#Whumptober day 4

[small-sinclair]

Her Ruby Plains

Whumptober Day 3 and 4: Set Up for Failure and Hallucinatons 

Corrupted!Gambit x sick!reader  

Kinda prof-read. Kinda not. Let me know with you want more Corrupted!Gambit :3

“I warned you” and “You’re still alive in my head”. 

The dark purple smoke that filled Gambit’s lungs and opened a flood gate to his powers. He could feel the energy in the room and felt every type of potential each objected held. He could easily take down the light, take down this whole town with a snap of a finger! Remy just wanted to watch the world burn with one card at a time. Everything was a pawn in his chess game. He could take the Queen with just a single move from a pawn. Even if he didn’t win, the cards are always in his favor. A life lesson he learned when his powers went down the drain and spiraled out of control.  

Everything he touched, whether it be cards or exploding a charge with a car battery, he didn’t care. He’ll have all of Louisiana at his feet and in the palm of his hand. It’ll teach everyone—teach them not to mess with what’s his. He didn’t care how he made it there as long as he made sure he made a statement. His dark brown jacket worn and battered, cards be damned, and a greedy glint in his eyes was all he had to offer as he looked over the town burning below. He made this beautiful mess, this bright and lovely messed. 

Then he thought of your smile and how you would beam when he came to your little cottage on the outskirts of the swamp, just near the riverbed. There, his guard would fall and allowed your love to wrap him like a blanket. If only he could put your light into a bottle, he would take you wherever his darkness went. Looking at you with the brightness of the moon over the waters and marsh filled him with unspeakable thoughts of care and love. He didn’t love you like a partner; he loved more like a divine being. If you allowed him, the Cajun would build you and alter in the hidden parts of the swamp.  

With a twirl of his boe staff, he turned his back to the flames and headed towards your house, his home and world. As he walked, he scooped up the CVS bag of medicine. Before he burned everything down, you called him, slurring your words as you told him to get you some medicine. So, that delayed the firework show for thirty minutes because he couldn’t decide which one you needed and had to get help from someone to help. Out of kindness, he spared the CVS and the employees—just to show good on his word, he personally made sure none of his powers went to the corner of happy and healthy.  

He lit a ciggaret as he walked the path towards your home. With every step, his pace quickened until he found himself running. Inside him, something was building up that called for him to scream out in anger. Where this feeling came from was beyond him— 

“I warned ya that you’ll be too stressed over me,” he heard your voice say, replying a memory from a few days ago just as the sickness was starting. “You’ll get a headache one of these day, Gam-bees.”  

 He took his staff and charged it until it was burning a bright purple and red. He launched himself and used the charge to get him over most of the marsh. His shadow cast by the moonlight over the murky waters below. He could see all of Louisiana’s ruby plains and her beauty from this high up, and he couldn’t help be feel amazed how he could see it like this, see her in everything there was to offer. She would belong to him; she will belong to him...Louisiana waters and all.  

He landed lightly on his feet on the path leading up to your cottage. He never understood why you wanted a stone cottage out in the middle of nowhere, but he understood the honesty that came with it and the alone time. He just wished you would come to the town he's in and to the city lights, but that's not your speed. It never was your speed.

Gambit came up the steps of the wooden porch and went inside his trench coat for the key you gave him, which had a picture of 9 of Clubs on it. He takes the mail out of the mail flap on the side of the door and came into the house. He wiped his feet before heading to the back of the house to your room. As he walks pass the kitchen, he takes his coat off and hangs it on the back of a chair, gets a glass of water, and an empty bowl with a rag. If your fever hasn’t broken yet, he’ll have to help you.  

“Cher? You alive?” He called out before he came into your room. “I gotcha some medicine an’ water. Figured you...” his voice trailed when he entered your room until he was speechless. His red on black eyes filled with a glint of sadness as he looked over your shivering form. You looked so weak in his eyes, so frail and gone too far where he couldn’t follow. He didn’t turn on the lights as he entered your room. “Mon dieu, cher,” he whispers, setting the stuff on the nightstand. He place the back of his hand against your forehead. “Darlin’, you’re burnin’ faster than a gator on a spick.”  

You leaned into his cool touch, whimpering slightly. “Heya,” you managed to say, but your voice was so tired and frail that it hurt you.  

He sat close to you and brushed your sweaty hair back. “Rest, sunshine. Ya need t’get better for me, yeah?” His accent was thick and low as he spoke to you. He felt like he was telling you a secret. “Gambit brought ya some medicine an’ water. Can you sit up, cher?” He guided you to a sitting position and held you in close then resting your back against the wooden frame. “There ya are; good, very good.”  

“It hurts,” you whispered as his hand caressed your cheek. “Bones hurt.”  

“I know, I know,” he whispers. “But I’m here, mon cher. Gambit ain’t leavin’ ya tonight.” His hand left your skin and dug through the CVS bag then pulled out dark green medicine. “The lady said dis should help. Taste like shit but it works.”  

He opened the bottle and poured it in the little measuring cup. Gambit brought it up towards your lips and helped you take it. He kissed your forehead gently as a ‘thank you’ and put it aside to take the glass of water. “Slow sips, sunshine,” he whispers, guiding your hand up to your lips. “You’re doing so well, mon ami. Just need to take it slow.” He moved the glass away then kissed your forehead once more. “I warned ya ‘bout going outside without a jacket. Gets cold out here.”  

His lower hand guided you back into the bed, letting you rest under your blankets and stuffed animals.  

“...alive in my head...”  

“What’s that, darlin’?” He leaned his head down closer to you. “Gambit didn’t quite hear you.”  

“You’re still alive in my head,” you repeated. “Not gone or fighting...just being alive in my mind is enough.”  

“Sugar, I’m alive,” he reassured, letting a nervous laugh escape. “Nothin’ killed me yet.”  

“You’re really here?” His heart broke as your hand held his cheek. “Promise? No more fighting or nothing?”  

He wanted to tell you the truth, but there was this desperate look in your eyes that called him to stop, that called for peace. Gambit lets out a deep breath and nods, pushing strains of hair away from your eyes. “Yeah,” he answers. “I’m still alive and going good. Gambit promises, Cherie .” There’s honor among thieves and the honor of keeping their sunshine bright with hope. Every thief knows this, well, every good thief.  “I swear it.”  

He stayed near, sitting close to watch over you. His eyes glowed in the darkness as if it was beckoning any type of misfortune to enter your home while you rest. Born into nothing but has something to call home...that's who Remy was. Compared to your ghosts and to his, his wealth to your simpleness, your bright smile with daisy rings around your body to his poison ivy and thrones. If he had to protect your from himself, he'll do it all for you.

Everything was for you.

Ruby fields of Louisiana will belong to him one day soon, but he’ll pause that adventure for you. He’ll live a lie that your sick mind needs him to live. If you need him to be an X-Men and need him to be better than the villains, he’ll do that. If it makes you better and get over your sickness, then he’ll do it until the light leaves your eyes. Once you're gone, lungs and all, he'll rage like nothing has before. He loved you too much to admit it, and it filled his lungs with swamp water and leeches.

As you slept into the night, he found a chair and came close to your bed, holding your hand the whole night. He would sleep now and then, nodding off into the abyss, but jerked awake when you started coughing all too loud and all too long.

"I'm here," he promises, smoothing your hair every time, comforting you the same why you would. "I'm right here."

"Still alive?"

"Breathin' as if it's nothin'," he answers. He'll kiss your forehead, saying, "Go back to sleep, darlin'. Gambit ain't leavin'."

"Promise?"

"With all my cards and scars, sugar." Let you have a space in his mind. He'll let you dance freely and openly. Just say when and he'll open like a coffin in the middle of the highway: fast, loud, and eager. "With all my cards."

[sacredwrath]

P8. A little extra suffering as a treat

Technically closer to delirium than hallucination, but it's close enough!! I wrote it for day 4 so whatever it's fine hehe

Torture, stress position, salt in the wounds, suicidal ideation, death wish, medical inaccuracies, confusion/ delirium, dissociation, surrealism, touch starvation

The man leaves him there. Adrian tries to not fall apart immediately. He tries to acclimate to the pain. Feel it as just another sensation in his body.

"It's just pain," he mutters to himself "just pain, just pain... you can deal with pain" but he can't. He never can.

Before long he's whimpering, trying to hold in sobs, but not for vanity's sake this time. Every tiny movement sends sharp crystals burrowing into his wounds, aggravating the burned flesh. If he lets himself cry now he won't be able to handle the pain of it.

He can't take anymore

Since when has that mattered?

Uncaring tears slip down his cheeks despite himself

Can't do anything to make it worse.

His muscles ache. It's only been what? Like five minutes? He has no idea. He'll start shaking soon, jerking as his muscles cramp up. Cracks, now fissures in his composure, let in ice cold panic. It rises, choking off his air. Pathetic, powerless, helpless-

Stop

Where is he?

Brick walls, cracked cement, he digs the sharp edge of his chipped molar into his tongue

It's been an eternity, or maybe an hour? Less? How long is the man going to leave him like this? Part of him shouts in his head, warning him how unsafe this is. It's too far, too far for a stress position, he can't plan to leave him like this for long. Can he? But the man doesn't know what he's doing, he's new to this, and doesn't care if Adrian dies.

For the first time since coming here, he wishes he'd just thrown himself off the bridge. What's wrong with him? He knew this would happen. Of course it would. He needed it to. It hurts.

Agony throbs in time with the beating of his heart, pulling his focus back to his body. His muscles are trembling now, salt crystals tearing into the ruined flesh of his knees and shins. He can feel the crystals disolving in blood.

He tries to pull away, to escape it even if just for a second, heaving himself into the air. The relief is minimal, and soon the strain on his battered ribs force him to relax.

As his knees make contact with the salt again he can't suppress the noise that claws its way from his throat. He wishes the man would've just shot him in the street.

Soon, he's trembling in earnest, salt shredding his resistance like wet tissue paper, turning his whimpers to tortured sobs. It's not real crying. He knows that by now, but he lets his body have its release anyway.

He loses himself in screams.

Shrieking in mad, useless abandon, flaying his throat raw.

"Thank you," He whimpers soundlessly "thank you, thank you, thank you..." the familiar light headed feeling of his body giving up soothes him into black oblivion.

Another eternity passes before he realizes he's no longer choking on sobs. He's just choking. Air burns his lungs and his vocal cords refuse to cooperate. Each breath wheezes in and out of him in quick rapid gasps. He tries to slow down, but it feels like there isn't enough air in the room.

...

He's lost again.

Where is he?

Wandering somewhere dark. It burns.

It hurts.

But it always hurts

Please! He begs silently. Please, please...

Where is he?

He doesn't know who he's begging or for what, but he lets the word form a mantra in his head, chanting it over and over between bouts of obliterating agony.

Each wave unmakes him anew, leaving him raw and spinning

He's slipping again.

He can't find it. But what was he looking for again?

He desperately snatches at fragments of thought, but they slip through his fingers, burning him even as they dissolve to mist

Consciousness eludes him, but so does peaceful nothingness. He floats somewhere in between, expelled and anchored to himself by pain.

He must be.

It hurts

Please-

Where is he?

He can't find it.

Centuries pass.

He feels cool hands. He follows them

There's a voice too, but it speaks an unintelligible language. He tries to listen, but only meaningless noises filter down to his hell

It hurts the closer he gets

But the hands become arms and he feels himself pressed against another body.

It hurts

He clings to it

Please...

The arms leave him, and he cries out

A cool hand against his burning forehead.

Soothing, almost gentle

Then it's gone too, leaving him alone again in the dark with his pain.

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Tag list: @whumpacabra @turn-the-tables-on-them @kiichu @whatwhump

[serickswrites]

"Written There In Your Eyes"

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, electrocution, rescue

Whumpee's chest was heaving. They hadn't been able to get a good breath in for hours. Between the tightness of the metal chains around their chest and the repeated shocks with a cattle prod, Whumpee's bones buzzed, their chest ached, and they could think clearly.

And their heart was racing out of control.

"Why won't you just give me what I want?" Whumper had hissed minutes--hours?--ago.

Whumpee put everything into the smirk they threw Whumper. "Where's....the....fun...in...that?" It had taken all of their breath to get that sentence out, but the look on Whumper's face had been worth it.

They just needed to hold on a bit longer. They knew Caretaker was coming. The team was coming. They just had to hold on until the cavalry arrived. Just a bit longer.

Fortunately Whumper had left in a huff after Whumpee's comment. No doubt they were trying to calm themself down so they didn't kill Whumpee. They needed the information that Whumpee had.

Or so Whumper thought. Whumpee did not have the information. But they had lied, hoping it would lure Whumper out into the open and the team could catch them.

And Whumpee's plan had worked. Sort of. They just hadn't accounted for Whumper's determination to eliminate a threat with minimal effort. And taking Whumpee when they had been home alone sleeping had been their perfect opportunity.

Whumpee just focused on their breathing. Focused on trying to control their heartbeat. Focused on anything to keep themself awake. And alive.

Distant sounds of banging and a struggle came, but Whumpee couldn't focus enough to care. Whatever it was, threat or not, it would make itself known to them eventually.

A banging came on the door to their cell. If Whumpee had the energy they would have jumped. As it was, they barely lifted their head. "Whumpee? Whumpee? Are you in there?" Caretaker's voice was strained with worry.

Whumpee took as deep a breath as possible. "Here," they called weakly, hoping it was loud enough for Caretaker to hear.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker called again.

Whumpee closed their eyes, drawing on their remaining strength. Caretaker needed to hear them. "HERE!"

Caretaker threw the door open just as Whumpee slumped forward. "WHUMPEE!" Caretaker rushed forward, the team on their heels. "Talk to me, Whumpee. Talk to me."

"Y're......'ere," Whumpee whispered. They closed their eyes and swallowed. They held on. Caretaker was here. Caretaker found them.

"I'm here. I'm here. Hold on, Whumpee. Hold on a bit longer. Help is on the way." Caretaker nodded to Teammate One. "Get them out of these chains. I don't like their respiration rate."

Teammate One nodded and went to work while Teammate Two searched the room. "Boss," they said carefully as they found the modified cattle prod. "I think I know what's wrong with Whumpee."

That's good, Whumpee thought as the darkness that had been threatening to consume them inched ever closer. I can't breathe enough to speak.

"Got 'em," Teammate One said triumphantly as they unlocked the padlock on the coils of chains.

Whumpee sagged forward in the chains as their breath went out in a sigh. Finally.

Caretaker could hear Whumpee's rasping breaths becoming more and more irregular. As they looked at the cattle prod in Teammate Two's hand, their heart beat quickened. "We have no time to lose!" They scooped up the limp and pliable Whumpee into their arms and started to run. They wouldn't lose Whumpee now. Not after everything.

"Hold on, Whumpee, hold on," they murmured as they ran. "Hold on."

[friedrice-and-soysaucexd]

"You're still alive in my head"

Summary: Two souls torn apart by fate—an encounter that blurs the line between reality and memory

Word count: 1.3k

Gojou’s lips pursed, ariose sounds whistling from them. His lanky limbs stumbled throughout his barren house. Random knick knacks and ill-suited furniture were displayed throughout. He hadn’t paid much attention to decorating like he did in his younger days.

Spring was nearing, evident by the vivid green leaves and vibrant flowers growing throughout the countryside of Tokyo. Gojou Satoru’s favorite months, due to the lack of special grade curses resulting in less missions for the man.

Though today wasn’t one of those easy days, instead he was set up with a tedious task. His hands dug into a worn box full of old belongings. Fingers picking through junk, half his arm shoved through the middle. A sealed artifact was lurking inside the contents of one of these boxes. Boxes from his teenage days, apparently Gojou’s 15 year old self made a mistake during a mission he was on. God knows why it was oh-so important now.

His six eyes sensed remnants of cursed energy in the box his hands were currently stuffed in, though it was proving to take an effort to find. Though, oddly enough, a strange energy emanated off a certain item. Nothing like cursed energy, something softer and more gentle. As curious as ever, his hands wrapped around the object. From the mere touches, it seemed to have been paper. His arm pulled out of the tawny cardboard box. There he had got to take a look at what lay in front of him.

An envelope. Worn at the edges and yellowed, only by the slightest. In the corner of the envelope, lettering was etched in ink, curved and fancy. Something seemed so familiar, so recognizable, like the taste of one of your favorite foods. His large hands brushed over the softness of the paper, something just felt off. Something seemed not right about this. He squinted, turning his head to the side.

“From Suguru”

His heart sank. A cold, ominous feeling rushed down his spine.

No.

It couldn’t be.

His eyes ran over the words again and again. As if another hard glance would change the handwriting. Though, there the letters stayed, curly and lavish as his friend’s writing always was. A tightness stretched over his chest. Pressure on his lungs as he struggled taking in breaths.

A million questions ran through his mind at once, all torturing his brain for answers. Though there was one nagging him the most: what laid inside the letter? His fingers picked at the opening of the envelope, scraping the edge with his nails. Suspense filled the man, though his better judgment knew there was no situation where this ended well. Grief was a feeling he felt for the longest time, where was the need to feel it all over again? Though what could Suguru have had to say that a letter was needed?

His curiosity was too much to not give in. His stomach ached with intense nervousness as he tore the top of the envelope open. There he slid the letter out. The folded paper laid so pretty, seemingly untouched for how long? Hesitating slightly, his hands trembled as he began to unfold the letter.

“Dear Satoru, I know our paths will meet again, and I know you understand that, as well as the likely outcome of our next meeting.”

His eyes couldn’t bear to read anymore. Unknowingly, his jaw clenched tightly, teeth pressured on top of each other. Gojou gently folded the letter over, no intent on reading the rest. His heart beated roughly against his ribs, pounding over and over. The only sounds being his ragged breaths and those thumps of his chest.

Of course Suguru knew. What a thought that never occurred to him. The “prophecy” was always there, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what Gojou had to do. What Gojou then did. God, what was he doing here? What was this letter meant for? To torture Gojou so soon after those tormenting events. Those events that haunted him day after day?

His breaths grew more intense, he tried to slow them down but it was as if this letter had cursed him in some way. There was some part of him, far deep down, that pleaded for him to read the rest of the letter. His mind had done its best to push that voice down, to put an end to its begging. Though instead, it stayed, unyielding in its curiosity.

So there the letter was, held gently in his sweating palms. Pressure grew over his heart as he began to read the rest.

“Though before this, I need you to understand. There's no one else who has held this much meaning to me, in my life. You have always been my light, Satoru. My symbol of comfort and safety.”

His heart twisted and his stomach turned with each word. His breaths got caught oh so often in his throat. His burning eyes skimmed over the letters again, only adding to the physical pain growing everywhere.

“You have always been my light, Satoru.”

The corners of his vision began to blur, tears building in his tear ducts.

“God, Suguru” his voice whispered, consonants soft and gentle. The paper began to crinkle as the pressure his hands held it in grew. The only things that seemed to exist in the world was that letter and him at that point.

“Let it be known that I never grew animosity towards you though our different ideals. Why, I could never feel anything besides love for you.”

He shakily took a breath in. Reexamining the word “love” written in those damn ornate letters, curled and swirly. The world seemed to spin. “Love”, the word stuck in his mind, driving him insane. How could that be a word to describe their history? After all the death and pain that went on, after all the death and pain they caused each other. It stuck to him though, agony tormenting his heart every time he envisioned the word.

“Damn you,” his voice choked out, tears threatening to stream down his face. “Suguru-” He stopped in his tracks, as his eyes drew up, there he saw something.

“You were saying?” a faint voice whispered lightly in his ear. Long black hair framed the presence’s face, those familiar features morphed into a soft smile. That soft smile that Gojou grew fond of during his teenage years.

“You’re-” he stuttered, staring at the impossible sight in front of him, “You’re not real.” His six eyes sensed no cursed energy, he knew it was only a trick of his mind. Though he still longed for it not to be.

“Does it really matter all that much to you, Satoru?”

The familiar voice warmed his heart, the syllables of his name being spoken out by his favorite voice started his tears to fall down. He choked out a sob, understanding this was all but a ruse. Though the hallucination of his mind felt so perfect, he wished this fake presence of his friend stayed a little longer than he knew it would.

“Don’t cry,” Suguru’s voice rang through his mind, so gentle and perfect at the same time. His hand held out to Satoru’s cheek as the presence knelt down. Satoru leaned into the prickly sensation of the fake touch, weeping harder than before. An uncountable amount of tears fell from the bottom of his cheeks and chin, his cries vibrating throughout the house.

He was the strongest, yet he felt like the most fragile thing under the touch of Suguru. No. The touch of what he was pretending was Suguru. His hands reached out for the warmth of physicality, though, of course, all he felt was the coldness of the air in front of him. He sucked in a breath.

“Suguru, you’re dead! I-I killed you, with my own hands, you’re not real.” Gojou yelled out, his voice echoing through the halls of his empty house. For a moment, he waited, maybe expecting an answer, or a reason for how Suguru could truly be back. Though all he got back was the quietness of his unoccupied house and the air conditioner running too loudly. He choked out one last weep.

“Come back,” he muttered to the emptiness of the room. “Please... just come back.” But there was no answer. There never would be.

“Suguru?”

[reubyrd]

Whumptober No. 4

Prompt: Shock | “You in there?”

tags: Jegulus, hurt/comfort, shock (obviously), cuddles

a/n: the creative block has been real, and a little hurt/comfort was the perfect way to get out of it. This is fluffier than intended but what can you do.

Regulus spills out of James’ floo and collapses into James' waiting arms.

James has been pacing in front of his fireplace for hours, vibrating with worry and anxiety, so he doesn’t have to lunge far to catch Regulus before he eats the hardwood. James wants nothing more than to squeeze Regulus tightly enough to convey every single drop of worry and love and relief, but he can’t. Not yet. He has to make sure Regulus is okay first.

He moves Regulus to the closest couch to sit him down and check him over. “Are you hurt?”

Regulus doesn’t respond, his fingers curled lightly into the crooks of James’ elbows as he slumps forward.

“Regulus, hey.” James uses one hand to steady his shoulders and the other to push Regulus’ curls away from his eyes. “You in there?”

Regulus’ skin is clammy when James tilts his head up to look at his eyes. His pupils are blown wide and his gaze is unfocused, staring right at James without seeing him.

James’ stomach drops, but he breathes out a soothing, “Okay, it’s okay. You’ll be okay.” James runs his hands over Regulus, from his shoulders down his torso to his arms. He doesn’t find any injuries or blood, so he moves on to removing Regulus’ overrobes. He checks as he goes, but whatever happened to Regulus hasn’t left any visible marks.

Regulus doesn’t notice when James pulls away just long enough to kick off his shoes. He doesn’t react when James lifts his unresponsive legs up onto the cushions and climbs onto the couch behind him. James leans against the armrest and tugs until Regulus’ back is settled against his chest, then waves his wand to cast a simple diagnostic spell. He’s become worryingly good at it since Regulus came to him a month ago.

The spell comes back clean, no injury or lingering curses, just the aftereffects of whatever's happened. It’s a small relief, but it’s all James has. He sets his wand aside so he can hold Regulus as tightly as he’d wanted to earlier.

“You’ll be okay,” James says into Regulus’ hair.

Regulus’ only response is his breathing, quiet and a little shallow but still steady.

“It’s just shock,” he explains, his thumb stroking lightly against Regulus’ shoulder. He keeps murmuring a soothing stream of nonsense and reassurances, moving one hand up to Regulus’ throat where he can feel the rapid beat of his pulse. He doesn’t know how much time passes, just that he’s getting drowsy by time Regulus stirs.

“James?” he says softly, his voice worryingly hoarse.

“I’m here,” James says, cheek still pressed into Regulus’ curls.

Regulus is silent for a long moment, shifting again. He tucks his hands into James’ elbows, and James can feel how cold they are through his sleeves.

This, of course, is not allowed, so James takes the hand that had been monitoring Regulus’ pulse, smiling at the noise of complaint that follows, and grabs his wand to summon a blanket from across the room. He catches it easily, partially sitting up to drape it over the two of them. Once he’s satisfied he slumps against the armrest again and goes back to cuddling Regulus as tightly as possible.

Regulus doesn’t even pretend to complain about it, twisting his cold hands into James’ sleeves again. “How did I get here?” he asks quietly.

James stomach flips again. “The floo,” he tells him. “You don’t remember?”

Regulus sighs. “No.”

At least he still got here, James thinks. “What happened?”

Regulus takes long enough to reply that James thinks he won’t. “Bellatrix is getting more creative with her punishments,” he says eventually, and his grip on James’ sleeves tightens.

James tries not to choke on the onslaught of images his mind conjures. “Regulus…”

“I’m fine,” Regulus lies, and he doesn’t sound irritated, just tired.

“No, you’re hurt,” James corrects, he slumps down further against the couch so he can prop up his knees, bracketing Regulus between them like he can shield him from the world with his body alone. “And I really hate when you’re hurt.”

Regulus sighs. He doesn’t argue, but it doesn’t matter because they’ve already had this argument a dozen times. It always ends the same. Instead, Regulus asks, “Did you get the cup?”

“Yeah, I got it.” James grimaces. Being near slivers of You-Know-Who’s shredded soul always makes him feel contaminated and dirty. “We’ll destroy it tomorrow.”

“Just one left,” Regulus murmurs, his voice muffled with encroaching sleep. “Then it’s over.”

James hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to Regulus’ temple. “Sleep, Reg. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

James listens to Regulus’ breathing calm completely and even out, hoping with everything he has the Regulus is right and this will all be over soon.

[moondusted-ao3]

Whumptober Day 4 - Hallucinations

This is my post for Day 4 of Whumptober 2024 - Hallucinations, Sensory Deprivation

"Of course. The walls of the cell were completely soundproof. How could Peter have forgotten that? A bomb could go off outside, and he would have no idea. Being without his sight or hearing must be taking a toll on him if he was starting to hallucinate already. Peter curled back into a ball, shaking with silent sobs. He'd been through worse; he wasn't even being tortured yet. Not really. He just had to hold on until his family got here. He just had to hold on."

Ao3 Link

Warnings: None

Fandom: Marvel (Spider-Man)

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Word Count: 2659

     Peter Parker sat in the corner of the cell, arms wrapped around his legs, eyes straining to see in the pitch blackness. It felt like he'd been in this cell for months, but it must have only been hours. Everything was pitch black, and the room was soundproofed even to his enhanced senses. The walls were padded with some kind of fabric that absorbed any sound he made, and the room was so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat.

     There was nothing to do except sit with his thoughts, and he passed the time by imagining the Avengers coming to save him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see Mr. Stark now, blasting down the door with his repulsor and swooping in to be the hero. Actually… Peter strained his ears, trying to hear the faintest sound outside the soundproofed walls.

     Was that the sound of a repulsor in the distance? The longer he listened, the more sure he was that he could hear the sounds of fighting outside the door. If he focused, he could almost see the edges of the cell shaking. Help was coming; the Avengers were here! They must be about to break down the door! Peter knew it wouldn't be long before his mentor realized he was missing and came to get him. Footsteps echoed in his ears, heavy metal boots stomping down the hallway. They came to his door and… stopped. No matter how hard he strained, he couldn't hear a sound. Not even the faintest hum.

     Of course. The walls of the cell were completely soundproof. How could Peter have forgotten that? A bomb could go off outside, and he would have no idea. Being without his sight or hearing must be taking a toll on him if he was starting to hallucinate already. Peter curled back into a ball, shaking with silent sobs. He'd been through worse; he wasn't even being tortured yet. Not really. He just had to hold on until his family got here. He just had to hold on.

     Peter was walking home from school when his Spider-Sense pinged danger nearby. When he subtly glanced around, his eyes caught on two men in black suits on the other side of the street. One of the men made eye contact with him and frowned, leaning to mutter something into his partner's ear. Whatever these men wanted, his Spider-Sense knew it wouldn't be good. Luckily, he'd been taking "spy lessons" with Natasha and Clint. Those lessons were paying off now, he'd been taught how to lose a tail.

     Thinking fast, he quickly ducked into a crowd of people walking in front of him, slipping through them with a polite "Excuse me." as he nudged past. The moment he lost sight of the men, he ducked into an alley and pressed against the wall. The two men in suits walked by the opening a few moments later, angrily looking around. He pushed himself tighter to the wall as they looked down the alley. Frozen in fear, he held his breath until the men walked by, sighing in relief when they disappeared.

     A few moments passed before he could convince his feet to move and start back towards the street. His Spider-Sense pinged again, and something sharp dug into his neck. He quickly reached up and pulled out… a dart? It must have been drugged, his vision began darkening around the edges and a bout of vertigo almost knocked him off his feet. He tried to make a break for the exit to the alley, but his knees buckled before he could take a single step. A woman stepped out of the shadows, gait confident as she strode towards him. The darkness in his vision grew rapidly, but he faintly heard her say "Target acquired, bringing it in now." before he slipped into unconsciousness.

     Out of sheer boredom (and stress), Peter had taken to literally climbing the walls. Pacing laps around the floors, the walls, and the ceiling, counting his steps, was pretty much his only form of entertainment. Twenty steps to each wall, seven to touch the roof. The auditory hallucinations hadn't stopped, and his hopes were constantly rising with the sounds of distant repulsor blasts, only to be shattered when reality kicked in.

     What must have only been a few days of captivity felt like years. Years of no light, no sound, no interaction with any living thing. The door hadn't opened since he'd been thrown in here, and the lack of food and water was beginning to take a toll. His muscles were weakening by the minute, and his enhanced metabolism was acting against him. Usually, he would eat almost three times the amount of food a baseline human consumed and still be hungry. Now, with nothing else to eat, his stomach felt like it was planning on consuming itself.

     Peter sighed and dropped from the ceiling, carefully walking to the corner of the room, one arm extended to feel the soft padding of the walls in the darkness. Collapsing to the floor, he decided it was time to get some sleep. As he slowly drifted off to sleep, he did his best to ignore the sound of clanging metal and fighting outside his door. Logically, he knew it was just another hallucination, if only someone could tell that to his heart.

     Splinters flew across the room as the door burst open. Startled awake, eyes wide and heart hammering, Peter's eyes flew to the door. The light flooding in from the hallway blinded him briefly, and he had to squint to make out the form standing in the doorway. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the silhouette of Iron Man illuminated. "Mr. Stark?" His throat was dry and his voice cracked from disuse.

     "Hey, kid." The armor spoke. Peter sobbed, throwing himself towards his mentor with tears in his eyes. "Mr. Stark! You came! You reall-" Peter slammed into the wall, bouncing back and landing hard on the ground. Utterly confused and heartbroken, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Pitch blackness surrounded him, the wall unbroken. Peter screamed, sobbing and wailing into the dark, his cries muffled by the soundproof walls. "Please, please come get me." he pleaded as unconsciousness claimed him again.

     Peter blinked awake, wincing against his pounding headache. Icy fear ran through him when he realized he couldn't move, his arms and legs restrained to a chair with thick metal cuffs. No matter how hard Peter strained, his enhanced strength couldn't break the cuffs. Giving up on the restraints for the moment and attempting to distract himself from impeding panic, he scanned the room.

     The walls around him were stark white, tables covered what looked like medical equipment and papers scattered around, and screens next to him that looked like they were showing scans of his body. His shirt was missing, and several electrodes had been attached to his chest, wires leading to machines nearby. As he turned his head, he could feel wires tugging from even more electrodes attached to his forehead. Craning his neck, he could barely see tall metal claws that reached up and supported what looked like a giant metal circle.

     Just as the panic began to take hold, the door in front of him opened. Several people in white coats walked in, a familiar woman leading the group. It was the same woman who had shot him with the drugged darts in the alley. She wore the same white coat as the others, and as he looked her over, he saw a small pin on her collar. A small circle pin with a skull and tentacles. Hydra. Fear flooded his body, adrenaline making his hands shake. She smirked. "Hello, Spiderman."

     They knew his secret identity. A sense of impending doom set in, and he took a deep breath to attempt to calm his racing heart. Surely Mr. Stark would realize he was missing soon and come find him. He just had to stall. Licking his dry lips, he put on a mockingly cheerful grin. "Me? Spiderman? I'm flattered, but I think you have the wrong guy."

     "Snarky, aren't you? Just like your father." Did these people know his father? Peter's confusion must have shown on his face, because the woman sighed. She picked up a folder off a table, opened it up, and showed him the contents. It was full of pictures of him and Mr. Stark. There were pictures of them at a restaurant, one of him ruffling Peter's hair, and even a picture of them working on the Iron Man suit in Mr. Stark's private labs. "My dad? You've got it all wrong. I'm just his intern. I'm not even sure he remembers my name."

     She sighed, closing the folder. "Lying to us is a very bad idea, Mr. Parker. You'll learn that soon enough. We have big plans for you." She gestured to the men, who began messing with the machines beside him. Peter's heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and his hands began to shake. "W-what are you doing?"

     The woman smiled. "We're going to make you better. You're going to be our perfect weapon. And then, you're going to kill the Avengers." The men pressed buttons on their machines, and the metal ring descended to clamp on his head. Peter opened his mouth to try and stall, but all that came out was a scream as a shock of electricity burned through his skull. Pure agony coursed through his entire body as he seized and shook, clenching his jaw to stop himself from screaming. The machine paused for a brief moment and he gasped for air before it started up again. All thoughts fled his mind; all he could feel was pain. It continued for what felt like hours but could have only been minutes, streams of electricity flooding him in bursts. When it finally stopped, all Peter could do was heave for air. He shook his head to try and clear the fog that had settled in.

     "How are the readings?" The doctor asked, stepping closer to look at the screens. She frowned at whatever she saw. One of the men stepped forward, angling his screen so she could see. "His healing power is extraordinary. His brain is healing almost as fast as we can erase it. It must be double the Winter Soldier's. The machine isn't going to work, not without increasing the electricity, which could kill him."

     Sighing, the woman turned to look at Peter, slumped in his chair. "You will obey us, one way or another." Peter lifted his chin and looked her in the eyes in defiance. Coughing, his voice hoarse from his screams, he rasped "I'll die first."

     "No, little spider, you won't. But you'll be begging for death when I'm done with you." Turning back to the men, she gestured towards Peter. "Throw him in the pit. Maybe some time in the dark will soften him up." Peter fought as they uncuffed him, struggling as best he could, but the aftershocks of the electricity still coursed through him. Helpless, he allowed himself to be dragged away.

     Peter was huddled in the corner, hands pressed so tightly over his ears that it began to hurt. The sounds of fighting echoed inside his head. Every repulsor blast made his heart jump in hope, but they were never real. Visual hallucinations were becoming more and more common. Mr. Stark bursting into his cell to save him was a regular hallucination, and he broke a little bit more every time it appeared.

     Every time he saw Iron Man break down the door, Peter would run to him, sobbing, and every time, Mr. Stark would disappear right as Peter jumped into his arms. If his captors opened the door right now, he would fall to his knees and beg them for any interaction at all. Torture would be better than this. He didn't know how much more he could take. How many times he could fling himself into his mentor's arms, only to have him taken away again. He was so dehydrated he couldn't even cry, only dry sobs escaping him.

     Outside the walls, the faintest sounds of fighting echoed. Gunfire sounded, making Peter flinch and press his hands even harder over his ears. He rocked back and forth, muttering, "It isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real."The door burst open again, the silhouette of Iron Man once again burning itself into his retinas. Sobbing louder, Peter closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his legs. He buried his face in his knees, trying his best to ignore the footsteps approaching him.

     "Hey, kid." Peter couldn't stop himself from looking up at the sound of Mr. Stark's voice. Even though, logically, he knew this wasn't real, he couldn't stop himself from wishing. He couldn't stop himself from hoping. And every time he finally let his guard down and allowed himself to believe that this time, it was real, the hallucination ended.

     "Are you alright? Peter? Are you hurt?" Mr. Stark's voice sounded frantic as he stepped out of the armor, reaching out. Peter flinched, throwing himself away from his mentor. "Don't touch me! Please, please don't touch me. I don't want you to go. I don't want to be alone anymore." He sobbed, voice dry and hoarse from disuse. His eyes were wide, and he couldn't stop staring at the man. He knew that the moment he looked away, Mr. Stark would disappear, and he would be alone in the dark.

     "Kid, we're here to get you out. I'm sorry we took so long. You're not alone anymore. We're gonna take you home. " Mr. Stark's voice was thick with emotion, quiet and calm as if speaking to a wounded animal. "I promise you're safe now."

     Sobbing, Peter closed his eyes. "I keep seeing you coming to get me. Over and over and over I keep seeing you save me, and it isn't real. It's never real. I want to go home!" Peter shouted, hugging himself. "I just wanna go home…"

     "I'm real, Peter. I promise I'm real. I'm here." Slowly reaching toward Peter, he gently whispered reassurance as he stepped closer. "It's okay. I'm here to take you home." Peter's face was filled with resignation and despair as he watched Mr. Stark's hand descend. It looked like he was watching his incoming death, not his mentor coming to save him. He closed his eyes as Mr. Stark stepped closer, not wanting to see him disappear again.

     He gasped when the man's hand met his shoulder, incredibly warm against his freezing skin. "Mr. Stark?" He breathed, eyes opening wide and filling with hope. His mentor just nodded, and Peter lept from the floor, wrapping himself around Mr. Stark and burying his head in his shoulder. He shook with silent, dry sobs, and his mentor just held him tighter. They stood there for what seemed like hours, only interrupted when Captain America's voice echoed out of the Iron Man suit. 

     "You have the kid, Stark? We're getting swamped up here!" Mr. Stark started to move, and Peter panicked and held even tighter. "We gotta go, Underoos. I'm not leaving you, I promise. I'll never leave again." Peter flinched but nodded and slowly let go of Mr. Stark, terrified that he would disappear. His heart almost stopped when he let go, and it felt like time stood still for a moment until he realized that his mentor was still there and grinned.

     "Alright, let's blow this popsicle stand." Mr. Stark grinned back, stepping into his suit and heading to the door, checking behind him to make sure Peter was still following. It was as if the weight of the sky left Peter's shoulders the moment his feet hit the hallway, and the sheer force of his relief could have moved mountains. Finally, he was going home.

Thank you so much for reading!! Please let me know what you thought :D

[acidic-eye]

Whumtober day 4: The Ghosts of his past

Whumptober day 4 prompt: hallucinations

-

“Are you hurt?” Hyrule asked softly, walking forward slowly, as if approaching a wounded wild animal, which in a sense, he was a wild wounded animal, “I don’t think I can heal you but you have to get it treated. From what I’ve seen, it’s just been getting worse and worse, you need to take care of yourself wild.”

‘ I don’t have time to take care of this, I shouldn’t even be camping now, I need to get moving—‘ he was cut off by Hyrules hands laying themselves on top of his, he flinched away at the cold of the others hands, it’s just the wind, he wasn’t there. 

“ Wild stop. You’re injured and exhausted, you can’t keep pushing yourself like this,” Hyrule gently explained, a pitying look in his eyes as he gently rubbed his thumb over wilds marred real hand, gently rubbing at the spots that ached along his joints, spots he had tried to ignore out of nothing more then lack of self preservation.

“Why don’t you take care of yourself?” Hyrule asked softly, looking to wilds face as if searching for something he knew wasn’t there, any sort of emotion or self realization— yet there was nothing to find. 

-

or wild isnt taking care of himself and everyone scolds him for it in their own way.

[whumperer-86]

Mysterious lotus casebook epsidoe 30

[finn-m-corvex]

Whumptober 2023 Day 4 - Cattle Prod

Day 4! Not my best one by far cause this prompt was HARD but I did it! And I think I got some pretty good whump out of it too!

@splinnters tag number four! You're a trooper!

Words: 2.1k

“You won’t get what you’re looking for out of me,” Jay panted, head hung low over his chest. He could feel the blood leaking from the blow he had taken to the head, and he struggled to keep drool from slobbering down his chin. This man was not going to get what he was looking for.

Whoever he was, he must’ve had connections, because Jay couldn’t think of how else he and Cole would’ve been located and kidnapped in the middle of the night.

The man only hummed behind his black mask, putting down the now bloody brass knuckles that he had just used to knock Jay’s ribs in. Every breath made him feel like throwing up, except he had already vomited all over his lap. Jay tried to get a look at whatever other tools were being kept on the table, but it was no use, especially with one eye covered in blood flowing from a gash in his forehead.

“It’s only a matter of time before you talk,” the man said, reaching for another thing on the table. Jay couldn’t see it properly in the darkness of the room, but he heard the low whine of charging electricity as the man flicked a switch on the side of the tool.

He walked towards Jay and into the dim light of the one bulb overhead, and Jay clocked the tool immediately: an electric cattle prod.

Gritting his teeth, Jay knew that this interrogation was about to get even messier, but he couldn’t let his composure slip. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last that he had to endure under harsh conditions, and with any luck this time would be better than the time he spent on the pirates’ ship.

Bright blue electricity arced between the two prongs in a mesmerizing dance that Jay was more than familiar with, and the man had a look of fascination under his mask as he watched. “Pretty, isn’t it? Sometimes I like to hold it just like this and stare, because how could nature ever make something so beautiful?”

“Look in the sky once and a while and you would see it there too,” Jay retorted, his tongue bleeding where he had bit it after letting out a scream earlier.

Snorting, the man turned back to face Jay, and the ninja was suddenly very aware of how vulnerable he was when the prod was shoved right under his nose. He could smell the ozone, a harsh scent in his broken nose, and the light was blinding. “I’d watch your tongue if I were you, blue ninja. We both know that your lightning resistance doesn’t work with vengestone.”

“And?” Jay said, bored. It was a role that he knew how to play. “We both know you don’t have the balls to try it.”

“Oh?” the man asked, wiggling the prod as if it were a toy. “Is that a chance you’re willing to take?”

“Always.”

“Then that will be your downfall.”

Jay screamed as the man shoved the prod into his thigh, prongs shoved deep into his skin and sparking rapidly. Electricity ran up and down his leg, frying his nerves and making it feel like someone had doused him in gasoline and set him alight. The pain only lasted for a few seconds, the man pulling the prod away, but Jay’s stomach turned at the smell of burnt flesh left behind.

He cracked his eyes open to assess the damage. It wasn’t a normal cattle prod; standard ones wouldn’t have left behind such a large burn mark, angry and red and swollen on the top of his thigh. Lines snaked out from the injury, lines that he knew all too well: Lichtenburg figures. His leg was tingling, and his fingers couldn’t stop twitching behind his back. All of this felt way too familiar to how it felt using his lightning when he was younger: out of control, wild, untameable, and incredibly painful.

Goddammit, they weren’t going to make this easy for him, were they?

“Where is your master?” the man asked, holding up the prod. Jay’s brain almost short-circuited itself; that’s all they wanted to know? They were looking for Master Wu too?

If they were willing to go this far, to kidnap two of Ninjago’s most powerful heroes out of the shoddy campsite they had made in the middle of the woods, then he couldn’t let them get close to the others or Lloyd, or god forbid Master Wu.

Luckily, he knew jackshit about Master Wu’s location, but that wasn’t what the man wanted to hear.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Jay spat out a hunk of blood onto the floor at the man’s feet.

“Now isn’t the time to be cheeky,” the man chastised. He flicked a switch on the side of the instrument, and Jay watched as the light turned brighter and the arcs grew in size. “Where is Wu?”

“I have no idea where Wu is-” but Jay barely had time to prepare himself before the prod was shoved into his other thigh. The charge was definitely higher, and Jay slammed his eyes shut and screamed, feeling his leg jerk against the restraints. His back arched off of the chair as the man moved the prod, digging it in deeper. Finally pulling it out made Jay slump in exhaustion; only two shocks and he was already on the verge of quitting. He was out of practice.

The man quickly flipped the prod around, slamming the butt of the blunt side into Jay’s temple. “Let’s try this again. Where is Wu?”

His head was spinning, everything around him rotating as if he had spent too much time on a tilt-a-whirl. Blood dripped down from his temple and onto his gi. “I don’t know.”

Clicking his tongue, the man looked disappointed with Jay’s resistance, and Jay watched as he flicked the switch again and again and again. Full power. “I can keep going for as long as it takes for you to crack, lightning ninja. But can you last that long?”

“Are you kidding?” Jay gave a toothy grin, making sure to show off every single one of his blood-stained teeth. His ribs were screaming, his stomach was revolting, and every time he moved his legs he felt like he was going to pass out; but he had never been better. “Bring it on, tough guy. You haven’t even broken into the top five all-time torturers on my list.”

Because all of those spots would be held by the pirates, now and forever.

All his words did was make the man’s face contort in anger, and Jay braced himself as the low whine of the electricity grew louder and louder. This wasn’t going to be good.

He hated being right.

Powerful shock after shock, not just on his legs but on his arms as well. There were a few well-placed points on his chest, but the most painful one by far was when the man stabbed it into the small of Jay’s back, chasing as the blue ninja’s back arched against the restraints. He did actually pass out for a few seconds that time, quickly coming to when the man splashed ice cold water onto his face without any fanfare. It felt good against the bruises, and Jay felt some silent relief when it washed away part of the blood coating his face.

Maybe they were finally done, because the man pulled back and put the prod back on the table. Jay panted heavily, catching his breath, watching as the man picked up a pair of gloves and slid them onto his hands. He made a quick hand motion, and suddenly Jay felt two more pairs of hands on his arms and shoulders to hold him in place.

Jay’s fight or flight instincts kicked in, struggling against their grips and fighting to free himself. The rope binding him dug hard into his wrists, and Jay could feel the rope-burn setting in as he twisted from side to side. His legs wouldn’t budge, and he even tried to flail so that the chair would fall backwards and knock the other two off-balance.

One of them slammed something into the back of his head, dazing him and subduing him long enough to tie a blindfold around his eyes; it was tight enough to make stars swim across his vision,  and he started bucking his head to dislodge it, knock it off, anything to let him see what they were going to do to him.

This was the most violent response they had coaxed out of him so far.

Anxiety churned in his gut, looming large over him and pressing in from the corners of his mind. He had to get free before anything else could happen.

He wasn’t afraid. He was terrified.

“If that’s all it took to start breaking you, then I would’ve called them in so much sooner,” the man mused, and Jay heard the cattle prod even though the tool had been left alone on the table. His eyes darted around, looking for any sort of pinprick of light to give him his bearings. It was far too familiar to the pirate ship.

“Whatever the fuck you want, you’re not getting it,” Jay snarled, but even he could hear the tremor in his voice.

Chuckling, the man grabbed his chin, tilting it up and to the side. Jay grimaced when he felt eyes roving across his face and body; he knew when someone was admiring their handiwork. “So much pain, and for what? To protect your pitiful little master? How are you even sure if he’s alive?”

“Well, he must be if you’re making this big of a deal out of finding him,” Jay quipped, and he grunted when the man gave his chin a harsh shove.

“You better watch your tongue before I decide to cut it out,” the man growled, and Jay hated the way even the image of that happening made him start shaking. He couldn’t afford to show any more weakness in front of these people.

And yet, it only took a snap of his fingers for Jay to start screaming again.

Both of the men holding him had cattle prods of their own, one going for his abused thigh and the other going for his chest. Jay had nowhere to go, as trying to escape one only pushed him farther into the other, and he could feel the tears start to sting at his eyes as they turned the charge up. Before, the man had never kept it on for more than a few seconds, possibly afraid of causing critical damage since he was right; Jay’s resistance wasn’t nearly as powerful with vengestone on.

These men didn’t care about the damage.

Grabbing his chin again, Jay could hear the man snicker at the way his blindfold was changing colors due to his tears. “Ah, there we go. Just the reaction I wanted to see.”

He stroked Jay’s chin with a single finger as the prod in his thigh finally pulled away, but Jay sobbed as he was stabbed right in the small of his back instead. The smell of burning flesh assaulted his nose, and Jay could feel his hands clenching and unclenching as his muscles contracted and loosened and contracted and loosened and it hurt it hurt it hurt—

“Please!” he finally begged. “Please!”

In an instant the electricity was gone, and Jay collapsed in an exhausted heap; the restraints were the only things keeping him from falling onto the ground. He could feel where the skin had rubbed raw against the ropes, tender and bloody and burnt from the prods. Even the light breeze blowing from a vent above him irritated the wounds, but Jay had nothing to cover them with. None of his muscles were working properly, and Jay was paralyzed with something entirely different than fear as a cloth gag was shoved into his mouth and secured.

Looking proud of himself, the man stepped back, and Jay felt sick to his stomach as he realized what he must look like to his captor: a prize, something to be controlled and praised for when it did as it was told.

He was nothing more than livestock to these people, so how fitting that he was tortured with a tool meant to contain them.

“Well,” the man said brightly, “how nice of you to finally beg. Unfortunately, we have other matters we need to attend to. If you’re not going to talk, then maybe your friend will.”

Jay’s eyes widened. Were they talking about Cole?

“Get him up,” the man said, and Jay yelled into his gag when he felt the two men on either side of him haul him to his feet as if he were a sack of potatoes. “We’re going on a little trip. Let’s just hope that for your sake, your friend is more cooperative.”

And the only thing that Jay could do as he was marched out the door, legs shaky and dripping in blood, was hope and pray that Cole could hold out more than he could.

[whumpy-whump-fanfics]

Whumptober Days 3 and 4!

“Make it stop”

Whumpee watched as Whumper walked away for a moment, into the next room, there was a door in-front of them. Wide open, beckoning Whumpee to get up and run, despite how weak their legs were and and how numb everything felt to them.

They decided to do it. They shot up from the seat and rushed towards the door, watching the light get brighter and bright as they approached it. Tears rolled down their cheeks as they thought ‘I’m gonna make it!’ ‘I’m going to escape!’.

But they were met with disappointment as they suddenly felt an extremely shock in their back, they let out a shout as they turned to see: Whumper. With a taser in hand.

“Oh my sweet, sweet Whumpee, did you think I’d make it that easy?” They chuckled as they walked up to Whumpee, who was on the ground in pain from the taser digging into their back. Whumper pressed their hands behind their back and Whumpee could hear the sound of clicking. Hand cuffs.

Whumper dragged Whumpee back, away from the light, deeper into the room. They lifted Whumpee up hanging them from their cuffs on a chain, hot tears streamed down Whumpee’s face as they cried silently to themselves.

“Oh? Why are you crying my dear Whumpee? The fun is only getting started!”

Whumper said as the pulled the trigger of the taser once again, shocking Whumpee as they shouted in pure agony. Begging Whumper to stop, but they didn’t, they couldn’t, the sounds of Whumpee’s screams were so satisfying, he just had to hear them again and again. Until he was done. The final shooting pain of the taser leaving Whumpee as they sobbed , Whumper took them off the chain and threw them to the hard concrete floor.

“My, my, I’d say I think you’ve learned your lesson haven’t you Whumpee?”

Whumpee couldn’t respond, it was too painful. “At a loss of words Hmm? Well, that’s a shame, until next time I suppose?” Whumper said as they left through the lit door, shutting it behind them, leaving Whumpee in the dark all alone.

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 4- Shock

Ok I did as much research on this as possible and idk if it is actually accurate but I tried. Some of the stuff that is inaccurate can be assumed because they don’t know what they’re doing lol. Anyways, king of the Gerudo stuff! Centered around Orman, Ammon, and Terrako! Important to note that Ammon has a Sheikah prosthetic. Also fair warning, there is an electrical shock. Lofty, you know what’s about to happen….

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Terrako sprinted across the ruins, hopping when he reached a strange looking pedestal on the other side. Orman and Ammon slowly followed the little guardian, cautious of their surroundings. They were investigating ruins found near the castle, and Orman was surprised at how unique the ruins were. He’s seen many Sheikah ruins, and even the legendary Zonai ruins, but they didn’t look anything like this. Inside the ruins, there were strange lights that lit up the place, and even though it was filled with debris, it was surprisingly empty, save for the pedestal Terrako was at.

“What is this place?” Ammon muttered underneath his breath. Orman shrugged and walked over to Terrako, noting an electric circuit near a door.

“What is that?” Ammon asked.

“Dunno. Looks like it keeps the door open.”

“How is it still working after all these years?”

“I don’t know.”

Ammon put his hands on his hips and gave Orman a teasing smile.

“Why don’t you know anything?”

“Because I like to remain blissfully ignorant. Now come on.”

Ammon stared at the door for a moment before catching up to Orman.

“What exactly are we looking for anyways?” He asked when he reached the pedestal.

“Dunno, we need to investigate this place and report back whatever we’ve found, so that’s what we’re doing.”

“Investigate… investigate what?”

“Investigate something, I don’t know. Didn’t you listen to Rhoam during the briefing?”

Ammon scoffed and crossed his arms, looking around for a moment. “Welp, there’s nothing here. We can go home now.”

“Hold on now, we haven’t seen everything.”

Ammon groaned and spun around, staring down the empty room. “It’s just an empty room.”

“An empty room with technology still working! I’m sure that’ll be useful information.” Terrako beeped in response and Orman rubbed his little head. “See? The guardian agrees with me!”

Ammon rolled his eyes. “Just get him to record everything so we can leave.”

“Sure thing,” Orman put his hands on his knees and looked at the little guardian. “Ok Terrako, be a good little guardian and record everything so Ammon doesn’t blow a fuse!”

“Hey!”

Terrako made some beeps that Orman assumed was giggling, and he chuckled while Ammon huffed.

“Just wait until Rhoam hears about this. Harassment while on the job is no joke, you know!”

Orman smiled and rolled his eyes while Terrako looked around at some debris. He himself stared at the pedestal, having to agree with Ammon that there was nothing special of note here. He watched Terrako while Ammon continued to complain, curious at what the guardian was doing. Terrako studied every piece of rubbish and debris left in the ruin, and the little guardian found itself near a wall with a strange mark on it. Orman titled his head and walked over to Terrako, eyeing the symbol.

“What is that?” Ammon asked, not moving from his spot. Orman knelt down and brushed his hand against the symbol.

“You ask a lot of questions, Ammon.” He pulled back his hand to look at the dust on his gloves. Ammon scoffed and turned back around.

“I ask a lot of questions you don’t know the answers to apparently,” he grumbled to himself.

“It’s a mysterious ruin that has stuff we don’t understand, how do you expect me to know everything?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you know?”

“I’ve never seen it before!”

“Sounds like a weakness to me…”

“You’re a weakness to me.”

“No you are!”

Orman burst out laughing and Ammon did the same. Such ridiculous banter, what were they? Children? Terrako made a beep noise and Orman rested his hand on his head.

“What is it, little one?” He asked, and Terrako continued beeping, staring at the symbol on the wall. Orman narrowed his eyes as Terrako’s beeping got strange.

Suddenly, a bright light appeared, and electricity burst out from the symbol, hitting Terrako. Orman yelped and jumped back from the guardian as electricity spewed out of him. The lights in the ruin went out one by one, and all the technology started to spew out electricity and shutting down. Including…

Orman gasped as he spun around and saw Ammon’s prosthetic arm spew out electricity. His whole body convulsed and he collapsed to the ground, his muscles continuing to spazz.

“AMMON!” Orman cried, running to his friend. He grabbed his spear and brought it down on the emergency release button on the prosthetic, releasing it from Ammon’s arm. He ripped Ammon’s sleeve off and threw the prosthetic far away from both of them. “Ammon,” his voice shook as his hand hovered over his friend. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at the ceiling, dazed. He wasn’t unconscious, that was good, but it didn’t mean that the injury wasn’t serious. Orman listened closely to his breathing as he checked Ammon’s nub, cringing at the burns on where the skin was in contact with the prosthetic. That looked painful.

“Ok,” he whispered, “what do I do, what do I do?” He stared at the arm for a moment, then reached into his pouch and grabbed a bright bloom seed, smacking it on the ground to light up the area he was in.

“Ammon,” he said as calmly as he could, and Ammon looked over at him. “Are you feeling alright?”

Ammon frowned, taking in a shaky breath. “I—I can't feel my arm…”

Orman stared at him for a moment, then pursed his lips. “Which one? You’re kind of missing one of them.”

Ammon glared at him and Orman looked down.

“I guess you still have some of it…”

Ammon took in another shaky breath. “It feels… numb…”

“Well, I’m not surprised. Just focus on breathing alright? I’ll take care of this.”

Ammon nodded slightly, and Orman listened to his struggled breaths. That wasn’t good that he was struggling to breathe, but he could worry about it when it got concerning. He pulled out his canteen and began pouring it onto his burns. When his water emptied out, he grabbed Ammon’s canteen and emptied that as well. He then grabbed bandages he had in his pouch and gently laid them over his burned nub. He checked Ammon’s breathing again, and it seemed to have evened out.

“Ammon? How are you feeling now?” He asked.

Ammon shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. “Like sh—“

Orman jumped when he heard a loud beep coming from Terrako, and he spun around to see the little guardian beginning to wake up. He sighed, and looked down at Ammon who was beginning to sit up.

“It’s just Terrako,” he muttered, and Ammon nodded.

“Ok… we should get out of here before something like that happens again,” Ammon said, laying back down when he wasn’t strong enough to sit up

Orman looked at the door that they came through and sighed.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen any time soon.”

“What do you mean?”

Orman stood up and walked over to the door. “The door is shut.”

Ammon groaned. “Are you serious?”

“All the technology here shut down, including the door that you showed no interest in earlier.” He looked over at Terrako who was beeping slowly and barely moving. “I doubt he could open up this door in his state.”

“Wonderful… we’re stuck here…”

Orman walked over to Ammon and watched him carefully. He looked exhausted, and his expression was pinched in pain.

“You alright?”

“No…”

Orman rested his hand on his shoulder. They needed to find a way out, Orman would feel much better if an actual doctor took a look at him. Maybe princess Mipha or Queen Kailani would be able to help him. But he couldn’t do anything while stuck in here. He looked over at Terrako who began to crawl towards them, and he hummed.

“Terrako, do you have enough energy to call for help?”

Terrako beeped and Ammon sighed. “Shouldn’t he… save his energy… to open up the door?”

“It might take too long to do that. If we could call for help on the Sheikah slate, maybe someone can come for us?”

“Will that… even work?”

“I don’t know! Technology is weird, so it might!”

“Ah… well… let’s hope… so…”

Orman looked at Ammon worried as he began to drift off. He panicked for a moment and shook him gently.

“Hey, I don’t know if it’s safe for you to sleep, Ammon.”

Ammon groaned and kept his eyes closed, and Orman shook him again.

“Come on Ammon, please don’t fall asleep. I—I don’t know if I’ll be able to wake you up.”

Ammon opened his blue eyes and gave Orman a blank look. Orman sighed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you’re tired, but I’m not taking any chances until we can get out…”

Ammon sighed, annoyed and rested his head back, staring at the ceiling. Orman smiled slightly, then looked back at Terrako, who was barely moving. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was. They needed to get out to help out Ammon, but Terrako seemed to have used up all his energy on crawling towards them. Waiting for him to be strong enough to send a signal or to open the door would take too long, but what else was he supposed to do? And which one would be the fastest option? Orman groaned and leaned back against the rock, feeling his mouth drying up. Just great. He used up all of his and Ammon’s water to deal with the burn. They really couldn’t stay for long. Terrako beeped and began crawling to a wall, examining it.

“Hey, don’t send another electric shock through the building,” Orman warned. Terrako beeped again and clawed at the wall, and Orman gasped when some of it crumbled away. He shot up and knelt at the wall, pushing some of the rocks away. He felt a draft from a gap in the rocks and he cheered. “I think I found a way out!” Terrako made an offended beep and Orman chuckled. “Sorry. Terrako found a way out.”

Ammon cheered tiredly as Orman began moving the rocks out of the way, feeling the fresh air hit his face as the wall crumbled away, and soon there was a big enough hole for Orman to crawl through. He jogged over to Ammon who had his eyes closed, and Orman’s heart skipped a beat.

“Hey,” he shook him, a little too aggressively, and Ammon groaned. “I’m sorry, but I need you to stay awake.”

Ammon glared at him, lifting himself up shakily. Orman helped him sit up and he pointed to the hole.

“Do you think you could crawl through that hole?”

“Yeah, yeah I can do that,” Ammon muttered, slowly standing up with Orman’s help. But when he took a step, his knees buckled, and Orman nearly yelped when he caught him.

“Ok, just wait here…” Orman gave Ammon a pat on the shoulder before standing up and grabbing Ammon’s arm. He then took his belt and Ammon’s belt and strapped the exhausted Terrako to his chest. He swung Ammon’s arm over his shoulders and walked over to the hole.

“I’m fine, Orman. I can crawl through on my own,” Ammon said, sounding more sure of himself this time. Orman nodded, figuring Ammon needed to get used to his legs a little more. Orman went in first, sighing with relief when he was outside, and helped Ammon crawl out. He stood up, helping Ammon on his feet and looked at the castle.

“How are we gonna explain this?” Orman muttered to himself, thinking about what they found at the ruins. “The weird electrical shock, the symbol that caused all this… all of it…”

“Just tell Rhoam Terrako did it,” Ammon said, causing Terrako to make an offended beep. “Hey, I’m not technically wrong.”

Orman chuckled at the two and pulled Ammon’s arm slightly.

“Well, we have time to figure it out, come on, you need help.”

Ammon nodded and stuck close to Orman’s side as they began walking towards castle town. Orman kept a close eye on his dear friend, the feeling of worry never really going away even as he walked along the field. But he supposed that there was not much else he could do except to make sure he was well enough to make it to a healer. Until then, all he could do was worry.

[basicallyjaywalker]

Whumptober Day 4

Shock

Character: Nya (and Jay if you squint real hard)

Prompt: Cattle prod, shock, "You in there?"

Words: 1,327

[norbezjones]

Whumptober Day 4: Hallucinations (Romance The Backrooms)

(Posting this a day late!)

Look, in case you couldn’t figure it out from June Of Doom & Whumptember, I like whump.  So I’ll be participating in Whumptober when I have the time/energy to.  I may use all of the day’s prompts, or I may use some of them.  We’ll see what happens.

Like usual, I will be doing these for the characters of my story Romance The Backrooms, a liminal space otome with 5 main love interests.  This is an original work, not fanfiction.

Enjoy!

(I also included the fictober-event prompt today!)

Today’s Prompts: Hallucinations, “you’re still alive in my head”, “no, we’re not doing that”

Characters: Glarence & Adiel

Other Info: This is a Bad Ending AU where Adiel (somehow) died when he & Glarence were travelling together by themselves (before they met the others).  Glarence has basically gone mad, chasing after the hints of Adiel that are still alive in his head.  CW for injury & death.

_________

“Come on, Adiel,” Glarence muttered, clutching his wounded arm as he limped around Level 190, searching for a place to rest.

He could see the image of his friend up ahead, leading him through the school halls.  Glarence followed him into an empty classroom, where he closed the door and slouched against the wall, sinking to the floor.

“No, we’re not doing that,” Glarence muttered.  “I have to rest, Adiel.  I have to rest. . .”

His vision was getting hazy & unclear.  Glarence looked down at his arm and moved his hand.  He was bleeding more than he thought. . . Was this the end?

He looked across the room, at Adiel.  He sighed.  “I know you’re not real,” he said, closing his eyes.  “But you’re still alive in my head.

“At least now, I’ll get to join you where you are.  See you soon. . .”

[lowlylux]

Whumptober Day Four

Non-Consensual Body Modification

Whumptober list | @ailesswhumptober

Ao3 link

Masterlist

Love That You Shake

Dottoscara

Genshin Impact

Scaramouche wakes up and the first thing he notices is just how much pain he is in. He attempts to sit up, but is stopped by the thick pieces of leather binding him to the table. Scaramouche tugs at the straps with all his might, attempting to use any strength he has but to no avail.

He then attempts to utilize his own innate power, but it’s like it’s gone…as if never being there in the first place. If he was able to breathe, he is sure he would be hyperventilating. He continues his attempts to get out, hoping…no, knowing that at one point he will be free of whatever this is.

He looks down, noticing how one of his knees seemingly has been snapped off. That’s the problem with having joints similar to a doll, he doesn’t always feel what he should. He should be screaming in pain, yelling for whoever did this. He should be enraged that someone would dare to do this. He should be sobbing, as he will never be able to walk again.

But he doesn’t because he will be able to walk again. His joints will just pop back into place. He doesn’t get massive pain from them being gone. He’s not human. He’s a puppet, a doll for a being that threw him away as if he were nothing. He does have lungs…he doesn’t have a heart…so why does his chest feel so tight.

Why does he jump when the door to his prison opens?

Dottore, a man he is not quite the fan of, walks inside, his mask not hiding his grin. “I’d say the procedure was a success, wouldn’t you?”

“Procedure?” His throat feels dry as he speaks.

“The Tsaritsa has no use for someone connected to another archon,” Dottore says as if he were saying the most obvious thing in the world. “We just simply locked it away.”

“You had no fucking right-“

“You simply shouldn’t have trusted the first organization that gave you time of day,” Dottore says harshly. He brushes off Scaramouche, walking closer. “You’re still far more powerful than a mortal if that’s what you’re wondering. The innate power is still there, just not at the level it was.”

“But-“

“I don’t see the issue.” Dottore unlocks the shackles, allowing Scaramouche to finally sit up. The puppet watches as the doctor harshly pops his missing leg back into place. Silently he tests it, moving the joint side to side to make sure it’s comfortable. “The Fatui were the ones who unlocked your full capabilities, we can take it away.”

“But how can I be useful if I don’t have my power?”

“You still do,” the doctor reiterates, clearly annoyed with the conversation. “And when you are needed, we will unlock it.”

“We?”

The doctor grabs onto Scaramouche’s wrist, grinning as he does so, showing the puppet his hand. Engraved into his hand is what looks like a mask, similar to Dottore’s own accessory. “I simply can remove this and you’ll be all powerful again.”

“I don’t want you to have-“

“Trust me Scaramouche, you will.” Dottore grips Scaramouche’s wrist, increasing pressure as he talks. “I want you to shine like you should, and that means increasing your capabilities at a lesser scale. Don’t you want that? To show your creator how capable you are?”

“Yes but-“

“Then this is necessary…”

“I just wish you would’ve asked…” Scaramouche says, unable to take his eyes off the marking on his skin. He doesn’t know why…but he feels violated. He knows this will help him and his goal but that doesn’t mean he likes this whatsoever. But if Dottore is telling the truth…perhaps he can learn to be comfortable with it. “Nevermind.”

“Scaramouche,” Dottore says, grabbing the puppet’s face, dropping his wrist. “I will ensure you become a god, and then our deal will follow through.”

“Where I rule and you stay by my side?”

Dottore nods at the puppet as if he were a child. He…doesn’t like being looked down on like this, but he had no way to stop it. He feels as if he’s stuck, with a strange symbol on his hand that he didn’t ask for, blocking him from being himself.

But what is he exactly? Even if he didn’t ask for it…maybe it is a good thing? He doesn’t know. He does understand. But with Dottore holding his face, making sure he understands just how important he is to the plan, he thinks he can ignore the discomfort setting into his joints at a rapid rate.

He has always wanted to be useful, to have someone who believes in him. He has always wanted somewhere to belong…maybe this is it. Maybe pain should just be ignored to ensure the end goal. Maybe this is a good thing.

“You’re such a good puppet, you know that?”

[violet27writes]

Whumptober Day 4: Panic Room -Legend

Part 1 (here), Part 2 (Twilight), Part 3 (Warriors) of (10), Ao3 link

- Legend-

They were finally here. They could go home soon. It was almost over.

Dark Link stood in front of them, blocking them off from the golden portal on the other side of the room.

He was the only thing standing in their way, now.

The Captain, as always, was the first to act. He shot forward, sword and shield in hand and calm rage etched on his features. The other heroes didn’t hesitate to follow.

Legend held his sword in one hand, the other he used to pull out his bombos medallion from under his tunic. If this was their last battle, then this would be a no-holds-barred. He was going to kill his dastard and get everyone home. Get Wind to his sister. Time to Malon. Four to his grandpa. Sky to his Sun. 

Himself back to his home.

Without even having to glance beside him, he could feel that the others were thinking the same. Their steps fell in tandem. Their breaths in sync. One word repeated in their minds: Home.

They were almost home.

With the aid of his pegasus boots, Legend was the first to reach the Dark, who had yet made no attempt to attack or defend himself. It simply grinned in with the poor excuse of a young Time’s face, shifty eyes sending chills down his spine.

Legend didn’t hesitate. He lifted his sword and began to swipe at the Dark, a spell forming on his lips for the medallion in his hand. However, the Dark’s smile did not wane, if anything it grew. A familiar portal was suddenly in front of him, black and swirling purple, his momentum was too great to simply stop himself from hurling through it.

Legend’s foot hit the ground and all light disappeared from view. He stumbles, falling forward and barely managing to catch himself from hitting the floor face-first. 

Instantly, he noticed his sword was gone. So were his medallions. His jewelry. His magic reserves. Even a measure of his strength was sapped away by the portal, as those always left their mark and made him vulnerable.

The darkness around him felt thick. His eyes strained to find something in the pitch black to no avail. His own hands were hidden from sight though they waved in front of his face.

Where was he? Was this even a real place? What could possibly strip him of his power and defenses so fast? He ruled out the Dark, since if it was truly this powerful, it would’ve simply wiped them out long before their quest had gone anywhere past their first meeting. Ganon? No. Again, he wouldn’t have waited this long to wipe them out, and he wasn’t known for having strong magic like this in any timeline, really. But then, who did this?

Legend had no idea. There were simply too many variables and unknown characters that could lead him to a likely solution. The others had countless enemies they’d only spoken of in passing, or ones that maybe could have but had long-since been defeated. Or maybe this was something new altogether?

A string of curses followed this conclusion.

If there was one thing Legend desired over all else, it was knowledge, information, tactics, even. Knowing nothing other than ‘well maybe it was the Dark’ infuriated him. If only we could-

A light shone from behind him, enabling him to see again, albeit to a degree. 

“Link.”

He froze, a feeling of wrongness flashing down his spine. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t. But he turned around, and she was exactly as he remembered.

Her red hair flowed elegantly down her back. The knees of her skirt were dirt-stained. Her eyes were clear and strong like the ocean. Her soft lips were curved into a frown.

Marin. 

Not-Marin?

He shot to his feet. Now, he stood a few inches taller than her. He was a few years older than her now. For a minute, he simply stared, unable to speak, not knowing what to say. This couldn’t be real. She wasn’t. Yet there she stood in all her glory, looking akin to an angel having fallen from the heavens.

Marin spoke before he could, “Why did you leave?” She asked quietly.

Legend exhaled slowly. “I didn’t mean to, Marin.”

“You killed us.”

The knife flew through his heart, but he forced himself to keep some semblance of a level head. Besides, he had asked himself the same thing several times. “I didn’t know. And you don’t exist. Not really.”

“I trusted you. We trusted you. You betrayed us.”

Legend didn’t know how to answer her.

Marin clenched her fists. “You said you loved me. You’re a liar!”

He couldn’t help but to flinch at that, moving his thumb off from where he had been touching the ring. “I did. I do. But that doesn’t make you any more real.”

“You’re a failure! You killed us!”

“Marin-”

She stepped forward and slapped him across the face. “I hate you! Why won’t you just die!?”

It hurt less than her words did. Legend had thought he could handle it. There was hardly ever a time when he hadn’t gotten yelled at. By his uncle. By the castle guards. Even by the others at times.

But this was the first time he’d ever heard Marin yell. And she kept going on and on. 

He knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. She was gone.

And yet, he had so quickly been diminished to a sobbing mess, huddled into himself and trying to block out his hearing from all the words and insults and truths. He believed every word of it.

Then it suddenly wasn’t just Marin. It was also his uncle. Disappointed that he had failed him when he’d been ten years old. Then it was also the shopkeep he had stolen bread from when he was starving. It was Fable’s advisor. It was Ravio. It was Fable herself. It was Time. It was Sky. It was everyone he might’ve ever met.

They surrounded him, repeating over and over their painful words, but never physically getting close enough to touch him. Marin’s handprint still burned on his cheek.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ left his lips over and over again, hardly even sounding like actual words now.

Then, a music note flew through the air, louder than everything and drowning all else out. Followed by another, and another, until he recognized the tune.

Legend uncovered his ears, the voices were gone. Her voice had stopped. Only that stupid song remained.

That horrible, awful song played with sickeningly sweet tones and harmonies. The sounds came from nowhere and everywhere. The ballad of the Windfish.

It played through fully, leaving Legend frozen in anticipation as he waited. The last note rang out, followed by a roaring silence.

It was then that Legend realized the silence was the worst thing so far.

[fletcherwilbury]

@whumptober Day 4: "You in there?"

Warning for Physical abuse, asthma attack, chemicals, medication, dizziness, fainting