #handler piers scott #handler fin somers #noncon cw #dubcon cw #conditioning #bye angel #lourdes did it #shes gone

[whump-queen]

✍️ like 3 months ago u said on discord "I did get an idea about a whumper setting a shock collar to detect whumpees heartrate and go off if it exceeded a certain level… eventually they’d have to force their body to ‘relax’ if they wanted the pain to stop" and i haven't stopped thinking about it since

omg I had completely forgot about this but look what I found sitting in my notes app—

Relax

“How many times do I have to say it, hm?”

content: shock collars, restraints, begging, cruel/sadistic whumper, set up to fail

✧ ─  ༻✦༺  ─ ✧

Whumpee seized as the collar went off again, every muscle in their body tensed and contorted with agony over and over. They didn’t know how many times it took, but at some point they collapsed, limp against the concrete when the current finally stopped.

“P-please—please make it stop.” They let out another choked sob, “I—I can’t do this anymore I—“

Another jolt of electricity sparked straight into their neck and another piercing scream rang out and echoed along the concrete walls.

Whumper only laughed, and when Whumpee looked up at them with those desperate, pleading eyes, Whumper’s lips pursed together and their eyes narrowed. Whumpee knew that look—a mocking gesture of sympathy.

“Awe pet, surely you dont think begging me will do anything, do you?

“I mean,” Whumper lifted their hands up in a universal gesture of innocence, “I’m not even holding a remote right now, am I?”

Whumpee’s eyes widened, “Then how—how are you—“

“I dont control this right now, you do. And if you want it to stop, you’ll need to learn to fucking control yourself.”

It was no use. Their voice kept cracking between words. Whumpee could only let out a pathetic whimper as they sunk limply back into the floor.

Whumper smiled and turned on their heel, snickering when they heard yet another snap of electricity and another desperate shriek of pain.

They reached for the door handle, but a sharp shout from their captive on the floor made their fingers pause.

“Wait! W-wait I— I’ll do anything, I— Please— Please just— just make it st—aaAAGHH—“

Whumper turned to look at the bound shaking figure, twitching with the voltage that never seemed to leave their system for too long.

A condescending smirk slid across their face.

“I’ve already told you. If you want the pain to stop, you’re going to have to relax.”

Whumpee felt fresh, hot tears stream down their face as they watched Whumper disappear through the doorway, locking the door behind them.

✧ ─  ༻✦༺  ─ ✧

there are a lot of scenarios you could do with a premise like this, this was just drabble wip I had in my notes so! may write more of this idea and I invite anyone else to use this idea if you want (if you do, tag me cuz I wanna read it!)

general whump tagljst: @whumpshaped @whumpsday @emmettnet @a-whump-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @wolfeyedwitch @whumper-soot @unorganisedalienrubbish @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @hidden-dreamland @whumpedydump @lonesome--hunter @ashh-ed @whump-in-the-closet @shannon-foraker @oriantthegiant @banditosong @anonymustyou @feralwhump @jieunie-23

lmk if you want to be added/removed from the taglist <3

#look it’s not my best work but it’s better than nothing *throws this post at you* #whump writing #whump #captivity whump #shock collar #electricity whump #electroshock #electro torture #shock collars #cruel whumper #begging #impossible tasks #set up to fail #ok i’m done eee #it ain’t much but it’s honest work #i actually wrote this for an ask prompt like months ago so I guess I can finally post that now 0.0 #lmk if you find any typos mmkay thank uhuuuuu #my writing #my post #answered asks #akias asks

[devourerofcheesecake]

Preface: I’m really new to whump and I know nothing about this. I’m willing to be proved wrong on all the point that I will make, just please be kind

Ok, now that’s over with, I’d like to say, that I don’t really understand the appeal of the ‘boy boxed universe’.

I talked about it with my bf earlier, and I’ve got several bones to pick:

1.) Logistically in a world building setting it doesn’t make sense. There would have to be a BIG societal leap to having human pets normalized. There’s prob works that show these big changes, but from the stories I’ve seen so far I haven’t seen them.

What happened? Why did keeping a human pet become a societal norm in universe? Is this a recent event, or were people just doing this since we started living in caves?

What the fuck are whumpers doing for work??? How do they have all this extra money to feed a lil guy in their home?? That’s a lot of money, it’s like raising a kid. And that’s on top of torture equipment. I just KNOW the economy is fucked because of this. I don’t know a lot about economy stuff, but Im not sure how half the labor force being kept in cages is helping money problems

“Think of the children!!” No seriously think of the children. They are living in a world where it’s normalized to be kidnapped. Their options are to be kept inside their whole lives or be taken by creeps. Do parents just not love their children in this universe, do they sell them off at a young age?? If they are kept inside their whole lives, doesn’t that emotionally stunt them? Is this what fuels the in-universe normalized whump fire? Children growing up emotionally stunted and not knowing how to regulate their feelings, resulting in adults who torture people?? That makes sense. but seriously, do parents go out to the mall with their family and see a dude on a leash being dragged by another dude?

From the stories I’ve seen so far, possession of a whumpee is free for all. If you steal them from someone, they are yours now. That doesn’t make sense?? If society is gonna run like this and STILL have a system of justice, an ownership system has to be established. You’ve kidnapped your whumpee, now you have to register them and fill out paperwork to the IRS about tax deductibles.

Feel free to skip this part, IK it’s stupid to talk about human rights when talking about Whump. But seriously, WTH is happening with human rights???? Not EVERYONE is going to whip their pet on a daily basis, and it’s gonna freak someone out each time they see someone walking around with burned skin, or barbed wire, ect. Is some of the abuses that occur looked on in disgust? Is there a law system saying you can’t do certain things to your pet? If this thing is a recent event, is there people who are vehemently against it? Is there a group of caretakers that provide safe havens? HOW normalized is this? Does everyone have a pet or is it just an occasional practice? If basic human rights are being ignored, what’s happening to lgbt rights? Women’s rights? Racial rights?

Is there websites to get a whumpee? Is this more like Facebook market place or Tinder? Can you match with your whumpee, and if so does whumpee consent to this or no. Do they list themselves or does someone else do it for them

2.) Idk Im just not a big fan of it. I’m willing to be proved wrong, but normalization of human pets kinda bores me. As my bf said, it removes the horror of the situation. Kidnapping someone should be a deeply terrifying practice, and if it’s widespread it loses the fun. Plus, I like the stories where torture is an intimate thing. It’s no fun if you are being tortured by a regular shmo, it needs to be someone who’s unhealthily obsessed with you and wants to forcefully explore limits

Yea idk, willing to be proved wrong, and please feel free to send me works that explore these world building things!!

#athena screams into the void #and it does not answer back #Whump #normalized whump #pet whump #I have questions and I’d like to have them answered please #bbu

[vivisection-and-vampyrism]

Home Sweet Home part three

Content Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome, Burns, Muzzling, Restraints, Murder Plots, Vampire whumpees, Human whumper, and some really really fucked up romance

October descended the stairs before Falkner, and took its place kneeling on the floor. As always, a couple rats scampered over to sniff at its hands. Hopefully it could get food for them later.

It looked up reverently at Falkner as he descended the stairs, and leaned casually against the closest wall.

His many braids hung loosely around his shoulders, adored with shiny brass beads. October loved his hair, and tended to be very distracted by it, among other aspects of his appearance.

"Has October told you the rules?" Falkner asked, casually leaning against the crumbling wall.

"Yes sir," Pavel squeaked.

October wasn't fond of Pavel's voice. He really did squeak. Like a mouse. But mice were far cuter when they did it. He sounded utterly pathetic.

"I will take your restraints off when you swear to behave. One slip-up and they're going back on."

"I promise to behave," Pavel said, not wasting a minute before responding.

"I swear," Odessa said. Her voice was as soft as she could make it, which really meant she sounded like she wanted to tear out Falkner's eyes instead of his heart. "...Thank you."

"Stand against the wall, both of you."

Odessa and Pavel stood facing the wall, their respective angry and fearful expressions now out of sight. Falkner didn't unlock their restraints right away, instead waving the key in front of October's face.

"You do it. Now."

October grabbed the key. It was silver, of course. Every metal object of Falkner's seemed to be. But it still held the key tightly, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible.

It unlocked Pavel's chains first, and left them where they fell on the ground. No point touching more silver than it had too, when white-hot blisters were already forming on its delicate fingertips. Then it released Odessa, much less happy to harm itself for her sake than for Pavel's.

"Thank you, angel." Falkner held out his hand palm up.

"You're welcome, darling." October dropped the key in his hand, relieved to be done with this simple task.

Falkner slipped the key in his pocket. He didn't seem concerned with the restraints lying on the floor. In all likelihood, he would leave them there as a tripping hazard until they were needed. He did stuff like that a lot.

"Did you need anything else?"

"No." October smiled. "Don't you worry about me. I'm having plenty of fun with my new friends."

"I'm playing host to a few people later. I expect you to join me."

"I wouldn't dream of missing one of your parties."

October thought the burn on its forehead would never heal, with how Falkner's silver lip piercing grazed the same spot with every goodbye kiss. But no amount of suffering could mitigate how warm inside his affection made it feel.

Then it was left alone again. But not even in a proper solitude, which it could use to contemplate its existence or deal with hypersexual episodes by masturbating. No, it was alone with two newbies who were staring at it like dumbasses.

"What are you looking at?" it grumbled. "Want me to do a trick or something?"

Pavel rubbed his wrists, worsening the damage the restraints had done in an attempt to sooth it. His flesh had twisted and melted under the silver, blackening in an almost necrotic fashion.

October had to resist the urge to bite down on the burn and tear up his flesh with its teeth. Modern humans called such things "stimming". October prefered the term "finding satisfaction for sadistic urges".

"Now to get out of here." Odessa walked boldly to the bottom of the staircase, peering up at pad-locked the silver door. "Any idea on how to get past that?"

"I would have thought of it eight years ago if there were a way," October said sarcastically. "My recommendation is to give up. Very simple."

"Simple, maybe. But definitely not helpful."

"Besides, you heard what Falkner said. He's having people over later. I'm sure they'll find you extremely annoying. Why not try playing that situation by ear?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Pavel asked. "Falkner said he wanted you there, not us. It isn't like he's going to let us upstairs."

"Isn't it obvious?" October smiled, feeling a bit wicked. "He's going to invite over a few vampire hunters. You know, to show y'all off to. If you're gonna misbehave, now is the time to do it. They'll kick your ass seven ways 'til Sunday."

"Isn't the expression seven ways to Sunday?" Odessa asked.

October rolled its eyes. "Who gives a fuck?"

Pavel spaced out for a moment, then rubbed his temples, looking confused. "What vampire hunters is he bringing over?"

"Eh, probably his hunting teammates." October examined its nails, feigning boredom. "Hydra, Crawford, Ivor… Maybe Isolde. Not that those names mean anything to you."

"Ivor is the name of that hunter that captured us!" Odessa shouted. "I do not want to see him!"

"I'll admit that I don't like him very much either. No sense of humor. But I never said that you got a choice in the matter."

Odessa crossed her arms. "Do you have to be such a bitch all the tine? I don't need you to solve our problems, I just need a little fucking sympathy."

"Oh boohoo," October mocked. "How about having a little sympathy for me? I've been here for almost a decade. I've been tortured, beaten, almost murdered-" It took and deep breath. "And for what? So some nobody can come down here and act like she knows better than I do? Believe me, you don't."

Odessa looked truly ashamed of herself. "I'm sorry. It's hard to forget that you aren't our enemy."

"Is it?" October sneered, feeling more superior than ever.

"When you have that attitude, yes. You're trying to get me to give up, and I refuse. So, you're either on our side or on Falkner's."

"That isn't fair either," Pavel interjected. "October has been on their own- sorry, its own, for eight years. It isn't used to looking out for other people. The same way we're used to only looking out for each other."

"When did you get so eloquent?" October asked. "You don't sound like you did earlier."

"...I dont know. But I know I'm right."

"Fine." Odessa threw her hands in the air. "None of us play well with others. I get it. But if us three vampires can get along for at least a little while, we can kill that fucking hunter and get the hell out of here."

During its first year or two spent here, October had thought of nothing other than murdering Falkner, escaping his grasp after leaving his body nothing more than a broken husk. But now… The idea filled it with dread. What would it do without him?

For better or for worse, he was the love of its life. They needed each other.

"I'll try to help you," October lied. "But all this… trauma, well, it's hard to get over."

Without wauting for permission, Pavel crushed October in a hug. His affection was supremely unexpected. October instinctually seized up, ready to defend itself. But after realizing what was happening, it couldn't help but melt into the embrace.

This misguided show of comradery was almost enough to make October wish for someone, anyone in the world, who would care for it as much as Falkner.

Taglist: @sulnusoup13 @heavenlyeden @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @excessive-vampires @pigeonwhumps

#Hart rambles #Home Sweet Home #Whump #Whumpblr #Whump writing #Whump series #Vampire whump #Dark comedy #Vampire whumpee #Multiple whumpees #Human whumper

[pigeonwhumps]

Aftermath

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @whumpinggrounds

Direct sequel to A Late Night Discovery by @i-eat-worlds, a crossover with their series Alex and Friends in which Joseph, their medic, finds Phoenix injured.

In this sequel, Aaron discovers more worrying things, and tries to take care of them.

2.7k

CWs: immortal whumpee, hero whump, abuse, mentioned child abuse, medical whump (past and current), painful wound care, being kicked out, team whump, fear of punishment, whumpee believing they're undeserving, low self-esteem, exhaustion, starvation, outcast whumpee

"You said you'd come to me if you were injured."

Phoenix cringes away from Aaron's disappointment. "I'm sorry, sir. I thought that, um, I could deal with it myself. It's not even bad."

"Hey. I'm not mad. But you've got a decent-sized gash on your side and you were going to attempt to treat it yourself. I suspect not too well either. Let me decide how bad your injuries are in future, alright?"

Phoenix nods. "What, um, what happens now? Am I free to go? It's really not that bad. It'll heal. I've had worse and, um, not gone to medbay."

"I don't want you heading back to your flat yet, not when there's a very real chance your teammates will make your injury worse. I estimate you'll be mostly healed by the end of my shift, and then you can go. Is that alright?"

Phoenix nods. It's unnecessary, but then so is a lot of what Aaron does for them. And Joseph too, apparently.

It's weird. They don't understand why Joseph's helping, he barely even knows them. But it makes them feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Thank you." Aaron squeezes their shoulder. "I'd better get back to work now. Please don't leave before I get back."

After Aaron's left, Phoenix curls up on the bed. The main problem with him visiting them when he's not busy is going to be fooling him into thinking they have somewhere to go. That won't be the case for months, if ever.

They spend most of the hours that Aaron's gone trying to think of an excuse to get them off their back so they can return to their hiding place in the corner of the supply cupboard. But it's... well. They have no idea what to say that would be convincing.

But if they don't... they've fucked up. They know they have. Indigo and Segun kicked them out, and they must've had a reason for it, even if they weren't exactly clear with Phoenix (and even if it is only temporarily). And now Aaron will be angry about it, and they don't think they can stand that.

They're starting to feel rather hungry. Maybe they can have a snack after Aaron discharges them. That's sort of the same way as their flat.

Well. It can be.

They could just leave now. They're tempted. But they promised Aaron they'd stay, and they can't break a promise. That would be worse.

Aaron returns several hours later, clean bandage in hand. He smiles tightly as he enters the treatment area.

"Okay Phoenix. I'm going to check your injury and then rebandage it. It might hurt a bit. Is that okay?"

"Yes, sir."

Aaron winces as they bend down beside them. "No need for all the sirs." Gently, oh so gently, they unwind the bandage around Phoenix's waist. Honestly, it's too gently, they don't deserve it. They don't understand why Aaron is being so, so gentle.

"It doesn't look too bad, it's starting to close. I'm going to touch it quickly to check for infection." Aaron's as good as his word, touching for a few seconds at most. "It doesn't feel hot, that's good. I think you're safe. Let me just rebandage it. Hold onto the bed if you need to."

Phoenix doesn't think they'll need to at first, it's not like it's that bad, they're hurt all the time without professional medical care, but the bandage pressing down hurts and they end up with the pillow in a white-knuckled grip.

Maybe it hurts more if they're professionals.

He's so gentle, but it still hurts. But then, the pain is only what they deserve, after all.

"There you go, kid. It should be finished healing sometime tomorrow. Are you in pain?"

Phoenix swallows. The honest answer is yes, but they deserve it. Aaron will try to give them painkillers if they say yes, and they don't need them. Those can go to other heroes who need them, who deserve them, because they certainly don't.

"I, um, don't need painkillers. I'm okay, really. Other, um, heroes deserve them more."

"That wasn't what I asked. But it still answers my question." He heads across the room and pops a couple of painkillers, handing them to Phoenix with a glass of water. "I want to make it absolutely clear, Phoenix. You deserve painkillers just as much as anyone else here, and anyone telling you otherwise is just manipulating you. We have plenty of medicine, we're not running short, and even if we were, that doesn't mean you wouldn't deserve them. Alright?"

Phoenix nods. They don't believe them, but they don't want to know what'll happen if they disagree.

Aaron nods. "Alright. Alright." He strokes their hair gently and they close their eyes involuntarily. They're so tired. Sleeping in a storage cupboard isn't exactly conducive to good rest.

"You're free to go now, if you like. There's no rush, but so long as you come back in the morning for a check-up I'll discharge you."

"Yes please." Phoenix hops off the table, overbalancing slightly and catching themself on Aaron's arm. It doesn't matter. If they leave now, alone, before Aaron has a chance to change their mind, maybe they can get to their cupboard without them finding out.

"Woah. Are you sure you're okay to go back on your own? You don't need me to walk you?"

Phoenix nods. "I'm fine. Thank you."

And they take the packet of painkillers that Aaron presses into their hand and walk out of the treatment area.

_

Aaron frowns after Phoenix as they exit the treatment area. They don't look well. The bags under their eyes are even more pronounced than normal, and that's saying something. And they look scared. They're stumbling into things, like they're going to collapse.

Aaron doesn't trust that they'll make it back to their flat alone.

He shouldn't, it's probably breaking their trust in some way, but he follows. And that... that isn't the direction of their flat.

He's not going to say anything. Not even going to approach, just keep an eye. But then Phoenix stumbles, and staggers, and trips into the wall, starting to slide down.

And Aaron runs. Fuck, no. They're not letting Phoenix hurt themself more.

They put an arm around their waist, lifting them upright. They'd rather carry them but they were so adamant about not wanting to be accompanied earlier, the least they can do is attempt to accommodate their wishes.

"Hey, hey. Easy. You're okay."

Phoenix shakes their head frantically. "No, no, please, I'm sorry. Just let me go, please, I didn't, um, mean to be an inconvenience, I'm sorry, don't, um, don't hurt me, don't punish me, I know I deserve it but please."

"Woah. Easy Phoenix. I'm not going to hurt you. Aside from anything else, it'd be a waste of my efforts in healing you, hmm? Come on, take a deep breath. That's it. I'll walk you back to your flat, yeah? Are you okay to do that?"

Phoenix sniffs. "I– I– I can't– I'm not allowed– please just– I don't–"

Their voice cracks and they break off, bursting into hoarse, racking sobs.

"Please."

They flinch as Aaron touches their shoulder, and he squeezes it once before letting go.

"What can't you do, Phoenix?"

"I can't– I'm not 'llowed– Indigo 'n' Segun kicked me out. 'Cos 'm useless and only Abbie's apprentice and they don't need to waste resources on me. Please, don't be angry, I'm sorry."

Aaron swallows down the instinctual rush of hot fury at that statement. "I would never be angry about that. Not at you, at any rate. It's not your fault they're unwilling to fulfill anything more than the exact wording of their contractual obligations. Hmm? Where are you staying at the moment?"

Phoenix eyes him warily, like they don't believe a word of it, and he tries not to feel hurt. This isn't about him.

"Storage– storage cupboard," they whisper. Aaron shakes their head.

"That won't do, especially now you're injured. Want to come stay with me instead?"

"I, um, don't deserve that."

Aaron raises an eyebrow. "You can't heal in a space as small as the cupboards you must be using."

"Can. Have. Lemme go."

"Let me take care of you."

"Don't need that. Can't pay you back for it. I'll mess up. Don't wanna... please."

"You don't need to pay. I'm just trying to help my friend. You. I mean, you can do some chores if you really want to, but it's not compulsory."

"Flatmates? Don't wanna make people angry."

"I don't have any. Medics have studio flats. Which you know, you've visited before. Let me help you. Please. I'll worry for ages if I don't."

"Shouldn't. 'm not worth it."

"Hey. I decide who's worth worrying about."

And he doesn't know why. Maybe it's the emotional side in him. Maybe it's the way they get so tearful, so disbelieving, whenever anyone's kind. How could anybody not want to comfort them?

"Can I give you a hug?"

Phoenix nods, looking startled. Aaron puts their arms around them properly, carefully, one wrapped fairly tightly around their shoulder. And Phoenix...

Phoenix crumbles. Leaning against their chest, head pressed against them, sobbing their heart out as they grip his scrubs like their life depends on it.

Maybe it does. Aaron wouldn't put anything past their team.

"Hey. Shh, you're okay, it's okay, you're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you. Just let it out, that's it, there you go, kid."

A nurse turns the corner into the corridor, immediately retracing her steps when she sees them. Aaron's grateful. Phoenix needs their privacy, even if it's hard to get here.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." They murmur it like a desperate litany, a prayer, and in response Aaron hugs them tighter.

"Let me help you. Please."

Phoenix looks up, confusion creasing their face. "You're, um, not going to give up, are you?"

"No. I'm not leaving you in a supply cupboard. Or anywhere else that you won't be taken care of. I'm off shift now, so I can do that."

"O-okay then, I guess. Where, um, where are you taking me?"

"To my flat. If that's okay. Can you walk?"

Phoenix nods and clears their throat, putting one foot down properly on the ground, preparing to stand.

And promptly starts to slide back down.

"And that's a no. Arms around my neck, there you go. When did you last eat a proper meal, kid? You're getting towards skin and bones."

"I, um, I had some biscuits yesterday. They were good biscuits! I had nowhere to get proper food from anyway!" they add defensively. Aaron tucks a lock of hair behind their ear, stifling a sigh.

"Cafeteria?"

Phoenix blinks up at them. "We have one of those?"

"Well, yes. Did no-one give you a tour?"

"Abbie said I didn't need one. That everything I could need was in the flat, and if I thought I needed anything else either I wasn't looking hard enough or I didn't need it. And it hurt when I asked for unnecessary things." Phoenix tucks their head in the crook of their neck. "'m sorry."

"Nothing to apologise for." Aaron doesn't know why they're surprised by anything Abbie and her team do anymore. Not giving Phoenix a chance to meet other heroes is the perfect way to keep them isolated and abuse them with no fuss or suspicion. And yet. "Once you're healed, fed and rested, I'm giving you a tour. You live here, you should see everything. Alright?"

Phoenix nods, already half-asleep. They must be exhausted.

"Good."

Aaron lifts them more steadily into his arms. "Where are your belongings? So I can fetch them after we've got you settled down."

"You, um, you don't have to do that. I'm fine."

"I know I don't. But I'm going to."

"Supply cupboard 14," they murmur.

"Thank you. You're not fine, though."

Phoenix makes a noise of disagreement and grips Aaron tighter as they pass a doorway. Aaron rubs their back, and it's not far before they reach his room. It's a struggle to unlock his door, and to be honest Phoenix's confused attempts at helping only make it worse, but eventually he makes it through, placing them on the bed. He gets some pyjamas out of the basket and folds them next to them.

"You don't have to change, but if you want to, there's some clothes here. I know you, you won't get any out yourself. Use the bathroom if you want too. I'll be back soon, okay?"

"Okay."

Aaron gives them a tight smile and heads back out to the medical corridors, trying to compose themself as they go. The worst part of all this is Phoenix's complete obliviousness to anything being wrong. And why would they think it was? Their whole life they've been abused, why would they think its continuation wasn't normal?

But they shouldn't, and he hates it.

They don't have many belongings, just a small rucksack which presumably isn't everything (and worrying bloody smudges on some of the shelving that he tries his best to ignore), and Aaron slings it onto their back, avoiding the no-doubt-curious doctors and nurses. Best fetch a snack while they're out too. A sandwich or cereal bar will do.

He pushes the door to his room open as silently as possible and heaves a quiet sigh. Phoenix, predictably, is on the floor, curled around their stomach. They haven't changed, or washed, or done anything except move somewhere very uncomfortable.

"Why?"

Phoenix flinches. "I, um, I don't want to make your flat dirty. I can use a bucket, I don't mind, really."

"Well I do. This was going to wait until your birthday, but I guess..." Aaron rummages around in a drawer and pulls out a folded green rough-ish fabric, with something like ears at the top. "Happy early birthday."

Phoenix frowns at it, visibly confused, and unfolds it like it's the most precious thing they've ever received.

"Is this... is it, um, is it a Yoda bath robe?" they ask quietly, astonished.

"Baby Yoda I think, technically."

"Grogu," corrects Phoenix absently, and Aaron feels a little relief that at least they feel relaxed enough to do that. "I've always wanted... thank you."

"That's okay. I bet you'll look adorable in it." He ruffles Phoenix's hair, and they pout. "Now. You have a wash, I'll help with the bandages, and then I've brought you something to eat. I know you're exhausted, but you'll pass out from hunger if you're not careful. And you're not sleeping on the floor."

"Can I, um, sleep on the sofa?"

"No," says Aaron flatly. "You're taking the bed."

"But, um, but I'll make your flat dirty. I'm not too bad, I can sleep on the sofa. Let me, um, sleep on the sofa."

"Not with those injuries, and that exhaustion."

"But, but once, um, I'm healed, I, um, I can?" they ask hopefully.

"Yep," lies Aaron. It's always polite to let the guest sleep on the bed, after all, especially when they've spent their life being abused by those who should be helping them. "But take the bed tonight."

"Where will you sleep though?"

Aaron shrugs. "The sofa. Or I can share the bed, it is massive after all. And you'd better sleep as much as you need to."

"Oh."

Phoenix doesn't seem to know what to say to that, as Aaron helps them to the bathroom. He's already planning. When they wake up, they'll take them on a tour. Most of the medical staff know Phoenix. Have guessed some of what's happening. They won't mind swapping a shift with him.

Some will, but they'll just have to deal. Aaron is going to take Phoenix on a tour as soon as they feel up to it, whatever anyone else thinks.

That ends up being two days later, after they've slept for close to 24 hours straight, and then rested reluctantly for another day. Aaron only just resists shaking them to ensure they're still alive.

They will be, though. They always are.

#whump #whump writing #immortal cannon fodder #phoenix oc #aaron oc #whumpee and caretaker #immortal whumpee #hero whumpee #hero caretaker #hero whumper #hero whump #fear of punishment #abuse whump #medical whump #team whump #outcast whumpee

[i-eat-worlds]

30 Percent

A follow up to my wonderful Season’s Beatings piece

Inspired by a conversation with @wounds-seen-and-unseen. Go check them out!

Thanks to @snaillamp for letting me bug them with medical questions!

cw: blood (a lot), delirious whumpee, medical whump, needles, tension and theatric elements. major character injury

Blood was always a bad sign.

That seemed like an obvious one, but there was enough of it, big drops on the hallway's tile every couple of feet, that Joseph had gone from normal worried to extra worried.

How long had she walked like this?

Alex had gotten separated from the team, which was bad enough, but the red flecking the floor was even worse. He kept walking, following the trail further down the darkened hallway. Eventually, it turned into a room labeled “staff only.”

The door wasn’t locked.

He pushed it open, ignoring the blood stain on the handle.

Alex was sitting on the floor, leaning against the toilet, shirt torn up and partially stuffed into the long, gaping gash across her abdomen. Her skin was plastered with blood, both dried and fresh, and the crude bandages had been completely soaked through. It was smeared on the floor around her from when she’d sat down.

Fuck.

As he dropped to his knees, he called for help, giving Eric his approximate location, a brief description of what he saw, and a desperate request to hurry up please.

“Alex, you with me?” He slid his pack off his shoulders.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. “-oseph…why’re you ‘ere?”

“You’re hurt, Alex.” He ripped open a package, pulled out a pad and pressed it to the wound. “How’re you feeling?”

She flinched away from his touch. “Head hurts. And belly. And ‘m dizzy.”

“Did you hit your head?” His hands worked fast as he wrapped a bandage around her abdomen.

“Uhhh…yeah. In the hallway. He…he stabbed me,” she mumbled, lifting her hand to reach for the wound. “I needa…needa…”

“Woah, hey, I gotcha now.” He gently moved her hand out of the way, setting it down on the ground. “I’m takin’ care of you, yeah.”

Her eyes followed his movements as he clipped the oximeter to her finger and velcroed the bp cuff around her upper arm. “What’re you doin’?”

“I’m checking your-” Joseph snapped his mouth shut at the sound of voices coming from the far end of the hallway.

Fuck.

He held a finger to his lips, hoping that Alex got the message to shut up.

She didn’t.

“Wha-” His hand sealed over her mouth, muing whatever she was trying to say. “Quiet,” he whispered sharply.

The voices grew louder, footsteps thumbing on the tiles. Thank the lord he had closed the door behind him. Their feet came to a halt outside the door, and his eyes flickered down to the knife on her waist.

Please no.

A horribly long moment passed, and Joseph held his breath. Alex’s eyes were fixed on him, her body frozen in fear.

Please no.

Another beat of silence passed, and then someone jiggled the door knob. Keeping his hand over her mouth, he slowly reached down and unsheathed the knife. He could feel the puff of air against his palm as Alex whimpered quietly.

Please no.

There was the painful, ear-splitting noise of the door handle turning, and he gripped the knife harder. It felt far too light.

Please no.

The door cracked open, and Joseph prepared for the worst. He wouldn’t lose another one. Not like this.

There was a loud, splintering crash from outside the room, and the sounds of a fight erupted in the hallway. The cavalry had arrived. “I’m in the room on the right, number #065,” he reminded them, removing his hand from Alex’s mouth and returning the knife to its sheath. Thank fucking god.

She sniffles, sucking in a desperate breath. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Turquoise is here. We’re gonna get you out, yeah?” He tore the cuff of her arm, shoving it into the top of his bag.

Avis shoved the door open with her hip, practically knocking it off his hinges. The fight was still raging behind her, Teri beating the teeth out of some poor henchman. “Sil’s at the loading dock, same way we came in,” she yelled, then left to join the fray.

Before he could stop it, Alex was pushing herself up to standing. Her legs were unsteady, but she walked forward anyway. “I wanna go.”

“Let me help, aight?” He slung his pack over his shoulder, then ran over to help her. There would almost certainly be more henchmen on the way, and he needed to take the opportunity while he had it. Arm over her shoulders, he held her tight as she limped down the hallway, chaos roaring behind them.

***

Compared to the hallway, the garage was eerily quiet. The truck they’d come in on was parked at the dock, waiting for their arrival. He helped her up the ramp and set her down towards the back, next to his larger, proper medical bag.

She rolled her head to the side, stretching a hand towards his knee. “ ‘s cold, Joseph.”

“I'll get a blanket on you soon, yeah?” As he spoke, he replaced the oximeter and secured the automatic bp cuff back around her arm. “Have you thought about what you want to do for your birthday?”

She hummed as he flicked her elbow. “I wanna go back to Blue Oysters.”

“That was a nice place, wasn’t it?” The vein finally surfaced. “Sharp scratch.”

“Ow.” Her arm twitched away as he sunk the needle in.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He looked up to see the rest of the team piling in behind him. Teri and Eric had swapped places. She’d taken shotgun so he could check in on Alex.

“Hello…” Alex mumbled wearily, moving her hand in a vague waving motion.

“Hey Alex.” Eric squatted down across from Joseph. “What do you need me to do?”

“Blanket’s in the back left pocket.” Nodding to Eric, he dug what he’d need to start fluids out of his bag. “There's a nasty cut across her abdomen, and she’s probably got a concussion.”

Her eyes flicked between them, growing wide. “Wha’ are you doing?”

“You’re hurt, Alex. We’re taking care of you.” Joseph said as Eric spread the blanket over her. The truck lurched forward, pulling away from the building.

“ ‘m fine.” She grumbled quietly, slowly blinking her eyes.

Eric eyed the slightly pink stained bandages on her belly. “You’re hurt pretty badly. Let us help, yeah?”

She groaned at that, but didn’t try to move.

“Can you hold this?” Joseph asked, handing a bag of saline to him. “And Eric?”

He paused for a moment, looking at her too-low pressures and too-fast breathing.

“Tell Sil to step on it.”

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump @painful-pooch @rainbowsandwhumperflies

#worlds babbles #whump #medical whump #blood #needles #delirious whumpee #needles tw #medic caretaker #joseph oc #alexoc #whump writing #sorry if this is bad I’ve been wacked in the face by brain fog this week

[a-crumb-of-whump]

ANB Drabble: Sleep Deprived

Masterlist

Content: Sleep deprivation, whumpee-turned-caretaker, past child abuse/neglect, body insecurity, talk of mental disorders, vampire whumpee (turned caretaker).

-

Carlos was up the moment he heard crying. Abandoning his blanket on the bedroom floor, he hastily opened the door and tiptoed down to the living area, trying his best to find the source of the noise. The only thing he was sure of was that it belonged to–

“Ryker?” 

The human looked hysterical as he looked up at him from the floor. He was flat on his stomach, crying into the pillow he usually used as support for his back when he sat at the computer. His entire face was blotchy and red, a clear indication that he’d been crying for a while, and he buried his face back into the fabric after a few moments of staring. 

“What’s going on?” Carlos gently pried as he sat down on the carpet beside him. He reached out a hand to comfortingly rub his back and tilted his head so they were looking at each other when he finally showed his face again. “You’ve done some strange things over the years but this is… concerning.” 

“You say that like it even cracks the top ten,” Ryker mumbled, closely followed by a stifled sob that caused Carlos to wince. “I’ve been up all night trying to work on this fucking project but it won’t come together in the way that I want it to. I just want to sleep but my brain is so hyperfixated on it that I can’t.” 

The human held his arms over his head, eyes squeezing shut as he tearily groaned into his pillow. “My head hurts so much.” 

“Because you’re tired?” Carlos clarified. He got a small nod in return. “Well… you know, when you were a child I learnt that cradling you helped.” 

He had to suppress a grin when Ryker peered up at him out of the corner of his eye. It looked as though he was trying his best to appear irritated at the implication of being treated like a child, but Carlos thought he could see the slight shift in demeanor that suggested it was an act. 

“I’m a lot heavier than I used to be,” he mumbled, his cheeks slightly reddening as he said it. “‘n’ you’re only just starting to get your strength back. You sure holding me is even possible?”

Insecurity, Carlos realised. It was a feeling he knew all too well. One that plagued his every waking hour, reminding him of every flaw imaginable and how much he must be embarrassing his superiors by merely existing. He’d do anything to make sure the people around him never had to feel that way, especially around him. 

“Roll over,” he gently instructed, to which the human reluctantly complied and pushed himself onto his back with his pillow still held tightly against his chest. Once he was there, Carlos draped an arm over his stomach and leaned forward, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If I could do it all those years ago, I’m more than capable of doing it now, no matter your size.” 

He looked as though he wanted to protest, but Carlos had bundled him up into his arms with a surprising amount of ease before he was able to get the first word out. He positioned him in his lap with an arm wrapped around his shoulders for support before grinning rather smugly in a way that caused Ryker to roll his eyes. 

Despite that, he pressed his face into the vampire’s chest with a deep sigh and allowed his eyes to fall shut.

“This makes me realise how much I crave being a kid again,” he mumbled after some silence, his voice muffled against the fabric of Carlos’ shirt. “It’s fucking embarrassing how often I think about it but I just wish I could go back and… and experience a childhood where my parents are just- kinder people, you know?” 

Carlos nodded, resting the side of his face against Ryker’s head as he held him close and listened in complete silence.

“So much time is spent teaching kids about school or cyber bullying, which I think is great, but- but nobody gives a shit when it happens in the home.” Even if he couldn’t see his face, Carlos could hear the stifled weeping and feel the tears that stained the fabric. He tightened his grip even more until the man’s face was practically squished against his chest, and in turn Ryker pushed himself just that bit closer. “I think my body is punishing me for pulling an all-nighter.” 

The corners of Carlos’ lips twitched upwards. “I overheard Adam telling you that would happen before I fell asleep last night.” 

“I can’t help it.” The human sniffled. “I wish you could understand what it’s like living in my head.” 

“Tell me?” Carlos quietly prompted. He felt Ryker lifting his head up to look at him, but as soon as he tried to make eye contact the human laid his head down on his chest once more as though he were trying to avoid it. Perhaps he was.

“It can be really distressing,” he tearily admitted. “Embarrassing, too, ‘cause everything that I find hard, the people around me find easy. Adam can tease me for staying up too late again ‘n’ he can give me his ‘I told you’ face all he likes, but the fact is that I have very little control over it.” 

After a small pause, he practically jumped to continue before Carlos could stop him. “To obsess or hyperfocus on something for me is- is letting it consume me. I can’t eat ‘n’ I can’t sleep. Hell, I can barely pull myself out of it for long enough to use the bathroom. Even when I’m not working on the project, it’s all I’m thinking about.” 

“It makes me feel so fucking alone when even the people I’m closest to can’t understand that. It’s not like I want to feel like this.” He let out a small laugh in between sniffles. “I need you to know that crying on the floor while hugging a pillow is not usually something that happens when I’m sleep deprived. I’m sorry.” 

Carlos shrugged. It wasn’t like either of them had anywhere to be that day. Quite frankly, he was more than happy to sit there for the day with Ryker asleep in his lap. It reminded him of some of the few pleasant memories he had with his former masters. Well… in their home, at least. None of the memories involved them.

But one thing they did have in common was that they all involved Ryker. Every last one. 

“It sounds like you’ve been holding all this in for a while,” Carlos commented quietly, after the human had finally relaxed enough to completely slump into his hold. His heart ached at the mere thought of being the cause of any bad feelings. “I’m sorry if… if I contributed to those feelings of being alone. I never want you to feel like that.”

Much to his relief, Ryker gave him a tired smile. “I know. ‘n’ I know that Adam doesn’t mean it either. It just… doesn’t change how it makes me feel.” 

That he could understand. “Of course not.” 

It came as no surprise to see Ryker fall asleep within minutes of everything going silent. His entire body was limp, legs hung over his own and his eyebrows unfurrowing. Despite the tear streaks along his face and the messy hair from where he’d been gripping at it, he looked peaceful. 

Carlos didn’t dare move again after that.

-

Taglist: @choppedflowermuffinchild @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @emcscared-whumps @espresso-depresso-system @inkkswhumpandstuff @pigeonwhumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @roblingoblin285 @sacredwrath @some-thrilling-heroics @stabby-nunchucks @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @trans-writes @whump-blog @whumpsday @whumpshaped @paniatheweirdone @whumpycries @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thekittyburger @whumpdreamz

#whump #whump stuff #whump things #whump thoughts #whump tropes #whump scenarios #whump ideas #vampire whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker

[whumped-by-glitter]

Day 7: Bloodied knuckles / Wounded / “Is that blood?!”

*for those of you that are following along and had to skip day 5: Whumpee was had a sonic based power awaken due to fear and stress. They were also turned into some kind of living art project by one extremely creepy whumper.

⚠️ CW: Hand Injury, Blood, Emotional Whump/Angst, Creepy Whumper (Mentioned)

Day 6 Here <

Leader was pacing in his office. He often did that these days. It had been 2 weeks since Whumpee went missing, and just under a week since Youngest ran off. Honestly, Leader was shocked that he hadn’t worn a path in the floor yet.

He heaved a sigh; he’d been doing a lot of that too. The failed mission where Whumpee went missing was all his fault. Why did he even bring them along on that? Now Youngest had run off. His team was dropping like flies, and it seemed like not only was he powerless to stop it, but he was also the cause. He slammed his fist into the cement wall out of frustration.

There came a gentle knock at the door, his second in command, Jace, barged in without waiting for an answer.

“Sir, we got another package this morning,” Jace said grimly, handing Leader yet another brown envelope, hands shaking.

Leader drew a deep breath in before taking it. It matched the first one that they had received. He paused before opening it, “has there been any progress tracing the first one?” he asked hopefully.

Jace shook his head sadly, “whoever sent it knew what they were doing.”

Leader barely acknowledged the reply, it was not the answer he had hoped to hear. He steeled himself and began to tear open the envelope.

He could tell Jace was holding his breath same as him as he slowly, reluctantly, began to pull out the contents. Both men were afraid of what the envelope held.

The first thing Leader pulled out was a sheet of paper. Upon inspection it read:

‘My Dearest Team:

You are cordially invited to the art exhibition “Falling Angel” featuring the art of the talented Mr. Whumper. The exhibit will be open to invitees for a private viewing on Sunday April 14, 2024. It will then be open to the public April 15-17, 2024. There will be live demonstrations and refreshments served throughout the event.

The location and map are included in this packet, along with tickets for each of you good for the private viewing tomorrow.

We understand that it is short notice, but we do hope you can make it. After all this exhibition couldn’t have been possible without Leader and your team. We sincerely thank you for your contribution to this truly magical event.

~ Whumper’

Leader’s mouth went dry, and his head swam as he numbly dumped the tickets on the table, along with a map with an address. “I guess that proves my theory right,” he muttered, completely gutted. “there’s enough tickets to include Youngest, they’re not together.”

Jace picked up the letter that Leader had laid face down, so he too could read it. He didn’t know what to make of it. This Whumper person seemed completely unhinged. Then something made him realize something. He quick grabbed Leader’s chair and hopped on their computer. Sure enough….

“Hey, Leader, come look at this.”

A quick google search revealed that Whumper was a convicted murderer and was recently let out of prison on good behavior.

“FUCK!” a fist slammed the desk, denting it.

“It’s not your fault Leader, you couldn’t have known,” Jace tried to comfort him best he could.

“You know good and fucking well it is! You even told me not to take him!”

Jace gently wiped a tear from Leader’s face, “well get them back, both of them.”

“Just go tell Caretaker to be in my office ready to leave by 5 am, same as you, rest of the team stays, we need people to stay to look out for Youngest. I also refuse to risk losing anyone else.” Leader hardened his face and ordered sternly, pulling away from Jace.

Jace turned and left without another word, at a complete loss for what else to say.

Once he was certain he was alone again, Leader broke. The end of the letter just served to further twist the knife of guilt that was already firmly imbedded in his chest.

He turned back to the wall he had punched earlier, and just unloaded. He let loose punch after punch. Soon he started to leave the white wall decorated with bloody fist marks, but Leader could not stop. He kept going, in a desperate attempt to numb the internal anguish.

‘thud’

‘thud’

‘thud’

Blow after blow landed on the wall, until Leader could feel bone shattering. He turned and sunk against the wall, fists dripping blood. He had hoped the pain would clear his head, but it only served to make it so that there was pain in his hands and his mind. They had to get Whumpee back tomorrow, they just had to.

---

An hour or so later there was another knock on his office door.

“Go away,” Leader ordered. He noticed he sounded drunk, despite being more sober than he’d ever been.

“I’m coming in, sir.” Caretaker replied, ignoring their commander.

“I told you to fuck off, didn’t you hear me, you have your orders for the morning.”

It was no use, Caretaker barged in anyway. “I don’t care what you told me; I deserve to know what’s going on,” They noticed Leader was not at their desk before their eyes fell on the wall behind leader. “What the hell?! Is that Blood?!” they exclaimed, rushing over to Leader. “What happened?” Panic was evident in their voice.

“Nothing, it’s fine, get some rest,” Leader gave a halfhearted shooing motion.

Caretaker’s concern increased when they saw the state of Leader’s knuckles. They immediately set to healing them. “What were you thinking? We’re about to attempt a rescue and you what, bust up your knuckles? How did you plan on fighting like this?” Caretaker lectured.

Leader had no answer for their questions. He wasn’t thinking, he was just in pain, pain from wounds that Caretaker couldn’t heal. Nothing would heal them but their two teammates’ safe return.

Once his knuckles were fixed as best as caretaker could, they were not a miracle worker after all, they turned back to wanting filled in on Whumpee. “What is going on? Jace said we have a location on Whumpee?”

Leader nodded and waved to his desk where the contents of the package were still scattered.

Caretaker followed the gesture.  They picked up the letter and read it. Tears welled up in their eyes. “hell, this is almost certainly a trap,” they said, barely above a whisper, voice cracking.

Leader nodded, “that’s why It’ll just be Jace, you, and me tomorrow. I don’t even want to take you, but I have a feeling your healing is going to be essential. I cannot lose anyone else,” He sounded resigned, broken. His face looked so weary.

Caretaker came and slid down the bloodied wall next to Leader. the two friends sat in comfortable silence. Each realized sleep was going to be an impossibility that night.

Event Prompts Here

My Event Masterlist Here

@whumperofworlds, @3-2-whump, @whumpsandbumps, @pigeonwhumps

#tw blood #tw creepy whumper #tw emotional whump #wow birthday whump #wow birthday whump day 7 #bloodied knuckles #wounded #“is that blood?”

[mj-iza-writer]

SP Special Containment Part 13

If you are new to the story or just need a reminder on how this story is going please use the hashtag SP Special Containment. -MJ

Whumpee smiled at Aramais as Andy pushed him down the hall.

"Aramais", Whumpee giggled.

"Hey Whumpee, I'm glad to see you in good spirits", Aramais smiled.

"Caretaker says I can't be in the hall to wait for you for when you come out of the showers. Can you tell him to let me?", Whumpee almost whispered forgetting Caretaker was the one pushing their chair.

Cass grinned.

"Whumpee I don't think that is a good idea", Aramais sighed, "you might get bored. I take a long time in the showers."

"No I won't", Whumpee pouted.

"Whumpee, you'll be better off waiting in your room", Aramais said sternly, "trust me."

Whumpee looked down, "okay, good luck in there then."

"Thanks Whumpee", Aramais smiled again, "I'll see you later."

Caretaker grinned and winked at Aramais as they passed.

Cass kept their eyes to the ground as they made their way to the showers.

"I'm sorry for what I did earlier", Aramais sighed as he waited for the straps to be removed.

"It's okay, I'm kind of getting over it now that my heart rate has gone back to normal. I feel bad for Whumpee though", Cass admitted, "they really wanted to see you after. That's sweet."

Aramais pulled off his shirt, "sweet until I have to be sedated and rolled out of here unconscious again."

Cass made a puzzled look.

Aramais stood up, "sweet until they think their friend is dead and go into survival mode", Aramais frowned, "sweet until they refuse to shower because they are so afraid to come in here", Aramais exhaled a heavy but shaky breath, "I know I seem mean and straightforward, but there is a reason to how I am. I have to think about the bigger picture. The what could happens."

"I was at the same level as Mitch was, we were equals. Except I had one weakness that I couldn't get through. Just think about that, there is only one thing that separates me from him. One thing that makes me weaker, and yet you are more scared of me."

Cass started to walk out, the guard blocked Cass.

"The human weapon is free to move around the room. You are not allowed to go out now", the guard ordered.

"Don't run away from him Cass", Andy pulled Cass aside, "he's trying to protect you."

"From what?", Cass got angry again, "he said I was okay to do this, now he seems to be the one twisting my mind. What is he afraid of."

"You becoming this", Aramais was completely naked now.

Cass looked over him in horror as they took in all of the damage that covered Aramais's body.

"This is from my trainers fucking me up so I was tough enough for my missions", Aramais spun around slowly so Cass could see everything, "this is what Mitch did to Whumpee. If you don't believe me, check with Caretaker so you can have access to the images."

A guard handed a prepared sedation.

"Crap, this is supposed to be administered before he gets out of the chair", Andy looked at Aramais.

"Just do it", Aramais sighed, "I'm fine, step back Cass."

Andy prepped the skin.

"Administering low dose sedation to the human weapon Aramais", Andy announced before pricking Aramais, "sedation administered."

"Guards are in place. We are ready for attempt two of the shower", the guards stood at ready.

"Soap, shampoo, and washcloth. I have the towel", Andy walked with Aramais to the shower, "are we ready to test the music theory."

"Yes, remember, no classical music, it's what my trainers listened to", Aramais watched Andy walk away.

"I set up a playlist of different genres to see what works best. If you don't like it, say no, and I'll quickly switch it. I'll save whatever you do like", Andy looked around to make sure everything was in place, "test two, attempting music to calm Aramais while he showers, starting now."

"Nope, nope. Turn it. Turn it.", Aramais yelled before he could even start, "I guess they listened to a lot of that too."

"Got it, no country", Andy started a new song, and started to delete all of the country songs.

"I think the music is helping, at least a little. I feel like I need to punch something though", Aramais sighed and looked at Andy, "do you think the Director would get upset if I punched the wall?"

"I'm sure he'd rather you punch the wall instead of one of us", Andy looked over the playlist, "try not to break anything including your....", Aramais punched the wall full force, "... fingers", Andy looked up.

"Well that will need a bandage", Aramais looked over his fingers, "got some blood, I didn't break anything shockingly."

"There's a dent in the wall now", a guard sighed.

"Hopefully the Director doesn't notice", Aramais looked at Andy.

"I'll talk to the Director about putting a punching bag in here", Andy made a note, "are you doing okay."

"Right now yes, I'm not sure about my head going into the water though. That's why I did my body first", Aramais paused suddenly.

"No, no, no", Aramais leaned against the wall and took some deep breaths.

The guards stepped forward.

"He didn't say to sedate yet. Stand down until he says", Andy held out a hand, "Aramais talk to me, what's wrong."

Aramais shook, "turn.... that song.... off. No more music", Aramais slid down to the shower floor and banged his fist against the wall in annoyance.

Andy paused the song, "are you with us Aramais?"

Aramais turned slowly, and looked at the guards.

"Sedate, sedate", Andy yelled.

Aramais stood as one of the guns was fired.

Suddenly Aramais shook his head, he gave a concerned look to Andy, "another one quick, survival mode is triggering. Sedate me."

Another sedation dart was fired.

Andy pushed Cass behind him.

Aramais lowered himself to the floor, he shook as he fought against his survival mode.

Aramais moaned as his head fell, his body went limp.

"Shit", Aramais mumbled as the sedative put him under.

Andy carefully walked to Aramais.

"He's out", Andy sighed, "Cass can you get me my stethoscope, I don't like how quickly we had to sedate him with the second dose."

Cass timidly walked over to Andy.

"We need to rinse the soap off", Andy listened to Aramais's heart rate, "it's okay for right now, I'll check periodically."

Cass helped rinse and dry Aramais.

"He looks like he's in pain, even when he is unconscious", Cass helped pull pants onto the limp body, "I didn't realize just how bad this was for him."

"He probably is in pain", Andy frowned, "this is a lot of trauma for him to fight through just so the others might have an easier time showering, this includes other sights as well. Anything we find that works will be messaged to the others."

Andy sighed, "we need to stop by the medical clinic to wrap his hand, and I'll need a painkiller for when he wakes up."

"We?", Cass looked at Andy, "you still want my help."

"Is that okay?", Andy pulled Aramais into a sitting position.

The guards helped lift Aramais into the chair.

"Should we put a shirt on him?", a guard picked up Aramais's abandoned shirt.

"He's got blood all over him from the bloody knuckles. I'm just going to wrap a towel around him", Andy tightened the last restraint, "I'll need to come back and clean this up", Andy looked around.

"I'll do it", Mcgee suddenly peaked in, "I heard you yell sedate, so I've been listening. I'll clean this up, get him to Medic before that sedative wares off."

"Thankyou Mcgee", Andy pushed the chair out and saw Caretaker and the Director.

"He got farther. His body was fully lathered and we rinsed him off. He said he didn't know about doing his hair though. He needed something to punch", Andy reached down and pulled a towel he used to wrap Aramais's hand to stop the blood, "he wond up punching the wall, he left a dent... sorry."

"Okay, that's fine", the Director frowned at the bloody hand.

"Maybe we should consider a punching bag or something in there with them", Andy rewrapped the hand, "we should get going though."

"One more thing", the Director frowned, "this is the last shower this week. He has been fully sedated two days in a row, that could be dangerous. Let's hold off for a few days, go back to the drawing board, and see what can be done for attempt three."

Aramais made some tiny moans.

"Yes sir", Andy nodded.

Once back in Aramais's room, Cass helped lift Aramais to his bed.

"He is heavy", Cass gasped.

"Yep solid muscle", Andy groaned as they moved to the bed.

"Oh thank goodness Mcgee dropped off his stuff. He would not have been happy to lose his slippers", Andy put the slippers on Aramais.

"I'll put the dirty clothes in the pile and pick them up tomorrow", Andy tossed the things to the floor by the door.

"What do you mean", Cass watched.

"Whenever Aramais is done with his clothes and they need washed, he puts them over here for washing. I grab them every morning and put them in the hamper outside of the monitor room. It will be ready for when we do wash day", Andy smiled at Cass, "sorry I don't think you know about wash day."

"No", Cass listened.

"So every Monday we roll the weapons out to a pre-planned spot so they can talk. Two caregivers and three guards pretty much babysit them while the third caregiver goes and cleans out their holding rooms."

"Oh we clean the rooms, I've always wondered", Cass looked.

"If you want and if your schedule allows next Monday, you can come help us a little and see how each of us does it", Andy put Aramais's water next to him, "let's get out, he's gets a little confused when he comes out of sedation."

"I was wondering if I could actually shadow you three. I'll be here the next few days, I really want to see what I'm supposed to do exactly."

"Yes that's fine, I'm sure Caretaker and McGee won't mind.

"I'll go check on Mitch and see if he needs me", Cass walked past the monitor room.

"Okay, I'll be stocking my monitor room", Andy went into the room.

Later, Cass peaked back into the monitor room and found Andy playing a game.

"Hey, could I by chance hang out with you", Cass came in, "Mitch isn't in a great mood right now."

"Yes that's fine", Andy turned the game off, "I'm just waiting for Aramais to wake up."

"I went in and gave him some water, and he yelled at me, so I grabbed my homework, told him goodnight. Then left."

"You still have to check on him tonight, it's still quite a while before lights out", Andy sighed, "I'll go in with you though if you want."

"Okay, I'd appreciate it", Cass frowned.

"Hey, Andy. Aramais's heart rate is going up. It looks like he is waking up", a guard interrupted, "yes he's looking around right now."

"Hey Aramais, here is your requested update. You are coming out from a full sedation following and attempted shower. You have been unconscious for two and half hours now. It is currently seven thirty at night."

Aramais gave the camera a thumbs up before slowly sitting up in bed.

"Ouch", Aramais frowned as he put pressure on his hand. He grabbed his water and started to drink.

"How are you feeling?", the guard asked.

"I have a headache, and I'm regretting punching the wall", Aramais looked at his hand, "I'm really shaky too. I think my blood sugar is low."

"Andy and Cass are coming in. Is that okay?"

"It's fine", Aramais sighed.

"Andy says he needs to check your sugars so get ready for that", the guard added.

"Okay", Aramais leaned his head back.

Andy walked into the room with Cass timidly walking beside him.

"How are you feeling?", Andy set down a few things.

"Like a pincushion", Aramais held out his hand, "I'm really shaky."

Andy came over and pricked Aramais's finger, then took the blood sample. He pressed firmly onto the spot then placed a bandage over it.

"Yep, you're reading at sixty-three for your blood sugar", Andy handed a juice box as he documented the blood sugar, "I'll check again a few minutes after you drink that."

"You missed dinner, which probably explains the low sugar, I can get you something if you feel like eating", Andy sat down.

Aramais struggled to work the straw into the juice.

"Can- can I have some help", Aramais sighed as he gave the juice back to Andy, "I'm really regretting punching the wall. I don't know what hurts worse my head or my hand."

"Doc gave me the pain medicine, do you want it? It's by injection so it will work faster", Andy pulled the shot out, "ready."

"I'm really feeling like a pincushion, but yes, anything to get rid of this headache", Aramais sighed.

As Andy gave the shot, Aramais caught Cass staring.

"How does it feel seeing me as weak?", Aramais asked, "I'm just curious what you're thinking about", Aramais took a sip of the juice, "what might be going through your mind right now?"

Andy looked over at Cass.

"I don't see your trauma responses as weak", Cass admitted, "you're not weak when you are trying your best to help the others."

Aramais grinned, "that means a lot."

"So Cass says Mitch is grumpy today, and wanted to hang out with me. Do you want company or alone time?", Andy asked Aramais.

"Company would be nice", Aramais laid back down, "if you're not busy, that is. I don't feel like eating. I'm a little nauseous from the sedative, maybe a snack later if I can."

"I'm not busy, all of my work is done until you need something", Andy looked at his watch, "I do need to take your blood sugar again though."

Aramais lifted his hand, and waited for Andy.

"I'm not shaky anymore", Aramais sighed as Andy pricked his finger.

"Could I work on my homework in here?", Cass looked at them both.

"I don't see a problem with it", Andy waited for the blood to read, "sugars are going up."

Aramais watched Cass go out of the room, "homework?"

"Cass is still in school. When they are finished they'll be able to jump right into a researcher position", Andy applied pressure to Aramais's finger before putting a bandage on it.

Cass came back in carrying a school bag, "sorry I had to take my pepper spray off. The guards stopped me."

"Pepper spray?", Aramais frowned.

"Yes, in highschool I had a bully. They just so happen to go to my university as well", Cass sighed, "they haven't done anything yet, but they keep getting closer and more threatening."

Aramais gave a weird look.

"I was the weird kid, so I was often a target for bullying", Cass set down his bag, "even in university."

"That sucks", Aramais frowned.

"It is what it is", Cass sighed, "I'm at the top of my class. I like where my life is going, that's all that matters."

Cass sat down, "am I okay right here?"

"That's fine", Andy sat down in a different spot.

"Can I see what your schoolwork looks like?", Aramais started to scoot from his bed, but stopped.

"Um yeah", Cass pushed some of the books down the table closer to Aramais.

Aramais got up and walked closer to the books, "geesh, this is the smart people work", Aramais looked it over, "I was pretty good in school, but not this good."

"Did you like school?", Cass watched Aramais pick up a book.

"It got me out of my house and away from my parents. I liked my teachers too, they took care of me", Aramais admitted, "I had one teacher who always packed me a lunch because my parents often forgot."

"I'm sorry Aramais", Cass listened.

"This book looks interesting", Aramais turned one of the pages, "they were my parents, I often blame them for me becoming homeless. Which is what led me into becoming this."

"Do you like reading? You can read that if you like. I just finished it for a report", Cass watched Aramais flip through some pages.

"Are you sure?", Aramais looked up in shock, "you'd let me borrow it?"

"Yes, I love reading and enjoy spreading the book love", Cass smiled, "you probably get pretty bored in here with nothing to do, I can keep the books coming if you like."

Aramais looked at Andy, "am I even allowed to have books in here?"

"Well, as you say, everything is a weapon. I believe you are allowed to have five personal items at a time outside of what the facility provides you", Andy pulled out his phone to check the rules that were downloaded, "if you get another pair of slippers, that will count as personal property. It looks like you can have one book at a time, just please don't throw it at me."

"I won't", Aramais nodded, "are you sure, Cass? I'll take care of it, I promise."

"Of course you can borrow it, once your done I can bring you a new one", Cass smiled, 'Aramais hasn't been this excited about something for a long time', Cass thought to themself.

"The only rules with personal property, is they need to be signed in with the guards and displayed in view of the cameras", Andy read the rules.

"Thankyou Cass", Aramais grinned, "I really appreciate this. I promise I'll take care of it."

Andy smiled as Aramais started to read before he even climbed into the bed.

Cass smiled at Andy.

"I never even asked if he'd want to read something", Andy sighed, "I feel bad now."

Aramais was already deeply immersed into the book.

"I think he forgot we're here", Andy looked back at Aramais and chuckled.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary

Sp Containment Taglist. @written-by-jayy

#sp special containment #whump community #whumplr #whumblr #original story #whump series #original series #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whump #whumpee #whump scenario #whumper #caretaking #oc #caretaker

[set-phasers-to-whump]

i've been trying very hard to be brave

prompt: tortured for information, "hit them harder"

whumpee: peter sutherland

fandom: the night agent

here's something different for a change :) it's tentatively part 1 with a second bit later this month but i cannot make any promises lol. title from st. cecilia's by animal flag

Peter Sutherland is utterly alone. He is in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night, and there is absolutely nothing around him. No movement, no light. Just him and the stars. 

He wishes he knew what he was doing here. He’d been told to come here, and that is all that he knows. 

He’s beginning to wonder why he’d listened. Why he’s here, in a more general sense. 

He isn’t sure that he wants this. 

He doesn’t want to be alone. 

A sound - far off, but like a gunshot in the silence. An engine. 

At least something’s going to happen, now. 

Headlights appear on the horizon, blinding and high up. A military vehicle, maybe. 

They hadn’t said anything about the military, but he figures he should’ve guessed. 

He approaches the vehicle, waves, then wonders whether it’s stupid to wave in a situation like this. 

The vehicle stops. Peter goes to open the door, but it swings open from the inside before he grabs the handle. A few men get out, and he tries to greet them, but they don’t say anything. 

His skin starts to crawl. Something is wrong. 

But it’s too late, and there’s nowhere to run. 

Someone throws a cloth bag over his head and ties a thick rope around his wrists, and then he’s being manhandled into the vehicle and can do little more than wriggle around in the grips of his captors. 

He tries to talk to them, at first. But no one says a word. He falls silent and tries to keep track of where they’re going, counting left and right turns, but the journey drags on forever and in total silence and he’s fucking afraid, and at some point he just stops paying attention. 

After an eternity, the vehicle stops. Dead silence. Hands pull him out of his seat and shove him down. He hits the ground hard, unable to break his fall. His body sinks slightly into soft sand that does very little to lessen the impact. 

He’s hauled to his feet and dragged along, stumbling and desperately trying to keep to his feet. They walk for a long time. It’s cold, and Peter feels numb. 

The squeak of a metal door opening. Clattering. Footsteps echoing in a hallway. There are a lot of them, Peter realizes. He’s horribly outnumbered. 

He’s forced to sit on what can only be a metal chair. He immediately tries to move it, but nothing happens. It must be bolted to the ground. 

A rope around his chest, securing him to the chair. More rope around his ankles. He is clearly not going anywhere anytime soon. 

“Who are you,” says a voice, somewhere to his right. There’s a slight accent to the words, but he can’t put his finger on it. 

He says nothing. Let me see how much they already know, he thinks. 

“I said, who are you.”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

A cold laugh. “You’re not in any position to be asking questions.”

Peter remains silent. 

A fist connects with the side of his head. It takes him by surprise, and his neck jerks so violently he swears something cracks. 

“My name is Chris.”

Another hit to the other side of his head. “No, it’s not.”

“Why are you asking my name if you already know it?”

He pictures a shrug to fill the silence. Receives a kick to the shin that really fucking hurts. 

“Fine. My name is Peter.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re willing to give us.”

He really doesn’t like the sound of that. 

“Last name?”

“Seems like you already know who I am.”

Another kick, this time to the other shin. 

“Answer my questions. Don’t bother saying anything else.”

“Jenkins,” Peter says, like a challenge. He’ll make them fight for every word, if that’s how they want to play. 

A punch to the shoulder that feels almost gentle, compared to the other hits he’s received. 

“Hit him harder,” he hears a different voice say quietly. It sounds…almost familiar, in a strange way. Peter strains to hear whether it’ll say anything else, but the only thing that happens is that a fist drives into his stomach with such force that he cannot breathe for several seconds. 

By the time he can breathe again, his interrogator has already moved on. 

“Who do you work for?”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t really want to waste his newly-regained ability to breathe properly on responding to a question that the asker surely already knows the answer to. 

A punch to the chest, painful and solid but not horrible. 

“Who do you work for?”

The question is repeated by several other voices, echoing around him. 

“Who do you work for?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Who do you work for?”

The noise is nearly overwhelming. He doubts that they’d even be able to hear his answer over all of it. 

Eventually the echoes die away. His feet are starting to go numb from the rope binding his ankles. He’s long since stopped feeling his hands. 

“Once more. Who do you work for?” The singular voice is quiet, now. And very serious. 

Footsteps behind him, and then an arm wraps around his neck, not squeezing, not yet, but there. It’s a clear warning. 

Peter barely breathes as he forces the words from his mouth. “The United States government.”

The arm disappears. Peter takes a deep breath, the cloth bag sticking to his face so that the breath is not as deep as it otherwise might be. 

And then the arm is back, and it is squeezing this time. He chokes and tries in vain to get away, to gain any room at all to breathe. 

He’s on the verge of passing out when the pressure stops. He gasps and coughs in the confines of his cloth prison. 

There is not enough air. He keeps trying to breathe and it isn’t working properly. He’s on the verge of hyperventilation, panicking and thrashing uselessly against the ropes binding him. 

The bag is removed from his head almost gently. He catches a flash of light, mottled colors and shapes that are too bright and too much, and then a blindfold is tied around his head, plunging him into darkness again, but at least he can breathe. 

He gulps in air like he is never going to get the chance to breathe again, and eventually, his lungs stop burning and his head stops spinning. 

“You will tell us what we want to know now, I think.”

Peter barely even parses the statement, too caught up in the relief of breathing fresh, unobstructed air. 

The relief does not last long. They ask another question, and he doesn’t quite hear it, and then a fist drives into his stomach, even harder than before, nearly making him vomit. 

The question is repeated - “what part of the government do you work for?” - and Peter answers truthfully. The words taste like bile, like betrayal. 

This process continues for an eternity. A question. A brief period of time in which to answer. If he answers, usually nothing happens. Sometimes they smack him, but nothing more. If he doesn’t answer, if they think he’s lying, they hit him. The locations vary. The intensity does not. 

He lies, sometimes. When they ask for specifics, when he’s pretty sure they don’t know the answer already. Bases his answers in truth, but dresses them up or down. 

They swallow every lie he feeds them, not to mention the few truths they don’t believe. He’s not giving up too much. Nothing overly damaging. 

And then, the questions and the attack stop. Just like that. He’s untied from the chair, far too exhausted to even think about kicking out at his captors, and then he’s bundled back into (presumably) the same vehicle. 

He hadn’t really cared about how bumpy the ride had been before. But now, his entire body aches and every jolt of the vehicle sends a wave of pain from his head through his feet. He feels a million different things at once. Exhausted and nauseous and numb and resigned and afraid and angry and helpless. 

He wants to go home. Wants his mom, his dad. Wants Rose. 

They dump him in the sand again. He lies with his face pressed to it, slightly warm and unpleasantly itchy, and listens as the sound of an engine grows further and further away. 

He can feel the sun beating down on him, growing steadily more intense. He needs to move. He can barely feel his legs. 

After a long struggle, he makes it to his knees. He spends some time trying to untie his wrists, not stopping until he feels them start to bleed. 

Resigned to that particular fate, he very slowly gets to his feet. His head spins, and he nearly falls right back down to his knees. 

Instead, he makes it all of ten steps before he trips over something and falls, his knees and chin connecting with something hard. 

For a few seconds, he doesn’t move, immobilized by the shock and the pain of the fall. But when he starts shifting, he discovers something wonderful - he’s hit a rock, and its shape is such that he can rub the ropes against a fairly sharp edge until they break at last. 

The second the rope falls away, he reaches up and pulls off the blindfold. 

The sunlight is blinding and dizzying. He sinks down to sit on the rock that has freed him and looks down at his hands. His palms are streaked with blood and both wrists are encircled with red loops, deep indents in the skin showing how tightly he’d been bound. 

He looks down until his eyes adjust to the light. Then he takes a glance at his surroundings. 

He’s not sure what he’d expected. The middle of nowhere, probably. Nothing around him for miles, just sand and sun and the endless sky. 

He is not more than a quarter mile from an airport. He can see its buildings, watches a plane land, watches another one take off. 

He walks towards it, noticing all the time how much everything hurts. He cannot breathe without pain. Every step is a fresh agony, but at least he’s moving. 

He doesn’t stop moving until he’s through the doors. The air conditioning hits him like a blast, and he nearly sinks to the ground right then and there. 

As it is, he manages to stagger to a single-user bathroom and bolt the door behind him before his legs give out. 

He sits propped up against the door, breathing in the cool air, for several minutes. Eventually, he gets back to his feet and leans against the sink, examining his face in the mirror. 

They’d been relatively kind to him there, actually. There’s a scrape below his left eye and a bruise on his right cheek, but he’s looked worse. 

Less good is the blood on his chin - his own doing, from the rock that had turned out to be his salvation - and the bruise already forming across his neck. 

He does what he can. Washes away the blood and blots it out of his clothing as much as he can. Messes with his collar so the bruising on his neck is as obscured as it can be. 

His clothes are sandy and sweaty, but he leaves them as-is. He doesn’t want to look at the patchwork of bruises waiting for him underneath. 

He allows himself one final moment in the bathroom, sticking his mouth beneath the tap and drinking as much water as he feels able to. He’d scarcely noticed the thirst until now. The water tastes like blood and sand and it hurts to swallow. 

The airport is hectic, and hardly anyone even looks at him twice. By some miracle, his passport is still in his pocket, and so is a small amount of cash and his credit cards. His phone is gone, and so is his bag, but at least they’d left him with something. 

It’s a clear signal, to him. Get the hell out and do not come back. 

He doesn’t even think of trying to find the US embassy, of staying here any longer. He can’t. He’s exhausted and hurting and afraid and there is a flight to JFK in half an hour. 

He gets the last available seat, smashed in between a guy the size of a pro football player and a young child belonging to the family across the aisle who won’t stop talking. 

Despite this, he’s asleep before the plane even leaves the ground. 

thanks for reading!!! i had a really great time writing this and i really wanna do a follow-up...i have an Idea but we'll have to wait and see lmao

#whumptober2023 #no.18 #tortured for information #hit them harder #the night agent #fic #peter sutherland #beat up #tortured #my writing #i say things #anyway. my idea is that he's basically sent to wherever he's at to get tortured essentially to see if he's trustworthy #idk how realistic that is but like. he works for the fbi which is internal security but they're sending him to Other Places (fbi does not #have intl jurisdiction and rarely does Actual Field Work overseas) #so i think i can make shit up too if i want

[squishablesunbeam]

Consequence of Action Pt. 13

Finally official chapter! Thanks for playing! I adore you all! Also, the first and last bits are from Prim's perspective. I know that's different but I couldn't help myself!

TW: recovering whumpee, panic attack, flashback, vomiting, mentions of past noncon, executions, death of minor characters

Prev

Prim couldn't tear her eyes away from the monstrosity.

She'd been helping her crew clear out the dead when Lopez found another body deep in the lower deck. It wasn't the man with his empty eyes frozen open capturing his last moments of terror or his crushed throat that held her attention.

It was the cage.

She'd heard some of what the prisoners had been saying about what had happened on this ship. The vile obscenities they spewed about Quinn in particular certainly painted a horrific picture that she wished were exaggerations but, deep down, she knew were not. She'd heard enough to make her blood boil before she had them gagged or else she'd skin them alive herself for what they'd done to that man.

They'd also mentioned a cage. This was undoubtedly it. With its rough edges welded together with clear intent to inflict agony upon its occupant. There was dried blood on the teeth of the grating that covered the bottom as well as a fair amount soaked into the floor beneath.

Her eyes trailed back to the body Lopez and Freely were currently preparing to transport to the incinerator.

Quinn had been flogged, recently. He was barely able to stand on his own two feet when she'd come upon him and Collins in the hallway. There was no way he would have had the strength to crush a man's throat in his state.

That meant-

They'd put Collins in that cage. God, how did he even fit.

Her mind morbidly attempted to imagine herself stuffed into that small space and a nauseating wave of claustrophobia washed over her. She immediately shook the thought from her mind.

Collins had been her team leader for just over a decade. They'd seen each other through the worst that human beings could do to one another and they always came out the other end just a little worse for wear. She was even part of the team that had gone in to rescue him after he was held captive by the enemy for three months. Prim had thought she'd seen him at his absolute worst many times over.

So why did seeing him with that collar around his neck fuck with her head so much?

They'd collared him, and put him in a cage. She was pretty sure they'd even-

Prim allowed anger to seethe throughout her body, for only a moment. Righteous or not, anger dangerously clouded her judgment. She knew that well enough. If she had her druthers right in this moment, she'd flog each one of those men in her custody to within an inch of their lives and force them to beg Quinn and Collins for their pitiful lives before tossing them into the incinerator along with the rest of them. They deserved nothing less, and maybe so much more.

The choice wasn't hers to make.

“Ma'am.”

Prim very deliberately let the anger slip through her fingers.

She turned to Freely. “I want this deconstructed immediately. Tear it down to its bolts. I don't want a single piece of this cage left on my ship. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Freely acknowledged assuredly.

She let out a breath and nodded. He'll take care of it.

She turned on her heels and headed back up to the main deck, swallowing the urge to speed up her pace just to get away from all the horrid memories that undoubtedly haunted the corners of that godawful room.

She headed for her new office, dispensing orders as she went. This ship had just begun to fall into disrepair while being under poor leadership and a skeleton crew it seemed. There was a lot to be done.

A few hours later, Prim called for Collins and Quinn to join her. She needed to discuss what to do with the prisoners, their possessions, etc. They also needed to track down any of Quinn's possessions as well, if they hadn't already been destroyed. This all could technically wait, but if she was being honest, she wanted the prisoners dealt with and off the ship as soon as possible.

She fussed at the desk while she waited, stacking piles of papers and log books that must have been the ship's former captain's, practically useless now. Most, if not all, would be burned.

The office was large but impersonal. She'd already taken the time to shift around the placement of furniture to make it more open and inviting. She dimmed the glaring overhead light and made a note to grab some of those warm light bulbs on their next stop at a safe planet. She would have to bring over some of her more personal items from the other ship as well.

A knock pulled her out of her thoughts and she turned, hitting the button that slid open the door.

"Commander," Collins greeted her with a warm smile, Quinn by his side.

She grinned wide, clasping arms with Collins and then Quinn.

"Prim is fine. You know that well enough."

Collins already looked so much better. Much more himself. She couldn't stop herself from casting her eyes briefly to his neck, assuring herself that the collar had actually been cut away and he was free from its weight.

She stepped back to allow them into the room, noting the soft hold Collins had around Quinn's hip.

It looked so incredibly natural for a man who rarely ever displayed even a hint of affection in the many years she'd known him.

A smile quirked up her lips.

She didn't know exactly what was going on between these too but it was clearly something, and it was only growing stronger. As far as Prim was aware, Collins had never had a significant person in his life, at least he'd never spoken of it if he had.

Seeing him so casually tender with Quinn was, well, it was adorable.

Prim gestured them into the office.

“Please, have a seat.”

She stopped short, her eyes flicking to Collins as the blood drained out of Quinn's face.

Oh, shit.

–

He'd already had a brief moment of panic in the hallway once he realized where they were headed but he'd convinced Collins that he was fine. Of course Prim would have taken the Captain's office. She was the highest ranking member of the crew after all. It made perfect sense.

Except right now, nothing made sense.

He was certain he'd be okay, stepping confidently into the room after watching the familiar exchange between Collins and Prim.

But then, Quinn laid eyes on that looming brown desk and his world just slipped right out from under him.

He saw himself, clear as day, curled up on his knees under that damn desk. Naked, his hands bound to his thighs like they always were the first however many times he'd been forced to open his mouth and obey.

It was as if he was watching from a far away corner of the ceiling but also not. He could feel it all. The way the hard floor bit into his knees and the coarse rope constricting his thighs and tearing at his skin.

He shook his head to try and clear the image but it wouldn't jar loose. The taste of the Captain's fingers filled his mouth and he gagged, choking on nothing as the taste turned to something so much worse.

His head felt thick and his world narrowed.

He felt like he might be falling but he couldn't bring himself to care. The room buzzed loudly in his ears and washed itself over him. He could feel all of its edges pressing against his body, forcing him to fit into the tight space under the desk.

Something pressed against his back and there was pain there, but also, it was good. The pain felt good, in a way. It sparked sharply through his mind and cleared some of the fog away. He dropped his head and tried to remember how to breath, clinging to that pain like a lifeline.

His entire body was suddenly shook, just once, and his eyes managed to lock into place, the spinning world around him suddenly centering on one point of focus.

“Collins?”

A hand touched lightly against his own and he looked down at himself, realizing he had pressed his wrists to his thighs. He could feel the ropes keeping him in place but he couldn't see them. He gasped his mouth open and tried to pry them up off his legs. It felt as if he was attempting to merge two worlds that simply weren't meant to coexist. He finally succeeded in detaching his hands from his legs and held them up in front of his face.

They were shaking.

He was shaking.

He still couldn't breathe.

Warm fingers brushed against his face and the here and now flooded his senses, coming back to him far too fast. His body prickled with sweat, his mouth filled with saliva.

“Oh my god,” he pressed a hand against Collins' shoulder and lurched to the side, vomiting onto the floor beside them.

“Oh my god,” he said again, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth before pulling it back and looking at his wrists, fully expecting to see marks from the ropes indented into this skin.

His thighs weren't bare. He was wearing pants and a button up shirt he found in Collins' closet.

Quinn dimly heard himself muttering Collins' name under his breath.

“You're alright. I'm here. Just breathe.”

His eyes numbly tracked Collins' movement as he wrapped his fingers around Quinn's wrist and rubbed his thumb back and forth over the thin skin.

There still weren't any ropes there, holding him in place. He kept his eyes on Collins' hands, each painless pass of his thumb a reminder that he was safe. Collins was here. The Captain was dead.

Quinn gasped out a harsh breath as the image of him shooting the Captain in the head flashed before his eyes.

He looked up, his eyes wide and wet with stinging tears as he searched Collins' face, too many memories battling for his attention at once.

“He hurt you, Collins, he-” Quinn said, his voice strained and panicked.

“Hey,” Collins drew their foreheads together, holding onto the back of Quinn's head. “I'm okay, Quinn. You saved me, remember? You killed him, Quinn. He can't hurt you anymore. He can't hurt either of us anymore. We're okay.”

Quinn drew in a shaky breath, and then another. Collins' hands were like an anchor, holding him to this reality, his shoulders firm and solid and real under his own hands. He breathed, his breath mixing with Collins' as the world slowed down to a manageable rhythm.

He became aware of another presence in the room and his eyes slid to Prim, sitting on the floor with them, just a few steps behind Collins with her arms draped over her knees.

“Holy shit,” Quinn said, pulling back slightly and breathing out a shocked breath, “That's never happened before. Not like that. I could see it. I could feel it.”

He held tight to Collins as Prim sat forward, crossing her legs underneath her, “Ironically, it's because you are actually safe now that this is happening. You're mind is trying to process everything. Collins can teach you some tricks to help you stay grounded, or I can. We've both been through it.”

Collins nodded sympathetically, scratching his fingers over Quinn's leg in a predictable, soothing rhythm.

It was helping.

“Grounded, yeah,” Quinn leaned his head back on the wall behind him, only now realizing that was where the pain was coming from. His sore back was pressed right up against it.

“God, I'm so sorry,” he groaned out, looking down at the mess he'd made next to him and trying to fight back embarrassment from swallowing him whole.

Prim waved her hand absently. “It'll clean just fine. Go rest. We'll talk later, okay?”

He nodded and leaned heavily against Collins as they moved to stand, Prim immediately moving to join them. They were both standing right in front of Quinn, blocking his eye line to the desk. He couldn't quell the need to look, just once more, to assure himself that the other him wasn't still trapped there, under the desk.

Collins moved to help him to the door and he stole a glance over his shoulder, breathing out a breath of relief only once he was assured the phantom was gone.

He didn't know why he felt the need to ask but he stopped himself before heading out the door, “What did you want to talk to us about anyway?”

She started to wave her hand in dismissal but paused, drawing her eyebrows down, seeming to study him carefully. He felt Collins' solid presence at his side.

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to have the prisoners executed. I thought the airlock might be appropriate but I didn't want to make that decision without you both.”

Whatever fear that had just sunk its teeth into him morphed into anger at the mention of the prisoners.

Jackson, Hawkins and Gibson.

It wasn't enough that the Captain was dead. Quinn's every waking memory was corrupted with the thoughts of these men. He could barely eat without the image of Jackson forcing his dick into his mouth through the cage before he gave him any food. Hawkins tore at his flesh and left behind too many scars for him to ever forget. And Gibson- Quinn shuddered, the pain of his care still a bright and sharp memory.

Quinn didn't want to think twice about it. He just wanted them gone.

“Do it,” he said, swallowing down the knowledge that with those two words, he just sentenced three men to their deaths.

“Would you like to be there?” Prim asked.

Quinn looked to Collins who shrugged, squeezing Quinn's hand once. “As long as they're dead, I'm okay with it,” Collins said plainly.

“I think I'm okay too,” Quinn said, looking back to Prim, “Will you do me a favor though?”

“Name it,” she said with a sincerity that put a weak smile on his face.

“Just, maybe, don't tell them what's going to happen. Don't say anything to them at all. Just take them to the airlock and open the door.”

The silence was always the worst part. Being led through the ship, never knowing his own fate before being shoved through an open door.

Quinn thought it fitting.

Prim apparently did too, if the look on her face told him anything.

“I'll make certain of it.”

“Let us know when it's done,” Collins added, him and Prim both sharing an understanding between them as she nodded her assent.

Quinn felt the warmth of Collins' hand at his hip and he let himself lean against him. He focused on carefully matching his breath to Collins' as they wove their way through the hall and back to the quiet and safety of their room.

–

Prim had done exactly as Quinn asked. She informed her crew to bind the men and take them to the airlock without a single word spoken.

It was admittedly gratifying to behold. She watched as Gibson lost it first. He screamed and thrashed against Freely as they were led down the halls, demanding to know what was going on and proclaiming his innocence.

Hawkins was next.

He fed off of Gibson's fear and spewed vile threats at herself and her crew. Mostly though, he cursed Quinn's name and screamed at the top of his lungs the horrific things he was going to do to him.

Except he was never going to have that chance. He was going to die. He was going to be tossed away like trash, without a second thought.

Jackson held out until they were all kneeling in the airlock and the door was being sealed shut between them. He launched himself up at the last minute and sprinted toward the door, hurling himself again and again at the thick glass that kept them safe from the vacuum of space.

Prim stood silently with her crew, all of them expressionless as the prisoners made their pleas and useless threats.

With a signal to Freely, he slammed up the lever and the screams of the three men died with them as they were sucked out into nothingness.

It was the most feared end for those who made their lives out in this vast emptiness. As much as they all craved it, loved it even, the enduring, ever expanding endlessness of space was utterly terrifying. Like the vast oceans back on Earth, space was to be respected and feared in equal measure.

These men respected nothing.

The silence that followed the closing of the outer door had a finality to it that she found both deafening and soothing in the same moment.

It was done.

Freely and Lopez headed back to their respective stations without a second glace and Prim headed to inform Collins and Quinn, hoping that they sleep just a little bit easier now.

“Come in,” Collins called from inside the room. Prim was surprised he didn't meet her at the door as was decorum. Not that she expected it or enforced that kind of nonsense on her crew, it was just Collins' way. Too many years spent in the service and not enough spent living his own life.

She realized why the moment she slid the door open.

Collins was propped up on a few pillows with a book in his hand and Quinn soundlessly asleep with his head on Collins' stomach.

The sight made Prim smile.

“He's good for you,” she whispered, easing quietly into the room.

Quinn flinched a little in his sleep and Collins moved to card his fingers through his hair for probably the hundredth time.

“Too good,” Collins whispered back, taking off his glasses and setting them on top of the open book by his hip.

He looked tired himself, and worried.

“Is he okay?”

“No. He's not," Collins said. He wasn't harsh about his words. He sounded sad.

“Are you okay?”

Collins sighed and finally look up at Prim, “No.”

She pursed her lips and nodded, “If it makes you feel any better, they died terrified.”

Collins frowned deeply as he looked down at the man in his lap, his head rising and falling gently with every one of Collins' breaths.

“I would have had them skinned alive,” Collins said, not looking up from where his fingers were curled into Quinn's hair.

Prim huffed out a laugh, “I had a similar thought. But at least it's done. Maybe there's some peace to be had from that?”

“I hope so,” he said, “He deserves it.”

“So do you, Collins,” Prim said, knowing full well that he didn't believe a word of that. “And for what it's worth,” she gestured between the two men, “whatever you've got going here, it's cute as fuck. You deserve that too.”

Collins actually laughed, a wide grin splitting his handsome face as a blush seeped into his cheeks.

He'd be okay, she thought. They both would be okay, she'd make sure of it. She'd fold them into her little family and give them a change to find their footing again.

She headed back towards the door, “You need anything at all, you let us know, you hear me? And when you're ready for a distraction, I've got plenty of work for you to do.”

“Will do, Commander,” Collins said, the smile on his face coming just a little easier, “And Prim, thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, sir.”

She left them to rest and turned to head back up to the bridge, her mind already on the myriad of tasks on her plate and plotting their next course through the skies.

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

#recovering whumpee #rescued whumpee #mentions of past noncon #panic attack tw #flashback tw #emeto #execution #death of minor characters