Tumgik
#past torture
echoingalaxies · 9 months
Text
Caretaker wants to comfort tortured Whumpee by gentle touches to remind them such thing exists, but they're hesitant because they can't seem to find an uninjured spot on Whumpee's broken body - it's all covered in burns and cuts, at very least badly bruised.
There's a small untouched area on Whumpee's outer thigh, and Caretaker holds their palm there and rubs the area tenderly with their fingertips. Even after Whumpee begins to heal, it's the only place they're not afraid of being touched, and Caretaker is the only one who is allowed to.
849 notes · View notes
nerdpoe · 8 months
Text
In the Shadow of Speculation Part 1
Part 2, Ao3
Daniel Nightingale, ex Fenton, moves to Gotham for a fresh start. It's next to his friends, it's so very different from Amity Park, and Lady Gotham has promised her Knights will protect him. The world as he knew it has changed, and no longer has a place as a combat hero. Not when he's more likely to flinch than to dodge, not when the sight of a knife is enough to force him back to a time and a place he never wanted to see again. In an attempt to adapt, Danny turns to being a specialized hero-medic; his sole focus is helping and evacuating, not fighting. Except that no one told him Death Energy had the same reading to Geiger counters as gamma radiation. It isn't, but apparently Geiger counters can't tell the difference.
Danny Nightingale plopped down on his new couch, taking a moment to breathe in that new apartment smell. It was a pleasant, three bedroom apartment in a relatively nice area of Gotham. 
Well, nice for ghosts. Specifically, the sheer amount of emotions around the place, both past and present, made it an ideal spot for a healing ghost to situate himself.
Danny felt that the more important point was that he finally had a place to himself. 
He was tired of everyone coddling him, acting like he was going to break if he was even touched wrong. But luckily, Gotham was so far away from any kind of city his family would want to visit that he was free to dodge their nannying.
When he had woken up from the…Accident, it was to a political shitstorm; the Infinite Realms had been gearing up for war, and surprisingly Dan had been the only thing stopping them. The negotiations between dimensions had been a nightmare, especially with the sheer amount of effort it took to keep the Justice League’s nose out of his business, but it had been worth it.
Ghosts were considered sapient entities, were acknowledged to be from essentially a different country/dimension, and the ghosts that lived on Earth and had been negatively affected by the laws that were in place were entitled to compensation for the violation to their persons.
Added bonus, Danny could stay.
The first place he had chosen had been Gotham; it was close to Sam and Tucker, and had just the right dosage of occult to meet Frostbite’s strict ecto-therapy regimen.
That, and Lady Gotham had extended an invitation.
The move had been insane, for multiple reasons.
Vlad had insisted on coming along, something about verifying that Danny wasn’t about to live in a hovel. 
Vlad actually caring-in his own way-was still so weird to Danny.
But at least it had been entertaining; every single time Vlad had stepped out of the car to get something from the gas stations, he kept getting mugged.
Another headache was the fact that, on moving day alone, there were three separate rogue attacks, and traffic had backed up so badly Danny was almost convinced to blow his cover and just fucking fly to his new place.
Which would be the last thing Dan needed-someone with his powers cropping up in a city on the other side of the country. Dan had enough on his plate with his whole…thing he’d decided on doing; the world as a whole declaring that his natural born nemesis was opposite sides of the country would throw a wrench in his rehabilitation.
The man had enough problems.
Like Danny had enough problems, but strangely only when Vlad was around. 
The car Vlad had been driving had hit every single pothole and broken both axles, and overall Danny had the sense that Vlad should probably have never set foot in the city.
Honestly, the absolute second Vlad had left the move had gone much smoother.
Like, Danny had still had to pay the movers extra for the rogue attacks, vicinity to crimes (thanks Vlad for getting mugged so often that the muggers just started taking clothing items), and traffic; but after his Godfather had left it had been done in about two hours flat.
Did he still have to unbox his belongings? Yes. Was he going to do that at that particular moment?
Danny flopped sideways and brought his cell phone up to his face.
No. No, he was not.
He was going to take a breather, fall asleep on his new couch, read the news and watch some random memes, and enjoy his Restitution Money.
Danny had only been scrolling on his phone for two minutes when he fell asleep.
~~~~~~
Danny woke up to the sounds of muffled screams.
“Well that’s never good,” He muttered as he tried to roll over. He landed on the floor instead.
Right.
He hadn’t put the bed together yet.
Groaning, Danny pushed himself up for the purpose of hunting down where he’d put his poptarts. Only once he’d opened a box and started digging through it did he realize that the muffled screams were not coming from his definitely dead phone.
They were coming from outside.
Danny tripped over his feet as he bolted for the window, pressing his face against the glass as he stared down at the streets in disbelief.
The streets were filled with a green, noxious gas. People collapsed onto the ground only to scream and claw at their own faces. Some were attacking others, and anyone who left to assist had gas masks on.
Not that the masks did much good, considering the citizens who had been dosed would freak out and rip it off of them.
Batman and Red Hood were on scene, but they were so focused on cornering and catching the freak in the scarecrow costume that the only one able to assist the civilians was Robin. Unfortunately, as well trained as Robin was, there were too many.
Robin was doing the best he could, Danny could see that, but he was clearly over-burdened and needed assistance. 
Danny…was appalled. This was the most ineffective rogue fight he’d ever witnessed.
When he’d been in charge of Amity, his citizens had only rarely been caught in the crossfire, and he never had a casualty. But here was one of the Big Leaguers and his cohorts, and they couldn’t arrange for the civilians to be treated or get to safety.
Danny, with no means to protect himself and unsure of how the gas would effect him, a halfa, could only watch from the window of his sixth story apartment.
Twenty minutes.
It had taken Batman and Red Hood twenty minutes to take down Scarecrow.
Danny had watched the whole thing.
Twenty minutes, thirty-two injured, nine dead, twelve critically injured.
And Danny, tied by the red tape of bureaucracy and his own trauma, hadn’t been able to do anything.
~~~~~~
A day later, full of unpacking and getting his apartment set up while he ignored the sounds of the emergency workers outside his window, Danny couldn’t stop seeing the attack.
There was so much room for improvement, but Batman apparently didn’t have anyone specifically trained in only defense and evacuation.
Danny had been so, so lucky for Sam and Tucker and Jazz. They had tag-teamed it; one of them would help him fight, the other two would evacuate civilians.
Batman was good at what he did, Danny could not deny that.
But there was room for improvement that was just…there. It was right there. 
Danny couldn’t offer his services as Phantom. He couldn’t. He just…every time he thought about donning his old hero moniker, he’d start remembering.
If he started remembering, he became useless until he was able to remember that he was still alive.
And being a combatant, in and of itself, was highly…dissatisfying. 
No sleep, constant injuries, threat of exposure hanging over his head; Danny’d had enough in high school. He had a whole life separate from that, in a city so big and problematic that just donating used clothes was enough to save someone’s life.
He was doing better. He could finally sleep without nightmares, people reaching out to touch him didn’t make him flinch, and he was away from a town of people who had made his childhood a living hell even before he’d had the Accident.
He refused to ask Dan to step in; the man was needed where he was, and Danny couldn’t drag away a teacher from his students.
Ellie was in college, and Danny wasn’t about to interrupt her education to drag her into the vigilante lifestyle she never even showed real interest in.
On top of his many, many other reasons for just not wanting to get into fights anymore.
Instead he took his frustrations out on kneading the dough on his counter.
His phone buzzed.
      Ellie       Omggggggggggg I don’t know what’s so hard???       Just bully Dan into doing it!
Danny snorted and allowed his hands to go intangible, the dough stuck to his fingers sliding back onto the counter, before he touched his phone to reply.
      Danny       Omggggggggg I literally can’t do that       P sure ur the only one who can bully him       He’s a pushover but only 4 u
He set his phone down and continued stress-baking. Ellie would take a bit to respond, since she wasn’t even supposed to have her phone on her at work.
But apparently Ellie had decided that she did not care.
      Ellie       Lies and slander       He’s scared of me I just know it       Also imma kill my customers
      Danny       Don’t commit murder        Diplomatic immunity only goes so far       I don’t need an inter-dimensional incident
      Danny       Ellie?       Ellie no       Don’t actually kill a human
      Ellie       This dude won’t get off my call       He’s so annoying danny I gotta       I       I’m gonna do a ring
      Danny       Ellie NO
      Ellie       Ellie yes brb
Ellie stopped responding after that, and Danny groaned.
She was absolutely going to cause an inter-dimensional incident.
~~~~~~
Ellie was going to cause an inter-dimensional incident.
But it wasn’t her fault!
The stupid caller-Kent or whatever-was being a total ass!
“Sir,” she tried, one last time, “I cannot assist you with this matter. Either you let me transfer you to someone who can, or I’m going to crawl through this phone and kick your ass.”
“Tt. Even if you were a meta capable of such a feat, I highly doubt you could best me in combat.”
“I warned you.”
Ellie let her form fall away, distantly hearing the screams of her coworkers, and traveled through the phone connection.
Her arm burst from the cell phones ear piece and clocked someone across the face. Then she let the rest of herself crawl through, as eldritch as she could make it without actually driving anyone insane.
There was a scream of terror on her right, but she only had eyes for the tanned asshole in front of her with the bloody nose.
Then she let loose on him.
Surprisingly, he managed to block most of her attacks once he came to his senses.
Most of them.
She just started cheating after that and phasing through his hands to connect to his body.
There was a brief moment where the terrified one to her right tried to intervene, but both she and the Kevin kicked him in the face with a joint “Stay out of this!”.
He stayed out of it.
After fifteen minutes of rough-housing, which was what it had definitely turned into, Ellie wiped the blood away from her nose and held out her hand to the man she was sitting on.
“That was a nice fight; the names Ellie.”
The man paused, hesitated…and shook her hand.
“It was admirable. I am Damian.”
“Um…” Ellie and Damian both turned to look at the other man in the room, a blue eyed black haired carbon copy of her brother almost. But like, younger.
“I’m Jon. You kick pretty hard!”
“Thanks! Well I am definitely fired. What was the real reason for calling, anyways?”
Damian sat up and forced Ellie to fall off of him, his face slowly turning red.
“I didn’t realize that my dad’s card would get charged when I made an app store purchase,” Jon admitted quietly, “Damian was trying to annoy customer service into canceling the transaction so dad wouldn’t find out.”
Ellie wheezed from her spot on the ground, laughing harder when Damian turned and left the room in a huff.
“So…is that something you could go back and-?”
“You’re so fucked my dude.”
~~~~~~
Danny checked his care package while he waited for the Arkham guards to finish verifying his visitation rights.
Muffins? Check. Pretzels? Check. Cookies? Check. Donuts? Check. Fudge? No.
Danny still hadn’t been able to make himself use his father’s recipe.
He wasn’t sure when he would be able to.
It looked like when the guards had checked everything for escape tools they hadn’t eaten anything.
Danny felt strangely offended by that.
“Alright, you’re clear. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Danny sighed, walking away from the last semblance of normalcy and into what could only be described as hell for the mentally stable.
Arkham was a place that radiated the pull to help, the pull to heal, but was overrun by lifetimes of grudges nothing short of burning the place down would ever be able to fix.
It was, unfortunately, the only place capable of holding his parents.
Who he could hear as they were led to the visitation rooms.
“Danny!” Maddie Fenton cried, attempting to throw herself at him. The chain that was held by her accompanying guards, however, yanked her back.
“Dann-o!” Jack cried as he was hauled through the other door, power-dampening cuffs active. He had far too many guards to attempt to launch forward; after he’d broken four walls, Arkham had stopped taking chances.
“Hey mom, hey dad,” Danny said weakly, placing the care package on the table, “Everything is even, so you should both get the same amount.”
“Aw, our baby boy is so considerate!” Maddie cooed, reaching forward and pinching Danny’s cheek before the guards could tug her back out of range.
“So, I just wanted to know how you guys were settling in-“
“Have you seen any ghosts in Gotham, Dann-o?”
Danny took a deep breath through his nose.
“It doesn’t matter if I did or did not, dad; they’re a protected species with rights now.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” Maddie laughed, already digging into the package and pulling out a pretzel, “So what if the government fell for their acting? You know, when we caught Phantom-“
“-When you caught Phantom, you nearly started an inter-dimensional war,” Danny cut in, hiding his shaking fists under the table.
Maddie leveled him with her most disappointed look, while Jack laughed merrily.
“Come on, Dann-o, you fell for it’s rambling too? Ah, well. We found out so much when it turned into that weird jewel-“
“-When you mortally wounded the King of an entire Dimension, almost forever scarring relations between this one and that one-“
“-Young man, we really are happy to see you, but if you’re just going to quote ghost propaganda at us-“
“-It isn’t propaganda, you guys just don’t listen-“
“-Dann-o, if you’re possessed by ectoplasmic scum, just blink twice-“
Danny stood up, chair clattering to the ground, and turned for the exit.
“…I’ll come again in two weeks. Please actually talk to your doctors and at least try to get better.”
He couldn’t do it. He thought he could, but he just. He couldn’t.
Every time they spoke about ghosts, he was back in the lab, strapped to a metal table, begging them to stop, refusing to turn human regardless of how hard his body fought to.
He wouldn’t allow it.
Not because he thought it would get worse, but because if he had turned human during their…experiments, he would have died.
Humans could not survive what had been done to him.
He ignored their yelling and made his way out of Arkham, dodging the pitying looks from the workers and guards.
He didn’t remember getting on the subway. He didn’t recall anything about his walk through Park Row.
He only came back to himself far after the sun had set, curled up in the bathtub, eyes dry and tired from watching the door.
~~~~~~
Jazz gently tapped Dan’s boots as she walked towards the kitchen, reminding him that shoes were not allowed on the coffee table.
The large man grumbled but acquiesced.
“So how are the kids?” Jazz asked over her shoulder, flipping the oven light on to check on the roast hidden inside.
“There’s a new upstart in Iowa, calls himself Jupiter. Can’t be older than nine, one of the biggest crybabies I’ve ever had to train.”
Jazz snorted.
“Are we basing this off of their first look at you, or just how they behave in general?”
Dan didn’t answer.
Jazz read between the lines and stifled a laugh.
Little Jupiter had definitely cried upon seeing Dan.
“Did you go see Lian, then?”
“Fuck yeah I saw Lian! She’s so big, no wonder I couldn’t find her in the Realms!”
Jazz listened to Dan wax poetic about Roy’s daughter, letting him get it off his chest. After Lian had died, Dan had been as inconsolable as was possible for the emotionally stunted man. He’d spent countless hours in the Infinite Realms, searching for her, only to return heartbroken that he couldn’t find her.
He was convinced she was so doused with ecto-contamination due to her exposure to him that she would absolutely become a ghost.
But when she’d passed, there hadn’t been a trace of one. No matter how hard he’d searched, he’d never found her.
Because apparently, she’d been alive.
“-Anyways, how’s the twerp doing?”
Jazz tuned back in.
“Sorry?”
“Little me. How’s he doin?”
“Danny’s as tall as you are, Dan.”
Dan appeared at her side and phased his hand through the oven to swipe some roast.
“Doesn’t matter, I’m older. He okay?”
Jazz shrugged.
“He’s…awake. Well enough to be on his own.”
“Fucked up he stays in the same town as Maddie and Jack.”
Jazz shrugged again, a little more helplessly.
“How he chooses to heal is up to him, Dan.”
“He shouldn’t be near them,” Dan growled, causing some of the silverware to vibrate.
Jazz tensed and mentally prepared herself for the exact same argument that had brought Dan to her doorstep.
“Dan-“
“A four year coma, Jazz.”
“-It’s his choice, Dan.”
“They made him retreat into his core.”
“I know.”
“He shouldn’t be anywhere near them!”
“I know!” Jazz shouted, whirling on him, shoulders heaving as she felt her eyes glare a bright luminescent green.
They stared at each other, until ultimately Jazz won again, and Dan looked away.
“I know,” Jazz said, quieter, pulling out her phone to check it one more time, “I know, but the world has changed so much since he went down, and if this is how he wants to explore it then I won’t stop him.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over them, until the oven let out an obnoxious tune. No one moved.
“…Roast is done,” Dan said helpfully.
Jazz ignored him, eyes on the screen of her phone.
“Hey.”
She reread what Danny had sent her.
“Hey, Jazz-”
“I need to talk to Danny,” she muttered, picking up the oven mitts and tossing them at Dan as she walked towards her bedroom.
After she shut the door quietly behind her, she called her little brother.
The phone didn’t even complete the first ring before he picked up.
“Danny, are you alright?” She knew that he knew going to see their parents had been a terrible idea, and pointing that out would do no one any good.
So instead she focused on him.
“I don’t think so,” Danny said, his voice much smaller than it had any right to be.
Jazz tamped down on her instinctive need to ask a million questions and sat down on her bed instead.
“That’s fine, Danny; it’s perfectly okay to not be okay. Do you need to me to talk?”
“Yes.”
So Jazz did.
@simplestoryteller @gildedphoenix
Prompts that inspired this entire piece one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Ages are as follows; Dan (31), Jazz (23), Danny (21), Tucker (21), Sam(21), Ellie (19) Bruce (48), Dick (33), Barbara (32), Jason (26), Cass (26), Tim (24), Steph (24), Duke (21), Damian (17) Clark (47), Lois (45), Conner (26), Jon (20) Alfred (Deceased/immortal)
I'm trying a different method of writing, so this will be a bit different. Mostly because for this particular story I'm world-building alongside it.
492 notes · View notes
whumpshaped · 4 months
Text
tw royal whump, abuse of power, past torture, implied future torture, bullying for zero reason, drowning
Whumpee had been working for hours. The Hall was enormous; the floor seemed to stretch into infinity whenever they looked up. So they just stopped looking, working square inch by square inch, never daring to check how much more work they had left.
Their knees were aching, bones pressed against an unforgivingly hard surface, skin catching on every little bump. Their arms and back were burning with the exertion, but they continued scrubbing, rewetting and wringing out the cloth again and again.
Just a little more, surely. They had to be close to done by now.
They didn’t stop working when they heard footsteps. People inside the palace would come and go all the time, it wasn’t any of their business — except this set of footsteps seemed to grow nearer still, way beyond the threshold of the Hall.
Whumpee didn’t look up. They scrubbed even more diligently, keeping their head low and their movements as silent as possible. It didn’t matter. By the time those expensive boots entered their field of vision, they already knew who it was. There was only one person who never left them alone even while working.
Her Majesty’s second son was as much of a brat as one could get, even within the royal family; with all the power and none of the responsibility, plenty of free time, and an unexplainable sadistic streak, he was the subject of many of Whumpee’s recurring nightmares. They didn’t understand what they’d done to warrant being the prince’s favourite chewtoy, and they were starting to suspect there wasn’t a reason, aside from simple misfortune.
“Busy?”
Whumpee put down the cloth, still keeping their eyes fixed on the floor. What were they supposed to say? Yes, they were, but that could come off rude. If they said no, however… well, that was a clear lie. “I’m happy to assist in whatever Your Highness may need,” they said in the end, hoping it was good enough.
“Look at me.” Whumpee swallowed and looked up, meeting the prince’s icy cold eyes. If there ever was a picture of pure malice, it must’ve been based off of him. “Do you think you’re doing a good job here, servant?”
“I’m doing the best job I can possibly–”
“Look at the water.” The prince suddenly grabbed them by the hair, making them yelp as they were dragged over to the bucket. “It’s filthy. You should’ve brought fresh water long ago, that’s not going to clean anything.”
“Y-yes, Your Highness. I apologise. I’ll bring–” They were cut off when the prince let go, shoving them down towards the admittedly quite dirty water. They caught themself before they could’ve fallen, their face just inches away from being submerged. “I’ll bring–”
He stepped on the back of their head, pushing them down as far as their body would allow. They didn’t have a chance to take a deep breath beforehand, and they certainly wouldn’t get one now. Their terrified whines and whimpers escaped them in large bubbles of precious oxygen, but the prince showed no sign of wanting to let them up.
They couldn’t breathe. They couldn’t breathe. They couldn’t–
The pressure suddenly disappeared and Whumpee yanked their head out of the bucket, getting water everywhere as they coughed and sputtered. Their lungs were burning with all the inhaled musky water, their throat scratchy and in pain from the abuse.
“Oh, by the way,” the prince began casually while they were still wheezing, “Mother sent me to check on the state of the Hall, since the event is about to start soon. I’m sure she will be very disappointed when I tell her–”
“I’ll be quicker,” Whumpee choked out, every word bringing more agony. “Please, Your Highness, I–”
The prince didn’t hesitate to kick them in the ribs with those expensive boots, and through the pain, Whumpee wondered how severely they’d be punished if their useless body were to make a scratch in the leather. “Do not interrupt me,” he hissed. “You can’t do your damn job or show respect? Have you already forgotten the last lashing?”
They couldn’t answer. It all hurt so much, they were too scared, they hated it all–
“That’s quite alright, I suppose. When I tell Mother about the servant who caused the delay, I’ll simply offer to handle the punishment arrangements myself. It’ll be a nice refresher — since the water doesn’t seem to have been enough.”
136 notes · View notes
whumperofworlds · 3 months
Text
Caretaker-turned-Whumper where they torture Whumper for hurting Whumpee, except they hide that fact from Whumpee.
Whumpee grew suspicious of Caretaker, and when Caretaker is away, Whumpee looks for the truth. They find Whumper chained up in Caretaker's basement, beaten and bloodied, and begging for help.
How would Whumpee react? Would they be joyous and even help Caretaker torture Whumper? Would they be shocked to realize that Caretaker did this, and they are now scared of Caretaker? Would they keep their mouth shut?
67 notes · View notes
Text
cw: aftermath of whump, implied abuse, fantasy slavery, violence, manhandling.
based on this prompt by @howls-ghost
"Trite details bore me. I'll leave it to you to complete, and complete quickly," said Prince Acacius.
"I've had enough of your dimwitted blathering. See yourself to the door," said Prince Acacius.
"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.
Laith was sick of it. Sick of the arrogant little brat prancing around the palace like he was already king. They hated Acacius and his cold, dismissive attitude. The spoiled twat didn't know a thing about running a kingdom, and wouldn't know humility if it bit him on the nose.
The only reason the country wasn't already in ruins was due to the competence of Laith and the rest of the high council. Even the regent, as good a man he was, was taken out of commission by Acacius, forced to keep the aloof young man at his side at all hours for supposed education. Not that Laith believed Acacius absorbed any of it. He was a horrid prince, and he'd make a horrid king.
And Laith intended to do something about it.
It started as something small and reasonable; a daydream about teaching the prince a lesson, of having him whipped for insolence, or beaten in the streets, or simply pushed off the balcony.
But none of those were realistic dreams, and none of those were enough. Acacius needed a punishment that would stick, something scarring, something humiliating.
The thoughts danced across Laith's mind through all their waking hours, turning sharper and more creative with every insult from the rotten prince.
But then, they thought, why bother with a mere punishment? Why not be rid of the arrogant heir for good? Death was too quick for his poisoned heart, but there were alternatives. Slavers in the West and enemies in the North, and either faction would jump at the chance to own the pretty prince. Should Laith's goal be realized, it would do more than sate their need for justice; it would spare the kingdom from a heartless ruler.
They'd lock him in a cell with no sunlight for a year. They'd remove his acrid tongue, put out his disdainful eyes, somehow they'd hurt him in a way that mattered.
They took their time making the arrangements; letters delivered in secret, coded messages, quiet plans and plots to cover the prince's upcoming disappearance. At last, the hour was drawing near. At last, Acacius would get all that he deserved.
But of course, Laith would have their fun with him first.
They came upon the royal in the dead of night. Laith had been making note of Acacius's movements, and by now they knew to expect the young man's midnight journey to the library. Too good to be seen there in daylight hours, when servants were dusting and lesser lords were reading. Too good to even peruse the shelves alongside those he deemed as unworthy.
Laith fell upon the prince as soon as he reached the library doors, wrapping their arm tight around a torso clad in a loose silk shirt, their other hand clamped over Acacius's mouth to dampen his startled cry. The prince made fearful noises beneath their hand, but there was no time to savor the sound. Laith knew they must move swiftly or risk alerting the night watch.
They slammed the prince's head into the heavy oak door behind him. Once, twice, and then their royal prisoner's struggling lessened. Laith forced him to the ground, stuffing a wad of cloth into his mouth and tying it in place with a cord. That same cord trailed down from the prince's head to wind around his wrists, then back up again to circle his throat, forming a makeshift collar and leash to better Laith's control of him. He tugged harshly at the rope, and the dazed prince stumbled to his feet, whimpering softly from behind the gag.
There was no haughtiness in his eyes, only something meek and fearful. It was nearly enough to make Laith second-guess their plans, but their memories of the man they knew Acacius to be strengthened their resolve.
They would not fall for this docile ruse. They knew the truth.
Laith delved deeper into the castle, making for one of the secret passages in the stone that would lead them outside the keep. There was a cottage at the edge of the woods, overlooking the river that ran alongside the castle's walls. A peasant girl had sighted it after Laith offered her a penny to find a covert location. It was perfect; well away from anyone who could hear them, and the river would make an easy path for the slavers' skiff.
They hauled Acacius into the cottage, unable to resist giving the prince a sharp kick in the back that sent him tumbling to the ground. The slavers weren't set to arrive until just before sunrise. Laith had nearly an hour to get revenge for every petty insult that had ever been flung their way.
Laith dropped a knee into the prince's chest, holding his head in place while he removed the gag.
Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith refused to let the act sway them. If anything, it only fueled their fire. How dare this impudent brat act like this was unearned? Now safe behind a closed door, Laith let their fury burn, raining fists and kicks down on the prince's helpless form, relishing every muffled cry. No, they shouldn't be muffled. They wanted to hear Acacius plead for mercy.
"N-nnh please... Please don't," the shaky words left Acacius's throat with the balled-up cloth. Laith answered him with another blow, and the prince squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened again, there was a distant look to them, tears trickling from the corners.
No matter. Soon they'd be rid of him for good.
Small whimpers and gasps left Acacius's throat as Laith continued the beating, but aside from a few weak pleas, the prince didn't speak, or even look their way. Like he was only waiting for it to end. Their blows slowed, the enjoyment fading as the royal seemed to detach himself from the moment. Laith huffed. Even bound and beaten, Acacius was still ruining their day.
Ignoring the blank look on the prince's face, Laith drew their knife, cutting away Acacius's clothing. Even if that didn't get a reaction, it served the practical purpose of making things a shade easier on the slavers.
The prince lay very still, his breaths small and shaky as Laith removed the ruined clothing. And underneath the silk... Laith was unprepared for what was underneath the silk.
Old bruises covered Acacius's torso, scars layered beneath, some fresher than others. The wounds didn't stop there; more scars scattered the prince's legs, some framed in a sickly yellow-green.
"What is this?" Laith whispered, the question half-directed at themselves. Acacius didn't answer, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that looked glazed over.
Seeing another wound on their prisoner's shoulder, this one oddly shaped, Laith grabbed Acacius's upper arm and rolled him onto his stomach. The prince answered the action with a startled cry.
"N-no, please, please don't---"
"Shut up," Laith hissed, taking in the prince's back. It seemed the brat had been whipped before, and on more than one occasion by the looks of it. They couldn't say whether the dark feeling welling up in them was more akin to pity, or bitterness that they hadn't been able to witness the lashings themselves.
Starker than the whip scars was the image burned into Acacius's back. An intricate pattern, asymmetrical and varied in color, like its artist had begun months or even years ago and was still perfecting it. The newest mark was still a bright, skinless red, as if it had been smouldering mere hours ago.
Laith let out a disgusted sigh, turning their back on the sniveling prince. It seemed Acacius had been getting what he'd deserved for some time now, but it had done little to improve his attitude. Who had done this to him? Could it have been the regent? Why was pity seeping into them, like poison from a soured wound?
Acacius didn't deserve their pity. Wounded or not, he still paraded the palace ground like a bejeweled goose, hissing and biting at anyone he seemed lesser.
But why? came a small voice inside them. Why put on such an arrogant mask?
It didn't matter. Wounded or not, the prince should have better respected Laith and their peers.
There was a sharp rap on the door, and Laith pushed it open an inch to peer out into the darkness. A pale woman with a shaved head stood on the other side, wearing clothing that was clearly foreign, despite its simplicity.
"Here to collect your gift?" they said, and the woman smiled.
"Aye. The North'll pay a pretty penny for your little heir."
"Wonderful," Laith said, but the word felt insincere. They couldn't let themselves doubt their plans now, the deed was nearly done. They opened the door further. "Take him then. Let's have this over with."
Acacius lay still on the ground, though his hands were trembling. He'd ceased his begging and was now crying softly and hells, Laith couldn't stand to hear it.
They bent over the prince, grabbing a fistful of his hair and roughly stuffing the gag back into his mouth to muffle that damned pathetic noise.
"Take him," they said again, more insistently. "Take him and be gone."
"S'wrong with his back?"
"I don't know." Laith shook their head. "Take him."
"Not a word of me," they said. "You'll make a fortune off him, all I ask is my name and face remain unknown."
"Alright, alright." The woman seized the rope, the leash Laith had formed, and tugged on it, forcing the prince to his feet. Acacius's eyes were teary and pleading, but Laith turned their back on him.
"Your wish is my command," the woman chuckled, leading the prince towards the rocky shore, where her boat lay waiting. A sob escaped Acacius as he passed the threshold.
"Wait." Hells, what were they saying? They wanted nothing more to do with the royal. They needed him gone, but when the prince turned back to look at them, the flash of hope in his eyes wrenched in their gut.
Those damned eyes. Those haughty, arrogant, judging eyes.
"Remember your place," said Prince Acacius.
"Nevermind," Laith said quickly. "Go. Get him out of here."
The woman tugged on the leash, nearly causing the bound royal to stumble. Fresh tears wet Acacius's cheeks, but Laith looked away, pretended not to see.
They could pretend a lot of things. Surprise at the prince's sudden disappearance, sorrow and outrage at his captivity in the enemy North. For themselves, they'd pretend they were satisfied, that they'd never seen Acacius's scars.
And as they watched the skiff disappear on the dark waters of the river, they pretended they had no regrets.
63 notes · View notes
Text
Angry scar reveals my beloved
Characters who are so sick of their trauma being overlooked to the point where they have to show exactly what was done to them
109 notes · View notes
meraki24601 · 2 months
Text
Purchased Victory
The lights crackled after they went out. Everyone on the team groaned at the random loss of power, but Hero fell oddly silent. They had been in the middle of a mission debrief, having successfully forced Villain to back down, saving the lives of nearly 100 civilians who had been trapped on the train. It was an easy victory. 
It was a bought victory. 
Hero knew what Villain would want. They had been buying their teammates and the world’s safety for months. No one knew how strong Villain really was. Hero knew, though. They could remember that first day clearly as if it were yesterday. How Villain had brushed aside Hero’s attacks and power as if it were nothing, then slowly tore Hero apart before restoring them. 
That day, they made a deal— Hero for the world. 
Villain wasn’t going to stop. They continued to scheme and destroy and kill. Nothing could stop them from getting bored and acting on it. The deal was that if Villain were attacking out of boredom, Hero would distract them. They would tell Hero what it would take to buy their victory, and then they would leave the battle feining defeat. Hero would go home and prepare, and then they would go to Villain and let them play. 
Villain wasn’t allowed to kill or leave any marks Hero couldn’t hide. It served their purposes well enough as, if Hero were discovered, Villain’s toy would be taken away. Neither party could tell the rest of the team what Hero was doing as, if Hero were discovered, Villain’s favorite distraction would be taken away. Of course, if a deal was made during a battle, Villain had to stop as soon as suspicions would allow. 
This time, Hero had promised Villain a public show. Villain was going to have friends watch. They weren’t allowed to touch or help, and while they were there, Villain wasn’t allowed to remove any of Hero’s clothes or masks they chose to wear. A silent audience to Hero’s private shame.
That was why when they heard the familiar crackle of Villain’s power in their base, Hero stayed silent as they slid their chair back from the table, ignoring their team as they struggled to orient themselves enough to run away. Hero knew Villain was coming. They could remember how bored Villain had seemed during their last bargain. Something was changing, and Villain had forgotten to tell Hero the new rules. 
“So you chose not to wear a mask after all, did you, Puppy?” Hero backed into Villain’s chest, and the enemy’s words were whispered in Hero’s ear. 
Villain snapped, and the lights turned on. 
Mentor was already looking at Hero as the power was restored, their ability swirling around them. Hero felt the knife pressed against their chest as the rest of the team saw what was happening and reacted. Cries of shock and anger drowned their mind, rooting them to their spot in Villain’s arms. 
“Evening, friends.” Villain giggled as one of the papers on the table was blown in the wind of activated powers and was sliced in half on the blade in their hand. “I hope you all have rested after our little dalliance on the train. I’ve come to collect my payment and would like to invite you all to watch.”
“You’re breaking the rules.” Hero gasped as the knife pressed harder into their chest. 
“Awe, Puppy, don’t be like that. You agreed to let me invite some of my friends! You should have been more specific if you didn’t want certain friends invited. I’ve grown bored of our usual games.” 
“You’re breaking the rules! Neither of us was supposed to tell my team.”
“I haven’t! All I’ve done is invite them to playtime. I haven’t broken any of the rules. Though I think this may end up being our last game, so I think I will break one itty bitty rule.” Villain’s knife bit down, cutting Hero’s shirt from their chest, revealing the marks left from past “playtimes” that hadn’t healed. “Look at that. Things on the train were resolved rather quickly. How did you wind up this injured, Hero?”
Villain’s knife tucked under Hero’s chin, lifting their head from where they stared down at their exposed chest. It looked so much worse in the light of the conference room than it did in Hero’s dark bathroom. The looks on their team's faces told it all. 
“Come, friends. Why don’t we go somewhere a little more comfortable? It seems Hero is in need of some medical assistance. I’m known for my excellent aftercare.” Villain sent their power through Hero’s back, dragging out an unfiltered scream. “The door. Now.”
28 notes · View notes
whumpacabra · 22 days
Text
In for a Penny
Blood, firearm mention, referenced conditioning, implied past torture, vaguely implied past noncon, fictional politics
[Directly follows New Tricks]
Jackson sat at the desk for an hour, ass going numb in the hard wooden chair. His brain wasn’t much better - he hadn’t slept, and he was thinking himself in circles too much to even consider it. So, he sat, and watched the half dead man he spent most the night stitching back together sleep soundly on the floor.
He couldn’t drag this guy back to Command, not with the shape he was in, not knowing how eager they were to crack him open and find any secret Smith had left behind. But he couldn’t just stay holed up in a mediocre hotel all day either - hell, Beth probably was worried sick after the disappearing act he pulled last night. God, he was in for a brutal verbal beating, but he needed to get it over with.
He needed someone on his side who could help him figure out what the hell to do.
The blackberry flip phone rang once, twice.
“Hello?”
“I’m alive, by the way.” He swallowed a nervous chuckle, keeping his voice quiet. While he worried he might wake Wolf, the man lay as still and as deeply asleep as he had been all morning.
“Jackson. I’m going to kill you.” Despite her tone, he knew she was relieved. “Command has had half the cops in the city combing for you, we’re all casing the neighborhood you last commed from - what the hell happened?” There was a beat, her anger and frustration distilling to icy suspicion. “Why are you giving me a personal call instead of comming Command?”
“One of the targets is dead.”
“Yes. I noticed when I showed up to a back alley at fuck o’clock in the morning looking for you, ya wanker. One to the head, two to the chest - like a professional.” Jackson opened his mouth, then closed it. Command probably monitored their calls.
“It’s easier to explain what went down in person, but suffice to say I’m safe and the mission isn’t compromised; I just bunkered down for the night and…forgot to comm in.”
Beth hissed a sigh, accepting his excuse easily enough. It wasn’t his first time ‘accidentally’ leaving his comm off.
“Do you have the target’s hotel key?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Good. Meet me at the hotel by 9. Command wants us to inspect the room before we let forensics take a stab at it. Wouldn’t want those idiots losing the asset.”
Whatever the hell that even was.
Jackson acknowledged Beth as she stepped into the elevator. Professional and fresh, ready for the day. Unlike Jackson, who was predictably haggard after a sleepless night. Not to mention he was worrying himself to death thinking of Wolf waking up alone - would he even notice the note Jackson left?
Would he trust Jackson enough to stay put?
“Sleep well?”
“Terribly. You?”
“Wonderful. 9 hours straight.” She cracked a smile and elbowed him. Comms were on. Command was listening and despite it all she trusted him enough to act like she wasn’t worried. “Averaged together we’re fine. Your place really that bad?”
“Just a bad night.“ He could explain Wolf’s situation later; they were on the clock.
The door opened with a chime, the pair stepping out and heading to the dead American’s hotel room. 24D. Jackson tried the keycard twice before giving up and using the traditional key. Hopefully this dumb electric key nonsense didn’t catch on.
The ‘do not disturb’ sign jangled as the handle turned.
“Bloody hell…” Beth sighed; Jackson could smell it before he turned away from closing the door. “We need to call the boys ASAP. There might be another body.”
Jackson had to agree, the room did look like a murder scene.
Three nights. He had watched the window from the roof of the building across the street and noted the lights went off at 20:00 every night. No movement. Beth confirmed as much during her shifts. How did they miss this?
Blood was still wet where it was pooled on the bathroom tiles, tub streaked pink from a quick rinse. Suture thread and a bloody needle were smeared in handprints on the edge of the sink. But that was tame compared to the mess that was the bed.
There was only one bed - queen sized, for a couple’s suit. The sheets were a tangle of blood and worse - the salt of sweat and the distinct sour tang of vomit hung heavy in the air.
(Wolf’s refusal to sleep on the bed made more sense.)
(It had taken Jackson hours to properly clean and stitch and bandage the wounds across Wolf’s chest and arms and back. Jackson shuddered at the dawning horror that he certainly had worse left untreated.)
“Command.” Beth had made her way to the window, cracking it open with gloved hands despite the winter chill. The fresh air was sorely needed. “We need forensics at Smith’s hotel. This place looks like a slaughter house.”
“Say again, Agent Adams?”
“Forensics. Smith’s hotel room is a bloody mess and I don’t have the stomach to check the drains and bins for body parts.”
Jackson wasn’t sure they would find any. He almost said something before Command came through the line again.
“Can you identify the asset on site?”
“What is the asset?” Jackson asked with a thread of annoyance. He understood the secrecy but all he could think of was Wolf curled up in that broom closet and parroting clearly trained dialogue lines.
Command confirmed his fears.
“Romani male, dark hair, approximately 190cm, well built. Notable scars from tattoo removal on left side and right forearm - ”
“The asset is a person?” Beth’s incredulous stage whisper saved Jackson the embarrassment of letting his mounting anger bubble over.
“Yes. His designation is the Wolf.”
Jackson focused on his breathing, trying to purposefully move his own gloved hands to sift through the dresser drawers. Wolf. He was the asset. Property of the US government.
“You didn’t think to tell us the target was - this would have been a hell of a lot easier if we knew we needed to separate the two tangos.”
“The information was need to know, and you didn’t need to know.” Command paused, but spoke before Beth’s muttered curses could roll through the line. “Agent Smith and the asset were together, correct?”
“Until last night.” Jackson felt the lie chipping his teeth. (What would have happened to Wolf if he had reported his presence last night? What would happen if he handed him over to Interpol now?) “What happens when we find him?”
“Interpol wants him alive. That’s all I’m cleared to tell you, and I’m only telling you because from what it sounds like there’s a good chance Agent Smith liquidated the asset before we could get to it.”
“Liquidated. Sure.” Beth scoffed, uncomfortable nausea rolling in her words. Jackson knelt next to an unzipped duffel bag, leafing through the folded clothes with disinterest. He was half dazed by the information - he should say something, he should ask for more information - but the comms clicked dead.
It was just him and Beth now.
“Beth.” His voice felt small. The other agent sucked air through her teeth and grimaced.
“I don’t want to see a dismembered limb or dead or - ”
“Beth, I don’t think there’s a body here.”
Oh, fuck, he left an internationally sought after asset in his crappy hotel room with a note saying he would be back in an hour or two. For all Jackson knew Wolf had already skipped town.
“Oh, fuckin’ hell, I shouldn’t have left him - ”
He was already out the door before Beth could answer. She chased him to the elevator, stripping off her bloodied gloves.
“What the hell are you talking about? Jackson, I know you didn’t get much sleep, but you’re - ”
“I left the Wolf at my hotel because he was unarmed and scared and hurt and I thought - I didn’t think. He wasn’t in any condition to talk so I didn’t say anything to Command because I was just gonna help patch him up, figure out what the hell happened to him, and I now realize I have left the mission objective alone in a first floor room at the Well’s Inn across town.”
The elevator doors opened with a ping, a clearly stressed pair of tourists and their young son squeezing into the elevator. Beth spent the remaining 28 seconds of the ride to the ground floor trying to melt Jackson’s face with her eyes alone.
It wasn’t until they got into her car that she snapped.
“What the hell do you mean the asset is in your fucking hotel room?” Beth was kind enough to start the vehicle and begin speeding across town, aggressively driving and definitely breaking a few speed limits.
“He killed Smith.”
“Oh, and that’s supposed to inspire confidence - you’ve got a murderous asset in your fucking hotel room?”
“Elizabeth, something’s wrong.” The use of her full name got her attention as she impatiently waited at a red light. “I don’t - you saw Smith’s room. That’s his blood. Wolf���s blood. Smith did that to him. I spent half the night patching him up and I didn’t even - oh, Jesus, I only saw what was under his shirt.”
“Okay. Okay that - that is fucked up. And - and fuck, we need to find him, and get him to Command. We need to tell Command - they, they’ll know what to do.”
“They’ll just hand him over to the CIA agents in Interpol. God knows what they’ve got in mind for him. Poor bastard.” Jackson muttered, partly to himself.
He knew the internal investigation Smith was escaping was messy. But he also knew that it was…fruitful, if Interpol wanted the ‘asset’ he ran off with. The agency thought they could use Wolf. How and what the terrified man sleeping on the hotel floor could be used for, Jackson wasn’t sure.
But it couldn’t be pleasant.
The pair of agents barreled into the sleepy hotel, briskly making their way to Jackson’s room. It hadn’t appeared that the window had been tampered with from the outside but there was a chance…
The door swung open, hinges squealing as Beth swept the room with her pistol, Jackson following close behind. And there was the Wolf, kneeling at the foot of the bed, looking up at them with a painfully blank expression.
“Sir.” He acknowledged with a dip of his head, dark eyes flicking between Beth and Jackson, fear and apprehension storming behind a facade of calm. Beth looked to Jackson, holstering her weapon.
What now?
[Directly before In for a Pound]
(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)
Taglist: @stargeode
16 notes · View notes
whump-tr0pes · 6 months
Text
Breakfast, Part 1
Many thanks to @newbornwhumperfly for being so generous in letting me put their boy Morja in Situations, and many apologies to them as well for holding onto this story for so many months while waiting for me to finish it.
My masterlist
Morja is a diathésimos, one of a class of indentured servants owned by society’s elite - though some would call them slaves. He has been tasked with a mission of critical importance by his anóteros: to infiltrate a dangerous family that has taken refuge in the north, and kill the criminal that they are harboring: Gavin Stormbeck.
“It is your part to kill me, mine to die without flinching.”
— Epictetus, from Discourses (Translated by Robert Dobbin)
Your Part to Kill | My Part to Die | To Die Quietly | Despair | Dawn | Breakfast Part 1
Contents: captivity, conditioned whumpee, past drugging, thoughts of death, past torture
~
There were footsteps in the hallway. Morja was instantly awake, eyes wide open, back ramrod straight as he sat up. He stared at the door from his sleeping spot on the floor, doing his best to stop trembling before the anóteros of the family - Gray, they told him to call them Gray - came in. They’d done that every morning for the past five mornings now, taking away his bucket of waste, bringing him something delicious for breakfast. It made Morja’s stomach flip with shame to be served in such a way, and by the anóteros no less. If his owner benefactor heard of this, he would be whipped for his insolence. He was still waiting to be whipped now.
He was waiting for worse things than a whipping. He was waiting for drugs in the food, but not a single meal had left him sick, or weak, or unconscious, or in pain. Perhaps it was a slow poison that would work through his body over weeks rather than hours, but Morja couldn’t see the sense in that. Morja had puzzled over it in the days that he had had to himself; when this family had Isaac Moore - whom Morja now knew was a diathésimos like himself - at their disposal, why would they not use him to put Morja down like the threat that he was? Why would they waste their food, their space, their time on him when they were planning on killing him anyway? The time he could understand, even though it made him sick with terror: the time was to break him. The time was only the first step in the torture. But why was the food not drugged? His own anóteros drugged his food. How could this family of criminals, traitors, murderers do less?
The door handle turned, and he shuffled to his knees, just like he had every morning since he’d been locked in this room. And, just like every other morning, he slid his hands behind his head and laced his fingers together to keep them from shaking. He kept his eyes riveted to the carpet just in front of his knees as the door opened. 
“Good morning, Morja,” Gray said gently. They stopped at the door. 
Morja froze. So the torture would begin in earnest today, then. Starting with going without food. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to blow out a slow, even breath. “G-good morning, anó– Gray.” He must still be polite, even though he was terrified. His anóteros had made sure he could do that.
Still, he was thirsty. It had taken so little time for him to become soft, after having been given food and water so frequently. Morja’s eyes opened again, as he began to see the plan laid out in front of him. He wondered of Gavin Stormbeck had concocted it, or if the entire family was gifted in the art of torture. 
“I’m going to stop whatever thought process you’re so clearly lost in right now,” Gray said, their voice soft. Morja braced for whatever blow was coming. “You’re still being fed. You’re still getting water.”
Morja blinked, swallowed. His eyes flicked up towards Gray. His stomach lurched as he realized Gray was the only one standing in the door. 
Where is Isaac Moore?
Gray was already speaking again. “What I wanted to ask, without Isaac here, so you wouldn’t feel pressured either way,” they said, “Was whether you would care to join us all for breakfast?” Gray shrugged. “In the dining room?”
Morja shivered as he tried to decipher the meaning behind Gray’s words. He had been tied to a chair and interrogated in the dining room the first night he had been in this house - perhaps Gray was playing a game with him, trying to get him to agree to another interrogation for their own amusement. Or perhaps they simply wanted to move him to another part of the house under false pretenses. Morja was in a reasonably defensible position in this room, and that might be the case. Or perhaps… 
Morja swallowed hard, desperately hoping he was not playing into some sick game by guessing. “To… to serve you? Anóteros?”
The corner of Gray’s mouth turned down, and Morja knew he had guessed wrong. He shuddered and bowed his head low to the floor. 
“No, Morja,” Gray rasped, holding their hands out to the side. “No, it’s like I told you… We don’t want anything like that from you. I was wondering if you would like to… eat with us. At the table, instead of in this room. That’s all. Not serving us. Just as an equal.”
“Equal…” Morja croaked, staring at his knees. He realized he had spoken out loud and closed his mouth with a snap.
“Yes,” Gray said, sounding tired. “Is that… something you would like? If that would frighten you too much, I understand, but… I think it might be nice.”
Morja’s hands were shaking behind his head. Isaac Moore would be out there, and Gavin Stormbeck. But if he didn’t go… If he displeased this anóteros, and didn’t go… 
He swallowed bile, swallowed his fear. He drew in a quavering breath and slowly, slowly let his hands fall until they pressed into the carpet in front of him. “Yes,” he murmured, nodding jerkily. “Yes, if it would… please you, anóteros, I’ll do it.”
“It would please me for you to be free,” Gray said with a tone that Morja didn’t recognize. “And this, I think, is a good first step. Let’s see how this goes.” They took a step into the hall and waited for Morja to get to his feet before they started walking towards the dining room. Morja fell into step behind them. They had their back to him as they walked, he realized with a start. 
He could kill them, if he wanted to. It would be so, so easy. They towered over him, but he was strong, packed with muscle, as hard-won as his scars. A kick to the back of the knee, and his hands could close around their neck, or he could bash their head against the wall. He didn’t need a weapon. He was the weapon, and he could kill this traitor, just like he had been trained to. Just like his anóteros had commanded him, just like it had been beaten trained into him for years. Isaac wasn’t here with his gun. Morja could do it, and then go find Gavin Stormbeck to complete his mission. It could be over in a second.
Morja’s hands shook as he clenched them into fists. 
But Gray trusted him. They had to, or they would never do something so foolish. Morja couldn’t understand why Gray would turn their back to an enemy, someone they knew had been sent to kill one of their own. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. He forced his hands to open at his sides. He stared at Gray’s back, brow furrowed as his chest ached with an emotion he couldn’t name. 
@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justplainwhump ,  @finder-of-rings , @inky-whump , @thatsthewhump , @orchidscript , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pretty-face-breaker , @cinnamonflavoredhugs , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal ​, @annablogsposts , @suspicious-whumping-egg
47 notes · View notes
moons-cozy-corner · 1 year
Text
Rescued Pt.2
TW: Restraints, past torture, conditioning, kidnapping, non-con
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4
"If anyone were to ever try to steal you from me, what would you do?"
"Keep my eyes closed and my mouth shut until I am in your possession again, Sir." The answer was simple, and he answered with absolute confidence and pride. He'd repeated it countless times on command, making his master proud.
The questions had filled his week up almost completely. He'd have to answer correctly before he could eat, before he could sleep. Any time Pet saw his master he'd be tested, gaining the chance to prove his worth to them, earning verbal praise that was usually so rare.
"Good. Good..." Master muttered, pacing the floor in front of kneeling Pet, who sat so nicely on the floor with his hands crossed on his lap. His Master looked worried, but he dared not speak a word of it, lest he be punished. Master crouched in front of him, lifting his face into their hands. "You've been so good, Pet. I'm very proud of how far you've come."
"Thank you, Master," he replied, bowing his head.
His master hummed delightfully, running their thumb across Pet's cheek. He was not used to such affection from his master, but still he sat, silent and obedient. "You've done so well...
"You've done so well, Villain." Fingers combed through his sticky hair, pulling on knots and other clumps dried together from sweat. He rolled over with a moan. Whoever this person was was not Master. If he could move any further away, he would have, but the other quickly grabbed his shoulders and led him back to the center of the bed. "Careful, love. You'll fall off the bed." The voice was annoyingly soothing, and Pet hated how relaxed it made him feel.
Trying to push the other away, he realized his hands couldn’t move all that far, and he immediately recognized the cold metal. They had cuffed him.
"Woah!" The man beside him yelled, shifting where he sat at the edge of the stiff hospital mattress as Pet yanked harshly at the handcuffs. Only one harsh off tug at the metal, just enough to show how pissed he was, then he lay still again. Immediately, he regret his decision. Master would not have approved that action.
Still, his eyes stayed shut, and he kept his breathing as calm as he could muster under the circumstances. Master had taught him well how to look and act differently than he was feeling. They'd taught him well, but it was clear he still had much to learn. That's why he needed to get back to his master so badly.
Somebody else walked into the room them, and Pet could feel their eyes on his still form. "Another outburst, Hero?" Hero. That was his name, the one that had created all that noise. He was the one behind all this, wasn't he? The abduction, the cuffs, the hospital. It was all him.
Pet had to force himself to swallow the bile rising in his throat. He hadn't been so angry in a long while, it almost felt... invigorating?
"No, ma'am. Not an outburst. He's just spooked, is all." The room fell almost silent, but Pet wouldn't know true silence again until Master found him and took him home. There was too much buzzing here. Hero stood and walked over to the woman, dropping his voice to a whisper, probably so that Pet wouldn't hear, but he so easily did. "Are the cuffs really necessary, Superhero? He's been through some serious trauma, restraining him like this can't be helping."
The older woman sighed, not bothering to soften her voice or her spitting tone as she sauntered over to the bedside. She smelled like antiseptic and some other scent that was probably meant to be flowers. It gave him a headache within seconds, making him squirm away, turning his head away to find fresh air.
She scoffed. "Trauma? What do you care about his trauma? He's a villain, Hero. He doesn't deserve mercy or pity or whatever this is that you're trying to feel for him." This Superhero person grabbed his hair, turning his face back towards her, and with the other hand she tried to pull open his eyes. "Open your eyes and face me, vermin."
Before she managed to, Hero was on her, and there was some sort of struggle. Superhero was screaming at Hero to get off, and it seemed as if he did, because she finally shut up, her heels clicking as she left the room in a huff.
He dared open his eyes for a second. Just a second, seeing the woman disappear behind a corner, Hero running a hand over his red, puffy face. He dropped his hand, resting it in his sweatshirt pocket before his eyes turned back to Pet's weak figure.
The figure that had stupidly decided to open his eyes, resulting in locking gazes with an exhausted Hero, who's eyes sparked with something so easily recognizable. It made Pet's heart jump, made him shut his eyes before his brain could process anything else.
"Villain?" He closed his eyes as soon as Hero had seen him, turning his head again. "Villain, please. Say something. Do something. Anything. Anything."
Pet stayed silent, clenching their jaw as tears threatened to fall out of their clenched eyelids. He didn't dare make another mistake like that again.
Hero sighed, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. Pet could hear it creak with their weight. "Y'know, I spend every day searching for you since you disappeared. I'd started to lose hope, but we found you, Villain. I found you, finally, after four years." A choked laugh escaped his lips, and Pet found himself crying as well, tears silently dampening the pillow beneath his cheek. "I don't know what that bastard did to you, Villain, but you've got to be in there somewhere. Please, come back to me." Clammy hands rested on top of one of Pets', but he didn't move. Neither of them did.
"Right. Well," Hero said, sniffling as they stood. "I have to go. I'll be back tomorrow." He leaned down and kissed Vil- Pet on the head, soft warm lips penetrating the cold and spreading heat across his face.
Then Hero left, and Pet sat there, confused. He had been right, Hero had been the one to steal him away from his Master, and he knew anger and resentment should have followed. If Master saw him now, with tears falling freely from his now open eyes, saw his quivering lip, he'd be punished terribly; but he couldn't help it.
He knew what he'd seen. Something so familiar was in those tired eyes, but he couldn't put his finger on it. And he didn't want to. He didn't want to be disloyal to his master, so he bit his lip and hid his puffy eyes, resuming the mantra's he had been told so many times.
Stay quiet. Be patient. Behave. You will not see or speak until I find you.
Well done, Pet.
Well done, Villain.
part 3
tag-list: @bleeding-letters @nicolepascaline @whumped-inc @subval01 @whumpkinz @littlespacecastle @hollowgast1 @aswallowimprisoned @edkore @vermillion-emerald
Let me know if you want off the tag-list-- I wasn't sure if people who asked to be on the tag list wanted this series specifically or in general
204 notes · View notes
echoingalaxies · 9 months
Text
Content: self-punishment/injury, conditioned whumpee, trauma
Whumpee got up before dawn to prepare breakfast. For so long now, it had been their routine, something they'd gotten used to doing no matter their condition, no matter the amount of pain or exhaustion weighing them down. Coffee with two sugars, and three fried eggs, would have to be ready to be served precisely at 6, and Whumpee would carry them to Whumper's room where he would still be sleeping, wake him up, and stand there, head bowed, wait until he finished his meal and then take the dirty dishes to the sink.
The few times Whumpee had missed the 6 am mark, even by a couple of minutes, hadn't ended well. Whumpee ran their fingers over the scars they'd received for those mistakes, wide and raised under their shirt, as they waited for the food to cook. They kept glancing at the clock, anxiously, shivering at the thought of being late, but they also couldn't hurry too much because the punishment for undercooked eggs would be just as cruel.
At 5:58, Whumpee had everything set up, and taking the plate and the large mug of coffee in their hands, they started to head toward the stairs, moving slowly for their aching body. Whumpee had become really good at counting in their head, so they knew they were right on time, as they balanced the mug on the plate for a second to knock on Whumper's door.
They pushed the door open, flicked on the lights - so much brighter than Whumpee remembered... He hadn't changed the lightbulb, so had Whumper had to do it himself? How come hadn't he told Whumpee to do it? - and went next to his bed.
"Your breakfast, sir," they said, trying to sound chipper but gentle, humble and happy to be there. "Good morning, sir," they added quickly after, almost having forgotten the proper way of greeting. What has wrong with them today?
Whumper, usually waking up to their voice and demanding to have the food immediately, just pulled the duvet to his chin, face deep buried into pillows. He grunted something inaudible, and Whumpee was left standing there, unsure what to do.
"S-sir? It's morning, sir, time to rise. Are you feeling ill?"
"Shut up," Whumper growled, and his voice was odd, but Whumpee pressed their lips together tightly, afraid to make a sound. "What the fuck are you doing, it's so damn early..."
The plate and the mug were shaking in Whumpee's hands as they began to breathe heavily, panicking. They'd been on time, but they'd made a mistake. They'd made some kind of mistake. Whumper was upset, and oh, when he'd wake up, hell was awaiting for them...
"Please," Whumpee whispered. "I- I'm so sorry. So sorry, sir..."
After a few mess-ups, Whumper had introduced Whumpee to an alternative option when it came to punishments of slipping off schedule or not completing their tasks just as Whumper had told them to. Quicker, easier, and for Whumper, even more fun than getting to carve marks on Whumpee's skin.
He'd love to watch Whumpee be humiliated.
"I don't want to waste my time on you when I have better things to do," Whumper had once said. "Make it simpler for the both of us. You know when you mess up. Why not get the consequenses out of the way? Use whatever's available, as long as you clean up the blood."
Whumper was still under the covers, perhaps falling back to sleep. Whumpee was still confused by the situation, but it seemed like he should've somehow known to not bother him this morning, oh no, they'd done gravely wrong, and there was only two ways out...
And they'd made their choice which route to take.
Whumpee set the plate on the nightstand, and closed their eyes, when with trembling hands, they took the mug of still steaming coffee above their head and spilled it all over themselves. Even as cried out in agony, they kept reminding themselves whatever Whumper would have done to them would've been worse, and with any luck, this would be enough.
Whumper was once again woken up by Whumpee's cries, and bolted up from the bed like he'd been electrocuted. Whumpee felt a sting in their heart. Of course they'd want to watch. Why would they miss the show? Maybe they'd be unsatisfied with their pain and make Whumpee throw themselves down the stairs for good measure.
Whumper cursed loudly and grabbed Whumpee's arm, pulling them out of the room and to the nearest bathroom. He shoved Whumpee under the shower and turned it on, turning the temperature cold. He squeezed Whumpee's arms, shaking them lightly.
"Oh god, Whumpee, why would you do that? What were you thinking?"
Whumpee coughed, the water getting into their mouth. They shivered, from cold and from fear.
Another mistake.
Nothing made sense.
Why was whumper helping him? What was all of this?
Whumpee tried to pry themselves away from Whumper's grip and out of the shower, but Whumper held them still.
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry -"
"Wait," he said, sounding concerned rather than angry now. "Oh shit, Whumpee, no, stop that. Look at me. I'm not him."
Whumpee did as they were told and raised their gaze to meet the eyes they expected to be gray and cruel, and was shocked to see hazel, and nothing but kindness.
"I'm not him," he repeated, and Whumpee blinked a few times, letting their eyes take in the rest of the person's face. "Everything is okay. You're home, remember? Safe."
The person had dark circles under their eyes. They had a friendly face, although right now, they wore a worried expression. Whumpee wiped water from their face to see better... their eyes must've been lying to them...
"I..." Whumpee begun, stammering. "S-sorry... I should've let you sleep... I didn't know... I'm sorry..."
"Whumpee, shh." The person reached to turn off the shower and then let go of them to grab a large, thick towel they spread on Whumpee's shoulders. "Don't, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't realise it was you. You shouldn't even be walking! I thought it was Teammate just annoying me, I was barely awake, I didn't mean to be harsh towards you."
Whumpee pulled the towel around them, turning their head to look around. They knew this bathroom. They'd been patched up here many times before, years earlier. It was Caretaker's.
They looked at the person in front of them. They knew them. It was coming to them slowly, but they knew them better than anyone.
"Caretaker?"
They smiled. "Yeah. It's me. It's okay. You've been home for a few days now, remember?"
"I... guess."
Caretaker helped Whumpee out of their wet clothes and let them shower privately, washing the coffee off their hair and ease the pain in the burns on their scalp, their face, their shoulders.
When whumpee was ready, they opened the door to let Caretaker in once again. Caretaker sat them down on a little stool and started to treat their injuries, talking in a calming matter throughout the process. Whumpee was still feeling lost, his brain struggling to understand what was real and what was not.
"I'm still so sorry, Whumpee," Caretaker said, spreading something soothing over his burns. "I never should've allowed things to go so far that you'd do this to yourself."
"I didn't want you to hurt me," Whumpee said quietly. Caretaker stilled for a second, then continued rubbing the lotion on Whumpee's skin. Whumpee bit their cheeks. Caretaker, and everybody else, didn't know much about what he'd been through with Whumper. They hadn't had many opportunities to talk that much yet.
"I would never do that." Caretaker leaned in and pressed an unexpected kiss on Whumpee's forehead. Whumpee blushed, though they were grateful it probably was hidden by their already reddened face. No one had done that for... Whumpee didn't even know how long. "No one will ever hurt you here. And you never have to hurt yourself, okay?"
Whumpee wished they could keep that promise. But who was to say what happened this morning wouldn't happen again?
"Yeah," they said. Caretaker's touch was gentle and comforting, and Whumpee remembered them as a trustworthy person.
Only it all wasn't up to Caretaker.
And it wasn't up to Whumpee. They didn't decide to forget they were not living in that nightmare anymore.
But if things were to be like this, would they ever truly get out?
547 notes · View notes
nerdpoe · 8 months
Text
In the Shadow of Speculation Part 2
Part 1, Ao3
Heavy chapter, please heed the following; Blood tw vivisection tw descriptions of a flashback descriptions of a night terror descriptions of recovery abled verbiage tw self hatred tw (mild) forced parenthood equivalent (but in a ghost culture way)
Danny took a deep breath and used the Ring of Rage.
A glowing portal formed in the air before him, perfectly stable. Cold, bitter wind blew through it, along with the smell of antiseptic.
Wrinkling his nose, Danny stepped through the portal and closed it behind him.
“Oh, greetings Mr. High King! Are you ready for your check-up?” a nurse Yeti said, looking up from her clipboard enthusiastically.
Danny attempted a smile.
“I’m prepared for it, yeah.”
“Wonderful! Your friends are already in the room for moral support!”
Danny paused.
“Who-?”
“The Lady of the Green and the Lord of Innovation, of course!”
Oh thank the Ancients.
Danny nodded his thanks at the nurse and started for his assigned rooms.
Every inch of the hallways, unfamiliar before the Accident, were ingrained in his memories now.
He’d finally walked from his door to that window without help four months after waking up, and he’d been so fucking proud about it too. He’d hid behind that potted plant during his first flashback. He’d climbed out of that window and crawled on the roof just so he could feel the snow on his skin two months into Physical Therapy.
That was the yeti that had taken the brunt of his anger and hurt on his worst days, nodding at him as Danny passed. That was the room he’d pleaded with Dan to take him away from the hospital, that he couldn’t do it anymore, that he just wanted to go home-that was also the room Dan had set his foot down and said that he’d play the bad guy for Danny one last time.
And oh, how Danny had despised him for it.
But it had worked. Danny, with someone who was there for the sole purpose of taking the verbal assaults meant for his Physical Therapists and himself, who was only there to snipe back and deliberately egg Danny on, helped Danny find the energy to push forward.
And Danny still felt awful about that.
Danny passed the table he had eaten his first solid meal at, one month after waking up, and took a left.
There it was.
The door to the rooms that had been his sanctuary and his prison, right up until they hadn’t been needed anymore. The first place he’d seen when he’d woken up, and then been amazed that he’d woken up at all.
With a deep breath, Danny pushed it open.
“Hey man!”
“Danny!”
Danny’s smile was weak, and he was holding back tears in the face of so many memories he hated and adored in equal measure.
“Hey guys, thanks for coming.”
~~~~~~
Dan knew he was asleep. Dan knew he was awake. Dan knew he was somewhere in that awful inbetween.
He was in his parents basement. No, wait. They weren’t his parents. They’d never deserved the title.
He was in the Fenton’s basement.
The world kept glitching out, the colors kept melding together, and the only thing that stood out was the overwhelming feeling of disbelief and terror.
Little him was strapped to a table. Little him was strapped to a table. Little him was-
Stop.
Assess.
What was going on?
Little him was strapped to a table; he was locked in place. He was in his Core form. It was…damaged. It was damaged.
Why?
Who would…?
There was a sliver missing. They’d torn a piece of him off. They’d tried to peel him open. They’d-Little him would be crippled.
If he survived.
But he had survived, hadn’t he?
Little him’s core was strapped to a table, damaged, and there was no resonance coming from it. There were vials upon vials of ecto-blood on the tables.
That was a kidney.
That was a stomach.
There was blood on the floor.
There…there was blood on his shoes.
Dan floated off of it, listening to the dripping sounds it made as it rolled off his soles.
The door opened.
Two monsters walked through, all giant bug eyes and sharp metal knives.
Dan had two options.
He could kill the things that had done this.
Or.
He darted forward to break the straps and shoved Little him’s core next to his own, where it would be safe, where it could recover as it leeched his excess energy off of him.
The world glitched again.
Dan was standing in Jazz’s living room, hand digging into his own chest. Searching.
With a shaking breath, he pulled it out.
He’d only carried Danny’s core next to his own for two years, but he still found himself searching for it in moments of weakness.
He hadn’t been the best Spirit to host Danny’s core, but he’d fought tooth and nail to do it. Vengeance Spirits could not normally house Protective Spirits.
It was why he’d done the whole hero thing after; it would help Little him heal if he did. And when he scared the people he was saving away?
He’d opted to train the little fledgling heroes. He’d make sure they grew up safe, protected from actual villains and, if needed, their own personal ones.
Anything to make sure he didn’t have to see another kid so close to completely shattering into Nothing, he never wanted to see that shit again-
Dan forced himself to move away from the couch and towards the kitchen.
It was pointless to dwell on the past. He did everything he could; if the Twerp wanted to be next to those monsters, that was on him.
So what if he’d fucked up their relationship? At least the kid was alive.
Dan’s hands still shook as he made himself a cup of coffee.
Maybe he’d just check in. Just for a bit.
~~~~~~
Dan may have failed steps one through ten.
It had probably started when he’d played surrogate for the Runt, if he was completely honest. There was no way Dan hadn’t absorbed a little bit of his Protective nature.
Point was; Dan genuinely could not remember going to Arkham.
He just sort of…came back to himself while floating ominously above it.
He could see the alarm lights flashing below him. The humans running for their battle-stations.
The inmates being herded deeper into the complex.
Dan felt his eyes grow hotter, felt his claws dig into the flesh of his palms.
They were right there. Right fucking there. All he had to do was phase through the compound and just reach into their chests.
It would be so. Fucking. Easy.
In fact, he even caught a glimpse of Maddie through one of the windows.
Dan snarled, lifting a hand, the ectoplasm pooling in it hotter than anything he’d made before-
-and he was in the kitchen. Mom was trying to make hot dogs, but they kept fighting back. She was laughing at a dumb meme he’d shown her. His homework was covered in mustard from the fight with their food.
“I guess you can tell Mr. Lancer that you ‘mustard’ up every resource you had!” Dad called out as he walked by, and Dan felt so loved-
-Dan dropped the hand.
Maddie was hauled past the window and to safety.
Fuck.
Fuck this place.
Fuck this city.
Fuck everything about this situation.
~~~~~~
Batman grappled his way to the tallest watchtower in Arkham, keeping an eye on Phantom the entire time.
The guard that was already in the tower-a new hire, if he recalled-nervously stepped up to fall in line beside him.
Batman waved him off.
He knew Phantom. He knew that the man wasn’t actually a villain.
A Training Villain wasn’t something Batman had seen younger heroes needing, but when the Ghost in front of him had started play-fighting with the younger heroes to teach them through safe combat, the Bat had been mentally kicking himself.
It was a perfect job to train younger heroes, and Batman couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed the previous iterations by not realizing that.
Robin was still angry that he’d fallen for it, of course he was, but Batman could not deny that Phantom’s strange method of training had been instrumental in helping his youngest work through his rage.
Just like he could not deny that he and Phantom had something in common with Arkham.
It wasn’t hard to assume that the walls held a person responsible for the death of someone in the man’s life.
Phantom had only shown up to Arkham a total of three times.
The first time, he’d just hovered outside of it, holding his hand to his chest. He’d done nothing, and left in an hour.
The second time, two years later, he’d broken two walls and shattered a watchtower, screaming for someone to come out and face him. Robin had been on scene before Batman had time to distract him, convinced it was the same Phantom he was used to dealing with.
Surprisingly, the sight of Robin had been enough to still the beast Phantom had become. He’d toned down, forced Robin into a surprise hug, and then disappeared. Robin had been livid, but Batman had learned something about the Training Villain he didn’t think he wanted to know.
The man knew loss, and Batman was pretty sure he knew it on the same scale Bruce did.
From there, it wasn’t hard to figure out the most likely objects of his wrath.
Phantom was a Ghost. Ghosts had a very, very bad history with the American Government. The Anti-ecto acts had just been revealed to the public by Lois Lane, and the country was tearing itself apart.
The people who had been the most avid supporters had been, currently were, the Dr.s Fenton.
Who were housed in Arkham.
Batman had said nothing. He had gone back to the cave and quietly updated Phantom’s file, and left it at that.
The third time was the present.
Phantom had almost lost his temper. Almost.
But he’d reigned it in.
“Phantom,” Batman started, staring at the figure above him, “I know you can hear me. What’s happened?”
The Ghost stayed where he was for one hundred and twenty seconds, before slowly gliding down to the Bat.
Phantom did not say anything.
He did not have to.
His eyes were anywhere, everywhere, but where he actually was. When he actually was.
Batman quietly hissed through his teeth.
Alright then.
“I’m here if you want to talk, otherwise we can be silent. Just know that at this moment, you are not alone.”
Phantom chose silence for a good seventeen minutes.
Then Phantom opened his mouth.
“I should hate them,” the voice was halting, tired, “I should, I really should. They loved me so much, but they…they tore him apar-“ Phantom’s voice failed him.
Batman said nothing, and gave the Ghost time to collect himself.
While he waited, he compartmentalized what he’d learned. The Fentons had torn apart someone very, very important to Phantom.
And Bruce had an awful feeling that he meant that literally.
“I can’t be here,” Phantom said instead of finishing his previous thought.
Batman nodded.
“You didn’t hurt anyone this time, so go; I see no reason to stop you.”
Phantom didn’t grace Batman with a goodbye, but the Bat swore he felt an invisible hand squeeze his shoulder after the Ghost vanished from sight.
~~~~~~
Danny laid on the examination bed, one hand being held by Sam while Tucker lounged on the bed at Danny’s feet. They were talking about their new companies, how the world was changing, and distracted Danny while Frostbite examined his vivisection scarring.
Danny looked everywhere but Frostbite as the yeti pushed and prodded. He didn’t want to look at his chest if he didn’t have to, but he also didn’t want the embarrassment that was accidentally meeting his doctor’s eyes in the middle of a physical.
“Fantastic news, Young Savior,” Frostbite said, interrupting their idle chatter, “Your core, while still healing, is recovering at a phenomenal rate. Truly, Lady Gotham is good on her word! At this pace, your core should be fully healed in a mere century!”
Danny hated that. He hated that it needed to heal, and he hated that he was going to outlive his friends.
Sam and Tucker leaned a little closer, offering comfort for something that they knew the Ancient before them wouldn’t understand.
“Better news, the physical damage appears to be almost completely healed. The regrown kidney and stomach are showing no signs of failing, and the scarring should be the only nuisance. I recommend the afore-mentioned stretches and lotion to help the scar tissue conform with your movements.”
Danny nodded, sitting up as Frostbite stepped back and removed his hand from inside Danny’s torso.
“I also see no issue with your residual limb, although it does appear you’ve been forgetting to remove the prosthetic often enough to cause some light bruising. Can’t say I don’t understand, but perhaps write a reminder and pin it on your bedroom wall.”
Danny avoided Sam’s flat look.
Tucker just flashed his phone screen at Danny, the words ‘I can make you something really cool with rockets it you let me’ sprawled across the screen.
Danny absorbed Sam’s flat look and mirrored it towards Tucker.
Tucker threw up his hands.
“Ancients forbid I do anything, I guess,” the techie sighed dramatically.
Once Danny pulled himself together and got ready to leave, Tucker threaded an arm around his own.
“So, wanna go ding-dong-ditch Walker?”
Danny paused, then grinned; and for the first time in two weeks, it wasn’t a lie.
~~~~~~
Danny waved back at Sam and Tucker as they went through their own portals. They would definitely have to get together and hit the town on Earth.
Danny walked through his own portal and ran face-first into a mass of muscle.
Dan steadied him as he bounced back.
Danny was immediately hit with conflicting, very confusing emotions.
He was looking at Dan, his enemy. He was looking at his father? No, it was Dan. Wasn’t that the same-?
Danny shook his head. He’d never gotten a straight answer about why his Ghost self’s view on Dan had changed so dramatically; everyone always shied away from the question.
“Can I ask what you’re doing in my apartment?” He asked instead, stepping back and closing the portal.
“Just making sure you’re settling in, Tiny.”
“We’re the same height?”
“Nah, we’re not.”
Danny shoved the absurdity of their interaction in the back of his head and made for his couch.
“Well, whatever you’re doing here, here’s to hoping it involved making dinner,” he groaned, sinking into the cushion and pulling up his left leg to start the tediously cumbersome process of pulling it off, “because per the doctor, I’m supposed to keep the prosthetic off for the rest of today.”
“I was gonna order out. Move, we’re watching Sailor Moon.”
Danny whined pitifully when Dan physically picked him up and moved him to the side.
He fought his instincts, and his instincts won.
He leaned back and allowed Dan to take the prosthetic off, clawed fingers delicate for all that the man snarled under his breath.
He also allowed the man to commandeer the TV; not something he would even allow Jazz to do.
“Why do I let you do these things?” Danny muttered, eyeballing the quasi-villain on his couch as said villain massaged the stump just below his knee.
Dan snorted.
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”
“Ugh, no one tells me anything.”
“We’re pacing you,” Dan corrected, blunt for all that the words were careful, “when you’re back on your feet, you’ll get the non-vital details we skimmed.”
Danny didn’t bother arguing; he’d already tried for the better part of the previous year. For some reason, the yetis took Dan’s side, too.
Instead, they fell into a companionable silence, appreciating Sailor Moon. Which was fine by Danny, since he never knew how to behave around Dan. It was only interrupted by the delivery of the Greek food Dan had ordered out.
Danny was on his second Gyro when Dan finally broke the silence.
“So I heard there was a rogue attack outside your apartment,” he said idly, and Danny could feel his eyes on him.
“Yeah.”
“So you got to see the Bats in action?”
“…Yeah.”
Dan leaned in, eyes going critical.
“What needs improvement? Don’t lie; that ‘yeah’ was one that means you weren’t impressed.”
Danny shrugged.
“I dunno, just…they didn’t have someone who’s only job it was was to evacuate the people, or help the injured. It was just offense, no defense.”
Dan snorted and leaned away.
“Kept telling that to Robin, but no; ‘Father this’ and ‘Father that’.” Dan shook his head, chewing thoughtfully on his rack of lamb. “So. What are you gonna do about it?”
Danny blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve seen what they need, and I’m not stupid enough to think you’ll stay out of the game forever. What are you gonna do about it?”
Danny looked down at his Gyro, frowning.
What was he gonna do about it?
He couldn’t fight, not like he used to, not really. But if the Bats were tanking, then…he probably wouldn’t really have to.
“I’ve been in medical facilities for almost a year,” Danny said slowly, ignoring how Dan stiffened next to him, “I think I’ve picked up a few things. Frostbite would probably be thrilled if I asked him to teach me, honestly.”
Dan relaxed, humming thoughtfully around the bone he was chewing on.
“I think…I’ll be a medic.”
@simplestoryteller @gildedphoenix I do not suffer PTSD, and I've never had a life-altering injury. That said, I know people who have, for both of those. I apologize if my descriptions are off. Here's some notes to piece together what this chapter outlines, for those that want the sparknotes as to what Dan is alluding to. From my notes; "Ghosts can carry another ghosts core if that core is injured, to protect and promote healing. Typically, the father or mother figure does it. In this particular instance, Dan did it. We will see in a bit, but for Dan their relationship went from enemies-warden-person I gotta apologize to-person I’ve got to save-the core housed next to mine-son. For Danny, it randomly went from enemies to ‘why do I think dan is my dad more than I think my dad is my dad’." This is where the "forced parenthood" tw comes into play, because Dan felt like he had to do it, and due to instinct Danny subconsciously got dragged along for the ride. Also, if it wasn't clear from the age list on the first chapter and the timeline presented, I'm playing around with Lian and Roy's timeline; Dan's first year he babysat her, and then she died. She came back only four weeks prior to Danny re-entering the human world.
190 notes · View notes
honeycollectswhump · 10 months
Text
Thorns of a Nightmare
[masterlist]
CW: pet whump, it-pronouns used for (internal) dehumanization, gore (?? kind of?? its the description of a nightmare), chronic pain (if i missed something, feel free to tell me)
Mutt awoke with a start, barely escaping the claws of its latest nightmare, drenched in sweat. Its tears had left a salty taste in its mouth. Even that couldn’t overshadow the lingering taste of blood staining its mouth. It could only hope it hadn’t screamed, hadn’t woken its owner up like an ungrateful brat. The raw feel of its throat told it otherwise.
The memory of the horrific punishment was still too fresh in its mind. It had been deserved –of course– but the pain had haunted the Pet ever since. It couldn’t even remember what it had done, though it knew it must have done something. It just remembered its old Master’s rage. 
He had bound Mutt’s wrists with barbed wire and chained it to the wall. If it dared to close its eyes now, it could see its old Master approaching with a broken pipe in hand, burning fury twisting its Master’s features. He knew where to hit, knew how to shatter bones into tiny pieces. Blow after blow came raining down until Mutt’s hands were a bloody pulp, its fingers barely discernable. They never healed quite right afterwards –nothing ever did, instead growing so twisted and crooked that Mutt could hardly move them. Master hadn’t allowed his disobedient Pet a reprieve then, only hours later when Mutt was a grovelling sobbing mess on the floor. 
When it looked down at its hands, it could still see the thick and ragged scars the barbed wire had left behind as it had dug into the Pet’s skin. They never stopped burning and itching, but now it was even worse. It was as if the wire had never left. Mutt found that it couldn’t move its fingers at all aside from involuntary twitching. Instead, they were cramped up just as they had been when bound: a constant reminder of its failures. 
Soon, real pain would follow. Mutt knew such an offence would not go unpunished. Even if Master didn’t hear the scream, it would fess up in the morning so that Master could take disciplinary action. That was the least it could do. Mutt didn’t dare go back to sleep. The nightmare wouldn’t have allowed it to anyways. But more so, it desperately wanted to be good. It vowed to show its Master how willing it was to be corrected. 
As silently as its forever broken limbs allowed it, it clambered out of its bed. It still could barely believe that its Master would grant it such a privilege, especially after all the times it messed up so badly. Just like now. 
Once Mutt reached the cold floor on its hands and knees, it immediately missed the soft warmth of the bed. There was a fluffy-looking rug on the floor. Mutt was sure it would feel wonderful for its mutilated knees. However, it knew it wasn’t allowed. Mutt would dirty the beautiful carpet with its disgusting animal body. 
Instead, it crawled in front of the door, careful not to accidentally touch the carpet. There it knelt, head bowed, hands on the ground, ready and open for its Master. She would come –eventually– Mutt knew. If not now, then in the morning when she would get the Pet out of the confines of the room it was kept in. It knew its place. Nothing else mattered.
To its horror, Mutt could hear footsteps coming closer. It really must have woken its Master up. Steeling itself, it pressed itself closer to the ground. It would be good and obedient for its owner. 
From its position on the ground, Mutt couldn’t see the door open but it could hear the creaking of the old wood, no matter how soft Master tried to open it. There was a pause before she took a silent step inside.
“Atlas? Everything alright?” Master whispered.
Only react when your Master directly tells you to. You are nothing until your Master has a use for you.
“Oh, Atlas, no…” It heard a soft thump then a hand came into view. Mutt shuddered, suppressing a flinch. It knew better than to move away from its Master. 
Master pulled her hand back without having touched her Pet. Mutt wished she did.
Pets don’t have wishes. Or wants. 
“Atlas, please look at me. It’s okay, I promise.” Its Master said. Mutt loved her so much. Her, and her calm voice, and soft touches, and It’s okay’s. It would do anything for her.
(It had never been allowed to look its old Master in the eyes. If it did, its vision would be taken away. It had only been temporary, but even a stupid Pet like Mutt could grasp the underlying threat.)
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” 
Its entire body vibrated with fear, but Mutt knew deep inside its bones that it had to fess up. Maser was giving it the chance to admit its wrongdoings. But at the same time, there was no reason for it to whine about a silly little nightmare it had. Master wouldn’t concern herself with such irrelevant nonsense. She simply wouldn’t.
It had been so determined to say something, to show its willingness and obedience, but now that the time had come it didn’t know what to say. 
Say something, you useless Mutt! it wanted to scream at itself, but no matter what its body stayed frozen on the ground.
“It’s alright. You can tell me.” 
A whimper escaped Mutt’s lips, the memory of the nightmare never having left its mind. It could feel thorny wire digging into its skin, binding its arms together, its pleas for mercy going unheard. Broken bones grinding against each other. Mutt knew it had been a necessary punishment but still… It was hurting all over.
“Please fo-forgive this Pet, Master.” It stuttered, still unused to speaking even after months of being with its new Master. Just another proof of how braindead it was. 
“This P-Pet, it had a… a bad dream. It believes it screamed, Master. It knows this is un-unacceptable behaviour. Please correct this stupid Pet, s-so that it can continue to serve you in the future.”
Mutt just hoped it wouldn’t be thrown out. This wasn’t the first time it had awoken its new Master by being such a noisy nuisance, and it doubted it would be the last. So far, mercifully, Master hadn’t yet decided to take action, but Mutt knew deep down that any day could be its last.
“It’s quite alright, I promise,” Master assured it. “I was already awake when I heard you.”
“It is so sorry. This Pet will try to be quiet, it promises. You could–” Mutt dreaded the suggestions but knew they were necessary. 
It would do anything for its Master. 
“If-if it would please you, Master, you could tie this Pet up and stuff its mouth, or-or lock it outside. But if… if you would pre-prefer a long-lasting solution… you could c-cut this Pet’s vocal cords.” Mutt tried to force a smile. “It knows it isn’t there anymore, but its old Master saw this as a feasible option… al-although he never went that far.”
Master took in a sharp breath, which made Mutt shake even more. 
“No! You don’t–that won’t be necessary.” Master paused. Surely, she was judging her worthless Pet, debating how lenient she should be, debating when her patience would run out. “It’s not a big deal, I promise. As I said, I was already awake. And even if I weren’t it would still be alright. Really.”
Mutt wanted to believe her so badly. It didn’t matter if it was all a lie and she would punish her Pet later on –rightfully so. It wanted to believe everything would be alright, that it would be a good Pet, even as the pain all across its body reminded it of its inevitable shortcomings. 
To its horror, big, fat tears started rolling down its face. The nightmare, the memories, the pain. Master’s gentleness. It was all too much. 
Shrinking back from its Master, Mutt tried to stifle the sob that threatened to break free, tried to hide those traitorous tears. It couldn’t cry! Not without explicit permission. But no matter how hard Mutt tried, it was like its body had forgotten all those lessons that had been beaten into it. 
Once the tears started there was no end to them. They would just get worse. It couldn’t stop the tears or the heavy rasping breaths, or how its nose immediately clogged up. It tried to turn its head away to hide the shame of its cries.
“Oh, sweetheart…” Master whispered, carefully cupping its face in her hands, preventing it from looking away. Mutt could feel its tears catch on her soft hands and its stomach twisted painfully. 
“I–I can’t!” Mutt sobbed. “I’ll dirty you! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This Pet isn’t worthy.”
“It’s alright.” Master's soft voice washed over Mutt. She waited for a moment, then scooted closer. Mutt’s protests (that a Pet like it shouldn’t have anyways) died right on its tongue. 
She drew it closer to herself, wrapping it gently in her arms. Mutt’s breath hitched. 
“Just let it all out. You will be alright, I promise.” Master assured it. A moment passed, then another. 
Mutt couldn’t help it. It melted into her embrace, her soothing voice, her warmth. In this moment, wrapped in Master’s arms, Mutt didn’t care if it would be punished for this later, for the tears soaking into the fabric of her pyjama. 
Distantly, it could feel her rocking it back and forth, whispering sweet nothings into its hair. Its hands grasped the back of her shirt like a dying man, burying its face in the crook of her neck. She pressed its body a little bit closer to herself, and Mutt could feel its heart nearly beating out of the ribcage against her chest, her calm breaths a steady rhythm.
56 notes · View notes
whump-or-whatever · 1 year
Text
Vignette #8
Contents: anxiety/panic attack, crying, traumatic memories, mentions of past torture (whipping, cutting, beating), startle response, multiple caretakers, angry caretaker (angry at whumper not whumpee)
Whumpee felt their chest begin to tighten, breathing becoming shallow and erratic. Tears began to form in the corners of their eyes as Whumpee attempted to quell the panic that tried to crawl its way out of their chest…
They curled up in a ball on the back seat of the car with their hands pressed firmly over their ears. Tears flowed freely down their face, dropping to stain the seat below. Sobs wrenched their way from Whumpee’s chest and the pressure in their head made them moan in pain…
Whumpee couldn't focus on anything other than the rapid pounding of their heart in their chest. Their mind flashed with images in rapid-fire succession of Whumper looming over them, hand around their neck, knife carving skillfully into the tender skin of their chest. A whip cracking down across their back. Endless blows raining down from above. All manner of horrors cycled through Whumpee’s head like a broken record, a form of torture all in its own…
As Caretaker A and Caretaker B approached the car they could tell immediately that something was wrong. Whumpee was not sitting in the back seat as they had left them. At first A worried that Whumpee had run off, but as they got closer they saw them lying on the back seat, knees tucked to their chest and arms wrapped around their head protectively.
"Jesus..." A muttered, but didn't bother to finish their sentence. They jogged the last few steps to the car and yanked the door open.
Whumpee's chest heaved with laboured breaths, each one punctuated by a slight wheeze. Their muscles were rigid and their hands gripped their hair painfully tight.
"Whumpee?" A called out to no response. Reaching into the back seat, A placed a gentle hand on Whumpee’s shoulder.
Whumpee gasped and scrambled away faster than A would have thought possible, slamming into the other door in their attempt to escape. They huddled there, pressing themself into the corner, eyes darting around wildly without focusing on anything.
"Woah, Whumpee, it's alright," B said from over A's shoulder.
Whumpee shook their head and closed their eyes tight. Much to A’s horror, Whumpee began muttering under their breath. A leaned in closer to hear and very quickly wished they hadn't. What they heard were soft pleas of "please, don't hurt me. I don't know what I did but I won't do it again, I promise. I'll do whatever you want. Please don't. Please, I-"
A stepped back out of the car, rubbing a hand across their forehead. Their chest burned with anger, and in a fit of rage they spun around and punched the side of the car with a yell. They immediately regretted the action as pain shot through their fist and up their arm, making them groan through gritted teeth.
B put their hands on A's shoulders and pulled them away from the car, having seen how Whumpee flinched and cowered even more at the noise.
"A," B said seriously, spinning them around to face them. A met B’s eyes, lips a thin line. "You're not helping. You need to calm down."
A's face softened and they nodded. "I know, I know. I'm sorry."
B nodded sympathetically. They understood all too well why A was so angry. What had happened to Whumpee was nothing short of horrific. B was equally mortified, but it was too late to change what had happened. What was important now was to stay calm and help Whumpee through whatever was going on inside their head.
A took several deep breaths to calm themself before returning to the car. They lowered themself gently to the seat and faced Whumpee, keeping their distance so as not to crowd the other person.
"Whumpee," they said softly. "It's A. B is here too. You're safe here with us, Whumpee."
The muttering died down, and A smiled a little. "Yeah, that's it. No one's going to hurt you here. Do you think you can open your eyes for me?"
Slowly, cautiously, Whumpee did as they were asked. They were met with A's worried eyes and gentle smile. As they glanced out the door they found B’s face wore much the same expression. Finally able to focus on something other than the memories, Whumpee felt the anxiety in their chest ease little by little. Their breathing calmed and they became aware of the pounding headache they always got after crying.
On impulse, Whumpee essentially dove across the seat into A. A huffed out a surprised laugh and wrapped their arms around Whumpee, rubbing their back soothingly. Whumpee melted into the embrace, timing their breaths to match the rise and fall of A's chest against their cheek.
They stayed like that for a few minutes as Whumpee calmed down. Eventually, they pulled back.
A smiled at them. "Better?"
Whumpee nodded, cheeks flushing as embarrassment set in.
"Hey," A said, noticing the change in demeanour. "It's alright, yeah?"
Whumpee nodded again, relaxing a little in relief. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I just, uh... sorta freaked out."
A smiled warmly, ruffling Whumpee’s hair. “No apologies necessary. I’m just glad you’re okay. B, let’s get them back home, eh?”
B nodded and climbed into the drivers seat, kicking the car into gear. Somewhere along the way home, Whumpee fell asleep against A’s shoulder.
• • •
Fin
92 notes · View notes
balshumetsbaragouin · 1 month
Text
Valentine's Core Exchange Gift: Hybrid Affinity
I can finally talk about this! I am excited to have been able to take part in the first Valentine's Core Exchange. My giftee for this event is the amazing @nursal1060writes! I hope you enjoy your gift! Only the first chapter will be posted on AO3, this week, but they get the Full Monty in DMs. Thanks @valentines-core-exchange for connecting us!
Link: Hybrid Affinity Rating: Mature Characters: Danny Fenton, Vlad Masters Relationship: Danny & Vlad(Badger Cereal) Warnings: Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use Chapter Word Count: 2,577 Story Word Total: 20k
Summary:
A momentary lapse of attention, a weapon's blast grounding him, an agent's boot heading towards his jaw…
Danny has been the 'primary research subject' of the Area 23 facility for the past three weeks. Since he was captured, he's had no contact with the outside world, and no chance of escape. After complaining about a lack of conversational partners, his heated cage finds a second occupant: Vlad Plasmius.
With his last chance at escape captured with him, Danny's hope dwindled until he heard the other halfa promise he had a plan. The only problem: He doesn't trust Vlad.
Have a sneak peek at the story below the cut!
The gun at the back of his head pressed deeper into the base of his skull. “I’m moving.”
“Not fast enough, ghost.” The agent tapped the spot right over his brain stem, “Keep dragging your feet, and I’ll save the government the expense of containing you.” The hiss of the pneumatic doors ahead of them sent tingles over his skin. The air on the other side smelled like the ecto-suppressant they pumped inside, burnt acrid chemicals, and days old sweat. 
“I’m floating; you see me floating forward, right?” He stopped just on the other side of the barrier, long enough for the scan, and moved again when the light flashed green above the entrance. The hum of the ghost shield grated his ear drums as it scrapped over his skin. “No need to be so hostile.” The door clicked shut behind him, the agent no longer bothering to threaten him once he reached the inside of The Oven. “Whatever.” Danny floated the rest of the way into the heated metal box and tried to decide which wall he’d sizzle on for the next few hours. He’d favored the one facing the door when he’d first arrived, but the heating element sat closer to the surface. The sadists running this circle of hell designed it that way. Their scientists were probably measuring how long he’d put up with more pain to feel ‘secure’ or something. 
He hovered in the middle of the room, eyeing the coolest wall, with an ache building up in his core. He decided to split the difference and sat against one of the walls perpendicular to the door. A low hiss filled the room as he sank down to the floor and leaned back. “You know, you don’t have to BBQ me. I’d be happy to answer questions without being spit-roasted.” The agents on the other side of the monitoring equipment couldn’t hear him. He’d made a show of cursing and insulting them the first… however long, until he was hoarse. They’d only told him they didn’t receive audio after he couldn’t speak. They said, ‘we’re not interested in any lies you ghost vermin want to tell’ and sneered down at him like he’d become a bug that learned to speak. They did monitor his energy levels, though. When he’d attempted an ecto-ray, a whole host of guns popped out of some panels in the ceiling and hosed him down with molten misery. The liquid didn’t start hot, not like the walls, but as soon as it touched him…
He rubbed at the spots along his forearms that got the worst of the spray. The jumpsuit still laid odd over those spots, like the ectoplasm underneath refused to come back all the way. He poked around the area, feeling the way the latex enmeshed with the healed flesh under it. Other areas stuck because he was slicked down with sweat, but here it felt glued down into the muscles. He leaned forward and frowned down at the half-melted state of his boots. The soles of his feet and the back of him always took the worst of it whenever he was back in the cage. Still, it was better than being in the labs. The blazing temperatures and grating silence granted a peace that left him when they wanted to stick tubes down his throat or needles into his skin. “I could even convince myself this is pleasant if I couldn’t smell that burning ectoplasm.”
14 notes · View notes
evilwriter37 · 2 months
Text
Rated: mature
Warnings: drugging, past torture
Relationships: Hiccup/Astrid Hiccup & Toothless, Hiccup & Fishlegs, Astrid & Fishlegs
Word Count: 2,315
Summary: Hiccup was captured and tortured by Krogan and Johann, but won’t let anyone but Toothless near him to help. The Dragon Riders come to a hard decision about how to help him.
15 notes · View notes