#defining torture

[deluxewhump]

The Bahkauv: Communication

Fantasy whump, previous torture mentioned, nonhuman whumpee, captivity, multiple caretakers (carewhumpers is a fair definition too because of the captivity element), it/he pronouns intermittently, fear and reassurance

Prev

Masterlist

Stephan’s bandaged hand throbbed in time with his heartbeat. To avoid agitating it, he tried to stay still. Just before full dark, they had been joined by another traveler. Francis was curious, as always, and too friendly. Stephan would have preferred they told the man to be on his way, but the hospitality of his companions won out over his caution. A lone traveler was just as likely to be a fugitive and a cutthroat as anything else, especially in these wilds.

The visitor claimed he’d had a river trout for his dinner, but that it had been stolen by a clever fox that was trailing him as he headed southwest. They’d offered him food.

Stephan prodded their campfire with a stick. At least they were headed in opposite directions, he thought irritably. The flames danced higher, illuminating the stranger’s shadowed and scarred face. He was bigger than all of them, including Stephan, with an axe on his belt and greasy hair that looked like it had not been cut in some years.

“Kind of you to give a stranger food,” he commented, chewing a piece of their carefully packed rations. “I’ve come across naught but unfriendly types in these times. Everyone suspects everyone else of something. I suppose it doesn’t help that someone’s just killed the King.”

None of them responded. Even Francis knew better than to engage an armed stranger in talk of politics. Half the people in these northwestern hinterlands called the old King the usurper, and the other half accused the new King of the same.

“Happy to help a fellow traveler, if we can,” came Francis’s diplomatic reply. It was belated, and the stranger looked up with a chuckle.

“I suppose you don’t have any antivenom among you, do you?”

“What bit you?” asked Francis immediately. He’d probably ask to see the bite, Stephan thought. Take notes in his field journal like an obsessed scry. Always the scientist, even in moments where it was hardly appropriate.

“Not me.” The stranger nodded toward Stephan’s bandaged hand. “The big redhead. You get bit by an adder collecting firewood? Or was it that creature you’ve got there that you’re pretending is a particularly quiet companion?”

Stephan’s gaze flicked to the bahkauv before he could stop himself. It had heard, alright. And Stephan no longer had any doubts it understood. Until a moment ago, it had done nothing but stare sullenly into the fire, a foot farther back than the rest of them, hunched against the evening chill. Despite the fact that none of them had punished it for biting Stephan that afternoon, it was still afraid of them. Now it was downright terrified, chest rising and falling faster, dark eyes wide.

The stranger on the other side of the fire gave a self satisfied smile and took another bite of salt pork. “I thought so. I was almost certain. That mop of hair hides the ears well enough in the dark, but it’s the eyes.” He pointed two fingers up at his own, glinting with firelight. “Not quite right, are they? I can always tell your kind, leech.”

Francis was looking at their captive with open sympathy on his face. Stephan wished he could elbow him without being noticed. Arthur was steadfast, betraying nothing with his expression.

“Antivenom?” Stephan asked as if he were largely disinterested. His bandaged hand throbbed and ached.

“Yes. You’ll be needing it, come the morning. Or maybe afternoon, it’s hard to say. You’re tall, and strong. Maybe it’ll take a while. But a single drop’ll kill a draft horse. Just takes its time.”

“Are you a hunter?”

“No,” replied the traveler. He nodded his head vaguely north. “But I’ve spent time in the far reaches. I know their kind. They’re rare, but still a nuisance. They look human when they’re not feeding. It’s disarming, I know. I see it too. But one of these things will kill you as soon as look at you, and when it’s on you, it looks like a wild animal. They stalk like mountain lions, move like shadows. It prefers to get a man alone, preferably too far into his cups to defend himself. They call it a bahkauv. Did whoever sold it to you tell you that? That bruise is fresh, or it would’ve healed already. Did you hit it?” he asked Stephan. “For the bite it gave you?”

“I’m afraid we’re all exhausted,” Arthur said, standing and brushing campfire ash from his pants. “And if what you say is accurate, we need to pack up before first light and make the city as quickly as we can.”

The stranger rose to his feet, surprisingly agile. “I’ve overstayed. I’ll be on my way. I thank you again for the food, and I wish you safe travels.” He stopped to ponder the bahkauv, as if studying the impressive boy-shaped disguise it embodied.

“Take another piece,” Francis insisted, going into his own pack and drawing out more of their rations. “For the road.”

The stranger took it with a grateful nod and untethered his horse, leading it cautiously into the darkness.

“Stephan,” Arthur said when their visitor was out of earshot. “How is your hand feeling?”

“It’s a bite. It hurts. But not unusually so.”

Was his heart beating faster than it ought to, or was he just alarmed by the idea of venom leaking steadily into his blood?

“The city is more than a morning’s ride,” Francis said. “I doubt any little hamlet we might cross before then will have anything to aid a rare, foreign venom, either.”

“If that man was even telling the truth,” Stephan pointed out, partly to calm his own nerves. “We shouldn’t have mentioned our route. What if he was a scout for some thieves? Or hunters?”

“We’re too far from the main road for that,” Francis reasoned. “That’s just paranoia.”

Arthur was resolute. “We need to leave now.”

“It’s pitch dark.”

“The trail is good enough to follow in the dark. We don’t have much choice. If—“

“No.”

Stephan turned at the same time as his companions like they were all drawn by the same puppet string. The fire crackled. Insects hummed in the trees and on the thick forest floor, and all else was silent. Their captive had spoken. It was looking up at them with wide eyes, its left jaw and cheek dark with a bruise from Stephan’s fist.

Francis climbed to his feet and went closer, crouching to a non-threatening kneel a few feet away from it. “What did you say?”

They’d all heard it. No, it had said, clear as a ringing bell. What Francis meant was— did you really just speak?

It leaned back from Francis like it wanted nothing more than to bolt to the trees. In the firelight, Stephan could see its hands were shaking.

“It’s alright,” Francis urged. “Will you say it again for us? We were arguing, we didn’t hear.”

“No,” it repeated, softer. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Its got a fucking northern accent,” Arthur muttered, barely audible.

Francis was the first to recover from this new revelation. “If Stephan is going to get sick, we need to seek help. That help is far away, in the city.”

The bahkauv shook its head. “He’s not.”

“He’s not going to get sick?”

The bahkauv looked from Francis up to Stephan as if it were on trial. “No.”

“How do you know?” Stephan asked.

“Because…” its eyes shifted among them again, trying to read the situation, like one of them might suddenly decide to hurt it. “Because I didn’t use those teeth.”

Stephan raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t use teeth that have… venom?”

The bahkauv nodded cautiously. “Just these.” It lifted its upper lip to show a row of unremarkable, human-looking white teeth.

“And you have…other teeth?”

The bahkauv took its his hand away from its face, mouth in a somber line now. It didn’t seem to want to answer that. “I didn’t use them,” it said forlornly.

“Are they hidden?” Francis pressed excitedly. “Do they retract, or are they a… a part of that other form you take? Can you use them at will?”

“Francis,” Stephan hissed to shut him up. Though the harsh tone was meant for his friend, the bahkauv flinched.

“Why didn’t you speak before?” Arthur asked. “It would’ve saved us all trouble these past few days.”

“I couldn’t,” it answered apologetically. It tapped its throat.

“You lost your voice,” Francis said. “Screaming?”

“Or burning,” Arthur added darkly.

The bahkauv dropped its gaze to its feet.

“So I’m not going to get sick?” Stephan asked. “No venom, not even on accident? I won’t be angry with you. I won’t hurt you. But I need to know.”

“No,” it whispered without looking up. “I swear it, Sir.”

“I’m not a Knight,” he said, but couldn’t help the gentle tone of his admonition. “I’m no Sir.”

He was not pleased that he only had the warnings of a strange vagabond and the promise of a captive to consider, but the little creature seemed sincere. He’d begun to think of it as such, as a gently pitiable little thing, rather than an threat, even after the bite. It was that disarming face, as the stranger had said.

“Why didn’t you use your venom?” he asked. “If you have it, and it’s so lethal… why not use it in self defense against your captors?”

The bahkauv looked wounded, and more than a little fearful. “You… you’ve been so merciful. I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to bite at all. I’m sorry. Please.”

Stephan held his captive’s gaze, both bright and dark and not quite human, like some sprite sent to trick unsuspecting wanderers into a dark wood. Again he was struck by what seemed like desperate sincerity in the bahkauv. Its voice grew thick with the beginning of tears at the end of its last sentence, and its chin quivered for a moment in such a convincing way. It was either more cunning than the fox that took the stranger’s fish, or it was a sensitive, frightened creature that had just had a very unlucky run with man, who was both its prey and predator.

“Now that I am certain you can understand me, I’ll tell you again. I didn’t mean to hurt you, either. I’m sorry I hit you. I reacted in fear just as you did. I hope there’ll be no more of it between us.”

The bahkauv’s face colored and it turned its delicate head. A few kind words of apology had made it shy, Stephan thought incredulously. After all he’d seen at that hunters camp, the fact that it could communicate not only in basic ways but in sophisticated sentences, and feel something as simple yet profoundly human as shyness made him feel suddenly queasy. How long had the creature begged with words for his tormentors to stop? Did they punish it for speaking, or was begging just so utterly useless it had given up?

“Thank you for telling us,” Francis said. “You’ve saved us a lot of trouble.”

“Now I feel bad putting that muzzle back on him,” Arthur mumbled with an air of disgust. He looked to Francis, and Francis looked to Stephan. Stephan held up his hands, bandaged and unbandaged. “You three work it out.”

“You’re the one he bit,” Francis pointed out. “I didn’t want to muzzle him in the first place, but I conceded for your benefit.”

Stephan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Just the rope on the ankles is fine with me. I think we’re all sufficiently taken in with this… apology. Maybe we’re fools, maybe not.” He turned to their captive. “Do you have a name? What can we call you?”

It seemed taken aback by the question, and swallowed before giving an answer in that small, clear voice. “Rune.”

“Roon,” Arthur repeated. It sounded different in his Muirish accent. The bahkauv said it with a far-north R, the tongue lower in the mouth, like Hrune. “Do you want us to leave that muzzle off your face for the night?”

“What-whatever you wish. Sir.”

The bahkauv’s answer was intended to be deferential, probably informed by its time spent trying to appease hunters. In effect, it was just hauntingly true. They would do as they wished.

Taglist:

@paperprinxe @whumpsday @i-eat-worlds @handsinmotion @stormchaser819 @annablogsposts

@clickerflight @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud @scoundrelwithboba, @blood-and-regrets @morning-star-whump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @shiningstarofwinter @vampiresprite @thealchemistal @risk606

@alextries @distinctlywhumpthing @gr8butnotstr8 @a-formless-whumper @valravnthefrenchie @jumpywhumpywriter

@sordayciega @wollemi-whump @fleur-a-whump @tundra-tiger

[factual-flittermouse]

Because Bruce Wayne is sentimental and angsty, I think he probably has a string of pearls plant on the desk in his study

[samfag]

favorite sam whump moment?

FUUUUUUCK there r so many good 1s this is hard 2 choose

big fan of the whole panic room thing, maybe this is the obvious answer butttt its popular for a reason :-p

i do think they shouldve let sam die in there tho. just to torture dean a little bit 💚

[cactiaintracist]

Placing the Doctor in a very specific hell this episode not allowing him to ask questions or have doubt

[gender-machine-broke]

No I don’t think so. Also how did you manage to miss the point of both those movies so badly

[straight-to-the-pain]

I didn’t get the maths autism or the science autism or even the fandom autism. I got the ‘reads up on the legal frameworks for prosecuting torture at 3am then resolves to make a letterboxd list of films containing torture according to the UN definition’ autism

[sourtomatola]

Ruin gets to kill 50 billion versions of his abuser. As a little treat.

[the-blossica-fan]

Consider the following:

Vertin and Mesmer go to a McDonald's, ft. Mesmer thinking this is a trick or something that has a ulterior motive, and doesn't understand what she's feeling (she's enjoying her time)

Mesmer doesn't need to suffer to show how much I love her as a character, I just want her to experience normal things and have paranoia on it 🙏

(Speaking of, would Vertin/Mesmer be seen as a sign of cooperation between the Foundation and Laplace do you think?)

(At this point everyone is going to McDonald's 😭)

Is McDonald's paying you well for the propaganda?/silly

This is like the other side of torture for Mesmer. Like smelling something so sweet it gets sickening after the third breath 🙏😈

Who truly knows, we know Madam Z was in Laplace before the foundation, but not sure if they're that distant from each other. Maybe they're like Disney and Pixar.

Vertin simply asked Mesmer to accompany her somewhere, and Mesmer didn't say no. She was expecting something like a part of Laplace or helping her with the condition of one of the many Arcanists with mental or physical problems, per usual. But it was all proven wrong once Vertin took her to McDonald's.

They're both silent, waiting in line while Mesmer casts Vertin the most questioning side-eye ever, not even X has received this kind of glare.

It's like she's waiting for something to happen, like some kind of bad prank or for Vertin to say they're here for an Arcanist. Instead, Vertin asks if she wants a toy in her happy meal and if she wants coffee or tea while Mesmer stares at her like she just grew three heads.

She does get a toy in her happy meal, and coffee.

They choose not to sit inside due to the germs of the place and the running kids, they sit outside and share not a single word despite Mesmer looking increasingly more and more confused by the second. Vertin didn't say anything related to this and Mesmer felt like there's something she's missing.

Then, It's just Mesmer and Vertin eating some fries outside. She eats peacefully, but she doesn't really understand why her nerves calmed down so quickly if Vertin didn't even explain what was going on, she felt very conflicted about whether she should keep quiet and... Enjoy... The moment, or if she should question Vertin's brain.

Well, she just stayed quiet for a little longer after finishing her coffee and her food. She had no idea what to do with the toy she got so she gave it to Vertin (who only ate a burger).

In the end, after a long session of questioning, Vertin admitted she just wanted to go to McDonald's and wanted Mesmer to enjoy something outside of her usual routine, so she did both at the same time.

Mesmer is not going back though, that place was too packed, uncomfortable, filled with kids and germs due to it's fast food nature.

But she may or may not ask Vertin to get her some more every once in a while and just sit outside and eat in silence. It makes her feel strange, but not in a bad way.

[ultfan]

me when tumblr recommends me someone defending dr3 in the tags and i read through the entire thing and get mad bc they don't understand what brainwashing really is.

[snowstories]

Also it's been a while since I got on this soapbox so: periodic reminder that if you are writing torture you should research torture. Torture is pervasive and institutionalized in just about every nation on the planet; it is not some kind of ultra-rare once-in-a-blue moon occurrance, but a fact of life and a common source of trauma and disability. Torture survivors read your stories. Care about them. Research the realities and aftereffects of torture, as well as common forms of torture apologism.

[ancientforgcd]

Kiana's not sure if she is brave or desensitized

Pain stopped feeling urgent a long time ago. She still registered it, but not in the way she used to. It became more of a fact than a warning. A data point. Something to manage, not something to respond to. If it didn’t knock her out, it didn’t matter. She kept walking. Kept talking. Maybe joked about it if someone looked concerned. That was just how things were now.

People called her brave for it. Said she was fearless, unshakable, the strongest person in the room. She never corrected them. But she never believed it either. Fearlessness wasn’t the reason she didn’t react. Most of the time, it was because her body just didn’t respond anymore. The tension didn’t reach her shoulders. The panic didn’t rise in her chest. She looked calm because she didn’t feel anything until hours later, if at all.

It wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t trained into her. It just happened. Somewhere between losing people and holding the line for too long, her reactions dulled. The weight never left, but the sharpness did. She still cared (deeply) but her body didn’t show it anymore. And after a while, neither did her voice.

She noticed it most in comparison. When someone else froze during a fight. When someone cried over the fallout. When someone said, “That could’ve been us.” And she just stood there, thinking, Yeah, probably. No anger. No fear. Just acknowledgment. That was the part that scared her, not the danger, but the fact that danger didn’t scare her.

There were moments she tried to remember what it felt like. The old panic, the rush of adrenaline, the way her stomach used to drop at the first sign of real risk. She missed it in a way that felt stupid. Who misses fear? But it meant something, didn’t it? To feel it and push through it. To shake and still keep going. Now she just kept going. The shaking was gone.

And yet, she never stopped doing the work. She still fought like it mattered. Still stepped in front. Still took hits without hesitation. That’s what made it hard to tell - was that bravery, or just habit? Was she strong because she kept showing up, or because she forgot how to stop?

It didn’t change how people saw her. To them, she was stable. Steady. The one who didn’t break. But she didn’t feel stable. She felt like someone who just hadn’t reacted in so long, she forgot how. Someone who learned how to fake composure so thoroughly that even she couldn’t tell if it was real anymore.

So she kept going. Numb or not. Strong or not. Because at this point, it didn’t make a difference. The battle still needed to be fought. And if the fear ever came back, she’d figure it out then. For now, silence felt easier than trying to explain what was missing.

[maldupay]

people are of course free to feel how they want about things regarding isat and what parts of the story/characters/gameplay etc they like and dislike.. Hell i sure have things i dislike along with all my love for the game. but i feel like a lot of the grievances i've seen about the artbook are just taking something that's clearly a joke too seriously, in an extra content book that's just meant to show some behind the scenes and creators thoughts. Like komaeda's in this book ok lets chill out

[s2pdoktopus]

I love relationships that are not defined. It's probably my favorite kind of relationship between two fictional characters but man, a perfectly defined relationship is great, too.

[hezekiahwakely]

Started thinking about the Distortion's arc again. Dozens dead hundreds trapped in endless spiralling hallways for the rest of eternity.

[kavehayati]

Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭

[icharchivist]

wait someone posted this banter on my TL i'm going to have a stroke

why is Solas just casually throwing a bdsm joke at the Inquisitor i'm going to cry why is he like this