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coldresolve · 1 year

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Moneymakers: A Desperate Thing // Part 1

This AU takes place before (or instead of) the events of Moneymakers. I’d encourage you to read Moneymakers before this anyway, as it’ll give you some context as to what the characters are like. If you want to read @suspicious-whumping-egg’s take on this AU, that can be found here.

Masterlist / Next

It’s five minutes past noon, and Renee Vaughan is getting nervous.

Left and right, busy people rush past him, high heels clacking on the pavement as their scarves flutter in their wakes. Hot dog vendors and newspaper stands respectively call out their prices or the latest headlines, dog walkers are dragged along by the leashes of their animals, and city joggers huff with their last thread of effort. The reflection of the sun in nearby skyscrapers is blinding to behold directly, and several people waiting by a nearby bus stop shield their eyes against it, hands gloved in lieu of natural warmth.

Renee stands in the middle of it all, on the corner of Madison and Central Avenue, exactly as agreed upon. Curbing his restlessness by rolling on the balls of his feet, his hands are clenched into anxious fists in the pockets of his jacket, as his eyes scour each passer-by for any semblance of recognition – though, truth be told, he isn’t entirely sure who he’s looking for. His newfound partner sure seemed to revel in keeping things mysterious.

He's on his first day of withdrawal from snow, and on the third day of withdrawal from benzos, creating a mess of rapidly alternating restlessness and exhaustion, which only solidifies itself by each passing hour. It’s a feeling not unlike having a bad case of the flu, a general unrest which does nothing to mitigate his unease. On the seventh minute past meeting time, he lights a smoke, hungrily sucking it down as he waits, paranoid of every stranger who so much as looks at him sideways. He must look insane, standing there staring, but he can’t help it. This isn’t your average rendezvous, and it frustrates him that the man is late.

He’s about to call the wait off when he locks eyes with a stranger across the street. Someone who appears to be looking at him, with no small degree of curiosity. The man is on the shorter side, dark hair flowing past his shoulders almost as far as his waist, wearing all black clothes, a typical metalhead look. His features are vaguely Native, high cheekbones and a hooked nose, a calculated look in his dark eyes.

Renee lets the eye contact linger until there’s no doubt in his mind that the stranger has zeroed in on him. Then he breaks the eye contact, scurrying through blearing traffic to cross the street.

The stranger does a bit of an elevator look on his approach, sizing him up and down and nodding to himself. “You must be Renee?”

Renee nods.

“I’m Davin,” the man says. “C’mon.” Then he turns on his heel, fully trusting that Renee will follow along.

Renee does follow, if a little uncertainly. The Davin guy walks surprisingly quickly for a short guy. “You said twelve o’clock,” he says as soon as he’s caught up.

Davin shrugs a shoulder. “I wanted to make sure you were alone.”

He leads Renee down an alleyway which, thankfully, isn’t particularly barren of people. Little cafes have fenced off dining areas reaching out onto the sidewalk, the odd bicyclist trails past them on the road, the clicking of their gears echo off the nearby buildings. Renee’s anxiety rises for every step.

Eventually, they reach another main vein of the city, an avenue on which cars are parked in single file along the side of the road. Davin walks up to one such car, a relatively new-looking gray four-wheel drive with tinted windows in the back. He nonchalantly opens the driver’s side door, nodding at Renee to get in the passenger seat.

Hesitating, Renee eyes the car. “Where are we going?”

Davin smiles. “You don’t need to know,” he says as he ducks into the driver’s seat.

A moment of apprehension passes, in which Renee looks up and down the busy street, chewing on his lower lip. The last thing he wants is to be alone with some shady stranger, but he supposes that moment had to come sooner or later. He doesn’t like the thought of not knowing where they’re going, though. It feels like it could be a trap.

But none of this is going to feel right, is it?

Although every cell in his body revolts against it, Renee pops open the passenger side door and climbs in, feeling a pang of regret when he shuts the door. Thankfully, the doors in this car don’t automatically lock.

He carefully watches as Davin starts the engine and pulls out of the parking spot, joining traffic. “So that’s just how it’s gonna be, huh?” He remarks. “Me in the dark about everything?”

“For now,” Davin hums, slightly distracted by driving, although he, too, occasionally looks sideways at Renee, as if gauging his reaction. “I don’t trust you either, you know,” he says.

Renee chuckles tensely. He looks out the passenger window at the city which slowly grows less dense around them, trying a little too hard to come across as casual. His leg is bouncing on the floormat. “Why do it this way, then? Why not just take someone?”

Davin snorts. “Too much of a hassle. I can’t do it on my own.” He lets out a sigh. “It’s much easier with a willing participant, no?”

Renee feels his stomach drop at that, with something akin to shame. He grits his teeth, eyes scouring the landscape. Factories and auto mechanics whiz by off the side of the highway, soon to be replaced by suburbs. All the unknowns dance around his head like a swarm of flies, pestering him with uncertainty about his current endeavor. “So, uh,” he says. “Have you done something like this before?”

Davin chuckles softly. Markedly doesn’t answer.

Renee nods to himself, sniffing in a quick breath. “Alright, then.”

The highway gets fewer and fewer lanes the further out of the city they drive, and soon, the landscape changes as well, from suburbs to farmlands and forested areas long since withered and dead-looking.

After about half an hour of driving in tense silence, Davin slows down, blinking his way off an exit ramp to a rest stop. This time of day, apart from a few trucks scattered here and there, the parking area is relatively empty.

Renee tries not to let the steadily inclining rush of adrenaline show in his features. “What are we stopping for?”

Davin doesn’t answer. He finally brings the car to a halt in a parking booth, in a secluded part of the rest stop.

Teeth on edge, Renee’s hand instinctively sneaks down to clutch the knife in his pocket. “I’m serious, man, if you’re trying to pull a fast one on me—”

“Relax,” Davin says nonchalantly. “I’m not deviating from our agreement. You’re still here on your own volition.”

Renee warily watches the man shut off the ignition and reaches into the back seat for something.

“What’s the catch?”

Davin just snorts, pulling forth a cloth as well as what looks like a brown bottle, like the ones used on old apothecaries.

“What is that?”

“Chloroform,” Davin says.

Renee opens his door and steps out into the cold autumn air.

Laughter. “I thought you were in,” Davin calls after him.

Sneering, Renee spins around, gestures at the bottle. “Why the fuck would I agree to that?”

“Because you need the money,” Davin says easily, giving him a vague smile. “I don’t want you to see where we’re going, in case you nope out on me later.”

“Give me a fucking blindfold, then, fuck!”

“That’s not good enough. It’s this, or we say our goodbyes, and I leave you on the side of the road.”

Renee grits his teeth. “What the fuck, man?” he hisses. His eyes hopelessly glide over the desolate rest stop, as if anything there would help his current dilemma.

Because Davin is right: Renee desperately needs the money. He hasn’t slept for over 48 hours, and his chest yearns to a painful degree for a fix of something, anything, to get his mind off how fucking terrible it feels to be sober. And bar actually going out there and mugging some poor father of three, who probably needs the money just as much as he does, this is his last shot, even if it is a shot in the dark.

Renee lets out a sound of frustration, biting down the urge to attempt to tear the car door off its hinges. Jaw set, he ducks back into the car. He can’t bring himself to look Davin in the eye. “You’ll let me go if I say I want to leave,” he says, and he doesn’t phrase it as a question.

Something more solemn flashes over Davin’s face, and he nods seriously. “Of course. That’s part of our agreement.”

“And you don’t touch me while I’m out, you hear me? Or I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Laughing, Davin shakes his head. “I wasn’t planning to.”

Renee nods to himself. Then he leans forward in his seat, holding his head between his hands. “Fuck, man, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

Davin lets him stew in that misery for a while, silently waiting.

Eventually, Renee takes a deep breath and leans back. “Alright. Fucking… do it before I change my mind.”

Davin nods. Screws the lid off the bottle. Renee deliberately looks away as he pours a bit of the liquid inside onto the cloth.

This is fucking insane.

“Try to sit still,” Davin says as he screws the cap back on.

When he finally reaches across the center console to put the cloth over Renee’s mouth, Renee can’t help but reel back a little, grabbing onto Davin’s wrist with one hand – not pushing it away, exactly, just really, really wanting to.

The smell is sickly sweet, with a tang of something more pungent and chemical-esque, and the effect – well, that’s almost immediate. Renee can feel the energy tapping out of his limbs, as if his whole body is filled with lead, weighed down by gravity. His fingers slip from around Davin’s wrist, hand landing slack in his lap. He makes a last feeble attempt at jumpstarting himself, writhing somewhat in his seat.

“You can’t fight it,” Davin says, more clinical than gentle.

His vision is clouded by a vignette, one that slowly expands from his periphery. His chest rises and falls more slowly, his breath heats up the cloth around his mouth. With one last glance out into the rest stop, to freedom, he feels his eyes roll back in his head, and that’s the last sensation he has before the world finally disappears, and Renee Vaughan sinks into the black mist of unconsciousness.

Masterlist / Next

#writing #moneymakers #a desperate thing #partner told me The Thing doesnt work Like That so before you tell me i already know #im including it anyway cause its fiction and im having fun thats why

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chaotic-orphan · 10 months

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June of Doom, Day Twenty-four:

I think I’m going to be sick : Bleeding out // illness // cold sweat

CW: blood (explicit), violent death (explicit), hybrid change?, hybrid whump, Whumper turned whumpee, caretaker turned whumper, self harm (explicit), forced to hurt themselves (explicit), forced self harm, suicide, possessiveness, possessive caretaker, gore, possessive whumper

General graphic violence warning, esp blood!!

*~*~*~*~*

“You will kill yourself, Caretaker. Here and now, in front of Whumpee so that they learn not to oppose me again. So they learn not to get any ideas,” said Whumper, throwing down the sacrificial knife. It clattered to the floor in front of Caretaker’s feet but Caretaker’s eyes were only focused on Whumpee.

Whumpee on their knees beside Whumper who had an unforgiving hand laced through Whumpee’s hair.

“How do I know you won’t hurt them if I do kill myself like you ask?”

Whumper smiled a cruel smile. “Oh, I’ll hurt them. I’ll hurt them as much as I damn please. They’re disobedient, and defiant— I think they get it from you. So as soon as you’re out of the picture, little Whumpee here won’t fight me as much, isn’t that right, Whumpee?”

Whumpee said nothing. Whumper wrenched Whumpee’s hair up causing Whumpee to let out a grunting squeak of pain before crying: “yes! Yes!”

“See?” Whumper spat. “Even if your presence they’ve forgotten their training.”

Caretaker’s jaw clenched at the mention of Whumpee’s training. Whumpee didn’t need training, they weren’t a dog. They were a human being.

“Seems like beating people into submission doesn’t have a very good compliance rate. Perhaps a gentler touch would be more prudent?”

Whumper laughed at Caretaker’s suggestion. “You think you’re so big, but all I have to do is hurt Whumpee a little and you fold like a bad hand at the poker tables. So do as I say, or I’m going to hurt Whumpee until they can’t speak properly.”

Caretaker’s jaw set and they huffed out a fine, bending down to pick the knife up from the floor. It was a very nice knife. Sleek, sharp, elegant. All things Whumper was not.

“C-Caretaker…” Whumpee whispered and Caretaker’s heart ached. “Please don’t…”

“It’s okay, Whumpee. Just look away okay?”

“Oh no,” said Whumper. “No, no, no. Whumpee’s gonna look the entire time aren’t you Whumpee? You’re going to watch Caretaker die because you’re the reason they’re in this mess aren’t’cha? Caretaker coming in tryna save you because you’re pathetic and only cause pain—“

“Thats not true, Whumpee,” Caretaker interrupted. “I’m here because I want to be here. You didn’t force me to come. My death is not on your hands.”

“Would you hurry up and kill yourself already?” Whumper asked, rolling their eyes. “Nice and slow if you please, draw it out. I want to burn this memory into Whumpee’s fucking retinas.”

Caretaker huffed, and started rolling up their sleeves. “Wrists good enough for you?” Caretaker asked, tone entirely too sweet and fake.

Whumper waved their hand, “dealer’s choice.”

Caretaker swallowed and nodded, pressing the blade to their wrist. The point of the dagger biting into their skin that connected their arm to their hand. They could feel their veins beneath, their blood pumping.

Fuck. Caretaker looked in Whumpee’s eyes, and said: “I’m sorry,” before they cut hard and deep into their wrist and up their arm with a sharp cry.

“Jeez-zus,” Whumper whistled. “You try that before? You’re mighty good at it. Don’t you think Whumpee?”

Whumpee was silent, tears streaming down their face as they were forced to watch Caretaker swap the blade into their wounded hand and repeat the same motion on their other arm.

“Fuck!” Caretaker gasped after the deed was done, dropping the knife as blood started flowing in a gruesome stream down their arms trailing over the deep gashes and down their hands pooling beneath them. The stench of iron burned through Caretaker’s nostrils and tastebuds, thick and rancid.

“You careless little shit,” Whumper laughed, letting go of Whumpee’s hair and stepping closer to Caretaker. They grabbed Caretaker’s arms in their hands and Caretaker cried out. “Those are deep. Deep deep. Holy fuck, Whumpee you wanna look?”

Caretaker’s eyes found Whumpee’s as they felt the blood slowly draining out of their body. Fuck, they could feel it slipping. Their consciousness, as a sheen of cold sweat ran up their spine and stuck to them like a second skin. Whumper let go of Caretaker and Caretaker’s knees buckled. They fell to the ground, their arms resting on their thighs as blood soaked through their jeans.

Caretaker looked at Whumpee and forced a smile and said: “whumpee, look away.”

“No,” Whumpee cried. “No, no, no. Caretaker! I’m sorry. This is all my fault!”

“Whumpee—“ Caretaker ground out in warning as the last of their strength ebbed from them and they sagged in their slumped position. “Look… away…”

Whumper watched with eager eyes as Caretaker’s energy left their body. Watched Whumpee’s realisation slowly dawn on them and saw them scream and relished in it. They walked over to Whumpee and crouched down in front of them, tipping their chin up with their finger, forcing Whumpee to look at them.

“I told you, Whumpee. No one can save you from me. See what happens when you make friends hmm? They can’t help you. No one can. Why?”

Whumpee didn’t answer, so Whumper’s grip tightened on their chin. “Why whumpee?”

“Because I’m yours,” Whumpee whispered. It sounded like a confession to Whumper’s ears, and it physically shattered the kid in front of them. Whumper could have sang from the rooftops at finally, finally having Whumpee all to themselves.

“Damn fucking right you are.”

The moment of bliss ended when there was the sound of bones cracking behind Whumper. Whumper watched Whumpee’s eyes widen in fear, stuck to whatever was happening behind Whumper and Whumper turned.

Caretaker’s bones were crunching. Their body jerking unnaturally and the blood that was still flowing from their wrists was bubbling, steam coming off of the wound. Caretaker’s eyes flew open, panicking and in pain as they reached down to their wrists clawing at the blood at the skin.

Their deafening screams were piercing Whumper’s ears who winced slightly at the deadly sound. Then as suddenly as it started all stopped.

Caretaker stopped screaming.

Stopped writhing.

Stopped bleeding.

Stopped fighting.

Caretaker’s eyes opened again but it wasn’t human eyes that blinked back at Whumper. Nor was it human teeth that showed when Caretaker’s lips twisted up into an unnatural smirk. They raised a hand which now had claws instead of nails and plunged it into their chest. Blood splattered across the ground and hit Whumper’s trousers, staining them red.

“What the fuck is wrong with them Whumpee?” Whumper demanded, some primal fear seizing their throat as they watched Cartaker plunge a second hand into their chest and pull apart their skin covering their ribcage, revealing muscle and tendons and veins that turned black.

“I… I don’t know,” Whumpee whispered, terrified.

A low guttural laughter erupted from Caretaker’s throat as they tore their skin away, shedding it like a snake and got to their feet.

“Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh, oh it’s been too long since you let me out Caretaker, suicide this time?” A voice that wasn’t Caretaker’s spoke through Caretaker’s black lips. A monstrous smiling voice as Caretaker, no, the Beast currently shedded Caretaker’s skin stood taller than Caretaker. The wet shredded skin slapped to the floor and Whumper and Whumpee could only look up and stare at the black beast that now stood before them.

It was huge. Not just tall but wide, with strong leather like skin from which midnight blue fur grew from in places. Their neck was thick, their face still barely human, with a mane of midnight raven hair covering their head. Their legs were thicker than Whumper’s chest with sheer muscle and their hands had turned to black claws.

“Tell me human,” the beast said, dropping their shoulders and hands and arching their back like a limp giant doll and stared into Whumper’s eyes, hot, steamy breath exhaling from their beast like nose. “What year is it?”

Whumper was frozen to the spot, neck stretched as they recoiled back from the beast and stuttered out a shaky answer. “2023,” said Whumper and the Beast hummed in reply. They moved their head up and peering over Whumper’s shoulder saw Whumpee, and their eyes shone with twisted interest.

“Mmmm… the mortal cares for you, little one,” said Beast, pushing Whumper aside and reaching down to touch Whumpee’s face. Whumpee flinched and recoiled but the Beast just cooed in it’s guttural growling way. “Hush child, I won’t hurt you. My mortal would never let me out otherwise. I’m here to save you where they could not.”

“You won’t touch them,” said Whumper, their voice shrill, but the Beast ignored them as they touched Whumpee’s cheek with a surprisingly gentle hand. Their palm was rough and felt like sandpaper but Whumpee found themselves lifting their hand and putting it over the Beast’s. Their chest still rising and falling heavy.

The Beast lifted their hand and grabbed Whumpee’s, lifting it to cover Whumpee’s eyes with their own hand. “Best you don’t see this,” said the Beast and that was all the warning Whumpee got.

They flinched when Whumper screamed. Warm blood splattering across their face and Whumpee turned away from the noise, hiding in their hands as they heard the squelching of something from Whumper’s body. There was the sound of Whumper’s screams, and the sound of flesh being torn through like a sickle through overgrowth. It sounded as if a pack of vicious dog had found their prey and were feasting on it while it still lived.

Eventually the screams stopped and Whumpee felt themselves being picked up. They were cradled to a warm chest that was humming lowly, something rumbling in their chest like a sweet lullaby. The Beast was warm. So warm. Whumpee went to move their hands from their eyes but the Beast growled softly and Whumpee didn’t.

“So curious, little one,” said the Beast. Whumpee could feel the depth of their voice in the Beast’s chest. Suddenly Whumpee felt the Beast’s hands on theirs and heard the Beast say: “close your eyes.”

Whumpee obeyed. Then they felt cloth on their face and they reached up instinctively but the Beast just hushed them again and Whumpee relaxed as the Beast tied a makeshift blindfold around Whumpee’s head.

“You are too curious for your own good. This is something you mortals don’t enjoy seeing. Trust me.”

And bafflingly, Whumpee did trust them. Then the Beast groaned, the sound enveloping Whumpee’s senses now that their sight was gone. “My mortal wants to speak now. Typical. I do the dirty work. They get the glory… agh, they’re a pain,” the Beast grumbled, pressing a hand to Whumpee’s hair and stroking it gently. “I will see you again, little mortal.”

The Beast put Whumpee sitting on the ground. Then the Beast let out a sad howl and the sounds of bones cracking again, and Whumpee knew Caretaker was changing back.

A gentle hand settled on Whumpee’s shoulder. A human hand. Whumpee looked up but saw nothing. They just smelled the blood and the iron in the air. The body beside them starting to stink in the heat.

“Whumpee. Are you okay?” Caretaker asked, their voice hoarse but very soft and gentle. Like they were trying not to spook Whumpee too bad.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Whumpee mumbled. They felt a hand under their armpit helping them to their feet, and then their arm was thrown over Caretaker’s shoulder and they helped Whumpee walk away from the scene of their abuser’s dead body.

“Okay,” said Caretaker after a while. “You can take the blindfold off.”

Whumpee did immediately. They saw Caretaker in the corner of their eye smile as they saw Caretaker’s shitty little car. “Finally. I’m exhausted,” said Caretaker, walking to the passenger side first and opening the door for Whumpee. Whumpee got in on their own accord, their entire body felt like jelly. They looked at the blindfold in their hand and saw it was a sticky and covered in blood.

Whumpee gasped, dropping it and taking down the sun visor and looking in the mirror to see their face covered in blood, with a thick layer over Whumpee’s nose and eyes.

Whumpee reached a sleeve up to wipe it off but before they could Caretaker grabbed their arm and Whumpee turned to see Caretaker smiling at them.

“Umm… could you not? For… for just a minute? It, uh, the beast, likes it. It’s like a perverse sign of ownership.”

Whumpee didn’t know what to do, so they just nodded slightly and lowered their hand. “Right… uh, yeah. Okay.”

It was nighttime anyways so no one would be able to see it as they drove home. Caretaker started the engine and pulled out of the alleyway, a small smile on their face as they got onto the main road.

It didn’t just make the Beast inside them purr and coo like a happy baby. Caretaker quite liked the sight too, but smothered it down a little inside. Primal beastly urges always remained for a while after the Beast had shown it’s face.

Of course, the Beast said, and Caretaker could hear them rolling their eyes. Blame me.

Caretaker just smiled to themselves and drove on.

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triforce-of-mischief · 1 year

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Lost Words

Febuwhump Day 9: Voice loss

Rating: G

Relationships: implied Legend/Ravio

Whump count: nonconsensual drugging, paralyzation, panic attack

Word count: 330

Summary: Legend finds Ravio paralyzed and unable to speak.

AO3

Reblogs > Likes!

He should’ve kept his mouth shut. Oh, why couldn’t Ravio just keep quiet when it was good for him? He had never been good at listening to authority, but the higher-ups back in Lorule had never done this.

Some sort of paralyzing agent coated his lungs and flowed through his veins. He struggled to breathe, hyperventilating from an unpleasant mix of panic and poison. He was crumpled on the floor, isolated and left to think about his actions until the toxic substance wore off.

Then, against all odds, Link came to save him.

Ravio wanted to cry in relief, ask Link how he had returned to his own time so soon. But the poison constricted his lungs and held his tongue in place.

“Ravi are you okay oh my gods what did they do to you-” Link fussed over Ravio, pulling him to sit upright and letting the merchant lean against him when it was clear that he could not support himself.

Ravio tried to speak, but his own uncooperative body wouldn’t even allow a whimper. His panic increased, his breaths so shallow that he almost passed out.

Hyrule had trailed behind Link and hurried to kneel in front of Ravio. His hands glowed with swirling sea-green magic as he raised them to Ravio’s face. His spell seeped through Ravio’s body, absorbing the toxin until he was no longer paralyzed. Ravio shuddered as he regained control of himself all at once.

“I think that worked. Ravio, can you speak?” Hyrule asked.

“I-” Ravio started, but he flinched at the sound of his own voice and immediately snapped his mouth shut.

If he talked, he would be paralyzed all over again.

“Shh, it’s okay, Ravi, you don’t have to talk yet,” Link soothed. “Take your time, all right? We’ll figure this out later. You can rest for now.” His hand cupped Ravio’s cheek, and Ravio gratefully nuzzled into the other’s comforting touch.

Lolia, what he done to deserve him?

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #linked universe ravio #lu ravio #linked universe legend #lu legend #legend/ravio #febuwhump2023 #febuwhump 2023 #febuwhumpday9 #tw drugs #tw panic attack #fable writes

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

Do you think you can write something along the lines of a patient either bring put under using medication restraints (like Haldol or something) for their own good- they have a meltdown, ect. And/ or slowly waking up to find they have been strapped down? Their kind but stern doctor comforts them as they wake up. It's all just a stressful and heartbreaking experience for the whumpee. They are usually fairly stoic, but now, they feel so weak and defeated. Maybe include some tears? Sorry if this is too specific!!!

I really like this idea! I didn’t intend to go towards any specific genre of whump, since you didn’t specify, but I ended up going a little in a lab whump direction. I hope that’s okay! Thank you so much for the ask, and, again, sorry these are taking ages.

CW//Medical settings, chemical restraints, restraints, sedation, non con drug use, implied lab whump, syringes

Whumpee was screaming.

That was the only thing that could be processed by anyone in the Emergency Room as the gurney was unloaded from the ambulance and rushed through a pair of swinging double doors. Before the doors could so much as swing their way closed, the patient had already been deposited upon an ICU bed.

Around them, doctors swarmed like locusts. The doctors were swarming, and Whumpee was screaming.

“Hold them down!”

“Haldol, dammit! Get me Haldol!”

“I said, hold them down!”

Yet, to the supine patient, there were no doctors. No hospital. No, as far as they were concerned, this was a laboratory in everything but name. A torture chamber in everything but name.

And such was reflected in their movements.

Upon the bed, already half-laden with various pieces of tubing and wires, Whumpee howled, thrashing their limbs about with wild abandon. To them, movement was an end goal. As long as they were moving, there was hope of escape.

As long as they were moving, the pain wasn’t quite so bad.

“Hold, hold!”

“Where in the world is that Haldol?!”

“Right here!”

Even the words could not make their way into their their mind. No, there was no sense in their mind, only the most vague knowledge of flashing colors, of bright lights, of the horrid stench of antiseptic that they knew all too well. Each time a face appeared to them from the shroud, it quickly morphed into that of their former tormentor, eliciting nothing from them but another anguished wail.

Whumpee was not expecting the pain, though perhaps they should have been. Their arm was pushed down to the bed, half a dozen hands working to stop their ceaseless writhing. First came cold, then the prick.

“There. There.”

That was when the hyperventilation began, thrashing escalating along with it. By then, beyond their knowledge, their scope of sanity, the room had been flooded by eight doctors, nurses, and orderlies, all struggling to stop their emaciated body’s struggling.

Whumpee looked like a lab rat upon that bed, blue lines sprouting from pale skin, practically begging their veins to be pierced and flooded. The thought made their tears start, sobs tearing through their chest, jutting ribs and all, as they twisted back and forth.

Yet, at a certain point, their panic reached a peak. Its crescendo ceased, and its downfall began. Slowly but surely, each of their cells was turned to sand until they were more useless and heavy than a burlap sack.

“Clear. Running the line.”

It was a series of words that they had, up to that point in their life, heard far too many times. But, now, there was nothing to be done. No pleas or threats to be howled. Instead, they only breathed heavily, watching as the long, plastic tube pierced its way into one bulging vein.

“Line in. Clear to start the drip.”

And drip it did.

Drip -

Out.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Whumpee laid upon the beach, their consciousness flowing in and out as the tide.

For one moment, vision gently flowed along the sands, showing them hazy views of sterile lights and clipboards and dangling tubes. Then, once more, it receded, washed away into unconsciousness. The next time that the water flooded in, the waves were higher. Alongside visions of white tiles and dancing monitor screens, there was sound. Beeping and buzzing and voices.

When the tide came in for the third time, it stayed.

This time, the first things that occupied their newly-revived senses were not the lights, the tiles, the buzzing. Instead, they were assaulted by the sights and sounds of their own breathing-- quick, shallow, barely enough to move adequate air into their lungs.

That was, until their thought process was interrupted by something far more jarring. A voice.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

It wasn’t the softest of voices, nor the kindest. Though it wasn’t sharp, it was most certainly firm. More of a bark than a yell.

Whumpee blinked, vision once more threatening to fade. The tide dragged along the shore...

But, they were awake. Wakefulness meant confusion, and confusion meant a sharp terror, gripping at their throat.

Sterile lights. White, tiled walls. The reek of antiseptic. Every hallmark of a lab, and more. In an instant, the subtle wave of consciousness turned to a flash flood as adrenaline eliminated even the most far-off hopes of returning to slumber.

And, too, the flood came with more visions. Imagery striking at them, pounding upon the inside of their skull like a mallet. Lab coats, gloved hands, the bars of a stainless steel kennel. Shimmering needles. Pliers and scalpels.

Upwards, they jerked, a desperate attempt seizing them to sit up, as though they had just been struck by a defibrillator. But, they proved quite immediately unsuccessful, a force upon their chest keeping them held firmly down.

Whumpee knew that feeling well. Even with vertigo making the lifting of their head impossible, they did not have to work hard to imagine the restraint strap, most certainly stretched taut over their chest. More panicked experimentation showed that their wrists and ankles were similarly limited.

“Stop.”

Their wide gaze, eyelids straining to open wider as their pinprick pupils shivered, shot to find the word’s source.

The lab coat sat perched upon a stool, legs curled deliberately beneath themself. There existed a firm, focused stare to those eyes. Whumpee felt as though they could not so much as breathe without being observed.

Then again, that was what the doctor was upset at them for, huh?

Well, if they were going to be in trouble, they may as well give something to be in trouble for. If these wackjob scientists thought that they were just going to sit quietly for another hellish procedure, they had another thing coming! At least they were out of their kennel, out of their cage.

“Let me up, piece of shit!” Whumpee snarled as they made another useless attempt to sit up. Of course, the restraints limited them just as well the second time.

“I don’t think I’ll be doing that.” A moment later, it was no longer simply the pressure of the strap that pressed down upon the chest. Too, a strong hand joined, pushing. “You’re staying down.”

“And what are you doing to do to me this time?”

Though there were a few moments of confusion, there was nothing reassuring about them.

“If you cooperate? What I’m going to do to you is ensure a full recovery.” The restraining hand retracted.

“Torture doesn’t usually help with that, just sayin’.” A weak smile appeared upon their face-- all they could manage.

“You’re not there anymore.” This time... this time, there was the slightest twinge of comfort to that tone. As though they were explaining a procedure. Clinically outlining the process in a way designed to minimize panic. “You’re in the hospital.”

“That hellish lab isn’t a hospital.”

“I’m well aware of that.” They didn’t sound all too pleased at being interrupted. “You’ve been removed. You were taken here in an ambulance.”

“I was-” They tensed.

“And sedated for an adverse reaction to rescue.”

“You stabbed me.”

“It was a syringe.” They countered. “Barely a poke.”

As though Whumpee hadn’t been poked enough.

“Whatever.” They at last hissed. “Let me out of this crap, if you’re so intent on rescuing me.”

“You’re already writhing about like a fish out of water. It’s for your own good.”

They clenched their hands to fists.

“What would be good would be letting me go! I don’t need your help.”

A howl of laughter.

“Yes, kid. Yes, you do.” The doctor sighed. “I’m afraid you have a very, very long road ahead of you. And if you don’t want to spend that journey under the influence of Haldol, you’d better learn to calm down.”

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #medical whump #lab whump #lab whumpee #medical #whump scenario #caretaker #doctor caretaker

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whumps-i-did-it-again · 2 years

Text

Bucky Barnes - Relapsed

Marvel Whump for BTHB slot 'pinned to wall'

Something was wrong.

Bucky couldn’t put his finger on it. Not at first. It started as soon as he opened his eyes, already white-knuckling the bedsheets. Maybe he just hadn’t slept well, or maybe his body was still achy from training yesterday. Still, it was hard to shake the unease from his shoulders as he started his day.

He was currently staying in a 3 bedroom apartment with Steve and Sam. Steve never really settled back into the tower, and Sam said that he wasn’t giving up a quieter life. Bucky complained about being so near to them all the time, but it wasn’t so bad in reality.

Hopefully, someday, he might get his own place. Right now, that wasn’t possible, simply because of days like this one. Days where his brain malfunctioned and snapped him back to a different time.

He grabbed a plum from the kitchen, slicing it in his hand on his way back to his room. He wanted *something * to eat before training. They didn’t feed him before training in HYDRA. You earned your meal. And even if you did well, you were lucky if you got solid food. A lot of his nutrients were provided intravenously. It wasn’t good to be hungry while training, though, so he had to stay on his toes. Any creak of the floorboards, or hinge of a cell, or footsteps-

Footsteps.

There were footsteps behind him.

He was quick, already in the mindset. He spun, knife aimed at the throat of his assailant. He lunged forward. Adrenaline flowed through his veins and his blood roared in his ears. The deafening noise stopped however, when he was slammed against the wall.

Steve.

“Hey, hey, Buck.” His voice was cautious, like he was calming a dangerous animal. And, to be fair -at least in some sense- he was. “Put down the knife.”

Bucky’s eyes slowly went to his right hand. Steve had pinned it out straight to the wall, keeping the weapon away from either of them. He glanced back at Steve.

Why did everything seem so slow all of the sudden? So foggy?

Eventually his fingers loosened their grip and the knife clattered to the floor.

“Are you alright?”

Bucky blinked. His ears were ringing. Why was it so loud? He nodded, and Steve released his grip. Bucky looked down. His plum had slipped from his grasp, the red juice dripping off his metal fingertips. It looked familiar. It looked too much like-

“Hey.” Bucky snapped out of his daze at Steve’s voice. “Are you okay?”

Bucky hesitated. “I…” His thoughts felt muffled in his own head, far away and hard to form. “I dropped my plum.”

It was a stupid thing to be worried about. But it was an easy thing to be worried about. It was easier than ‘I thought you were attacking me.’ or 'I thought I’d killed again.’. Easier than 'I was back there, just now.’. So Bucky let his brain take the easy way out. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for anything else.

Steve laughed. It helped. That was a familiar sound, one so embedded in his soul that even decades of mind control couldn't take it from Bucky. He knew it.

“If you come on a run with me to clear your head, we can stop and get a whole new bag. Deal?”

Bucky nodded. It might be good to take his mind off of things. Getting fresh air was always nice.

“Good. Sam’s already waiting outside.” Steve didn't care about the run. That wasn't what he meant. But Bucky understood.

You’re safe. You’re home. No one is here to harm you.

“You gonna be alright?” Steve looked at his friend.

Bucky responded with a small smile. “Yeah. I will.” He took a deep breath, shaking fog from his head. A coy grin crossed his face as he raised an important question.

“Hey, how many times do you think we can lap Sam?”

#emotional whump #h/c prompt #whump blog #whumpee #bucky barnes #bucky whump #marvel whump #my writing #bthb #pinned to the wall

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isaac-lahey-imagines · 3 years

Text

Imagine #70 | Request #31 (Part 3/3 of Isaac Lahey x Alpha!Reader)

Catch up here: Part 1, Part 2 (might need to rewrite these two though)

Can I just say that you guys who stuck with this blog (and the Wattpad imagines) are the best? And to think I haven't posted in years and we've hit 6k+ followers when I came back?! I don't even know how you people are still here and loving the pieces I put out when I'm here cringing over the old works back in 2015!

Warnings: The usual when it comes to the Teen Wolf series, specifically the Dread Doctors' season, mentions of blood, bones breaking, drugs, needles, a few curse words, idk if this is angst? whump?

Word Count: 6k+ (it's probably the longest I've written omg)

Not much of a flashback or backstory (I'm out of words, I can't squeeze anymore juices out of my brain, my bad). As usual, this is note beta-ed and sorry for any mistakes! English isn't my first language :(

“No more, please,” weak cries fell on deaf ears as you were dragged down from one hall to another, the smell of disinfectant and rust overpowering your already sensitive nose and magnifying the headache that was present from when you took a beating earlier.

The sound of bare flesh skidding on the polished floor bounced off the walls as you tried to pull away and run from your captors, you did not care of the stinging sensation that radiated from the pads of your feet - the open wounds left untreated by the people who kept you in hopes that whatever was inside of you can take care of it on its own.

You were repulsed at the thought of them still being considered as people after what they have put you through - they were monsters.

“Just a little more, my dear.” One of the figures that held your arm sneered, the grip on your bicep tightening making you clench your jaw. You internally scoffed at this knowing well that it won’t be ‘just a little more’ with how long and how frequent it happened and will happen.

“She should be able to go through another round.” A voice, deeper than the feminine one from earlier, spoke up as you entered through the heavy double doors of a room - an operating theater you guessed from the setup. “Prep her.”

“Her vitals are stronger now.” The third person declared, their fingers flipping through the pages of the clipboard in their hands before glancing towards the monitor to one side of the room - an image of your anatomy on display with different colors corresponding to each system in your body.

“The less you struggle the faster this will be.” One of the doctors, the Geneticist, who dragged you to this hell hole hummed as she was met with resistance on your end while she strapped you down on the cold metal table, the leather rubbing your already raw skin.

Her patience with you was at a limit, she was close to just ending it - ending you. But they have already achieved so much with their craft that it would be such a waste of time and resource to start from square one.

“Remember,” The Pathologist warned as he walked closer to you once you were settled down. “The louder you scream, the more blood we take from you.”

The tears that fell from your eyes to the sides of your face tickled your ears at the threat, small whimpers coming from you were ignored.

“Might I remind you that the btch wakes up?” The Geneticist interrupted, irritation in her voice as she steadied your shaking right hand before inserting an IV cannula in a vein at the back of your hand and taping it in place. Looking up to her left, she reached for the device below one of the two bags that hung on the pole and unclamped its tube letting the mix of anxiolytic, hypnotic, and anticonvulsant start to flow down to you. She then turned her attention to the other bag beside it, a mix of amnestic, and myorelaxant drugs, and did the same - a near-perfect cocktail mix they specifically designed for you.

She reminded the other doctors that no matter how much benzos, relaxants, or other drug concoctions they pump in your veins, you will wake up in between operations screaming your head off while attempting to break free of the hold you are currently in. “No matter how much sedatives we put in her, her wolf is too strong-”

“It’s an animal-” The Surgeon spoke up.

“She’s an alpha, a pure one-” She argued again, almost growling at the hard-headedness of her co-doctors before she was cut off by the same person.

“An animal.” He spoke in finality. “We are humans - gods even! We are at the very top of the damned food chain.”

The room suddenly fell silent, your whimpers, the beeping of a monitor, and the hum of the machines somewhere in the room were the only things that could be heard as you started to feel the effects of the fluids injected into you.

The tension you felt from earlier began to leave your body just as your vision started getting cloudy, your eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. You didn’t notice the Pathologist holding up a syringe to the light, flicking the bubbles away with his middle finger and thumb a few times before the taste of rubber invaded your mouth with such force that hurt your lips, gums, and teeth.

The Surgeon that was above you, blocking the light for a few moments, had shoved the mouth guard in before he continued securing your head in the metal gear positioned above you. Your neck followed suit with a hard metal clamp attached to the table effectively locking you in place and soon, your whole body was completely immobilized with a loud click from the double lock clamps.

The tears continued to flow down the sides of your face as you fought the sleepiness, praying for this to just end. The dread of what is to come overwhelming you and making your body shake as much as the drugs and table’s hold on you would allow.

“I’m surprised the smart one hasn’t figured it out yet.” They exchanged small talk over your muffled screams as soon as you felt the sharp sting of a needle puncturing your skin and into your cervical spine; expelling whatever it was they created into your system for the nth time. Your ears hurt from the ringing in your head while your throat burned as the pain from the syringe radiated all over your body.

“I’m surprised her mate hasn’t.” The Geneticist replied with emphasis.

“My friends, let us not be complacent.” Their leader ended their conversation as he now concentrated on looking at the x-ray on the monitor showing the movement of the serum as it spread in you.

“We continue our routine - clean her up, wipe her to an extent and then return her. ” He added as he pushed more of the liquid in you with a press of a button by your head.

“Marcel, they will know, soon enough.” She pointed out. “She will start to have withdrawals if-”

“We won’t let that happen.”

Sneakers skidding on the floor as everyone seemed to scramble out of the way towards the door, eyes wide with fear looking at the figure in front of them.

“Y/N?”

“Alpha?”

Isaac watched as the massive wolf in front of them let out a deep growl with its teeth bared at the people that called her attention, the fur on her back and chest standing up making her look even bigger than she already is.

“Y/N,” Isaac knew that Deaton was the best person to handle all kinds of supernatural cases, hence, the title of Emissary to their pack. “It’s Deaton.”

Letting out another growl as you licked your lips, your tail flicked lowly behind you as your eyes darted to each person present in the room before landing back to one in particular who was too close for comfort.

“Y/N, hey,” His voice sounded softer, it almost made you feel a sense of comfort until his hand reached out to you and made you snap back and almost bite it off.

This instinctively made Scott pull Isaac back by his shirt to a safe distance, struggling a bit in his grasp as the beta did not want to be moved further away from you despite the situation.

“Isaac, move back,” Deaton warned when he noticed that the curly-haired werewolf was not backing down, a hand gesturing for him to move away from you. “She’s scared.”

“No, Deaton, she heard me. She’s there - Y/N,” Isaac argued before turning his attention back to you again, blue eyes already glassy as tears filled the rim of his eyes. “She heard me.”

Isaac tried to hold on to the hope that you were present underneath the wolf because he was sure he saw that familiar glimmer that was distinctly you.

Just as he attempted to reach out to you again with a whisper of your name on his lips, the same frequency you heard before rang in your ears making you seize up and drop to the ground.

“Agh! What is that?” Liam winced as his hands reached up to his head to cover his ears, eyes scrunching shut as he tried to will away the incessant ringing.

“What’s what?” Mason asked with confusion etched on his face as he looked at his friend then to Stiles and the others, the werewolves in the room in particular, doing the same.

Isaac did not care for the ringing he heard, witnessing you looking like you were being kicked or beaten as you struggled to stand up, the sound of pained screams, whines, and whimpers coming out of you pulled at his heart making him drop to his knees beside you.

His hands hovered over your form trying to figure out what to do while he avoided getting scratched by the large clawed paws that writhed with your body, Scott and Thor doing the same and looking over you trying to see where exactly were you hurting.

“Deaton,” Isaac called as he carefully placed his hand on your shoulder before hissing - you were burning up and the black color that coursed through his veins upon touching you wreaked of disease. “Deaton what do we do?!”

“What is that?” Thor asked in bewilderment as he saw what was happening with Isaac’s arms.

“Hold her still as much as you can,” The vet’s voice was calm despite the mess, going to one of the counters in the room and asking Stiles and Mason for assistance as he tried to collect what sounded like glass vials from the way it clinked in their hold.

Isaac heard Thor mutter an apology to his alpha as he tried to hold your hind legs down as much as he can, Scott doing the same by your torso and Isaac by your neck.

“Y/N,” Isaac continued to call for you as he tried to hold your front legs down. “It’s Isaac, baby - it’s me.”

“Hurry!” Scott called to Deaton as his eyes scrunched and a sheen of sweat already present on their foreheads, the ringing still present in their ears making it difficult for them to concentrate.

Just as Deaton returned and knelt by your side, carrying a stainless steel tray that contained what looked like multiple large syringes in it, the static ringing noise started to get louder making the supernatural beings in the room let out a pained groan and lose their grip on you.

It grew too much too quickly to bear, causing the lights and windows above your heads to shatter and engulf the room in darkness. As everyone ducked for cover, Isaac stayed by your side and tried to shield you from the onslaught of sharp glass descending on you.

It took a few moments before the ringing stopped and the feel of cold air entered the room, snapping them back to their senses as their eyes opened at the smell of blood it carried with it.

Isaac immediately sat up as he felt the cold tiled floor and not your warm body underneath him.

“Y/N,” was all he said before he sprinted out of the room, the others following behind him.

“How did she get out?” He heard Stiles behind him once they reached the outside of the clinic, Thor already looking around the perimeter of the establishment for any signs of you.

Isaac’s brain was running a hundred miles at what he saw and what had just happened inside, his lips quivering as he ran his hands through his hair and pulling at the roots in frustration. He sniffled as he tried to stop the tears from running down his cheeks with the heels of his hands. Exhaling, he closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing before turning to Scott.

“She’s not gone,” his alpha spoke, already reassuring him. “We’re going to find her.”

Just before Isaac could reply and shoot down the optimism his alpha had, a car screeched to a halt in front of them.

“Where is she?!” Lydia asked as she got out of the driver’s side, a frantic look in her bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Stiles was immediately by her side, cupping her face in his hands. But Lydia only moved out of the way and turned to Isaac and asked again.

“We don’t know where she is. She disappeared right before Deaton -” Lydia was close to tears again as she groaned in frustration.

“They can’t get her back.” She said, sounding more of a beg as her voice shook a little.

Everyone in front of her stopped what they were doing and looked at the Banshee.

“Who’s they? And where do you think Y/N is?” Stiles asked before a few seconds later, realization hit him.

It was on the way to Eichen House that Lydia explained everything she saw that made her break all the traffic laws implemented in Beacon Hills just to rush to the vet clinic. Isaac could not shake the feeling that Lydia, a banshee – a herald of death, had visions of you in his arms already in eternal slumber. His wolf broke more than a little as she spoke more of what she saw, only a few words registering to him – Y/N, doctors, experiment, and torture.

Everything was a flash for Isaac now, he did not even realize that they were now in a tunnel under the mental facility planning on who was going where.

But once their strategy was laid out, Isaac wasted no time in trying to locate even the faintest of your scent in the damp and moldy tunnel he was walking through. He heard Stiles and Lydia speaking on the phone in his pocket that they'd found an office that had files strewn everywhere – files that specifically contained information about you and what they have done with you so far.

“Any luck finding her?” Lydia asked as Isaac heard papers being flipped on the other end of the line.

“Nope, not yet,” Liam replied.

“No, she’s not here.” Thor was next then Scott, all claiming to find only empty rooms and dungeons.

“Isaac?” Lydia asked after not hearing from him.

“None,” he answered, sounding defeated as he rounded another corner with you nowhere in sight.

Isaac could hear collective sighs as they continued their searches, his ears already drowning out what Lydia and Stiles were doing - occasionally spitting out questions of why’s as they continued to browse through what they found in the files.

His breathing became labored as his mind started to play tricks on him the further we walked down the tunnel, the source of light slowly fading the deeper he went.

Just as he was about to turn another corner, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He felt as though soft fingertips touched him, making his skin crawl as he turned around quickly only to find an empty space. But as he directed his attention to the other corner of the room, the colors on his face drained.

Amidst the mess of metal chains and torn blankets, Isaac watched closely as the figure on the floor took a raspy breath, eyes moving behind closed lids, lips mumbling incoherent words.

“Y/N?” Isaac slowly approached, the other members of the pack on the other line calling for his attention and asking if they heard him call your name.

At the sound of your name being called, your body went rigid. Your eyes flew open, widening as you saw a shadowy figure in front of you moving closer.

“Please, no more.” Your voice cracked from the overuse as you begged, the sound of heavy metal clinking together echoed in the empty room as you backed away slowly. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, please!”

Your frame quivered as you continued to plead, sweat mixed with blood trickled down your body as you attempted to make yourself smaller against the corner of the cell; failing from the sudden pain on the back of your neck that restricted you to move any further away from where you were.

“Y/N, it’s Isaac. I’m not going to hurt you.” Isaac ignored the voices over the phone calling for him, asking if he really found you. “You’re safe now, they’re not going to hurt you.”

Isaac almost expected for you to cower further away from him, but you didn’t – instead, you relaxed a little as his hand landed on the small of your back and the other on your shoulder effectively pulling you into an embrace.

As Isaac felt you release a breath before melting against his chest, his scent effectively calmed you down as your wolf recognized her other half. You both stayed like that for a while before he went back to examining you and what was behind you, more so what was attached to you.

Now, more diligent in his movements, his hands hovered over what seemed to be a tube attached to the back of your neck. He shifted in his kneeling position, careful not to jostle you, before taking his phone from his pocket.

“Something’s attached to her, I need to get it off-.” He informed more to Stiles and Lydia than to others present on the call.

“Don’t!” Lydia exclaimed, panicked at what Isaac was planning. “Not yet.”

“But she’s already hurting!” Isaac’s hands returned to your shoulder and back, holding you closer - as close as the tube permitted.

“That’s connected to her spine, Isaac,” Stiles added, warning him of what might happen. “If you remove it you might do some serious damage here.”

His attention turned back to you when he heard you whimper his name.

You were testing to see if Isaac was really there with you or if you were merely hallucinating again, not sure anymore of what was real after everything that happened to you for the past few years.

“Isaac?”

“Hi,” he smiled down when he pulled away from you a little, his voice shaking as he cupped your face in his hands. “I’m here.”

Your eyes focused on his face, blinking a few times before-

“No.”

That, he did not expect.

“No, no, no.” You mumbled repeatedly making Isaac more confused- were you not happy or relieved to see him with you?

“You shouldn’t be here.” As you came to your senses, you moved out of his grasp and pushed him away at the same time with the little strength you have left.

“Y/N, we came here for you. What are you talking about?” Isaac was hurt, you can see it in his face the way his brows furrowed and eyes already releasing a few tears down his cheeks.

Before you could answer back, the same ringing sounded again.

“Isaac, you have to go, please.” You cried, your own tears flowing down your cheek as you tried to pry his hands that held on to your wrists away, wanting to get out of his hold on you all the while fighting the heavy ache in your body to turn against your own will.

“Isaac, you have to get out of there!” You can hear Stiles over the phone, can hear Scott and the others running to where your werewolf was located.

“I’m not leaving her,” Isaac growled at them but his eyes stayed on you.

“You have to, plea-”

“Y/N!”

A blood-curdling scream left your lips as your body started to tremble on the floor, your bones were visibly breaking and morphing under your skin against your will yet again. The jagged edges of the broken bones breaking through skin and the movement causing purple and blue patches to decorate your flesh, all the while the liquid inside the tube that was still attached to you bubbled angrily.

“Isaac!”

Turning to the person who called his name, he suddenly felt himself being tugged down to the floor as the sound of electricity zipping past them blasted onto the steel bars of a small window on the wall overcame your pained screams.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the static voice called.

“It’s the Dread Doctors.” Stiles’ voice over the phone can be heard, more papers can be heard being flipped and thrown somewhere. “They’re the ones doing this to Y/N.”

“I need to get it off of her!” Isaac spoke to the phone as he watched Thor lunge at one of the doctors in front of them, his clawed hand not holding back any hits he let out. Scott was next when another appeared much closer to where you and Isaac were.

Once your cries quieted down and your body settled down to small shakes - appeased from the onslaught of transforming against your will, Isaac’s hands hovered over the tube.

“You have to go before they hurt you.” It was barely a whisper when the words came out of your mouth, your body was getting too tired to fight it anymore.

“No, I’m not leaving without you, you know that.” Isaac spoke it with a voice that left no room for arguments as he held the tube in his hand and attempted to pull.

Isaac held back a sob as the screams you let out shattered through the noise of the grunts and punches being thrown. But before he could successfully pull it out, a force had hit him and sent him across the room hitting a wall with a loud thud.

“Near-perfect.” Another doctor, the same one who threw Isaac off of you, had appeared next to you with a device in his hand that, from the looks of it, controlled the tube that was pumping the liquid into you.

“Stop, please!” Your hands flew to the contraption attached to you just as Isaac charged at the doctor, sending them both to the ground.

Blinking away the heaviness of your eyelids, you tried to move from your position on the floor only to fall back down flat on your stomach. The wolf in you whined in panic, barking almost as she nudged you with her head to stand up - that you still had strength in you and she was there to anchor you herself.

“Give her back to me,” You can hear Isaac from across the room, the sight of him swiftly landing blow after blow at the doctor caught you off guard. The blood that ran down his temple to his eyes only added a level of intensity to his yellow glowing gaze as he gave a growl that had an unnerving timbre to it. “Now.”

On the other end of the room, you watch Scott claw at the doctor he was against before the mask fell off and revealed a face that was mottled, wrinkled, and scarred. If the true alpha was disgusted, he did not show it as he put his arms up to block the hit the doctor threw his way.

At the sound of a device dropping to the cemented floor, you felt the vibration of the tube behind you stop - the bubbles silencing as it halted its actions. This immediately cleared your head and relieved you of the pain, the fuzzy veil finally lifting as you took another deep breath and attempted to sit upright again.

Successfully sitting up with a few labored breaths accompanied by a wince, you lifted your aching arms and took hold of the tube attached behind you - the stinging feel of the needle made itself known as the small movement you made just from holding it jostled a little.

Taking a couple of ragged breaths again, trying to gather the courage and strength to pull the thing behind you when the air was suddenly knocked out of your lungs. The sensation of a sharp jab radiated from your side, the groan you let out echoed to the other end of the room making your eyes dart to where Isaac was.

“No,” you let out a gasp at the sight of your mate wide-eyed as he stared up at the doctor in front of him - the pain you felt on your side mirroring where the Surgeon’s swordcane embedded on Isaac’s side and giving it a twist for good measure. “Isaac!”

Your wolf’s painful yips turned to a low dangerous growl.

Feeling the familiar throb in your gums as your canines grew longer, you heard a banshee’s piercing scream all the way from the other wing of the Eichen house while a true alpha’s growl filled the place you were in.

“No more,” You say through clenched teeth, Thor’s knees buckling at the command in his alpha’s voice, Scott and the doctors they were up against stood in awe at the willpower you displayed.

“Perfect,” one of them said under their breath, the final push for perfection.

Finally standing tall, the tube attached to your neck earlier now clutched in your hand, you did not waste time as you took down each person who did you wrong.

Going for the closest antagonist in your life, Thor immediately scrambled out of your way as your claws wrapped around the Geneticists neck. You let your body move past her without letting go of your grip on her before using the momentum to lift the doctor up, the weight and force effectively disconnecting her head from the rest of her body before hurdling her to the Pathologist who was clambering away from Scott and the fight.

Everything was a blur to the other occupants of the room as you zipped past them and took down each one before you finally lunged at the Surgeon who finally released his grip on both his cane and on Isaac.

“My child-” he managed to say as your grip on his neck tightened, his feet barely touching the ground - your eyes glowing a dangerous color as you stared up at him.

You can finally see through the mask, raw pink flesh with stitches decorating it was what the steel mask protected. His mouth opened to say something but only a gurgled gasp came out as your other hand embedded itself in his chest and pierced through skin and muscle. You felt your wolf puffing up with pride and anger - you were their greatest creation and downfall.

Silence enveloped the room as the lead doctor took his last breath before you haphazardly threw him to the ground.

With his nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed, Isaac pulled the swordcane out of him. His jaw clenching before he let out a pained groan at the feel of the weapon sliding out before leaning heavily against the brick wall while clutching his side.

Your attention was immediately drawn to your other half, managing to wipe off some of the blood on your hand before tending to him.

“Hey,” Isaac greeted as he tried to not lean all his weight to you as you wrapped your arms around his waist, careful not to touch the stab wound on his side. You felt tears playing at the edge of your lashes as you buried your face against his chest, the scent signifying home.

“Can’t really ask you if you’re okay,” You managed to say once you pulled away and looked up at him.

“You’re one to talk,” Isaac replied with a chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

You smiled, wiping the stray tear that ran down your cheek with the back of your hand as Isaac’s lips returned to your forehead for another kiss.

“Y/N, look-”

“No!”

A loud bang and the pain that came with it suddenly broke the bubble of peace you were in.

Clutching you to his chest, you saw the same confused expression that reflected on Isaac’s eyes before they darted from you to where the smell of gunpowder was coming from.

The Pathologist’s hand shook as he held the gun up, a crazed look in his eyes as he attempted to stand up from being buried under his colleague's lifeless body. He muttered incoherent words as he aimed the gun at you again.

But before he can pull the trigger, another loud thud took you all by surprise as you witnessed the man fall down flat on his face.

“Damn.” Lydia was behind him with a bloodied metal bat clutched in her hands - Stiles’ hands were up in the air, his eyes were wide as if he couldn’t believe his girl just did that.

“Well mark me down as scared and horny,” Stiles muttered under his breath, his brain replaying the moment Lydia all but took off with his metal bat and ran down the hall as fast as her heels allowed her to where they were now.

“Thank you, Thor.” You hugged the larger-built werewolf, his arms wrapping around you tightly but still being mindful of your current state. “But I don’t think I’m fit to be your alpha - to be the pack’s alpha anymore.”

“I will never understand how you and the others accepted me after what had happened.” Your feet dangled as you sat on a bricked fence outside of the Eichen house, the jacket from Isaac wrapped around you securely to act as a buffer against the coolness of the night.

You can hear Thor’s wolf whine at your words, his face already reflecting the sadness you both felt at what you were doing as he leaned against the fence you were sitting on.

“Alpha, please don’t discredit yourself.”

You looked up at him, not really believing his words with how much damage you’ve done to the pack - to your family.

“You are more than worthy - especially at your age.” He added, pointing out that most of the alphas out there were a hundred years older than you. “You are strong.”

“Thank you, again - for everything,” your lips quivered as you gave your best smile before glancing up to try and prevent the tears from spilling down your cheeks. The thought of leaving your pack broke your heart, they were family. But you needed to have someone better to lead and handle pack-related things -- you needed to recover.

A comfortable silence settled around the two of you before you heard Stiles and Isaac walking towards you.

“Jeep’s good to go, big guy.” Stiles said - more to Thor than you - with a tilt of his head to gesture to where they were parked as Isaac helped you to your feet and walked you towards Lydia’s car.

“You okay?” Isaac asked softly as you both settled in the back seat.

His eyes double-checked the graze on your shoulder from the bullet that hit you, his arms never leaving your side as he let you lean on him - exhaustion already catching up to you with the way your body sagged against his.

No, not really. You wanted to say as he only tugged you closer to him, the drive to Deaton being quieter save for the soft tunes the radio played.

“I will be.”

~~~

Isaac didn’t know what exactly woke him up.

Staring back at the ceiling, his ears strained to hear bed sheets rustling beside him. With the little light that passed through the curtains of the room you shared, he ran his hands down his face before turning to his bedside.

His eyes squinted when his phone awoke and flashed the time, 3:01AM it read - the phone’s screen showed a picture of the two of you together during a weekend picnic Lydia had arranged a few weeks ago. You had your eyes closed and lips smiling - a genuine smile after so long - against his neck as he had his arms wrapped around you tightly while he made a face to the camera.

Isaac stared at his phone’s lock screen a few moments longer before movement on his side and the feel of cold skin touching his leg took him out of his reverie.

Putting his phone back on the nightstand, he curled back down the covers and turned to face you. For someone who’s a warm-blooded supernatural creature themself, you sure have cold feet.

Isaac cupped your face before tucking a stray hair behind your ear, you were lying on your stomach facing him with your hands tucked just a little under your pillow. You were still in deep sleep but it did not look as peaceful as he remembered - your brows were furrowed, your lips moved as if mumbling something and an occasional hand twitch was what he observed.

“Y/N?” Isaac asked, his voice croaked from the lack of use as he leaned on his elbow and tried to coax you awake.

It didn’t take too long before Isaac finally understood what you were saying.

Please, no more...p-please.

Leaning over your side of the bed, Isaac flicked the switch to your bedside lamp open and tried to call for you again. He could now see the thin layer of sweat on your forehead, the sheets bunching up in your grasp as your knuckles turned a lighter shade from how tight your grip was.

I can’t t-take it anymore...

“Hey, baby,” Isaac gently ran his hand down your back a few times, trying not to ‘jolt’ you awake. He knew what methods to use in waking you up when things like these happen, though it took multiple trials and errors with a few bumps - more or less scratches - in the way. But god, he’d take you screaming and lashing out at him any day than this.

I’m sorry, I won’t do it again...

“Y/N, please wake up for me.”

It broke his heart more at the thought that while you were already together, even if in that span of time you were simply friends at first, they’ve already done a multitude of things to you.

“Y/N, I’m here - you’re safe.” He tried again, the soft kiss to your temple lingering a little longer in hopes that it might help - let you sense that he was present and you were not in danger anymore.

“Y/N, no one’s gonna hurt you,” He spoke softly.

Covering your clenched hand with his, it was all it took before your eyes flew open with a sharp gasp of air. It took some strength and swiftness from Isaac to hold your wrists when you sat up so fast - almost bumping his chin in the process - that you almost fell out of the shared bed.

“Hey, hey,” He called for you, your eyes were dilated, blown wide and looking around frantically as if you were searching for the threat that plagued your life a year ago and giving you these night terrors that prevented you from having a good night’s sleep.

“I’m here, you’re safe.” He repeated, waiting for you and not letting go.

“Isaac,” He waited a little more before you finally settled down and realized where you were, your voice shook a little as you spoke his name; eyes glassy as you looked at the familiar blue eyes that called for you.

“I’m here.” Isaac gave a small smile as his hold on your wrist loosened before sliding his hands in yours and holding onto them on your lap - the soft yellow light from your bedside lamp gave his face a soft glow; his eyes looking more kinder that it already was.

Not again. Your lips trembled as you held back a sob, you shook your head as you stared down at your joined hands.

You felt trapped.

That was the only thing you felt and you wanted out, you wanted this to stop; you want an end to this thing happening to you - you don’t deserve the man in front of you.

Having known you for so long, Isaac can already see it on your face, he already anticipated it.

“I love you,” He spoke.

Absolutely no room for arguments, “I won’t leave you.”

You felt Isaac’s hands rest on your hips as you withdrew yours from his hold and tried to stop and wipe as many tears as you could with the heel of your hands. He let you lean your head on his shoulder, the feel of his lips placing a comforting kiss to your ear should’ve given your heart a little leap but it didn’t.

“How much longer will you tell me that before you finally get tired?” You did not mean to say it out loud, you hiccupped once your tears finally settled down with your head and heart.

“Never,” Isaac said as he pushed you away a little to look at you, cupping your face in his warm hands to make you look up at him, a glint of playfulness present. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You could only sigh and give a soft smile.

“You’re too good for me, Isaac.”

Bringing your hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles, he let them go before cupping your face again and leaned down to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your nose and lastly a chaste kiss on your lips.

“You deserve good things, Y/N.”

You deserve them after everything you went through. Isaac gave that smile he reserved only for you when he pulled away.

Lying back down, Isaac pulled you closer to him before pulling the covers up just below your chin.

“We’ll be okay, remember?” Isaac reminded you of the words you said to him when he asked you a year ago.

You did not miss the way he said ‘we.’ You did remember what he told you, that you were in this together - you’re it for me.

“I remember,” you answered, curling as close as you can to his side. The tip of your nose resting against the warm skin of his neck as he rest his chin on top of your head, arms tightening around you before they relaxed.

Feedbacks are always appreciated! Especially since I miss writing. But again, I won't be doing much writing anymore since I've somewhat lost touch with both my imagines blogs. I might just rewrite/refurbish some of my old imagines/drabbles.

Again, thank you so much for those who stuck by this imagines blog (and for Brett as well). You don't know how much I appreciate it, again, I'm sorry for not being active (read more here)

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagines #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf imagine

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Text

Summer of Whump #19: Fear

Warnings: death mention, pills, fever, injured, thermometer

Hero found Villain in a cellar, severely injured. His ribcage was close to crushed and blood was gushing out of mulitple wounds. He was only just conscious, but his breaths were ragged and strained.

"Villain," Hero said, even though she knew that he wouldn't be able to recognize her presence in his state.

She crouched next to him and ran her hand through his sweaty hair. Villain mumbled something that sounded like garbled nonsense than something of actual intellect.

"Shh," she soothed and wrapped Villain into her arms. Without a second thought, she whisked them away to her home using her teleporting powers.

Even as they were still in the tornado of color, Hero was already rushing to her first air kit to stop the blood flow. That nasty Supervillain...

When Hero returned, Villain was awake and pressed against the wall, breathing hysterically.

"Get away from me!" He yelled, defensively. Hero immediately put the first aid kit down and approached Villain with lowered hands.

"I will," she promised, only to say right after, "only if you let me clean you up."

"Never," Villain snapped and lunged forward. He tripped and nearly landed face first, but Hero caught him.

His body convulsed which made Hero's heart lurch in worry. But then he relaxed, melting into Hero's arms. She began to rock him back and forth while very slowly inching towards the first aid kit. Up close, she noticed that many of the wounds had shrapnel stuck in them. She sighed, this was going to hurt.

The first one would've came out easy if it weren't for the fact that Villain pulled out of the way rather quickly. Hero sighed again. Villain had super-strength and speed.

"S-stay away-way," He slurred, but maintained a steady posture.

"I can't do that, you need help," Hero tried to reason, but the villain wouldn't listen. He shook his head wildly.

"Don't, don't, don't," Villain mumbled and put his hands on his forehead, clutching it and swaying. Hero started forward, only to hesitate.

Without another word, Villain ran forward and pushed past Hero. He went over to the door, fumbled with the doorknob and then ran outside.

Hero, shocked, shook the daze out of her eyes. Villain hit her hard. But she wasn't worried about a little bump while Villain was bleeding out on the streets, so she followed him out the door.

She first assumed that he wouldn't be able to get too far, but she was wrong. A mixture of super-strength, speed, adrenaline and fear must've fueled him to get out of there. Hero groaned in annoyance as she teleported around, trying to latch onto Villain. Being able to teleport also granted her the ability to teleport by feeling anyone's emotions and thoughts of those emotions.

Only that wasn't easy when Villain was running around one hundred miles per hour.

Hero squeezed her eyes shut and traveled throughout the city, dipping her hand down into puddles of people's thoughts as she searched for pain and fear, likely the only thoughts running through his head.

Hero squeezed her eyes even harder and concentrated on as a wave of emotions entered her brain and fueled the powerful blood that coursed through her veins.

She could feel her eyes dart around in their sockets as she searched. Searched for two emotions that were tied together that would mean Villain.

Keep on moving, keep on... the thought trailed off, leaving Hero in the dust, but she knew that it was Villain.

Keep on going, gosh this hurts. Pain, pain, pain. Rest, just rest. Who cares if she finds me. I need her help. I am tired, done. Legs, just give up already- the thought was cut off by a loud ringing noise.

Hero's mind threatened to pull away from Villain's, but she held on. Villain had collapsed, she knew this. She also knew that she desperately needed to grasp onto that last straw of consciousness to teleport successfully.

Sleep... let go Villain, let go...

Hero grabbed onto that thought and teleported. She landed on top of a dumpster with a painful thud.

But her determination to find Villain covered the pain. She jumped up and searched frantically around until she spotted a lump next to a pile of cardboard.

"Villain!'" Hero exclaimed, not taking any precautions to make her appearance less threatening. She rushed over to Villain's side and without thought, checked for his pulse.

Her heart started to race when she didn't find it. Maybe she sucked at searching for one? She didn't know, so she reached downwards and put her cheek to Villain's nose.

Soft air blew against her sweaty cheek, cooling it. Hero almost let out a cry in relief until she remembered that Villain was currently bleeding out on her lap.

"Hold on bud," she whispered into Villain's ear. She didn't care that he was incapable of hearing, but it made her feel better about the situation.

The next morning, Villain regained consciousness with a scream, loud and agonizing. It shook Hero, who was drowsily reading a book by his side, to the core.

"Are you okay?" Hero asked, yawning. Villain's pale, ghost-like face was clammy and covered in a thick layer of sweat. Hero looked away, slightly embarrassed to see him look like this. Weak and helpless, completely at the mercy of Hero. Not that she would hurt him. No, she would never to that. She always looked up to him with admiring eyes, as hard as it was to admit it. Seeing him like this was like witnessing your parents cry. It was unnatural and something that she hated.

Villain squinted his eyes and furrowed his forehead. Only that effort seemed to waste too much energy because he relaxed his face and sagged into the pillow again and shivered.

Hero fought the urge to use her hand to check his temperature. It would be a kind gesture- maybe even soothing and would make him feel safe- but Hero knew that Villain would take it the wrong way. She could just imagine extending her hand to him and him freaking out and hurting himself-

A soft whimper drew Hero out of her thoughts. She glanced down at the villain with pity. His eyes seemed to get more and more unfocused as the seconds ticked by. Hero put her hand half-way out. It wouldn't hurt would it?

She place her hand on his burning forehead.

Villain's eyes widened and focused as he tried to pull away, rubbing the cuts on his back. Hero had to face the choice of laying him on his stomach, which would aggravate his ribs, or lay him on his back, which could rip the stitches that Hero spent hours on. He was too weak to lie on his side. She ended up choosing the back for breathing purposes.

But now she really regretted that decision as she heard stitches tear and Villain cry out. Blood started dripping again and all Hero could do was grab Villain's flailing wrists and hold them tightly.

"Stop this," she pleaded with her delirious patient. His gaze flickered to her and watched her movements with suspicion. Hero deftly pushed his arms to his sides and clicked them into the handcuffs. This wasn't the first time that she had cared for an injured person.

Her mind briefly flickered to Sidekick's last week alive. How she struggled and struggled to live, but the deep abdomen wound that... Hero glanced down at the writhing Villain. That Supervillain caused, just like what he did to Villain.

Maybe it would be better to let him suffer. Hero contemplated the idea, weighing the pros and cons (cons being much more) about letting Villain live. Less civilian deaths, less destruction, avenge Sidekick with a fellow villain's death...

But Hero couldn't let someone in pain suffer as they die. She knew how traumatizing it would be for him if he linked Hero's face to this excruciating pain if he indeed lived.

Hero left the scene momentarily to grab a thermometer and tylenol to kick the fever. Her hand lingered over a painkiller too before grabbing that bottle as well.

Villain's eyes were half-lidded by the time Hero returned, but his mouth was clamped shut. She gently opened his lip with the thermometer, but wasn't as successful with slipping it through his clenched teeth.

She sighed and grabbed his jaw, pressing her fingers into his cheek to pry his mouth open. He obeyed, and Hero placed the thermometer under his tongue. Villain's eyes widened at the sudden discomfort, before drooping again. He weakly swallowed the saliva that built up. Hero gingerly rubbed his throat.

The thermometer beeped: 103.9, almost 104. Hero gulped, she needed to lower this fever as soon as possible before it got out of hand. She gently placed the tylenol on Villain's slightly sticking out tongue and dumped some water down his mouth. Villain sputtered and coughed, unable to swallow. His eyes widened in panic and he started writhing around again, pulling against the restraints.

Hero dipped his head back and rubbed his throat.

"Swallow. You can do this," she murmured softly. She wanted to give him the pain meds too, but seeing his inability to do a simple task like swallow, she would have to revert to other means of pain control.

Villain ended up swallowing. His body instantly relaxed as his eyes finished closing. Hero grabbed onto his hand and rubbed in slow, circular motions until his breathing slowed. She smiled, at least alseep he wouldn't hurt.

#summer of whump #protective hero #villain whumpee #fear #tired villain #super powers #hero caretaker #hero x villain #injured #feverish whumpee #day 19 #writing #death mention

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whumping-to-conclusions · 3 years

Text

Part Two to this post!

CW: medical whump, blood, brief mention of stitches

The door burst open as Hero rushed Sidekick into the apartment. Medic was sitting on a stool in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, staring into space. They started and set their cup on the counter.

“Here, here.” They ushered Hero to the living room, where a cot was set up, a lamp shining onto it. Stitches, gauze, soap, water, and bottles of pain meds were scattered on a table next to the cot.

Hero laid Sidekick on the cot, and Medic tore open their shirt.

Oh God, that’s a lot of blood. Even worse, the wound had taken on a bluish tinge similar to that of the bullet, and electric blue veins were beginning to spread around the wound.

Medic turned to Hero. “I’ll be honest―this is bad. Any idea of what kind of metal this is?”

Hero shrugged. “I dunno.”

Medic bit their lip. “I think we have to remove it. We run the risk of Sidekick bleeding out if the bullet’s by a large artery, but the metal’s poisoning them, by the looks of it. If we don’t remove it, they’ll die just the same." They turned to Hero. “Can you use your power to take it out? It’ll be quicker and more accurate than me doing it.”

The idea of pulling the bullet out of Sidekick made Hero’s stomach flip, but it was Sidekick’s life they were talking about. “Y-yeah. Sure.”

“They’ll need something to bite down on.” They took a strip of leather from the mess of medical supplies and stuffed it in Sidekick’s mouth. “This is going to be painful, but just try to breathe, okay?”

Sidekick let out a little whimper, but nodded. They looked terribly feverish―drenched in sweat, face flushed, eyes dull.

Medic glanced over at Hero. “On three.”

Hero raised their hands, feeling them heat as red waves of power started to flow from them.

“One…”

Hero swallowed down the sickness in their throat.

“Two...”

Hero shook out their wrists and exhaled, preparing themselves.

“Three!”

Hero clenched their fist. Sidekick screamed through their teeth as the bullet shot out of their torso, hitting the opposite wall of the apartment and dropping to the floor with a ping.

Black spots danced before Hero’s eyes, and a wave of dizziness overtook them. The room tilted. They sat down heavily on the couch as Medic started to clean the wound. They had to put their head between their knees to avoid blacking out. What’s happening? Using their power didn’t usually take this much energy.

“You okay?”

Hero lifted their head. “Sorry… just really tired.”

“Using your power doesn’t usually wear you out this much, does it?” Medic asked as they took the leather out of Sidekick’s mouth and started to dab at the wound in their abdomen. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be much bleeding.

“No,” Hero murmured. “Not usually. But it’s a weird bullet, like I said.”

The minutes ticked by as Hero watched Medic work their magic, stitching up Sidekick with rhythmic precision, the needle darting in and out again. Sidekick stared at the ceiling the whole while. As much as Hero wanted to watch Sidekick, to make sure they were okay, they found their eyes drooping.

Medic's voice cut through the grey buzz of exhaustion: “You look terrible. You should lay down.”

“Hm? Oh.” Hero’s eyes drifted over to Sidekick. “No. I need to stay with Sidekick.”

Medic looked down at them over the rims of their glasses. “I’ll stay with Sidekick, Hero. You should get some rest.”

“But―”

“No.” A different voice came, barely a croak. Sidekick had turned their head to face Hero. When Hero still looked unconvinced, they formed a watery smile. “I’ll be fine, Hero.”

Hero sighed. “You sure you’re okay? I can stay, if you like.”

“I’d like you to not wear yourself out,” Sidekick murmured. “Go rest.”

Medic smiled. “There’s a guest room off the kitchen. You can sleep in there for a while.”

Hero nodded and rose to their feet, swaying a little. They walked back to the kitchen, glancing back only once. Sidekick caught them looking and waved them on.

Hero turned back with a smile and walked through a door to a small, dim bedroom. As soon as they saw the bed, their whole body seemed to melt with the longing for rest. They curled up on the bed and within moments, they drifted into dreamless darkness.

#superhero whump #whump blog #whumpblr #medical whump #injury #physical whump #hero x sidekick #sidekick x hero #gsw #gsw tw #bullet wound #caretaker #stoic whumpee #writing #superheroes #medic #superhero #blood tw #stitches tw

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painsandconfusion · 2 years

Note

im fairly new around but do you have a core for me? (my whump-y blog is lonely-harts)

You bring peace.

You can inhale tranquility and quiet whenever you're in a place that has it in abundance. It weaves into your veins, ready for you to call on again later.

You can breathe it out to manifest, sharing with those around you. You can stop any panic attack. Soothe any crying child. Even stop murders in their tracks. So long as you have enough stored.

You can also just let it flow through you. At any time, you can feel as tranquil and unbothered as you would reading an old novel in a mossy forest with a gentle breeze.

Peace on tap.

#core asks #core use #waking dreamer #lore #sand asks

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saccharine-suffering · 2 years

Note

Please post the wrong AI texts as well, that's hilarious!

yeah, since it's an AI, it can mess up. (Like that one time it turned pet whump into a domestic argument)

“Fuck you!” He spat, “I’ll never be your pet, no matter what you do to me!”

Again, his lips pursed and compressed as he whispered, “Yes, Uncle.”

John returned to his chair, sat down, and continued to knit.

~~~~~

(or that one time the conversation was just. undecipherable)

“Wait! Take me instead- please, hurt me, not them.” I pleaded and it took all of my self-control not to cry in frustration.

“You can’t have both, Janie.” He took his time with his response and I took my chance to smile at the last one he gave me.

“Then choose,” I pouted with puppy dog eyes.

“How old are you, anyway?” I hoped to distract him from my trickery.

“Why would you care?” He laughed at the furious look I shot at him and then the

~~~~~

(that time nothing came out)

"You kidnapped me!" He leaned away from her syringe. "I'm free. Please let me go!"

"You don't get a choice. Did you really think they wouldn't find you? But you did it."

"I…" He started to shake his head, but nothing came out. He closed his eyes, but nothing came out.

~~~~~

(that time it just fucking broke)

The pain was getting unbearable, he had to find a way to escape, he didn't want to live this way anymore, with anyone else in control of his life.

He believes, staring at the wall, thinking that he is riding on someone, there, just above the clock, taking a shape, staring, not making a sound, just staring at him as he tried to escape. Was doing

He was now restless, his breathing was fast and his whole body was shaking, his back was covered, his legs were covered, he wanted to be counted but he could not, he felt that he was in a situation. Regulation is increasing, his body is shaking. General Chat Chat Lounge And then the figure gradually disappeared, disappearing.

~~~~~

(and that time that, uh, this happened)

Electricity shot through his veins. The pain was getting unbearable at this point, and He tried desperately to stop the flow of blood. Blood soaked his shirt, so much that it was difficult for him to breathe. He was losing too much blood and he was sure he was going to die. I'm only twenty-one years old! His thoughts raced. Only twenty-one years old and he could be a father now. He could be pregnant now.

#talk to transformer #whump #or at least it was supposed to be #ai generated #pet whump #mpreg #cant believe i have to use that tag #anon

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supersilversleuth · 3 years

Text

To Kill, To Die, or, To Live by SuperSilverSpy

Fandoms:DCU, DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick Grayson Whump, Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, I have used these tags so much lately, I could probably write them in my sleep, Hurt No Comfort, maybe? - Freeform, I don’t remember writing any comfort…, Hurt, Angst, Jason Todd is a good bro, usually, sometimes?, idk - Freeform, he wants to be a good bro in this fic, Possession, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Whumptober 2021, SuperSilverSpy, SilverGrayson

Summary:

Red Hood showed up in the Batcave after helping out with a quick op one night. Everyone seemed to be looking at him with distrust and suspicion, even though he’d just helped them out. Everyone except Dick, of course, who offered him a tight smile, but whose expression was otherwise unreadable.

Kill kill kill...Dick Grayson shall die...

“What? Why the oh so serious faces?” Jason’s voice drawled.

OR Jason wakes up one morning, and there’s a voice in his head screaming for the death of one Dick Grayson

No. 4 - TRUST FALL “Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Published: 2021-10-04 Completed:2021-10-04 Words: 3091 Chapters: 3/3

Chapter One: To Kill

It happened out of the blue one day.

Jason woke in a cold sweat, but he didn’t immediately sit up in bed. In fact, he didn’t move at all. He just stared up at his ceiling, a single thought running through his head, a single emotion coursing through his veins.

Dick Grayson must die.

Distantly, a part of him felt appalled at the notion, but most of him was running with it. Anger clouded his mind but it was unlike any he’d ever felt before. It was different, colder somehow, not like the usual searing heat of pit madness.

He heard a new voice in his head spewing insults about the Golden Boy left and right. Some felt familiar, as if taken from Jason’s own mind. Most of them were new, and he did his best to ignore the most unsavory ones.

He didn’t actually hate Dickface, did he? N—

Jason sat up, and began preparing for the day ahead of him. Put bread in the toaster, remember the meetings he has with several of his informants— Dick Grayson deserves to die— now that didn’t sound right…what was he thinking about again? Put butter on the toast when it’s done, start eating, think about that case that’s been stumping him lately— take Nightwing hostage —what was that? He does have a pretty busy nightlife… Do the morning’s dishes, brush his teeth, get dressed. He had a drug ring to bust tonight, that’s right. Some scumbags needed a little visit from the esteemed crime lord Red Hood— kill them all— what? N—

Jason went through the rest of his day in a haze. He met with some informants, gave food to some people on the streets. He got everything done quickly and efficiently, he even managed to make time to buy groceries. With every interaction, he acted just like he normally would. His movements were comfortable, voice at just the right level to suit each situation. People seemed easily swayed by him, to do as he asked. And yet...he felt detached somehow, as if watching through someone else’s eyes—someone who acted exactly like him.

He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it though, couldn’t open his mouth and say something out of character, or just talk to himself when no one was in sight. Distantly, a part of him felt alarmed, something was just off.

Still, he made it through the day just fine. Whatever had been bothering him earlier that morning seemed to fade, and he started to feel as if nothing had changed. And nothing had, right? He didn’t remember anything different between today and yesterday…

Night came, and the Red Hood went out to save the day, or at least crash some a**hats’ day, he wasn’t picky. Everything went to plan too, which made him elated. The bats could say all they wanted about him, but no one could deny his clear skill and competency.

Everything was going well, the drug traffickers were all passed out on the ground and Jason was getting ready to call the police, when it happened.

His thumb withdrew from the call button, burner phone slipping back into his pocket. His hands went instead to his guns, and he felt his body turning, moving towards the unconscious bodies of some of the worst that he’d taken down. Kill. Kill. Kill. Chanted that new voice in his head. Kill them all, they deserve it. Just like Dick Grayson.

What? N—No, that didn’t make sense. Why was—Why was his hand still moving? What was his finger doing on the trigger? Jason didn’t understand. I don’t want to kill them, he thought. He pushed against that voice, that—that presence in his head.

It pushed back .

Jason was left scrambling internally, as he watched his own arm lift and aim. A body lay on the ground, motionless where splashes of crimson decorated the floor.

Jason felt as if he’d been booted out of his own body, like his actions weren’t his to control anymore. He felt sick, but no bile would rise in his throat. No feeling would stir in his stomach. He didn’t understand.

Two bodies, on the ground, it was like he was seeing double, than triple, then several many more. He started to lose count. At one point, he noticed there was a knife in his hand, that his face was twisted in an expression of satisfaction. His hands were covered in blood, and so were his pants. He’d have a hard time washing that out, Jason realized distantly. Death here, death there, death death everywhere, said the voice in his head. He knew he was feeling things, actual emotions. But they didn’t really seem to be there . They were foreign, unfamiliar, not his own. Jason could think of all the synonyms he knew to describe just how out of place the anger and the bloodlust and the malicious satisfaction felt. How out of place he himself felt. Kicked out of his own mind, out of control of his own body.

Even with past experiences in mind control and mind-twisting pits of torture, this still was like nothing he had ever felt before.

—

Jason didn’t know what day it was, what was happening, he just couldn’t tell. He couldn’t seem to keep track . It had been like this ever since the massacre, since he’d fought and lost the battle in his own mind.

Kill kill kill...Dick Grayson shall die...

“What? Why the oh so serious faces?” Jason’s voice drawled.

“Those drug traffickers on Monday,” began the big bat himself. Jason’s hand waved as if to wipe it all away. “Lay off it, B. I promise it wasn’t me, alright? I left before whoever murdered them all showed up.” The Replacement was frowning at him, and the Demon brat was scowling his way as well. Bruce thinned his lips, looking at him in that insufferable judgmental way he had. Jason felt himself scoffing, “I don’t owe you fools anything. ”

Please, he thought, this isn’t me. Please, I know it sounds like me but I swear it isn’t. His body went straight for his motorcycle, hopping on and driving away with the squealing of tires.

There are TWO POSSIBLE ENDINGS, the first one is Major Character Death, the second is “everybody lives”

Read the next chapter for tragedy, read the chapter after that for somewhat happy ending

Chapter Two: To Die

“Hey Jay? You alright?”

The prey has fallen into the trap...

Jason felt his head swivel in Dick’s direction, “What are you doing here, Dickface?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed to be acting a little off yesterday. I was just wondering if—”

“I’m fine.” Jason’s voice growled. “And I didn’t kill those people. So there’s nothing for you to report back to ol’ daddy bats up there on his high horse.” Dick scowled briefly, but then his expression smoothed. “I’m not here to spy on you, Jay. And I know it wasn’t you who killed those people.” His brother looked at him steadily, right in the eyes. No! Dick, you have to get away from me, he wants to kill y —

“It wasn’t you,” continued Dick, “It was whatever's controlling you.”

For a moment, Jason panicked. But whoever it was in his head let up quite a bit, and Jason suddenly felt lighter than air. It was like the first taste of water after days in the desert. Like he could finally breathe after an eternity of going without.

“Wha—” Jason stumbled, knees feeling weak. Dick rushed forward, catching him as he fell. “No...N—No, Dick, you can’t be here. ‘m a killer, that thing in my head, it—it wants to—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here.” His hand carded through Jason’s hair. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

“It…it seems to have left me.” Jason said, voice trembling in awe as he flexed his fingers. It’d been so long…

—

Dick smiled down at his brother.

“It’s okay, Jay.” He said, “It must’ve fled when it realized I knew it was there.”

“How…how did you know, anyways?” Jason asked.

“I just…I had a feeling. You were acting off, and that look in your eye…”

“Thanks, Dick,” his little brother replied, but then his voice changed, sounding almost…fearful? “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He asked, straining his ears, “I don’t—”

There was a loud roar and the sound of large, stomping feet. Dick frantically looked around, noticing as shadows creeped in from underneath the door. The air was charged with magic, power flowing throughout the room.

“It’s back,” whispered Jason, clutching Dick’s arm, “we should run.”

“Yeah,” Dick said, as if in a daze, “let’s go.”

It seemed so surreal, the supernatural monsters bursting through the door. Dick wasn’t sure what surprised him so much about it, he dealt with this kind of thing every other day. It’s just…

“Dickie,” said Jason, pulling him towards the window. “Snap out of it, they’re gaining on us.”

He shook his head, looking back—and yeah, the strange magical creatures were right behind them.

Jason jumped through the window, Dick following closely behind. They fired their grappling guns, arriving on the roof opposite in what felt like the blink of an eye.

“Hurry,” said a voice and—oh, it was Jason. It was coming out of Jason’s mouth, right? It must be Jason’s. “We should go that way.”

Dick looked his little brother in the eyes, grounding himself there, before following Jason’s lead as they ran across rooftops.

Dick felt like he was doing everything underwater, but it was…nice. Pretty great actually. He barely even noticed the burn in his legs, or how the monsters chasing them had odd-looking shadows.

Each time he looked back, all he saw was claws and teeth. Masses of fur and strange golden markings.

They paused for breath a few blocks away.

Dick wondered at Jason’s plan. It felt like there was something he should be doing…“Jay? What should we do? Where do we go?”

“That thing in my head seemed afraid of tall places…”

“The—The Wayne Enterprises building.” Dick replied almost immediately.

“Of course,” said Jason, bumping him with his shoulder, “How about a race?”

Dick grinned back at him, “Sure, why not.”

Adrenaline flooded his veins, and for a moment, he almost forgot about the monsters chasing them.

Jason nodded to him, and then they took off, running and jumping, grappling all across the city, heading for the tallest building around. Dick pressed himself to go faster, run harder, jump stronger .

He could see Jason out of the corner of his eye, also going considerably fast.

Jason wasn’t the only one Dick noticed, he also spotted several of them on Jason’s tail. The monsters seemed to move just as fast as they did. He could only hope his little brother could go fast enough to outrun them.

Dick reached the WE building first, skidding to a stop on the roof. Jason arrived soon after.

The monsters gathered a roof away, preparing to jump.

“I—I don’t understand, I thought you said they wouldn't follow us up here.” Dick looked at Jason, searching for answers in his expression.

His little brother’s features were soft, his eyes glittered with something strange and otherworldly. His voice was smooth and heavy with something familiar… “It’s okay, I have a plan, but there’s no time. Dick, do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, Little Wing.”

Darkness creeped up along the edges of the building, sliding onto the roof. Claws scraped against the ground, glowing gold eyes began to surround them. There was a single opening, a small bit of edge that had nothing on it.

Jason smiled, grabbing Dick’s grapple gun. And then pushed him off the roof.

Dick Grayson fell over 1,000 feet to the ground, all the while believing his brother would catch him.

Above, on the roof of Wayne Tower, Jason Todd’s eyes flashed gold.

Chapter Three: To Live

“Hey Jay? You alright?”

The prey has fallen into the trap...

Jason felt his head swivel in Dick’s direction, “What are you doing here, Dickface?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed to be acting a little off yesterday. I was just wondering if—”

“It wasn’t you,” continued Dick, “It was whatever's controlling you.”

“Wha—” Jason stumbled, knees feeling weak. Dick rushed forward, catching him as he fell. “No...N—No, Dick, you can’t be here. ‘m a killer, that thing in my head, it—it wants to—”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here.” His hand carded through Jason’s hair. “This thing is here to test me Jay, I didn’t have a choice. I know you didn’t either, and I am so, so sorry for that Little Wing. We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

Jason opened his mouth to reply, when suddenly the presence was back, the voice along with it. Jason could feel his consciousness collapsing back, dissociating once again. He vaguely registered as one of his hidden daggers was swiftly drawn, and pressed harshly against Dick’s neck.

“Do you trust me?” asked Jason’s voice, a smirk spread across his face.

The question was meant to be mocking, but Dick answered seriously, “Of course, I know you’re still in there, Jay. I trust you.”

—

They stood on the roof of the WE building. Whoever was controlling Jason had used his strength to give Dick a good beating, and sent a picture of the aftermath to the bats. It was only a matter of time before they showed.

“One as special as Dick Grayson, must be able to trust at least one member of his family. Jason Todd is least likely to accept this trust, which makes my job so much easier. I look forward to his death,” said Jason’s voice while they waited.

Dick, all tied up, sporting a black eye and what were likely bruised ribs—grinned like a maniac. “I recognized your presence, didn’t I? I could tell there was something off with him, you nasty little f***er. You may think you chose your victim well, but you’re making a big mistake—Jay will pull through for me, and you will be torn away as if it were nothing.”

Wow, Dick just sounded so—so confident in Jason’s ability to do whatever it was he was supposed to do. Jason wasn’t sure he’d be able to overpower this thing, let alone destroy it.

“The rest of your so-called family will arrive any minute now, will you weep at their demise?”

Dick scowled, “The rules that you are bound to state that you can’t kill any of my loved ones before me.”

“I may not be able to kill them, but I’ve been doing this awhile, and I know all the loopholes to this little game.”

Behind them, the bats touched down on the roof. Jason felt himself turn to face them. It seemed that Bruce, Tim, Damian, and Steph all showed up for the party.

“Here to save your favorite Golden child?”

“What do you want?” Demanded Bruce, stoic as ever.

They never cared about you , none of them do. Hissed the voice in his head. Nobody trusts you

Nobody trusts you , Jason thought back at it, you murderous lying b****** .

It chuckled, ah, but it is not my face I’m wearing. It’s your's.

Outloud, Jason’s voice addressed the bats, “This is the price you pay for not trusting me, for letting Dick down. You didn’t even notice there was something different about him, did you? You didn’t even notice when Jason Todd was no longer Jason Todd.”

Bruce and Dick were the only ones who didn’t look confused at the words. Dick, because he seemed to know what was going on, and Bruce, because he was, well, Bruce. Batman’s face was as stoic as ever.

Jason felt his face twist into something surely ugly and murderous-looking.

Power surged through him, coming from seemingly nowhere. But Jason could feel it at his fingertips, being pushed into him and pulled out, he had no control over its course. The air around him became charged with magic, and then the bats were engulfed in a bright, golden light.

A moment later, Jason's eyes opened to find that all four of them were frozen in various positions and turned into a shiny golden color, standing still like statues.

The look of horror on Dick’s face hurt to look at, when Jason felt himself turn back to the man.

Quickly, Dick’s expression turned to that of anger, “What did you do to them?” he seethed. “Turn them back!”

“It’s too late, Dick Grayson. Once you are dead, your family will remain this way forever.”

Jason’s arms reached out, grabbing Dick and picking him up.

His feet took him to the edge of the roof, holding Dick out over the ground far, far below.

“J—Jay, listen to me, you can fight this. I know you can. You’re still in there, I believe in you.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Jason watched as he dropped his brother over the edge.

Time seemed to stop.

No! He thought, pushing back as hard as he could against that malicious presence in his mind. Jason pictured Dick’s face, looking at him sincerely, a bead of blood forming where Jason’s own knife grazed his throat. “I trust you ,” he’d said.

Jason followed him over the edge before he even knew what he was doing. Shooting out his grapple instinctively, cutting through the air rapidly as he fell.

This is going to hurt , he thought, as he set himself on a collision course with Dick, but I think we’ll live.

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mascwhump · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3: She Burns Like Heroin

This came out a bit quicker than the last one, eh? Hope you enjoy! Oh and by the way, I’m still getting use to tagging TWs. Please let me know if I missed anything that might be triggering so I can edit the list :)

TW: Noncon drugging, drugs (mentioned), kinda creepy whumper, needles

Tag list: @whatwasmyprevioususername @milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @whatwhumpcomments @mnmlover2002 @ashintheairlikesnow

Charlie was moved into a larger room. The one before might as well have been a closet. This new room had white tile floors, white painted walls, and was sufficiently lit. The door was metal, leaving no hope of breaking it down. The only other way out of the room was through an air vent on the ceiling, but the ceilings were at least 10 feet high. Not that Charlie would fit into it, anyway. In the corner of the room was a little bathroom. It had a sink, toilet, and bathtub inside, with a curtain instead of a door.

Charlie was attached to the wall by chains on his wrists. They were about 5 feet long, which allowed a little movement. Small hooks stuck out of the walls in multiple places, along with some in the ceiling. Mallory had come in a few hours ago to show Charlie that the team had indeed been released.

Strangely, he wasn't as afraid as he could've been. He knew the team would be looking for him. He didn't think about whatever Mallory had planned on doing with him. It didn't matter. He'd be home soon.

Sleep came often. It was the fastest way to heal. When he wasn’t sleeping, he’d passed the time by daydreaming or counting to high numbers in his head. He was at 2,452 when someone entered the room. It was a small blond man carrying a tray.

"Hello, my name is Basil. I've brought a sandwich and some water for you," he said.

"Thanks, I guess,” Charlie replied.

Basil set the tray in front of Charlie and sat cross-legged a few feet away.

"I'm supposed to make sure you don't choke to death," he said.

Charlie laughed as he took a bite of the ham and cheese sandwich. He didn't like being watched while he ate, but he too hungry to care. He finished the sandwich quickly and downed the glass of water.

"Do you need to use the facilities?" Basil asked.

"'Facilities'? Yeah, I guess so," Charlie replied.

"Alright. Before I remove the restraints, do you promise not to attack me?" Basil asked.

"Yeah, I promise," Charlie said.

He was amused. The soft spoken tone and interesting word choices intrigued him. Basil definitely was out of place.

He used the restroom and was put back into the chains. Basil picked up the tray and left the room. He was almost robotic. It was like he was brainwashed into being some sort of orderly.

Charlie fell asleep soon after he left, counting to 300.

Days went by. It was the same routine every day. Basil would come three times a day to feed Charlie and take him to the restroom. The only other person he saw was a doctor. The doctor would check on his wound and change the bandages as needed. She never said a word to Charlie, aside from commands telling him what to do with his arm.

He was beginning to go a bit stir crazy. One could only count so much before all the numbers became a jumbled mess. He started a small exercise routine, mainly consisting of things he could do with his limited movement.

On the fifth day, things were a different. A few hours after Basil had given him breakfast, Mallory entered the room.

"Miss me?" He asked, walking in with a briefcase.

Charlie didn't reply. Mallory approached him, taking in his appearance.

"You look better than when I last saw you," he said.

"What's in the case?" Charlie asked, ignoring his comment.

"Remember how I told you that you're going to help change the world? Well, that starts today."

"I thought you said that would be after I healed."

Mallory opened the briefcase and pulled out a syringe. Inside of it was a dark blue liquid. It appeared to have a gold shine to it when the light hit just right.

"What the fuck is that?" Charlie questioned, pushing himself closer the wall.

"You're right, I did say it would be after you healed. And this here is what is going to heal you," Mallory explained.

He removed the cap of the needle and flicked the glass before commanding Charlie to put out his arm.

"No!" Charlie cried out, the sight of the needle making him dizzy.

He pulled his legs up to his chest and shielded his arms between them. He tucked his head down, effectively curling into a ball.

"Come on, Charlie," Mallory cooed, "don't you want to feel better?"

"Fuck you! This wasn't part of the deal!" Charlie yelled into himself.

He was shaking. Needles had always been a fear of his, and not knowing exactly what was inside of the syringe didn't help.

"I fulfilled my end of the deal. You fulfilled yours. Now, this isn't a deal. This is part of the real reason I kept you," Mallory explained, "I already knew everything you told me. I don't care about your team; they're useless to me. But you, Charlie..."

Charlie looked up. Mallory was kneeling in front of him now.

"When I had my surgeons fix up your shoulder, I also had them draw some blood. We did some tests. Charlie, you're perfect for this. You're just what-"

"Fuck. You," Charlie spat.

Mallory sighed. Something changed in his eyes. Charlie began to react when Mallory lunged forward and jammed the needle into his neck.

Charlie sat frozen as it began to feel like ice was flowing through his veins. Mallory pulled out the needle and tossed it to the side, watching as Charlie's pupils dilated. The ice quickly turned to fire, but the burn was almost pleasant. Charlie put his hands on Mallory's shoulders to hold himself steady as overwhelming euphoria took over his body. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood up, and he let out shaky, shallow breaths.

"Talk to me," Mallory whispered, "how does it feel?"

Charlie couldn't get a word out. The pain in his shoulder suddenly subsided, and he couldn't help but giggle, as if he was on laughing gas. His arms went limp and he began to tip over, so Mallory took hold of him to keep him upright. After a few minutes, the effects began to decay.

Once he could hold himself up again, Mallory let go to begin unwrapping the bandage from Charlie's shoulder. Once off, it was revealed that the wound had completely healed, only leaving a small scar.

"It worked," Mallory said, almost in disbelief.

Charlie moved his shoulder around. Before, it would've been agonizing, but now, it was like he had never been shot.

"That's... how did you do that?" He breathed, still recovering from the intense sensation.

"That's one of the serums we've been working on," Mallory said, "the lab is calling it Q-179 for now."

"It's like some sort of healing potion," Charlie said, "I can't believe it."

"What did it feel like? I lost you for a minute there," Mallory laughed.

"Like nitrous oxide met heroin, or at least what I'm told heroin feels like," Charlie explained, "I've never felt anything like that before in my life."

Mallory retrieved the needle from where he had thrown it and put it back in the briefcase.

"So, it worked. Am I free to go now?" Charlie asked.

"No," Mallory said, "that was just the first test."

"What else do you need to test?" Charlie questioned, standing up.

"Its effectiveness on other types of wounds," Mallory replied, leaving the room before Charlie could respond.

Charlie sat back down. Other types of wounds? He was completely healed now, so that meant...

He pushed the thought away by thinking about what he just experienced. What kind of concoction could do something like that? What could make him feel like that?

After an hour, there were no signs of any hangover symptoms. If this got out, it would surely be a success, just for the recreational aspect. Charlie had never done drugs before, besides the one time he accidentally ate an edible, and he drank and smoked occasionally. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how good it felt.

Basil came in to feed him, and the routine went back to normal. He didn’t see Mallory again for three days.

#whump oc #whump #whumper #whump story #whump writing #oc

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