#mentions of past torture

[ssa-neeks-prentiss]

Whumptober : Day One!

Notes: This can be read as gn reader but they are confused with a female and have hair long enough to cover their face.

Tw: Blood, mentions of last torture, character death.

Summary : What happens when you get kidnapped and they arrive a little too late?

Word Count : 1.2k

Your ears perked up at the sound of crunching above you. It sounded different to the steps of the.. You didn't even know what to call him. You didn't know who he was. But he acted as if you knew him. And he kept referring to you as Leila. That wasn't your name. But as the crunching steps disappeared, new ones followed. Steps you recognized. The steps of him. You would know them anywhere. It was always a habit, learning the sound of the steps to distinguish who it was behind you.

You shook those thoughts away as the thumps of his feet got louder and louder, coming up close behind. You were tired. So tired. Your skin and clothes and anything that belonged to you was stained with blood and dirt. And you could still feel the slaps.

He was in front of you now. You shut your eyes in hopes that it would delay just a little longer for someone to find you. Anyone. You prayed to a God you didn't believe in. Prayed to multiple. You didn't know which one to pray to. You just prayed that you would make it alive.

But those prayers were dashed against sharp rocks as you hear the click of the safety on a gun being take off. This was it. No use for praying. You were gonna die. Well, you knew you would at some point. But you didn't want it to be now. When the team was so close to finding you. But you were struggling to remember now. Struggling to remember who's footsteps had crunched against the snow earlier. All you could think of was him. The crunch of his steps. The feel of his hand against your cheek as the stinging pain begun. The sound of his laughter if you let out a cry of pain. The smell of his cheap cologne as he stepped closer to you. It was taking over your mind and it didn't leave room for anything else.

You racked your brain for something nice. Something that would make dying a tiny bit easier. Your mind flashed to the team. Of course it would. They were the family you never had. The one you would spend nights in your room wishing for. You had it and now it was all going to leave.

You thought of Hotch first, he was like a father to you now. His concerns for you when you were ill one time. That one time you saw him reading a trashy romance novel, you almost smiled at that, you had teased him ruthlessly for it, never thinking he was the type of person to read that kind of thing. You thought to the one time where Hotch invited the team to watch Romeo and Juliet on Broadway and you had a great time.

You then thought to Rossi. The little pastries you found on your desk after a hard case. The time where you were watching a movie with the team and after you saw Rossi crying and the excuse he made of allergies.

You wondered how they would feel when you passed. Would they cry? You hoped that they wouldn't. You knew they would. Tears stung your eyes as you imagined their reactions and the sound of Penny's sobs. Change of topic. Back to the team.

JJ. She was like a mother. When you were sick she would always check up on you via phone. And when you were rejected another time, she was the one who comforted you, the one who made you realize you were worth so much more than your ex crush gave you.

And Emily, oh sweet Emily. She would take it the hardest. You were like sisters. And she would lose you. She had already lost enough of her family. You thought back to when you had thought you lost her. That was when you realized how important she was. It was like a part of you was missing. But that part came back. You hoped that Emily would feel like that, her missing piece would be back. But you wouldn't be back. That piece of her would be gone forever.

You were going off topic. What was the guy doing? He was just stood there. No, think back to the team. He will kill you soon. Wait.. Will he make them watch? No. He wasn't that cruel.. Right..? Then it clicked. There was always one survivor. One witness. He wanted them to feel what it was like to lose someone. Your heart clenched. The team would watch you die. You hoped it would be in their arms. No that's selfish. But you were going to die so what's the point of being selfless? There was nothing and no one to be selfless for.

Off topic again, Penny. She would take it second hardest. No. Think of the good things. You thought to the shirt you had on. Penny had made it for you one time after a particularly bad case, at least you would die with something that reminded you of her. You hoped you would be able wear something she made to your funeral.

Spence. The boy you had watched grow and get better. The one who you helped after he got addicted. He was like a younger brother to you. You would listen to his rants. You wished that maybe you would be able to die listen to the soft lull of his voice. You think to the time you found out he was afraid of birds. He said something like 'they descended from dinosaurs! They're dangerous things!'

You think to Derek. The teasing between you, the play fights you had when you were both bored. You thought to the time when you found he coached a basketball team and you had mentioned you used to play, you were then dragged to each game he coached to be an assistant, not that you minded.

You finally thought to the team as a whole. You think of the late nights out. The monopoly games that made a screaming match. You remember the sounds of them screaming your name after you.. Wait. As you were hauled to your feet you realized. That wasn't a memory. You opened you eyes and in from of you was the team, minus Penny.

They all looked horrified and shocked. You offered them a small smile but as you felt the cool metal of the gun against your blood soaked skin your smile dropped. Right. You were going to die. You kept your gaze on the team. You didn't hear the unsub. You only saw the team. Nothing else mattered and as you felt the bullet pierce your skin you kept your eyes open. You heard their screams. You dropped as the guy ran. No one cared at that moment as some agents you didn't recognize rushed past them.

Nothing else mattered as you were scooped into Hotch's arms. You looked up and smiled. Nothing else mattered as you heard Spencer's voice as he ranted. It was a nervous mechanism. And it was something he needed right now. There was only one thing you needed to do before you let go. Oh how you wished they had come quicker. But you knew that wasn't gonna happen. It was a race against the clock.

"I.. I love you guys."

You uttered it out as a goodbye and their cries didn't register as you let go of the thread of life. They were a fast team. The fastest team you knew. They always won against every race against the clock. But, this race, the only race that mattered to them. They were too slow. They had lost this race against the clock.

[sillygoose1777]

Chapter 1: Disobedience sparks pity

word count: 4114

Tags: Servant whumpee, caretaker, humiliation whump, royal whump, royal caretaker, whump, tw whipping, tw slavery, whipped whumpee, non con stripping, whumpee taken in by royalty, crossdressing whumpee, og ocs, og world, og story, whumpee, whumper, noble whumper, whumpee perceived as female, possessive whumper, mentions of past trauma, mentions of past torture, tw stoning, past injuries mentioned, non con nudity, stern caretaker, multple care takers, multiple whumpers, forceful caretaking, fear of eye contact, defiant whumpee, whumpee that doesn’t talk a lot, curious caretaker, stranger whumpee and caretaker, mentions of non con activity, mentions of forced non con, manhandling, healing arc

Sonnet flinched as his master’s whip flew past his head, barely missing his ear. The next time his master didn’t miss, connecting with his shoulder and splitting his skin open. He cried out, having already lost count at what number lashing that was. Two more followed after before his master finally started wrapping the whip around his arm. 

Sweat dripped into Sonnets eyes despite the wind being cool this morning. The sun had only begun to rise a couple of minutes ago, shining light onto the small crowd that had gathered. Humiliation burned in Sonnet’s cheeks, and he leaned against the wooden pole he was tied too. He was sitting on his knees with his wrists tied behind him, making his shoulders strain. His torn up servant dress was in taters before him, though his skirt safely covered everything below the waist. Despite everything, he somehow had enough dignity, or stupidity depending on who you asked, to glare at his master. Mr.Winslow caught his eye and fumed. He advanced on Sonnet, grabbing his jaw and forcing him upwards. His shoulders screamed, if not for his voice. 

“You stupid boy, show some shame for your crime!” His master screamed in his face.

“Make me,” Sonnet spat.

That comment made Mr.Winslow livid, and he kicked Sonnet in the ribs. Sonnet struggled to heave in a breath through the pressure in his chest, and he leaned forward like a wilted flower. Clearly not done with his anger, Mr.Winslow took a swing at Sonnet. His fist connected with Sonnet’s cheekbone, cutting skin open. Sonnet saw stars as an insistent ringing began in his ears. He could hear Mr.Winslow speaking but couldn’t make sense of it. 

Once Sonnet was able to blink away the stars, he saw that his master was speaking to the slightly larger crowd. Sonnet could just make out Mr Winslow barking out an order for ‘no one to touch his stupid slave’. Then Mr.Winslow walked away to drag his pitiful wife home. Mrs.Winslow looked over her shoulder at Sonnet and mouthed ‘I’m sorry’. She had always liked Sonnet, and was usually very kind to him. But no matter how much she tried, she could never get Sonnet out of Mr.Winslow’s punishments. 

The ringing in his ears slowly dimmed to nothing but the voices of the crowd. Some were still watching, others had grown bored and walked away. Sonnet avoided eye contact with all of them. The last thing he needed was to realize just how much he had humiliated himself. He was likely going to sit there till sunset where Mr.Winslow would hand him right over to a merchant to resell him. 

Sonnect closed his eyes and started collecting his thoughts. If Mr.Winslow really was going to sell him, there was no way he would be seeing any of his stuff again. Even if they did let him keep his stuff, it would likely be taken from him by the next family he was bought by. And on the off chance Mrs.Winslow could convince her husband not to get rid of him, he would be dumped in the furnace room to work till exhaustion. He didn’t know which one he wanted less. 

…

Sonnet looked up at the sky and deduced it was a little past noon. The sun burned into his skin, making it turn bright red and soaked with sweat. He was still shirtless from this morning's whipping, and would likely be for a while unless a townsperson decided to cover him with something. That's how it worked in the kingdom of Montrose. If servants were disobedient to their masters, their master had the choice of how they would like to deal with it. Public humiliation was a popular pick, beating lessons into most servants the first time. If the public felt bad enough, they could give the punished water and feed them, could even give them clothes in Sonnet’s case. But most would not, either convinced the victim deserved it or too scared of the public eye would shame them for helping the weak. 

So Sonnet let the sun roast his skin and parch his tongue. The blood that once poured from his wounds dried on his skin. The market had long been set up and became a bustling place for passersbys. Everyone would give him a wide berth, not daring to get their polished shoes near what they considered filth. Sonnet liked it that way, it meant no one would further harm him. 

That was until a group of boys started making a beeline for him. Sonnet noticed the stones in their hands and felt a sense of dread. Before they had even made it within the circle everyone else avoided, they were throwing the stones and shouting obscenities at him. Bruises would definitely bloom later, joining the list of injuries Sonnet would have to tend to. In the distance, Sonnet thought he could hear a trumpet being played over the boys shouting. 

Sonnet continued to shrink away from the boys until he heard the sound of horse hooves clattering on the sidewalk. The king was back from his trip from a nearby country, and he was coming down this very street. The boys who were once throwing stones realized this as well and froze. The horses were thundering down the street fast with the crowd already parted away. One of the boys tried to dart away, either from fear of being caught or the fear of being trampled. It clearly couldn't be the second as the boy ran straight in front of the horse's path. 

Everyone including Sonnet gasped in horror as the knights reared the horses, towering over the boy. A few members of the crowd screamed as the horses came down, knocking the boy to the ground. As soon as the hooves touched the ground, the knights were climbing off their horses and dragging the boy up. Yelling and threatening him, the crowd divided into chaos. In the corner of his eye, Sonnet saw the door of the carriage fling open. He held his breath as he watched the king himself leave the safety of the carriage. 

“SILENCE!” The king's voice boomed over the crowd. 

Sonnet watched in awe as everyone within the next few miles stilled. The king glared around, clearly already in an awful mood only to be dealing with unruly people. The king walked over to the boy, his friends having abandoned him. One of the knights neared the king with hesitancy. 

“Your highness, it's not safe out here–” The king raised his hand to silence the knight. 

“What happened here?” he asked calmly. 

“I-I didn’t hear the trumpets and tried getting out of the way,” the boy said, cowering under the gaze of the king. The king huffed, then noticed something. 

“What are you holding?”

The knight holding the boy let go assuming the king was talking to him. The boy also raised his hands for the king to see. There were two small stones in his hands, waiting to be thrown at Sonnet. 

“Why do you have stones?”

“I uh um, I like collecting s-stones?” The kid stammered. The king eyed him as the boy's friends sniggered in the crowd. 

Feeling someone staring at him, the king turned around. Sonnet immediately averted his gaze and looked at the king's shoes. He instantly became aware of his shame and his cheeks started to go red like his sunburns. He looked down at his bloodied, sun burned, and sweat stained skin and wished he could have been swallowed up by the earth at that moment. Having been deep in his thoughts of humiliation, Sonnet hadn’t noticed that the king was standing in front of him. Sonnet looked up at the king before realizing his mistake and averting his gaze again. 

The king took in the sight before him. A bloodied and beaten servant was stripped nearly bare and tied down on display. He noticed the rocks surrounding the servant and connected the dots together. The king turned to his knights to address them. 

“Bring me some water for this servant to drink. And arrest that boy for stoning a citizen of Montrose.” 

Two knights grabbed the boy and dragged him off in anger as his friends watched in shock. A third knight presented a water bottle to the king which he took. The king then knelt down and cupped Sonnet’s cheek.

“Untie him,” the king ordered his knight. He then turned to Sonnet and began helping him drink water. The cold water rushed down his parched throat, cooling his flaming insides. The king paused the water stream when Sonnet sagged forward once he was released from the ropes tying him down. The king offered the water bottle to Sonnet and he took it, finishing it in a few messy gulps. He wiped away the few drops that escaped his mouth and flinched when the king draped him in something. He realized it was the king's cloak and he stared in astonishment. 

The king was too busy speaking to his knights. Sonnet closed the king's cloak further in to cover up as much of his bloodied chest as possible. In the next moment, arms pulled him up from his armpits and he yelped. He held the skirts at his waist, making sure they wouldn’t fall down as he wobbled on unsteady legs. He was dragged by the knight up and into the king's carriage, before being sat across from the king. The door shut behind the knight, leaving only the king and Sonnet staring at each other. 

He avoided making eye contact with the king, it was what he was taught since he was a kid. They sat in awkward silence as the carriage lurched forward and began to move. Sonnet grabbed onto the railing, startled by the movement. The king chuckled quietly and Sonnet blushed. This was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and he almost wished he was left at the whipping post. 

“Why were you tied there?” the king asked. Sonnet pulled the cloak further in on himself to hide the marks. Sonnet tried formulating the words, to try and sum up all the variables that played into today’s punishment. 

“Because I wasn’t a woman,” Sonnet finally said. He could tell that the king was confused but didn’t know if continuing to explain would be over stepping. So he stayed silent, like he always did. 

In actuality it was more than him not being a woman. Mr.Winslow always resented Sonnet, and often looked for any reason to punish him. But it came to a head this morning when Sonnet wore his servants dress like he always did. He helped Mrs. Winslow with her morning bath like he always did. Mrs. Winslow and a few other staff were the only ones who knew Sonnet was really a man. Though they didn’t seem to mind, if anything they seemed to find it attractive which only increased Sonnet’s discomfort as their servant. Apparently, Mr.Winslow was never informed of Sonnet’s identity and had always assumed that Sonnet was a woman. He was also known for having romantic flings with women other than his wife. So when Mr.Winslow made his advancement and Sonnet turned him down, he tried to force himself onto Sonnet, thus learning that he was in fact not a woman. He never actually told the king that, because he never asked. But it was sad for him to think about. 

The king never filled that silence. He stared at Sonnet for the majority of the ride to the castle, no longer amused whenever Sonnet would startle from a bump in the road. Sonnet gripped the railing of the carriage tight, to stop him from falling onto the king's feet. There was no need to further prove his humiliation. 

Sonnet could tell when they had reached the castle gates when the carriage became enveloped in voices. Soon they were rolling through the gates and stopped before one of the side entries into the castle. The doors of the carriage opened and the knight waiting there helped the king down. Sonnet hesitated and before he could make the decision to leave or stay, the same knight that helped the king before now yanked him out of the carriage. He stumbled and was barely able to catch his balance before he hit the floor. An iron glove gripped Sonnet’s arm and held him close, making sure he wouldn’t escape. The king was too busy talking to some of his royal staff to notice the mistreatment of his new possession. But the man who was currently talking to the king did. 

“--I'm sorry to hear about the failed- who is that?” the man across from the king asked. The king turned around and seemed to remember that Sonnet existed. 

“Oh, him.” The king snapped and a servant scurried over. “Go tell Sister Florence to run a bath for this servant. I want him properly dressed and seen by a physician afterwards.” As the servant walked away, the king motioned to the knight holding Sonnet to follow. 

The grip on Sonnet’s arm tightened where he swore it would leave bruises, and he was dragged off into the castle. The servant they were following split off in a different direction than the knight was taking him, presumably to grab whoever Sister Florence was. There were several times where Sonnet nearly fell from the pace at which they were walking. And everytime the guard would scoff and yank him onward. By the time they had reached a spacious and lavishly designed bathroom, the knight was more than happy to let go of them. 

Sonnet stood alone in the entrance of the bathroom, too scared to step further in or to leave. So instead he looked upwards as he pulled the cloak closer together. There was an intricate chandelier above him, twinkling glass charms dangling from lit candles. It was a luxury Sonnet never personally experienced, never allowed to be in fancy bathrooms unless he was with Mrs Winslow. 

There was a knock on the door and Sonnet startled. He stared as a woman dressed in all black entered, followed by a handmaiden. The woman in black gave him a sweet smile and extended her hand to him. 

“My name’s Sister Florence, I was sent to make sure you were properly taken care of.” 

Sonnet neither spoke nor took her hand to shake it, leaving the room to rest in awkward silence. Sister Florence let her hand fall to her side after a few moments of no movement. 

“Well, I’ll go draw that bath for you,” she said, walking past Sonnet and further into the bathroom. The handmaiden scurried after her, barely giving him a second glance. He started to wonder if it was too late to leave now. 

Sonnet could hear water running from where he was left standing. In a few minutes he watched the mirrors in the distance start to fog up from steam. The air became filled with scented oils, rich with lavender and lemongrass. Scents he only knew the names of because of the amount of times he had run them for Ms. Winslow. 

“Come on dear,” Sister Florence called. 

Reluctantly, Sonnet stepped further into the bathroom. Sister Florence had her hand in the water to test the temperature while the handmaiden was bringing soap bottles to the edge of the bathtub. Noticing him, Sister Florence flicked the water droplets from her hand and came closer. 

“Put your hands on my shoulder.”

Sonnet didn’t listen and watched as she knelt onto the floor. She pulled his foot out from under him and he stumbled, inevitably grabbing her shoulders. She carefully took off his shoes and chucked them to the side. Sonnet took his hands off of her as she stood up. She grabbed the cloak and pulled it off of him. The handmaiden behind him gasped and covered her mouth. Sonnet flushed, feeling exposed, both literally and metaphorically. 

“Ameila! Watch yourself,” Sister Florence scolded.

“Sorry sister,” Amelia replied. 

Sister Florence turned back to Sonnet and took his hand in hers. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Now, let's get the rest of these clothes off of you.” 

He was thankful when Sister Florence let go of his hand. He was not so thankful when they began to take off the rest of his clothes till he had nothing left to wear. All of his clothes were tossed haphazardly onto a pile. Sonnet unclipped his dagger sheath he had attached to his thigh for Sister Florence and handed it to him carefully. She took it and looked at it curiously before setting it carefully on the bathroom counter. He was then guided into the bath, more or less against his will. Despite his reluctance, the water was quite warm and soothing. The soapy water stung against his open wounds, making them alight with fire. 

He audibly winced when Sister Florence dumped water over his back. She and the handmaiden Ameila took great care in washing him. He hated the hands that were on him, invading his skin. They lathered soap into his skin then rinsed it off before repeating it over again. By the fourth time he was rinsed, his skin felt as if it was rubbed raw. 

Sister Florence then had Sonnet sit as close to the edge of the tub as possible and tilted his head back. As he looked up at the ceiling she scrubbed shampoo into his hair. He almost relaxed into her touch, the feeling somewhat soothing. She titled his head up again and blocked his eyes while dumping water over his head. She repeated this process again before doing it one more time with conditioner. With his head thoroughly washed and the bath water having turned murky gray, they finally let him out of the bath. 

He was wrapped in one of the softest bath towels he’d ever known. Sister Florence sent the handmaiden Amila to grab his clothes while she gently rubbed him dry. Amila came back with clothes in hand. Sister Florence went to take off his towel when he stepped back.

“I can dress myself,” the first words he said to her. Sister Florence seems surprised that he spoke but respected his wish. She and the handmaiden Amila turned around while he carefully dressed. Sonnet quietly grabbed his dagger off the counter and strapped it back to his thigh. He adorned undergarments, a silk button up shirt, and wide length shorts. He was slightly disappointed he wasn’t allowed to wear a dress, but he made no fuss about it. Sister Florence and Amila turned around while he was pulling up the socks they had given him. Sister Florence had him sit down while she began to work on his hair and Amila helped him put on shoes. 

After about twenty minutes, his hair was brushed out and trimmed slightly to shoulder length. Sonnet protested against any length shorter than that. Sister Florence helped Sonnet stand up and they led him out of the bathroom. Stepping into fresh air that wasn’t filled with scented oils felt intoxicating. He followed quietly as they brought him to a bedroom. It looked like a noble’s personal suite, much too big for a servant to stay. 

“A physician will be with you shortly,” Sister Florence told him before leaving him alone in the room. 

Sonnet didn’t know what to do with his new found aloneness. He looked around the room without moving, letting himself admire the room. He could tell this was a guest bedroom with how unlived in it looked. He wondered when the last time someone had touched this room besides servants cleaning it. Would he be the first to grace this room with a living breath? A very exhausted, yet living breath. 

The door opened and Sonnet snapped his head to look at the person who entered. It was a man in a doctor's coat, holding a briefcase in one hand and the doors handle in the other. He smiled at Sonnet and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. 

“I’m Dr. Clarke, and you are?” the physician asked. 

“Sonnet.” 

“That’s a lovely name.” Sonnet didn’t respond. “If I could have you sit on the bed, we can get started,” Dr. Clarke said as he gestured to the bed. 

Sonnet followed his gaze and sat on the very edge of the bed. Dr. Clarke followed, setting his briefcase near Sonnet. He opened it up and pulled out a few tools. He started by checking Sonnets eyes, ears, and mouth. Once the normal routines were done, Dr. Clarke put away his tools and put on a set of gloves. 

“If I could have you take off your shirt for me.”

Sonnet did as he was told, and held the folded shirt in his lap. Dr. Clarke began his work with each wound. Pouring antiseptics into the open ones, burning out any possible infection. Gently covering them in ointment before wrapping them in cloth. He would gently press against any bruises Sonnet had to test whether they needed attention or not. He had Sonnet turn around so that he could do the same thing over again for all the wounds on his back. Those ones hurt the most and Sonnet had to bite his tongue multiple times to stop himself from crying. Sonnet was allowed to turn back around when the physician was done. He buttoned his shirt back up while Dr. Clarke changed his gloves.

“Now I’ll have you take off your pants,” Dr. Clarke stated. 

Sonnet hesitated under the physician's gaze, but eventually took them off. There were fewer wounds for Dr. Clarke to focus his attention on, making it a lot quicker then when he worked on his torso. As soon as Dr. Clarke was done, Sonnet pulled his shorts back on, wanting to be left alone. Dr. Clarke packed up his briefcase, then handed a bottle to Sonnet. 

“Drink a cap-full of this tonic with every meal till your bruises are gone.” 

Sonnet held the bottle in his hands as the physician left. He leaned against the bed and exhaustion finally settled onto his shoulders. He looked out the window of the guest room and saw that the sun had well past setting. Stars were already creeping up the skyline. Just when Sonnet thought he had actually been left alone for the night, there was a knock on his door. A servant walked in with a tray of food. They set it down on a side table next to some bookshelves before addressing Sonnet. 

“I was told to inform you that you will be spending the night here. Silas will be coming to get you in the morning for your audience with the king.” 

They then gave a small head bow before leaving the room. Sonnet looked at the bottle in his hand before sighing and walking over to the tray of food. A small voice in his head warned him of the food being poisoned, but at this point he really didn’t care. So what if the king had him treated this nicely just to poison him in the end, it was better than the Winslows ever had. Sonnet sat at the small table and ate slowly, watching the castle's life dwindle by the night. By the end of the meal, he felt even more exhausted and in pain. He poured out a cap-full of the tonic before shooting it like whiskey. 

It tasted bitter in his mouth and he washed it down with a glass of water. With a full stomach and a tired mind, Sonnet blew out the candles in the room and crawled into bed. The mattress was softer than any cot he had been allowed to sleep on. Despite his history with insomnia, the soft blankets and the comfort of safety in sitting in his stomach lulled him down enough to actually fall into soundless sleep. 

[darkthingshappen]

Reckoning (Merry Whump of May Day 1)

A Brother's Keeper Story Set about seven month's after Ben's initial rescue after fourteen months of captivity with Volkov.

Thanks to my always whumperful crew @whumpcereal @sparrowsage @quietly-by-myself, and @oddsconvert for the flash beta job this afternoon.

Tags list at the end.

Warnings: BRIEF mentions of past torture, captivity, and noncon. Though nothing too explicit. PTSD. Ben just has a moment where he's tired of being told it's okay and unfortunately, Jake gets the full brunt of it. Ben's not wrong, but Jake... well... you'll see.

@themerrywhumpofmay (I'm so excited this is back this year!)

The kitchen was brightly lit, it was Fall again.  Ben and Jake were doing the dishes.  They were nearing the second anniversary of Ben’s abduction, but it felt like the first since he’d spent the previous one still with Volkov. Jake was dreading it.  Everyone was dreading it.  Ben was jumpy and distant, caught up in far too many dark memories.  

Still, he had made so much progress, especially in the last month or so.  He was smiling more, Jake had even seen him laugh once, with Zoe.  Ben was slowly coming out of his shell after a brief stint in a mental hospital and months and months of intensive therapy.  Ben stared blankly out the window.  He never seemed to be able to get enough of looking outside.  

Jake slapped him playfully on the arm with his wet washcloth as he’d done a million times throughout their childhood.  

He shouldn’t have done that.  The loud smacking sound of the cloth on Ben’s arm sent him to the floor, arms over his head, curled in a ball and rocking.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Ben whimpered. 

Jake glanced around the kitchen in panic.  He was alone with Ben.  Their parents were out, his dad at work and their mom grocery shopping.  They were counting on him to take care of Ben.  He’d told them he could do it.  He was eight years Ben’s senior for god’s sake.  Think!  He could do this.  He could handle it.  Couldn’t he?  

“Shit!  Benny.  It’s okay.  Sorry.  That was stupid of me.  I was just playing like we used to.  I didn’t think...  Shit I’m sorry.  Please Benny.  Please,” Jake begged, trying to recall what the therapist had said about how to bring Ben out of these horrible flashbacks.  

Jake got up and ran to the living room.  He grabbed the heated and weighted blanket they’d got Ben recently.  They left it on most of the time for emergencies like this.  Jake draped the warm blanket over Ben and held Ben’s hand, rubbing soft circles on the back of it with his thumb.  

“It’s okay, Ben.  Don’t worry.  It’s okay,” Jake assured him for the millionth time since Ben had come home and had one of his prolific flashbacks that, at best made him freeze dead still and zone out, and at worst made him panic and react as if he were in the moment that he was seeing in his head.  

“It’s not fucking okay!” Ben snapped suddenly, throwing the blanket off and getting to his feet.  “Stop fucking telling me that!  You don’t know a damn thing about it, do you?”  He glared at his brother.  “You.  Weren’t. There!”

Jake recoiled, taken aback by the sudden and uncharacteristic anger and volume.  Ben was always quiet now, rarely talking and when he did it was barely above a whisper.  Jake attributed it to months of wearing a fucking shock collar.  He stared at Ben in disbelief.  He knew he deserved his brother’s anger.  Whatever Ben wanted to say, he deserved it.  He deserved to be reviled by the shell of a brother in front of him.  He wished to God he could fix it; could make his baby brother whole.  

“He didn’t take you, did he?  He didn’t fucking torture you on daily basis, did he?  He didn’t ra-” Ben’s voice, dripping with rage, cut off and he was left standing, heaving in breaths of air.  His whole body trembled and Jake saw the dam of emotions and torment and memories that threatened to overwhelm his baby brother.  

They both knew what he was about to say.  

“It’s not okay,” Ben finally finished, more quietly than before.  

“I-I know, Benny.  I’m not meaning to make light.  I know what he did to you.-”

“No.  No you fucking don’t.  Seeing my scars or reading that damn file that they gave mom and dad doesn’t mean you know.  It doesn’t.  It doesn’t.  There’s so much more than what they could fit in my fucking file.”  Ben made air quotes over the last word.  

“I spent almost every night curled up in a cage.  A fucking cage, Jake.  No blanket.  No pillow, no mattress.  Just a hard plastic or metal bottom of a cage.  And it was cold.  All the time.  I asked for a blanket one time.  Do you know what he did to me?”

Jake’s expression reflected the horror of what Ben was telling him.  It was the most Ben had directly said about what happened to him when he was with Volkov and Jake felt ashamed to want him to stop talking.  He shook his head minutely.  

“He tied me to a fucking cross outside.  Outside in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs.  Outside in the fucking Russian winter.  I thought I was gonna die.  Over and over and over I thought I was going to die.  Until it shifted from being afraid of dying to…” Ben’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “To hoping for it.”  He looked at Jake.  “I don’t know who I am anymore because of what he did to me.  Do you know what it’s like to hurt so bad, in every part of you, that you just want it to be over.  Permanently.  Do you?”

A tear slipped down Jake’s cheek and he shook his head,  “N-no.  No, Benny, I don’t. I’m… I’m sorry.  I wish I knew what to do.  I wish I knew how to take it away.  God!  Fuck! Benny I wish it were me.  You have no idea how badly I wish it had been me.  It should have been me.”

And for once, Ben didn’t disagree.  He just stood there watching his brother crumble.  He had always said, believed, told himself, that he wouldn’t wish what happened to him on his worst enemy.  But he was so angry, and so terrified, and so overwhelmed with all that he had been through, that a furious mean little voice that he never used to have reared its ugly head and screamed inside him, ‘I wish it had been you!’

Ben clamps his lips shut before he can utter the hurtful words, but he knew it was too late, he may not have said them, but Jake heard them loud and clear all the same.  Ben sighed.  

“I… I need to… I need a break, Jake.  I-I-I don’t blame you.  I don’t.” He said the words, but he was no longer sure if he believed them.  “But I can’t do this right now.”

Ben turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jake standing in the middle of the room, holding a warm blanket that offered him no comfort. 

Tagging List: @i-can-even-burn-salad @peachy-panic @deluxewhump @arwenadreamer @whumpcereal @melancholy-in-the-morning @dont-touch-my-soup @whumpsday @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert @melennui @susiequaz12 @morning-star-whump @crystalquartzwhump @whump-and-other-things @mylifeisonthebookshelf @reflected-pain @hold-him-down @quietshae @quietly-by-myself @there-will-always-be-bloodblood @whumping-seven-days-a-week @hiding-in-the-shadows (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it. I’m still getting used to this) 

[doyouevermakeasound]

Febuwhump Prompt Day 1: Touchstarved

CW: Mention of past torture

Whumpee didn’t know it until the realization struck them, much like they had been hit.  So. Many.  Times.  Before.  

Caretaker’s forehead touched theirs, their hand gently cupping their cheek.  No words were said.  They didn’t have to be spoken.

Whumpee had been found.  Found!  After all this time!  Time?  How much time had passed?  Whumpee didn’t know.  Caretaker knew, down to the hour.

The silence was broken by caretaker’s hushed tone as they withdrew their forehead from whumpees, “We need to leave now.  Can you walk?”  

Whumpee missed the touch already but understood the gravity of the situation.  “I think so.”  Their own voice felt foreign to them.  It was hushed, gravelly, and not much higher than a whisper from the hours spent screaming.  

“Good,” the caretaker’s hand withdrew from Whumpee’s cheek, leaving them with just a fond memory, as the caretaker went to work on the rough rope that cut many sores into whumpee’s wrists.  

A familiar squeak from above, one so quiet that even caretaker didn’t hear it, made whumpee stiffened.  “Care-caretaker.  Run.”  They spoke in a hurried tone.  “They’re coming.  Whumper is coming.”  They jerked away from Caretaker, trying to create space between them.  “Go!”

Caretaker missed the telltale noise and instead redoubled their efforts to free whumpee.  “No!”

“Whumpee.” Caretaker freed one wrist, “I can’t leave you!  Not again…”

The door creaked open behind the pair, freezing caretaker in their place, understanding dawning on them.

“Caretaker, how nice of you to join us.” 

@febuwhump

[fallenwhumpee]

Full Prize

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Mentioned past torture, mentioned murder, inexplicit injuries, restrains, suggesting torture, possibly dissociation.

Leader stared ahead. They didn't spare a glance at their ankles throbbing as if they were still broken, their wrists aching. They could practically feel the knife once was between their shoulder blades, deep enough to puncture one of their lungs.

But Leader didn't react to the pain at all. It was all they had felt until a month ago— for almost a year. It was familiar, comforting, even. To have a reminder that they had been beaten, but not broken.

"We can rough them up a bit," Right Hand suggested, touching to their healed arm lightly. It still hurt— the mere sight of Whumper was enough to resurface the pain that was supposed to be gone, but clinging to Leader's skin.

It all looked to a word from their mouth. Whunper was just there, yet to wake up, tied up and thrown to a corner like a bag. Defenseless. Leader could just wrap their hands around their throat and—

"There's no need," Leader all but ordered, not breaking the blank expression. They didn't know how they sustained their image, but at least their flat look would stop possible protests. "They will pay for what they did to everyone."

"Then let me have the watch at least. You haven't moved since we came back," Right Hand tried again.

"I'm alright," Leader assured. They were alright. They could act like they were alright, at least. And that was more than enough.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Anything I should know before you go?" Leader shifted their stance, taking some weight off of their almost healed ankle.

"No sir."

"Good." Leader nodded, bothered by the formality. Right Hand began walking out, and Leader called them before they could stop themselves.  "Right Hand?"

"Hm?" Right Hand's head snapped at them.

"Don't worry," Leader tried again. They had already burdened the team with their absence. They didn't want to cause more trouble.

"Hard not to," Right Hand muttered.

"I know."

"I won't let you be around when they wake up, though," Right Hand insisted.

Leader gave a small smile. "I give the orders here," they reminded.

"No. Not this time. Last time you insisted on something—"

"It was for the best," Leader cut through the sentence. The other option would end with slaughter of their team.

"No—"

"Right Hand," Leader warned, a little too sharp. They took a deep breath, fixing their tone. "The reason of our argument is now incapacitated. I see no reason for me to leave."

"When will you stop acting as if nothing happened?"

"I'm not ignoring what happened. But truly, Right Hand, I'm alright. Past is past."

Telling was easy, after all. Leader could lie in their sleep. They weren’t proud about that, but it was useful. And it was a lie they told themselves constantly. They would fake it until they made it.

"But its not for me!" Right Hand yelled. The tone made both of them flinch, but it was all Leader needed to pull Right Hand into their embrace. Gently, they wrapped their aching arms around the younger officer. Right Hand grabbed Leader's shirt tightly from behind, tense.

"Its not, and you acting as if you were always here is eating me alive. I… I'm afraid. I don't want you and Whumper in the same city, let alone the same room." Right Hand mumbled, burying their head to Leader's neck and clinging to their shirt. "I can't— we can't lose you again."

"I'm not going anywhere." Leader patted Right Hand's back, pulling away only a little after Right Hand loosened their grip.

"Don't. Ever." Right Hand stepped back fully, schooling their voice back to neutral just because Whumper began to stir.

Right Hand grabbed Leader's wrist to pull them back, but Leader didn’t budge. Instead, they shook Whumper with their shoe, trying to get them coherent faster.

"Rise and shine, darling. I brought you to your hell."

"Don't tell me they fixed you," Whumper whined, sitting up straighter. They looked sore.

Good.

"Bold of you to assume your pathetic attempts made a dent on me,"Leader retorted.

"You break my heart," Whumper pouted. They wiggled in their place a little. "At least your mercy is still here. These binds are too lose."

They were not, Leader reminded themselves. Leader checked it far too often to doubt just because Whumper made a comment.

"When will the vehicle arrive?" Leader asked, ignoring Whumper trying again.

"Almost there," Right Hand said after checking their phone.

"And you'll just let me go, dear? I thought you loved me when I was crushing your bones. A special experience and all. Sentimental people like you would appreciate quality bonding time more."

"Shut it. Adults are talking," Right Hand snarled back before Leader could open their mouth. "Leader, we still have time for it. I can't stand them."

"We gotta be an example. And I want full prize, their corpse cuts the bounty in half," Leader returned, voice neutral. They were surprisingly alright with Right Hand's suggestions, they admitted to themselves reluctantly, but it wouldn't satisfy Leader.

Nothing could calm down the rage Leader had locked deep into their mind.

"Technically, they can fall from the elevator shaft and elevator can fall on them. In best case scenerio, we'll have to call for cleanup."

"See, this is the hospitality you kept gloating about, dear Leader. You can't even pull your weight. You should try my discipline methods."

Leader didn't wince at the remark. Their hand, hidden behind their body, however, clenched into a fist hard enough to hurt. The suggestion made them feel dirty for no reason. Leader wasn't a monster.

Or well, they weren't a monster like Whumper.

Because Leader knew what they could do. Leader still remembered the first time Whumper released their underlings into their cell. They remembered the second, the third. They remembered the bloodshed just by their hands. They remembered the raw rage shutting down their thoughts.

They remembered the corpses

"Its always sad to see people assume fear is a good teacher," Leader mused instead, dismissing the thoughts. The safehouse's door cracked open behind them. There were still two doors between, but Leader could practically feel people closing. They stepped aside, turning their face to the door as if it was a potential treat. Of course they knew it was not but still… survival instincts were hard to get rid of.

Leader let the rest on Right Hand. They offered their opinion only when asked as the authorities dragged Whumper away.

-•-

At that night, for the first time in a long time, Leader went to sleep feeling safe. Until Right Hand basically broke into their room, telling that Whumper escaped.

[whumpshaped]

very specific whump drabble request because it won’t leave my mind.

whumpee recovering (with the help of caretaker) after being tortured by whumper and specifically having his achilles tendons cut :D

content: past trauma, rocky recovery, hospital setting, gore mention, sadistic whumper, surgery mention, aftereffects of torture, flashbacks

The cast felt uncomfortable. The surgery site was not yet painful, likely because Whumpee had been pumped full of painkillers, but his leg was already itching, and he knew that stupid cast wasn't coming off for at least several weeks. And they'd put his foot in such an odd position, it was just... so weird.

"I don't like this," Whumpee whispered, and Caretaker gave him an apologetic smile.

"I know. I'm sorry. But they had to do the surgery."

Whumpee nodded. Of course, he knew that too. It just didn't make it any easier.

It felt so unfair. He was here with a stupid cast on his leg, while Whumper was somewhere still out there, free, happy, able to walk and run and jump.

"Just let me know when you're ready to go," Caretaker said softly, breaking Whumpee out of his thoughts.

"I mean... I, I'd like to go as soon as possible. Can we go now?"

"Uh— well, I mean, I guess? Let me ask a nurse, hold on. They said we could go whenever, but I'm not sure they assumed you would want to go immediately."

Whumpee watched his friend disappear into the hallway, and he turned his head back to look at the ceiling. It was all white, just like the rest of the hospital, aside from pops of that ghastly green colour.

He wanted to go home. This emergency hospital visit felt like one last punch from Whumper, one last way in which they could keep him from finally returning to his life. It was infuriating.

"I hope you're not a dancer," they said, giddy with excitement as they raised the knife. "I would so hate to do this to a dancer."

The memory flooded his mind all at once, without warning. He clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle any sobs, trying to calm down. It was over. It was over.

"I hope you think of me every time you take another step."

~

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

[rottkitt]

“ if i died in the middle of a frozen night, would you feel alright? would you be alright? ”

a

hey guys………, ugghhhh me trying to listen to Stay Behind, Dirty Town, Arms Tonite (OH MY GOODDDDDDDD. THAT ONE.), Back To Life, and Burning Pile trying not to think about either of them (and failing (MISERABLY)) why are they so wet dogs core. doomed yaouri. oHH MY GOD BOTTOM BY MCCAFFEETY JUST STARTED PLAYING AS I WAS WRITING THIS IM GONNA FUCKING SCR EA,MMMMM???? “hey man i miss your collar bones i miss the way your skin feels on my collar bones” i might be unwell about this. they make me sixk disgusting little. little tthings.. /aff

reblogs over likes please !

( all intended ship but can be platonic ::} )

[whumperofworlds]

Caretaker-turned-Whumper where they torture Whumper for hurting Whumpee, except they hide that fact from Whumpee.

Whumpee grew suspicious of Caretaker, and when Caretaker is away, Whumpee looks for the truth. They find Whumper chained up in Caretaker's basement, beaten and bloodied, and begging for help.

How would Whumpee react? Would they be joyous and even help Caretaker torture Whumper? Would they be shocked to realize that Caretaker did this, and they are now scared of Caretaker? Would they keep their mouth shut?

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 31

My beloveds are here to send off Whumptober <3 It's been a truly incredible experience to not only stay on track with, but to actually complete. I still can't believe I did that. I'll be continuing some of what I started here, just give me a minute to rest my typing fingers <3

Content warnings for: mental health evaluation, mentions of suicide, and suicidal ideation.

Therapy

“Seriously?”

“Come on, Dec. Lay down, relax.”

Declan frowned and reluctantly reclined back on the couch, resting his head against the arm.

“On your back…”

“I could not give less of a shit, Hasan.”

“You can’t calm down when you look at me.” Hasan crossed their knees, settling a clipboard in their lap. “This is supposed to be a therapeutic environment.”

“Therapeutic my ass.”

“Yes, darling? Shall I give it a massage?”

“Shut up.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes.

“A spanking then, love?”

“Fuck off, Hasan!” He shot up and bared his teeth, but they ignored his discomfort.

“How often would you say you experience little or no pleasure in doing things?”

“Every single second I have to deal with your sorry self.”

Their clothes rustled and something clinked on the coffee table next to him. His eyes flicked over to see Hasan setting down their belt, the heavy buckle meeting glass.

“Tell the truth and I won’t use it today. Or anything else for that matter.” Well, his attention was piqued but he still leveled his gaze, glowering. “Now tell me again. How often do you experience little or no pleasure in doing things?”

“What kind of things?”

“Let’s say hobbies. Watching television, playing games, and so on.” They were clicking their pen in the silence.

“Probably half the time,” he mumbled.

“Would you say several days this past week, or more than half the days?”

“Picky much? The latter.”

“How often have you felt down, depressed, or hopeless?”

“It’s a little hard to separate my mental health from your influence.”

“Estimate, my dear. You’re stalling.”

He was, but his question didn’t come without merit either.

“Every day then.”

“Do you experience trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, or sleeping too much?”

“Sometimes. Depends how much you torture me.”

“Touché. Have you been experiencing tiredness or low energy?”

“Constantly.” The pen circled another number. “You know I’ve done this a million times before, right? I know I’m depressed.”

“You told me before that you were in remission.”

“Something like that, at some point. I’m not perfect.”

“I didn’t say you should be. I want to understand your state of mind, sweetheart. Have you had a poor appetite or been overeating?”

“Not really. Probably no.”

“Alright. And do you feel bad about yourself? That you’re a failure, or have let people down?” 

“No, Jesus, you just want me to talk about being miserable.”

“Declan.” They raised a brow, flicking the belt buckle. “Truth. Now.”

“...sometimes.”

“Interesting.”

“Don’t interesting me-!”

“Have you had trouble concentrating on activities?”

“Yeah, on weekdays. Always checking the goddamn time for some reason.”

“And how about speed? Are you moving so slowly or so erratically that others would have noticed?”

“That’s a question for you, isn’t it?”

“What answer would you expect?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“I would agree. And in the past week, have you had any thoughts of hurting yourself, or thoughts that you would be better off dead?”

“I think you hurt me enough for the both of us, Hasan.” Declan crossed his arms and turned away, staring into the cushions. “Circle the one and leave me alone.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Excuse you?”

“You know precisely what I’m asking.”

“No, asshole. No I don’t. But if you wanna pink slip me, then be my guest.”

“Just covering my bases.” Hasan stood, picking up their belt.

“Woah! You said you wouldn’t!” He shoved himself back into the couch, watching with wide eyes as they threaded it back through their belt loops.

“I did indeed.” They fastened it and picked up the clipboard, tucking it under their arm and tapping it again with the pen. “We’re going to keep that in check, whether you like it or not.”

[pervartwhoo]

accurate depiction of my reaction to today's tsams:

[hithertoundreamtof23]

Fic #40!!! 🎉

Summary: A Stephen Strange variant finds himself face-to-face with Cassandra Nova. (Gap filler based on the name-drop in Deadpool and Wolverine).

WARNINGS: Major Character Death (mentioned in Deadpool 3), various mentions of past trauma including brief torture, death, depression, suicide attempt, and family issues

Excerpt:

“You are different, you are broken. Hell, all of your variants are broken, and you-” her fingers made contact with his forehead.

It was like a hurricane came over him; waves crashed into his frontal lobe and winds blew his thoughts around into a jumble that made it hard to resist.

Bad things happen bingo: Can't Go Home

Fandom: Doctor Strange, Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)

[pharawee]

My tumblr and BL holiday is probably going to be a bit longer because my internet is down. Again. Apparently there's return path interference (cries in cable) and they can't just fix it. They have to find the source of the interference first (which could be hiding anywhere in the neighbourhood).

It's a good thing I downloaded all the recent trailers and shows I couldn't watch so I can at least catch up and make some gifs.

They couldn't even give me an ETA. It might take them weeks. 😭

[h-didanart]

Did someone ask for content about that weird Murder Mystery AU Crossover I thought of yesterday? No? WELL TOO BAD

Tw- mention of death and descriptions of such, but not to an extremely gruesome extent, these guys are brainstorming execution ideas is all, so no one really dies

The Ruin hummed idly as it finished writing.

It was planning day today in the server and they all had taken to planning their executions, better to be prepared for whatever ended up happening in the game after all!

For its part it had written a rather brilliant sequence, resembling a play in both physical execution and written format. The themes and allegories to its own past clear as the bottom of a translucent river, there if looked for but not the center piece. Oh no, that was reserved for the main attraction, the Ruin and its death. A tragedy played to an audience of booing creatures, none of its efforts to please the audience working until the very end when a stage light falls on its head.

It was a marvelous piece of writing dare it confess.

They nodded to themselves, wonderful indeed.

…

The Ruin looked up at their table mates, catching sight of the bullet list and doodle page both of its friends had been working on.

It cleared its throat, waiting until both bots were looking at it before speaking, “May I ask what you two’s executions look like?”

Solar and Nexus exchanged glances, a silent conversation in expressions and postures before the latter brightened up and turned to it.

“Why the most horrifying thing ever of course!” Nexus lifted up their paper, the crude doodles visible to both of the other bots.

“I’ll be dragged off to a lab where my task will be to make inventions that appear on a giant screen, starting off as easy then getting harder and harder, and all the while the room will start to fill with Negative Star Power— or poison, but it doesn’t sound as cool— until I’m but a coughing mess and mess up an invention which will then cause the creatures getting the inventions to get madder and madder until they get mad enough to throw me out and proceed to use my inventions to bludgeon me to death!”

They smiled, looking expectantly at the Ruin and the solar bot.

The Ruin simply blinked at the explanation, unsure of what to say. Solar hummed, “that is actually horrifying, wow”

Nexus giggled, placing their paper down, “thank you”

“It suits you well,” Ruin ended up saying, lunar bot glancing at it and bowing their head in thanks.

“How about you Sol? I bet’cha got something good cooking,” the taller bot turned to the addressee, arms crossed and supporting them on the table.

Solar mumbled in hesitance, glancing back at his paper before crossing his arms.

“I’m working front desk at the Theatre and restocking the shelves, but it gets incredibly busy so I lose some customers between tending to the supplies and the crowd, and after a certain amount of customers leave, a contraption opens under me sending me to the trash compactor where I’m crushed to death and my scraps are used to make a Security Bot”

The Ruin couldn’t help the small ‘oh’ that left their voice box as Solar finished the explanation. Nexus whistled, seemingly taken aback by the grueling scene as well.

Solar scratched at one of his rays, “I just went with whatever idea I got first”

“And that was a damn good idea,” Nexus responded. Solar huffed in what was probably amusement at their friend’s reply.

The Ruin stared back at its own paper as they idly listened to its friends converse.

It looked up again after a while, trying to spot the other groups nearby.

A similar trio to them sat the closest, a Sun, a Moon, and an Eclipse, all with rather different clothes than what it would consider the standard to be. The Eclipse and Moon were seemingly arguing, the Moon debating the logistics of animatronics dying by strangulation and how it wouldn’t make sense, all the while the Eclipse wasn’t countering with the same topic but rather questioning the Moon’s apparent choice of being pelted to death. The Sun stayed silent through it all. If it remembered correctly that must be the group of the “swap” dimension, ergo the Eclipse must’ve been in a Lunar role with the Sun and Moon switching as well.

The Ruin looked the other way spotting the second group closest to them. Lucero, KC, and Dusk sat together alongside a different Eclipse. It seemed like Dusk was giving everyone pointers on what to do for their executions, understandable taking his eerie knowledge of their dimension in mind. Lucero had came up with something relating to the stars and space, a black hole apparently? KC had gone the virus route, being forced back to her old ways but managing to stop himself in death. The Eclipse said something relating to sacrifices, it hadn’t really paid much attention to that.

Looking to the next table over, the one with Lord Loser, a Miku-fied Moon, and a Lunar, the Ruin tried to pick up on their conversation as well. Death by dragon, and cheated at a game was all it heard.

The last table they could not hear at all, it contained the two Bloodmoons and the Jack. One of the Bloodmoons was seemingly talking, moving a hand around as they did, it could barely make out an explosion like gesture. Both of the others in that table were listening intently though the Ruin did not see what more transpired there, the other Bloodmoon had glared at it from their spot, something that one usually did whenever it looked over.

The Ruin turned its gaze back to its paper, slowly looking up at their friends again.

“I am getting the impression that a great majority of us might be channeling our inner conflicts onto our made up deaths”

Solar and Nexus turned to face it, silently staring as they processed its words.

“That can’t be healthy,” Solar muttered a while later.

The Ruin tapped their claws on the table, frowning at their carefully put together work.

Nexus made a prolongated ‘eh’ sound, ending in a shrug.

“It’s a good source of inspiration”

Solar and the Ruin nodded. That could not be argued against.

[whumpacabra]

Fault

Or AI-less Whumptober 3: “It’s not your fault.”

Nightmares, vomiting, past trauma, past character death, dog mention, noncon mention, implied past torture, implied past animal attack [dog]

Masterpost / Previous / Next

“East?” Jackson woke with a start, suddenly cold as his husband jumped out of bed, stumbling to the watercloset. He fumbled his glasses onto his face, wincing as heard East wretch. “Oh, love…”

He flicked on the bedside light, and shuffled to the bathroom where he found East curled over the toilet, shaking. Jackson muttered soft reassurances, knees cracking as he sat on the bathroom floor next to him.

“Are you coming down with something?” Jackson held back East’s hair as he dry heaved, spitting bile.

“No. ‘m fine. Go back to bed - ” East gagged again, face ashen as he breathed through the nausea with a whimper.

“You don’t seem fine.” Jackson started to rub small circles on his husband’s back, watching him with worried eyes. ��…you’re shaking, love.”

“ ‘s just a bad - a bad dream. Go back to bed. I’ll - let me clean up quick…” East trailed off, still breathless as he looked helplessly at his partner. Jackson’s concerned expression only deepened.

“…do you wanna talk about it?” He leaned against his husband’s shoulder, arms wrapped around him as East wiped his mouth with a wad of toilet paper.

“Not really.” East’s voice was tight as he relaxed back against Jackson. His words were hoarse and soft. “…I killed them.”

Jackson’s expression was soft, eyes damp. It had been years since his partner had brought up that fateful day. He doubted East would ever stop blaming himself for what happened at the Holloway House.

“That wasn’t your fault, East - ”

“Not - before. When - when I was Wolf.” He spat the name with venom, but Jackson could hear the vein of fear and regret in the tremor of his voice.

Jackson stayed quiet, hands wandering to rub East’s shoulders, kisses planted at the base of his neck as he nuzzled against his husband.

“…I killed so many - I didn’t count. It was a blur until - until - ” Jackson leaned away, automatically holding East’s hair back as he wretched again, stomach empty. He croaked with a sob, voice raw. “It - it was my idea - I - he wanted me to - to - I couldn’t so I - I - I - ”

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to, love.” Jackson hummed softly, wiping spit from East’s face with another handful of toilet paper. “…but I’m here, if you want to tell someone.”

East sobbed, sniffling as he turned away from the toilet to bury his face against Jackson’s chest.

“…he wanted me to fuck them.” East breathed, chest shuddering as he curled his arms around Jackson. “And I didn’t want to so I - I had to figure out something he - that would be just as - I didn’t want to hurt them.”

“I know. I know you didn’t, love.”

“It - it seemed like - like mercy. At the time. But I - I can still hear - the screams aren’t even what I remember it - that dog it just - ” He shivered, quiet for some time as he sobbed against his husband. “…I didn’t know a rabid dog would…I knew it would kill him, I - I knew he - it wasn’t - I didn’t want to. I - I shouldn’t have but I don’t - I can’t - ”

“It wasn’t your fault, love - ”

“It was. It was and I - ” East was shaking, words choppy and choked. “I chose - it was my choice. I - I chose - selfish - my choice. My fault.”

“It wasn’t.” Jackson held him tighter, voice firm. “You shouldn’t have had to make that choice. You shouldn’t have been there. They shouldn’t have been there. The people who put you in that situation, put them in that situation - it’s their fault. Not yours.”

East still trembled in his arms, minutely shaking his head. Words were too far from him now, Jackson knew. So he continued to whisper reassurances, holding his husband safely in his arms.

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t. And if it was - it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t change the past. Doesn’t change the present. I love you, East. It wasn’t your fault.”

Jackson didn’t know if East believed him. He hoped he did.

Masterpost / Previous / Next

(Part of my Freelancers series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

[spinchip]

Turn You to a Colder Summer

(a/n: I wrote and edited this during my breaks at work, don't judge my grammar mistakes too harshly hehe)

(Warnings: frostbite (descriptions of numbness), violence, blood, injury, torture, mentions of past self harm, mouth trauma, threat of potential death. Kai does not have a good time, but he lives. The Ice Emperor is a Bad Guy)

(Wordcount: 2600)

Cold fingers drag along Kai's cheek in painful friction, ice crystals cracking and cutting into his skin like nettles as the hand arcs up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. The Ice Emperor's eyes are uncanny where they piece Kais gaze- black sclera where there should be white, burning electric blue where there should be warm sky, little flecks of gold that shift in and out of existence in the glow of the ice spires around them. No love. His expression is blank but not in the way Zanes usually is. It's cruel, clinical, and coldly detached.

Kai is bound in the floor, laid sideways to avoid the throbbing agony of brushing his frostbitten shoulder along the too-cold stone beneath him. That mark is hand-shaped, pressed brutally into his skin with a purposeful touch because Zane's ice couldn't get past the fire in his blood normally, not without excessive force or access to unlimited power. The ice blocks binding his arms behind his back and his ankles together don't sink frost as deep as when the Ice Emperor had torn him from his friends with an iron grip around his bicep. Their ambush failed. They were trying to escape, back through the tunnels Krag had shown them but he hesitated to follow, a part of him wanting to try and succeed where Lloyd had failed and draw Zane from the tyrant wearing his face. Kai knew better, he knew he couldn't get caught.

But he did, and now the Emperor is crouched over him with strange eyes and snowflakes trickling from his palm.

"He's not himself." Lloyd had said after stumbling back into the village- he’d left to look for the land bounty and had stayed gone three days, "If he catches you, he'll kill you." He promised, the sash from his ninja suit rewrapped tight over his belly and stained with his blood. The Staff of forbidden spinjitzu had a blade, after all. The Emperor was not afraid to use it. It was pure luck Lloyd had avoided the thick of the blade and hadn’t dropped his guts on the throne room floor.

To further prove his point and to save a life, he'd been dragging behind him a girl with each of her limbs encased in ice and delirious from blood loss, her mouth smeared with red where she'd coughed up bits of her lungs. He’d tapped her- just a tap against her sternum, the barest of hits that she’d nearly dodged, and he’d pushed ice into the delicate capillaries lining her lungs and frozen her blood half solid. The first breath she’d taken after had been agony, the second had torn. Akita. Lloyd had to tell them her name because she had passed out not long after arriving in the village- and when she tries to speak she was too out of it to form the right words. The blood flooding in her mouth wasn’t any help, either. Her body gave out once they began to chip her limbs free of ice, exhaustion claiming her. She was holding on to her life by a thread. Zane had done that.

No, the Ice Emperor had done that. It was an important distinction.

Kai, who'd just gotten his power back- the weak flicker that it was- had gone and gotten himself caught by the man.

The Ice Emperors eyes cut paths along his face, searching for something he knows is there but can't quite place. He'd been pacing around Kai for a long while, agitated and upset as he stared daggers at his prisoner. The frost on the edge of Kais cold and chapped lips reminds him not to speak. The Emperor has no qualms about forcing his silence. At first he’d thought the man was guarding him, too worried about the threat his powers might impose to regulate him to a typical cell under the palace. He was wrong. The Ice Emperor has no fear of him at all. Now he's so close Kai can smell oil, tracing burning cold lines into his skin as if finding the right path across his face will reveal what he's looking for.

Kai prepares for the eventual question. He also prepares for the scenario where the Emperor asks no questions and freezes his heart in his chest, but he hopes it doesn't come to that. He imagines what the Ice Emperor might ask- what the part of Zane still alive in him might push him to ask. There's no doubt that Zane still lives, because if he didn't the Emperor would have no reason to take any interest I'm him at all. He'd have been dead ten times over. Maybe he'll ask who are you? Or how do I know you? Or how do you know me? And Kai can explain to him that he loves him, he loves him, he loves him and that will make everything okay. It will. It has to.

Another long moment passes where the Emperor is crouched over him searching. Kai searches him too. Looks at everything in hope of finding the piece of the puzzle he can use to slot everything back into place. He's wearing completely different robes than he was before he was struck by the staff, white and gray and hand embroidered with diamonds made to glitter everytime he moved. His armor is growing fractals of ice in a messy, unkempt way. There's a patch where the icicles have been meticulously chipped away, but that chore was dropped and now they've been left to grow rampant. His face is dented and there's a patch of ice that's holding his jaw in place- an ugly crack from the corner of his mouth, a gap, and Kai can see where the connection between his mandible and skull has been snapped. The lopsided frown makes the break even more apparent.

The hand on his face is covered by a pure white glove. The hand on the staff is bare other than a thick case of ice, and Kai can see clear through it to the mess underneath. The titanium casing on his hand has been split apart to reveal his skeletal structure below. Kai has spent enough time in Jay and Nyas' mechanic lair under the monastery to have at least somewhat of a grasp on the basics of Zanes parts, so he knows what he's looking at. More specifically, he knows what he's not looking at. Wire- important wires, the ones Nya complains about because they have to special order them and they take ages to come- are missing. Not torn out, but neatly trimmed down near his wrist. The structure boning for his pinkie is gone, removed in the same clean fashion. There's more- Kai only knows so much, but he can tell the machinery underneath looks far more barren than a few wires and bone. Lloyd told them about the message in that cave, where he'd tried to fix the mech.

Kai can see it clearly in his mind. Zane, desperate and alone, taking the edge of a ninja star and sliding it along the near Invisible seam holding the casing of his hand together and shoving, cracking the connection points until it pops clean off. He and the mechs used the same type of wiring, after all.

The Emperor's voice is quiet when he speaks, the unfamiliar deep grit softening in the question meant just for the space between them, "Why do I hate you so much?"

Kais heartbreak over what might have happened in the cave stalls, every part of his mind thrown off rhythm with a question he never would have guessed he'd be asked. He can't articulate a response because he can't understand why Zane would hate him, and why that emotion would be leaking out into the Ice Emperor now.

"Zane-" He starts before his mouth is sealed shut with a layer of ice. Brain freeze hits first, sharp and cruel and like an icepick up through the roof of his mouth. Frost invades his mouth and glues his teeth together, crawling halfway down his throat. It hurts all the way to the roots of his teeth and he thrashes on instinct, bouncing his head off hard stone before he can control his reaction. Every part of his face hurts. There's a terrifying moment where the ice spreads over the back of his throat and seals off his sinuses and he's certain the Emperor has finally decided to kill him by suffocating him to death.

But the ice recedes almost as quickly as it came, though the Emperor keeps his hand over Kais mouth as a reminder not to slip up again. That was worse than the first time he'd done it, Kai doesn't want to know how bad it might be next.

The Ice Emperor's face is terrifyingly blank, a mask that gives absolutely nothing to Kai, so empty it scares him more than anything he's done so far. The interest in his eyes has fractured, and underneath is a hatred that makes the black of his pupils seem darker.

"You and your friends," his voice is still gentle, chillingly calm, "I hate all of you so much. I do not know why, but I do. I want to punish you."

Kai’s heart is jack rabbiting in his chest, beating at his ribs as adrenaline floods his system with nowhere to go. Fight or flight and he can't do either.

He takes his hand off Kai's mouth, "Speak." He orders.

Kai is woefully unprepared, stumbling over himself to try and come up with some way to remind Zane who he is. Lloyd told him that Zane said he loved them in his goodbye video. Why did that change? Was it the staff corrupting his mind? But the staff can only feed feelings that were already there. Did some part of Zane, some small part, really hate him?

"You're sick," he tries, his tongue darting out to try and wet chapped lips but its been hours since he's had a drink and his mouth is dry, "The staff is altering your mind, Zane. This isn't you. We're all friends! We love you!" He isn't above pleading and he pours desperation into each word, "You have to remember! I love you!"

The Emperor tilts his head inquisitively to the side as his expression flickers along the edges. Kai still knows Zane well enough to pick up on the minute changes- not a hint of it is kind. Whatever Kai said picked something loose, but not enough. Not enough. The light In his eyes changes but not in any way Kai can understand. He presses his finger to Kais mouth and seals it with another layer of ice, stopping his words. The air is thick, fraught with a tension so strong Kai can barely breathe through it. The Emperor looks at him. His eyes are so dark. He can still see Zane in everything the man does.

"I waited for you," the Ice Emperor speaks slowly, sounding out the sentence as if reaffirming its truth. A piece of Zane, just a sliver- a curiosity for the man crouched before him. It's a feeling, a certainty of a grievous crime, "And you never came."

It's bone chilling hatred.

It's betrayal.

Kais heart drops through his stomach and cracks to pieces on the icy floor. No no no-! He can't wrench his jaw free of his muzzle but he tries desperately to. He tries to scream, to howl and pour heat into his mouth- fire reacts to his devotion to his family, rushing through his body but again Kai is not enough.

We didn't know! We couldn't have known! We came as soon as we could! He thrashes on the floor, tries to bash his jaw down to shatter ice. He wants to grab the Emperor by the shoulders and shake shake shake him until his head pops off. I would have torn apart the sixteen realms to get to you! He's crying and the tears sting where they drip down his face. I would do anything!

He slumps, boneless and sore where his skin bruises on stone. He's thirsty, he's starving, and he's so so cold. The fire flickers out of him back down to an ember, faint and comforting if not much else. He blinks the wet from his eyes and sees the Emperors white white robes are stained with blood at the bottom. Above him, the tyrant moves.

Kai pushes himself back, the reality really sinking in. He was going to die here. No! he couldn't! He couldn't let Zane do this because when they got him back- and they would get him back, Kai has to believe that- he would never forgive himself. His back hits a pillar of ice and he looks around wildly, trying to figure out some way to get out of this, a smoking gun, a dues ex machina- anything! To stop what's coming.

He can do nothing. He squeezes his eyes shut as the Ice Emperor cups his cheek gently- but there's no ice stabbing into his brain, no agony of a literal ice pick lobotomy. The Emperors thumb wipes away an errant tear. A heartbeat passes before Kai hesitantly looks up at him.

The Emperor's face is still and serene, "I am not going to kill you, Kai." There is a moment of relief, even an inkling of hope before the chill comes.

It seeps into his skin from the Emperor's hand, down down through his face- It pours like slush through fat and muscle, cutting through his cheek to burn his gums and freeze the nerves in his teeth. It gets colder. Kai tries to dislodge his hand but the Emperor jerks forward and slams him down, holding his head against the stone floor as he pours ice into his blood faster, more brutal. Kai can't scream, his jaw locking against the bite of frost. It gets colder. It burns like the road rash he’d gotten the first time he’d wrecked his motorcycle, but a million times worse. Pain overwhelms all of his senses until he forgets how to breathe, hyperventilating and trying miserably to suck in enough air through his nose. His mouth is still sealed shut, he can't get enough air- he can't- His vision flickers with black spots.

It gets colder.

Feeling stops, numbness spreading like a balm over dying nerves. He stops struggling, taking advantage of the respite to catch his breath. His chest hurts with how hard his heart beats. His head is spinning. He looks up at the Ice Emperor with exhausted eyes and finds no pity, and especially no mercy. As Kai had struggled and sobbed in agony, he’d watched it all happen. He’d just watched. Kai is aware of the hand in his face by pressure alone, feeling blissfully gone.

The Ice Emperor takes his hand away.

He lays there and breathes, a tingling feeling spreading over his cheek. Pins and needles that turn sharper and sharper. With the loss of cold, feeling creeps back in and Kai is slowly aware of every inch of dying skin the frostbite has decimated. It hurts- it hurts like nothing he's ever experienced. He can't comprehend the pain, his mind blanking out as the blood roars in his ear. His vision goes gray at the edges as he struggles to stay awake. He can't pass out- he has to bring Zane back. He has to. He can't let him hurt the others. He can’t fail him like he did with the fight against Aspheera. Kai has to be enough. Please let him be enough.

The Emperor cards a hand through Kai's bangs, deceptively gentle as he wipes sweat slick hair off his forehead.

"I want you to suffer."

[whumpshaped]

For fluff prompts, maybe some casual vulnerability from whumpee with caretaker, either when they were previously unable to or when it’s commonplace. And/or parallel play

@strawberry-whump

tw stoic whumpee breaking down, past trauma, past torture, nightmares, emotional whump

"Well, maybe I'm not fine. Maybe I'm not." Whumpee turned around, cloth still in hand. They had been wiping down the counters when Caretaker asked them how they were feeling and proceeded to press them on it after the initial response. "What now?"

Caretaker didn't seem bothered by the cynicism. "That's a start. That's something. You've been giving me nothing for the past months. I want to help you, but I can't help someone who's perfectly fine."

Whumpee nodded, like that was a reasonable thought. "Okay. So, what now?"

"Ideally, you'd tell me about your problems."

"Hm." Whumpee looked down at the cloth in their hands, contemplating. "Well, ideally. Ideally you wouldn't pester me about it. But," they went on before Caretaker could've cut in, "I know you're relentless. Don't worry. I kinda realised that after the first three weeks."

Caretaker slowly leaned back against the wall, giving them more space. They stayed quiet. No encouragement. No judgement either.

"I've been having nightmares," they blurted out. "About all the whippings and group tortures. The blood. I keep waking up with the– the smell of it in my nose. The taste of it in my mouth." They put the cloth on the counter and met Caretaker's compassionate gaze again, their own neutral and unfazed. "There you have it."

"I'm sorry you're going through that," they said gently, and Whumpee barked out a laugh.

"I'm sure you are. Now that that's settled, I think–" As Caretaker moved closer, they immediately cut themself off. Were they about to try to hug them? "Stay where you are. You hear me? Don't turn this into something– something it's not."

They didn't want it. And yet as Caretaker closed the distance between them, they couldn't will themself to move. Their embrace was tight, warm, and full of... love. They told themself they'd just let Caretaker hug it out, but before they knew it, they were clinging to them just as tight.

"I'm so sorry, Whumpee," they repeated, and this time, it opened the floodgates.

They broke down sobbing, as if they'd just been given permission for the first time in years. But who even held the permission? Whumper? Caretaker? Themself? Who was the one making them bottle it all up?

"It's never gonna get any better," they cried desperately, so grateful that Caretaker was keeping them upright. They felt like the weight of the world was sliding off their shoulders; the same weight that had kept their broken pieces so tightly compressed that they had no chance of coming apart. "I thought it would, I– I thought– I thought it'd go away–"

Caretaker held them for minutes, eventually lowering both of them to the kitchen floor, gently cradling their friend. "I know," they whispered. "I know it's hard. I know. We'll get through it."

Whumpee had their doubts. But in the haze of their breakdown, for just a couple blissfully dizzy moments, they wanted to believe that it was true.

~

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