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susiequaz12 · 8 months

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Flower Boy 21- Good Work

Here's the next chapter! It's been a while, but I'm glad to be writing a bit more. This is the aftermath of Jeremy's last session from the past few chapters. Chapter 20. Masterlist.

CW: Aftermath of torture, nudity, blood, exhaustion, aftermath of noncon elements, electrocution, bruises, prisoner whumpee, brainwashing.

- - -

Prisoner 326 was deposited less than gracefully onto the floor of his cell by Handler Barrett. The man retrieved a clean pair of shorts and a tshirt from the supply closet and set them on the prisoner’s cot. 326 had earned them.

“Come on now, we need to get you cleaned up. To the shower, 326.”

326 let out a breath as he pulled himself up onto his arms. He was fully ready to collapse into the floor and pass out into delightful unconsciousness, but this wasn’t over yet. He scanned over his naked body- eyeing the filth and sweat and blood that scattered across him.

He knew he couldn’t walk- his handler had basically dragged him here, his legs shaking too much to hold up his weight. His vision was blurry as well, his eyes darting in and out of focus.

So 326 resorted to crawling across the floor, dragging himself as gracefully as he could, wincing with every movement, collapsing a few times until he finally felt the cold tile, the metal drain underneath him of the shower.

He let himself collapse again, staring at his blurred reflection in the shower drain.

Handler Barrett turned on the shower, letting it crash over the man’s body below and stepped away for a few moments so the water could rinse off the filth on the surface.

When the Handler returned he had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a rag in one hand, and a plain bar of soap in the other.

Jeremy’s eyes scanned across the bar of soap, then up to his handler’s face.

“It’s not protocol, I know, but you’ve earned it.”

326 let out a sigh as the handler wet the rag and began to lather up the sponge.

“Th-thank you s-s-sir-” Jeremy tried to make the words as clear as possible, but there was a subtle shake to his jaw, a tremor that he couldn’t deny.

“Here-” he held the items out to 326, and he took them in shaking fingers.

Jeremy began to lather up his chest, feeling the cold of the soap against his hand, when it slipped out of his fingers and slid to the drain below. The prisoner cursed under his breath and reached for it again but he couldn’t stop shaking long enough to get a good grip on it.

“Stop- just-” Handler Barrett scooped up the soap and gripped the top of 326’s arm. “Sit up, come on.” He helped the prisoner sit, his back facing the man and began lathering up the soap across his back and shoulders. 326 winced as it passed across the bruises and welts from an earlier beating, and bit back a groan as the Handler began to scrub some blood out from the deeper welts.

“Hold out your arm.” He ordered.

Jeremy did as he was told, and let the man scrub him, the rag passing over the crook of his arm where the ropes had rubbed his skin completely raw. Handler Barrett finished the other arm and then tilted his chin up with the back of his hand, turning the rag to his face.

Dried blood had crusted around his mouth and Barrett was as quick and efficient as needed in scrubbing it off.

326 breathed out a sigh as his face was washed, it almost- it almost felt nice as the man swiped the rag across his cheek, moving it around to his chin.

The feeling left as soon as it came as the rag fell with a plop onto the wet tile. Handler Barrett turned the prisoner around, his back pressed against the farthest wall, and began to wash his legs.

Jeremy hung his head forward as he was washed, the water hitting across the back of his neck, his hair falling limply around his face.

He glanced up briefly as the Handler paused, and realized where the man was looking. 326 scanned in between his legs, seeing the blood caked between his thighs, other fluids that had made their way onto him… Their eyes met and Barrett glanced away quickly.

“Clean yourself off and then rinse fully. Give me the soap once your done.”

Barrett plopped the soap and the rag into 326’s lap and then stood up, sliding the shower curtain over and stepping back into the small cell.

“Yes- yes sir.” 326 mumbled, his mouth heavy and slow.

Jeremy felt between his legs with his hand, wincing as the sore skin flared up. He choked back a sob as he cleaned himself off best he could with the water, before reaching for the soap. It slipped out of his hands again and he knew he couldn’t hold onto it long enough to thoroughly wash himself of all the filth. So he resorted to lathering up his hands as best he could, feeling the bubbles between his fingers, and with a shaky hand began to clean himself from all the blood and filth. He soon needed to grab the rag, but even being as gentle as he could he had to bite back a cry as he attempted to scrub himself off.

When he was finished he collapsed back against the wall, letting the water run down his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair and then brought his hands in front of his face.

He was shaking- the tremble in his hands was unmistakable, but from what, he couldn’t tell. The dehydration? Lack of food? Or all the shocks from the gag- the electricity…

Shit, what if this was permanent?

His body wracked with shivers as a rush of cold water splashed over his face. The shower was enough to pull him out of his thoughts and remember his Handler was standing just a few feet away. He couldn’t take too much time.

He placed a palm against the cold wall, trying desperately to rise to his feet. He managed to get a knee underneath him, his other foot placed firmly on the ground. 326 tried to stand but all the lather and suds from the soap made the tile to slick, and he crashed right back down with a thud at any attempt to stand.

Jeremy heard Handler Barrett curse under his breath and within a few moments the shower curtain was pulled away and 326 saw the man standing there, arms folded across his chest. The man shook his head and gripped the prisoner at the top of his arm, dragging him up to his feet. He helped him step out of the shower and then deposited him onto the bed, where 326 sat, head hung low on his chest.

A cup of water was placed in his hands and he trembled as he raised it to his lips. He took a small sip, and winced as he swallowed, his throat raw from screaming. Eventually the water began to soothe the aches and he pulled the empty cup away, the remains of his last sip trickling down his chin.

Handler Barrett took the cup away and 326 was left staring at his trembling hands.

“326-”

They were shaking so much… there were bruises across his wrists, his skin dotted with scars…

“326 look at me.” Barrett ordered.

The prisoner brought his eyes up- his face contorted in a look of- of fear, the Handler realized.

Handler Barrett paused for a moment, taking in the prisoner’s face. This prisoner, who was just a boy when he was first taken. Who was so defiant, so angry at the world, who now looked up at his Handler with the most fear he’d ever seen written on his face.

It had been nearly six years, that boy was a full man now. But in this moment, staring up at his handler with shaking hands, why did he look so young?

“326, what are your rules?” Handler Barrett ordered.

326 blinked, his programming taking over as his brain repeated what had been beaten into him.

“I do- do not have a, a name-” he paused, trying to push past the tremor in his jaw. “My numb-b-ber is 3-326.” He swallowed, his mouth dry, and took a breath. “I will only speak when- when spoken too- I will not ask f-f-for anything- my- my body is- is not m-m-my own.” He breathed out the last few words as the effort of speaking them became too much to handle. But Handler Barrett nodded, he was correct. 326 closed his eyes tight as his brain washed over with pain- it was so fuzzy- like a piece of paper, crumpled tight into a ball, unable to read the writing on it.

“Good. Do not forget them, understand?” Handler Barrett asked.

326 was back to staring at his hands, it took a moment after Barrett spoke for it to register, and 326 glanced up at him.

“Y-yes sir.”

“326, I need you to understand. You must never forget your rules. Now, they are planning on doing a 24 hour session. 24 full hours each, of sensory deprivation, and the overstimulation.”

Prisoner 326 flinched back against his cot as the words registered, his eyes shooting up to his handler. 326’s palms gripped the top of his thighs, digging into his skin as he tried to grasp some sense of control.

“Listen to me. I am under the impression that a full 48 hours won’t elicit any other effect than it has already had.” Handler Barrett clarified as 326 furrowed his brow in confusion. “It’s unnecessary. At least from my perspective. It is your job to make them agree. What do you suppose that entails 326?”

“Re-rememb-ber my rules, sir.”

Handler Barrett nodded. “And what else, 326?”

Jeremy closed his eyes, hearing the words that echoed through the speakers, over and over again, engraving them into his brain. Obedience equals safety.

“Obey.” He said.

“Correct. Under absolutely no circumstances are you to lash out, disobey, or even hesitate with a command.”

“Y-yes s-sir. Yes sir.”

“Good.” Handler Barrett turned away from the prisoner, moving to grab the clothes he had set on the cot earlier. “You did well today 326.”

326 was about to utter a feeble thank you, when the door to his cell burst open, and three unfamiliar figures stepped into the room.

- - -

Taglist: @imagination1reality0@morning-star-whump @deltaxxk @sparrowsage @whumpcereal@gala1981@his-unspoken-words@darkthingshappen@raddyscoops

#whump #whump writing #my ocs #flower boy #prisoner 326 #nudity tw #torture aftermath #caretaking whump #handler barrett is actually nice? or does he just feel bad?#prisoner whumpee #superpowered whump #no editing we die like men #finally back into writing and i don't know what to do with myself

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btcwriting · 1 year

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Perspective

sometimes you just need to be reminded that stuff happens to other people when you're not interacting with them, I guess. anyways.

CWs: fire (very minor but present), blood, wounds, torture aftermath

The man in black held his lighter at the edge of the papers until they caught fire. Once the flame was happily consuming the documents, he set them on the concrete floor in a corner and lit the rest of the folder from the small fire. Once he was able to add them to the pile, he clicked the lighter shut and slid it back in his pocket.

The papers burned in a remote corner of the office, where their ashes would barely be noticeable. It was likely they’d be scattered before anyone even realized the folder was missing, and he watched to make sure the fire kept itself going long enough to consume all the important parts before he turned away to leave.

He slipped silently through the door and back into the hallway, pressing it closed behind him. He started tracing his steps back through the turns he’d taken to get in, keeping his feet quiet. The hallways were empty, all the employees currently occupied on the other side of the building, but he wasn’t sure how long it would last.

A strong tug pulled at the back of his mind as he passed one particular dark door. He’d felt something similar on the way in, but it hadn’t seemed that important while he had a mission to fulfill. Now, it seemed almost impossible to ignore.

He stared at the door for a moment, working to convince himself he could just leave. He probably didn’t need to know what it was. It wasn’t why he’d come here. But if it wasn’t his objective, then why was the feeling so strong?

Egged on by curiosity, he reached out and opened the door. The air greeted him with the stale metallic tang of blood. Frowning, he stepped in and closed the door behind him before flicking on the closest lightswitch.

Two spotlights shone harshly down on a figure in the middle of the room. They hung limply, held up by two shackles so their feet hovered a few inches above the floor. Their bare torso and arms were covered in long gashes and dripping patterns of dried blood dappling their skin. Groups of thinner marks were scattered over their body, remnants from lashings. Their pants were ripped, tattered below the knee with blood covering their calves and dripping into a pool on the floor. Their rusty red hair was matted with dark blood, covering their face as their head hung forward, unconscious.

The man in black cringed as his eyes darted over the scene in front of him. He blinked, squinted at the build and hair of the person strung up, and muttered to himself.

“Semsenir…?”

He frowned deeper, strongly considering turning around and leaving. He could just act like he never saw it. Sem wouldn’t know the difference. His gut twisted, but he wound up stepping forward to confirm his hunch.

A couple steps closer, he could tell it was indeed Semsenir – his build and the shape of his hair were quite familiar, even in this state. The wounds were familiar too – knife marks, some of them, others likely from a whip. He bet that his back would tell a similar story.

Uneasiness made the hair on his neck stand on end, and he glanced away to look at the room around them instead. Despite the fact that he himself had given Sem notable knife wounds before and left him to bleed, seeing him in this position still put him on edge. It seemed unreal. This couldn’t be the same man he knew. He had to at least check.

He swallowed, took a deep breath, and called out. “Shadow! Whatever your name is. I know you’re there. Come out.”

After a moment, one of the sections of darkness thrown by the light on Sem’s body began to bubble. It slowly inflated until it uncoiled into a smooth, round snake-like creature with short, plump head-tails. After it rose up to about a foot of height, it opened its eyes revealing two pink orbs in a mass of matte black. It was, unfortunately, the exact same shadow creature he’d seen assisting Sem before.

“What is it?” The creature hissed softly, its voice like a breathy whisper that echoed inside his head instead of the room.

The man finally looked up again at Sem. “What happened to him?”

“A man tortured him for several hours.” It said matter of factly. “He was paid to do so, and then kill him. That is what he said at least. I believe has stopped for the night, but he said he would return tomorrow. Why?”

He glanced at the shadow, and then to the floor again, unsure how to answer. “Does this happen often?”

The shadow tilted its head. “Often enough. This is, not a regular occurrence perhaps but often enough for him to grow weary of it sometimes.”

“Grow weary?” The man furrowed his brow and drew his mouth to one side in a dubious look. “Then why doesn’t he stop it? Why doesn’t he… keep it from happening. If he’s being left alone for hours, why doesn’t he just heal and use the chance to escape? Isn’t he old? I thought the older you are the more power you have. Why isn’t he using his healing factor?”

“He doesn’t like to use his powers.” The shadow stared at his face, unblinking and expressionless. “Why do you think you can overpower him at all? He chooses not to use them. He tends to think that using them causes him to forget his humanity, so he prefers not to. Besides, if his captors were to find out about his healing factor, they would be likely torture him much harder knowing that he could heal from it.”

Silence filled the room as this sunk in. “They do that, huh.”

“Oh yes, almost every opportunity. In a way, it probably saves him from more pain in the long term, but it can be hard to tell in a situation like this.” The serpent shifted its gaze to give a sidelong look at its unconscious master.

The man shifted on his feet, and finally stepped over to the control panel he’d seen. “Whatever. I’m… tired of looking at him.” He took a deep breath, forcing himself back to a neutral expression. He found a button labeled ‘open’ and pounded his fist against it. With a hiss and a metallic click the shackles sprung open, dumping Sem unceremoniously into the puddle of blood below him.

“Just take him somewhere. Anywhere. He probably has somewhere safe he can go back to, right?” He looked back to the shadow, who slid over to Sem’s body. The wounds on his back were now visible, collections of red markings and wounds that had wept blood, which ran down to stain what was left of his pants. The main in black kept his composure. “I know you can teleport him, or whatever it is.”

The shadow looked back at him, its gaze piercing. “Is this an order, Keeper?”

He turned partially away from it, but his eyes stayed on the serpent and Sem in a pile on the floor. “I guess it is. Sure, fine. I order you to remove him and take him somewhere safe. Is that good enough for you?”

“That will be fine.” The shadow reared up, and in an instant flattened out and covered Sem in a blanket of darkness, which then shrunk rapidly, leaving behind only smears of blood where his body once was.

“Good riddance.” He breathed in relief, quickly retreating from the room and not slowing down until he reached the safety of the trees outside the compound.

He leaned against a tree, inhaling its scent and that of the life around him until he could get the metallic taste out of his mouth. He tried to think about how the people would react when they found that file missing, about the birds singing in the trees, about anything to get that scene out of his head.

Maybe next time, he would just leave.

Words: 1347

#black trenchcoat #semsenir #original writing #shackles #torture aftermath #found whumpee #reluctant savior #immortal whump #blood #wounding #whump #emotional whump

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late-tothe-party-07 · 11 months

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Whump✨✨

It felt like hours as they sat there, with Ellie jabbing at Atlas to keep him awake while tears streamed down her face. She looked down, and found Atlas staring up at her, his eyes half open and glazed over. "Why are you crying?"

He muttered. His voice was barely there.

Ellie made such a twisted face you couldn't tell if she was gonna sob or smile. "I'm afraid."

She said, like the words were glass. "Cause I love someone and I dont think he'll wait for me to tell him."

Atlas frowned, a weak attempt at the glare he used to wear, and closed his eyes again with a wet cough. "Sounds like a prop'r jerk." He said.

Under different circumstances, Ellie might've laughed at that.

Instead they fell back into a suffocating silence, with only the sound of Ellie's splintering heart echoing through the chamber. Her fingers dug into his arm so hard they might bruise, hoping that maybe if she held on tight enough he wouldn't drift away.

"Well..."

Atlas started again, after a pause much too long and eyes barely peeking back open. "I think you're nice....and..if it would help any.....I'd-"

Blood trickled out the corner of his mouth, his chest stuttering as he coughed. Ellie wanted to scream.

"I'd- ...give you the world."

Her vision was wavering, and it burned, a knot in her throat she couldn't swallow.

She screwed her eyes shut, and pulled him closer.

It was close enough to feel the puff of his breath, their foreheads pressed together and her tears falling onto his cheeks. She rocked back and forth, tangling his rusted white hair in her fingers.

He wouldn't remember this, but Ellie said it anyway.

"I dont want the world."

She whispered into the dark, and only the shadows heard it.

#original fiction #whump #whumpee #caretaker #oc whump #original character #Near death whump #bleeding out #aftermath of torture #torture aftermath #aftermath whump

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faofinn · 2 years

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11. Emergency Room/Ambulance

Part 1 / Part 2

@sicktember

“Right, this is John Doe. Found by police approx. 40 minutes ago wandering on the main road. No identification on him.

Appeared intoxicated before having a witnessed tonic clonic seizure. IV diazepam was given at seven minutes, to no effect. Second dose given at ten minutes. Was RSI’d at fifteen minutes, which appeared to terminated the seizure. Has been on high flow throughout, and that’s the first bag of fluid still going through.

“Obs are pretty much as you’ve got them, was tachy at 158, hypotensive at 80/50, sat 87, temp 35.8, BM 4.2. PEARL in both eyes. Police aware, trying to find NOK details for patient info.”

The doctor sighed at the state of his patient. “It might be too late for that. Probably be condolences at this point.”

They did their best to stabilise him, eager to get him for scans. He looked like he'd been in the wars, his injuries not self inflicted, and the police had their concerns too. There were several milling around, watching the situation carefully.

Finn was kept intubated and unconscious - it was easier to treat that way. The scans weren't ideal, broken ribs, a broken arm in more than one place, and a dislocated shoulder too. There was no bleeding on the brain, or anything they could see that could have caused the seizure, which led them to suspect he might have been prone to seizures. They still seemed no closer to finding his identity, though the police had taken his fingerprints and were quietly hopeful.

The break in his arm required reducing again, though thankfully not surgery. Ortho were consulted and happy enough for them to plaster it, the whole process easier with him unconscious. His shoulder was relocated too, quickly slipping back into place. With everything back in place and more scans completed, there wasn’t a huge reason to keep him sedated.

They slowly reduced the drugs, and it didn’t take long for Finn to start retching against the tube. It was pulled quickly, Finn having become agitated and unsettled.

Despite being conscious, he was unable to communicate effectively, unable to identify himself or what had happened.

The police returned an hour or so later, the fingerprints having flagged a match. The family had been informed, apparently, and were on their way. He'd been missing for a few days, but his ordeal had left a few too many bruises for the police to recognise the photos that had been sent in.

Finn's disappearance had been hard on them all. Both Fao and Fred were turning the world upside down trying to find who knew where he was. None of their usual channels had any information, and nor did Harrison's.

That was, until they got the call from the hospital. Well out of their territory, the other side of London. God knows what he'd been doing over there. Without question they rushed in, dropping everything to get to him.

Fao arrived first, having been further north than the others anyways. One of the nurses showed him to Finn's bay, and his breath caught at the state of his brother.

“Finn…” He breathed, moving to take his hand. “Christ, what happened? Your mum and dad are on the way, you're gonna be okay now. We're here. You're not alone anymore.”

Fao was a welcome relief, and Finn managed a weak smile. He squeezed Fao's hand, not sure if he actually believed he was there.

“You've had us all worried half to death.”

Finn shook his head. It hadn't been his fault, he hadn't meant any of it. At the same time, though, he didn’t need a lecture. He knew he wouldn't get away without one, but he didn't have the energy in the moment.

Fao squeezed his hand. “We'll get you home soon. It'll be okay. You'll be alright. Do you remember what happened?”

He shook his head again, then pulled his hand from Fao's. He gave a clumsily signed seizure? at his brother, though wasn't convinced himself. The sedation still clouded his head, and it could have just been that, but he felt like shit. His shoulder felt loose, and it wasn't always uncommon for it to dislocate if he went alone and landed on it.

Fao nodded. “They said you had a seizure. Big one.”

Finn frowned. Where?

“Where are you right now?” Fao asked, trying to clarify the question. It was hard when Finn’s communication was limited.

He shook his head, though that was a good question. He didn't recognise the resus bay he was in, which wasn't like him; he was usually all too familiar with them.

Fao perched on the edge of the bed. “Where was the seizure?” He tried.

Finn struggled to focus, his head too fuzzy to fully pay attention. That was good enough, and he nodded.

“Uh, they found you on the road. No clue how you got there.”

No who? He tried, and then frowned. That wasn't what he had meant, he just had to hope Fao understood.

Fao shook his head. “Not here.”

No?

Fao shook his head again, and it was his turn to sign. Police everywhere.

Of course they were. Why? Wait. Road?

Fao nodded. “A lot of people are really worried about you.”

Why?

“You went missing.”

Finn cleared his throat again. "Don't remember." Went sideways.

“You're lucky I love you, we've been worried sick.” No shit. I could kill you.

"Steve around?" Don't tell dad.

“Yeah, Steve's coming up with dad later.” Fao said pointedly.

"My consultant." Finn rubbed his face tiredly.

“They've got your care plan now.”

"How?" Back home?

“Now they know who you are, they have your records, so they've got your care plan.” Steve's pulling strings. Soon.

"Oh. Yeah." Finn's signs had started growing more sloppy, the tiredness from his ordeal catching up on him. Home.

“I think they'll want to keep you overnight, and then maybe we can get you transferred closer to home.”

He pulled an unimpressed face, stretching a hand towards Fao. He was tired, still in a bit of pain, and just feeling sorry for himself.

Fao stood up, moving to press a kiss to his brother's forehead. “I'm glad you're okay.”

Finn whined quietly, tears springing to his eyes. Sorry.

“We've got you now.” He murmured.

Finn allowed himself to drift.

Safe.

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walker-extended-universe · 2 years

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We Just Need To Talk

Whumptober prompt filled: Day 27- Muffled Screams

Summary: Liam has a nightmare about his time in captivity and goes looking for comfort. After witnessing Cordell have a nightmare too, he decides enough is enough. They don’t have to talk about what happened, but they are going to engage in some brotherly cuddles and at least acknowledge that there’s a problem.

Warnings/Tags: Episode 3x03, Angst, Late-night conversations, Awkward conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Nightmares, Implied/Referenced Torture, Trauma, Aftermath of Torture, Episode Fix-It, Cordell Walker needs a hug, Liam Walker needs a hug

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42666336

#whumptober2022 #no.20 #muffled screams #walker #fic #trauma #torture aftermath #emotional hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #fix it #my fic #walker whumptober challenge

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b-radley66 · 2 years

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Chapters: 13/16

Note: Some warnings for the aftermath of violence and torture against a character, in the first three scenes. Synopsis of those scenes (bold titles) in end notes.

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ahsoka Tano/Original Character(s), Original Characters/Original Characters Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Sabine Wren, Kaeden Larte, CT-7567 | Rex, R7-A7 (Star Wars) (cameo), Darth Bane (cameo), Hondo Ohnaka (Cameo), Melch (Star Wars) (cameo), Hera Syndulla (cameo), Leia Organa (cameo), Qui-Gonn Jinn (cameo), Original Characters (see Dramatis Personae at beginning of Chapter 2) Additional Tags: Family, Families of Choice, Memories, Personal Demons, searching for those missing, Love, Sithly Happenings (TM), Journey To The Past, Journey through the Force, Learning about darkness, It’s always darkest before the dawn, Naboo Queens, Naboo Handmaiden, some horror, genetic manipulation by the Empire, Aftermath of Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Adult Situations and Language Series: Part 1 of The Restoration Trilogy Summary:

Our memories help guide us, whether they are of pain, loss, or joy. They will help us find our way to the light, in our own mind, or even within the Force. Master Zaina Torson, Etchings of a Shadow

A year after Hera Syndulla and her crew took Lothal, Jame Blackthorn still looks for Ahsoka in the hidden mists of the Force. Ahsoka continues to survive on Malachor, even though the world seems to be lost to the rest of the galaxy. Blackthorn’s task force continues to harass Imperial shipping without him.

They will all be drawn together, in one way or another, to combat a threat to Naboo. One that they they thought they had mostly defeated several years ago on the ravaged surface of the world known as Hypori.

Ahsoka will be drawn into a dark and distant past in the realm of the Daughter. A past that will help her to continue with her study of how to defeat the Sith. If she can ever get home.

A defeat that will bring the beginning of Redemption for Corellia’s Elector and Covenant and the restoration of the Republic.

#star wars #rebellion’s adolescence #ahsoka tano #the usual gang of idiots-original characters #violence #torture aftermath #in between the stories you know #adventures in fanfic writing

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whumblr · 27 days

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Memories

"So, you remember all the rules, hm? And the punishments that go with them, of course."

"Of course," Whumpee mumbled and, prompted by a sharp gaze, continued: "The whip."

Whumper nodded, slowly circling the kneeling figure. A sly smirk crossed his lips as he threw a quick glance to Caretaker, subdued, helpless, utterly powerless as he too was forced to his knees.

"Good," he said and stopped pacing, kneeling down in front of Whumpee. "Tell me, what do you remember from that, exactly? Hm?" He brought up a finger to their chin and before he even brushed over their skin, Whumpee's eyes found his.

Reluctantly, trembling under Whumper's expecting gaze, Whumpee forced themself back to the recesses of their mind, the place that they avoided at all costs. A little corner with dark memories from their previous captivity, memories that despite all their safeguarding sometimes slipped free at the moment they were least wanted, when Whumpee was least prepared.

What did they remember... The pain, obviously. That blinding sharp pain crossing into their skin. How it didn't fade, how the pain just spread and lingered and worsened with every following lash.

But those weren't the memories that slipped free. In unguarded moments, they heard a voice crooning, echoing in their mind.

"I... I hear the lashes of the whip. And... your voice. Cold. Counting after every crack."

Whumper nodded. "How about your own voice? Do you hear your own screams?"

Whumpee thought for a bit, tensed up, reliving the memories in vivid detail. The pain, the despair, the rotten sound of the whip. How their lips parted in a scream, how their voice rasped in their throat... but they couldn't recall the sound. "No..." they simply said in barely more than a whisper.

Whumper hummed. "I do. I remember them well, especially how your voice cracked."

He stood and with the lightest brush over their cheek, Whumpee followed right along. "But I don't mind if you refresh my memory."

General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan

#whump #whump drabble #whump writing #recapture #aftermath of whump #emotional whump #whumplr #threatened torture #angst #implied torture #creepy captor #my writing

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whump-and-other-misfortunes · 3 months

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Whumpuary 2024 Day 14

14. (Jan 27-28) Flinching / Breakdown / Sleep Deprivation

cw past trauma, implied noncon/torture, hurt/comfort, aftermath of whump

“You’re slower than usual,” Hero teased when they pinned Villain to the wall. “Lost your edge after that little vacation you took?”

Villain was breathing heavily. Their hands grasped at Hero’s, which were fisted in the front of their suit, but Villain lacked their typical strength. “Wasn’t a vacation, you jerk,” they huffed. “And I’m doing my best here.”

Hero pulled one of their hands back, and their heart jumped when Villain flinched away from them; they’d never reacted like that before. The instinctual fear was clearly visible in their eyes.

“Whoa, hey,” Hero said softly. “I was just gonna—your mask is slipping.”

Villain looked down, frowning. “Sorry. I just...go ahead.”

Hero raised their hands slowly and adjusted Villain’s mask, noting the sharp intake of breath when Hero’s fingers grazed their cheek. As they put it back in place, Hero could see a dark bruise hiding under the mask. The slightest bit of purple spread up their cheekbone.

Villain was trembling when Hero stepped back.

“Are you okay?” Hero asked. Logically, they knew they should take advantage of Villain’s weakness and bring them in. But they just couldn’t bring themself to be that cruel.

“When I was gone this week,” Villain whispered, “I was...Supervillain took me hostage. I’ll spare you the details but...they did some shit to me I wouldn’t even do to my enemies.”

Hero felt their heart ache at the admission and the pained expression in Villain’s eyes when they looked back up. “I’m sorry, I—I had no idea.”

“Not your fault,” Villain said with a shrug. They tried to force a smile as well, but it didn’t quite work. “But it messed me up pretty good. I can’t sleep. I can’t move without remembering their hands on me.”

A sick feeling curled in Hero’s stomach as they imagined what the normally collected Villain must have been through to have them on the verge of tears at the memory. They slowly reached out, giving Villain enough time to stop them—but when they didn’t, Hero pulled them into an embrace. “It’s over,” they muttered into Villain’s hair. “You're safe now.”

Their words seemed to open the floodgates, and suddenly Villain broke down. Hero didn’t know what to do, so they just held their nemesis as they cried. The fact that they’d been in the middle of a fight passed through Hero’s mind, but it didn’t matter now. They were a hero—their job was to help people. Even if those people regularly made their life hell.

“I’m sorry,” Villain choked out. “This is pathetic. And I—I deserved it.”

“No one deserves to be hurt like that,” Hero said, rubbing their back in soothing circles.

Villain tried to steady their breathing as they looked up at Hero, eyes glistening with tears. “Thank you. Just—give me a minute, and we can get back to it.”

“What do you say we get a rain check,” Hero asked with a small smile, “and you let me buy you a coffee instead?”

Villain sniffled and rolled their eyes. “As long as you promise to reschedule. Because I was looking forward to kicking your ass.”

Hero laughed. “Okay, deal.”

Although the coffee may not have truly fixed anything, it was a welcomed comfort.

taglist: @morning-star-whump

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno14 #flinching #breakdown #hero x villain #hero villain writing #hero caretaker #villain whumpee #implied torture #implied noncon #aftermath of whump #past trauma #hurt/comfort #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #snippet

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the-lady-maddy · 2 months

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echoingalaxies · 10 months

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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?

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