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i-eat-worlds · 1 hour

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Wow Birthday Whump Day 13: Natural disaster / Shock collar / "Shut up!"

*sighs in Immortal ALS* This was fun, though it did get kinda long. Hope y’all enjoy!

Related to Day 4

Content: floods, pretty detailed medical whump, gore (descriptions of serious injuries and dead* bodies), immortal whumpee, implied past abuse, briefly mentioned finger gore, fear of punishment, caretaker new whumper, medicinal drug use, feelings of suffocation

The stairs creaked under Joseph’s feet as he descended, and he hoped they wouldn’t give out. He could smell the awfulness from the top of them. Whatever the floodwater had washed in absolutely reeked.

It hadn’t all drained out yet. Several inches of murky water shimmered in the light from his headlamp. It sloshed as he stepped down into it, wrinkling his nose at the smell. This was going to be hell to clean out of his uniform. Once he was off the stairs, Eric came down behind him. He looked a little green faced at the pungent aroma, but they continued into the pitch-black basement nonetheless.

Joseph led the way, headlamp only illuminating one small portion of wall at a time. The stench grew stronger as they walked, and it was only a matter of time before they finally found the cause.

There was a body.

They were slumped against the wall, one hand shackled on a short chain. Their head was squarely below the line of grime on the wall that marked the crest of the water. Blood swirled around them, oozing from the open wound across their belly. Several loops of bowel were hanging out, and they were starting to turn a blackish-green color. Their unrestrained arm was puffy and swollen, and their clavicle protruded from their shoulder, stained a muddy color from the water. It was a horrible scene.

Joseph’s stomach dropped as he approached them. Despite the gray skin and blue tinge to their lips, they looked so young. Who the fuck had Darkstar been keeping in his basement?

He reached his hand out, sliding it under their jaw. As he expected, there was nothing there, just the sensation of cold skin. For another brief second, he stared down at their face, mouth unable to form the words to call in the report.

And, suddenly, there were two big, amber eyes staring up at him.

He did a double take, blinking a little in surprise. The eyes flickered wildly around the room before settling on him. This was real. They were alive.

“Unshakable,” he called, squatting down into the water while he removed his pack, and Eric quickly wheeled around, confused. “They’re immortal.”

His eyes flashed with understanding. “I'll call it in.”

“Can you cut them loose?” He pulled a pair of gloves on.

“On it.” He reached behind to grab his bolt cutters while he requested an ambulance.

His hands worked quickly as he wetted a pad and placed it up against their abdomen. “I’m Exhale, and this is Unshakable. We work for INSUPA. We’re going to help you.”

Their eyes widened at that, but they gave no other response. With a loud chink, the chain snapped, and their arm dropped like a ragdoll. A little splash went up as it hit the water. Once their wound was dressed, his hand flittered higher, feeling for a pulse again, and watching their breathing.

Both were entirely absent. Great.

He looked up to Eric. “We need to get them upstairs.”

*** Someone was touching them.

Nova could feel someone’s finger pressing under their jaw, pulling them back to consciousness. They tried to fight it, begging their body to descend back into nothingness, but they were unable to. Slowly, their eyelids slid open, and the awful sensation of their existence returned.

There was a crushing weight on their chest, and it felt still and empty and wrong. Panic surged through them as they were reminded that they couldn’t breathe. Something was lodged in their throat, suffocating them, and they couldn’t do anything to get it out and- A cool, wet bandage pressed against their belly. Right. There was a person here. People? Maybe.

Their eyes flickered downwards. He was saying something to them. They should be listening, shouldn’t they?

“…Exhale….We….INSUPA…..going to….”

No. No no no. Darkstar was too late. They’d been captured. Fuck. And Exhale. The name was familiar but they couldn’t place quite where…

Oh. Oh no.

That was why he was here, looking for them in this half-flooded basement. Revenge.

It didn’t matter, though. Their body was still dead and it wouldn’t move or respond or do anything. He was going to do as he pleased. Did it really matter? Was Darkstar any different?

They still couldn’t breathe. They wanted to breathe. Why wasn’t it working?

Suddenly, the chain pinning their arm to the wall was cut and their arm flopped down into the water. They glanced over and found another person standing by them. He was holding some sort of long handled tool.

Please, please no. They couldn’t speak to beg for mercy, but maybe the pleading look would work. Darkstar liked to lop off their fingers when they’d been bad. Hopefully Exhale wasn’t the same. Or, maybe he would wait until they healed? Did it matter?

It wasn’t like he wasn’t justified.

They’d tortured him, because Darkstar had asked them too, and they really didn’t have any integrity, did they? And they’d failed Nebula, and Darkstar had kicked them out, and they’d failed everyone and hurt so many people and it was all for nothing.

It would be hard for them to argue that they didn't deserve this.

Suddenly, hands seized them, hosting them up out of the water. They tried to gasp in surprise but they couldn’t.

They just wanted to breathe.

The movement was agonizing, pulling at their injuries and sending waves of pain rolling through them. Neither of the heroes touched their shoulder at all, steering clear of the limb entirely. It was odd.

Exhale started to ascend the stairs, light slowly growing brighter as they neared the top. The fabric of his uniform was grating against their skin as he walked through the safehouse’s hallways, each step jostling their body.

Stupidly, they tried to breathe again. It didn’t work, their lungs still empty of air and the choking, suffocating sensation still stuck in their throat.

The cold air stung as Exhale carried them out the door, laying them down on the pavement. Not dropping. Laying.

He dropped his bag down next to them, and the hero they didn’t recognize took up a spot by their head. His lips moved, and he was obviously trying to tell them something, but they couldn’t hear it. Everything was a blur.

Two fingers slid under their jaw again, and he bent down low, his cheek right by their unbreathing mouth. It stayed there for what felt like a small eternity, and he straightened up, locked his fingers together, leaned over them, and pushed.

Their eyes went wide as his hands came down in their chest. He was crushing them, pushing their sternum down again and again and again. They wanted to fight him away, but their limbs still weren’t cooperating and their chest felt empty and they couldn’t breathe.

While Exhale beat into them, they could feel the hero working behind them. There was the ghost of something against their cheek, and then something invaded their nostril. They could feel the slime coated tube slithering down the back of their throat, eventually coming to a stop.

Exhale’s hands finally let up, and he leaned back on his heels. They didn’t get a break, though. Immediately, their head was yanked back and a piece of thick plastic clamped over their mouth and nose. Air was forced into their lungs, but it didn’t feel like enough.

The mask fell to the side and Exhale was back on them, pumping their chest. It hurt. They almost wished for Darkstar’s loppers.

There was an incessant drone in their ears, loud and screeching, and they were finally able to place it as sirens. An ambulance was charging down the road, lights visible out of the corner of their eye.

Exhale pulled away from their chest again, and air was pushed into their lungs. He leaned over them, ready to start, and they strained to stop him. All they could manage was a dull twitch of their hand.

He went back to pushing down on their chest, slamming his weight into them relentlessly. In the far field of their vision, they were able to see several more people approaching, laden with many bags. That couldn’t be a good sign.

They swarmed around them, voices swirling while they exchanged information. Exhale tilted back and the mask descended over their face again. They tried to resist, straining to breathe on their own, but they couldn’t do it.

Once more, he brought his hands down repeatedly, slamming his body weight into them repeatedly. More hands worked around him, a pair sticking things to their chest while another tugged at their wrist. The touch was overwhelming, and they tried to get their limbs to cooperate.

This time, though, was more successful than the first.

They raised an arm at Exhale’s body, weakly trying to fend him off. They noticed that their wrist was a little less swollen as they slapped it against his side. It probably wouldn’t end well, but they needed him to stop, even if it was just for a moment.

“Rhythm check!” someone called out.

Surprisingly, his hands pulled away, and everyone’s eyes turned towards something they couldn’t see. Two fingers came to rest under their jaw.

“Back in sinus.” Was that good? “Still not breathing.”

They tried to pull a breath in, but they still couldn’t, their lungs refusing to pull in air. The hero quickly brought the mask back down over their face, his fingers pressing up against their chin.

Exhale looked down at them. His face was calm, almost thoughtful, not angry. Why? He’d just beat their chest into pieces. He was supposed to hate them.

“We’re going to move you up onto the stretcher now,” he said, voice far too gentle. “I know it's scary, but we’re going to take care of you.”

They couldn’t detect any malice in the statement, but they also couldn’t bring themselves to believe it. He had to be lying, right? He had to be.

The people around them shifted positions, and then, on the count of three, they were lifted into the air and quickly deposited on the stretcher. It was agonizing, their legs jerking and kicking on instinct.

“Stay still for us,” Exhale said. “I know it hurts, let us help.”

They were quickly loaded onto the ambulance. It was the warmest they could remember being. Exhale disappeared from their vision, but the other hero stayed by their head, keeping the mask on their face, steadily pushing air in and out. They were hungry for it. Every pause felt like an eternity.

One of the medics was messing with their arm again. They could feel a tight band around it, the ends ticking their bicep. The other was clipping something to their finger and covering their legs with a blanket.

“Sharp scratch,” a voice said, and then something burrowed into the crook of their elbow. Several seconds later, a rush of cool washed up their arm.

Exhale reappeared. “You got access?” He sounded surprised. There was a pause, presumably for a response they couldn’t make out, and then he turned away.

“We’re going to get you something for the pain now,” the medic said. They nodded weakly, still unable to speak. Another chilling wave rolled up their arm. Exhale kept breathing for them, and try as they might to resist, they couldn’t do it. It just wouldn’t work. He looked away from their face, eyes flickering over to the monitor and back down to them. What was he going to do?

There was a brief discussion that they couldn’t follow, and then he bent down to speak with them. “Hey, you with me?” he asked. They blinked in response, tears welling in their eyes for some reason. “Good. We’re concerned about your breathing, so we’re going to put you to sleep so that we can breathe for you. It’ll be more comfortable for you, yeah.”

His voice was calm, but it struck horror in them nonetheless. Darkstar had threatened them with this before, reminding them that the drugs wouldn’t work. But they couldn’t talk, beholden to the hero moving air in and out of their lungs.

People were shifting around them, preparing for something. The painkillers were starting to dull the agony. Even though everything still hurt, it was further away. Exhale swapped out for the other hero, still squeezing the bag in time. They half expected him to stop, forcing them to feel the crushing sensation of suffocation.

He didn’t though, his face still free of any malice. It had to be fake, considering the awfulnes they knew was coming.

There were two more consecutive rushes of cold. “Ket’s in,” somebody said.

Exhale looked down at them. “You might start feelin’ pretty tired soon, and that’s okay.”

They waited, but nothing happened. He didn’t seem too shocked by this, and he told the medic to push more.

It took a moment, but eventually they felt their eyelids start to grow heavy. Were the drugs working? They hoped they were. Please. Please.

Exhale’s face hanging above them was the last thing they saw before everything went black.

*** It took nearly a double dose of ketamine to get them out, but their eyes finally slid closed. The look on their face was strangely peaceful as he instructed the paramedic to push the roc. That one took a less dramatic amount to work, but it still irked him a little. After a minute had passed, the BVM was removed, and he began.

Using his right hand, he scissored their mouth open, then went in with the laryngoscope. He moved past their teeth and pushed their tongue away, descending further into their throat. It was coated with secretions, thick and slimy and a little bloody. “Suction,” he called out.

The tool was placed in his hand, and he quickly swept it back and forth across their mouth, vacuuming the goop away. It revealed their vocal cords, still and unmoving. “Bougie, please.” He kept his eyes on their glottis as it was passed to him.

He threaded it into their mouth and down their throat, feeling it click as it moved past the rings of their trachea. Once he felt the bougie stop, he asked for his tube. He’d just gotten it past their teeth when their face jerked.

Oh fuck.

They slowly pulled their eyes open, and it was obvious they were immediately aware of what was happening. “They’ve regained consciousness, I need another dose of ket in.”

He kept sliding the tube down as their eyes flitted around frantically, eyes watering. “We’re going to get you to sleep again.” Tears started to flow down their cheeks as he pulled the bougie out. “I know, I know, but I have to.”

They were obviously terrified, eyes wide and begging for relief. “Ket’s in.”

“Good.” He inated the balloon, then attached them to the ventilator while the paramedic used tape to secure the tube. “We’ve got the medicine in now. I know it's scary, but you’ll be asleep soon.”

Slowly, it started to work, and their eyes slid closed once more. They pushed another dose of roc, since they’d eaten through that too. Immortals were always hell to keep out, and this one wasn’t going to be any different.

Once they knew it was placed correctly, they got off to the hospital. Everything else that needed to happen could be done en route. They were eating through meds at a ridiculous rate, but the procedure had done its job, and their vitals were less awful.

They looked less dead now, somehow, and as he studied their face, looking for any signs of consciousness, it hit him. He knew them.

That was Darkstar’s sidekick.

That was Nova.

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump@painful-pooch@snaillamp @rainbowsandwhumperflies @whumperofworlds

#self reblog

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i-eat-worlds · 11 hours

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Sanctuary masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @mirasmirages @flowersarefreetherapy @whumpinggrounds @cepheusgalaxy @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump @bbu-on-the-side

Anita receives an email from WRU about Lea's training, sending her spiralling.

CWs: BBU, pet whump, anger issues, self-harm, implied past suicidal thoughts, rape, sexual slavery, self-hatred, past transphobia

Theo is next door when Anita receives the email.

She's glad. He wouldn't be able to hear her, but he's very sensitive to her emotions and behaviour as a survival mechanism, and she wouldn't want him witnessing her primal, anguished scream. Mittens streaks out of the room, ears flattened to their head, as she throws something at the wall. She's not sure what. It doesn't matter. How dare they? Those utter–

"Anita? What have you done to your room?"

Her paati is behind the curtain giving her a little privacy with the open door, and Anita sniffs. Paati's words are serious but her tone is more worried than anything. It's been a long time since Anita's done anything like this.

"You can come in," Anita croaks, and her patti pushes the beaded curtain aside slowly, cataloguing the room. "I–"

She gestures to the computer. Paati approaches, takes the recently-vacated seat, and frowns at the email on-screen. Anita takes a deep breath and translates it into Tamil.

Paati sucks in a breath and reads it through for herself. She flattens her sari over her lap, a nervous movement. She always used to do that before Anita's parents evenings.

She did that in the hospital. It's one of Anita's strongest memories from the place.

"What are you going to do?"

"What they want. I have to, right? It's too dangerous to do otherwise."

Paati looks at her, and as always happens, she finds her thoughts bursting out of her in a torrent of pain and helplessness.

"They're trying to make her for me and I don't want that. I just want her to be safe and loved and with Theo, I don't– I'm not going to have sex with her. But I need to send these, don't I, they'll be suspicious otherwise, and I hate it, I've never even said those things to someone I love, let alone– let alone to help condition a sex slave."

The last part comes out in a choked whisper. She's buying a sex slave. Participating in this horrific system. No matter the reason for it, it's still abhorrent, and she hates herself for it. Hates herself for not being able to find another way to reunite the pair.

"I know what you're thinking. Stop it. It's not your fault, chotu. You're getting Lea out of there, safely and subtly. There's no need to feel so guilty."

Anita knows. She knows. Everyone's told her that, Marjorie and Alix and everyone. But she can't believe it, because she's still buying a sex slave.

It took her years to stop being a coward and help people again. And now she's buying a fricking sex slave.

Her paati hits her gently on the arm. "Stop it. I'm making you tea, and you're going to drink it all, and that will help. Wallowing won't. Get up and do something."

So she does. She finds Mittens and their favourite toy, and plays with them in apology for earlier. Trying to block out what she has to do.

Lea will be here soon. So at least there's that. Even if... even if Anita has to do this to get her. It's nothing compared to what Lea is going through.

Absolutely nothing.

Paati comes into the living room and sets a steaming mug smelling of her favourite blend of tea leaves and cinnamon down beside her. "Drink it all before you do this."

"Thanks," Anita croaks, taking a sip. Then a gulp, scalding her throat but worth it. She nurses it a little, liquid turning into little whirlpools with her tears.

She doesn't want to move but she supposes she had better get it over with, so she swallows the rest of her tea in two more gulps.

It's a shame to waste it. Maybe, if she asks nicely, paati will make her some more later.

She walks to her bedroom and sits on the bed, scrolling through the list of suggestions WRU sent on her phone. She just can't think of any herself. She chooses the three she thinks she'll most be able to stomach.

She closes her eyes briefly. She doesn't want Lea made for her. She doesn't want Lea made for this. But she has to go along with it, or she'll risk everything.

Okay. She can do this. It's just three sentences, it's easy.

Anita's stomach churns as she presses 'record' on her phone.

"Oh that's good."

She plays it back to herself. She sounds choked, like she's being forced into recording at gunpoint.

She tries again.

The second try is better. She still has to resist throwing her phone at the wall. It's not fair.

Next phrase. As her therapist used to encourage her to do when she got hopelessly angry as a teenager, moving on.

She swipes at her eyes angrily, glad there isn't video.

"Go on. Just like that."

This one sounds slightly wavering, but Anita decides that that's okay. If she was about to cum maybe she would sound like that.

And the third... the third, she just gives up on holding back her sobs and tries to turn them into sobs of ecstasy instead. She thinks she does a pretty good job. WRU suggests several sounds, and Anita isn't trying moans. She couldn't manage that, and she never intends to, with Lea.

And then she just about makes it to the toilet before spewing her guts up.

She thinks she's probably chucked up everything she's eaten or drunk today. Her mouth tastes disgusting, but it can't be as bad as Lea's is if she's being trained.

It reminds her of that taste though. She throws up again.

She needs to clear her head. She needs to clear her head, she can't afford to remember that right now. She can't afford all these emotions, can't afford to sit here and tremble and throw up, she needs to get up and submit those files.

But she can't move.

She scratches at her arms fiercely, desperately, itching to get the emotions out, gone, to push herself to move and get it all done. She finally breaks the skin with a spike of pain and a rush of relief.

And she crumples to the floor.

She takes a shaking breath, and then another, watching the blood as it drips to the floor in slow, red, hypnotic droplets, joining the salt water there. She feels better, even through the trembling and tears.

Two pale, scarred, wiry arms take Anita's upper arms tentatively and she looks up. Theo.

"May I help you, Mistress?"

Anita nods. As he helps her sit up, she thinks how much he's grown. The first time he was in here he didn't dare speak, let alone ask questions and touch her without permission.

Theo fetches bandages and tape out of the cupboard and kneels down in front of her. She holds out her arm, which he diligently cleans and wraps a bandage around.

"Miss Indira told me what you are doing, Mistress. Lea has been training as a Romantic for months. If you did not send the recordings she might think she is unwanted as a Romantic. Or her handler will tell her that. It's the worst feeling for a pet, Mistress, to be unwanted for your only purpose."

"Oh. Thank you for explaining."

She wonders if his explanation makes it any better. She decides that it doesn't.

Lea isn't just being raped. She's being taught that she's nothing without it.

Anita just watches as he smoothes the bandage carefully over her wrist and ties it off. She wonders where he learnt how to do all this.

When he looks back up at her, she says carefully, "I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel unwanted. You're not. You never will be."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Thank you for this. I can finish with the rest if you'd rather go and relax. It's my mess."

Theo shakes his head and gives Anita a tentative hug. When she returns it, resting her head on his, his gets tighter.

They're both shaking, she realises. Theo needs this just as much as her.

She rubs his back soothingly. It's good for Theo, and anything to distract her.

Eventually, she draws away. She needs to get on with the day. Get the submission over with. She can't just sit here.

"I can clear up."

Theo shakes his head, again, and stows the bandages while Anita wipes the floor. She flushes the toilet several times and dumps cleaner down it, unable to clean properly but unwilling to let Theo do it.

"Okay, sweetheart. Let's– let's go."

Anita makes a valiant effort to carry her own weight but she's not sure how well she succeeds. In the living room they bump into paati. Almost literally.

"How are you doing?"

"I've finished the recordings, just need to– upload them."

"That's not what I meant, chotu. You know that."

She nods. She does know that, she does, but she doesn't want to worry her paati more than she clearly already is.

"Better than Lea."

Paati holds out her arms encouragingly and Anita falls into them. As has been the case since she was little, it's one of the only places she feels completely safe, and she buries herself in her paati and cries her heart out.

"You're safe. No-one's going to hurt you here."

Of course, her paati knows exactly where her mind has gone. It wouldn't be anywhere else.

"I know. I know I know I know."

And she's lucky. At least when she was told, more or less, that she would only be only a proper girl if she could take someone's penis well (and she certainly knew she wasn't a boy so what was she?), she had people to convince her she was worth something. In Lea those sorts of thoughts are encouraged. It's sick and twisted. How can it be legal to systematically, repeatedly rape one group of people and for another you can receive a life sentence for it?

The sleeves of her jumper have pushed themselves back at some point, and paati touches her wrist.

"Do we need to contact your therapist again?"

Anita shakes her head. She can't anyway, she doesn't know what they'd do if they suspected she supported pet lib.

"I won't let it get as far as before," she croaks. She has people to look after now, and this is just a blip anyway, caused by a combination of Lea's treatment and some of the phrases WRU sent.

"Good. Tell me if you start to think that way again, because I can't lose you." Anita nods. "Why don't you finish the submissions, then you can have tea and a nap, and after that we can decide about this evening?"

"Can't sleep."

"Try." She turns to Theo, signing something and then repeating it out loud for Anita's benefit. "Do you still want to go tonight?"

"Yes please, Miss Indira, if that is acceptable to you and Mistress."

Paati nods. Anita could cry at his progress. He's expressing himself.

She makes her unsteady way to her room and collapses in front of the computer, trying to upload the files without thinking too hard about what they are. It's a complicated process made all the more so by the tears blurring her vision, but she manages it after a few tries. As she finally presses 'submit', she feels a surge of self-hatred so strong she has to cling to the table to keep herself upright. Lea's being made for this, made for her, made to be a sex slave, and Anita's just condemned her to the worst of it, whatever Theo says.

She's as bad as her own rapist now.

By the time paati comes in with three steaming mugs, she's curled up in bed, blankets over her head, Mittens sprawled on her, Theo pressed against her side. Leaving the world to sort itself out.

#undescribed #this hurts me deeply

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