#post prison whump

[hold-him-down]

10) At which points are you most scared of your whumper? For leo!

25) Which punishment method do you hate the most? For derek!

from this ask game

At which points are you most scared of your whumper(s)?

"That's a loaded question," Leo says, shrugging. He closes the book that sits on his lap and considers it. "I think Ivan was probably the 'scariest' of my past buyers, because he genuinely did not care if he killed me, or any of the other workers on his roster. It was really hard to nail down what to expect with him, and as soon as he worked out anything of value to me, he would capitalize on it. Simultaneously, he had an unlimited budget for medical support, so even though he brought me to very edge of death several times, and even though he made me wish it would end, there was this innate knowledge that he would be able to pull me back and start over with me. It was horrifying."

He takes a sip of water and stares out the window for a moment, before continuing. "With Parker, he was his scariest when he was stone sober and clearly disappointed in me. Second to that was any time he said he had invited friends over. With Kylie, any time she brought me into her basement, but even then, I don't think Kylie was too bad, especially taking the others into consideration. With West, it was after he brought Will into the home, because there was this underlying worry that we both had, that one of us would upset him and he would use the other to teach some kind of lesson. Any time his son was around was horrifying."

He shrugs again, offering a tight-lipped smile. "With the handlers, everything was uniformly terrifying."

Which punishment method do you hate the most?

"The inmates themselves usually doled out punishment to the other inmates, and so it could get really, really bad if you were on someone's bad side, which I usually was. There was this kind of make-shift cell in the middle of the courtyard, and sometimes they would leave me in it for days. In the storms, in the heat of summer, whenever... feeding me when they remembered, beating me or... assaulting me, when they were bored, no clean clothes, no showers, nothing. Eventually the warden would intervene, and a couple inmates or guards would come drag me back inside and throw me in a cold shower... Those are among my worst memories."

[whumblr]

Crossed out - Masterlist

When Lucas heard a former client of his died in prison he starts to look into what happened.

Involuntarily, he gets the opportunity to witness the state of affairs in the prison first-hand, and finds out things are even worse than he could have imagined.

Main characters

Lucas Varga

Wanting to make a difference in the world and help fight against injustice, Lucas became a defense attorney hoping to help the people who couldn't fight on their own. Continues to fight injustice in prison, but soon learns that fighting and helping others only has an adverse effect.

FC: A younger Esai Morales where he isn't the smug, silver fox he is today yet.

Nero Mathison

Former military and now warden of his own prison. I say 'his own' and mean it; he practically runs it and there is no outside interference. Cold, stoic, and ruthless, he has his own views on justice and doesn't believe criminals deserve mercy.

FC: Nero is still a collection of vibes and I vibe mostly with some fanart of Daud (Dishonored, which I never played... Art by Nashama). FC: this or this without the scar. On another note, when I say he's wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, it is vital to me that he gives King Bradley vibes.

Chapters

AO3 (not up yet)

Prologue - Nighttime

1 - They are here for me 2 - Meet the warden 3 - Those who care 4 - Headcount 5 - Eat your words

Office shenanigans 2.0 6 - Nuanced 7 - Tumbling down 8 - Lights out 9 - Stay down 10 - Shattering

Catching on 11 - Dead of night 12 - Losing battles, winning wars 13 - Under the weather

[violetthistle1]

Excerpt from As Many Times as I Need To by Violet_Thistle on Ao3.

“Look at me!” Remus shouted this time to get through to him the only way he ever could, with harsh words and a commanding voice. It worked like it always did, Sirius raised his head and looked him in the eyes with bloodshot, tearful ones. 

What!?” Sirius cried out in anguish.

“I know that the world has told you that it was your fault, that you sat in that prison and convinced yourself that it was your fault. I know, because I was doing the same thing. But I need you to hear me when I say, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Moony it was–”

“No, it wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t my fault, and it wasn’t James fault. It was Peter’s.” 

“Moony—”

“It wasn’t James’ fault that he was too trusting, it was Peter’s fault for not being trustworthy. It wasn’t your fault for not trusting me, it was Peter’s fault for taking advantage of that! It wasn’t my fault for believing you betrayed me, it was Peter’s fault for framing you!” Remus was sobbing now.

“Moony–”

“And it’s Voldemort’s fault for believing a stupid prophecy by some half-baked seer, and it’s meaningless, it is, it’s all so stupid and they shouldn’t have had to die because of it–”

“Moony–”

“ –And they shouldn’t have been fighting the war at all, but it’s not your fault, it never was!” 

“Moony!” Sirius shouted because now Remus was spiraling.

“Don’t! Don’t stop me! I’ll keep saying it as many times as I need to for you to believe it!” 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59320471

[ayushsan]

Prison Break - 1×18

[mr-business-whump]

Day 1: Pinned

"Stop fighting," growled one of the men into Hiccup's ear, "You're ours, now, dragon boy. You've lost."

"Fuck you," Hiccup snarled in return. He was kicked again for his words, and felt as rope was quickly wrapped tightly around his arms and legs, despite his continued struggles.

Suddenly, a familiar roar sounded out.

Toothless. And he sounded mad.

read it here!

[dreaming-awayy]

Whump story idea

Alright here’s a storyline that I was originally gonna write but don’t have the time:

Backstory/setting

- there are 4 clans on an island, each leader has 6 lives

- kinda like warrior cats, except these teams are bigger and have their own like small village

- there are physical borders around each team

- absolutely NO magic is allowed

- every month/week there’s a meeting where there’s peace and teams just share how they’ve been

- clan B and C are on either side of clan A (might give actual names but for now this will do)

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Characters

Alaric

leader of clan A

6 lives

powerful, strong, courageous, hero-like, does not condone torture or physical violence, will fight if he has to and always wins lol but will always prefer to use as little violence as possible, does not kill, kind and generous

Brax

leader of clan B

3 lives

hates Alaric for how he is always better than him

brute, strong, angry, loud, vicious, bolsterous laughter, tortures people he hates, punching kicking bats, explosive torture, loves begging and laughs at it, humiliation with words and public, degrading

Kade

leader of clan C

4 lives

hates Alaric for how he is always better than him

very controlled, loves and is amused by torture, creepy, manipulative, no mercy, sneer, not much brute force relies on tools, slow torture, loves begging silently relishes in it, humiliation with words, fake empathy

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Story

- anyways so one day Alaric (will refer to A further on) is just walking with a kid in their team going through the flower fields and having fun

- they play chase and they run further and further from base

- little did A know that there was an illusion cast on both kid and where they were playing; even though it looked like they were still within borders they were actually already in clan Bs base. And kid was a team B member

- when they both run past borders, there is a loud banging sound and illusion starts to melt. A was inside base B and the banging sound were the gates closing around the borders. A is super confused

- A was completely unarmed as team B warriors start to close around him

- little kids illusion melted away to reveal a team B member, and leader A realises they have used magic

- A starts to yell Magic’s not allowed! And stuff but team B is not listening

- A is left with the only choice to fight since they are surrounded and can’t run

- successfully knocks down a few people but A is obviously extremely outnumbered.

- in no time they are already on top of A, subduing him by punching and kicking and stuff, and one particular knock on his head causes him to fade into unconsciousness

- A wakes up, chained (and blindfolded/gagged?) just generally restrained in a cell somewhere in base B. Cell door opens and leader A is greeted by leader of clan B, Brax

- (B hates A a LOT because of how smart they are and how they can always sneak in and steal stuff and are just generally better than B)

- so B starts to projects his hate and anger on him, mocking him while beating the daylights out of A

- A can’t protect himself since he’s chained

Basically for a long time A is tortured and used as a slave / servant for B and is also subjected to public humiliation and public beatings for the whole village of B to see.

Team A obviously has no clue where leader went since there is no evidence and stuff, and they had no idea about the illegal magic.

UNTIL it’s the monthly meeting, and being so proud, team B brings leader A with them all chained up to show off. Team A gets super mad and demands they give him back but they can’t do anything about it since team B had captured him. Team A is suspicious (because when was B smart enough to outsmart leader A?) but they don’t have any proof.

Anyways more whump (A can be broken mentally or still has hope)

But slowly they start to torture A less, and he is slowly starting to recover.

BUT one day, team B has made a deal with Kade (leader of clan C, other side of team A) who also VERY hate A- to give A over for a day to do whatever they wished in exchange for smth like resources/money/alliance idk.

And they are even worse than team B showing absolutely NO MERCY, and this can be when A finally breaks. Lots of begging and whump

But all his healing is gone and he is back to day 1. They give him back to team B at the end of the day and A is unable to walk or do anything.

And B might start to treat him better or still overwork him idk…. but that’s as far of the idea I’ve gotten.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

If someone’s writes this or something like this, or if there are existing stories like this, PLEASE do share with me, I would absolute love to read it.

Anyways I might actually write this out if I have time.

[hold-him-down]

5, 8, 43 and 47 for my dear Derek

from this ask game

"Mr. Lewis, have you ever been interrogated? For what reason? Were you tortured there?"

On one side of him, a government agent looms, and on the other, Derek's parents stand tight-lipped. Derek looks to the agent, who gives him a half-nod. Derek shoves his hands into his pockets so the reporters can't see him shaking.

He clears his throat. "Yes," he responds, his voice gravelly. He clears it again, and tries to speak a little louder. "I was interrogated when I was arrested, as part of the investigation. I was also interrogated once in the prison, following a fellow inmate's escape attempt. I was..." He feels his mom's body tense up next to him. "I have been–" swallow "–tortured–" inhale "–several times–" exhale.

They don't press him on it, whether seeing how uncomfortable the line of questioning makes him or from the look the agent shoots them.

"How would you describe the guards? The warden? The other prisoners?" another shouts out.

His heart races, the awareness of being locked in this room with these people who do not care about him, or what their questions are doing to him, begins to weigh him down.

"For the most part, everyone spoke Turkish. A few people spoke to me in English so I could understand them, but largely they expected me to figure things out on my own. The warden was generally not part of my life, unless I... unless my health got really bad, then he would sometimes check in. The guards were variable. A few offered me kindness, a few were kind in exchange for other things, but mostly they seemed to be either indifferent to what was happening or actively encouraging it. The other prisoners were by far the worst part of my time there..." He trails off and scans the room for Jack, who he knows is not there, but he thinks maybe, if he can picture his face in the crowd, he can get through this.

The agent must catch on to Derek's declining ability to stand here, and says, "Two more."

A woman shouts above the others, "How much have you changed since the first day in captivity?"

Derek nods, trying to process the question. When he speaks, he doesn't even know if the words make sense, if he's stringing together anything that holds any kind of value to these people. Jack, he thinks, when he sees his face finally pop into the crowd. He smiles and waves, and then he blinks, hard, and the image is gone, replaced by a reporter who, very vaguely, resembles him.

Derek shakes his head in an effort to clear it and keeps speaking. He isn't sure what he's already said, but he focuses again on putting words in order. "I don't think I would recognize him," Derek says. "I don't think anyone recognizes me."

He can feel hands on his shoulders, and he thinks it must be his dad, because his mom is still stone still next to him.

"That's all we have time for," the agent says, just as another reporter shouts out, "Are you afraid to die, Mr. Lewis?"

If not for the agent's immediate reprimand, Derek might be convinced that he completely hallucinated that question. It's one that's on his mind all day, every day. As the agent turns him and ushers him back into the waiting room, he whispers, "No," but he doesn't think anyone is listening.

[anrisimps]

Prison arc changed me

[violetthistle1]

Excerpt from As Many Times as I Need To by Violet_Thistle on Ao3.

“You were right!” Sirius shouted. “When you said ‘I wish you trusted me half as much as you trusted James’, you were right.” 

“Cariad, no one trusted anyone, that’s why we were losing.”

“Wrong. James trusted. James trusted everyone. James even trusted you, I was the one that talked him out of including you.”

“Sirius, James’s trust is why he died!” Remus said.

“You take that back!” Sirius spat.

“Pardon me for ever speaking against perfect James, may his memory never be tarnished!”   

Sirius silently sobbed. “I know he wasn’t perfect, but it breaks my heart to think that the thing that brought him down was that he trusted too much. That’s not what brought him down, I brought him down! It was me!”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59320471

[lokiitama]

Prison of the Mind - Chapter 22

It took me a few years, but my very first fanfic on Ao3 is finally completed 🥰

I can’t believe I’m posting the last chapter for this fic! It feels so strange, after having worked on it regularly since 2021, and having the idea plague my mind since 2018!

Warnings: none!

Excerpt:

“It’s not that hard, Lance,” Allura huffed from the lavish pillows on the floor in the simulated juniberry field they were training in. She looked three seconds away from pinching the bridge of her nose. “You just have to focus.”

“Easy for you to say!” Lance scoffed after dramatically falling back on his equally lavish pillows. ”I don’t do meditation.”

At least not without feeling like a thousand ants were crawling up his legs at every given time.

Read the rest of the chapter on Ao3

[whumpinthepot]

@figuwhump 14!

Its been a while since ive drawn Zyan

[dix0nspretty]

Skittish

Summary: Since you came back from Woodbury, you've been skittish and avoiding men- especially Daryl- like the plague.

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader, 1.1k words

Era: Prison (post-Glenn and Maggie in Woodbury)

⚠️TW FOR SA. ⚠️TW FOR SA. ⚠️TW FOR SA. ⚠️

It's discussion of the aftermath and not active SA, but it is discussion of the reader being raped/SAed. Feelings of guilt and shame from the assault, mentions of isolation, fear of men, and suicidal ideation. This is not a light read. Author is.... working through some things, to say the least. I'm, against my best judgement, engaging in this bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt.

Day 11: Sexual Assault with Daryl (whump)

When you, Maggie, and Glenn came back from Woodbury after Merle forced you there, something was different. Glenn was beat to hell, Maggie was angry, and you… you were skittish. Quiet.

Glenn has barely spoken to Daryl, Merle having driven a wedge between them right when it was starting to feel like Daryl was finally fitting in. You were a close friend. Rick trusted him with Little Asskicker and important situations around the prison. He was actually listened to and his opinion valued… until he brought Merle back with him.

Most if not all of the progress made between the youngest Dixon and everyone else was out the window, but nothing bothered him more than the way you suddenly avoided him like the plague. Skittering away any time he got even close or called your name. All of the men, actually.

If one of the men enters a room you’re in, you find the quickest reason to leave. You won’t eat meals with the whole group, either eating in your cell or secluding yourself away in a corner, back to a wall and eyes on an exit strategy.

Contrary to recently renewed belief, Daryl Dixon is anything but stupid. He recognizes these patterns and between you and Maggie… he doesn’t like the picture being painted.

So he takes the Daryl way of handling things and comes to your cell when the fewest people are in the prison, sleeping in their cells or on guard or doing god-knows-what elsewhere. He convinces himself that his heart doesn’t ache when he watches you startle, scared by the male silhouette in your doorway. You don’t relax when you meet his eyes and that is nearly as devastating as the change to your cell.

Gone are your belongings spread across the cell in a cheery attempt to make it look more as a bedroom. Your mattress has been dragged from your bed, shoved into the small nook between the wall and the head of the bunks. Your backpack, your boots, and your other belongings form a wall around the foot of the mattress, effectively blocking you in.

It’s not a bedroom anymore, it’s the equivalent of an animal trying to protect themselves in their den and he tries to ignore the faint crack of his heart breaking.

“What are y’doin’ in there?” His voice comes out gruff but attempting to be… what, conversational? He knows what he’s here to ask and it’s not about the weather outside. “Mattress goes on the bed.”

Normally that would’ve earned him a huff and a sarcastic comment dripping with easy wit, but all he gets is those scared eyes looking at him like he’s the big bad wolf. Like he’ll eat you whole.

“Just me,” Daryl softens his voice as much as he can and steps into the cell, slowly and making minimal noise. He ignores the way you flinch, stopping outside of arm’s reach,  a trick he learned as a kid, and eases to sit in a mimic of your own posture. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

The way you look at him screams that no, you don’t know that, so Daryl does something very rare and completely disarms himself. Not a knife, not a bolt, nothing on him other than his clothes, and he passes the weapons over to you. “Body’s tellin’ you I’m a threat. I ain’t a threat to you an’ you know it.”

A small sniffle as you grab his weapons and pull them into your makeshift nest. “Feels like a threat,” You mumble softly and wipe at your eyes. “Everyone does.”

He takes a moment to think about that before shaking his head. “Nah. Not everyone.” You know what he’s getting at and he knows you know, but you seem determined to be stubborn. That’s okay- he’s even more stubborn and a bastard to boot. “Y’get raped?”

The freezing of each and every atom in your body and the shift in the air tells him all he needs to know. You make some strangled attempt to protest, to deny the claim out of shame or fear or guilt, but he simply nods and holds eye contact. “Was it Merle?” His brother is a misogynistic, racist, homophobic piece of shit, but he’s never gone so far as to sexually assault someone- not to Daryl’s knowledge, at least.

If he finds out Merle laid even a finger on you, he’ll skin him alive himself and let you feed the walkers with the pieces. He’ll kill him if he hurt you, if he violated you in the worst possible way someone could be hurt.

“No,” you whisper softly with a shake of your head. He can’t deny the relief he feels that his brother had nothing to do with it, but that doesn’t ease the anger and concern for you.

“Governor?” Daryl lists the second name and there you go, freezing again and avoiding eye contact. Nail on the head. “Look…”

Daryl scoots closer on the floor until his boots are close enough to brush the blanket in your lap if you shift. Close but not too close. He’s an observant person. Everybody in the prison knows how much you thrive on touch, on physical closeness. It’d practically your lifeblood and as far as he knows, you’ve gone over a week without it. He’s extending an olive branch.

“Ain’t gonna make you talk,” He promises once you relax some, body realizing that if he was going to hurt you, he would’ve done it already. “Ain’t gonna make you pretend t’be alright. That’s bullshit, you’re the furthest thing from alright.”

It’s over 10 minutes of silence before the words slowly start to spill from your lips, a slow trickle at first before pouring out in a waterfall. How Merle got the drop on you. Being dragged into a room by myself. Having to listen to Maggie and Glenn scream while not knowing what’s happening, if they’re okay.

How the Governor tried to play good cop before forcing you to undress, making you bend over the cold table.

You’re sobbing in Daryl’s lap, face buried into his neck by the time you admit aloud just what the Governor did to you. The extent he forced you to take, the pain and the shame and the need to get away from everybody your brain deems a threat, which is everyone.

He lets you sob and wail, lets you grieve and work through your emotions silently. He knows you need someone to listen to you, not to pacify you. You need the physical comfort you’ve been lacking and the sensation of being safe. Daryl would kill a hundred men to keep you safe. To take this experience away from you, to take it for you.

And god help the Governor if Daryl ever, ever sees him again.

[defire]

Whumpee that's just stress reliever

Inspired by this post

Content: restraints, beatings, punishments, prisoner of war

Whumpee is already on the floor. Whumper kicks them over and over with every word, said through their teeth in pure rage

Whumpee tied up as whumper lays down on the bed next to them and starts rubbing over their whole body, maybe using them as a body pillow, telling them about their stressful day

Whumper goads whumpee into talking back so they can feel justified taking them down to the punishment room

Whumpee that is used to this and is SO good at being submissive. Until their self-esteem is so shattered they barely look whumper in the eyes.

Whumpee is the "favorite" prisoner of war to whump. Their reactions are the bravest out of anyone there, and the soldiers often drag whumpee off to a different cell to "take care of them" together

Other POW's trying to get special treatment and hating whumpee for getting treated "better". And whumpee can't bring themselves to tell them others what's ACTUALLY happening.

[strawberista]

Hanekoma shoved his hands in his pockets, keeping a relatively straight face despite how much he did want to reassure the other with a smile, "Actually, it was more the whole beatin' your fists against the door thing that gave me the impression you're resisting. That behavior won't serve you in here, boss. No matter what they say or taunt you with, you've gotta know that they're just doin' it so they can rile you up and get more of a reason why you should be reformed or exorcised altogether. But if you're thinking you're without hope, I won't have none'a that, either. So I need ya to be on your best behavior, no matter what they do to ya."

He did calm down at the news, looking ten times relieved. "Serlius you piece of shit." he hissed before leaning with his shoulder against the bars. His chains rattled as he brushed a hand through his hair

"Sorry, Pops. Between the lashes, the degradings, and the other Angels teasin' me about my little bird...I been in rough shape. I understand why I was called up. I understand why this happened and I ain't gonna fight it. Was my own choice. But when they threaten poor bird on top o' that..." He shook his head "I can't handle that. This was my own damn fault. Leave the kiddo out of it."

He looked at the mirror of himself and smiled, whiping blood out of his eyes. "But damn it's good ta see ya, Pops. You must think I'm resistin, seeing me like this, right? Well, I haven't been. This is just standard procedure. Every day, four times a day. Part of them assertin' dominance I guess. Tells ya 'you fucked up, son!' They have no mercy. This ain't the worse thing that's gonna happen either."

[hold-him-down]

🧽 Receiving a sponge bath - Derek

tw: post-prison whump, spongebath, light med whump

notes: read chapter one of derek's back first for context, if context is important to ya :)

from this ask game

✥ ✥ ✥

Derek Lewis, or what's left of him, anyway, sits on the center of the exam table. His legs dangle over the side, his hands limp in his lap. Looking at him, one might think he was completely absent of thought, absent of the ability to process any of the events of the last few hours. Something in the way he hunches his body, though, just a little bit, or in the way his black eyes, every so often, wander from the floor to the mahogany desk in the corner, to the large canvas paintings, to the American flag hung by the door, and then back to the floor, give Agent Brody Grant hope that, at least on some level, he’s aware that his circumstances have shifted.

He’s been stripped of his clothing, or, if not clothing, of the torn, ratted fabric that was constituting as clothing, which has been placed in a bin to be tested for parasites. So far, he hasn’t spoken.

When they arrived to the makeshift medical unit, pieced together on one hour’s notice in the middle of the night in the Consulate, he didn't speak. He also didn’t speak when he was led down the empty, dark hallway, or when his clothes were removed, or when every inch of his battered skin was photographed.

Now, with a nurse at his side, running a wet cloth over his body again and again, seven, eight, sometimes ten times before satisfied with each patch of skin, he still doesn’t speak.

“Mr. Lewis?” the physician asks, approaching Derek cautiously. Derek’s head lifts in acknowledgement, but his eyes do not.

“You need to drink,” she urges. She lifts his free hand and places a mug of water inside of it, then guides him to take a sip. He does not fight it, but immediately coughs the water back up. The doctor's lips are tight, but she sets the mug to the side.

The boy that Agent Grant collected from within the prison gates was unrecognizable from the pictures in his file. The ghost of the smiling, vibrant boy he had not expected, but hoped for, was deposited at his feet without a moment of hesitation. The guard inclined his head sharply toward the gate, handed the agent a well-loved backpack, and turned on his heels back toward the prison. They hightailed it down the gravel road and into the night, with a singular objective of getting Derek Lewis onto U.S. territory while they worked to understand the implications of everything that had gone down.

The nurse lifts his hand now, turning it over, and works to wipe away months of caked-on filth. 

“When did you last access a shower?” he asks, his thumb brushing over Derek’s wrist, presumably to get a handle on what is bruising and what isn’t. 

“I don’t know,” Derek whispers. Agent Grant writes it down. It’s not of particular interest, but he’s been tasked with writing down everything, and so far that has been nothing, so he takes what he can get.

“That’s okay,” the nurse tells him, dipping the washcloth in the clean water, wringing it out, and wiping away what can be wiped away. “What about food?” he asks next. No one is under any illusion that Derek wants to talk, but getting him comfortable answering questions may be in his best interest. “When was the last time you ate?” 

This time, Derek does not look up. “I don’t know,” he whispers again.

“Are you hungry?” the nurse asks, as the doctor tilts Derek’s head down. Gloved fingers press into dark, matted waves, and Derek’s body curls in on itself, just for a second, before he realizes what’s happened and forcibly adjusts his posture.

“It’s okay,” the nurse whispers, moving to his other hand.

Derek nods, and they finish cleaning him up in silence. His hair is shaved, because it’s the only reasonable way to deal with both the matting and the lice. He’s photographed again, now clean, which he flinches his way through but does not protest. This time, the focus is solely on the injuries. On the scars that run the length of his back, on his wrists and ankles, on his neck. There won't be an investigation, nor will there be restitution, but it may help someone in the future to have these, so they take them. Derek is silent through it, but his suffering, well hidden just an hour ago, is clearer now.

He’s given an IV, because every time he drinks, he vomits. He’s given pain medication, he’s given anxiety medication, and finally, to everyone’s relief, he is given clothing. 

He dresses quietly, but he trembles he does, and when he’s led to a cot in the adjacent room, he whispers a hoarse, “Thank you,” before collapsing into it. He’s asleep before he can be offered a blanket, so one is draped over him, and the doctor explains to Agent Grant that between the shock, the medication, and the clear sleep deprivation, it’s neither surprising nor alarming that he sleeps now.

By the time Derek Lewis’s family is called, it’s mid-morning. The Ambassador has arrived, and there’s an air of both celebration and frenzy within the Consulate. This has been something of a win for many of them, and a long-overdue one at that.

And, while it feels like a major piece of Agent Grant's time with the embassy is coming to a close, he can’t help but wonder what the next chapter looks like for Derek. There's no doubt in his mind that Jack will be on the first plane to Turkey, visa be damned, and the thought of their reunion, however tense, however painful it may be, gives him some hope that maybe, against all odds, Derek will find peace.

[whumpsday]

didn't wanna add my whump ramblings to this post where OP could be potentially weirded out by it but this post is sooo good.

but i can't help but think: what if it's a live, distressed fairy instead?

the fairy is actively fighting to keep themself awake and wading so they don't drown, fighting for their life inside the bottle

maybe the shelf is full of bottles of drowned fairies, and this one is supposed to be dead, but they just managed to last longer than is normal. most don't make it to the shelf alive

the bottle could be purchased by a caretaker who spends way more than they were expecting to when they woke up this morning, gets the terrified, exhausted, drunk fairy out, and cares for them

or, the bottle could be purchased by a whumper intrigued by this singular bottle with a live fairy, who could do any number of things after, now that the helpless fairy's all theirs

even if it's whumper, the fairy is just grateful to be transferred from a prison where they're fighting an inevitable death by drowning and will die if they fall asleep, to a prison where they can at least rest

maybe it's purchased by both, a couple who are about to learn quite a lot about their partner's levels of compassion for the non-human