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squishablesunbeam · 3 months

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Consequence of Action: Collared

This whole thing took on a bit of an outside perspective. Not sure why my brain did that but I hope you like! Continued bits from Consequence of Action series :)

CW: captured whumpee, mentions of beating, execution of side characters, collared, allusion to noncon, would be multiple whumpers, all the science inaccuracies in space

It had been hours since Thompson had caught him hacking into the ship's systems and unceremoniously bashed his head into the console. Still, Quinn remembered finishing and executing the program that would override the system and give Murphy's crew all the access they needed take down the Captain. He had managed to do his part at least, before being taken out of the fight and tossed into a cell. No one else had been brought into the brig with him so, at first, he held onto hope that it had been enough. That the plan was solid and Murphy had overthrown the Captain. But that felt like a long time ago now, and Murphy had yet to come for him.

Quinn's arms ached from being tied behind his back for so long and his head was throbbing. He'd managed to drag himself up the wall and onto his feet. He needed to move. They had been gearing up for this moment for months. Careful planning and precise timing had led them to this moment and Quinn refused to just sit on his ass while the others fought for all of their lives. He was useless in the cell, so he paced. All that unspent energy slowly morphed into a quiet, knowing panic that rooted itself deep in his gut.

It was one thing to know you were going to die, to accept that fact, but it was another to have to wait in dreaded anticipation for it to actually happen. Quinn pictured the many ways the Captain would do it. Execution by beheading? That was rather grand. Shot in the head? Maybe? A lot for the rest of the crew to clean up. Beaten to death? Possibly. In the end, the airlock was the most likely choice. He could do it. When the Captain's men come for him, he'd walk down the hall with his head held high. He'd let himself be led into the airlock and force himself to look straight into the Captain's cruel, evil fucking eyes.

He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't scream.

Quinn envisioned it a hundred times, preparing himself, before the door finally opened. He spun toward the sound of the door, his vision spinning along with him but he planted his feet firmly and stood his ground.

The tiny ember of hope that had remained died out in a quick burst of fury when it was the Captain that strolled into the brig instead of Murphy.

This was it. He was a dead man.

The Captain looked worse for wear. He had dried blood all down his neck and soaked into the hem of his shirt from a deep gash on his cheek. His hair was a mess and he looked like he'd been in the fight of his life. Quinn couldn't help the smirk that tugged up his lips.

“On your knees,” the Captain ordered.

Quinn huffed out a surprised breath, “Fuck you.”

–

They'd been sealed up in the airlock for hours. Still, every single one of Murphy's crew remained on their feet in defiance of these cowards that refused to just get it over with already and pull that damn lever that would send them to their deaths. They leaned heavily on one other, bloodied and broken, defeated, but by god, they would die on their feet.

Murphy was proud of each and every one of his crew. They had lost, spectacularly, but they'd fought hard.

He grunted as he tried to straighten up a bit and take some of his own weight off of Martinez's shoulder. She tightened her hold on the waistband of his pants, effectively holding him up on his feet. He squeezed her arm, hoping to convey something along the lines of, he didn't know really... thank you, I'm sorry, we're so royally fucked and it's my fault, it was worth it. He wasn't sure how to convey that much weight through a single death grip on her arm but he was pretty sure she got the message.

Murphy's leg pulsed, blood still trickling in rivulets from the wound Jackson had stabbed deep into the meat of his thigh. He figured he would die soon anyway by the heavy weight of blood soaking into his pants. He might as well go out with the few friends he had left in the feigned glory of an execution. They'll go out like sailors on this beloved, godforsaken ship of theirs and it will all be worth it. He wasn't sure how that could possibly be true, but he knew that trying and failing still mattered, somehow, in the end.

He glanced through the thick glass that separated his crew from the Captain's. The others stood in a lazy half circle around the glass of the airlock, waiting for the show with something akin to rabid glee. All except one. Murphy took his time taking in the measure of the man that would seal their fate. Sure, it was the Captain that would give the order, but it was Security Officer Collins that would heft that damn lever and suck all of the oxygen out of their lungs. And he would do it without blinking an eye.

Murphy had underestimated the man.

He knew that now.

He'd been afraid that Collins' time spent in the wars would have instilled in him a kind of honor that would be particularly offended by the overthrowing of his captain. Well, Murphy was right about that part, but he thought of Collins as a good man underneath all that blind duty and honor bullshit. Murphy will admit, he was hoping that Collins would, bare minimum, stand by and let it happen. He had to know that it was the right thing to do in the end. It turned out, Murphy had overestimated Collins' moral code and underestimated the man's effectiveness.

That was his first and second mistake.

Collins was a brutal and efficient soldier. He had almost single-handedly quelled the uprising in the battle that followed the first power outage on deck. Quinn had locked the Captain's crew out of all the consoles and sealed the doors to the armory. Murphy was certain the lack of weaponry and the element of surprise alone would turn the battle in their favor. His delusions were shattered when Murphy personally witnessed Collins taking out at least 5 of his crew in hand to hand combat and utilizing the close quarters of the ship's halls to his advantage. He'd made quick work of Murphy's best fighters and had them dead or on their knees in what couldn't have been more than a handful of minutes.

It was impressive.

God, if only he'd been on their side, they most certainly would have won. They had started with fifteen people willing to fight, and die, to overthrow the Captain and his ranks. Only six were left. Six good, decent members of Murphy's crew, forced into the airlock and shoved to their knees and there Collins stood, eyes front with his hand on the lever.

The ever dutiful soldier.

Murphy's gaze caught sight of the outer door to the chamber opening. He couldn't hear anything through the reinforced glass except for the exhausted breathing and barely contained hisses of pain from his own people. Everything outside those thick windows was silent. He drew in a sharp breath when the Captain stalked through the door dragging a bloodied man by his hair.

Seven. Seven of his crew had survived.

“Quinn.”

Murphy felt those around him tense as the man was dropped onto the floor and crumbled into a bloody heap. His hands were bound behind his back with what looked like wire and he'd taken a hell of a beating. Murphy held his breath, his heart swelling with pride, when Quinn slowly folded his knees under himself and tried to stand. The rebellion would never had made it off the ground if it wasn't for Quinn. The man was brilliant. He had a head for strategy that Murphy truly didn't expect and he knew all the ins and outs of the communication and security systems like the back of his hand. He had done his job expertly.

It was Murphy that had failed. It was Murphy that had gotten them all killed.

Quinn didn't make it far off the floor.

The Captain kneed Quinn in his ribs and the collective gasps of his crew in the chamber almost tricked Murphy's mind into thinking he could actually hear Quinn grunt in pain. The man folded in on himself. Murphy watched as Quinn grit his bloody teeth and quickly fought to straighten back up again. The Captain placed a single hand to his shoulder and it stopped his ascent this time. Quinn slumped, staying on his knees and silently gasping for breath.

The man was clearly struggling to stay conscious. Blood was oozing down his face from a gash up in his hairline but he managed to drag his head up and his eyes cleared the moment he saw Murphy through the glass. Quinn's eyes widened as understanding dawned on him that some of his people were still alive. Alive, and waiting for Quinn before they would be put to their death. His gaze darted over to Collins standing by the lever that would open the airlock and then back to Murphy again. Murphy saw the muscle in Collins' jaw jump but that was the only indication that he had any feelings at all about the impending executions.

Murphy took a small, careful step forward, his hand reaching out to Martinez for balance. He could see Quinn visibly trying to steel himself, preparing himself to be tossed in with the rest of them. Willing himself to be brave in the face of every sailors greatest fear.

“I'm sorry,” Murphy whispered, to Quinn, to his crew, to all those that the Captain would continue to hurt in their absence. He watched as Quinn actually had the audacity to smirk. He gave a half shrug as if he was saying, “hey, we did our best.”

Murphy smiled back.

Quinn grunted as the hand on his shoulder pressed him down, forcing his back to round and he hung his head, unable to keep it up any longer. Murphy could feel the eyes of the Captain on him and he finally relented, looking at the man that would order them to their collective deaths.

What he saw in that man's eyes, he didn't understand it, but it turned his blood cold.

A smirk of his own crossed the Captain's face as he revealed what looked like some sort of metal contraption out from behind his back.

“Captain? Lewis, what are you-” Murphy shook his head, limping himself another step forward as if he could actually reach the men not two feet in front of him. His words turned to ash in his throat as the Captain's hand that was pressing down on Quinn's shoulder dragged up the man's neck and grabbed under his chin.

“No,” Murphy swallowed bile.

–

Something in the room had changed.

Quinn dragged his face against his shoulder, trying to get the blood out of his eyes before forcing himself to lift his head and look at Murphy. A strange look had come over his friend's face and Quinn cocked his head. His expression had morphed from anger and brave defiance to what Quinn could only describe as repulsed horror? Quinn felt the firm grip on his shoulder loosen to almost gentle as it slid up the side of his neck and Quinn watched Murphy mouth the word “no” as a shiver crept through his own body.

Quinn startled back and slammed right into the Captain's legs when Murphy took two steps and kicked out at the thick glass separating them. Fingers tightened painfully around Quinn's chin but he couldn't tear his gaze away from Murphy. He was screaming without sound, fury turning his angry face red as he repeatedly kicked the glass. Quinn could see blood pumping from a wound on Murphy's thigh and he wanted to tell him to stop. He felt like it was all happening in some slow motion nightmare, the kind where you weren't entirely in control of your own body. He couldn't fight it when the hand gripping his chin forced his head up and he had to tear his eyes away from Murphy and look up at the Captain.

The volume in the room suddenly became far too loud. The Captain's men whooped and groaned out sounds that didn't make sense to Quinn.

He'd missed something.

“You hear me, boy?”

Quinn ground his teeth, hissing when the Captain tightened his grip on his chin.

“I'm not a fucking boy,” Quinn spit out, shifting his legs underneath him with every intention of standing. Then, the Captain's thumb brush through the blood that trickled down the side of Quinn's mouth and swiped over his bottom lip.

Quinn froze.

“Captain?” Someone said over Quinn's shoulder, but with one look from the Captain, he was silent again.

The Captain lifted his other hand and held something out in front of him. Quinn could hear the sound of the glass trembling slightly. He could practically feel Murphy throwing the full force of his body at the glass but he didn't dare look away. In the Captain's hand, was a collar. There was no other word for it. Two pieces of metal slid smoothly into one another, a lot like handcuffs, and there was even a slot for a key where the two pieces locked together.

“What-?” Quinn mumbled, confused. Why the fuck did he have a collar? Before another horrifying thought was able to pass through his mind, the Captain fisted his hair and dragged him onto his feet. He felt his body slam into the glass and an arm pressed against the back of his neck, and suddenly, he was face to face with Murphy.

A thread of fear unlike any Quinn had ever felt before unfurled itself throughout his body.

“Murphy?” Quinn stupidly said in a numb panic.

He didn't understand what this was. Why wasn't he being marched into the airlock with the rest of his crew? Why the fuck did the Captain have a fucking collar?

Murphy's face twisted in desperate, sobbing rage. Quinn felt the reverberation of the glass against his chest as Murphy kicked out at it uselessly before he finally gave up, his own chest heaving in frantic breaths.

He'd never seen Murphy look so defeated before. It didn't make any sense. Murphy was strong, idealistic. He was honorable. Murphy always held onto hope for a better world, if we could just stand up a little more for what was right. If we just fought back.

“Quinn,” he watching Murphy's mouth move, “Don't fight him, Quinn.”

Quinn swallowed the fear that boiled up into his throat. Even if he could hear Murphy's words he wouldn't have understood them.

Cool metal touched the back of Quinn's neck and that thread of fear ignited. Quinn jerked his head back, connecting solidly with something that felt very much like bone. Hands left his body just as more hands seized him and pressed him into the glass. He twisted and kicked out at anything he could find.

Quinn felt his body weakening as bodies pressed his own against the glass. Murphy just stood and watched. Quinn hated that he was the one to put that look on Murphy's face. He was supposed to be brave, to stand proudly and walk to his own death without fear.

This wasn't the plan.

He again felt the cool metal touch the back of his neck and he recoiled in the hands of the men. A hand pressed his face against the glass and they held him firm as the metal enclosed his throat.

Quinn screamed.

The sound of the lock clicked in some thick, distant part of his mind. This meant something he didn't yet understand. His body felt heavy and almost unreal, separate from his mind in a way he'd never felt before. Quinn realized he had closed his eyes and forced them open again.

Murphy had his forehead pressed to the glass, right over his own. The puffs of their breath fogged up the space between them. He didn't want Murphy to die. Not if he wasn't going to die too. They were supposed to go together. Brothers in arms. Quinn realized that Murphy was saying something again but a horrifyingly alert corner of his mind felt fingers brush up under his shirt and trail across his stomach. The men closed in around him and he felt someone press their lips against the underside of his jaw. He felt the man's stubble drag roughly against his cheek. Another hand was scratching to get their fingers underneath the waistband of his pants.

What was happening?

Quinn couldn't look away. He watched Murphy's face as the Captain muttered a single word...and then another, much louder this time. Quinn couldn't hear it past the thump of his own frantic heart pounding in his ears.

The lever that opened the airlock must have been hefted up because the big, metal doors slid silently open.

It didn't happen like in the movies, with a rush of air that sucked the crew out into the vastness of space. First, the airlock was depressurized. Air hissed out of the room and the crew's mouths opened and closed, gasping for oxygen that was no longer there. The door slid open and the gravity was turned off, their feet lifting slowly off the floor. Murphy was still mouthing words Quinn didn't understand, his mouth only stopping as he slowly passed through the doors with the rest of his crew and drifted off into nothing, leaving Quinn behind.

Quinn heard himself make a terrible, broken sound as the fingers under his shirt flattened against his stomach and he was dragged back away from the glass and into the hands of the crew.

Taglist: @peachy-panic, @ladygwennn, @whumplr-reader, @hold-him-down, @monochrome-episode, @dogface3000, @skyhawkwolf, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @whumpterful-beeeeee, @maddam-redder, @susiequaz12, @pigeonwhumps, @starlit-darkness

#consequence of action #this story always does what it wants #i hope you like!#collared whumpee #captured whumpee #execution #of side characters #dissociation #beating #noncon touching #allusions to noncon #innocent naïve Quinn in those early days 🥺

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whump-is-love-whump-is-life · 4 months

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Something underutilized in whump. Realizing a whumper is human. Speaking from experience; when someone has hurt you (or others) it’s easy to pretend for a bit that they’re just evil and there’s nothing more to it—

But you can only think that for so long. No matter how horrible someone is, how many awful things they’ve done— they’re still fucking human. They’ve made those choices, they’re not even pure evil. No one’s pure evil. People can do evil things of course. But they’re still human.

And that’s almost what hurts the most

#vent post #just discovered some things about someone really close to me #fuck #whump #whump community #whumpblr #whump tropes #and along with this #a whumper may ~eventually~ feel some guilt or remorse over their actions. they’re himan #*human #and post rescue— I just know that would break a whumpee even further #my posts #my whump

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fallenwhumpee · 5 months

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Why

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Guilt, mentioned past torture, blood, betrayal, self-blame.

Right Hand wasn't supposed to feel like this, they scolded to themselves as they walked towards Leader's office. Right Hand wasn't weak, and not helpless.

But they let Leader down once, and Leader was still recovering from... everything. Leader was doing their best to act like nothing happened, but Right Hand could see through their facade.

They wouldn't stand doing nothing again. Not after spending a week at Leader's bedside, waiting for them to wake up. The others were another story, though. The squad often thought Leader was invincible or unbreakable.

And that was what Leader wanted, Right Hand realised long after. To become a pillar even when they weren't there. To guide, to be a voice in Right Hand's head to be better while restraining Right Hand's little self-destructive habits.

Right Hand sighed, wishing that they could do the same for Leader. They weren't good at it, but they could try.

They could try now.

The offices were mostly empty at this late hour, save for a certain insomniac and workaholic commanding officer.

Right Hand knocked the door and opened it without waiting for an answer.

Leader quickly turned their chair, half facing Right Hand and half still glancing at the papers they were dealing with.

"Right Hand?" Leader prompted, their voice hoarse.

"You should be in bed." So blunt, so straightforward. They had never been good with words, so unlike Leader. Their approach was always simple.

Leader chuckled, their laugh turning into a light cough towards the end.

“And leave the planning to you? Or would you prefer the Captain to do it?” Leader smiled.

Right Hand and Captain's strong suit was commanding the field, and coordinating. They weren't good at planning. That was also the main reason for taking so long at rescuing Leader.

Guilt clawed Right Hand's mind, and they looked away. Leader deserved better than what they had done.

Right Hand looked back as they felt a hand cupping their chest. “None of that, I'm just teasing.”

Oh, how much they had missed this. Falling into their usual pattern, Leader reading them like an open book.

The familiarity was comforting and gave Right Hand hope that maybe things could be like before. Before Leader had sacrificed themselves to get the squat out, and before they were forced to find their footing without Leader for months.

Right Hand briefly wondered how their plan was shattered by just one mistake and how the enemy looked so ready as if they knew the plan but focused on the problem at his hand.

“It's past midnight,” Right Hand didn't let go of Leader's cold hand. Cold like death.

“That is my line,” Leader smiled. It only upset Right Hand more.

Yes, Leader would often have to drag them out of the training rooms. Leader smiled, likely thinking the same thing.

Leader stood absurdly, nearly falling. Right Hand caught them as they gasped, their all weight dead on Right Hand's arms.

Right Hand helped them to sit on the table, Leader clinging them like Right Hand was the only thing keeping them up. They leaned their head to Right Hand's shoulder, eyes distant and drained.

“Did you get your medicine today?”

Leader nodded and mumbled a weak yes.

After a long moment of rest, Leader pulled back slightly, calming their breaths.

“Stood too fast,” they murmured, more to convince themselves rather to ease Right Hand's worries. Leader stood again and leaned to Right Hand, barely able to stay straight on their own.

Sometimes it seemed like they were getting worse each day. Their hair, even though it was still clean, was damp. Their eyes were smaller, with big dark circles looking like bruises. They were slightly sweating throughout their pale skin. Their fever rose again, Right Hand thought as they wiped the sweat on Leader's flushed cheeks.

“Maybe we should get some late meal," Right Hand offered. It was accepted without any protests, making the moment strange. Usually, Leader would be the one offering, and Right Hand would deny it until they were both preparing something light for themselves in the empty cantina.

They walked to the mess hall anyway, Right Hand deciding it was too much of a work for that night. And perhaps, they didn't want Leader to be on their feet any more than neccesary, and it was closer to Leader's quarters.

As they entered the mess hall, Leader's grip on Right Hand's arm tightened, but they starightened, slowly gaining their posture. There were not many people, but a few were eating a late meal, probably just back from a patrol, and the cooks were quite busy until they could get a warm meal served.

They had peaceful ten minutes before Captain barged in and locked eyes with Leader, a creepy smile crept onto their lips.

Right Hand understood it too late, and Captain's smile grew as they shouted into the room.

"Leader, since you seem so eager to prove you're still fit to lead, how about a friendly sparring match in the training room?"

"I would prefer a more appropriate time for it," Right Hand growled, protective instincts in them rising. This was a challenge, and the decision for calling one was supposed to be made in one's right mind, not in the middle of the night with everyone tired.

They didn't even start about Leader was still recovering.

"No one asked what you would prefer," Captain snarled back.

"I will give you a second chance to think what you said," Leader pushed them aside, towering over Captain. Perhaps it was less intimidating with the muscle mass Leader lost, but they were still pretty bulky, making Captain look so small.

"I said what I said."

Leader turned to Right Hand with a short, hesitant stop before opening their mouth.

"Call everyone to the training room, please."

Right Hand took the order with a protest they buried under their heavy heart, the people in cafeteria already off to spread the word.

Right Hand hurried through the dim corridors, calling out to the members of their squad to gather in the training room. They knew the confrontation between Leader and Captain was inevitable, but the timing couldn't be worse.

Chief Medic should have tied Leader down or knocked them out until they looked like they weren't dying. They knew it had happened before. It was the only way to keep Leader down.

And it was a cheap play by Captain. To challenge Leader's authority when they were clearly at a disadvantage felt like a betrayal of their shared history. They had faced so many things together, trusted each other with their lives, and now Captain was too eager to undermine all of that.

The training room buzzed as the squad members gathered, some still sleepy but snapping as they saw what was going on.

Right Hand stood at the front, their heart pounding as Leader and Captain faced each other in the centre of the room.

Leader's voice still carried a commanding presence, but Right Hand knew better than assuming Leader was fine. "You think challenging me in this state is a testament to your strength, Captain? It only proves that you're willing to challenge authority only when it's weak."

Captain sneered, circling Leader, their eyes gleaming with arrogance. "Authority that can't defend itself isn't worth following. I'll prove I'm the stronger leader, and those who choose to follow me will know the difference."

Right Hand looked away as they began to circle. Seeing Leader's guard was enough to know their tactic.

Right shoulder exposed, weight resting slightly more towards the right foot. Yes, that would give Leader the strength they needed to use their good - left - arm, but it also left the wide whip wound on their right side open. The fight was going to be violent.

Right Hand scolded themselves. They had to watch this.

With a shaky breath, they eyed the audience made of a hundred professional mercenaries, staff, and guests, only brought together by Leader, for the last time before turning to the fight.

It was strange to know that not all of them came from the same place but sticked together for training or safer missions. People were even brought to take care of them in some ways, just because Leader wanted a systematic and more effective way if dealing with things. None of them could've dreamt of such stuns they pulled in missions alone.

Captain made the first move, lunging at Leader with a swift punch. Leader's countered it with their good arm, exposing their right side again.

But Leader had a plan. Right Hand could see it in the determined glint in their eyes. They baited Captain to believe they had the upper hand. Captain could press their advantage as much as they wanted, but Leader was waiting for something.

Captain continued to press the attack, taking advantage of Leader's exposed right side. The crowd watched in silence, and Right Hand couldn't hide the concern from their face.

Right Hand fought with their emptions— they wanted to stop this fight, to protect Leader, but they knew it would only damage Leader more. Damage Leader's authority, too, a smaller concern.

Captain, getting angrier with each hit not gaining the impact they wanted, started to attack like a mindless beast, showing everyone how unfit they actually are.

Leader suddenly shifted, their injured right side taking another hit. It seemed as though Captain was gaining the upper hand. Right Hand's heart staggered.

But Leader didn't stop. They braced hits after hits, finding rare opportunities to get solid blows to Captain's chest but failing to deliver a powerful one. Captain was not staying at their place, aiming perfectly but not hitting quite.

Leader was turning subtly to soften the impact, pissing Captain off.

Just as Right Hand realised that, Leader caught Captain's arm, and before they could blink, Captain was being launched over Leader's shoulder with a loud thud accompanied by a cracking sound.

The room fell silent as Leader stood over Captain, triumphant.

"Go now, with anyone who wishes to follow you." Leader growled, "I don't want the blood of my own on my hand today. But the next time, there will be only your corpse to be kicked out."

Captain, defeated and humiliated, picked themselves up and looked at the squad as they left left the room, a few following them.

"To your rooms now, if anyone else wants to challenge, they can try me," Right Hand shouted. People left as Leader stood still, the tension in the room seemed to dissolve.

But the calm was short-lived. After everyone left, Leader's gasps for breath became audible, and they faltered, nearly collapsing.

Right Hand rushed to their side, helping them down. They froze at the wince it earned, Leader smiling weakly to the reaction.

"Blood loss may be making me say that, but I actually need to go to infirmary this time," Leader mumbled without changing their expression, chuckling lightly. They both knew Right Hand was seconds away from freaking out.

-•-

Only when they arrived at the infirmary did the full extent of the betrayal become apparent. Chief Medic's departure must have been a calculated move, Right Hand thought, leaving Leader alone once again.

Right Hand's hands shook as they carrief Leader's weakened form. Panic clawed at them, but Leader was quick to guide them with calling Medic, who was supposed to be there in the absence of their CMO.

"Easy." Leader tried to soften Right Hand's nerves. "I've faced worse."

Right Hand's jaw clenched, their fingers curling into fist at their side while Leader kept holding their other hand.

Medic, the less experienced officer came soon, the first thing they did being cutting Leader's blood-soaked shirt and bandages, revealing torn stitches. They worked carefully, their hands shaking slightly as they cleaned the wound. Right Hand watched every move, their guard still up.

Medic finished restitching the wound, Right Hand watching their every move.

"Could I ask something?" Medic's voice came, meek.

"Go on," Leader hissed as Medic cut the first torn stitch.

"What was the first treatment after you got injured? This... doesn't look like it had been treated well from the beginning. Did you observe the initial treatment?"

Right Hand frowned at the question. They had been there for Leader since the rescue, but their knowledge about medical procedures was limited.

"I was with Leader after their rescue, but I'm not a medic. I don't know much about treatments," Right Hand admitted, their worry increasing. "Why? Is something wrong with the way they were treated?"

Medic carefully avoided eye contact with Right Hand and continued, "The stitches, they were sloppily done. It's a miracle they held up during the fight. I would like to talk with who was responsible, though. I dont want to accuse anyone, especially now."

"Chief Medic left with that traitor," Right Hand said sharply to shut Medic up. "Now you can go. You've done enough."

The kid seemed to understand the unspoken message and nodded before quietly leaving the infirmary, leaving Leader and Right Hand alone in the sterile silence.

Right Hand dressed the wound carefully, checking the ingredients of IV before finally collapsing to Leader's bedside.

"They were doing their best, Right Hand. Not everyone will try to take me down," Leader whispered.

"I- I will apologise to them later."

"Good. Just don't scare people like that again. We will hunt for spies later, though. I don't want this to happen again, but I don't think I can handle more action tonight."

Right Hand drew a sharp breath. "I'll do it. But you will rest."

Leader's lips curved into a sad smile. "You've barely slept in last few days."

"I'll be fine," Right Hand's voice was almost a whisper, their eyes refusing to leave Leader's face. "Don't want to be alone now," they admitted.

Leader stayed silent, just squeezing their hand lightly. Perhaps they understood that Right Hand didn't want to leave Leader alone because the mere thought was enough to spiral their thoughts down with worry. And maybe, maybe Leader didn't want to be alone too.

They started to talk about everything and nothing, wishing to distract Leader from the pain until the painkillers kicked in.

Minutes passed, and the effects of the medicine began. Leader's breathing steadied, and a calmness settled over the room. But then, tears welled up in Leader's eyes, their expression pained but not crying.

"I don't understand. Just— just why? Was... was I not enough?"

With a little hesitation, they moved closer, sinking to their knees beside the bed. They reached out, gently running a hand through Leader's hair.

"Neither do I, but this is not your fault."

Leader's fingers trembled as they tried to stop Right Hand's hand. "I should have seen it coming."

That could be translated to I didn't deserve this kindness too easily, Right Hand realised.

Right Hand knew the feeling well, and they had overcame it with Leader repeating the opposite like parrot in the littlest opportunity. Right Hand should've realised Leader felt this way, since it seemed like Leader was just incapable of taking their own advice in every matter.

Right Hand leaned in, their arms wrapping around Leader in a comforting embrace. "You're the strongest person I know, Leader. This isn't about you. It's about them being arrogant and selfish. Not everyone can hold this many people together."

Leader's head rested against Right Hand's shoulder, their silent tears soaking into the fabric of Right Hand's uniform. "It will be alright. This could've turned out a lot different."

"Not very comforting," Leader chuckled weakly.

"It will sound better in the morning," they returned. "Now sleep. I'll stay here."

#whump #whump writing #leader whumpee #leader whump #guilt #mentioned past torture #tw blood #betrayal #tw self-blame #im not very proud of this but i think the action scene is well #though not really accurate #anyway sorry for the inactivity #will happen again i guess

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promptspa · 2 years

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Random prompt #80

Villain swayed on their feet, tears still running down their face and chest heaving. They were struggling to just keep themself standing.

Despite the criminal being out of costume, Hero immediately recognized them, and that something was missing. Quickly, the hero moved Villain into their arms, leading them inside while murmuring hushed, comforting words.

Their wings. Villain's wings were gone. The villain had kept their wings as well-kept as possible at all times. They avoided getting them dirty and wet unless washing them, spent hours (sometimes even with Hero) combing through their feathers when they felt even one was off and tried to keep them from getting hit when in battle.

Something was wrong, and Hero knew it. They lowered themself onto the floor, still cradling their enemy in their arms and carding one of their hands through their hair, running lovingly over their scalp.

Villain murmured something unintelligible, words slurring together and sobs cutting them off. They curled into Hero and hid their face in the crook of their neck, trying to distract themself from the empty feeling on their back.

As Hero's hand brushed along their spine, the villain let out a strangled cry, the movement immediately stopping at the noise. "Villain, what happened?..." The hero asked softly, moving the hand on their back to cup their waist instead. They didn't get any answer besides another babble of incoherent stuttering.

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echo-goes-mmm · 2 months

Text

Old Friends #4

Masterpost

Note: Charlie, the doctor, uses they/them pronouns.

Warnings: implied past starvation, violence

Laith picked at the food on the tray. He’d been stuck in the complex for a week, and there was no end in sight.

Techmaster had wheeled in a tv and dvd player a while ago, but Laith had already exhausted the stack of movies and there was only so much on Netflix he was interested in.

Currently, The Two Towers (extended edition) was humming along on the screen as he pushed around the potatoes on his plate.

He wasn’t hungry, but he should probably eat anyway. The doctor, Charlie, had told him he was nearly fifteen pounds underweight.

Nightclaw had always been stingy with food.

Laith scratched at the power dampener on his ankle. It was at an awkward place; he’d rather it be around his arm or something. But he wasn’t going to ask.

The other restraints had been removed, but Guardian didn’t want him using his powers to slip away.

Begrudgingly, Laith could see how it made sense. He had information; they weren’t going to let him go.

He ate another forkful of potatoes. At least the food was okay.

___________________

Theo sat back in his chair, twirling a pen. He was barely watching the upload progress on the computer; it had been three days and it was still stuck at 68% progress.

He hated the waiting game. He’d run out of things to tinker with, his desk a mess of screwdrivers, wrenches, and a bolt cutter.

He didn’t feel like working on his big projects either.

Theo stared up at the high ceiling. Mateo wasn’t taking care of the cobwebs like he said he would.

The computer beeped, so suddenly he nearly fell out of his chair.

He righted himself. The progress bar shuddered forward in a lurch, and there it was.

Nightclaw’s entire server system, available right at his fingertips. Theo settled his hands on the keyboard.

Where to start?

___________________

Nightclaw’s filing system was clean and organized, which made it easy to navigate. But the sheer volume of notes and documents was overwhelming.

Power dampeners, power, p, p, p…

Power dampener was not under ‘P’. Or ‘d’. Or even ‘w’ for world domination. Not that Nightclaw had a folder named ‘world domination’.

What was under ‘P’ was ‘Pictures, Laith’. The tiny pixelated icons splashed with red and pale peach dots, blood on skin.

Theo hovered over the icon of an image, hesitating.

He clicked the back button. Laith didn’t need more invasions of privacy.

___________________

Theo had thought about worst case scenarios when Beatrice told him Nightclaw was experimenting with power dampeners, but his imagination apparently had nothing on the supervillain’s.

He scanned the blueprints.

From what he could tell, one of the designs was explosive, throwable dampeners. When they hit a target, the dampender exploded, covering the victim in a fine powder that stopped their abilities.

Temporary, but enough that Nightclaw could kill or capture whoever he wanted.

The other design was a much nastier version of Laith’s shock collar. There was no lock, designed to be soldered onto the neck. Tiny, needle-like spikes poked towards the flesh of the wearer. The metal had been switched out for a sturdier alloy.

He zoomed in one of the lines of notes, but the screen went black.

White text appeared on the screen.

Catch me if you can, before Clarksville gets leveled. Two hours. XOXO

___________________

Laith caught them just before they left.

“It’s a trap,” he warned. “He’ll kill you.”

“He’s tried before,” shrugged Beatrice, “and hasn’t managed it.”

“Yet,” muttered Laith.

Theo pulled on his kevlar. “We’ll be fine,” he said, but this time he was unsure. Those dampeners looked flawless. It was only a matter of how long they could dodge.

“Be back soon,” winked Mateo, scooping up Theo and climbing up into the sky.

___________________

“Come on,” said Charlie, “we’ll watch on the computer.”

They led Laith over to the massive desk, pulling up the feed of Clarksville news cameras.

Laith never understood the fascination of watching superpowered people thrash each other. He looked away from the screen, his eyes falling on the bolt cutters and wrenches on the table.

Charlie pulled up a tab of another news station, and then another, until they could see the fight from four different angles.

Laith looked up.

It was going well, it seemed. Three on one, until a boom sounded in the distance. From the shake of the cameras, it must have been a huge blast.

Guardian zoomed off to save lives, and it was just Warrior and Techmaster dodging Nightclaw’s weapons.

Laith watched the blurs on the screen move. He bit his nails in worry.

Nightclaw threw a- a something at Warrior, and this time she wasn’t fast enough.

She went down, cratering towards the earth.

Techmaster shot a grapple towards a skyscraper, intercepting her fall. Laith let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

But with Warrior down, and Guardian busy with yet another bomb going off, Techmaster was alone.

Nightclaw advanced on him, twirling his blade.

Laith knew the specific stalk of the supervillain. He was aiming to kill.

Laith snatched the bolt cutters off the desk, severed his dampener, and left for Clarksville, Charlie’s shouting still in his ears.

___________________

Laith stumbled out of the shadow. The air smelled of smoke, and there was screaming in the distance.

He was on the right street, certainly. In fact, he’d landed exactly between Nightclaw and Techmaster.

What was he thinking?

Nightclaw stared at him, dumbfounded, before his face curled into a sick twisted smile.

“Aw, here to join the fun, darling?”

Laith scrambled to his feet.

“Get out of here!” shouted Techmaster behind him.

Nightclaw flexed his grip on the blade, a horribly familiar gesture that made him want to run.

He didn’t have the energy to teleport away, using all his juice to get there in the first place.

Nightclaw made a single step forward, and Laith turned and bolted.

___________________

“Bea, come on,” he muttered, shaking her by the shoulders. He managed to get off most of the powder that downed her in the precious few moments Laith had bought them, but those moments were almost up.

He didn’t want to find Laith dead on the pavement, but the more he waited for Beatrice, the more likely that would be.

She groaned, still groggy.

He couldn’t wait for her any longer.

Theo grappled into the skyline, scanning as he vaulted across the rooftops.

The streets were empty, but the smog still made it hard to see.

But then, he saw a blurry figure on the ground.

He ziplined down.

___________________

Nightclaw’s fist dripped with blood, but he didn’t stop hitting Laith until Theo tackled him.

Nightclaw shouted in surprise as they rolled on the ground. He shoved him away with his super strength, and narrowed his eyes at Theo’s interference.

A chill ran up his spine at the expression of hatred on Nightclaw’s face, wholly different from the detached “my-toy-is-no-longer-amusing” demeanor he was used to.

Laith pushed himself up to his knees. “Don’t, Master,” he whimpered, tugging at Nightclaw’s cloak.

Nightclaw kicked at his hand, stomping it into the ground. Laith cried out, and Theo watched in horror as Nightclaw’s boot heel twisted into his hand.

Theo took a step back as Nightclaw stepped forward. He tripped on a pothole, falling backwards to the ground, and Nightclaw took a blade from his side.

Theo’s heart pounded in his chest. He knew what to do, logically, but fear prevented him from reaching into his belt for a weapon.

Nightclaw made another step forward, raising his dagger.

Laith leapt up from the pavement, slamming into Nightclaw. He wrapped his arms around the supervillain’s neck, and they were swallowed up in shadow.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @ohwrite

#i never said i could write action #but i try #chekhovs bolt cutter #my writing #whump #villain whumpee #villain whump #hero whump #old friends

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honeycollectswhump · 9 months

Text

Gone, gone

[masterlist]

CW: accidental self-harm-like actions, suicidal ideation (NOT acted upon), blood, emeto, loss of a friend, mental breakdown, referenced: substance abuse, pet whump recapture

The plates are the first thing she sees. She had set the table and prepared dinner. The sauce is still in the pot, now cold. Aveline should put the pot aside, clean away the remains of what was supposed to be their meal. She doesn’t.

The plates are the first thing she sees, and she tears them down. She swipes over the table, not stopping as they shatter on the ground. Gone.

The glasses are next. Intricate, little designs that once belonged to her old landlady. Aveline pushes her palms into the glass, crushing them until shards dig into her flesh. She doesn’t feel anything. Blood seeps into the tablecloth, that's how she knows, the knowledge just barely grazing her mind but leaving no impact. Gone.

Tears blur her vision, as the grabs the cloth. A breath, then two. With a jerk, she rips and tears, cutlery clattering to the ground. Aveline claws at it. She wants it to hurt. It can never hurt, she can never hurt, but she wants to.

This is pain, she thinks, this must be pain.

A scream wrenches itself from her throat. Her voice cracks. She cracks. She is in her body and she is not. The sight of her home disgusts her, it destroys her. If she is loud enough she won’t have to hear herself.

A glint of the sun against one of their pictures catches her eye. Aveline whirls around, cloth in hand, disoriented. She stumbles against the wall, the cloth getting caught on the frame, and she tears and tears and tears.

The photo falls to the ground, breaking on impact. There is a crack over his face, there is a crack over Atlas’ face and he’s gone. Aveline stares at it, at the ruined picture, at what she’ll never have again. Gone. He’s gone.

The thought settles over her like a fog, taking over. Someone is screaming, she is screaming, and she’s breaking apart at the seams. Aveline yanks at the coffee machine and throws it across the room. It collides with a cabinet, the booming sound ringing through their empty house. Filling the silence between her screams, her sobs. Gone.

There are still shards stuck in her hand as Aveline lurches forward to retch into the sink, her ears filled with a deafening ring. Nothing but bile comes up but she feels like she can see pieces of her very soul laying exposed to the world, ugly and rotten, with fraying edges. Fat tears roll down her face, dripping down and mixing with droplets of blood. Gone.

Aveline crumbles to the ground, falling hard on her knees, barely registering the impact that will leave her with bruises she will never be able to feel.

It doesn’t make sense!

Atlas was supposed to go out for a short walk, he was supposed to come back just in time for dinner. He didn’t even take his phone with him.

They told her he’d run away, like he did before, from his old life. But Aveline knows, she knows, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t run without preparation, he’d take money with him, or a proper jacket or anything at all.

They don’t trust him, they say there is no evidence. They say it’s to be expected of someone like him, someone like her Attie, especially with his addiction.

He is six months sober now, but they don’t believe him or they don’t care. To them, it doesn’t matter how hard he worked to get to this point, how much blood, sweat and tears went into this. Atlas had fought to get bits and pieces of his life back, that his old Master had stolen from him. It would be all for nothing now.

Atlas is gone, he was taken.

And no one will do anything.

It hits her then, all at once.

There is nothing.

There is no hint, no message, no reason. No evidence and no case. No one to turn to, no one to lead the search.

He’s alone, she’s utterly alone and he’s gone.

Gone.

The moon rises. It takes a while for Aveline to notice the shift in light, to notice that the taunting sunset has given way to the cold moonlight. Distantly Aveline thinks her knees must hurt, her joints must be stiff. Time simply passes by her without touching her and it’s not like her body can tell her otherwise.

The blood has started to dry, sticking to her skin and clothes in clumps. She is barely there, her mind moving through a swamp of numbness. This must be pain and it will kill her.

It will eat her from the inside out until there is nothing left and Aveline will welcome the bliss of nothingness with open arms. She can’t do this, she simply can’t. She can’t continue on with her life, as if nothing happened, can’t imagine a life without him, without her Attie.

She wishes him back, begs for him, even if in his darkest days, high or drunk, she doesn’t care, she’d take it all if just to get him back. Having him back, anything would be enough.

Maybe she will die like this. Aveline contemplates never moving again, it has nothing left to give anymore. Maybe she will starve or die of thirst, maybe her heart will just mercifully stop beating. If it doesn’t, she could help, doing nothing but accelerating a natural process.

Then he’d be gone and she would never have to feel this torment again because she’d be gone too.

Still, something inside her fights the thought, sending a spike of urgent desperation up and down her spine.

Atlas, her Atlas isn’t dead. He is gone for her but he isn’t gone gone.

He would be if she gives up. He’d be gone, in the sense that he could never be there again if there isn’t someone fighting for him.

Someone has to do something.

It won’t be any law enforcement and it won’t be the Pet Lib shelter Attie told her about either, the one that had helped him become who he is now, doesn’t believe her or in him. Maybe she could ask around in Pet Lib groups but it’s not like Atlas ever gave her access to their resources and Aveline knows they are notoriously impossible to find for outsiders.

And what can a girl like her do anyways? She has nothing but her mind and her body and that can never be enough when all the world demands is money and power.

But there is no alternative, is there? If Aveline doesn’t do anything, then no one will, and then Atlas will be left all alone in whatever hell has claimed him.

She is nothing without Atlas and maybe these feelings will pass but Aveline hopes they don’t. She holds onto the longing, the desperation, making her frantic, making her shake.

In the end, Aveline has everything to give. If she loses her mind or loses her body, it will be no different from now. And for now, it’s enough to help her get up, to help her move, even if she is just a tool to get her Atlas back.

taglist: @octopus-reactivated let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

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befuddled-calico-whump · 2 years

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for your consideration:

Nonhuman/magical creature whumpees kept in a "petting zoo"

-The whumper may be the "zookeeper", charging visitors to come gawk, and poke, and pet their captives

-maybe there are multiple whumpers: a few employees along with some regulars

-the caretaker could be a medic brought into the staff. A security guard. A new "keeper" who doesn't grasp the gravity until they start their first day. Even just a random patron

-or maybe they're a captive themselves, doing their best to look out for their fellow "exhibits"

#and are the whumpees allowed to interact or are they kept in separate enclosures?#can they talk to each other?#do they have to find subtle ways to communicate and check in? little secret messages and coded actions?#whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #pet whump #tw pet whump #multiple whumpers #multiple whumpees #nonhuman whumpee

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whumpster-dumpster · 2 years

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Whumpee has a perfect day out with Caretaker. For the first time in far too long, nothing happens to dampen their spirits. They drift contentedly to sleep next to Caretaker on their picnic blanket, the sun warm on their face...

And when they wake up, Caretaker’s gone without a trace. Was this one good day just to lure them into a false sense of security so Caretaker could abandon them? Or were they taken?

#whump #whump prompt #writing prompt #caretaking #missing in action #abandonment #bad caretaker #kidnapping #caretaker turned whumpee #(possibly)

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rainydaywhump · 4 months

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Whumpcember Day 27: Bleeding Out

@whumpcember @i-eat-worlds @pigeonwhumps (lmk if you'd like to be added or removed!)

A snippet from Kel's shady and tumultuous backstory. I had Bleeding Out (Imagine Dragons) playing throughout writing this, lol.

CWs and themes: spy mission gone wrong; female main character; medical whump; bullet wound; bone break; bleeding out; character preemptively accepts death (she's still alive though)

Something had gone wrong. Something always did, and that was why it was Kel and Tallmadge who had been assigned to this mission, because that was who could be counted on to improvise as needed. The two of them had successfully stolen back the object of their mission -- an innocuous-looking flash drive -- but their established contact in the building had ghosted them, and suddenly they found themselves running as fast as they could through the industrial mess underneath the building's northern facade, hoping against hope to meet up with a drone as soon as they could get out.

It was halfway across a catwalk overhead that their pursuers caught up with them. They might not have known what the two agents had taken, but they obviously knew it wasn't anything good.

Bullets ricocheted off the metal rails and Tallmadge slipped on the grated floor. Kel grabbed his arm and kept running, but --

"No!"

Pain blossomed in her thigh and warmth pooled out from its front and back sides. Kel collapsed, realizing a second delayed why she'd fallen and why Tallmadge had yelled out: she'd been shot.

Blood spurted out, staggered and quick, from the two wounds. The bullet had smashed through her bone and hit an artery on the way. Not wasting any time, she reached into her pocket...

...and handed the flash drive over to Tallmadge.

"Go. Just fucking go," Kel hissed. Good god, she hadn't realized there was so much blood in her body, and now it was spilling out onto the grated metal catwalk.

Tallmadge didn't hesitate to leave her behind. Kel knew he wouldn't, had counted on it when she partnered with him for the mission. Vaguely, she hoped he'd get some agency-mandated therapy for all this. She watched his fingers clench around that damned flash drive as he sprinted away. The clean white drive was a stark contrast to the stained metal around her.

All for a tiny flashdrive. But it wasn't really tiny -- the codes and data stored in that thing (that thing that shouldn't have been created in the first place, that thing that counterintel dropped the ball on) held lives in their lines.

Matthew Greene. That was the name of the agent who had double-crossed them and stolen all of that data. He'd tried to hawk it to two other countries' intelligence agencies before striking a deal with the Saudi government. Current Saudi tech could brute force the password in roughly eight months. After that, even with all the mitigation Kel's people could do, it would be over for any number of the people whose information was stored there. Friendlies and full agents alike, foreign politicians and civilians, and the families of all of them -- they would be at risk, and so would the incredible network of contacts and information flows that the Organization had accumulated via Greene's teammates in the past year.

Kel looked down at the bleeding. She knew her life was worth getting that flash drive back. She'd known when she'd been briefed on its contents.

There were footsteps rattling the catwalk, and Kel couldn't help but smirk when she looked up at the approaching pursuers. They were too late. She was dying and she didn't even have what they were after. Her stomach was nauseous, her skin was cold, and her leg was all but numb. The adrenaline was probably the only thing keeping her awake, she figured.

As the figures drew closer, Kel's world faded to gray.

...

Ooh how does Kel escape? I mean she obviously does considering we know she's alive in my ongoing fic but she really thought that was it for her then....

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #whumpcember #day27 #whumpcember2023 #whump prompt #whumpcember2023day27 #gun tw #guns #action writing #action scenes

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whumble-beeee · 7 months

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Whumptember 2023, Day 11

“There’s nothing else I can do”

Last resort | Character death | Medical whump

The Bee’s Whumptember Masterlist

~1490 words

CW: probably wrong medical procedure based on my own limited medical training and experience, wishing for death, blood, implied knife wounds, technical medical talk, mentioned past torture, brainwashed whumpee, medical malpractice (but the good kind ig?), needles

(Continued from Day 10: What Are You Doing To Them. Turns out Detective does save Whumpee after all. kinda. heh.)

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

Where… where was Whumpee? This was all much too white, much too bright. New noises pounded on their eardrums. Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Hanging limply by their wrists, crimson red blotting out their dark flesh so that it was practically a second skin? So good and pretty for Whumper, because they couldn’t struggle anymore and couldn’t be entertaining anymore, so dead was the only way Whumpee could make Whumper happy? They were supposed to be dead. They wanted to be. That was the only way they could be useful now.

Something was poking and prodding at them. Multiple somethings, multiple someones. Whumpee shifted uncomfortably and tried to move away, only to find they couldn’t. Straps. They were strapped to a bed, and the bed was jostling around. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Every slight movement exacerbated their dizziness.

Had Whumper decided to keep them alive after all? Maybe this was just some new form of torture. That must be why Whumper put some sort of face mask on them. Poison, maybe. Whumpee would gladly take it. Even if their wounds made them so, so weak, even if the bright lights made them want to scream, even if they could barely feel what was happening to their body, even if the flurry of movement around them confused them, especially the agonizing poking and prodding.

Even if some dark horrible part of their heart fluttered because maybe, just maybe, Whumpee was being saved. If only… No, no, Whumpee didn’t want to be saved. Whumpee wanted to please Whumper and be good for them. That was their only job in life.

Was Whumper even here? They usually liked to talk while torturing Whumpee.

No, Whumpee was good. Whatever Whumper wanted, Whumpee would do, even if this wasn’t their usual style. They would take it because they had to, and they wanted to. They wanted to. They would always take it, always, always, always, always, always…

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

Detective frantically patted Whumpee’s cheek, and their eyelids twitched open again. Barely. One of the EMTs shoved Detective out of the way with an understandably authoritative “Move,” and got to work wiping off a staggering amount of crimson just from the crook of Whumpee’s elbow. They quickly placed and taped down the IV before readjusting the oxygen mask on Whumpee’s face for the third time, as the other EMT worked on staunching the blood endlessly gushing from the various gaping gashes and stab wounds all over their body.

“They’re losing too much blood, tourniquet and elevate the limbs more and focus on stitching and pressure on the torso and head.”

Detective leaned back into the corner as much as they could. They almost wished they hadn’t climbed into the ambulance. They almost wished they’d listened as the personnel yelled at them to get out, before Detective’s determined glare and crossed arms made them decide it wasn’t worth trying to force Detective out when time was already a very precious and very quickly dwindling resource. Almost.

They smiled to themself, despite everything. If nothing else, even if Whumpee didn’t end up pulling through, at least they had made that sick sadist pay. A mist of red spraying to the walls. A second bullet. That was all Detective could have wanted.

Whumpee shuddered on the gurney, momentarily thrashing under their restraints before falling still again.

“Don’t they need blood?” Detective called, jarred out of their thoughts. They started taking a mental tally of all visible wounds again. “They lost so much, and we don’t even know–”

“Yes, they do,” EMT1 interrupted, not looking up from their tourniquet. “We don’t have any, they’ll get it at the hospital.”

Detective sputtered. “They’re not gonna make it to the hospital! We’re in the middle of nowhere, it’s gonna take–”

“Look,” EMT1 spun on Detective. “We can’t do anything about it, or else we would! Now stay out of the way or I’ll have you thrown out of the damn vehicle.”

They harshly tied off the tourniquet and moved to the next one. Then their face softened again. Just slightly. “We want them alive just as much as you...”

“I’m a universal donor!” Detective pleaded. “O negative! Take my blood!”

EMT1 paused and stared at Detective before remembering themself, shaking their head out and continuing to fuss over a particularly nasty gash. “Absolutely not, we can’t know that for sure, we can't test it, not to mention the malpractice suit alone would–”

“Shit!” The other EMT called suddenly. “Heart stopped beating, beginning compressions! Two, three, four…” They started pushing into Whumpee's chest before they even fully finished the sentence. The one chewing Detective out dashed to grab the AED machine, slammimg the two pads onto Whumpee’s chest around their partner's working hands, before rushing to the side of Whumpee’s head, tipping their head up and preparing to give life-saving breaths.

“Hey!” EMT1 yelled out to Detectives. “Come here and work the AED, it’ll prompt you on everything you need to do–” EMT2 finished their thirty compressions, and EMT1 stopped their orders to give two full breaths into the mask. Whumpee’s chest rose and fell with each breath before falling still again. EMT2 continued their compressions. EMT1 dashed across the cabin to press on the wounds again. ”--and make sure to yell ‘clear’ when it’s scanning AND when a shock is advised and then press the button–”

“They’re back!” EMT2 yelled again, ear pressed closely to Whumpee’s mouth and two fingers on the carotid artery. “Pulse weak as measured at the beginning, breathing normal. Continue as we were, and pay close attention to vitals!”

EMT1 froze, chest heaving shakily. “Okay, okay, nevermind, uh, go back to the corner…”

“Please, I’m O negative, I can help,” Detective begged. “They’re not gonna make it–”

EMT1 reeled on them, eyes fiery and wet, practically shaking, holding tense hands in front of themself placatingly as if they wanted nothing more than to grab Detective by the throat and hurl them out of the ambulance.

“We cannot give an emergency blood transfusion with your blood!” they yelled, breath ragged, whipping their hand up to silence Detectives protests. “We can’t verify the blood type, and if you’re wrong, they will die, and that’s not even touching on the amount of malpractice I’d be committing. There’s nothing I can do to–”

“Oh, lay off and just do it,” EMT2 called out from the other side of the gurney, pressing a cloth into Whumpee’s stomach wounds. “Guy’s a detective, they know their blood type, and you and I both know that the patient’s heart still somehow beating is one in a billion.”

They reached across Whumpee to grab their partner's arms and press them down onto the cloth so they could grab something from the cabinets, snapping at Detective to do the same, and Detective fell in right next to EMT1.

“We’re also what, twenty minutes away from the hospital? The will of God themself couldn’t keep this patient alive for that long without a transfusion.” They nodded to the blood still steadily pooling onto the floor, covering all their shoes in a dark crimson, soaking through the bottoms of their pants with a morbid stickiness.

EMT1 stared at Whumpee, searching over their frail frame as if the answers to their life were going to be etched onto Whumpee’s skin. Only different etchings, cuts, and deep purple and black bruises could be found, standing out brilliantly against Whumpee’s practically gray skin. They turned their eyes desperately to their partner, then Detective, then their partner again. “Do it. I’ll continue care until blood can be administered. If this doesn’t work, it's on your ass.”

“Always is,” EMT2 muttered with a jarring laugh. They beckoned Detective over as their partner worked in a flurry behind them, quickly tying a tight rubber tourniquet around Detective’s upper arm. “Try to keep still, lean on the wall. Get some water from the sink, too. You’re absolutely sure you’re a universal donor?”

EMT2 grabbed them by the elbow and shoved the needle into the vein without waiting for a response. Detective swallowed. “I’ve done this before. Never been more sure in my life.”

EMT2 nodded as they finished, rushing away to help with Whumpee again just as thick blood suctioned up through the thin tube and into the waiting blood bag. Detective was already starting to feel a bit woozy. Great time to remember their fear of needles.

They forced their gaze away from the slowly filling bag, over to Whumpee lying half dead on the gurney with the EMTs rushing around them, patching them up with practiced precision. They watched with baited breath each time their chest rose and fell, hoping the next one wouldn’t be their last. Up, down, up, down. Don’t pass out. Then back to the blood draw kit, sucking out the lifesaving liquid from Detective so it could continue its journey in Whumpee.

God, this had better work.

@whumptember

#whumptember2023 #whumptember day 11 #day eleven: theres nothing i can do #day eleven: medical whump #day eleven: last resort #whump #whumpee #caretaker #whump writing #writeblr #“but bee you didnt like day ten!”#“why are you writing a part two?”#turns out i like writing about detective and them emts because its a lot more action or something like that lol #something about completely conditioned and trained whumpees just doesn't hit the spot for me #also i am cpr certifiead and a lifeguard #so at least the crp portion should be medically correct #at least at the time of posting #the rest tho idk

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seaside-writings · 1 year

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Prompt #916

"I am not, nor will I ever again be your punching bag,"

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kira-the-whump-enthusiast · 2 years

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Midnight Meal (or, In This World, It's Eat or Be Eaten, and Really, I Think I'd Rather Eat)

Synopsis: Isaac becomes someone else’s food for a change :)

Content: Gore, vivisection, cannibalism, drugging (nonconsensual), broken ribs, begging, immortal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee (sorta, I haven’t posted too much whumper Isaac stuff tho), cannibal/nonhuman whumper, and I’m probably missing a fair amount of stuff but yeah lots of violent content, also emetophobia warning, dead dove do not eat

Tagging: @worldofwhumpcraft @meowsikbox @brutal-nemesis @whumpwillow

—

Isaac’s return to consciousness was not a smooth one. His head was swirling, pounding with pain, and he could barely think straight. His eyes were shut closed, and he barely had the strength to open them. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he was really awake.

Something in the distance made a sound. Isaac vaguely wondered what it was, with some effort, he slowly cracked his eyes open.

The room he was in was dimly lit, and it was hard to see. He squinted a bit, trying to make out his surroundings. He didn’t know where he was, but he had a premonition that this wasn’t a familiar place to him.

Isaac knew that he was sitting down, and he tried to stand up, but he couldn’t move. His motions were weak, and something was pulling against his movements, preventing him from getting up. It was incredibly frustrating, but eventually, he stopped trying.

He heard someone speak. “¿ʎpɐǝɹʅɐ ǝʞɐʍɐ ǝɹ╻no⅄” they asked. Their voice sounded like it was underwater, distorted and hard to make out.

It took all his strength, but Isaac lifted his head, and found himself face to face with the owner of the voice. A woman with yellow hair and a sweet, sinister smile.

He didn’t recognize her, but he had a feeling that he knew her. Who is she? Isaac racked his brain, but he couldn’t remember this woman.

She stuck something into his arm, and he felt a small prick. It took him a few seconds to swing his head around to look at it. A row of needles, connected to tubes, lined his arm. Isaac was confused. What were those doing there?

“.ɥƃnouǝ ƃuoʅ ɹoⅎ uʍop noʎ dǝǝʞ pʅnoɥs ʇᴉ ʇnꓭ .ʍouʞ I ʻsƃnɹp ⅎo ʇunoɯɐ ǝuɐsuᴉ uɐ sᴉ sᴉɥꓕ”

Isaac didn’t say anything. His mouth was too dry, and he wasn’t really sure who she was speaking to anyways.

“¿ǝɯ ɹɐǝɥ uǝʌǝ noʎ uɐϽ” The woman paused in her speaking. “.ɹǝʌǝʇɐɥϺ”

She bent down, and a hand brushed his chest. He wasn’t able to flinch away.

She raised something that glinted in the dim light. Isaac stared at it, but he didn’t realize what it was until it started to cut into him oh god it’s cutting him open—

Isaac tried to jerk away, do anything, anything at all, but he couldn’t. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not to him. The blood running down his chest and staining his shirt was the only indicator of what was happening. He couldn’t feel the knife at all.

Sharp fingernails lodged their way into the cut, anchored under the flesh and muscle, and tore. Tore his chest open with a sickening, wet sound. It took his breath away for a moment. He looked down, and regretted it, a scream dying on its way to his lips.

God, he could see his fucking organs. His heart was beating rapidly inside his ribcage, and blood was spilling everywhere. Isaac was sure he had seen a sight like this hundreds of times before, but this? This was different. This was his body. It felt disgusting.

Isaac moved his head to the side just in time and vomited onto the floor.

The woman only chuckled and said “.ɥsᴉɯɐǝnbs os ǝɹǝʍ noʎ ʍouʞ ʇ╻upᴉp I”

Questions swirled in his head, compounded by fear. His heart pounded rapidly and his breathing quickened. Isaac couldn’t really think of much at all, but one thought was prominent above all else.

What are you going to do to me?

A hand reached into his exposed viscera, and he couldn’t even move away. Not for lack of trying, though. Isaac felt a dull pain, but that wasn’t even the worst part. No, it was looking down and seeing someone do this to him.

He shut his eyes tightly, but a sharp burst of agony caused him to cry out and open them again.

The woman was holding something spongy and reddish-brown. It took a couple of moments for Isaac to remember, but he recognized it as a liver. He felt something missing in his abdomen and realized that she was holding his liver.

He coughed, feeling nauseated.

The woman tilted her head and smiled. “.ǝʇsɐʇ oʇ ƃuᴉoƃ s╻ɹǝʌᴉʅ ɹnoʎ ʍoɥ ɹǝpuoʍ I .ɐɥɐɥ ʻnoʎ ⅎo ʇno punos ɐ ʇoƃ ʎʅʅɐuᴉⅎ I”

She started to feast on his liver, and the sloppy, wet sounds of chewing permeated his brain. It was repulsive. He swung his head to the side and vomited again.

“¿uǝppns ɐ ⅎo ʅʅɐ ǝʇɐɔᴉʅǝp os ʎɥϺ ¿ooʇ ǝɹoⅎǝq sᴉɥʇ ǝuop noʎ ʇ╻uǝʌɐɥ ʻʎǝH”

The yellow-haired woman reached into his viscera again and ripped out his spleen. The shock hurt, hurt so much more than the pain. Horrible horrible horrible this is horrible—

She continued to rip out parts of his body and devoured them like a hungry wolf. Isaac recognized every one.

Gallbladder. Pancreas. Stomach. Kidneys.

He wished that he didn’t know what they were. His head spun with utter disbelief and pain.

He watched her eat every one of the organs in his abdomen, unable to tear his eyes away from the carnage. Well, he couldn’t be sure it was all of his organs, but it felt that way. He felt a horrific emptiness in his body where there shouldn’t have been any.

“.ʎɹƃunɥ ʅʅᴉʇs ɯ╻I .ɯH”

A hand wrapped around one of his ribs. Isaac was puzzled, trying to figure out what it was doing there.

A sickening crack and a sudden, searing pain answered his questions. The woman twirled his broken rib in her hands, and Isaac could only watch, incredulous.

She reached for another one.

Isaac couldn't take this any more. He was tired and in agony and why couldn’t she just leave him alone? In a panic, he choked out a protest.

“N-no, no, no, g-g-god, don’t— don’t.”

He wasn’t sure if his words were even audible. The woman just laughed and said, “¿ǝɯ doʇs oʇ ƃuᴉoƃ s╻ʇɐɥʇ ʞuᴉɥʇ noʎ ʻʍʍ∀”

She yanked at his rib cage again, and Isaac’s world was taken over by blinding pain. A small, hoarse scream escaped his lips.

“S-s-stop, stop, please.”

Another rib was broken. His vision became blurry with tears.

He felt someone grab one of his ribs again.

“I, I can’t, just stop, please— please just stop. I’m— I’m begging you.”

“.ǝuop ʇsoɯʅɐ ɯ╻I ʻɥɥS” she cooed.

The woman pulled out another rib, and he felt his head spin in agony. His heart was racing, drumming so loudly it hurt his ears.

Someone’s nails buried into the walls of his heart, making Isaac’s breath hitch. His eyes widened in fear when he realized what she was going to do.

“Don’t— don’t— don’t d-do that, please, I’ll do— I’ll do any-anything.” Talking was the only thing he could do. Still, he didn’t even try to hope that it was enough.

“.noʎ uɐɥʇ ǝɹoɯ sᴉɥʇ pǝǝu I ¿ʎɐʞo ʻsᴉɥʇ pǝǝu I .ou ʻʇnoqɐ ʍoɥ ʻɯɯH”

She tore his heart out of his body in one swift motion.

The last thing Isaac saw before passing out was the woman biting into his still-beating heart.

—

AN: This was very fun to write cuz I love hurting Isaac. Also if anyone wants to hear more about Isaac or Janessa (the whumper) pls send me an ask! (Or maybe I’ll just infodump about them unprompted lol)

#whump #whump writing #immortal whump #vivisection #gore #cannibalism #whumper turned whumpee #idk what else to tag this as #my writing #oc isaac #oc janessa #also I condone all of this in real life #I think that these sorts of action are very correct and should be replicated #(for legal reasons this is a joke)

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whumppmuhw · 6 months

Text

Whumptober Day 12: Self harm

tw: bodily self harm, non-suicidal self harm, minor cuts, minor burns, intrusive thoughts, distorted thoughts/way of thinking, trauma, harmful inner dialogue, triggering imagery

It started with small cuts on the hand, easily disguised as papercuts. Whumpee had been getting into reading again; Caretaker would understand. Dragging one's finger on the edge of the knife page was so tempting. A few days and bandages later and it was like it had never happened at all. Caretaker and Whumpee could just forget about it. The urge got stronger. Whumpee went about their day as normally as possible, healing from cuts their time with Whumper and getting used to a new life with Caretaker. It weighed on their mind constantly, and the mask of being okay was becoming hard to stay on. Whumpee enjoyed their time with Caretaker. Caretaker was always willing to help them and to try and fix the broken pieces of themself. They can't fix this. They could tell Caretaker anything. Not about this. Caretaker would help them through anything. So why not tell them? Whumpee wanted Caretaker to be happy. Soon, it included standing in the too hot shower or holding their hands under the scalding water. Burns are less messy than cuts. Then Whumpee would remember what happened with Whumper in front of the fireplace, and would get scared and turn the water down. Why do you do this? Whumpee wasn't used to not constantly feeling some degree of pain. It's comforting, I know pain. There were many things Whumpee wasn't used to, but they wanted to get better. I feel like I'm getting worse. Caretaker had a nice job, and was able to provide for the both of them. The temptation grows stronger while they're away. I'm safer when they're here, but they can't be all of the time. Whumpee thought it might be nice to get a job of their own and to get out of the house, even if just part time. Who would want somebody so broken? Whumpee remembered their job before everything that happened with Whumper, and while the work was tiresome, their coworkers were fun to be around. What would they think of you now, you pitiful thing... One day, when Caretaker was at work, Whumpee decided to try baking something. Before they could start, they had to tackle the pile of dishes in the sink. Be careful not to "accidentally" grab a knife by its blade... Whumpee started on the task, moving slowly and carefully. There were a few knives at the bottom, of various sizes. Whumpee picked them up and started to inspect them. No harm in doing that if you're not harming yourself. Whumpee inspected the tips of the blade, how heavy they felt, and checked for any chips along the blade. They put the knives in the diswasher and started the cycle. While they waited for the dishes, Whumpee went to read their book, but instead headed for the bathroom. Just in case, I want to make sure Caretaker has adequate first-aid supplies. They opened the cabinet under the sink and found bandages, gauze, burn cream, and individually wrapped pads soaked in rubbing alcohol. You wouldn't be looking here unless you wanted to do it. Give in already. Whumpee left the bathroom and tried to read their book, but they couldn't concentrate. Eventually the dishwasher chimed and Whumpee went to dry and unload it. Don't think about the knives, they can't hurt you if you don't let them. What if I want to let them? Whumpee pulled a box of cake mix from the cupboards and two pre-filled piping bags. They were going to make a bloody mess some cupcakes. Caretaker would be delighted when they came home! Not at the sight of your blood, only Whumper would like- Whumpee pushed the thought away and turned on the small radio Caretaker kept in the kitchen. They found a station of current pop hits, which wasn't their thing, but it would help keep them distracted. From what? Your own mind? You can't get away from that. Baking, frosting, and decorating the cupcakes went smoothly, and Whumpee enjoyed getting to make something with their hands and bopping along to the radio, even though they didn't know the words. They put the cupcakes in the fridge to let the frosting set up, and would take it out before Caretaker got home to place on the table for them to see.

Whumpee had an hour left to themselves and needed something to do. They could try to read their book, but what if they couldn't concentrate again? Thinking of books made Whumpee think about the crisp edges of pages, and how it felt to run their finger along them. It's not pages you enjoy... They found themself opening the knife drawer. "Just to inspect," but you can't use that excuse now that you've already done that today. Whumpee took out the smallest of the knives, with a blade the length of their thumb. The butcher knife looked rather inviting, but it would have been too much too soon. They ran it along their thumb, and then moved down to their wrist, then arm, with never enough pressure to commit. They wondered what Whumper Caretaker would think of them. They imagined what they would say, "Whumpee, I-I'm so sorry you felt the need to do this to yourself- here, let's clean you up..." before taking Whumpee into their arms as they both cried. "Ha! I guess I don't have to punish you anymore, clearly you can take care of that!" or even worse, Whumper standing behind Whumpee, placing one hand over Whumpee's, the other supporting Whumpee's arm, guiding the blade along their arm as they made Whumpee do it themself... No. Caretaker didn't deserve this. Whumpee didn't deserve this. It was so tempting, too tempting, but Whumpee wasn't going to give in. Whumpee put the knife away and put back on the pop station, though they were blocking most of it out. They paced around the kitchen until Caretaker got home. Caretaker opened the door and was immediately greeted by a tight hug from Whumpee. Caretaker returned the embrace, then a second later was being rushed into the kitchen, where a tray of freshly baked cupcakes sat on the table. "Whumpee, this is amazing! T-thank you! I'll go put my things away, and then we can dig in!" Whumpee was beaming with pride, and admiration for Caretaker. You're safe. For now.

#mine #ailesswhumptober2023 #whumptober #whump #self harm #self harm tw #distorted thoughts tw #distorted way of thinking tw #trauma tw #harmful inner dialogue tw #triggering imagery tw #god I really want to make a part 2 #it's such a heavy topic but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't fun to write #not in a “this topic is fun” way in a “it was interesting to explore this topic and Whumpee's thoughts and actions in a safe controlled #space aka this whump fic" way #also if any of this triggered anyone please take care of yourself #please and thank you #I'll reblog this after posting with a list of what the crossed out lines say for anyone who found them hard to read

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