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whumblr · 14 days

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Nighttime

Heavy footsteps slowly made their way up the stairs, the clanking sounds echoing through the silent hall as they drew nearer on the steel grated walkway.

The owner of those boots didn’t care it was nearing midnight, nor did he seem in a hurry. He took slow deliberate steps, knowing he had an audience who were all listening with bated breath. He knew most would still be awake, at least those with a guilty conscience, waiting, waiting for the inevitable, and praying for the footsteps to pass by their cell.

Lucas too lay wide awake, facing the cell door, seeing the drawn out shadow draw nearer through the bars.

He racked his brain, trying to remember if anyone else had drawn Nero’s attention today, had done anything to deserve a nighttime visit. When he couldn’t think of any – the day like all others had passed in a hazy blur – he tried to remember if there was anyone locked away in solitary.

Two out of three options he came up blank and the third option became very real all of a sudden.

Would it be him? Would this be his first visit, finally finding out – unwillingly – what happened behind those closed doors, what caused the begging and the screaming, what was the prime cause for the impeccable record of this prison’s stats for good behaviour?

Something heavy started forming in his stomach, something that spread to all his limbs. He shifted on his bed, the flimsy mattress barely protecting his bruises from the harsh, cold metal underneath, and kept a close watch on the shadow that now drew nearer.

Had he done anything today? Besides being his usual nuisance? He hadn’t talked back (hadn’t had the chance, really), mouthed off, or tried to instigate a fight. All in all, a quiet day. So by that logic, he should be safe. Should. But he knew Nero didn’t need a reason. And that he could hold onto a grudge, coming back with punishment for something that happened days ago. He relished in the false comfort and striking when the victim thought he was safe.

Yet everyone awake was now thinking back on their sins, severely questioning their safety, and praying they would be spared that night.

The shadow was now right outside his cell and he was sure he just made eye contact with the beast. Either time slowed or the man had stopped. But then he blinked and the shadow had passed his door. Clanking footsteps following in its wake.

His shoulders relaxed. And Lucas found himself exhaling his dread.

A couple cells ahead the footsteps stopped. Sounds echoed through the hall, a lock springing open, the creak of the door; the soft prelude. Then soft begging and sobs, whispered pleads. A harsh command. Then quicker footsteps, stumbling along with Nero’s marching, another choked off sob, whispered “please, please, no, I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry!” as they got closer.

"Quiet."

The begging stopped instantly.

The command wasn’t made out of concern to others, nor to not disturb their night’s peace or to remain undetected. Begging just was useless here.

Lucas saw the two dark figures go past, noticing how Nero used his favourite method of transportation: a vice grip on his victim’s neck and simply pushing them along.

A door slammed shut. Then there was silence.

Lucas pressed his pillow over his head, tried to calm his beating heart, to convince himself the storm had passed and he could go to sleep. Unfortunately, he knew the silence was a short lived one.

That it would soon be filled again. By muffled distant screams.

Continued here

#whump #whump drabble #whump writing #prison whump #stoic whumper #angst #implied torture #first drabble yasss #I hope to keep the chapters short this time but #I think I say that for everything so we'll see...#no title yet gotta think of something #my writing #prison whump prologue :))#didnt tag anyone gonna make a new taglist for this

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whumperofworlds · 13 days

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Whumpee commits tax fraud and is put in jail. Prison whump ensues.

#us citizens PLEASE PAY YOUR TAXES TODAY IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY.#don't do what whumpee did #whump #whump prompt #crack whump #prison whump

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avvail-whumps · 3 months

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‘the facility’ — the breakout 1/?

previous · masterlist · next

content warnings: prison whump, medical whump, captivity, imprisonment, prisoners of war, mass prison breakout, minor character deaths, blood, gun and knife violence, murder, manhandling

Noah’s wide eyes flickered desperately around him, as if trying to make sense of the deadly warning that had just rang out. As though it was some cruel, unfathomable joke, the automated voice spoke again.

“Code: Black.”

The personnel that had been speaking to him slapped their hands over their mouth, backing up with staggering footsteps. They gave Noah a wide eyed stare, before they were racing out of the laboratory with panicked speed.

Soon, everyone else followed.

“Code: Black,” the voice crackled. “Level Nine. All staff make their way to…gency…Code—”

Over the blaring sound of the alarm and the dark red tinge concealed over his vision, Noah just barely felt his new assigned Apoid grab his shoulder, and start tugging him out of the laboratory with intense urgency. Once he’d managed to unstick the abhorrent terror in him, the blood boiling panic spurred him on. This was the stuff of nightmares.

Code Black was only meant to be purely theorectical. The Facility was built to withstand multiple breakouts at the same time, but it must have devolved into something much more serious. If Level Nine was on a Code Black, that meant there was a mass breakout, and lots of angry prisoners would be on the loose.

The Apoid kept a tight grip of him as they raced down the corridors, filled with scrambling Personnel and scientists and even Apoids, their guns raised in case a threat came racing down the corridor. Noah’s throat was parched, each step foreign on his own two feet.

He could only think about one thing. Where was Fionn? In a situation like this, Apoids were the last to make it to the emergency elevators. They were expected to execute and contain as many prisoners as they could to buy time for an escape for everybody else, and the last thing he had said to him was not to come near him.

As the alarms continued to screech, the defeaning sound of gunfire suddenly pierced through the air. The staff that had been racing down the corridor screeched to a sudden halt, a burly prisoner rounding the corner with an Apoid’s rifle in his hand.

Noah’s eyes widened in shock, and the Apoid threw him behind cover just as he started firing into the crowd.

He heard a sickening thud next to him, uncurling his arms from around his head, just to meet the wide, bloodshot eyes of a dead scienist. Noah’s own filled with stinging tears at the sickening sight.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he wheezed, flinching violently when there were more gunshots and blood curdling screams. The Apoid wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hurled him in a different direction, staggering over his own two feet when bullets sprayed against the corner of the wall, just missing the top of his head.

He struggled to catch his breath.

Dead bodies were sprawled along the ground, patterns of fresh blood, streaks, puddles, hand prints, all surrounding them.

He resisted the urge to throw up as they dashed past, swallowing down the sting of bile in his throat. Noah ducked behind the Apoid as they came to a crossing, raising his rifle and gunning down a prisoner that had been careering towards them. They covulsed and crumbled to the floor, and Noah was glad they were going in the opposite direction.

The emergency elevators weren’t far from here. As long as they got them and to a safer, higher level that wasn’t in the same situation, everything would be okay.

Noah was suddenly shoved forward by his Apoid, who didn’t raise his gun time before a huge prisoner had grabbed him by the skull, and slammed his helmet into the wall. The Apoid stuttered from the sheer force, and even as Noah whipped around in shock, he could see he was dazed from the attack. Before he could shoot him, the prisoner had ripped his rifle from his very hands, and cracked his skull back against the wall.

Noah had to surpress a scream when the prisoner ripped the knife from his belt, and jabbed it straight into his neck. The Apoid went all tense and his legs buckled, but the prisoner was relentless. The knife jerked in and out of his flesh until his throat was mangled, blood even visible against the blackness of the uniform.

His foot slipped on a puddle of blood when he tried to make a getaway, his chin colliding with the solid ground with a painful crash. His heart was in his throat and his blood was burning in his own ears as he desperately scrambled forward, eager not to meet the same fate.

Before he could get up, he felt something roughly seize the back of his jacket, and jerk him back.

“No!” Noah screamed, desperately flailing in the prisoner’s grasp as he wrangled him onto his back, his blood soaked hands slipping against the floor as he frantically tried to squirm away. “Please, please, oh my god.”

The prisoner’s hard glare looked him over, fingers twisting into his jacket to get a look at his nametag. Noah’s vision was spinning, his head overflowing with thoughts of how brutally he was going to kill him with that knife, that his guts were going to be hanging all over the walls and he would never get to see his family again, and—

The prisoner let out a snort.

Noah flinched violently when his rough hands wiped away his streaming tears, smudging coppery blood all over his cheeks. The prisoner abruptly let go of him, and he scrambled backwards in sheer panic.

“You’re gonna wish I had killed you, little man,” he sneered, gripping the Apoid’s rifle in his hands with a smirk. “Better get running before he finds you.”

He watched with wide, unblinking eyes as he turned away and disappeared down the corridor, as if he expected him to change his mind and finish the job. His eyes couldn’t help but drift to the Apoid’s dead corspe, still convulsing as if he was alive, and Noah let out a harrowing sob. He wrenched away, heaving, before realising he was still sitting in a puddle of someone’s blood.

Disgust wriggled into his skin, and he forced himself onto his wavering feet, biting back his terrified sobs.

This was a nightmare. It had to be.

Just a cruel nightmare. One that he would wake up from, and he’d be okay.

But then something the prisoner said resonated with him. Better get running before he finds you. Noah didn’t want to think about the obvious implications of that warning; the easy deduction of who he was. It made him wonder if other prisoners knew, if Cash had told them to save Noah for himself. Because that was what he had told him, hadn’t he, when his arm had been wound tightly around his throat?

He staggered, shoulder hitting the wall with a thud. The sobs wracked through his body, constricting the air from his lungs, and it made it hard to even stand upright. Like this terrible weakness was plaguing his limbs.

Distant gunfire and shrill screams, ones of agony and pain, spurred him onwards. His vision swam at each dead body he came across, stumbling over bloated, bloody corpses, but he knew he needed to get to the emergency elevators - somehow.

The sound of raging gunfire got louder, and Noah sank behind cover before peering down the long corridor. Scientists were cramming themselves into elevators, bloody handprints smeared along the doors. There must have been dozens of bodies on the ground, all sprawled haphazardly ontop of each other, and Noah’s breath caught in his throat when he met wide, bloodshot eyes.

It was a massacre. Scientists and Personnel of all kinds were scrambling to get inside, most gunned down before they even made it, their bodies convulsing and hitting the ground with a thud.

One elevator, packed with Scientists, had been about to close, before a prisoner with access to an Apoid’s gun stepped inside. There was the uproar of frightened screams, and when the doors slid shut, Noah could hear the distant sound of muffled gunfire. He slapped a bloodied hand over his mouth, his knees buckling.

It was practically slaughter.

Prisoners were swarming everywhere on the Level, and everything was spinning out of control. These sorts of emergencies were supposed to be purely hypothetical - never in the history of the Facility had a Code Black ever been announced on those speakers.

Something twisted in his hair, jerking his head back, and Noah gave a sharp gasp as someone wrangled him onto the ground. A gangly prisoner was ontop of him in seconds, causing Noah to thrash out in panic, sinking a knee into his boney stomach.

The sight of the knife was enough to spur him into action.

The prisoner’s fingers were digging into his skin, stinging the flesh, yanking Noah along with him. His heart leapt into his throat when the knife almost slashed across his chest, forcing him to scramble, grabbing the prisoner’s wrist in a tight, desperate grasp. They let out a teeth bared hiss, attempting to violently buck Noah off. They succeeded, for just a moment, and Noah felt their leg shove him off, his back slamming into the wall.

When they came at him again, he threw himself out of range, boot smacking into their head.

It was with enough adrenaline fueled force that the prisoner flew back, the knife slipping from their fingertips. Gunfire rained over the top of them, and Noah pressed himself close to the ground, choking on hard pants. He met the prisoner’s eyes, just for a moment, before they both leapt for the knife.

By some miracle, Noah seized it first, gripping it tight in his hand.

The prisoner barrelled into him, knocking the wind out of his lungs, their nails scratching at his face and only narrowing avoiding his eyes. The skin tore, beading with little spots of blood, and Noah’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife when the pain made his eyes water. A desperate rush smashed into him. He might have told himself that he wasn’t thinking clearly, but he was. He wanted the prisoner to get off of him, no matter what.

Noah grit his teeth together, jabbing the knife into the prisoner’s neck. It was shocking how easily it went in, straight down to the hilt, and they made a garbled, pained noise, eyes bulging. Noah rolled them over abruptly, the air rushing back to his lungs, before he forced the knife out. A spray of blood erupted from the wound, feeling it drench his hands, and the prisoner’s body violently convulsed, jerking and stuttering, drowning on the fresh liquid.

Noah forced himself onto his feet, almost tripping over their corpse. The strength had completely lost him, the knife clattering to the ground, tearing his eyes away from the still convulsing body.

His legs carried him in the direction of the elevators. They were closed, taking Scientists and Personnel to safety, and Noah prayed to whatever was out there, that that could be him.

He screeched to a halt, hairs pricking on edge when a group of armed prisoners came around the corner, blocking his path to the elevators. Noah felt the world around him spin when their guns tilted in his direction, and he dove into a doorway just as they started firing. He swore he felt it shave the hairs on his head.

He held back a sob, kicking the door to the room shut behind him, before slamming his still bloody hands on the lock, sticky against the pad.

Loud bangs reverbated from outside, the prisoners shouting and attempting to force the door open. Noah’s wide eyes were glued onto it, crumbling to his knees, the tears sliding down his cheeks freely. It stung the scratches on his face, but he didn’t even have it in him to wince, numbed by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

When the banging stopped, Noah deflated. He lifted his shaking hands, staring at the sticky redness painting every inch of skin, filling his senses with tangy copper. Noah’s face wrinkled, and he let out a harrowing sob. He tried to scrub the blood off, frantically wiping it against the ground, the tears dripping from his chin like a downpour.

He backed himself up into the corner of the room, curling himself up so he was as small as he felt. The blaring alarm rang through his mind like a cruel mantra, sobbing until his throat went raw.

This was a nightmare. Just a nightmare - it had to be. Nothing like this could ever happen to him.

Noah choked on a startled breath, trying not to flinch at the assortment of sounds outside of the room. The crackling of gunfire, the screaming, the huge thuds and bangs. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately burying himself into his arms. He wasn’t sure how long he had spent huddled in the corner of the room, his head buried between his knees and desperately trying to breathe.

It didn’t come easy for him, with all of the blazing noises outside, with all of the memories of the dead bodies, Scientists, Apoids and Personnel alike, left as mangled corpses in a pool of their own blood. Noah’s chest stuttered, lungs fluttering, caked in tears, sweat and blood of both his own, and other people.

He wondered if hiding in here was the best option.

If the Facility was under lockdown, they would eventually send reinforcements to control the situation. No prisoner would ever leave, unless it was dead. But then Noah thought about Cash, and those dreaded warnings he had got, and he wondered if a door was enough between them to keep the vengeful prisoner far away from him.

It couldn’t be.

His puffy eyes squinted, lifting his head up. He wondered what Fionn would say to him. What he was doing right now. Any one of those lifeless Apoid corpses could have been him, and Noah would have never known. His heart squeezed painfully at the thought.

Above all, he prayed that Fionn was safe. Even though, out of the two of them, he stood a better chance at surviving this nightmare with his training and his weapons, Fynn still couldn’t be sure if that would be enough to make it out of here alive. It hadn’t been for his second assigned Apoid, who he had known for no more than ten minutes.

Slowly lifting himself onto his feet, Noah numbly stepped over to the door, ever so slowly.

Hiding wouldn’t work forever - the emergency elevators were his best chance to get to safety. The breakout could have extended to Level Eight or Level Seven, so he couldn’t delay a chance. Ever since the first disruption of chaos, the noise by the elevators had seemed to die down. Noah saw the mounts of bodies, and the amount of prisoners that had been slaughtering them. The initial scramble for safety will have quietened down by now.

He hoped.

His heart was pounding against his ribcage like a jackhammer, swarming up to his ears. He counted the agonising seconds that he stood there, staring at the door, not even daring to move. It was as though one breath would give him away.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake the blurriness encroaching the edges of his vision. With a firm push, Noah slid open the door. He was met with the same blood soaked hallways, and flinched back when a body slumped unceromomiously by his feet. Another Apoid. He released a shuddering breath, tearing his eyes away.

With a pounding heart, he checked the corridor. Some shouting prisoners caused him to duck back, but they passed the elevators only after a few moments. The blood rushed to his head. One of them was open - empty and awaiting him, like some sort of enticing treat.

He had to move now.

Giving the corridors one final glance, his shaking legs managed to step over the dead body, bracing against the wall. Each little step was as though lead weights were melded into his skin, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling on edge. With each second that dragged on, Noah’s desperation increased. It was like he could taste freedom and safety on the tip of his tongue, and his pace quickened just a bit.

He didn’t even dare look behind him, blocking out the rips of gunfire in the distance and the ear piercing screams.

There was a sudden breakout of footsteps behind him, and something hard barrelled into the side of his body. It sent him smacking into the hard ground, almost clipping his chin in an awkward way. He sucked in a sharp, pained gasp, head snapping up to find another scientist making a beeline for the elevator. There was blood dripping down his face, from what he could see, and Noah’s head snapped around in the direction he had come from.

His heart sank to his boots.

Cash was going at a calm, leisurely pace as he crossed the intersection, those intense eyes finding Noah’s immediately. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, as if he hadn’t been the one chasing the frightened scientists.

He heard the shrill beep of the elevator, and his heart leapt into his throat. The scared scientist was jabbing frantically at the button, tears slipping down his cheeks, and by the time Noah realised what was happening, the doors were already beginning to slide closed.

“Hold it!” He screamed, staggering to his feet frantically as he burst forward with a newfound shock of adrenaline. The scientist backed away from the buttons, bumping into the rail, his wide eyes flickering towards Noah. The doors continued to slide close. “Please! Please, hold it!”

He desperately threw himself at them, but it was too late. Noah pounded his fists desperately against them, a rush of anger and terror making his throat burn.

“Motherfucker!” Noah sobbed, banging so hard he was sure his hands had gone numb. “Motherfucker! Open the door!”

Instead, he was met with strong fingers twisting in his hair, and Noah only caught a glimpse of Cash’s face, before he slammed his head into the elevator door. He was out cold instantly.

tag list – @suspicious-whumping-egg @sunshiline-writes @rabidrabidme @whumpatize-me-captain @thegirlwholived1213 @reverie1234 @unforgiven235 @morning-star-whump @seaweed-is-cool @d-cs @whump-me-all-night-long @whump-me @gala1981 @pirefyrelight @whumpterful-beeeeee @miss-unicorn0907 @avidrambling @anoontjecanush @2in1whump @ha-ha-one @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @whatwhump @sowhumpful @whump321

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dresden-syndrome · 2 months

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Requested by @whumped-by-glitter

Whumping in EESU: Public humiliation

Newly designated pet whumpee being observed by owner and their colleagues, all gathered in a big office room.

Whumper listing their all of whumpee's political crimes, bragging about how dangerous they were and how great it is to have them caught.

State Security/Politburo/Party Committee whumper having a meeting, presenting their tied up and collared pet as an example of a state enemy and giving a passionate speech about ways of getting rid of them.

This goes without saying but whumpee used as a party entertainment - but not before being made to celebrate the achievements of EESU regime and cheer to the destruction of dissident movements. (Bonus point if whumpee was in one of them).

Whumpee with a singing skill forced to sing propaganda songs as their whumper and party guests clap and giggle at their attempts.

Whumpee forced to publicly declare their loyalty - whether stating that in front of their owner's department workers, giving a propaganda speech for the radio or taking part in a TV advert.

Whumpee forced to publicly beg for forgiveness and put on a regret display for their crimes. Especially if they were done deliberately by a spy or dissident whumpee, or whumpee hasn't actually done anything "wrong" at all.

Even after lots of humiliating sessions like that, they're still being treated as an enemy of the regime: poor class 4 whumpee may be secretly hoping to regain some of their rights yet under EESU laws they're still an enemy - forever.

Whumper taking a photo with their pet in a humiliating pose - with the whumpee on their knees or their boot stepping on whumpee's chest or head.

Whumper recording a film video of whumpee being tortured and handing it to State Security for watching how "spies and traitors" must be treated.

Whumper using their whumpee as the source of motivation for the department to fight political dissent and a sign of power they have over it.

An arrested spy being shown all the undisputable evidence of their work. Papers, equipment, ID cards from West countries' intelligence services, things they've used to sneak through the EESU border and mask their intentions - all on the table for the whumpee and detention personnel to see.

Newspapers and magazines announcing whumpee's arrest and declaring them a dangerous political criminal. (Bonus points if they're given to the whumpee to read).

A caught runaway class 2/3 whumpee paraded around their labor camp/commune as an example of what happens if one decides to attempt escape.

Whumpee had escaped from EESU and caught back; now they've been made to tell how horrible life in the West was an how much they regret running away from their dear homeland.

Whumpee being not allowed any privacy, having to undress, shower, sleep and do whatever they're told while always surrounded by the facility personnel. It can happen for different reasons - they're the beloved pet their owner can't leave alone, they're injured, aggressive or a high escape risk and need to be watched for their own good, or they're simply a class 4 subject which shouldn't need "human" things like privacy in general.

Medical checks in detention and the labs. Enough said.

Same goes for class 4 ear tags.

Public trials! of state enemies! forced to confess! all their imaginary crimes! for the audience to see and hear!

"Look at that, Whumpee. All your friends and family are ashamed of you. You were such a good worker, a Party member, you were your factory's pride - and then disappointed everyone you know with trying to destroy the government that gave us all work and bread in the first place! Where's your regret, Whumpee? Do you feel bad about that?"

[Masterpost link]

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rizzoto-whump · 2 months

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Whumpee's back hit the cold, unforgiving floor. They grunted, spitting the warm blood from their mouth.

"I hate you, Whumper," they said, attempting to meet Whumper's gaze. "I hope you die soon, and straight to the hell."

Whumper lingered for a moment, then chuckled softly. "Yeah, I hope the same thing, buddy."

#whump #whump prompt #writing prompt #sadistic whumper #defiant whumpee #reluctant whumper #whump tropes #older whumpee #military whump #prison whump

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fulcrumwrites · 2 months

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Prompt #10: Locks

Locks are so incredibly underutilized in whump writing. They are, of course, alluded to, but almost never described. Some examples:

• Whumpee’s heart drops as they hear the heavy, final click of their captor turning the key in the lock to their cell/cage/coffin/closet/etc. Trapped, they listen as the footsteps fade away, leaving them in the cold, dark, and loneliness.

• From the other side, whumpee can hear whumper sealing the door with layers of chains before padlocking it. They throw themselves against the door, screaming for help. But the chains and lock don’t give.

• Locking the padlock on chains, tugging it to make sure it won’t snap. Stepping back and smirking as whumpee tries to move. Then whumper draping the string of the key over their neck to taunt their captive or slipping it into their pocket out of sight.

• Handcuffs, collars, and shackles that lock automatically once snapped shut. Too quickly restrained to struggle, no chance to fight back.

• Alternatively, restraints that require to be locked manually. Whumpee fights as long as they can. Eventually, whumper gets the restraints around them and soon after jams the key in the hole. Whumpee sags in defeat once they feel the twist and hear the click. They’re stuck now.

• Sci-fi locks that require a fingerprint, passcode, or a keycard.

• New objective: find key/keycard/fingerprint/passcode/etc. in order to escape.

• Locked in a room with a bomb, a monster, poison gas, filling with water, an interrogator, etc.

• Metal gags, muzzles, and masks that lock. Even if their hands are free, whumpee can’t remove the gag to speak. If they escape, they’re mute until they can find a way to get it off.

• Locking whumpee in a room, cell, tower, etc. to prevent them from completing their mission, delivering information, or stoping a crisis.

• Whumper dangles the key in front of their captive’s face before throwing it away or swallowing it. “You’re never leaving this place.”

• Trapped in a lockdown protocol.

• Connecting restraints with padlocks to make whumpee even more immobile: connecting two cuffs around the wrists and/or ankles with a padlock instead of a short chain; lock the chain between cuffs to the chain tethering their neck to the floor, padlock a loose chain to a loop in the floor, wall, or pillar; padlock two people together, etc.

• Smashing a lock with a brick or stone or the butt of a gun. Shooting out the lock (I play Uncharted). Even kicking the door and breaking a weak lock.

• Captive has lock-picks hidden in their hair, mouth, or clothing. They quietly and skillfully pick the lock and escape. Maybe they are caught in the act and there are consequences.

• Magic locks. Only the person who enchanted the lock or the right counter-spell can unlock it.

• Emotions of panic and desperation as a whumpee who hasn’t given up yet pulls at the chains in hopes of finding a weak point. Or defeated acceptance once they hear the final click, knowing they’re stuck.

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hold-him-down · 16 days

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🧽 Receiving a sponge bath - Derek

tw: post-prison whump, spongebath, light med whump

notes: read chapter one of derek's back first for context, if context is important to ya :)

from this ask game

✥ ✥ ✥

Derek Lewis, or what's left of him, anyway, sits on the center of the exam table. His legs dangle over the side, his hands limp in his lap. Looking at him, one might think he was completely absent of thought, absent of the ability to process any of the events of the last few hours. Something in the way he hunches his body, though, just a little bit, or in the way his black eyes, every so often, wander from the floor to the mahogany desk in the corner, to the large canvas paintings, to the American flag hung by the door, and then back to the floor, give Agent Brody Grant hope that, at least on some level, he’s aware that his circumstances have shifted.

He’s been stripped of his clothing, or, if not clothing, of the torn, ratted fabric that was constituting as clothing, which has been placed in a bin to be tested for parasites. So far, he hasn’t spoken.

When they arrived to the makeshift medical unit, pieced together on one hour’s notice in the middle of the night in the Consulate, he didn't speak. He also didn’t speak when he was led down the empty, dark hallway, or when his clothes were removed, or when every inch of his battered skin was photographed.

Now, with a nurse at his side, running a wet cloth over his body again and again, seven, eight, sometimes ten times before satisfied with each patch of skin, he still doesn’t speak.

“Mr. Lewis?” the physician asks, approaching Derek cautiously. Derek’s head lifts in acknowledgement, but his eyes do not.

“You need to drink,” she urges. She lifts his free hand and places a mug of water inside of it, then guides him to take a sip. He does not fight it, but immediately coughs the water back up. The doctor's lips are tight, but she sets the mug to the side.

The boy that Agent Grant collected from within the prison gates was unrecognizable from the pictures in his file. The ghost of the smiling, vibrant boy he had not expected, but hoped for, was deposited at his feet without a moment of hesitation. The guard inclined his head sharply toward the gate, handed the agent a well-loved backpack, and turned on his heels back toward the prison. They hightailed it down the gravel road and into the night, with a singular objective of getting Derek Lewis onto U.S. territory while they worked to understand the implications of everything that had gone down.

The nurse lifts his hand now, turning it over, and works to wipe away months of caked-on filth.

“When did you last access a shower?” he asks, his thumb brushing over Derek’s wrist, presumably to get a handle on what is bruising and what isn’t.

“I don’t know,” Derek whispers. Agent Grant writes it down. It’s not of particular interest, but he’s been tasked with writing down everything, and so far that has been nothing, so he takes what he can get.

“That’s okay,” the nurse tells him, dipping the washcloth in the clean water, wringing it out, and wiping away what can be wiped away. “What about food?” he asks next. No one is under any illusion that Derek wants to talk, but getting him comfortable answering questions may be in his best interest. “When was the last time you ate?”

This time, Derek does not look up. “I don’t know,” he whispers again.

“Are you hungry?” the nurse asks, as the doctor tilts Derek’s head down. Gloved fingers press into dark, matted waves, and Derek’s body curls in on itself, just for a second, before he realizes what’s happened and forcibly adjusts his posture.

“It’s okay,” the nurse whispers, moving to his other hand.

Derek nods, and they finish cleaning him up in silence. His hair is shaved, because it’s the only reasonable way to deal with both the matting and the lice. He’s photographed again, now clean, which he flinches his way through but does not protest. This time, the focus is solely on the injuries. On the scars that run the length of his back, on his wrists and ankles, on his neck. There won't be an investigation, nor will there be restitution, but it may help someone in the future to have these, so they take them. Derek is silent through it, but his suffering, well hidden just an hour ago, is clearer now.

He’s given an IV, because every time he drinks, he vomits. He’s given pain medication, he’s given anxiety medication, and finally, to everyone’s relief, he is given clothing.

He dresses quietly, but he trembles he does, and when he’s led to a cot in the adjacent room, he whispers a hoarse, “Thank you,” before collapsing into it. He’s asleep before he can be offered a blanket, so one is draped over him, and the doctor explains to Agent Grant that between the shock, the medication, and the clear sleep deprivation, it’s neither surprising nor alarming that he sleeps now.

By the time Derek Lewis’s family is called, it’s mid-morning. The Ambassador has arrived, and there’s an air of both celebration and frenzy within the Consulate. This has been something of a win for many of them, and a long-overdue one at that.

And, while it feels like a major piece of Agent Grant's time with the embassy is coming to a close, he can’t help but wonder what the next chapter looks like for Derek. There's no doubt in his mind that Jack will be on the first plane to Turkey, visa be damned, and the thought of their reunion, however tense, however painful it may be, gives him some hope that maybe, against all odds, Derek will find peace.

#look two asks in two days #derek's back #prison whump #post prison whump #med whump #sponge bath #i cannot actually do an ask every day probably BECAUSE #they are like 95% prompts #but we're 2/2 for the last two days!

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 7 months

Text

Day 3 - Isolation

I love this! I love exploring Mariano's time in prison!!

Ping list: @whumperofworlds, @ailesswhumptober

TWs: illness, fever, isolation, ableism, touch starvation

Prison life had started to settle down ever since they'd brought Mariano to his new cell. It was small, with white walls and a white floor, all stone and concrete. The slab that his thin mattress sat on wasn't quite large enough, but he didn't move in his sleep anyway. The toilet was his own, with no cellmate to share with. The door was thick, reinforced steel, with two windows that the guards could open to talk to him or slide his meals in through.

Mariano was alone.

It was fine.

Now and then, he was allowed to call his parents. He would be led to the phone area, into the booth, and they'd talk. At first it was normal, and they were glad to hear he'd been put somewhere that he felt safer.

It didn't last.

His voice started to go hoarse. He wasn't talking to anyone, and didn't feel like talking aloud to himself, so it just got rusty and rough. He got quieter. His mother got worried.

"Are you sick, Mariano?" She would ask, worry filling her voice. "You don't sound well. Is it cold? The weather here is getting colder. Are you able to keep warm at night?"

"I can keep warm." He would lie. "I don't think I'm sick, though. I don't have a fever, I just don't talk very much."

She never sounded terribly convinced. Once, a week after one of their calls, he was hauled off to the infirmary to be looked over. The doctor hadn't been gentle as he examined Mariano, poking and prodding. He'd shined his light into Mariano's mouth, examined his ears, listened to his lungs. The steady hand on Mariano's shoulder as the stethoscope pressed to his back made his face flush.

Clean bill of health, the man said after double checking his temperature.

Mariano's skin hadn't stopped buzzing by the time he went to sleep that night.

"Are they treating you well, Mariano?" His father asked. "The trial wasn't good to you, but I know my son. Are the staff fair?"

"I think so." Mariano didn't have to lie about that. "They're very kind."

The guards were kind. They were much kinder now that Mariano was away from general population. They spoke to him on the way to and from his time in the yard. They were even punctual with his meals. Sometimes new guards were too rough, or they were rude or mean, but they were just scared. He would've been scared of him, too, in their shoes.

A guard mentioned Mariano's parents that next week, on their way to the yard. It was someone new. "You're lucky, y'know." The man said. "My parents would've disowned me if I'd killed thousands. I wouldn't be getting calls from them two years later."

"I know." Mariano said. "I expected them to hate me." He had. Their reassurances had felt false, leading up to the trial. "I don't know why they don't."

"Your mom's a good baker." The man said after some quiet. "Sent us a thank you card and some cookies." He started patting Mariano down. It always sent a thrill through his chest. The world swayed and he hoped the way his face burned wasn't obvious.

Mariano couldn't help laughing, the noise sounding foreign to him now. "She is. I'll let her know you all liked them, she'll probably send some around Christmas time."

"It is Christmas, Ortiz." The man said, scoffing. "Christ. Do need another visit to medical to fix your head?"

Mariano didn't want to take anything the doctor would give him--the guards had talked about keeping him sedated before he was placed in isolation. But the doctor's hands had felt nice on his shoulder last time. He hadn't stopped thinking about them for days. "No sir." Mariano said, ignoring how his chest twisted at the thought. "I just misremembered."

"Good. Get out there, you know the routine."

Mariano didn't get his call that week. The next day he'd woken up shivering and unable to stay awake. He hadn't even been able to get up to get to a wall when they tried to take him to the yard. They'd come in and he'd just had his hands up in the air, shaking palms towards the ceiling.

"Ortiz, what the fuck?" Rodriguez asked, and Mariano vaguely felt relieved. He knew Rodriguez, and Rodriguez knew him. "Get up."

"I...didn't want to scare you." Mariano said, chest heavy and breathing shallow. His voice was all but gone. "I'm dizzy."

Rodriguez paused before reaching for his face. Mariano flinched, only barely relaxing as Rodriguez's palm pressed to his forehead. "God, yeah, I'd be dizzy too with a fever like that. C'mon, let's get you looked at. I'll send for a wheelchair so that you don't have to be hauled around like luggage."

Mariano didn't remember much after he tried to stand to get into the chair. He knew Rodriguez had been cursing, and that there were hands on his waist and shoulders. The next thing he knew, the lights were dimmed for the first time since he'd arrived and he had an IV in. Pneumonia, someone mentioned when they checked on him. The beds were softer in the medical wing, though, and even in warded restraints it was easier to sleep with the extra blanket he was given.

Mariano's parents weren't happy to hear that update two weeks later.

He didn't have many notable updates after that, though. Not until they started getting him ready for early release. He'd never heard them sound so happy before.

"That's amazing!" His father exclaimed. "I thought something like this might happen."

"I'm afraid," Mariano admitted. "I don't want to make things hard on you both or cause any trouble. I know how most people saw me."

His mother jumped in, then. "That doesn't matter to us, Mariano. You're our baby boy, and you always will be. What other people think is their business."

"Plus," His father said. "We can look into options for you if you're not comfortable coming home. Isn't there that rehabilitation program? The one that has a deal with the Mountains?"

Mariano had to think. "There...there is. Yes." He paused. "Do you think they'd really accept me?"

"I think so." His mother said. "And you can come visit when you've had time to get acclimated again. Does that sound easier than coming home?"

"It...it does." Mariano admitted. "I think I like that."

"If you need any help from us, please tell us." His father said. "And we'll meet you there when you're released. We can make a day of it before we get you to the airport."

"Okay." Mariano felt himself smile for the first time in...a while. "That sounds good."

Maybe, he thought, an early release wouldn't be the end of the world.

#ailesswhumptober2023 #Ailesswhumptoberday3 #Day 3 #isolation #whump #Illness #Fever #ableism #touch starved #mage of violence #Mariano's weird and fucked up and I love him #Prison whump #With a side of pneumonia

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kira-the-whump-enthusiast · 6 months

Note

used as a literal punching bag from the torture bingo card for whoever you’d like

Card by @a-crumb-of-whump!!

Content: Well—being used as a punching bag, broken bones, emeto, prison whump, sadistic whumper, and generally a guy having Despair.

Tagging: @whump-queen @whump-in-the-closet @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @onlywhump

—

Thud.

The chess board clattered as it landed on the cold tile. From the farthest corner of the cell, Ciel watched intently as the guard got down on their knees in front of the board. And still they were looking down at him—Ciel could barely get off the floor in his state. His ankle was definitely sprained, and it ached terribly—a fact that hadn't convinced anyone to give him a break. Not to mention the bruises over bruises, scars over scars.

He was so tired.

The guard stared back at him with a barely concealed smirk, a taunting glare in their eyes. They gestured to the board as if it was a friendly invitation to play.

With no real choice, Ciel crawled to the edge of the chess board, the chain around his good ankle clanking as he did so. There was no getting out of this. He'd play, or he'd suffer for refusing.

He always got first move. The guard treated it like it was some sort of mercy—and maybe it had been, a long time ago.

I'm giving you a chance. Be grateful for it.

He tried to smile like he was.

Either way, the game always ended the same. It ended with blood and tears and words like I’m sorry, I'm sorry, don't hurt me, please— falling from his lips.

The best Ciel could do was stall for time, use every move to prolong the game. And maybe, maybe he'd spend a few minutes in a little less pain than he usually was. Maybe, maybe, something would happen and they wouldn't finish and he'd get to avoid the end for just one day.

But it never happened. The final move would always be made. Someone would checkmate, and the game would end.

The guard was an incredibly tough opponent, and it had taken Ciel countless games to finally capture their king. He almost cried that first time he won, because he'd thought that maybe this time, maybe, just maybe—he'd finally be safe.

And then he saw the flash of anger and felt the first blow.

That's when he learned that everything was futile.

It didn't matter who won this time either.

The guard locked cuffs around his wrists, attached a chain to the ceiling, and pulled him up and up—his shoulders stretching more than he could bear, his toes barely touching the floor.

They circled him like a hungry hawk surveying its prey. Ciel closed his eyes and bit on his lip until blood dripped down his chin.

Please just get it over with.

The blows didn't hurt that much compared to the despair. Even as his ribs cracked. As the fists to his stomach made him vomit. As his voice gave out from the screaming.

It didn't hurt as much as knowing next week, it'd happen all over again.

There was no escaping this hell.

—

A/N: hehehe sad chess man go brrr

#whump #whump writing #prison whump #man I hate tagging shit #punching bag whumpee #beating #stress position #sadistic whumper #I mean it’s like the games are sadistic right? I can’t figure out to tag like the trope for a game the whumpee can’t win #uhhhh yay! silly guy #my writing #oc ciel #also I’m sooo good at getting to stuff in time trust me guys trust me

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whumpshaped · 1 year

Text

from this @skittles-the-whumpee

Prison whump where the whumpee is innocent but framed so warden whumper can get their hands on them.

tw wrongful/unfair conviction, abuse of authority, abuse of power, implied noncon, huge injustice within prison system

whumpee is livid and terrified at the same time because they didn't do it!!! this is unfair!!! this is ridiculous!!!

no one believes them. it's like they're talking to a brick wall. no evidence has enough weight to get them out

however they have to sit there and watch as the "evidence" piles up against them: forged paperwork, forged text messages, forced foot- and fingerprints

maybe they don't know whumper at all, not from before. they don't suspect they had anything to do with framing them

but maybe they do know them. maybe whumper is an old rival. an ex lover. some creepy stalker. whatever the case, whumpee's blood runs cold when they see them

whumper keeps getting them into trouble, reporting them, framing them again and again, getting them into solitary confinement

and as soon as they're alone, whumper drops the facade. it's not like anyone would believe whumpee later. hell, half the people think whumpee is out of their mind anyway

no one cares for whumpee's tears. or screams. or bruises. ruined clothing. or the handprints on their body.

whumper is an esteemed employee, very good worker, respected and beloved. untouchable from whumpee's position

maybe whumpee gets let out later on, because they realise they were wrongfully convicted

maybe their sentence is just over and they're never given any semblance of actual justice

either way they're jumpy and traumatised and looked at as a criminal

or maybe. if no one realises the mistake and their sentence isn't one that will just end. they'll have to come to terms with spending the rest of their life like that, in a cell. they can't wait until whumper changes jobs or gets bored or retires. they just want peace

#whump #whump prompts #prison whump #injustice #abuse of power #abuse of authority #implied noncon

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befuddled-calico-whump · 5 months

Note

ue ue ue ue i would love to see uriah whumped in the tower…have him learn what it was like for Lex

cw: referenced/implied torture, beatings, and mouth/eye whump

He'd been someone important once, the man in the cell, and to hear him talk of it he imagined he still was.

The first day was haughty eyes and a cruel mouth that made demands. The second day could've been the same, but Endii didn't bother to remove the blindfold or gag and find out. Entertaining the man's arrogance was exhausting, and ignoring it was annoying. Better that he never got the chance to speak at all.

His self-importance waned as the weeks flew by. Endii only saw him once per day, as they were making their evening rounds through the Tower, handing out healing touched to those who needed them, those who'd tasted the anger or boredom of the guards, or bent under the hands of one of the prison’s many patrons.

This important man was one of the latter group, more often than not. Endii always found him in one of Rentals’ rooms, sometimes chained, sometimes not. Always bleeding. Truth be told, they weren't entirely certain that he had a cell here, or if he stayed at Rentals day and night, always ready for the attentions of his visitors.

He really must be important to have so many seeking to hurt him. He wasn't Empowered, not so far as they could tell, and he seemed far too soft for the type of criminals that usually graced the Tower. They couldn't be bothered to reach a conclusion of why that was. They were paid to heal, not to care.

Their first day seeing him, he'd been clad in a tailored suit; carefully combed blond hair set askew by his struggles, neatly trimmed fingernails clawing at the air as he was dragged down the hall, thrown into the locked room where he now resided.

He still wore the suit, partially, sometimes. When he was clothed, it was in the bloodied tatters that remained of it. His shoes were long gone, his fingernails ragged, his hair matted and unkempt. Every day seemed to weigh him down further, every visitor taking a piece of him with them when they left. His bite, his will, his hope. Intangible souvenirs. Soon there'd be nothing remaining.

Some days Endii had to remove the gag or the blindfold; to heal a split eyelid, a torn tongue, broken teeth. Any arrogance had vacated his expression, and it seemed he had no words left.

He'd been someone important once, the man in the cell. And to see him now, he probably wished he never was.

•°•°•

tag list:

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing , @bloodinkandashes , @fleur-alise , @whumpy-daydreams , @whumpwillow , @honeycollectswhump , @turn-the-tables-on-them

#hehe #uriah fox #i have another idea for this au but this was a fun lil drabble #i love endii #local basement enby #wildefire #torture #prison whump #anon

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fallenwhumpee · 7 months

Text

“I thought you, of all people, would understand why I did what I did.”

Day 27: Reluctant villain | Old friends | Cornered

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Masterlist •

Warnings: Prison, beating, implied past abuse, superpower whump, drugging.

The team just stared as Leader was cuffed and dragged to the police car, and Leader stared back. That was what everything came, the public opinion. They were the sinner in the eyes of the citizens, and laws wouldn't save them even though there was nothing to charge them with— It was self-defense. And before, they protected the city. Got to the hearts of the very people chanting them curses.

It would be too easy to crush the crowd. Get out of the cuffs and kick the door of the armoured vehicle. Attack left and right until the anger boiling in their veins calmed down, demanding justice, and calling everyone out on their hypocrisy.

But they knew the target of their anger was not the guards.

They complied as they were pushed to the prison, too, with a blank face and even breaths. They knew that this was their death sentence. Half of the prisoners were in because of them. Personally. They held back their team often to keep the pressure of caging a life and being watched for the smallest mistake with gaining too many enemies at the cost of putting themselves in this situation.

The prison was noisy, and with them getting in, everyone started to shout at them, the curses and insults they would never tolerate in a normal day only a ring in their ears. They weren't going to give an answer. They weren't going to argue.

But they weren't going to be crushed among the criminals either. They could still feel the power in their veins— weak but there. Enough for Leader to cover the strength gap between them and the thugs.

The guards shoved them into the farthest room. Leader stumbled but caught themselves quickly. The cell was simple, with one bunk and nothing else. Someone was sleeping on the top, so they just took the other. They didn't care who the person was as long as they could stay in silence.

This wouldn't be their first time they were cut from mozt of their powers. This wouldn't be the first time they were abandoned for something else or accused of something they didn't do or even punished with brutal force. There was a reason for reformations in the academy. The agency started to think about the new recruits more after that incident. The next generations would have a more suitable training for their age, but with less... experience.

They ignored what their team would think if they had ever known who really Leader was. They knew they had been shaped into a monster, but they were trying. Apparently, also failing. They lost their control when Youngest was in danger, but didn't harm anyone, except one person. Leader couldn't know the enemy under the mask would be—

They turned in bed, laying flat instead of facing to the door. Their instincts screamed them about not doing, but they were in a high security prison. No one was going to open the door, and they would be awake before their cellmate.

But sleep didn't come, with their hands still cuffed and the lights open. Sometimes, time would blur, but nightmares folded into flashes would jolt them awake.

They didn't expect to wake up with a suffocating feeling on their chest. They trashed, the handcuff pressed hard against their ribs, vision covered by a pillow.

With curses in their mind, they felt the dark energy fuel their sleepy body, pushing the pursuer off of them. They rolled out of the bed, gasping as the world spun around them. They felt drained, and they tried to gather strength, failing. After that, they were at the mercy of their instincts and muscles.

They blinked as the figure replaced with Right Hand, begging them to stop, and they're hurting—

That was not real. Just their power and sleep - also oxygen, probably - deprived mind was playing games. Or the side effects of the suppressants. But at least it snapped them back into control.

The unlucky figure stumbled backwards as Leader slammed the cuffs to their chest. But it wasn't enough, and Leader found themselves across the room by their own power.

Imitation.

Leader darted forward, their hands clawing the figure's neck after slamming them to the wall. The struggle beneath their hands were for vain as they started to feed their strength with their power once more.

Their long history of being exposed to suppressants were paying back as tolerance, and the drugs were weakening as the time of the next dose came.

With a hiss, the cell dor opened, and they were shoved out, their body burning as a guardian hit them with an electrocuted baton. Leader cried as they fell to the floor, their muscles aching. They could barely shield themselves with their arms as the guard continued to hit them. The guard didn't stop until Leader screamed, and by that time, Leader could feel deep bruises forming on their arm.

They were thrown into the cell again, alone, twitching on the ground.

"What was that?"

"You don't know? They brought the agency's champion. One must've tried to kill them. Not much of a surprise, but I thought it would wait until morning. Guards dont like eventful night shifts."

Leader groaned, crawling to their bunk. This wasn't going to be a pleasant stay.

-•-

They were waken up with metal hitting metal, voices slurring into each other as curses or chatter filled the corridors. Leader didn't rise from the bed fully, examining themselves first.

Their exposed arms were full of purple bruises with two white spot at the center of each. They knew touching would hurt like hell. That would clearly weaken their defence if things came fighting, and they weren't so hopeful after hearing the prisoners.

Beneath those bruises, scars, and stitch marks were covering most of their skin. They didn't like looking at those, which only reminded them of their failures in various parts of their career and training, and later, their desperate tries to protect their team with their body when their powers failed.

With a deep breath, they rose to their feet. They felt sore, tired. They didn't have the patience to deal if anything happened, but they forced themselves to get out with the guard's shout. They didn't have much choice.

Their power vibrated in their veins, ready and waiting for their command, though distant. They stayed in alert, and while the count and check were mostly calm, they couldn't say the same for breakfast.

Leader kept their head up as they took a tray and found a place to sit. They put their hands to the table, the cuffs touching to its surface. When everyone sat, the cuffs opened, and Leader finally had somethinggoung down from their throat after days.

A thud caused them to jump from their seat to the source. A few prisoners were ganging up on someone on the floor, yet to do anything more than throwing the poor prisoner down from their seat.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Leader shouted. Well, they might have been branded as a cold-blooded monster, but they weren't going to let their ideals be crushed. In such things, all one could cling to was thoughts and ideals. It was more about Leader themselves rather than saving the person.

"What do you think you're doing, rookie?"

Rookie.

That was truly the only thing that could piss them off in mere seconds.

Leader wasn't a rookie.

They smirked, stopping it before turning into a sadistic smile, breathing heavily to keep the monster in themselves leashed. It had taken too long to realise that the monster was never gone or caged. Merely leashed all the time with a thin rope, always trying to snap it and run free.

Was there a better time?

"Giving you a lesson, of course, you scum!"

And everything burst into chaos right after that.

Leader counted thirty of the attackers get a taste of their power before finally going down, their already aching arms starting to throb even if there is nothing meeting with their blocks. It took them a second to realise that the guards were trying to get the fight over.

They stood with a grunt but were immediately kicked down by one of the guards.

"Not getting away with that little stun so easily. You're going to the isolation cells."

With the last word, nearly everything stopped. It couldn't be that bad. Leader could handle some time alone.

"A place I won't worry about being killed in my sleep," they answered casually.

The guard pulled them up, but Leader's pushed them, snarling.

"I can walk myself."

After that, they spat to the cameras.

"Use this to crush my reputation."

-•-

It had taken months to gather the evidence of corruption about some well liked public figures, but Right Hand could finally let out their nervous breath. And even though they went to the courts with that evidence, they didn't expect to get permission to see Leader.

The superhumans were always a controversial topic for the public, and the courts didn't like to go against them. It would only result in more hate than they already had.

They twitched in their seat, feeling uneasy. As a precaution, they were given a shot of the infamous suppressants, and they straightened their back. They felt vulnerable, but they weren't going to jump in the smallest inconvenience.

Forcing themselves to relax, they watched as one of the guards left the small room.

Perhaps one of the reasons they felt so tense was seeing Leader again. Right Hand considered themselves as an old friend of Leader, though they were quite too young to be one. Despite that, they saw no problem in it. They hadn't seen anyone near Leader, so they might have been the oldest friend, but Right Hand didn't like to think about things they didn't know much. All they knew was they could get Leader out now, and they were the only one who was willing to do it.

A guard brought Leader in, and Right Hand... Right Hand never thought they would see Leader like this.

A knot formed on their throat. Leader was worn out, their eyes dull and groggy, their once sharp expression was looking distant. Their posture was slumped, shoulders sunk, and steps slow.

But the smile Right Hand got was the same.

It was not arrogant. Not when Right Hand knew the older one had the power of bringing down with them if they wanted to.

"Leader," their voice trembled, and they forced themselves to breathe.

"Don't look at me like this." Leader looked into their eyes, their smile softening. "They just found out one shot wasn't going to be enough for me. I just thought they would stick with three, but they decided that I was a good test subject. They won't be selling their newest drug soon, if you ask me."

"How can you joke in a situation like this?" They couldn't help their anger, their sudden reaction alerting the guards.

And for the first time, Right Hand saw Leader look hurt for a moment before sighing.

"Why are you here, Right Hand?"

"We found something that might help, and I just wanted you to know before it makes to the news."

Right Hand didn't think the things would go that far. Most would prefer to keep it silent, as the evidence would shake many people from their chair.

They didn't expect a confused "what?"

"I am getting you out of here."

Leader froze in their place for a second and finally realised what Right Hand was talking about. "You wasted our failsafe!"

“I thought you, of all people, would understand why I did what I did.”

Leader breathed sharply. Right Hand didn't want to sound this harsh, but nothing was going in the way it was supposed to without Leader. The best for the team was Leader coming back as soon as possible, and so they used the blackmail materials for the team. And as much as Leader would deny, they didn't look good, too. They had to get out.

"The visit is over," a guard didn't let Leader answer back, and Right Hand took their leave, determined.

#whumptember 2023 #whumptember day 27 #prison whump #beating #mentioned past abuse #superpower whump #tw drugging #leader whumpee #leader whump #whump #whump writing

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