#grey area whumpee

[whatiswhump]

Silas Sevieller

I have probably posted snippets of this before. But now doing it in one fell swoop.

CW: Mention of past child death, psychiatric whump, needles, manhandling, possessive whumper.

-

A grin flickered across his smug face, begging the question, how was he enjoying this?

Sydney adjusted the grip on his gun, no less determined but certainly unnerved by the psychopath.

“What’s the matter Syd? Had enough?”

“Just give up, back up is almost here. You’ve done enough.”

There was that smile again, “Ohhhh, enough? I was only getting started before you interrupted me.” The young man, lackadaisically threw a knife so that the simple flick of his wrist sent it hurtling towards Sydney. 

If Sydney were any slower he would be on the concrete with a serrated dagger in his forehead.

“Jesus, Silas, what gets you off?” This was the end game, now Sydney just needed to distract. Silas Sevieller had narrowly escaped already four times this year and it was only March. He had made it to the top of nearly every list.

Silas betrayed no emotion to the question, he also knew Sydney’s game… yet it seemed he was interested in playing, “If that's the most interesting question you have to distract me than I've underestimated you. I'm dissap-"

Suddenly the room was flooded with noise, there was yelling from every direction. Black armored figures trained rifles all on one target.

The target only grinned a toothy grin and kneeled with his hands behind his head, he knew the drill.

Sydney narrowed his eyes at the young man, where was the fear behind that vicious facade? Irritatingly, he saw no spark or inkling of anything resembling fear. So he looked at the men holding him and gruffly ordered, “Go ahead, get him out of here.”

-

The first time he caught him it was out of brute force, Silas fought the fight but Silas won. Silas had never been much for physical prowess. As a child he would orchestrate the fights in the orphanage yard rather than engage in them.

The second time Silas escaped, Sydney caught him by wits. He realized Silas was so delighted by- so caught up in the game, that he could be lured in more easily than someone of his intellect would expect. Silas wasn’t entirely surprised this time, he had seen the signs, the telltale queues but Sydney was right, he was having too much fun. In the moment he couldn’t help himself. And anyway he had slipped out of their prison once, what would stop him from doing it again? Surely not the imbeciles that ran it.

But those same imbeciles weren’t very pleased with him when he was dragged back in chains. They cut his rations and put him in solitary. Guards started looking for excuses to force him back into place. The blood spilt hardly deterred Silas at first. And anyway he had spent most of his life alone, he appreciated the time to think and formulate. Being alone was comfort, not being forced to rely on someone else, being alone was safe. He could trust himself and no one else, he had known this for a very long time. So solitary suited him just fine.

But the third time it wasn’t so easy, he had become ragged and thinner, more desperate with every bruise until at last he stole away in the night, leaving chaos in his wake. Sydney had caught up to him a few weeks later… on that awful day. Almost the whole city block was levelled, Silas hadn’t wanted that. God, that was the last thing he wanted. Sydney found Silas standing alone in the wreckage, horrified.

“Silas, it’s done. You’ve done enough.” Silas rested a hand on his hip, poised over his weapon.

Silas whipped around, instantly disguising his lost expression into a coy smile, “Sydney! I missed you! You never came to visit.”

Silas couldn’t help but smirk, “Yeah well I knew they were taking pretty good care of you there, they held onto you for over a year this time!”

“Did they? Huh, didn’t get to have a calendar in solitary, figured it had only been a couple of weeks.”

“What did you think about in all that time?” Sydney was stalling for back up and Silas knew it once again. Sydney didn’t want to pummel him again like the first time. Something about it had felt… wrong? If that made sense. It was better this way, to outmaneuver him, mitigate the damage.

Silas glanced around himself quickly, almost imperceptibly, scanning for others. He didn’t spot anyone, it wasn’t too late.

“Well I guess I’ll just have to tell you next time we meet won’t I?” Silas wiped some of the blood of his forehead with the back of his sleeve and winced, “Until next time.” He turned to leave.

“SEVEILLER HANDS UP!” The order rang through the smoldering air and caught Silas in his tracks.

They really were faster this time.

Men in tactical suits emerged from different directions, all equipped with rifles trained on Silas. Sydney glanced back at Silas and flashed a grin.

“Silas, No!” Silas realized then what he was going to do.

But the gun had already been pulled out of his back waistband, he was holding it up, trained on Sydney.

“Don’t shoot! Or I’ll take him with me!” Silas yelled.

Did Sydney see a quiver in Silas’s hands? He wouldn’t actually shoot him would he? He had never intentionally killed anyone right?

Sydney didn’t have time to debate this, this had to end, before someone got hurt, or worse, they shot Silas.

“Silas, what would Julie say?” He had recently uncovered it in a file, in an interview someone had mentioned someone named Julie and that she had died. He was grasping at straws but he hoped it might distract him but for some inexplicable reason it felt embarrassing to drag some random woman's name into their standoff, like he shouldn't do it.

But perhaps it was the right thing to do because after a brief moment Silas’s face devolved into horror as he stared at Sydney, he immediately lowered the gun and then dropped it like an afterthought.

"You know about her?" He asked in shock.

The SWAT team members surged in and tackled him to the ground and he didn’t fight it. When they pulled him back up, wasting no time in getting him to a more secure location, his eyes were empty, like he had seen a ghost. He went away with them quietly not looking back up at Sydney again, now lost somewhere else.

Who was Julie? Another victim?

-

The coffee was shit today. Did anyone else agree? Sydney didn’t even feel like making a joke about it though, he was too distracted with his previous night’s dream. Not one to overanalyze the weird shit that his subconscious made a hobby of coming up with, he didn’t normally let his nightmares take over his days but last night’s still tugged at his mind. 

He had had this hair-raising vivid vision of Silas Seveiller in his bedroom... to murder him. But right when Silas raised his knife, he stopped and whispered, This isn’t what I want.

Sydney didn’t understand it but it kept playing on a loop in his head throughout the whole morning. By noon he decided the only way to prove to his subconscious that the maniac hadn’t escaped to murder him was to go see him. Seeing Silas locked up would put him at ease again.

But Silas wasn’t in prison this time. They had finally decided that he wasn’t mentally fit to be kept there... Syd wondered if it’s because the Powers that Be thought the prison guards might actually kill him this time. 

Now Sydney would have to go to a very different place to see his nemesis.. one that he did not look forward to.

-

“Rise and shine Seveiller. You gonna take your meds today?”

The young man squinted to see two men towering above him, instantly making him feel nauseous. One pulled his sheet back while the other pressed a paper cup into his periphery.

“Because of your little meltdown yesterday, this is your only chance.”

“Well I don’t want it,” he croaked with a voice still heavy under the sedation of the previous night’s dose.

And then they were gone. He curled back into a miserable ball not bothering to pull the sheet back up.

A door far away buzzed. The sheet was gone again. The sheet was already gone? There were hands on him. Strong grips pulling him off the bed, he struggled. He even tried to land an elbow but he wasn’t strong enough and they too easily pinned him down. His face was forced into the mattress and his backside suddenly felt colder. Then there was a prick of a needle and he felt the elastic waistband of his pants being pulled back up. Someone was guiding him back onto the bed.

“This is for your own good,” he heard.

--

Time passed... he thought.

“Won’t you eat?”

--

“Time for meds. Are you gonna take them?”

No, he thought.

--

Where was he?

--

“Silas?”

Who was that?

--

“Well he’s been amazinigly uncooperative, worse than most. Most patients start to behave and submit to treatment after a few weeks, once they learn the alternatives if they don’t. But not Mr. Sevieller, however you would probably know that better than anyone since you are the one that caught him.” The doctor spoke over his shoulder as he strode down the blue linoleum hall.

Sydney picked up his pace to keep up, “In what ways? -not cooperating, I mean.”

The doctor looked back at him for a moment, Sydney suddenly felt as if he were another specimen under the microscope before the doctor returned his attention in front of him again.

“Well the boy is very sick. He used to attack the staff often at first when he came into our care. Before we started to learn how to uh- take care of him properly. He’s broken multiple noses and plenty of other bones of the orderlies. He refuses medication, thinks he doesn’t need it. Consistently refuses food out of insubordination, attempts pithy escapes… won’t engage in therapy nor submit himself willingly to any kind of treatment.. The list goes on and on. However, recently, I’d say the rules seem to be breaking through to him.”

Fitz wasn’t surprised, it all sounded like the young man he had worked so hard to bring in. He still wasn’t sure if psychiatric care was what Silas needed but he felt relief every time he had thought of Silas in here rather than out on the streets causing mayhem…. But the one thing that gave him pause was the word attack… Silas could through a punch but normally not unwarranted, he might’ve fought them but he found it hard to believe that Silas himself was the physical instigator…

He pushed down this puzzlement though as they buzzed through yet another door and reached the end of a hallway. The doctor peered through the window in the door first and then moved for Sydney to see for himself.

What he saw was not what he anticipated. There was a young man in there alright but he barely recognized it as Silas, the only indicator being that shock of dark hair. A much thinner version lay curled into himself and lifeless in the thin iron bed fastened to the floor. His pale eyes were open but his gaze didn’t move from where it was trained on the floor. Silas’s unruly hair had been shaven which made the hollows in his cheeks and eye sockets stand out that much more. A fresh looking bruise bloomed over his right eye creating a sickly mirage of yellows and blues. His arms were folded into his chest and his mouth hung slightly open. 

“What the hell happened to him?”

The doctor looked slightly offended for a moment, “Were you listening? He is on heavy sedation while we train him to willingly take his medication. A lot of our patients require …  proper motivation.”

Heavy-handed then. Sydney didn’t try to probe any further nor apologize for his harsh tone, he just turned away from the window.

“His responses will be delayed or he may not respond at all. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Well, I’m not worried about him.” Sydney shot back a little too quickly, bordering on defensive, “This is just a visit to ensure that he was still here- no offense. Er just a peace of mind thing. We both know what he is capable of.”

“Yes, sure, well if you have any trouble knock on the window. The orderlies are close by,” The doctor instructed curtly and took his leave.

-

“Silas?” No movement.

Sydney stared a for a moment before suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t be there. He was raising his hand to knock and to be let back out when Silas spoke.

“I don’t want it.”

“...Want what?”

His eyes pressed tightly together, “Please- I don’t want anymore.”

His voice was so small, such a stark contrast to the last time Sydney had seen him. Visions of that grin flashed in his head.

“Silas, it’s Sydney Fitz, do you recognize me?”

His eyes opened and he slowly looked up, his eyes were so red, it looked like he had been crying. Silas... crying?

“Syd? What are you doing here?” There was recognition but it was subtle and it looked as though he was having trouble focusing on him. He tried shifting to sit up but it was a poor effort.

“Here in an official capacity. Sent to make sure you’re still here. I’ve heard about your escape attempts, you forget that we know you too.”

His eyebrows came together but he didn’t say anything at first, then at last he muttered weakly, “Ya, I’m still here.”

“They treating you alright?” Sydney didn’t know what else to say.

Silas shrank back and looked up at the window of the door like he expected someone to be looking through it. He ignored the question though and instead responded with, “Why am I here?”

“You’re sick, Silas. You’ve committed countless crimes that you were convicted for, you need treatment and care.”

“... Do you believe that?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, but I do know you did what you did and now people are dead.”

Silence.

“Where did you get that bruise?”

He stared back with no response.

Fitz pointed to his own eye in explanation.

After a prolonged moment Silas seemed to comprehend, he reached up to his own and winced when he found it with his fingertips, “.... You know me, I can’t help but fight it.” An attempt at a smile flickered across his lips but his tone lay flat.

Then the lock turned over and two very large men strode in. Silas shrunk back into himself, again. It was the quickest reaction Sydney had seen out of him yet. He pulled his sheet up further, a barrier.

“Please, please no. I don’t need any more.”

“Sorry sir, but he is on a strict medication schedule.” the nurse or orderly was addressing Sydney to apologize for barging in the middle of the visit. 

“Silas, are you going to take it or are we going to have to give you another shot?”

“No- no I won’t. I don’t need it.”

“Alright get up.”

He didn’t move except to flinch when the orderly stepped towards him and pulled him off the bed and in one move deftly pinned him down so his face was pressed up against the hospital linens.

One of the orderlies looked back at Sydney, “Sorry sir.”

Silas was struggling and doing a poor job of it. “No! Please don’t!”. It was almost too easy for the single man to hold him down as the other one uncapped the syringe that had been in his pocket. Then the first pulled down Silas’ thin hospital trousers. The other quickly injected the medication. Silas watched with considerable horror. And before he knew it the pants were back up, Silas was being lifted back on the bed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks burning with humiliation.

“Consider taking your pills next time.”

Then to Sydney, “Sir, let us know if you need anything.”

“Uh sure, yes”.

Silas looked back up at him with tears welling but he didn’t say anything. Rather he just pulled up his sheet a few centimeters and then trained his eyes down.

Silas stood speechless for a few more moments, unable to reconcile the brute force so deftly performed with a man he considered so impervious.

“...Silas, why don’t you just take it? It would be easier for you.”

He only shook his head, anger just barely visible through the misery.

--

Sydney couldn’t get rid of the feeling in his stomach all week. The fear of that grin had collapsed into images of a small frame in a small bed breaking down into itself, eyelids fluttering. It was sickening.

Against his better judgement, he found himself back at the institution the next week. That pit he was feeling in his stomach, he couldn’t decipher it. At last he decided that it was intuition, that maybe Silas had been faking it, planning another escape of some sort. To visit him again was the only foolproof way to keep an eye on him. 

“We’ve had to start force-feeding him this week, it is not our ideal course of action but while he refuses to eat, it is the only way. Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” The doctor seemed like he couldn’t care less as he was once again briskly leading Sydney down the hall. 

This time Silas was asleep when Sydney was buzzed in. His face was peaceful again, almost innocent if it didn’t have all the bruises.

Unused to approaching sleeping people, he lived alone after all, he cleared his throat first in an attempt to wake him. When it had no affect, Sydney uncomfortably muttered his name.

“Hey, Silas, you there? It’s me again,”

He only stirred slightly, so he tried again. This week, there were no sheets on the bed, instead it was bare and Silas donned only a straight jacket and thin cotton pants.

After the third time, Silas opened his eyes, he looked like he was trying to rouse himself from the grave. What the hell did they have him on?

“Syd?” he whispered as he found Sydney with his dazed eyes.

“Ya it’s me again, I came back.”

If Sydney didn’t know any better he could’ve sworn that tears welled in the corner of Silas’ eyes, after a few more moments he said, “It’s good to see you.”

Sydney scoffed, Silas would never say that without dripping with sarcasm, “Haha, I bet.”

At this moment, Silas seemed to become more aware of himself and remember the straight jacket he wore, he shifted uncomfortably.

Sydney gestured at it, “They’re really giving you the all-exclusive vacation package huh?”

Silas grimaced at first but found a bit of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “Yeah, they treat me like royalty here. They love me so much they don’t want me to leave.” 

“Now that’s the Silas I know,” Sydney chided back.

Silas shifted himself to sit up on the bed, it took longer than it should have and Sydney could swear there was an almost imperceptible groan at one point. How did struggling create so many bruises? He wondered.

“I heard you’re not eating?” Sydney had meant to interrogate his arch enemy on escape tactics, etc. but now that he was here, for some unexplained reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to. 

Silas wilted a bit, but then breathed in again and responded while cracking another smirk, “The food is shit, worse than what they make over at the prison.” 

“Silas, you never stayed there for more than a week before you escaped every time,” Syd chided back.

His grin curled a little tighter, “Oh ya, almost forgot,”

“Well don’t go killing yourself so soon, otherwise who am I going to fight every goddamn day?”

Silas didn’t respond as quickly, “I don’t know but hopefully the next fella has better aim.”

“Yeah maybe make it a little more interesting,”.

Silas had a coughing fit, it was deep and heavy, it sounded painful. The pallor on skin greyed significantly by the time he finished. 

“...You okay? That sounds nasty.”

He straightened himself up a bit, “It’s nothing, the doctor already saw me, just some bug they said.”

Sydney wasn’t convinced but Silas was getting more drawn by the moment, clearly he was getting tired. His eyelids drooped further.

Sydney inched towards the door, unsure why he was feeling something foreign and uncomfortable in his own chest, “You seem like you’re getting tired so I am going to head out, let you get your rest.”

Silas’s eyes opened fully again, “Are you going to come back?” that small, small voice again.

“Um, yeah, sure, I’ll stop by again soon if you want.”

Silas nodded forward a bit and then slowly lowered back down to the mattress, his eyes were closed before the door had locked behind Silas again.

-

“Um, Silas. I have to ask you something. That day… when I caught you-”

Silas wearily smiled and flicked his eyes up to the man standing above him, “Which one? You’ve got a few lucky breaks under your belt.”

“The day you threatened me with a gun.”

The small quirk of a smile dissolved as his face paled.

“I didn’t know who- it was just a blind attempt to stop them from shooting you… Who is Julie?”

Silas looked back up at Syd revealing glassy eyes with a grief torn expression, “Was- you mean was.”

Sydney watched his... enemy- deflate, his shoulders caved in and head hung low.

He blinked the heavy welling tears out of his eyes, not bothering to wipe them away, “She-” He closed his eyes for a moment, flushed with emotion, “She was my little sister.”

He looked back up to Syd with large dull eyes. 

Something panged deep within Sydney, jesus. All of the blood drained out of him, “Oh god, Silas, I’m-” 

“I -I was supposed to protect her. I was all she had.”

Silas choked on his tears that started to come quickly, “But I couldn’t- I couldn’t- save her.”

Blind grief consumed his face. He had never- Never- spoken about it. Not to anyone.

“She never doubted that I would keep her safe. I was ten and she was seven, we were sent to a new foster family. We were just happy to stay together. The father.. He was a monster. He would lock us in the basement for days at time, beat us. One night he came down and he didn’t want to hurt me like he normally did- he went after her-” Another involuntary sob tore its way out of him, “I tried to fight him off- but you know I was a kid- he was too big. He beat me until I couldn’t stand- She was so small- all it took was one hit in the wrong place. She suffocated slowly- I couldn’t do anything for her, I kept thinking that if I knew how to hold her or how to fix it- I held her down in that basement for all night- He didn’t come back down until the next morning. By then she had-” been dead for hours.

Sydney listened in horror as his arch enemy broke down in front of him. Before it occurred to him what he was doing, he sat down on the bed and pulled the agonized man into his arms. Another sob escaped him but he didn’t fight it, he went limp into the strong hold, sobbing into his chest in anguish.

Then the door buzzed, Silas jerked away from Sydney, a panic and crazed look on his tear soaked face.

Two orderlies and a nurse came stampeding in. Silas bolted to the further corner of the bed holding out an open palm, “Please no-” with a strangled sob.

“Silas, you are overwhelmed. You know how this goes, it’s for your own good.”

The nurse looked at Sydney who had also jumped up, “Sir, please get behind us- he’s unstable- not safe like this.”

Sydney’s confusion fell into anger, “He wasn’t going to hurt me- he-”

Another strangled sobbed escaped Silas as the two men grabbed him, forcing him down onto the bed. A third orderly appeared out of nowhere, he immediately began fastening the five point restraints that were previously tucked under the thin mattress.

Silas struggled like a trapped animal, tears still streaming down his face. When each limb was tethered, the nurse approached with a syringe held aloft as the men held his arm still.

“Shhh- it’s okay Silas, this will make you feel better.”

She administered the syringe quickly and the men stepped away. 

Silas turned his head, “Syd-” his expression crumbled again into raw desperation when his gaze landed on his face. But just as quickly as they had tackled him down, his expression began to soften and his eyes emptied.

Sydney was left standing there feeling like someone had wrenched his heart out of his chest.

-

Sydney found himself back at the gates of the hospital with a lump in his throat the next week.

“Mr. Seveiller requests that he receive no visitors at the moment, unless this is official business?”

By the time he got back into his car he thought he might throw up.

Against his better judgement, he went back the next week and was met with the same response. It became a ritual, showing up only to be denied. If he had really wanted to see Silas he could easily feign some official matter and force his way in to see him…. But Silas didn’t want to see him anymore. And could he fault him for that?

And then those tapes landed on his desk one morning, a few months after that awful day. Sydney hadn’t bothered to stop by the hospital in over a month. It didn’t stop him from thinking about Silas. He felt a pang in his stomach when he read the name on the file.

“Hey, Fitz? The loony bin sent over copies of the reports on Sevieller. You wanna see them?”

“Isn’t there patient doctor confidentiality?”

“Not when the patient is a real threat to national security, no. Although I doubt he’s much of a threat anymore… Someone finally figured out how to put that psycho in their place.”

“I’m surprised he talked to the doctors,” Fitz responded in a trained tone of apathy.

“Yeah, I guess they gave him something to get him going.”

A jab of… was it guilt? hit Sydney. They were drugging him defenseless? Even when dealing with someone as dangerous as Silas… it didn’t seem right.

“Sure. I’ll give them a look.” He sighed and tossed the flash drive on his desk, attempting to seem disinterested still. 

“The bastard’s really a wreck, crying like a baby.” The cop gave one last imperious chuckle and picked his coffee mug back to sidle up to another desk.

Syd’s eyebrows creased slightly as he plugged the flash drive in, nervous about what he would see.

First file was a video.

Two men were guiding a drowsy looking Silas into a small plain room. He stumbled clumsily and they pushed him into chair and cuffed his hands to the table in front of him and his ankles to the floor. It struck Sydney as a bit excessive.

“Mr. Seveiller, are you ready to cooperate with therapy today?” A voice from out of frame addressed Silas.

He resolutely shook his head no once, a fire burning in his eyes. Sydney recognized the smoldering flicker, he had seen it so many times before.

“If you don’t begin to cooperate, it means the medicine is not helping your condition and we will have to up the doses.”

Silas glanced at the camera before responding, “The drugs aren’t doing anything but giving me side effects. You and I both know that’s because I didn’t need them to begin with.”

“We’ve been over this Mr. Sevieller, you are in denial, we are only helping you here. If you can’t begin to see that, then your condition is worse than we  thought.”

“I am not in denial, I am not sick, I am just a very bad person.”

The voice hummed slightly and Syd could hear pen scratching.

“Write as many notes as you want, you won’t figure me out and I won’t bend.”

Silas stared down the anonymous man on the other side of the camera with unreserved confidence. He wouldn’t be tamed quite so easily.

The next tape was dated a week later. The men were guiding him back in but they walked more slowly. This time Silas held out his wrists to be fastened down. Then he regarded the other side of the camera with an annoyed grimace.

“Good morning, Mr. Sevieller. How are you feeling?”

He subtly rolled his eyes but elected to hold his tongue settling for, “Peachy, doc.”

“Have the new levels done anything to change your mindset?”

“Other than sleeping through meals? No. But you know, I enjoyed being showered by two burly men this week. An unexpected new perk,” Silas smiled saccharinely, daring the doctor to press further.

“I am afraid you can’t be trusted in the showers after… Monday’s incident.”

-

Two men were dragging him into a bare room kick and screaming. The wrestled him into a chair and attached his wrists and ankles to it like a goddamn animal.

“Do you want to be a good boy today?”

Silas wearily picked up his gaze to look across the table, a solid “fuck you” written over his expression, but he didn’t speak back.

“Well I have something to help you do that. Lucky you.” For the first time, Sydney could hear amusement in the voice behind the camera.

Silas’ expression wasn’t mirthful and ready to strike back like Syd had come to expect, there was frustration and exhaustion instead. 

Someone else came out from behind the camera, they held a syringe aloft as they approached they tethered patient. 

“No no no, get away from me. Don’t come near me with that-” Silas looked… scared?

“You don’t even know what it does yet,” the voice said from behind the camera, “If we agree not to use it, will you behave and talk with us?”

Silas aimed a look of pure hatred bore through the camera lens and to the person owning the voice. It looked like it took strength to shake his head no, just a millimeter. But it was enough.

A sigh, “Okay, inject him. And remember you had an option.”

Silas began to writhe in his restraints, desperately trying to create space from the syringe bearer. More people came in and attempted to hold him down to the table. Silas violently resisted throwing himself aas far within the restraints as he could, likely seriously injury his wrists and ankles in the struggle. At one point he managed to bite an arm and the headless body jumped out of the shot. Another nurse? Orderly? Slammed his head against the table then, temporarily stunning him.

“Do it! Now!” A voice rang out.

Whatever it was didn’t take long to begin working, Silas stayed limp on the table no longer moving, a stark contrast from the scene moments ago. 

“Okay, rouse him now.”

Someone took smelling salts for fainting victims and cracked them under his nose, a faint flinch was visible from his now still body. A strong set of hands then manhandled him back into sitting, pressing him against his chair again. And then checked his eyes with a pocket light. 

The kid squinted in annoyance but didn’t resist.

“Silas, are you feeling more agreeable now?”

Silas looked back across the table as if just seeing the speaker for the first time. 

“Yes sir?” He answered uncertainly, quietly. Even through the camera the dazed look in his eyes was visible. 

“Will you answer my questions and be a good boy?”

Silas remained locked on him, his eyes wide, “ Yes- yes.” He spilled out with uncertainty, as if part of him still knew he didn’t want to do this.

“We just gave you a special medicine that releases inhibitions, forces you to tell the truth, a truth serum if you will. You’ve been very bad but I think you can behave better now.”

Silas just stared at him.

“I want to start from the beginning. Your history. You had a drunken father and a promiscuous mother who didn’t take care of you, yes?”

“She tried to-”

“Yes?”

Silas nodded with his eyes wide, “Yes, she was out a lot. They both died by the time I was eight though.”

“And that’s how you and your little sister ended up in foster care?”

Silas suddenly looked confused as if he didn’t know how this man knew these things. 

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No- yes, the state took our custody. No other family.”

“And that’s how your sister died, in foster care. Did you do it? So angry at the world you had to take it out on someone else?”

Horror made the tenuous expression on Silas’s face drop, “No- no. I didn’t- I couldn’t- I couldn’t protect her-”

“From yourself you mean?”

Tears began to roll down his cheeks but he seemed to not perceive them.

“No, I didn’t- he did it- he-” He was tripping over his words, clearly horrified but mysteriously stuck in a dream where he couldn’t reason, couldn’t fight back and couldn’t stay silent instead of engage.

“You seem to not even understand yourself- sometimes the brain locks away trauma, things it doesn’t want to believe… maybe you need a higher dose next session to get the real truth.”

“He killed her- I didn’t- I didn’t-”

Sydney’s heart clenched so deeply or gut wrenchingly that he didn’t know if he could keep watching. He knew for a fact that he had never discussed with any one else other than him. Now to have it torn out of him… but worse… accused? It was sickening.

“It sounds like it could have been the beginning of your misanthropic reputation, after that you went to the Pelham Boys’ School, where you spent most of your time in solitary confinement for infractions.”

Silas was full on sobbing now, well beyond wondering how a childhood file could be unsealed, beyond the injustice of the forced interrogation they were trying to call psychotherapy… now in a completely detached state of agony.

“Silas, stop it. We are not done. Listen to me-”

But Silas wouldn’t stop, he was completely departed, sobbing and unreachable. 

“Fuck, you dosed him too high for the first time. Fucking waste of time. Take him away, sedate him and let him sleep it off.”

By the time the staff members were around him again, Silas’s tears had stopped but his head was at an odd tilt downwards and his eyes were hauntingly vacant. He didn’t notice when his wrist were unlatched, or his ankles (although Syd could see the angry red welts around each limb) he didn’t even respond when they began to drag him out. 

The voice swore a few more times and then the camera switched off.

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Birthday I

(Masterlist)

you guys have NO idea how excited i am to get to this section. this is a two-parter. enjoy :D

(Content: discussions of captivity, slavery, imperialism, illness, and colonialism. alcohol. some very slight dubcon.)

===================

He’d come back to Thales. They’d warned him it was tempting fate, but lightning never strikes the same place twice. And it was about time they did something with the castle. In winter, the frost shone delicately against the outer walls. It reflected the starlight out across the lawn, its colors glistening as if made of moonstone. 

It was Paris’s birthday. They would celebrate here. There was enough notice given to the staff for them to restore the castle to a fraction of its former glory, then almost enough time to manage the actual preparations. Nobody could say that he did not understand showmanship. The inside of Castle Thales was ethereal and ancient. All the ghosts were out tonight.

He didn’t get anything out of it, not really. He smoked alone in the garden, the icy remnants of the summer flowers crushed down by his boots. He watched the procession of guests through the doors without much enthusiasm. He had no use for them socially, no interest in business tonight. He was already ready for it to be over.

He tossed the cigarette butt out onto the frozen grass, turning to go back inside.

“Paris!” Her voice carried across the field. She almost knocked him over, arms flying around his neck. He stumbled before he caught her. 

“I’m so sorry, I meant to see you sooner,” Her head was fully in his chest, pressing up against the wound, “I saw the footage. Paris, I couldn’t believe it.”

She laughed a little as she withdrew, “Why would you ever have the party here?”

Paris smiled at her, some of the sullenness melting away. Her hair was done in tight curls, but her dress was modern and hung loosely off her body. It made her look more boyish than usual. The diamonds on her face reflected the light shining off the castle.

“Going for symmetry,” Paris’s eyes glanced out to the treeline, a sliver of fearful expectancy still obvious in his voice. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“Of course I came,” Lorelai said softly. He had smelled faintly of antiseptic.

He offered her the last cigarette in the pack. 

“You just got a new lung! Why do you even have that!” She protested, reaching for it anyway. He lit it up for her. Her lipstick stained the filter.

===================

Delta was exhausted. He’d been given too much to heal from lately. Sierra had spent all afternoon with him, getting more and more frustrated as she found more bruises. His shade was so specific, it took hours to cover up properly. She’d been on the verge of tears before she even got around to working on the others. It was too large a festival for one day. Delta felt for her, but the stress didn’t make her particularly nice to be around. He blinked some of the paint out of his eyes, still feeling the sting of the brushes. 

A thick chain connected his collar to the base of the throne. He was very familiar with this specific position. The court had not so long ago belonged to the Emperor. In most ways, it still did. He’d been made to kneel here ever since he had first been acquired. In his memories, the throne had been larger. The space felt too small for him now. 

He straightened up, noticing his own slouching. Little jolts ran through his body, one of the best ways he had to wake himself up. These things tended to run long. He raised his head up slightly to look out at the ballroom. It really did look beautiful tonight, but there was something uncanny about it. Something in how the light played. He’d lost track of Paris a while ago, which would’ve been fine, had he not been so anxious about his return. He found himself subconsciously scanning the room for any signs. This time, he caught one.

Paris was hanging by the southern entrance to the hall. A girl - Lorelai? - was standing close to him. Delta recognized the soft copper of her hair, but couldn’t see her face from her position. She turned around suddenly. He jumped a little, realizing she was looking straight at him. He could read Paris’s body language well enough to know they were arguing. Delta quickly bowed his head back down. He wanted nothing to do with it.

He didn’t look back up again until he heard her footsteps approaching – and even then, he tried to avoid it. She was wearing the same boots she had on the first time they met.

“What about you?” She said, leaning down, “Do you wanna dance?”

The diamonds of her face were so striking. They lit up like a kaleidoscope – almost too hard to see past. Paris was standing a few paces behind her, glaring daggers. Delta froze. 

She whipped her head around, catching Paris’s sour expression. “Knock it off.”

He laughed. It wasn’t kind. She whirled on him entirely, the ends of her dress spinning behind her. Her fists were clenched. He said something low, through grit teeth. Delta couldn’t make it out, nor could he make out her response. It went on like that for a few turns before Paris threw his hands up.

“You know what? Fine,” He marched over to Delta, grabbing the collar harshly. He flinched. Paris released the lock, letting the chain clatter to the floor.

“Fuck both of you.” 

Paris stormed out. Lorelai put her hands to her head, clutching her own hair in frustration. 

“God, he’s such a baby sometimes.” She groaned. 

She turned to look at Delta again. He was visibly grimacing, staring out in the direction Paris had left. He rubbed at his neck absently, a bit sore from where the chain had been yanked. 

Lorelai extended her hand, “You can hang out with me if you want. Forget him.”

Delta eyed her warily. Her expression was warm — not mocking, as he feared she meant to be. It wasn’t a good idea. Yet he knew on some level the damage was already done. He had nothing better to do with his night. He gingerly took her hand. It was much softer than he had expected. 

===================

Delta walked behind her with the quiet resignation of someone who was dragged everywhere, all the time. He didn’t have a problem with shadowing her, but it made him a little nervous to navigate the crowd this way. Seeming to sense this, she pushed out through a side door, into a more deserted corridor. The castle was labyrinthine to the two of them.

“It’s eerie that they decorated every room. Aren’t these supposed to be off-limits?” Lorelai mused, “I can’t tell what the theme is. Time?”

Delta was silent. She released his hand, tilting her head at him. 

“You don’t like parties, I bet.”

“No, miss.” He blushed a little, rolling his shoulder back. She frowned.

“Want to get some air?” 

“Yes, miss.” 

She led him out onto the third floor balcony, which was also supposed to be off-limits. There were chairs up there, but she sat up on the stone railing. Delta lingered in the doorway. The stars were tinted with purple. The twin moons of Thales hung in different quadrants of the sky.

“You know, my folks didn’t want me to come to this,” Lorelai smiled a little, “Not after last time. You were there, weren’t you?”

Delta hesitated, “…For the assassination?”

She nodded. “What was it like?”

Again, he paused. He wasn’t used to open-ended questions. They made him a bit suspicious. He tried to feel out if a trap had been laid. 

“Abrupt,” he said finally, “It only took a second. Miss.” 

She felt her own chest, her manicured hands making small circles in her sternum.

“I can’t imagine. I really can’t.” She shook her head. “I could never go military, I’m too scared of pain. I used to cry like a baby whenever I had to get a shot.”

Delta’s bruises were invisible beneath the makeup. No question had been posed to him. He didn’t speak. 

===================

He couldn’t deal with whiskey again. The smell alone made him nauseous, spurred the migraine forth for as long as he was around it. Lorelai accepted this condition gracefully. She had disappeared at the bar for a little while, re-emerging with two pink glasses.

“Try it, it tastes like juice,” She looked at him with huge eyes, pushing it into his hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered. She looped her arm in his, slipping back out from the crowded hall. The cold night wind bit into them as soon as the side door opened. 

Delta could feel it coming on, but he couldn’t stop it. He loosened up too much when he was drunk. He forgot everything he was trying to safeguard. But Lorelai was so nice. He didn’t feel afraid to talk, the way he had been all the time recently. She giggled when she noticed she was getting real answers out of him. It wasn’t mean. 

“My mom said if I take a year off, I’ll never go back. They keep threatening to cut me off and I don’t have the heart to tell them I really don’t care. I never wanted their money. I mean, I was glad to have it when I did, but I’m an adult now. I have dreams! I don’t wanna be their baby anymore.” She bumped into him, spilling a bit of her drink, “So what do you do?”

“Murders and executions, mostly.”

“Oh. Right.” She seemed embarrassed to have asked. “Come look at this.”

She trotted over to the steel fence surrounding the castle grounds. Delta strolled along a few steps behind her. 

“You’ve been here before?” His voice was so soft, the wind almost carried it away.

“Few times. Not recently. I hope they’re still here,” She jogged the last steps to the flowerbed, then did a running slide onto her knees into the dirt.

“Ah! Cold!” She cried out, “Don’t do that!”

He hadn’t planned to. He bent down beside her to examine the bed. It was a little frosted over, but there were still white flowers visible this late in the season. Lorelai cupped one between her hands like she wanted to pick it, then stopped herself.

“Noella-nas. It’s a good story. You heard it?”

“No, miss.”

“During the settling of Swanni in the late medieval period, all of King Cataline’s court came down with this mysterious pox. It came for his wife and children first, then spread throughout the court. Eventually all of the pilgrims had contracted it. They called it Whicap. It would start inside their bones and eat its way out. It took off their arms and legs one at a time. King Cataline was sure they all would be killed if the plague carried on. So he went out into the wilderness to speak with the native people. They had seen Whicap before. They showed him the place where Noella-nas grows. He cut it out of the ground and brought it back to his court alchemist. The petals of Noella-nas were the cure for their illness. That’s how the pilgrims at Swanni survived their first decade. That’s why their children still live there today.”

She plucked a single petal off and rolled it between her fingers. 

“They’re extinct in the wild. The forests they grew in were leveled and turned into farmland. Thales keeps growing them as a heritage project. Nobody really gets Whicap anymore, anyway.”

Her dress was dirty. Her knees had been scraped up and the soil of the courtyard was sticking in the wound. She popped the petal into her mouth, letting it melt there. It tasted like marshmallow root.

“Is it alright if I ask where you’re from?” She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were bleary.

“I was born in captivity. I’m not from anywhere,” He answered. Despite the cold weather, he was strangely warm. Lorelai put her hand to her mouth, tracing her own lips as if to self-soothe.

“Oh. I thought you might be from one of the outer colonies. I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve met who were born outside Empire. It’s so scary. It’s too big. Did you just say you were born in captivity?”

He was starting to understand Paris better. He now knew what it was like to be physically incapable of shutting up.

“Yeah. Or I was surrendered to the Institute while I was still really young. I don’t have any memories of ever living outside of it.” He paused. “It’s probably easier that way. We would sometimes get kids who’d been surrendered at age seven or so. They never lasted long. They just couldn’t adjust to it.”

Lorelai fully covered her face now. “I don’t know how you can forgive us. I don’t know how anyone ever could.”

The air around them sparked. Delta, embarrassed, tried desperately to ground himself. Little arcs of electricity were coming off of him in a way he couldn’t control. Lorelai kept her face buried in her hands and would not get up until Delta asked her to come back where it was warm.

===================

They went into the basement. Delta had asked nicely. He got the strange sense he might never have another chance to see it. The door was locked, but the lock was not strong. It wasn’t the same one they’d had when Delta was kept there. Lorelai kicked like a mule. It burst open. 

Delta got a little woozy at the sight of the stairs. They were ivory and covered by a finely woven rug. Its wine red shade had faded mostly to brown. The two of them descended.

The floor came into view first. It was warm marble tiling, inlaid with gold. It spread out in their vision as they neared the bottom. It spread — and there was very little else.

“Oh,” Delta realized, “They got rid of it.”

The expensive and well-insulated material that had made up the walls of his room were torn down. All that was left were the support structures. Thin beams of rebar descended from the ceiling and down into the tile. They marked out the perimeter where the room had once ended. Standing alone, they looked a lot like the bars of a cage.

Lorelai slipped in between them. The light sound of her boots clicking on the tile suddenly changed as it came into contact with the old floor. It was well insulated, meant for grounding. Her steps sounded heavier. They made a dull echo throughout the room.

She spun around, running her fingers along the bars.

“It’s so small,” she said. 

“I was younger when they built it,” Delta said weakly. He didn’t know why he was defending them. He didn’t even want to get close. He glanced around again. The outer walls of the basement were decorated with simple paintings and tapestries. Besides that, there was nothing else down there.

“I think they took the rest of my stuff,” he concluded, a small note of bitterness creeping into his voice. When he’d first gotten aboard the Thorn, Simon had packed him two suitcases. One was all clothes. The other was mostly books. Everything else he’d owned had been lost for a long time. Some small part of him hoped he might find it here.

Maybe it was for the best though. Had the room still been intact, he doubted he could’ve brought himself to enter it. Just the idea of it made him nauseous.

Lorelai slipped out from between the bars. She leaned her hip against the one of them and hooked her arm around another as if to steady herself. The rust of the rebar stained her skin. She didn’t seem to notice.

“That’s…really scary,” she says slowly, “I’m sorry.”

Delta brushes a strand of hair from his face.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Lorelai continued, “Do you want to go back up?”

He nods.

===================

“I mean, I guess I’m sorry it’s still happening,” she said.

“What?” Delta asked. They were on the balcony again. She’d gotten them more drinks. It was starting to be an unwise amount. She sipped at her mojito pensively. The silly straw did nothing to alleviate her grief.

“With you. I’m sorry you have to live like this.” Lorelai braced herself against the stone railing, looking straight down into the garden.

Delta didn’t answer. 

“I like Paris, you know. He’s my friend. But he’s a lot sometimes. I don’t know.” She paused:

“...Is he good to you?”

She turned her head slightly to see if his expression changed. He was gazing out into the surrounding woods. The top of the ship was just barely visible over the treetops. The question hung in the air. Delta rubbed at his neck.

“I don’t think he wants to be this way.” He said finally. “He just…gets himself so worked up.”

She nodded like she understood. The sky was clouding up; her cup was empty again. When she moved to stand, her gait was wobbly. The glass toppled over. Delta caught her before she could fall too.

“Are you okay, miss?” Delta asked, a muted note of concern in his voice. He was used to the drunken two-step by now. At least with her, it didn’t hold the threat of sudden violence.

“I’m tired,” she murmured, “I’m…really tired.”

Delta led her back down the stairs to the ballroom. He flagged down her friends, who seemed to recognize the danger. They gathered to come collect her. Before he could pass her off, she leaned over and quickly pecked him on the cheek. 

Delta blushed as her friends led her away. The party was over, anyway. She cast a last glance over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable.

He traced the skin where she had kissed him. It had been right on top of the bruise.

~~~

Tags: @catnykit @indigoviolet311 @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire @micechomper

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Prompt with “whumpee that completely disregards their own mental and physical health and whumper who starts off as a caretaker but because of their own emotional trauma they like how vulnerable whumpee can be when they’re exhausted so then whumpee gets trapped in a toxic relationship with whumper and gets emotionally/physically/mentally abused”

tw: mention of abuse, violence, blood (everything in this is fictional and is a writing prompt for writers. I do not condone or romanticize something like this in real life in any way)

when whumper and caretaker are the same character!!!

the depth and complexity of a character who can be both whumper and caretaker will always fascinate me, and I have such respect and admiration for writers who write and explore this type of character.

yes, I personally am more drawn towards character who is both whumper and caretaker. because sometimes it’s the grey area that is the most fun playing in.

sure, whumper who is an outright villain, and caretaker — who is a different character — who is gentle and soft are classic and all, and I get why people like how simple they are. but for me, I’d like my whumper and caretaker to be the same person 😮‍��😉

caretaker didn’t mean to hurt whumpee, obviously, but the sight of whumpee bleeding and bruising, the sound of whumpee crying and whimpering, and the coppery smell of blood in the room? there always was a predator within caretaker, and right now caretaker feared that it was winning.

also the guilt and the shame caretaker felt after they lost themself and hurt whumpee. the confusion caretaker felt because why, why must they hurt and ruin everything they love? everything they touch.

caretaker / whumper is not a monster, but they too were fighting their own trauma and demons — and sometimes the trauma and the demons won, and the one paying the price was whumpee.

needless to say, whumpee was terrified of caretaker, but at the same time they knew caretaker was the only one protecting them, the only one keeping them safe.

of course, caretaker did not enjoy hurting whumpee. they hated that they couldn’t always overpower the demons within them.

both caretaker and whumpee were struggling.

the angst, the whump, the confusion, the struggle, the betrayal, the blood, the pain and the comfort that comes after? the feels!!!!!!

there’s a reason this right here is one of my all time favorite tropes to write.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

fav kinds of whump + comfort perchance?👉👈 (looking for inspo hehehehehe)

Okay so you probably know my all-time favorite already, because it’s panic attacks, and I put them in everything.

“Always add a pinch of panic attacks, it’s like garlic!” - The Whump Caretaker

Panic attacks are great for three reasons:

Something usually causes them (not always, you can have a character who just has panic disorder, but usually). Which means you end up thinking about what would push a character to their breaking point.

Differently people respond differently to panic, so there’s a huge range of possibilities for symptoms. And those symptoms include a lot of my favorites: self-defensive rage, crying, dissociation, shivering, hyperventilation, shock, and passing out.

And finally (this is where the comfort comes in) even though panic attacks are very physical, they can be resolved through purely emotional means. It’s like real life healing magic - the presence of a loved one just being there and breathing with them can pull them out of it. That’s such an opportunity for bonding!! Even if they’re alone, they can focus on things that matter to them or self-sooth or just find their inner strength and pull through, which is so beautiful. You once mentioned a fic about Vincent dissociating alone and my brain immediately started buzzing about this idea.

But okay, that’s just my top favorite. What are some other great kinds of hurt/comfort?

Consent focused hurt/comfort. Whumpee feels completely backed into a corner in some way. Their wishes are not being respected, maybe even for their own good. We expect Caretaker to force them into doing something they don’t want to do, but surprise! Caretaker doesn’t, because whumpee’s will is more important to Caretaker than anything else. This can look like backing off and giving someone space when they don’t want to be touched, helping them escape forced institutionalization, letting them cope in the way they choose even if it’s not totally healthy, etc. It creates a lot of grey areas and tension too, because Caretaker is forced to hold back.

Humiliation and Praise. One character has either been publicly humiliated or is at risk of that. The other hides them from the public eye, or explains to them why the things people are saying don’t matter at all. The caretaker showers them in praise until they feel better and rages against anyone who would judge them. This seems like it’s purely mental, but it can be even more impactful when it’s combined with physical elements. Like maybe they’ve been branded or tattooed against their will, or physically punished in front of a crowd, or maybe the humiliating thing was physical weakness - passing out in the middle of a meeting from exhaustion was something I included in a previous fic, for example.

Unexpected Rescue. Whumpee has lost all hope of rescue - either they think this is just the way life is, or they think there’s something wrong with them that makes a normal life impossible, or (if they’re actually imprisoned) they think they’ll just never be rescued because it’s been so long. Maybe Caretaker even pretends to be allied with Whumper in order to get close enough to help, so whumpee expects things to get even worse for them. But instead, surprise! They’re taken out of that whole environment and given a safe place to recover, or they’re introduced to a new way of life or a concept that allows them to live differently, without so much pain.

[whumpshaped]

So this is super random but I noticed that you said it was ok to ask you for random niche scenarios so I have one that’s been rattling around my brain forever for some reason. So a young assassin/soldier gets accidentally teleported and they have no idea why or what’s going on and are pretty much terrified.

Turns out, it’s a millitary base or otherwise important fortified area. They bump into a morally grey character who’s also a fighter and from then on I have a range of scenarios from a more easy kiddo, I’m not going to hurt you all the way to who the hell are you, tell me what you’re planning before I pull out your fingernails.

content: magic whump, military setting (i know nothing about the military), guns, implied capture

One moment, Whumpee was cleaning the inside of the huge teleporter at base. The next, they were kneeling on some sort of tile floor they'd never seen before, nauseous and dizzy.

The teleporter. The teleporter had gone off. They had been teleported, and they had no idea where.

Whumpee looked around frantically, spotting the mark of the enemy on the big double doors not far from where they knelt. Their eyes widened and they swallowed nervously, trying to dislodge the lump in their throat. This was bad. This was so, so bad.

They had to get out.

They tried to push themself to their feet, but the aftereffects of the teleportation hadn't yet worn off. They stumbled and fell right back onto their knees, hitting them hard against the floor.

"Fuck," they groaned, pressing a hand to their temple. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, not now, get up, get it together..."

The doors at the end of the corridor flew open and an enemy soldier marched through, and Whumpee instantly knew they were doomed. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and even if there had been someplace to hide, they were too weak to even stand.

They were staring down the barrel of a gun before they could even squeak.

"Well," the stranger began slowly, not yet cocking the weapon, "what do we have here?"

~

this is one of my last drabbles here, please feel free to follow me on my new blog @sowhumpshaped

[dragyouthroughthewhump]

Augusnippets Day 2 : Platonic bathing

CW : platonic undressing, platonic nudity(nothing graphic), ummm recovering whumpee. Hmmm, I couldn't think of anything else lol

Caretaker was out of options. Promising Whumpee their favorite food, a trip to the park, they even suggested rescuing a puppy or kitten to keep whumpee company. All denied.

Caretaker sighed softly and hung their head. "Whumpee...you need a bath. I know the water is scary, but I'm right here. It won't hurt you while I'm here."

Whumpee eyed the tub, squeezing the plush pillow closer to their chest. Their voice faint and rough, "c-c-can-nt...m-m-mo-ove..."

Caretaker padded over, socks muffling any loud steps that might send Whumpee running to hide again. "How about we do this together, hm? I'll be right next to you."

Whumpee looked at Caretaker, eyes searching their face for intention. After a few moments they nodded, fingers tightening on the plush. "O-okay....c-c-can try....tog-gether..."

Caretaker smiled and gently guided Whumpee further into the room. As Caretaker pulled off their own shirt Whumpee set the plush carefully near the tub, within easy grasping distance. Whumpee hesitated, just watching as Caretaker undressed. Caretaker knew they must be waiting for this to turn wrong. They looked over at Whumpee, "Would you like some help? The washing machine will take care of your clothes, they'll weigh you down in the tub."

Whumpee lowered their head and nodded; hands trembling as they gripped the hem of the shirt. With Caretaker's help, they got undressed, tossing aside the garments in a heap.

Whumpee was trembling all over. Caretaker took one of their hands and placed their free hand on Whumpee's back, taking each step in tandem closer to the tub. Caretaker put one foot in and waited for Whumpee to do the same. "I'm right here...we'll do this together."

After a few shakey deep breaths Whumpee lifted and hesitantly put one foot in. Their trembling turned to shaking, but Caretaker kept their hands soft, not pushing or pulling, waiting for Whumpee to make the next move. Soon they each hand both feet in the warm water and side-by-side crouched and sat down.

Caretaker smiled and gently squeezed Whumpees hand. "You're doing amazing. Remember, I'm right here. You can tell me to stop at any time." Onehanded, Caretaker got a small cup and gently poured water down Whumpees arms and back.

As they lifted the cup towards Whumpee's head a frightened, "Sto-o-op..!" Came out of Whumpee. Caretaker froze and lowered the cup, fingers rubbing the back of Whumpees hand. "Alright...we can soap up other areas first...but we will have to at least rinse your hair before we finish. Okay?"

Whumpee nodded, a small whimper leaving their lips. Caretaker waited patiently for them to calm before taking the soapy sponge and washing their body. The water around them swirled and slowly changed from clear to tan to almost a brown by the time Caretaker finished.

Caretaker drained and refilled the water, giving Whumpee more time to prepare for their hair. They even wet a soft cloth and wiped their face. "Ready for your hair? It'll be just the same, water, soap, water again..."

Whumpee shivered and their hand grasped the plush they had left near the tub. They took several deep breaths then nodded, "r-r-ready..." Caretaker smiled and tilted Whumpee's head back, carefully rinsing the tangled strands and ensuring no water fell down their face.

They kept an eye on Whumpee's expression as they worked. Hands gently massaging their scalp and loosening the debris as they worked. Caretaker dripped shampoo onto their head, "Nearly there...still okay? Still with me?" Whumpee's eyes rolled upwards to see Caretaker and gave a stiff nod, "St-til...h-h-here..."

Caretaker smiled and went back to rubbing Whumpee's scalp and scrubbing their hair. Quickly, Whumpee's natural color overtook the dingy grey that had infiltrated. With a few rinses, nearly all the dirt had been removed and Caretaker helped Whumpee sit up.

Just as they had in the beginning, Caretaker moved alongside Whumpee as they got up and out of the tub. Caretaker grabbed a towel and placed it around Whumpees shoulders. "You did wonderfully. I am very proud of you."

Whumpee pulled the plush to their chest and wrapped themselves in the towel. Caretaker mentally took note the pillow would need a washing soon also.

"Do-oes....this mea-an....we c-c-can g-g-get...a pu-uppy...?"

[whump-about-it]

Last Hope

@whumpril Day 10: Adrenaline

CW: Probable misuse of medication (not for plot purposes, but because I'm not a medical professional and am basically making this up), criminal Whumpee, blood loss, fear of death.

Nothing had gone as planned. Whumpee was supposed to get into the compound, download the virus, and get back out. It wasn't supposed to take more than an hour. They weren't supposed to run into anyone. Least of all Whumper. Now Whumpee was bleeding uncontrollably from a knife wound in their chest, and running blindly through the labyrinthian facility trying to escape Whumper and find some kind of exit.

Thank God Caretaker had insisted on coming along. Whumpee had argued that this was a one man job, and they could drive their own getaway car. But Caretaker was a worrier, and apparently a vindicated one now. Whumpee could only hope they would get back to them to hear Caretaker tell them that themselves.

Struggling to stay focused as they ran through the building, trying to remember where they had gotten in from, Whumpee turned down a dark hallway lined with doors. Whumpee hadn't remembered being in this area of the building before, but with Whumper at their heels they could barely complain about the ample hiding places it provided and stumbled forward, one hand staunching their bleeding as best they could and the other grabbing at doorknobs, hoping against hope that one of them would swing open. Finally, at the end of the hall, one of them did with such a loud screech it made Whumpee's blood run cold even as the slipped in and locked the door behind them.

The dark room beyond seemed to be some sort of chemical lab. The walls were lined with counter spaces topped with severely sterile looking machines and locked cabinets. A part of Whumpee's mind drifted towards the idea that there was probably something valuable to steal in the room, before a sudden thunder clap of pain radiated from their chest through the rest of their body so intense that their knees gave out underneath them and they fell to the floor muffling a cry.

It had vaguely occurred to Whumpee before that the only reason they had gotten as far as they had as of yet was because of the adrenaline pumping through their body and numbing the pain and panic coursing through them. It seemed to have been starting to ware off now though and the room swam in front of Whumpee as they rolled onto their back and grasped the bloody hole in their chest with both hands. The contact elicited a disgusting squelching noise and another thunder bolt of pain that made Whumpee's eye site go grey momentarily.

Concentrate! They ordered themselves, their eyes sweeping around the room dizzyingly. There was a window at the far end of the lab. Whumpee couldn't tell if it opened or not, but they could at least be able us it their barings as to where Caretaker might have stationed themselves if they could get to it. That would be no use though if they bleed to death before they got out of the compound, which was a dangerously real possibility right now, so Whumpee continued to scan the room until their eyes finally landed a large metal box screwed to an adjacent wall with FIRST AID written across it in large red letters.

Whumpee pulled themselves into a sitting position and the world wavered in front of them. They could feel the little blood they had left in their body rushing away from their head and heart and towards the open would between their upper ribs. A nauseating feeling washed over them and Whumpee had to fight the urge to pass out. They knew they wouldn't wake up again if they did. This also served to confirm that there was no way Whumpee was going to be able to stand in their current condition. So once they'd gotten their senses back Whumpee resolved to start scooting across the floor on their butt, holding their gushing wound with both hands and fighting for consciousness the whole time.

When Whumpee was halfway to the first aid kit however, they suddenly became aware of the sound of heavy footsteps rapidly becoming louder. They froze and pressed themselves up against the nearest cabinet, holding their breathe as they listened to Whumper's familiar footsteps run down the hall past the room they were in, then back a few seconds later, disappearing back the way they'd come and back into the depths of the compound. Whumpee gasped for air as they heard Whumper's footsteps disapear. There was was a sudden rush in their heartrate that didn't seem so dizzying, and a shock of renewed adrenaline ran through them that they used to leverage themselves to their knees to quickly crawl the rest of the way to the first aid kit.

The adrenaline had run out by the time they got there, and Whumpee teetered on the edge of consciousness as they pulled the first aid kit from it's box on the wall and flung it open. Breathing was getting so painful that Whumpee was beginning to wonder if the knife had punctured their lung after all.

Hang in there, they told themselves. You just need to stuff the wound. Whumpee collapsed against another set of cabinets. Most of their energy spent, and ran a bloody hand over the supplies in the kit, feeling rather than seeing for the packets of gauze. Instead their hands ran over something plastic and cylindrical. Hovering over it out of exhaustion more than curiosity, Whumpee quickly realized what they were feeling. It was an EpiPen.

It took Whumpee several seconds to figure out why their slowing heart leapt with joy at the feeling of the medical device under their finger tips. They didn't have any allergies, and though they'd been trained in how to use an EpiPen, they'd never had need to before.

Epinephrine. Adrenaline. Their mind sluggishly eked out the thought, followed by a half forgotten memory of Caretaker explaining to them how adrenaline worked by constricting blood vessels.

It was a terrible idea. Part of Whumpee knew that. But they were desperate, and probably not thinking straight. And they knew that if they didn't stop the bleeding somehow they were going to be dead soon anyway.

Slowly Whumpee's fingers closed around the EpiPen and they dragged it out of the first aid kit and towards their body. It took them several tries before they managed to get the safety cap off, but once they did they held it up with a shaking hand and hovered over a space just above their wound. They knew that when being used for it's intended purpose, you where supposed to stab the patient in a larger muscle. But when used for bleeding Whumpee considered that they wanted it as close to the veins they were trying to target as possible. Whumpee sucked in what they hoped wouldn't be their final breathe and bit the inside of their cheeks to gag their own scream then drove the pen into their muscle with all their remaining strength, pressing the button at the opposite end before the pain could paralyze them.

Please let this work. Whumpee prayed to any God that might be listening. This is my last hope. Please let this work.

Authors Note: I just want to reiterate that I am not a medical professional and am nearly 100% certain that Epipens can not actually be used to stop bleeding. Please don't try to use them for anything other than their intended purpose.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

@whumpbump Okay I know you probably meant Whumper pushing Whumpee down the stairs but I couldn't resist my love for stairwells and chase scenes so --

--

You slammed your shoulder into the metal door, crying out in frustration when it didn't immediately give to your frantic pounding. The alcohol in your veins still dulled your coordination, making it all the more difficult to pry open the entry down to the stairs. There was no time to wait for the elevator. No time to wait for the cops that surely had to have been called by now from someone else on this floor, at least to file a noise complaint against those rowdy, drunk kids making a ruckus all night.

"Open, open," you begged into the air. You rammed against the metal again and again, each hit making your shoulder throb, the last one threatening to dislocate the joint if you abused it much long. "Fucking open!"

The weight on the other side finally gave way, allowing you to shove the blockage just enough to slip through the gap. You prayed your pursuer wouldn't be able to fit in the narrow opening, though you doubted he'd have much trouble fully slamming the stuck door wide open. Betraying your moment of reprieve, you dared to look back and gauge the distance between yourself and the stalker, kept safe only by a doorway and several flights of stairs.

Instead, what you saw was the body of the building's janitor hastily shoved between the wall and door. Blood drenched the entire front of his uniform, his head angled down to hide the near decapitation of his neck. Instantly, your hands flew to your mouth to catch the scream clawing up your throat, or perhaps the stifle the gag that risked you vomiting on a poor man's already desecrated corpse. You stumbled backwards in an attempt to get away from yet another victim of a psychopath.

Perhaps that wasn't your best move on such a narrow landing. The concrete had become slick from the cooling pools of blood that lazily spread out and dripped to the stairs below. You felt your heel catch on the lip of the step, causing you to stumble, but the sudden shift in your weight made your foot slip in viscera and send you careening backwards. Another yelp was muffled in your chest, the air in your lungs being stolen before you could utter a sound.

The concrete steps were unforgiving in their beating. Sharp angles dug into all the tender spots of your flesh as you landed on each one, rolling from your back to your side and back again. Your knees and elbows sent tingling pains through every limb as the nerve was struck. No matter how desperately you threw out your hands to catch something, they would always instinctively pull back and try to protect your head from being split open. They didn't do much good when your chin smacked against the edge of a step, making your teeth painfully crack together and slicing your lower lip on an incisor.

The taste of blood was hot and bitter in your mouth, welling up in the back of your throat like bile. As much as you wanted to spit it out, another hit to your stomach left you wheezing, trying to suck in air that refused to stay down. Your world was a dizzying view of white stained walls and grey concrete, spinning round and doubling in vision with each bump to the head and chest you endured. When you finally came to a sprawling stop at the bottom of the story, it took a moment for your surrounds to cease their moving as well.

Finally, you coughed, pulling yourself onto your side so that you didn't choke on the globs of blood that splattered by your cheek. A sharp ringing deafened you, helping to dull the pain that pulsated through your body in tandem with your heartbeats. The relief didn't last long, agony instantly flaring in every muscle when you tried to roll onto your stomach in a foolish attempt to crawl onto your knees. One sharp ache in your hip refused to settle into a throb like all the others. With clumsy hands, you felt around the area until you brushed against a hard, jagged piece of glass that been impaled deep into the tissue. You pressed your other hand onto the ground in an effort to gain so leverage, only to yank it back with a hiss. More glass shards, thankfully smaller, had been imbedded in your palm. Litter that the janitor had probably been in the midst of picking up.

Despite being able to breathe now, as labored as it was, the only sounds you could muster were whimpers for help. The sound was pathetic and keening; you knew no one would be able to hear them, let alone think to check the stairwell for an injured tenant on the run from a madman. You couldn't stop, you had to keep going, you had to get away and warn everyone and find refuge. You had to survive.

But luck was not on your side, as evident by the splotches of red and purple on almost every inch of skin. From above, you heard two heavy bangs against solid metal following the sound of something dropping on the floor. The reverb in the stairwell made your throbbing headache scream louder, screwing your eyes close to ward off any tears that risked blurring your vision worse than what it already was. When you opened them again, you could see the janitor's head peaking between the railing his body having been toppled over onto his side. Thick streams of coagulated blood dripped to the landing below, mere inches from your nose.

You were more concerned by the looming figure that observed you over the same railing. Unbothered by the body he had shoved out of the way, he tilted his head with faux fascination at the sight of you sprawled on the ground and struggling to move. There was no telling what kind of sadistic joy was hidden behind the gaping black eyeholes of the madman's mask, or perhaps he was disappointed that his prey had taken the fun of the chase away due to their own incompetence. A shot of adrenaline kickstarted your heart into overdrive, worsening the pain that beat from your skull to your feet.

There was no time to recover any longer. The man begin to descend the stairs one leisurely step at a time, letting the stomp of his boots echo like a warning siren as he grew closer. You both knew there was no need to hurry, it wasn't like you'd be going anywhere any time soon, enough so that the knife was sheathed back into the pocket on his thigh. Every fiber of your being urged you to flee, anything to save yourself from a miserable death that probably wouldn't even be remembered in the stalker's kill count. As much as you would have loved to scramble up and sprint down the remaining five staircases, then best you could muster was an agonizing crawl towards the next flight of stairs.

You hoped gravity would be kind and swift carrying you down on your belly to the lower levels. It couldn't be any worse than what you were sure to experience otherwise.

[cakeinthevoid]

You Called

Whumptober No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.” (1, kind of 2)

Content: Transformation whump, forced transformation, removed(??) whump, werewolf whumpee

as soon as I thought I could write short pieces my brain went nope! and also my brain went nope! for all of whumptober so i'm defo not completing it this year. it was fun while it lasted :))

“Kuza, you’re gonna want to see this.” 

Detective Kuza sighed. He really didn’t. 

“Bring it over, then,” he muttered. 

“Stop being lazy and come over here,” Smriti snapped. She had worked alongside the detective long enough to stop tolerating his dramatic apathy. 

Kuza kicked his feet out, pushing his chair back with enough force for it to roll across the room and stop about a meter from Smriti’s desk. 

“You called?” He drawled.

His partner ignored him, simply pressing a key to play a video on her monitor. 

The frame nearly took up the whole screen, leaving room on the right for what looked like a computer terminal on a separate window. 

Kuza turned to Smriti. “Is this the—“

“Shh,” She shushed him, despite the lack of audio.

He turned back in time to see a figure drag in a box nearly his size into the room. Otherwise the room looked bare. Concrete. Grey. 

The figure left hurriedly as soon as they got the box in the centre of the room.

Now that the camera could focus on the box, Kuza could make out a serial number on its edge: LW1X—9K23. 

Shit. Smriti was right. 

There was a few frames of the box in the room where he wasn’t sure if it was still playing. Everything was still. 

And then the box burst open from the inside. A blur of motion, and the huge wooden crate was in pieces on the floor. 

The creature bounced around the room, wall to wall before slowing down and pacing in a circle on all fours. 

Even in his wolf form, Kuza recognized him. 

Avery Muton. One of his closest friends who was currently living in Kuza’s sister’s guest room. Still recovering, weeks later.

He didn’t react. He just watched the tape play. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Smriti trying to glean something from his face. 

Back on the screen, Avery was howling. Then something got his attention; he started sniffing the air. With his head turned upward, Kuza saw a thick metal collar gleaming on his throat. 

Kuza’s eyes went to the other tab on the screen; white code and numbers started to appear, scrolling down. That was Smriti’s area of expertise. 

He could still read though, so when ACTIVATED came up in all caps, he looked back to the main screen in dreadful anticipation.

Avery crumpled and twisted in pain, fangs bared. Kuza found himself grateful there was no audio. The camera became fuzzy for a few moments as his distress increased, and then Kuza came to a dreadful realization, watching Avery paw at his head and snout. 

They were trying to force a transformation. 

“Do you know what date this was recorded?”

Smriti scrolled up in the terminal. “If I understood the cipher correctly, this was October 6th of this year. Or that could just be the date it was uploaded to the folder,” she admitted. 

Kuza moved to stop the playback, but Smriti stopped him. 

“There’s more—“

“Were they successful?” 

“What?”

“Did they change it into a human?” 

“Technically no, but—“

“Then I don’t need to see it,” he snapped coldly. 

Smriti continued. “Technically no,” she emphasized, “but look,” she gestured to the screen. 

Avery had stopped writhing around. He lay on the floor, panting heavily, ears twitching. 

He flinched at something. Then he struggled to his feet, swaying and trembling. He took a step forward and fell against the wall. He put a paw against the wall, as if he was going to pull himself up. 

Then he started to try and do exactly that; Avery tried to stand on his hind legs and failed miserably, face planting on the concrete. He looked painfully disoriented, jaw opening and closing, his body shuddering—

“What am I supposed to be seeing?” He asked coldly. 

“You can’t see the difference?” 

Kuza side-eyed her, unimpressed. 

“He’s in there,” she said simply. “Partial success,” she read from the bottom of the terminal. 

Good lord that actually explains so much, Kuza thought to himself amid the horror. He needed to let his sister know—if she didn’t already. Avery actually spoke with her. 

“Save it to the case file,” he said tonelessly. He rolled back to his desk. 

He had work to do. 

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Year of Whump: Ancient Ruins

Masterpost | Read of Ao3

Short and sweet bc I’ve been low on energy. Altair and Elze’ith contend with a creature with an affinity towards stone.

Contains: Monster hunting, petrification, painful magical healing, queerplatonic whumpee/caretaker

~~~

In the far northern reaches of the valley lay the remnants of an old fortress. All that remained of it was its foundations and a few half-collapsed subterranean tunnels. No one ever went up that way anymore; the nearby mountain pass was too treacherous to use, even in the fairer seasons, and the ruins themselves were rumored to house a dangerous monster.

The latter fact was why Altair and Elze’ith had made their way there. According to what they had heard, the rumored monster didn’t often stray from the ruins of the fortress, but there was always a risk that it would, or that it would reproduce and its spawn would scatter. There was money to be made in either disproving the rumors or securing the ruins for good.

There was a sadness in Elze’ith’s eyes as they picked their way over crumbled stone. Altair placed a comforting hand on the small of his back; he knew how it pained Elze’ith to be confronted with the passage of time and the degradation that it wrought. The ruins didn’t fill him with the same melancholy, but he did find himself curious about the half-destroyed stone statues that dotted the area. Such decorative elements seemed odd for a defensive structure, especially so haphazardly placed.

They were stopped in their tracks by the sound of a low growl and something shuffling through the snow. A large reptilian creature with dark scales and exposed fangs crawled over one of the collapsed portions of wall and lumbered in their direction. That would be their monster, then. 

Flames sparked to life in Altair’s hands as Elze’ith skipped back a few steps. Altair pressed the heels of his hands together and let out a gout of fire towards the monster, causing it to shriek and recoil. A burst of magical energy from Elze’ith coursed through Altair’s muscles, and he surged forward, lightning crackling in his hand as his other reached for his blade. If they were lucky, he could end this quickly.

The creature’s fangs flashed. A light grey mist, barely visible in the bright morning sun, emanated from its open mouth. Altair instinctively put up his right arm in a defensive position and stepped back, and from behind him Elze’ith threw a shield in front of him, but some of the creature’s breath had already reached him.

At first, his raised arm was overtaken by the sensation of intense pins and needles. The crackling of his nerves hurt, but he ignored it as he used his other hand to hurl lightning at the monster. But then, starting in the tips of his fingers and moving up, his arm went alarmingly numb. His arm felt heavy, too, as though he were supporting a brick with merely his shoulder. When he glanced away from the monster, both his skin and his clothes had turned stone-grey. 

“Elze’ith!” he called out over his shoulder as he frantically channeled more magic into his lightning strike. The twin sensations of pins and needles and stone cold numbness were both making their way up his arm in tandem, even beyond where the monster’s breath had brushed him. 

At least the monster was on its knees, though. Elze’ith took advantage of the opening to circle around behind the monster and run in. Altair released his magic just as Elze’ith plunged his dagger into the monster’s back and twisted, and the monster went fully limp.

Altair’s entire right shoulder was stone, now, and the effect was still working its way through him. Unable to support the sudden weight, he collapsed to his knees. The pins and needles now covered most of his chest, and the pain made it difficult to breathe. Alarm caused his heart to pick up in his chest. This was where those statues had come from, wasn’t it. He was going to turn entirely to stone.

Elze’ith crashed onto his knees in front of him. “It’s okay, Altair. I can fix this,” he said softly, quickly. “Let me just…”

Elze’ith placed a hand on Altair’s flesh shoulder. Warm magic pulsed through him. The tingling receded first, from pain to discomfort to normalcy. Then Elze’ith furrowed his brow, and Altair bit his lip as his shoulder exploded in crackling pain. That same pain slowly radiated back down his arm. At least he could feel it again, though, compared to the aching loss of sensation of before. After a long minute even that, too, faded, and Altair set down the knife to experimentally flex his fingers. A little weak, it seemed, but otherwise good as new.

It was one of the longest amounts of time it had ever taken Elze’ith to heal him. Elze’ith wiped some sweat from his brow. “Are you alright, Altair?”

“I’m fine, dear,” Altair said lightly. His arm felt a bit weak, but that was normal for right after a major heal.

Elze’ith smiled. “Good. That— you were very lucky.”

Altair reached over to thread his fingers through Elze’ith’s. “Of course. I have you, don’t I?”

Elze’ith rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant. But yes, I’m glad I was here.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Now, we should make sure that thing didn’t have a nest of some sort. Shall we?”

Using their still-joined hands as leverage, Altair hoisted himself upright with a grin. “But of course.”

[paingoes]

For your Whump topic post: how do you feel about bad caretaker?

:) like it!!!! i think theres a spectrum between them, im less fond of when its used specifically for angst or to retraumatize whumpee but if its just an imperfect person doing their best and fucking up sometimes thats so good! nobody is on all the time and when they slip up it reveals a lot more about the dynamics at play and the personality of the characters. my fave thing in this genre is when caretaker uses whumpees conditoning against them for the benefit of the whumpee its such a grey area !!

[whatiswhump]

The Capture

The moment when the grey area whumpee is caught by the good guys. The night is frigid and wet and they are blinded by the floodlights and scared of the SWAT team rushing towards them with guns. They fall to their knees and squeeze their eyes tight, trying to fight back the hot tears.

They never meant for this, any of it. But they are guilty. They are a criminal.

And they know they have to pay.

So they go quickly and quietly, terrified of what’s to come.

[pigeonwhumps]

Auction part 1

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Whumptober masterlist

Day 1: A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY | adverse effects | unconventional restraints | "this wasn't supposed to happen"

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch

Phoenix, along with their team, attempts to infiltrate a villain auction. Emphasis on 'attempts'.

Set when Phoenix is 17, about four years before they meet Kai.

842 words

CWs: minor whumpee (aged 17), kidnapping, mind control

Phoenix presses against the back wall, their camouflage flickering to match the lilac wallpaper. This room doesn’t look like it’s changed since the 70s – not too much of a surprise, since the hotel they’re in was abandoned for decades until Earthshaker came along and claimed it.

They wipe their clammy palms on their suit. This is the first mission they’ve been involved in that they haven’t had to be a live target for their enemies, and they’re determined to do well. Maybe then they can stop acting as cannon fodder all the time. Abbie did say she’d consider it, if this went well. So it has to go well.

They’re infiltrating the biggest event of the year for many of the major villains in the area. The Grand Auction. Where villains can bring and sell pretty much anything – weapons, drugs, genetically engineered monsters, you name it. Even people are allowed, technically, although apparently it’s very uncommon. Their mission is to find out what they’re selling this time, and where it’s going.

If there’s people being sold, no rescuing them yet.

Phoenix is still angry about that. Yes, maybe it is very dangerous to attempt to snatch someone from under the noses of some of the most dangerous criminals in the country, but they should still try. The lives of innocents should be put before their own, that’s the point of being heroes.

They won’t bring that up again though. Their arm still hurts from when they protested during the planning of this mission.

Abbie’s here too, stationed near the back entrance. They both have earpieces, allowing communication both with each other and the rest of the team back at base, but they’re only to be used in emergencies due to the amount of technopaths here. For the main bulk of the auction Phoenix is on their own.

They press back against the wall as more villains file in. They’re dressed in a mixture of formal best and what look like rags on one grey-skinned villain. Once they’re seated, Earthshaker climbs onto the temporary stage at the front of the room.

“Welcome, one and all, to this year’s Grand Auction. Remember, no killing, maiming, or otherwise injuring each other here! Don’t do the heroes’ jobs for them! Now, my assistants are busy setting up your wares in the adjoining rooms, and once they’re ready you can take a look. No touching unless the sign says so! And as a very special once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you have the chance to bid on your very own superhero!”

And Earthshaker looks Phoenix dead in the eyes.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen, their camouflage is meant to be perfect! As the audience turns, Phoenix backs away towards the doors, hissing, “Run!” into their earpiece as they go. Forget stealth – there’s no point in that now everyone knows they’re here. They feel pinpricks on their skin as their camouflage ripples and bubbles different colours in their panic, and they turn and run.

Try to run. There’s two guards on the door, and as soon as Phoenix looks at them the one on the left’s eyes glow red, freezing Phoenix halfway from one step to the next.

They try to move. They can’t. They’re stuck, one foot in the air, like a statue.

“Don’t bother trying to run, little hero,” calls Earthshaker mockingly, “you won’t make it. Come back over here.”

And then, slowly, jerkily, Phoenix’s body does move. Their foot comes down, slamming into the floor, and they turn against their will, feet placing themselves one in front of the other until they’re climbing onto the stage, banging their limbs on the metal frame. The crowd laughs.

“Kneel.”

Phoenix feels like a puppet on a string as they’re forced to their knees by the guard’s power (at least, they assume it’s theirs). The villains behind them jeer and crow as Earthshaker smirks down at them.

“You’re ever so young to be a hero. Firebird, isn’t it? So small. So easy to slip under our control. And you know what? My boots are pretty dirty. Why don’t you clean them for me?”

Phoenix strains against the invisible force pulling them downwards but they can’t even twitch a finger. They’ve never felt so powerless.

Earthshaker’s black leather and boot polish tastes disgusting, but the worst part is the humiliation of everyone watching and laughing and jeering.

Suddenly, Earthshaker yanks their head up by their hair, and Phoenix gasps in pain. “So, my fellow villains, today you can bid on Firebird here. Once my assistants have prepared them they will be in room 2 for your viewing pleasure and entertainment.” Footsteps sound behind them and they feel a prick in their upper arm. Their vision soon turns blurry, mind slowing, sound dimming.

Earthshaker crouches down beside them and mutters in their ear, “a little piece of advice which you’ll never need now. Don’t enter a place guarded by someone with thermal vision and expect your camouflage to work. And certainly don’t attempt to infiltrate one of my gatherings ever again.”

[whumpshaped]

hdhsjd.. thinking about necromancer whumpers.. imagine whumpee trying to escape from them and they suddenly have a whole cemeteries’ worth of mindless, undead beings HUNTING THEM DOWN??? i’d cry

(sorry if this is incoherent it’s like five am and i have not slept!!:!:)

tw multiple whumpers, death, recapture, gore, body horror, implied murder or at least torture possibly cannibalism, necromancy horrors

Whumpee had never minded cemeteries. In fact, during their years of hiding, when every street lamp meant danger and places the locals didn’t really frequent at night provided safety, they had become very closely acquainted with every single cemetery in the area. So much so that they knew the names of the people whose tombstones were the biggest — and thus granted the most cover — and even thought to bring some flowers every now and then, as a little gesture of gratitude.

Cemeteries were safe. Dead people had never chased them. 

Not until tonight, at least.

They thought they had finally managed to get out of Whumper’s clutches, and they were cosying up in their usual spot in the hillside cemetery. The ground was soft from the rain, and the place was entirely quiet. Not a soul around, except maybe the souls of the deceased. But hopefully not. Whumpee sincerely hoped that souls would at least be able to find rest after death, somewhere far away from this mortal plane that held nothing but suffering.

Then they heard movement. At first, they thought it might be someone who simply hadn’t had time to tend to their loved one’s grave during the day. The cemetery was a small one, there was no guard to watch over it, so it must’ve been a regular civilian. 

But then… the sound became louder. More insistent. And it started coming from multiple directions.

For the first time since they had been a child, Whumpee was afraid to be alone in the cemetery.

“What the fuck?” they cried when the first hand emerged from the soil, trying and failing to grab onto something. Still, it kept clawing at the dirt, dragging its body inch by inch to the surface. 

That was a rotting fucking corpse that was crawling out of its coffin.

Whumpee screamed and shuffled backwards, only to bump into another hand that immediately grasped their wrist. They yanked their hand away and tried to stand, only for something — someone — to grab their ankle and trip them up. “Fuck!” they yelled, desperately kicking at the corpse holding them. As soon as they landed a good hit, the hand separated from the rest of the body, doing absolutely fucking nothing to stop the thing from pursuing them. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

They finally managed to scramble to their feet and run, but they were surrounded. They were in the middle of a fucking cemetery, all that was around were corpses, corpses that now wanted to drag them down to hell with them.

They didn’t make it to the cemetery gate. Several rotting hands latched onto their arms and legs, making it impossible for them to keep running. The smell of decay was everywhere, and Whumpee was yanked backwards, into the decomposing arms of people they’d only known through fading text on marble. 

“Let me go!” they shrieked. One of them promptly clamped a hand over their mouth, and they screamed again in horror, this time muffled by grey, torn flesh. They wanted to throw up.

Their struggles led nowhere. They were outnumbered. They couldn’t move. By the time Whumper showed up and lazily made their way to where Whumpee was completely trapped, they were honestly out of steam. If the fucking dead people were to let them go, they doubted they would’ve been able to put up much of a fight. But of course, that theory was not going to be tested.

“Flighty tonight, are we?” Whumper asked casually. “It’s a good thing you decided to pick this as a hideout.”

Whumpee’s tears of utter revulsion didn’t seem to faze them. Not even when they screamed for the thousandth time as one of the lackeys’ jaw fell off, tumbling down their shoulder all the way to the ground. It was disgusting, everything about this was so disgusting, they couldn’t take it.

“How about we walk back home and forget about this ordeal? I’m willing to forgive, of course. Just nod your head if you’re ready to behave.”

They tried. They really did. But the corpse holding their head had a grip of steel, and Whumpee couldn’t move an inch. Their wide, desperate eyes held nothing but silent pleas for Whumper to understand, but clearly, they were never meant to be able to agree.

“No? Well…” Whumper snapped their fingers, a wicked grin spreading across their face. “Have at them, pets. They’re all yours.”

[breakyourwhumpees]

Interrogation [1/3]

collars/chains/muzzles/etc, interrogation, manhandling, ex-winged whumpee, hero & villain dynamic that could be percieved as platonic or romantic, villain whumpee. in which the interrogation begins.

The next morning, Atticus didn’t even fight it when Maxim lead them to the car, snapping a warning when he made a move towards them in an attempt to console them. They harshly rejected his pity and slumped in the back seat of the shiny black car. In the front seat sat a man no older than 19 with raven hair just long enough to be pulled into a ponytail. “Hey, Atticus,” He piped as the car revved to life.

“I’m Collin. Not sure if you were entirely coherent but I patched you up last night. I’m sorry that The Agency is being a pain in the ass right now.” He continued, glancing in the rearview mirror, Atticus chewed on the inside of their cheek, not at all recalling whatever he spoke of. They hardly remembered the drive home, much less anything after. They were silent, having no intentions of entertaining Collin’s ramblings and shoving away the tinge of disappointment when he got the hint and trailed off, leaving the car in tense silence.

Atticus flicked the feathers on their ears as they stared out the window. It was an out of the way suburban town only slightly off the area of the main city. Atticus hadn’t even known that the place existed, and maybe that was why it looked so untouched. Undamaged and unaffected by the noise of construction that always seemed to be going on in the city. 

It was peacefully quiet.

Atticus didn’t remember dozing off, but when they woke up Collin was pulling into a parking lot and they were being pulled out of the car. They stood in front of a building that almost looked like a mall, and the logo on the front in giant sharp letters was “Perficient”, the original hero agency.

Atticus swallowed and considered running -- maybe even fighting --, but they were flanked by two men who certainly weren’t bigger than them, but were definitely stronger considering their only defense was long gone. The thought left a bitter taste in their mouth as they were guided into the building. Their wings -- a pure angelic white like their dad’s -- were probably hanging up somewhere on Boss’ wall. How nice.

Getting through the security system was messy. Atticus was mostly on autopilot the entire time (they were still not talking out of spite), but it was hard for the two heroes to explain bringing the country’s third most problematic villain in the past five years into a building practically crawling with heroes. 

After what felt like forever they got through, and Atticus was brought to a rough and tumble looking man about Boss’ height. He looked like the kind of person you’d see breaking necks with his bare hands, his skin criss crossed with jagged scars and his hair shaved close to his head. He looked like a punk. Next to him was a buisnessy looking brunette with calm grey eyes. She politely nodded to Maxim. “we’ll take them from here,” She said with strained politeness. Atticus turned to look pleadingly at Maxim, but the hero didn’t meet their gaze. 

He turned and left. Collin offered them a sympathetic look but Atticus growled and flicked his gaze toward the ground, suddenly interested in the tile pattern. 

This entire situation was s- their thoughts abruptly cut of as their face was grabbed by a calloused hand. It was the brutish man. They hissed and made a strangled noise, but the woman glared at them. “behave,” she warned, and Atticus snapped their teeth helplessly as the man wrestled something cold and metal onto their face, and then around their neck. They were let go but before they could move or make a snarky remark their hands were yanked in front of them them and forced into cold metal cuffs.

They snarl as their hands drop behind their back, They’re tugged forward on a chain that reminds them painfully of the shock collars and the choke chains that boss has forced them into in her attempts at “fixing their attitude.” The collar was rubbing uncomfortably against their fresh bandages.

They’re pulled into a dimly lit room and pushed to sit in a comfortable chair that’s built into the ground. The woman plops down oppisite of them, and they’re painfully aware of the man looming next to them and holding the other end of the leash. 

“I’m assuming we don’t need to torture information out of you? You were being compliant when Maxim brought you in.” The woman piped, folding her hands on the table. Atticus bared their teeth under the metal wire muzzle strapped uncomfortably to their face. “Yeah because Maxim didn’t threaten me,” They snapped. “Or chain me up like a fucking animal.” 

The woman only looks on coldly. “You will comply or you won’t, Atticus.” She spat. It was chilling to hear their real name. It’d been leaked to the public on accident long ago but nobody ever really said it. Even Maxim and Boss preferred to nickname them than use their actual name.

They wrinkle their nose distastefully. “Depends on the questions.”

Seemingly satisfied by the answer, she slides up a clipboard in front of her. It’s tilted at an angle so that Atticus can’t see. 

“Let’s begin then.”

reblogs > likes

[actress4him]

Black, Yellow, Blue, Green, Orange, Pink...

Red

Part 12.

First | Previous | Next

Warnings: panic attack, conditioned whumpee, referenced torture, death mention, referenced guns

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The lights are off, like Black makes sure they are every night now, but he can’t sleep. He sits on the bed, hands fisted in his hair, and rocks back to front, tears stinging his eyes.

what do I do what do I do why am I here what is the point who am I what am I what is my job why won’t they tell me why are they keeping me here what is the point what am I what is my job am I a weapon what do they want from me WHAT DO THEY WANT FROM ME

He can’t breathe. He feels like his chest is being compressed, like his ribs might snap any second from the pressure.

No one has hurt him in days. It makes his skin burn, like it misses the sensation. He doesn’t actually miss it, but he hasn’t been able to enjoy its absence for wondering when it would return.

They have to hurt him at some point.

Right?

But when? When is it going to happen?

why haven’t they done it yet why is no one hurting me when are they going to start what is it going to be

But he can speak now. He’s supposed to speak now. Blue told him so. Maybe he should use it. Maybe it would help.

“I-I...I am...n-not a...B-Blade.”

“I am...n-not...a P-Paladin.”

“I am...not...a...a person.”

“I am...n-nothing.”

“I am...worthless.”

“I belong to...the Paladins.”

“I am a weapon.”

“My job is...i-is...to obey.”

“I must not fail.”

It’s not perfect, not when he has to make up parts of it himself to account for the new situation. But it helps. The familiarity of repeating those lines starts to calm him, to ease the ache in his lungs, and the more he says them the better he feels.

————————————

They’ve been putting off interrogating Keith’s remaining captor for too long already. Shiro is dying for answers just as equally as he is avoiding finding them. But now the scales are tipping toward needing to know, because Keith is...struggling, to put it mildly. He’s hurting, and Shiro doesn’t know how to help him.

So he sits down with Allura and the grey alien that he can’t look at without his stomach hurting and his hands itching to hit something, and they start asking questions. Luckily for them, the Sivis, as they identify their species, is perfectly willing to talk. They actually seem proud of their work, though most certainly disappointed in the way it all turned out.

The Sivis apparently make their living through smuggling, and Voltron is getting in the way of that. Planets are being liberated, trade is being renewed, and their services are no longer needed.

“But why him?” Shiro asks, his prosthetic curling into a tight fist that would be painful with his other hand. “If you wanted us dead so badly, why not do it yourself?”

The Sivis tips their head to one side, regarding him with the same stoic expression that never seems to change. “How would we have gained access to your team? Combat is not our area of expertise, so we could not meet you man-for-man on the battlefield. You opened your doors wide for a former member of your team, never suspecting that they were no longer the person you knew.”

“But you failed,” Allura points out. Her voice is stiff, belying her anger though her demeanor remains poised. “Despite all of your ‘training’, despite your perfect plan, we’re all still alive.”

“Yes.” The Sivis’ answer is clipped. “The reason for that still is not clear. It is my opinion that we should have expanded his training to include actual kills before letting him embark on his mission.”

Shiro barely keeps himself from exploding at that. “Or perhaps you should just accept that torture and brainwashing don’t work. Not like you want them to.” He takes a deep breath in through his nose. He can’t give up on this conversation yet, he still needs to figure out how to help Keith.

But the Sivis becomes suddenly tight-lipped when their questions turn to what, exactly, their training methods had been. It’s as if they’re worried that their ideas will be stolen. No matter how much Shiro and Allura press, they refuse to say another word, and finally the duo is forced to give up.

The alien is scheduled to be picked up by the Blade of Marmora the following day. The Blade is far more equipped to deal with long-term prisoners, and Shiro is ready to wash his hands of the whole species and never see them again.

————————————

“Keith? Can we talk for a minute?”

It’s a question, not an order. That’s what Black - Shiro - does, he asks questions. “Would you like some food?”, “How does a shower sound?”, “Ready to get some sleep?”

He still wishes he would just tell him. But he’s started taking Shiro’s questions as the orders he knows they really are. So when he’s asked if they can talk, he immediately sits on the bed and gives him his entire attention.

Shiro smiles at him, which he still hasn’t gotten used to. “I wanted to ask you...about the day of your mission.”

He stiffens, fists clenching in his lap, but refuses to shrink back or let himself look away. He knows better than that.

“From what I heard, you were told to...to kill us, with the first shot. Right through the chest.”

The sound of a blaster going off echoes through his head, again and again, over and over as holes tear through cutouts of people whose faces he doesn’t know, can’t know, but then why does it feel like the holes are going through his own chest every time -

“But you didn’t.”

His breath catches at the reminder. “I f-failed my mission.”

Shiro catches the whispered words, looking surprised that he actually spoke. “Maybe. But we’re all glad that you did.” He smiles again. “My question is...why? Why didn’t you follow your...your training?”

Why? He still doesn’t really understand that, himself. He had been so afraid of failing, but that was exactly what he had done.

“I...I couldn’t. I just...I tried, I really did, but every time...my brain just wouldn’t let me. With Orange, or Yellow, or...or Pink, and...and then when I saw Green...and you...I just...I couldn’t.”

It’s the most he has said to anyone since coming here, and he feels like crumpling into a pile of dust now, but he forces his spine to remain straight and his eyes to lock back onto Shiro’s. Nothing is said for a moment, and his anxiety crawls up his throat, threatening to choke him.

“Maybe that’s because you were always the closest to Pidge and me,” he finally says, softly. “I don’t know for sure what they did to you to try to make you forget us, but...it sounds like maybe it didn’t work so perfectly after all.”

—————————

A/N: In case you missed it, check out my Bad Things Happen Bingo card!