b0amagination

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evil demon cheerleader in our d&d campaign you have my heart

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I'm extremely interested in people talking about the whumpee in 3rd person around them. Maybe they're semi-conscious, or maybe fully conscious and just being ignored. Whether those people are whumper or caretaker it's all good

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“Where do you think you’re going?”

A hand grabbed the back of Whumpee’s jacket, pulling them back, flush with Whumper’s chest. Whumpee clenched their fists as they felt Whumper’s face against the back of their head. They didn’t want to make a scene here, in the back shadows of the bar, packed as it was.

“To hell. Would you like to join me?” Whumpee asked snidely.

Whumper tsked into their hair. “Come on, darling, that’s no way to be. We had a deal, remember?”

“The deal was we meet in public.”

Whumpee tensed as a hand slipped just under the hem of their shirt, just enough to set them on edge.

“This is public,” Whumper purred, tugging them closer.

“Get off me,” Whumpee snarled, jabbing their elbow into Whumper.

Whumper’s arm wrapped around their waist and held on tight. “I do think this freedom has made you forget who you belong to. When you worked for me, you never would have fought me like this.”

“Drop the act, Whumper. What do you want?”

Whumper sighed and drew their arm back, keeping a firm grip on Whumpee’s jacket. “I don’t take well to deserters, remember?”

Whumpee heard the tell-tale sound of a knife being flicked out, and they couldn’t stop their jerking flinch.

Whumper laughed. “So you do remember. Good. Then this won’t take long.” The cold tip of the knife slid under Whumpee’s shirt and they went rigid against it. “I wanted to meet in public for two reasons, Whumpee dear. First, because it was the only way you would actually come. And second, because I don’t want this to kill you.”

The knife jabbed in, all the way to the handle, and no matter how many times Whumpee had felt it before, they would never be prepared. Their knees buckled underneath them. Whumper’s grip was the only thing keeping them upright. All breath seemed to leave their body in a vacuum, the world spinning away from them.

Then the knife was ripped out of them, and a scream was caught in their throat. Whumper chuckled into their hair, bringing the flat end of the knife to Whumpee’s face and wiping their own blood across their cheek.

“Don’t get in my way again, Whumpee,” Whumper murmured, and disappeared from behind them.

Whumpee crumpled to the floor, hands too busy clutching their wound to stop their fall. They let out a soft groan and screwed their eyes shut against the white covering their vision.

It was becoming harder to breathe from shock and adrenaline and probably blood loss. There seemed to be quite a lot puddling around them, and still more seeping out from between their fingers despite their best efforts. They focused on gaining control of their breath, counting in, 2, 3, 4. Hold. Out, 2, 3, 4. Hopefully once they’d calmed down they would be able to bandage their wound, but as it was, their hands were shaking and only getting worse.

It was impossible to tell how long they laid there, trying even their breaths, but eventually the focus on counting fell behind the effort it took to breathe at all. They were only shaken from their slow sink into unconsciousness by a wet splash nearby.

Someone cursed softly, then much louder. Whumpee looked over blearily and saw a pair of shoes turning red from the blood they’d stepped in. Very quickly the shoes became knees as whoever it was dropped into a kneeling position, reaching towards Whumpee but leaving their hands hovering centimeters away.

After releasing another colorful series of curses in a single breath, the person pressed their fingers to Whumpee’s neck, feeling for a pulse. “Hello? Are you alive?”

“Unfortunately,” Whumpee said. Or, meant to say. It came out as more of a pathetic whine.

Another curse. “Okay, hold on. I’ll call an ambulance, and--”

“Nhhh,” Whumpee managed, trying to sit up in protest.

“No no no no no, you stay down. You’ll bleed out faster if you sit up.” A beat of silence. “Do you not want me to call anyone? Any friends, or… if you did, you’re probably too delirious from blood loss,” they finished, more to themselves. “How did this happen? We’re in a bar, for f--”

They cut themselves off as Whumpee’s eyelids drooped again, head falling back down to the floor. “Hey, stay with me. I’m going to get you better.”

In a matter of moments, a thick bundle of cloth was pressed firmly against Whumpee’s wound, and their hands were placed on top of it.

“I need you to press down on that as much as you can. I’m going to carry you, okay?” The voice muttered a reassurance that, once again, seemed aimed at themself, before strong arms scooped up Whumpee’s weak form.

As their head leaned against a bare shoulder, Whumpee realized that the cloth they held was this person’s shirt.

They jolted as the person walked as fast as they dared without hurting Whumpee too much. They tried to hold on to consciousness, but as they caught sight of the cold stars twinkling overhead, their vision receded into darkness.

—

taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @susanshinning @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @utopian819 @whumpkitty @journey-the-panda @freefallingup13 @shameful-indulgence @1becky1 @temporary-whump-sideblog @chartreusephoenix @thelazywitchphotographer @mylifeisonthebookshelf @badluck990 @lockedupuniverse @luna-rein @broadwaybabe18 @pinescales-whumps @silverwhisperer1

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I have become a victim of the “forced to choose” trope

You may only choose one

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I'm Completely Normal

(WHY DOESN'T ELLIPSUS HAVE COMIC SANS I LOVE YOU COMIC SANS I NEED MY COMIC SANS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

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looking for opinions both from americans and non-americans: what would you consider to be the big 4 american cities in terms of like, vibes-based cultural impact?

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Malcolm Liepke, 2017

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Naïveté

Hasan and Declan - Chapter 14 | Previous

Declan's comeuppance continues.

Content warnings: creepy/intimate whumper, captivity whump, waterboarding mention, 9/11 mention, temperature whump, forced to choose, forced stripping, nudity, forced proximity, fear of noncon, stun gun, drugging.

Word count: 2812

~~~

Consciousness came to Declan in pieces.

A breeze arrived first. Or more of a gust, by the way it crashed into him and set his senses alight.

Light peeked through his eyelids. Dim, even when he blinked them open, and foggy. The floor lamp was a lighthouse across the stormy sea. 

Rain-battered cloth rippled over his chest. 

God, he was cold.

Declan picked up his hands only to notice that they were shivering. Pressing them to his eyes drilled ice into the fragile tissue but a careful rub cleared his vision enough to see the box fan before him: cranked up to the highest setting, nearly quivering at the speed of its own blade. 

“There he is!” 

Declan screamed and whipped around. Hasan. Lounging on the couch mere feet away. Of course. 

“Slept well?” They retracted the recliner and leaned over their knees. 

“Fuck you. You absolute piece of shit,” he rasped, teeth chattering.

“Not right now. I think you’ve got more to worry about, actually.”

Hasan had changed clothes entirely, now wrapped up in a turtleneck sweater and sweatpants to match the apparent shift in temperature. 

“Yeah, so go turn up the thermostat. It’s freezing in here.”

“Sure.” Hasan shifted to get up but froze just as their foot hit the floor. “If you promise to stay, of course.” Their eyes flashed over, twinkling. The caveat. 

“Whatever. Yeah. And turn off the fuckin’ fan while you’re at it,” Declan huffed. If that’s all it took to be warm again…

“That wasn’t very sincere, now was it?” Their lips scrunched into a pout. “Try again.”

“Yes, Hasan. No more running. I’ll just be here, rotting away.” 

But that expression didn’t change, and Hasan didn’t budge any further.

“Say it exactly how I did. ‘I’ll stay with you forever, Hasan.’ Just like that.” They nodded and gestured for him to go on. 

Declan scowled and rolled up onto his elbow. He swore he felt his body groan with the movement.

“Fine, then I’ll take care of-” 

He’d made it no further than his knees before metal stuck his neck. Twin prongs, cupping his trachea. A hard swallow forced his Adam’s apple against them. 

“Down, Dec.” Hasan pressed harder, angling them just so. “I’d hate to stop your heart just to keep you in place.” It was what he’d assumed, then. A stun gun. Same as the one he’d pressed to his thigh for that charity stream. The same one that now lay abandoned in his bedside drawer.

The mark hadn’t faded for weeks. 

Declan brought a foot under himself.

“Down.” It crackled on and he shot back to the floor. “Good boy. You don’t go anywhere without my say-so.”

“Don’t call me th-“ 

They made a jabbing motion with the stun gun. His mouth clapped shut. 

“Stay where you are,” Hasan threatened and turned on their heel. Even as they reclaimed their seat on the couch with a phone in hand, that taser never left their lap.

They were back exactly as they’d started and so was Declan. A blushing frustration pumped blood through his veins but it only served to twist his senses with a sweat on his brow, too soon corrupted by wintry air. 

And now what? The mere act of kneeling had him heaving for breath in a way that severely worried him. Declan coughed experimentally and that set his throat aflame, running from windpipe to nose bridge in a flash of white. A full-body shiver chased it. 

He couldn’t get sick. Not when every other resident of this bastard had perished. Had the same happened to them? A deadly bout of pneumonia inflicted by water torture? Or had they been nursed back to health, only to be killed in a more personal manner? A cruel modus operandi. 

Maybe it was the shock in their victim’s eyes that intrigued Hasan most.

“Catching a cold?” 

Declan flinched.

“Don’t see how I couldn’t.” He rubbed at the goosebumps lining his arms. Seems like you’re trying to engineer one, to me.” 

“Sickness causes pointless suffering. I’d have nothing to gain from it.”

“Pointless suffering is all you fucking do.”

“Oh, right,” they grinned. “Go ahead and fall ill, then.”

Declan hugged himself and pulled his knees into his chest. He could weather this. He didn’t need to be shocked to learn simple self-preservation. So time passed. The still-dismantled clock ticked up five, ten, fifteen more minutes. Every adjustment of his aching muscles earned a firm clearing of the throat until he didn’t even dare to twitch.

Would Hasan chastise him if he tried to rub feeling back into his arms and legs? What were the exact rules regarding the fan? Would it feel less abrasive pointed at his back?

He wondered eventually if the shock would feel warm. If it might spread throughout the rest of his body and loosen his joints, even through pain. 

But none of that scraped the true root of the issue. Even if Declan’s body warmed, the clothes on it would steal that away. His shirt and pants would never dry, clinging to his body as they were, and his boxers were lurking beneath that entire conundrum. 

His heart panged and the hot-cold of it all flooded through him once again.

“Wasn’t I supposed to say something?” he sighed, meeting the devil’s eyes again.

“Come again?” 

Purposefully obtuse, as usual. But he pressed on.

“To get you to turn the heat up. You wanted me to say something specific.”

“Was I not clear enough? That deal was irrelevant the moment I had to force you to stay in your seat. I’m not rewarding bad behavior–especially not today.” Their glare was without a hint of anger, radiating instead the energy of a stern authority figure. It was enough to make some distant part of him wilt under the scrutiny. 

“Okay, then when is this gonna be over?” Declan raised his eyebrows, but Hasan’s attention had already dwindled. He eyed the purpled hue of his grown-out nailbeds and only grew more desperate. “I’ve got a few more panic attacks to fit in tonight. Only so much time in a day to despair over your horrible fate, you know.”

They finally looked back up, gave him a once-over, and adjusted their glasses. 

“You’re asking for another chance?” 

Declan grit his teeth and nodded. 

“That’s quite the demand. Because I’d like for you to kneel here until I let you sleep… To feel your body slow down in real time and let your consequences sink in. So if I were to let you out of that-”

“Just tell me if I was supposed to say no. I thought you were offering, for fuck’s sake!”

“I am.” Declan closed his mouth almost sheepishly, waiting as they laced their fingers. “And that is exactly the issue you’ve been struggling with. Controlling your tongue.” They tapped the syllables against their teeth.

“Your body, though. It can follow my orders even when your mouth can’t. If you can’t declare that you are going to stay here with me, then I won’t make you say anything at all. Let’s let your actions show that, hm?” They patted their thighs. “Come here. Lay your head in my lap.”

“What?” Declan’s response was a mere reflex. An attempt to deny their words and alter his options. But he didn’t want to hear it given again. “Nevermind.”

“You heard me loud and clear, Dec.”

He had. 

Fuck.

It would be so easy to let go of. To lay down, turn away, and try to work feeling back into his limbs until his penance had been paid. Hasan would see the ease with which he stripped his own rights away and only thirst for more. To take whatever he could give. Then everything he wouldn’t.

In sickness they could take full advantage.

Or refuse to touch him. Or refuse to take care of him. 

Or kill him.

There wasn’t much to decide, in the end.

Declan’s knees creaked with the effort and motion of standing. Even a lifelong inclination of sitting on the floor couldn’t dim the consequences of all his compounding conditions. He hobbled over on irritated scabs, relief growing as he stepped out of the fan’s path, and made to lower himself onto the cushions.

“Ah-ah.” A palm spread across his lower back and held him away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m doing exactly what you told me,” Declan spun around and hissed. “Don’t pretend you said something different now that I’m being agreeable!”

“I figured it would go unsaid that I don’t want my expensive sofa riddled with mildew.” Hasan pinched his shirt between two fingers, watching with displeasure as it dripped onto their carpet. “Your welts are bleeding, by the way.”

“Fine, I’ll grab a towel, but you better have-”

They grabbed Declan’s shirt in a fist instead and yanked him back.

“I didn’t leave any.”

“I’ll just-”

“Dec.” A sharp flick of the wrist turned him around. “I did not leave you a towel to dry off with.”

“What?” He shook his head and scoffed. “I’d have to- what, then? How am I supposed to fix this? My shirt hasn’t dried in- in however long I’ve already been here!”

“Then I suppose…” They trailed a finger under the fabric, eyes half-lidded when they flicked back up. “...you’ll just have to take it off.”

Declan’s heart squeezed. His ribs tightened their cage around his chest. Breaths stuttered. 

“I could… I could just…” 

“You could just do as I say, yes. Or you could kneel right back in front of that fan.”

“...it wasn’t that bad, a-actually. I was overreacting, I get like that when I’m cold,” he stuttered out.

“Then, by all means.” Hasan gestured to the wet spot on the carpet.

Declan took one step back. Turned his head to look. Slowly swiveled it back. Loss shone deep behind watery eyes. Loss of carelessness, of comfort.

Of naïveté.

He crossed his arms, held the t-shirt by its wrinkled hem, and reached to pull it over his head, but the angle shot flashes along the broken lines of his back. Instead, Declan tucked his elbows and stretched it out in an attempt to keep the pain from worsening. 

When it finally fluttered to the ground, he caught a glimpse of telltale, crisscrossing pink streaks. No wonder. Hasan hadn’t lied about that after all. 

His grip on the strings of his waistband faltered more than once and a soft snort didn’t escape his attention. Declan seethed through his teeth and slid the elastic down his thighs. Plaid fell atop soiled white. 

“Can I just… lay down?” His arms hung miserably by his sides.

“Are your briefs wet?” 

Declan squeezed his eyes shut.  

“Then you have your answer, sweetheart.”

He didn’t open them until he’d cast his underwear aside. Even then, Hasan didn’t bother readjusting their gaze.

His jaw clenched. He was entirely unrestrained, aside from the limitations his injuries presented. Hasan was strong, yes, but not enough to keep him from fighting. It would be difficult for them to take full advantage in this state. Declan would be fine.

He stepped forward on the pads of his feet, shimmying between Hasan and the coffee table until he had enough room to sit without touching.

“Lay down, Dec,” they purred. Their hand cradled the back of his neck and pinched the muscles there in a rough imitation of a massage. Declan’s hesitation was the only excuse they needed to trail down to an angry welt and-

“No,” he jolted. “Don’t. They’re bad enough already.”

“Then you know what to do.”

Declan swallowed. He lifted his legs onto the sofa one at a time and let his weakness take him the rest of the way down, head landing square in Hasan’s lap. 

Nakedness against fabric wasn’t new. But it only made sense sandwiched there by another warm body, lighting him up in ways he hardly dared to voice. 

Alone, it was all too clear that he didn’t belong. Fabric that always melted away into sensation was now his main focus as it pressed into skin he never dared expose. Skin that reacted to the change.

Declan ached to squirm, find any position that bothered him less, but he knew what Hasan would say. What they would do.

He had just slid a hand down to cover himself when Hasan began working their fingers through his hair. Despite its dampness and length, they still encountered snarls that they pulled out none-too-tenderly. When Declan turned to hide a wince against their sweatpants, that grip turned fierce and twisting.

“Don’t be like that, darling… Let me see the pretty face I brought you here for,” Hasan pouted. There was no choice but to gasp, let his head back up, and fight his shoulders’ urge to press his back against the cushions. 

“Haven’t I given you enough?” It was harder to speak laying down, what with the water probably sloshing about in his lungs. It came out breathy and strained.

“I don’t think there is such a thing,” Hasan countered with a wistful sigh. “I really haven’t asked much of you, yet.”

“Haven’t you? Asking me to accept being kidnapped is a pretty big deal. Especially when the alternative apparently involves, you know, more torture.” That word was arduous to spit out, no matter how often he said it. 

“So you would deem it torture, then? Fascinating.”

They twirled a strand of his hair around their finger and Declan struggled to make heads or tails of that. He was here to be tortured, whether physically or mentally, so why… Fragments weaved a story back together in his mind.

“That- the CIA did that in 2008?”

“Starting in 2001, actually, as a reaction to 9/11.” 

“So you lied?!” He reared up, but Hasan held him down by the forehead.

“They didn’t admit it until 2008, Dec. I was entirely truthful.” 

“Whatever, I-I- just- you said it was debated. As in- if it was actually… You know.” 

“Yes. I do. It was–and still may be–hotly debated. The technique is called waterboarding. You’ve heard the word before, yes?” Declan nodded, heart pounding. He had. In jokes or circumstances he hadn’t cared to understand. “It’s a way to simulate drowning without all the dangers usually associated.”

“I was drowning.”

“Your brain and lungs certainly thought so. And that’s the trick: no matter how much you know going in, you can’t dim that instinct. So it got confessions. It implicated suspects. They’d have said anything to make that stop.”

Declan’s ears were ringing.

“But my hurt. That’s real. You tortured me.”

“And some people might never believe you.”

He went to push himself up for a second time and now the stun gun was pressing under his collarbones, dipping with every ragged breath.

“I believe you, Dec,” Hasan said. “How about you have a drink?”

“Fucking- I don’t care-!” Declan only saw their thumb move when it was too late.

A sharp wave punched into him, held, and left him sprawled breathless across Hasan’s thighs. 

“Shit-hhhhh…”

“That’s enough. I can only tolerate so much misbehavior.” They leaned forward and grabbed something off a cupholder. A travel mug? Its straw pressed to his lips. “Now drink. I’m not making you dinner tonight.”

“What’s-”

The prongs reignited for just a second and Declan’s teeth snapped shut on his tongue. 

“Drink it or get shocked again. Simple enough for you?”

Clumsy lips found the straw and pursed around it, surprised when they pulled up warm, salty broth. Declan couldn’t help the relief that spread as each sip warmed him from within.

“See? Not so bad after all.” Hasan held onto a wry smile despite their threats.

He urged himself to slow down, but it was all gone in a matter of minutes. In fact, he’d just started to relax when something struck him as strange.

“I’m… I’m not sure I’m feeling well, Hasan.” That smile only spread with his words. 

“I just tortured you, hon. You’re not supposed to feel well.”

“No, like, something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.” 

But his words were ignored in favor of settling him down on his side and, to his horror, being pulled against Hasan.

“Oh, I didn’t think it’d work that fast. Should’ve dosed you lower after all.”

Declan’s stomach dropped. 

“You- you fucking-”

“Drugged you? You act like this is a surprise, Dec.” They held him firmer, even as his struggles lost steam. “Did you really believe things were so simple? That getting a few untainted meals meant you were in the clear?”

“Please. Please don’t, please!”

“Oh, it’s already in there. Drank it up ever so greedily, didn’t you?” Their hands rubbed over him with the praise. His chest, his sides, his neck.

“Not- not that! I- Hasan please!”

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll see you again in the morning, dear.”

Next chapter: August 13th, 2025

~~~

Tag list: @as-a-matter-of-whump @suspicious-whumping-egg @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @anevilweevil @insane2core @days-on-the-road @whumpedydump

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Places To Punch A Motherfucker:

Everyone!!! Please! Punch your whumpee's in the diaphragm! It's a lot more sensitive and if you hit it in the right spot you'll knock the wind out of them!

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Boa do you have any playlist recs for whump music/H&D songs?

ooohhHHHHH Weevil you are in for a TREAT! I hope you have Spotify!

These also happen to be my writing playlists whenever I'm craving non-instrumental background music. They really get me in the H&D mood.

BTW, I make my character and story playlists with music that envelops their traits and personality, not the music they would actually listen to <333 So in each song I saw something (a lyric, a theme, a vibe, etc.) that reminded me of my darlings!

I wanted to make a list of must-listens on this playlist, but my best advice is to throw it on shuffle and experience it. Each song together has an essence that I can only describe as purely Hasan.

Declan's playlist see-saws between rage and despair, quite like his actual self. This is another one that, all thrown together, feels a lot like he does written down.

Declan also has the best assortment of 'whumpy' songs. Listen to the selections from Icon For Hire and Bastille for those.

The shortest playlist by far, but these are ones that I couldn't find a place for on either individual character playlist, but they fit into the dynamic between Hasan and Declan!

If you want to hear the explanation between any song in a given playlist, by all means ask!! I’m very passionate about the music I’ve curated for them :DDDDD

[b0amagination]

Naïveté

Hasan and Declan - Chapter 14 | Previous

Declan's comeuppance continues.

Content warnings: creepy/intimate whumper, captivity whump, waterboarding mention, 9/11 mention, temperature whump, forced to choose, forced stripping, nudity, forced proximity, fear of noncon, stun gun, drugging.

Word count: 2812

~~~

Consciousness came to Declan in pieces.

A breeze arrived first. Or more of a gust, by the way it crashed into him and set his senses alight.

Light peeked through his eyelids. Dim, even when he blinked them open, and foggy. The floor lamp was a lighthouse across the stormy sea. 

Rain-battered cloth rippled over his chest. 

God, he was cold.

Declan picked up his hands only to notice that they were shivering. Pressing them to his eyes drilled ice into the fragile tissue but a careful rub cleared his vision enough to see the box fan before him: cranked up to the highest setting, nearly quivering at the speed of its own blade. 

“There he is!” 

Declan screamed and whipped around. Hasan. Lounging on the couch mere feet away. Of course. 

“Slept well?” They retracted the recliner and leaned over their knees. 

“Fuck you. You absolute piece of shit,” he rasped, teeth chattering.

“Not right now. I think you’ve got more to worry about, actually.”

Hasan had changed clothes entirely, now wrapped up in a turtleneck sweater and sweatpants to match the apparent shift in temperature. 

“Yeah, so go turn up the thermostat. It’s freezing in here.”

“Sure.” Hasan shifted to get up but froze just as their foot hit the floor. “If you promise to stay, of course.” Their eyes flashed over, twinkling. The caveat. 

“Whatever. Yeah. And turn off the fuckin’ fan while you’re at it,” Declan huffed. If that’s all it took to be warm again…

“That wasn’t very sincere, now was it?” Their lips scrunched into a pout. “Try again.”

“Yes, Hasan. No more running. I’ll just be here, rotting away.” 

But that expression didn’t change, and Hasan didn’t budge any further.

“Say it exactly how I did. ‘I’ll stay with you forever, Hasan.’ Just like that.” They nodded and gestured for him to go on. 

Declan scowled and rolled up onto his elbow. He swore he felt his body groan with the movement.

“Fine, then I’ll take care of-” 

He’d made it no further than his knees before metal stuck his neck. Twin prongs, cupping his trachea. A hard swallow forced his Adam’s apple against them. 

“Down, Dec.” Hasan pressed harder, angling them just so. “I’d hate to stop your heart just to keep you in place.” It was what he’d assumed, then. A stun gun. Same as the one he’d pressed to his thigh for that charity stream. The same one that now lay abandoned in his bedside drawer.

The mark hadn’t faded for weeks. 

Declan brought a foot under himself.

“Down.” It crackled on and he shot back to the floor. “Good boy. You don’t go anywhere without my say-so.”

“Don’t call me th-“ 

They made a jabbing motion with the stun gun. His mouth clapped shut. 

“Stay where you are,” Hasan threatened and turned on their heel. Even as they reclaimed their seat on the couch with a phone in hand, that taser never left their lap.

They were back exactly as they’d started and so was Declan. A blushing frustration pumped blood through his veins but it only served to twist his senses with a sweat on his brow, too soon corrupted by wintry air. 

And now what? The mere act of kneeling had him heaving for breath in a way that severely worried him. Declan coughed experimentally and that set his throat aflame, running from windpipe to nose bridge in a flash of white. A full-body shiver chased it. 

He couldn’t get sick. Not when every other resident of this bastard had perished. Had the same happened to them? A deadly bout of pneumonia inflicted by water torture? Or had they been nursed back to health, only to be killed in a more personal manner? A cruel modus operandi. 

Maybe it was the shock in their victim’s eyes that intrigued Hasan most.

“Catching a cold?” 

Declan flinched.

“Don’t see how I couldn’t.” He rubbed at the goosebumps lining his arms. Seems like you’re trying to engineer one, to me.” 

“Sickness causes pointless suffering. I’d have nothing to gain from it.”

“Pointless suffering is all you fucking do.”

“Oh, right,” they grinned. “Go ahead and fall ill, then.”

Declan hugged himself and pulled his knees into his chest. He could weather this. He didn’t need to be shocked to learn simple self-preservation. So time passed. The still-dismantled clock ticked up five, ten, fifteen more minutes. Every adjustment of his aching muscles earned a firm clearing of the throat until he didn’t even dare to twitch.

Would Hasan chastise him if he tried to rub feeling back into his arms and legs? What were the exact rules regarding the fan? Would it feel less abrasive pointed at his back?

He wondered eventually if the shock would feel warm. If it might spread throughout the rest of his body and loosen his joints, even through pain. 

But none of that scraped the true root of the issue. Even if Declan’s body warmed, the clothes on it would steal that away. His shirt and pants would never dry, clinging to his body as they were, and his boxers were lurking beneath that entire conundrum. 

His heart panged and the hot-cold of it all flooded through him once again.

“Wasn’t I supposed to say something?” he sighed, meeting the devil’s eyes again.

“Come again?” 

Purposefully obtuse, as usual. But he pressed on.

“To get you to turn the heat up. You wanted me to say something specific.”

“Was I not clear enough? That deal was irrelevant the moment I had to force you to stay in your seat. I’m not rewarding bad behavior–especially not today.” Their glare was without a hint of anger, radiating instead the energy of a stern authority figure. It was enough to make some distant part of him wilt under the scrutiny. 

“Okay, then when is this gonna be over?” Declan raised his eyebrows, but Hasan’s attention had already dwindled. He eyed the purpled hue of his grown-out nailbeds and only grew more desperate. “I’ve got a few more panic attacks to fit in tonight. Only so much time in a day to despair over your horrible fate, you know.”

They finally looked back up, gave him a once-over, and adjusted their glasses. 

“You’re asking for another chance?” 

Declan grit his teeth and nodded. 

“That’s quite the demand. Because I’d like for you to kneel here until I let you sleep… To feel your body slow down in real time and let your consequences sink in. So if I were to let you out of that-”

“Just tell me if I was supposed to say no. I thought you were offering, for fuck’s sake!”

“I am.” Declan closed his mouth almost sheepishly, waiting as they laced their fingers. “And that is exactly the issue you’ve been struggling with. Controlling your tongue.” They tapped the syllables against their teeth.

“Your body, though. It can follow my orders even when your mouth can’t. If you can’t declare that you are going to stay here with me, then I won’t make you say anything at all. Let’s let your actions show that, hm?” They patted their thighs. “Come here. Lay your head in my lap.”

“What?” Declan’s response was a mere reflex. An attempt to deny their words and alter his options. But he didn’t want to hear it given again. “Nevermind.”

“You heard me loud and clear, Dec.”

He had. 

Fuck.

It would be so easy to let go of. To lay down, turn away, and try to work feeling back into his limbs until his penance had been paid. Hasan would see the ease with which he stripped his own rights away and only thirst for more. To take whatever he could give. Then everything he wouldn’t.

In sickness they could take full advantage.

Or refuse to touch him. Or refuse to take care of him. 

Or kill him.

There wasn’t much to decide, in the end.

Declan’s knees creaked with the effort and motion of standing. Even a lifelong inclination of sitting on the floor couldn’t dim the consequences of all his compounding conditions. He hobbled over on irritated scabs, relief growing as he stepped out of the fan’s path, and made to lower himself onto the cushions.

“Ah-ah.” A palm spread across his lower back and held him away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m doing exactly what you told me,” Declan spun around and hissed. “Don’t pretend you said something different now that I’m being agreeable!”

“I figured it would go unsaid that I don’t want my expensive sofa riddled with mildew.” Hasan pinched his shirt between two fingers, watching with displeasure as it dripped onto their carpet. “Your welts are bleeding, by the way.”

“Fine, I’ll grab a towel, but you better have-”

They grabbed Declan’s shirt in a fist instead and yanked him back.

“I didn’t leave any.”

“I’ll just-”

“Dec.” A sharp flick of the wrist turned him around. “I did not leave you a towel to dry off with.”

“What?” He shook his head and scoffed. “I’d have to- what, then? How am I supposed to fix this? My shirt hasn’t dried in- in however long I’ve already been here!”

“Then I suppose…” They trailed a finger under the fabric, eyes half-lidded when they flicked back up. “...you’ll just have to take it off.”

Declan’s heart squeezed. His ribs tightened their cage around his chest. Breaths stuttered. 

“I could… I could just…” 

“You could just do as I say, yes. Or you could kneel right back in front of that fan.”

“...it wasn’t that bad, a-actually. I was overreacting, I get like that when I’m cold,” he stuttered out.

“Then, by all means.” Hasan gestured to the wet spot on the carpet.

Declan took one step back. Turned his head to look. Slowly swiveled it back. Loss shone deep behind watery eyes. Loss of carelessness, of comfort.

Of naïveté.

He crossed his arms, held the t-shirt by its wrinkled hem, and reached to pull it over his head, but the angle shot flashes along the broken lines of his back. Instead, Declan tucked his elbows and stretched it out in an attempt to keep the pain from worsening. 

When it finally fluttered to the ground, he caught a glimpse of telltale, crisscrossing pink streaks. No wonder. Hasan hadn’t lied about that after all. 

His grip on the strings of his waistband faltered more than once and a soft snort didn’t escape his attention. Declan seethed through his teeth and slid the elastic down his thighs. Plaid fell atop soiled white. 

“Can I just… lay down?” His arms hung miserably by his sides.

“Are your briefs wet?” 

Declan squeezed his eyes shut.  

“Then you have your answer, sweetheart.”

He didn’t open them until he’d cast his underwear aside. Even then, Hasan didn’t bother readjusting their gaze.

His jaw clenched. He was entirely unrestrained, aside from the limitations his injuries presented. Hasan was strong, yes, but not enough to keep him from fighting. It would be difficult for them to take full advantage in this state. Declan would be fine.

He stepped forward on the pads of his feet, shimmying between Hasan and the coffee table until he had enough room to sit without touching.

“Lay down, Dec,” they purred. Their hand cradled the back of his neck and pinched the muscles there in a rough imitation of a massage. Declan’s hesitation was the only excuse they needed to trail down to an angry welt and-

“No,” he jolted. “Don’t. They’re bad enough already.”

“Then you know what to do.”

Declan swallowed. He lifted his legs onto the sofa one at a time and let his weakness take him the rest of the way down, head landing square in Hasan’s lap. 

Nakedness against fabric wasn’t new. But it only made sense sandwiched there by another warm body, lighting him up in ways he hardly dared to voice. 

Alone, it was all too clear that he didn’t belong. Fabric that always melted away into sensation was now his main focus as it pressed into skin he never dared expose. Skin that reacted to the change.

Declan ached to squirm, find any position that bothered him less, but he knew what Hasan would say. What they would do.

He had just slid a hand down to cover himself when Hasan began working their fingers through his hair. Despite its dampness and length, they still encountered snarls that they pulled out none-too-tenderly. When Declan turned to hide a wince against their sweatpants, that grip turned fierce and twisting.

“Don’t be like that, darling… Let me see the pretty face I brought you here for,” Hasan pouted. There was no choice but to gasp, let his head back up, and fight his shoulders’ urge to press his back against the cushions. 

“Haven’t I given you enough?” It was harder to speak laying down, what with the water probably sloshing about in his lungs. It came out breathy and strained.

“I don’t think there is such a thing,” Hasan countered with a wistful sigh. “I really haven’t asked much of you, yet.”

“Haven’t you? Asking me to accept being kidnapped is a pretty big deal. Especially when the alternative apparently involves, you know, more torture.” That word was arduous to spit out, no matter how often he said it. 

“So you would deem it torture, then? Fascinating.”

They twirled a strand of his hair around their finger and Declan struggled to make heads or tails of that. He was here to be tortured, whether physically or mentally, so why… Fragments weaved a story back together in his mind.

“That- the CIA did that in 2008?”

“Starting in 2001, actually, as a reaction to 9/11.” 

“So you lied?!” He reared up, but Hasan held him down by the forehead.

“They didn’t admit it until 2008, Dec. I was entirely truthful.” 

“Whatever, I-I- just- you said it was debated. As in- if it was actually… You know.” 

“Yes. I do. It was–and still may be–hotly debated. The technique is called waterboarding. You’ve heard the word before, yes?” Declan nodded, heart pounding. He had. In jokes or circumstances he hadn’t cared to understand. “It’s a way to simulate drowning without all the dangers usually associated.”

“I was drowning.”

“Your brain and lungs certainly thought so. And that’s the trick: no matter how much you know going in, you can’t dim that instinct. So it got confessions. It implicated suspects. They’d have said anything to make that stop.”

Declan’s ears were ringing.

“But my hurt. That’s real. You tortured me.”

“And some people might never believe you.”

He went to push himself up for a second time and now the stun gun was pressing under his collarbones, dipping with every ragged breath.

“I believe you, Dec,” Hasan said. “How about you have a drink?”

“Fucking- I don’t care-!” Declan only saw their thumb move when it was too late.

A sharp wave punched into him, held, and left him sprawled breathless across Hasan’s thighs. 

“Shit-hhhhh…”

“That’s enough. I can only tolerate so much misbehavior.” They leaned forward and grabbed something off a cupholder. A travel mug? Its straw pressed to his lips. “Now drink. I’m not making you dinner tonight.”

“What’s-”

The prongs reignited for just a second and Declan’s teeth snapped shut on his tongue. 

“Drink it or get shocked again. Simple enough for you?”

Clumsy lips found the straw and pursed around it, surprised when they pulled up warm, salty broth. Declan couldn’t help the relief that spread as each sip warmed him from within.

“See? Not so bad after all.” Hasan held onto a wry smile despite their threats.

He urged himself to slow down, but it was all gone in a matter of minutes. In fact, he’d just started to relax when something struck him as strange.

“I’m… I’m not sure I’m feeling well, Hasan.” That smile only spread with his words. 

“I just tortured you, hon. You’re not supposed to feel well.”

“No, like, something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong.” 

But his words were ignored in favor of settling him down on his side and, to his horror, being pulled against Hasan.

“Oh, I didn’t think it’d work that fast. Should’ve dosed you lower after all.”

Declan’s stomach dropped. 

“You- you fucking-”

“Drugged you? You act like this is a surprise, Dec.” They held him firmer, even as his struggles lost steam. “Did you really believe things were so simple? That getting a few untainted meals meant you were in the clear?”

“Please. Please don’t, please!”

“Oh, it’s already in there. Drank it up ever so greedily, didn’t you?” Their hands rubbed over him with the praise. His chest, his sides, his neck.

“Not- not that! I- Hasan please!”

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll see you again in the morning, dear.”

Next chapter: August 13th, 2025

~~~

Tag list: @as-a-matter-of-whump @suspicious-whumping-egg @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @anevilweevil @insane2core @days-on-the-road @whumpedydump

[b0amagination]

Hasan and Declan chapter will be here in just a few minutes :D! Thank you for your patience my dears!

[b0amagination]

Jail.

Jail to whoever decided "couch" and "cough" should be one letter away and operated by the same finger on the keyboard.

I refuse to lay down on a cough.

Or have a couch come out of my throat.

Blasphemy!

[b0amagination]

realizing i am essentially a god presiding over my creations. and i choose to put them in chaotic situations. anyways heres me picking one up

[b0amagination]

*pulling up to Uterus Drive-Thru*

Hi, can I get the uhhhhhhhhhhh stomachache backache wombo combo please?

Oh, and a side of writing with that?

[b0amagination]

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh, I think we both know that's not true."