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#references to past torture
astrowhump · 1 year
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Useful
Tw: torture (past and present), conditioning, asphyxiation, whipping, and just a bunch of other good stuff :)
11:00 p.m., master isn’t home yet, then it must be time for bed. Lucas pushes himself up from his knees, still trembling from kneeling on the cold tiles for hours on end, waiting for his owner to show up. He looks down at his kneecaps just to find them tinted red, caused by the pressure from his own weight.
The Canadian winter snow is still pelting, a ghost white blankets everything in sight. He’s lost in the panoramic scene for a moment, in the dagger-like icicles and the pine trees bending under the heavy shimmering carpet that covers their every leaf and the eery silence of stillness. Through the glass door and French windows, he watches as the moon shines on the pavement that’s covered knee-high, and for an instant, he imagines the tingling of the freezing snow on his legs. Before he knows it, his mind’s filled with thoughts of the unthinkable…the impossible.
The first obstacle would be the locked front door, hardly a challenge, he knows where master keeps the spare keys - where he keeps anything for that matter- Lucas has been the one keeping this place spotless after all, for a good chunk of the past four years and seven months and fourteen days.
He’s built up quite a tolerance to cold by now, thanks to master’s ‘seasonal torture techniques’. Apparently, keeping the poor boy out in -10 degrees Celsius temperature and frozen snow in nothing but his boxers until his body starts shaking violently and he bangs his trembling fists to the glass door as he begs to be let in, is just as much an amusement as burning him or drowning him or beating him bloody. Even though he could survive several hours in that weather, he’d most definitely lose all mobility within the first hour. He will need to cover himself up, with some of his owner’s winter clothes perhaps, not that a 6’ man with an athletic build’s clothes would fit perfectly on a 5’ 3” boy with a much smaller body, but anything that keeps him warm will do.
It’s gonna be an exhaustingly long walk before he sets foot outside the property and even then, they’re probably somewhere far into the woods, they couldn’t be more than a day of walking from the city though, master goes to the city quite often for work so it must be a reasonable distance.
The thought of escaping seems more and more like an absurd fantasy as his trail of taboo thoughts continues flowing. It was never gonna be anything more than that anyways. Besides, even if he did make it outside on his own, the owner would definitely find his astray mongrel somewhere along the way and when he does, he will make sure that ungrateful mutt knows the definition of real hell. First and foremost, he will bash in his kneecaps, turn him into the dog he is, just as promised. He’ll have to crawl on all fours for the rest of his pathetic life, And that’s not even all. The mere thought of the length of consequences that await him if he steps out of line makes him freeze in his place.
11:45. Did he just spend that long thinking about escaping? It’s almost funny; after years and years of training, this is where he belongs, this is who he is, he doesn’t have a purpose in life but to obey and please his master.
At last, his legs drag him to the upstairs bedroom where he changes into his sleeping t-shirt. The room is warm and his stomach is full, a fact he will never stop being grateful for. Just as he slides under the covers, the door to the living room is opened forcefully and then slammed shut and heavy shoes stomp downstairs. Lucas sits up in the bed, expecting to greet his exasperated master, but the footsteps never make it upstairs.
Naked feet touch the wooden floor and sneak down the staircase.
“S- sir?” He calls softly.
Light peaks out of the doorway to the study and that’s where his feet take him.
“Welcome home maste-“
An empty whiskey bottle flies towards him the second he steps through the door, but his head instinctively ducks and the glass shatters as it hits the wall to his back.
“Why the fuck is my whiskey bottle empty.” It doesn’t sound like a question but Lucas answers anyway.
“I’m not allowed in the cellar when I’m alone.” His voice is small.
“I’ll fetch you one right away sir, I’m sorry” he quickly adds as he feels the angry gaze bore into his quivering figure. He looks up to the vexed man and finds him fidgeting with his tie in a failed attempt to loosen it.
“Let me.” He carefully steps closer to help his master. He’s stepping on eggshells, every step he takes might be a step too far, but master allows him to get close and slowly hook his fingers around the tie and pull. He loosens the loop enough for the man’s head to easily slip through.
“Did you have a bad day, sir?” He speaks softly, placing the tie on the desk behind him and starts unbuttoning his owner’s white shirt.
Lucas looks up at him when he doesn’t hear an answer. The man’s mind seems to be rushing with irritating thoughts, however, his attention is grabbed as the busy hands on his shirt stop wriggling.
“Very.” He sounds tired. The hands continue undressing his top until his muscular form shows as the shirt is taken away. Big hands wrap around bony wrists.
“Weren’t you supposed to be asleep by now?” The pressure on his wrists increases and the boy’s nervousness along with it. He tries to back off a bit, but his movements are blocked by the desk behind him and master’s vigorous form in front. Helplessly sandwiched in between, he presses the palms of his hands to the tattooed chest holding him captive.
“I- I heard you enter and you seemed pissed. Thought that you uh…you might want to blow off some steam, sir?” His eyes wander off to the floor in shame, he does mean what he said, but he didn’t think it through, he shouldn’t have done anything before he was ordered to and now…now he has fucked up. Although, if he is to be punished, master might appreciate the distraction. His idiocy may prove helpful afterall.
He hears a chuckle, not threatening or derisive, rather…sweet.
The man’s breathing no longer seems ragged by irritation and his heartbeat calms under Lucas’s palms.
“Oh you sweet thing. You came to me willingly, to be used and abused. Such an obedient little puppy!” One of his hands let go of the little one’s wrists to card through his silky brown locks. Lucas moans softly into his touch.
He feels like a proud owner, turning that stray animal into this adorable domestic pet, ready to serve and please, needy for his master’s touch, ready to jump off a cliff without hesitation if master orders him so. He has been trained with such delicacy, his prized possession.
The hands in the pet’s hair firmly grip the roots and they pull and twist until he winces and looks up at him through defeated eyes, only to find a sadistic dark gaze thrown his way, he keeps his hands flat on his chest, there’s not much fight in him. The fingers pull until he feels his scalp tearing from his skull and he cries out. Master smiles at the sounds he makes, like a father watching his child sweetly speak gibberish. Finally, the hand lets go, but Lucas’s eyes stay leveled with his owner’s.
“On your knees.”
He drops to his knees like it’s instinct.
“Heel.” He starts stepping towards an empty wall between the bookshelves. On the wall hang two chained handcuffs, fixated by nails on the green wallpaper, his personal modification to make the study feel more like home to his precious little pet.
Lucas follows behind him with ease, used to the scratching of his knees as he crawls by his master’s feet, the hard wood beneath him gives its place temporarily to the soft wool of the Persian rug as they cross the middle of the room and then the uncomfortable wood again.
He extends his arms so that they can be restrained. An air of superiority lines his owner’s smile and he can’t help but pat the willing puppy on the head.
Once his wrists are firmly secured, the sheer fabric covering his upper body is ripped through. He sits there awkwardly as master pulls the remains aside.
His vision is limited to the wall in front of him now. Footsteps track distant and stop a few feet behind him. He listens intently now, all his senses heightened, they always are in these situations, when his brain knows something bad, something painful, is going to happen and his body is unable to do anything but stay still and notice every sensory trigger possible. Now even his mind won’t do anything but sit still and take it all in, defiance is no longer defined in his dictionary. The sound his hypersensitive ears catch next is that of a belt undone, followed by his next command.
“Stretch your back for me darling”
He does as told, moving his knees and elbows in opposite directions until every inch of his back - littered with wounds and physical implications of mental trauma - is exposed and stretched to full capacity.
“You ready sweetheart?”
Lucas keeps his head down and squeezes his eyes shut as if that makes anything better. He belatedly answers when he realizes he is expected to.
“Y- yes, master.”
The belt cracks in the air before it lands on his back. The leather is thick and heavy, and the pain that spreads through his bones and muscles is sickening.
His sweet voice breaks into a scream, so pleasant that his tormentor stops to appreciate it for a second. Another blow brings another sweet cry out of him. He could do this forever.
“Your body’s such a beautiful canvas, it would be a shame not to cover it with art.”
Lucas doesn’t move his composition an inch, offering his naked back for his owner to take his rage out on. However, he yawps as the belt whips his tender skin, one blow from the right and one from the left rhythmically, and the occasional cracks in the air just to make the already tremoring boy flinch even harder in anticipation of pain.
His tears slide straight onto the parquet and his head falls down between his strained arms, chin touching the chest. Master must see it because the next blow comes down on him harsher and faster than the rest and the edges of the belt cut into his skin.
His head rises, he shrieks and tears stream down his reddened eyes, his perfect posture is disturbed slightly. Such a sight. Though it is fun to break defiant brats, it’s even more enjoyable to crush an obedient mutt.
“M- master- “ he sobs. Several cuts on his back are bleeding now.
“What is it, pet?” He stops and walks closer to the bleeding trembling boy.
Lucas ducks his head back down. He had learned time and time again that asking for it to stop only brings him punishment. That word was involuntary, he regrets saying anything at all, even more so when his head is yanked backward by his brown curls drawing a wince out of him. Master’s dark eyes drill a hole into his blushing cheeks.
“Don’t be shy now boy. Beg me to stop. Cry for my mercy. All your wishes just might eventually come true.”
He smiles. It’s frightening and hits the naked boy’s body like a winter blizzard, sending visible shivers down his spine.
His head is let go just to fall limply between his arms again and he can hear footsteps retracting through loud sobs.
Suddenly, something soft grips his neck, silky…the tie. The loop he helped loosen earlier, tightens around his neck more than it should and it’s pulled up until he chokes out. Master looks at him with pity eyes as he loses composure and chokes himself even harder. He claws at the floor with his feet to keep his head up but the noose moves higher and higher, blocking all oxygen from ever touching his windpipe.
“If you want to breathe, ask nicely.”
His eyes turn in their place to stare innocently into those of his master. There’s not much air left in him to form coherent words.
“S- sir…p- nghh; please…Ah” only whispers leave his mouth. He gasps for air with his mouth open and a stream of tears down his messed-up face.
“-ease p-..mas- Ha- hngha.. mast- “ his face turns a dark shade of purple, matching the violet tie around his throat.
His owner only lets go of his lead a moment before he loses consciousness, or maybe one after. Either way the boy’s head falls to his chest, his weak naked body spattered across the room, only hanging up by tied-up wrists. The gradually fastening rise and fall of his chest is all the movement he makes. He mercifully undoes his restraints so the boy can catch his breath
Master pulls a chair to sit beside his panting mess of a pet on the ground and lights his cigarette calmly. Lucas slowly regains consciousness and pulls himself to sit on his knees, the tie still wrapped around his slender neck and vision still disoriented, back still hurting and bleeding, the exhaustion overtakes the pain by the slightest.
A snap of fingers. That means there’s an order to follow. His eyes look for the source of the sound. Master gestures for him to come closer.
His numb limbs are having a hard time trying to follow his brain’s orders but eventually, he pulls himself to all fours and crawls to the bigger man in the chair. The tie dangles around his neck like a runaway dog’s leash; except he could never run away, he has an extremely thoughtful owner, always alert and cautious, even after…four years and seven months and fourteen days - well fifteen now.
His sweaty palms make sticky sounds against the floor until he’s at his sir’s feet. He fits his body between his legs and rests his dizzy head on the lap of the other.
He knows this ritual by heart, after every single play or training or punishment or ‘let me take everything out on you because I can’ session, master smokes his cigarette as he winds down and then…zzzz…signs his brutalized body with the hot end of the cigarette. He hardly even flinches at the burning pain anymore, he’s way too beaten and it’s way too familiar. It almost feels reassuring even, a sign that agony is over for the time being. He’s relieved.
His body is carpeted in these marks, he couldn’t count them even if he wanted to. Most of them overlap, but master has his favorite spots, his neck and shoulders for example.
A loving hand sorts out his tangled locks and he dozes off to the touch, right there on master’s thigh. His eyes open sluggishly and look up for another order, or permission to pass out.
“Ah. Thank you pet, I feel much better now. Bring me that whiskey after you’re done cleaning yourself up, would you?”
“Mmhm…yes, sir”
He gently brushes off the stray strands of hair sticking to his sweaty face and bends his neck to press a gentle kiss to the boy’s temple.
“Up now. You’ve been such a good boy for me tonight. You can go to bed when you’ve done as I said. It’s way past your bedtime.” He whispers into his ears with a deep calm voice.
“Mmm..” Lucas nods and gets up on his feet lazily. He tries his best not to stumble over his own feet as he makes his way to the cellar.
Lucas is glad he proved himself useful for his master tonight.
Inspired by one of @whumpitisthen’s dialouge prompts.
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wangxianficrecs · 1 year
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Dream a little dream of me by Moominmammashandbag
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❤️ Dream a little dream of me
by Moominmammashandbag
M, 60k, wangxian
Summary: Lan WangJi braced himself. “Wei Ying.” he said. “You are not dreaming. This is real. You have been rescued.” “The kissing bit comes first!” said Wei Wuxian impatiently. “But…I cannot kiss you if you think you are dreaming!" “I don’t see the logic in that.” said Wei Wuxian. “I obviously want you to kiss me or I wouldn’t be dreaming about it!
Mojo's comments: asdfkljfadslkdsaakjka I have no words. Probably because Author used them all, so well applied to such a charming and surprising story that there are none left for the rest of us. Welp. In which wwx lives, but is caged and tortured by jgy for 9 years before nhs starts with his plan for vengeance. Lwj is roped in, and mxy, and a very confused and disoriented (but happy!) wwx as nhs sets the scene to tear down his brother's murderer. Written with Author's usual engaging flair, snappy dialogue and fearless detours into both angst and humor. This story is a fabulous fix it. I just want to rave for a moment at the audacity and skill it takes to have these two such different scenes in the same story and yet never once jar either the pacing or the tone.
Excerpt 1: “You used to put needles in my mouth.” he said. He shook his head, looking down and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘You broke my fingers, and when they healed you broke them again.” “You should have been more cooperative, then.” said Xue Yang. “Your choice. You can’t blame me for your poor choices.”
Excerpt 2: They reached the door of the Hand’s bedroom, and their little party stopped. Nie Huiasang nodded at the sentries and they acknowledged it impassively, as if their Sect Leader frequently came to visit the possessed arm of his dead brother with a retinue, a [goose] and a bound and gagged man in black.
canon-divergence, wei wuxian lives, prisoner wei wuxian, trope: thinking this is all a dream, first kiss, protective lan wangji, caretaking, banter, mo xuanyu lives, humor, fix it, dreamsharing, dreams vs. reality, references to past torture, hurt/comfort, first time, goose!nie mingjue, mastermind nie huaisang, dream cultivation, happy ending, nie huaisang/mo xuanyu, @moominmammamia​
~*~
(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)
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Febuwhump Prompt Day 8: Panic
CW:  Whump recovery, references to past torture, panic attack
They were safe now.  They were behind several locked doors in the safety of a new home.  They were safe now.
Then why did they feel this way?
Whumpee sat on the floor of their new bedroom in a new city staring at the door with knees clutched to their chest.
They felt like they were going to die.  The waves of turmoil within their chest beat at the walls demanding to be felt, to be noticed.  Their mind wandered back to their time spent with whumper and no matter how much they tried to distract themselves, it always came back to whumper.
Whumper was dead, they reminded themself.  Whumper was dead.  
They felt like the world was going to crash in on itself.  They felt the sting of the knife, the crushing blow of the hammer, the crack of the whip all over again.  Their skin felt clammy and cold at the memory.  
The silence of the apartment did nothing to quell the growing panic of whumpee but it did offer solace for them once it subsided.
@febuwhump
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hylianengineer · 3 months
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I found this rant in my notes from that time a couple months ago when the pharmacy lost my birth control prescription right before a holiday weekend and made me deal with unmedicated PMDD for a week and I was scared out of my mind. Have an angry rant about the inadequacies of the American healthcare system.
When Julian Bashir was a child, he thought that if he was bad, the doctors would make sure he got sick. He grew out of it. But… if you live with a chronic medical condition that requires medical attention to manage, this is kind of just how your life works.
You have to do all the right paperwork and go to all the right appointments and say the right things in order to maintain access to the treatment you need to be healthy. Especially if the meds you need are a controlled substance. You have to be the good patient. You have to, or you’re in for a significant amount of pain and suffering. It feels like a threat hanging over your head.
And sometimes, you’ll do everything right, and then something happens outside of your control to screw everything up. Maybe there’s a shortage of the medication you need. Maybe the pharmacy loses your prescription. But suddenly you don’t have what you need to be okay, and you hurt. More than that, you’re terrified. You don’t want to be in pain. You don’t want to suffer.
You just want to be okay; why is that so hard?
And the doctors don’t mean to hurt anyone! They don’t understand the amount of power they hold over us. They really do, for the most part, want to help. But the system is a mess of power imbalances and red tape and fear fear fear. There are too many bureaucratic road blocks that keep people from getting medical attention. There are too many doctors who don’t give a shit. Who don’t listen to their patients. Who assume the worst of us. We just don’t want to hurt anymore. We don’t mean to be a bother, we just want to be okay.
And we have to put our wellbeing in their hands. We have to hand them our lives and our sanity and hope they hold them gently. And if they don’t? We have to pick a new doctor and do it all over again. What other choice do we have?
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sparrowsage · 4 months
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The Warehouse: Digging Up Old Memories
Buckle up, because this piece is something. I really enjoyed writing this piece, even if it is a giant emotional show lol. A huge shoutout and thanks to @flowersarefreetherapy for giving me the general idea for this piece! I hope I did it justice! And thank you to @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, and @whumpcereal for cheering me on as always!
HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS ONE!!!
TW: Minor whump (Jayden is 14), head injury, threatened noncon drugging, implied noncon (off screen), threatened noncon, mentions of past noncon and torture, implied future noncon, character death (off screen), suicidal thoughts, adult character referred to as 'boy', adult language, heavy grieving ((If I missed anything, please tell me and I'll add it!))
“No, I’m sick of doing this shit!” Jayden yelled, stepping back from Logan as the Keeper moved in closer, towering over the teen. “You never stay true to your word! I can’t let you stand by and hurt Sparrow after I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do!” 
Sparrow stared at the two of them, wide-eyed as fear grabbed hold of him. Sure, Sparrow’s challenged the Keeper’s here plenty of times, but that was because whatever ended up happening would happen to him. Jayden fighting back like this? All for his sake? It was thoughtful, but he couldn’t handle the wrath of the Keepers. 
Logan backed Jayden up against the wall, his hand shooting forward to the kid’s neck, taking hold of his throat in a tight grip just shy of suffocating him. 
“I’d be real careful about your choice here, boy. That piece of shit over there doesn’t deserve a hero, let alone a scrawny one such as yourself. Everyone always comes to the realization that they can’t escape this fate, one way or another. It’s easier for the both of you if you just follow my orders. So what’ll it be, pretty boy? Are you going to show me and the bastard here how much of a good listener you are and suck me off or are you going to continue your little defiant act thinking you can best me?” 
Jayden’s hands were around the Keeper’s wrist, doing his best to try and scratch Logan in an attempt to get the hand off his neck, but it wasn’t working. He was too weak. At the question, Jayden stared right back at Logan, his expression sharp enough to cut diamonds. 
“Jayden, please-,” Sparrow tried, on the verge of getting up from his spot against the wall by the door. Logan had told him to stay put and that if he moved, he’d force Sparrow to watch the worst Showing he’d ever put Jayden through. 
“Shut up, runt,” Logan growled, his head turning slightly in Sparrow’s direction. “He has to make this decision on his own.” 
There was silence for a couple seconds and Sparrow could feel the anger rolling off the both of them in waves. 
“You and this whole place can go rot in hell. I’m not following another one of your stupid orders just because you think you deserve respect,” Jayden finally spat, bracing himself against the wall before kicking his foot out, his heel landing a direct hit to Logan’s crotch. 
The Keeper could hardly brace himself before Jayden’s foot connected with his crotch, Logan doubling over for a moment, his hand never leaving Jayden’s throat, before a loud, angry scream erupted out of his mouth. 
In a fluid motion, Logan used all the strength he could muster and lifted Jayden by his neck and threw him to the left over by his desk. Sparrow watched on in horror as he saw the fear and terror flash across Jayden’s eyes as he went flying before the back of the teen’s head connected with the sharp corner of Logan’s desk. He crumpled to the floor as Logan doubled over again, letting out small groans of pain. 
“Jayden!” Sparrow shouted, his body jerking momentarily as he went to get up, but remembered Logan’s threat from earlier, causing him to stay in place. 
He wasn’t getting up and there was blood leaking out onto the floor. Sparrow couldn’t tell if he was breathing. 
“Jayden, get up!” he cried out, Sparrow’s whole body frozen in fear. 
“Shut the fuck up!” Logan yelled, his head turning sharply to look at Sparrow. 
“No, please, he’s not getting up!” Sparrow pleaded, his fists white with how tight they were balled up. “Please, I’ll do whatever the fuck you want, just take him to the medical ward, please!” 
Logan chuckled slightly as he was finally able to stand up straight again. “Oh, you think a bit of pleading will convince me to get him treated? As if. The little shit deserved it, thinking he could fight back like that. Besides, you stupid mutts always seem to recover. He’ll be fine come tomorrow.” 
Instead of continuing on with what he had planned, Logan gave one last look to Jayden and Sparrow before deciding to leave his office. There’d be time to do things with them later. 
Sparrow let out a snarl as Logan passed him to leave, waiting for the door to shut before he rushed over to Jayden, his hands hovering over his body, afraid that a single touch would make his friend crumble into dust. 
#####
“No, you have to let me stay with him!” Sparrow shouted, desperately trying to fight his way out of Josh’s grip on him. “Let me go!” 
“You’re scheduled for a Showing and there’s no way you’re missing it,” Josh growled, his grip seeming to get tighter the more Sparrow fought. “He’ll be fine and you’ll get to go back to the main room and see him once the Showing is over.” 
“No, he needs me to stay with him since you fuckers won’t take him to the medical ward! Let go of me!” 
Josh stopped trying to drag Sparrow forward and out of Logan’s office, instead pulling him in close with an iron tight grip on both his wrists. Their faces were mere inches apart and Sparrow could feel the warmth of his breath. “I won’t hesitate to inject you full of muscle relaxers, boy. You know as much as I do that you’ll do anything to fight back during these things, so do you really want to give up being able to move all because you want to sit by your little friend?” 
Sparrow’s body froze at the threat, his eyes going wide for a moment. Josh was right, he couldn’t go through a Showing drugged up like that. He’d have no control (not that he did during Showings) over anything. He couldn’t get injected with that stuff. 
Josh smirked as Sparrow stayed still, finally continuing towards the door to the office. “That’s what I thought. Once it’s over, you’ll be able to spend as much time with the little runt as you want.” 
#####
Sparrow wasn’t proud of the Showing he just went through. It had to have been the most compliant he’s ever been during one, but he didn’t want it to be dragged out. His only thought and priority was getting back to Jayden to make sure he was okay. 
Josh had been surprised with how compliant he had been, as was the audience that showed up to watch. It was utterly embarrassing, but he didn’t care enough to not do it. He would have been the most compliant pet in the entire facility if it had meant getting out of that Showroom faster. 
Once the Showing was done, Josh walked him back to the main hallway before leaving him there to do his own thing. The moment Josh left him, Sparrow started running to the main rooms, his heart rate picking up as he tried to get to the room as fast as he could. 
Sparrow was almost certain Logan would have moved him out of his office during the Showing, so the most logical place to put him would be one of the main rooms. That, or Jayden had woken up and Logan kicked him out of his office and he made his way to their spot in one of the main rooms. If Sparrow didn’t see him in there, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. 
When Sparrow finally made it to the doorway that led into the main room he and Jayden usually ended up in, he scanned the entire room, trying desperately to locate his friend. His anxiety was starting to climb with each face he saw, none of them being the young teen before his eyes landed on a figure in the corner where Jayden and him sat most of the time. 
He was there, sitting in his normal spot, looking completely fine. Jayden was waiting for him. 
Sparrow did his best to make it over to the back corner of the room, nearly tripping over several pets as they tried to sleep or just pass time, not even bothering to let out any kind of apology before making it over to his friend. 
“Jayden!” he called out, falling to his knees in front of his friend before embracing the teen in a tight hug. 
“You’re okay! You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he said, his voice going quiet as he spoke, letting things sink in. His friend was okay, he was alive and that was all Sparrow cared about. 
“Of course I’m okay. Do you really think a bump on the head would keep me down?” Jayden joked, hugging Sparrow back. 
Sparrow pulled back slightly, his hands still on Jayden’s shoulders, afraid that if he let go, Jayden would disappear. “It’s just - you collapsed once your head hit the desk, a-and Logan refused to bring you to the medical ward, and then I was dragged off for a Showin-”
“Sparrow,” Jayden interrupted, his voice a bit firm, “I’m alright, I promise. I can’t die that easily. Besides, we promised each other we’d find a way to escape this place some day. I can’t go back on my word, now can I?” 
Sparrow wiped at his eyes, tears starting to form. “I’m just happy you’re okay. And you’re right, we are going to escape this place one day. Just please don’t go pissing off any more Keeper’s. Leave that to me, I can handle it.” 
Just then, the entire main room started to fade out, a black abyss surrounding the two of them. Sparrow didn’t even notice, his entire focus was on his friend. 
Jayden looked at Sparrow with a soft smile, his head slightly tilted to the side.
“I know you can. That fighting spirit is what’s giving me hope that you’ll be able to make it out of here alive. If you hold onto that, you’ll be able to escape. Just keep fighting. For the both of us.” 
Sparrow faltered a bit at that. “W-wait, what do you mean by that? We’re going to get out of here together.” 
Jayden didn’t answer, continuing to give Sparrow that soft, warm smile that he cherished so much as he slowly faded away. Before Jayden was completely gone, Sparrow reached forward, trying to grab hold of him before he fully disappeared, leaving Sparrow alone in the dark abyss.  
#####
Sparrow woke with a jump, jolting up from his spot on the floor of Damon’s office. Looking around the dark and empty room, Sparrow couldn’t see Jayden and was a bit confused, but mostly worried. 
Where was he? Jayden had just been in front of him a second ago. He wanted that back, he needed it back. 
The more he woke up though, the more things finally started to settle in. 
Four days ago, he had been brought back to the Warehouse from his two week stay at Volkov’s island, having gone through his ‘welcome home’ Showing yesterday. Two months ago, Damon had been put in charge of training him, starting up a brand new hell for him to navigate on his own. Five years ago, the Keeper’s gave up trying to train him because he was deemed a lost cause and couldn’t be trained, instead just using him as a free-for-all and overall enjoying causing him pain, discomfort and humiliation. Seven years ago was when he had watched Logan give his one and only friend a death blow and then later finding out that Jayden had died all alone while he was in a Showing Josh forced him to go through, unable to be with him in his final moments to make him feel safe and loved. 
As reality came crashing back, Sparrow couldn’t help the gut wrenching sob that erupted out of his throat, the pet clutching his hands close to his chest as he curled into himself. 
Ever since it happened, Sparrow had done all he could to repress that memory to the point that he couldn’t remember it at all. All he chose to remember was that Jayden died. Everything else, how it happened, the look of fear and terror right before his head connected with the desk, how much he tried to fight back as Josh dragged him off to the Showing, Logan’s fucking taunting once he finally told Sparrow what they did with Jayden after he died, he wanted to forget and never remember. 
He had no idea why the memory resurfaced. It had been so long ago, yet now he could remember every detail clearly, as if he were reliving it in full. It was the worst pain he has ever felt and would probably ever feel. And what made it worse was that his head went and twisted the events, giving him the false hope that Jayden was alive and fine. But Sparrow could never see him again. 
After a couple more minutes, Sparrow wiped the tears from his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control. It had to have been close to morning, if he had to guess, and Damon would be here soon to put him through another day of hell. If the Keeper walked in and saw him crying or saw the evidence that he had been crying, Sparrow would never hear the end of it. 
Before he could put a cap on his emotions, he felt another sob bubble up from his chest and before he could stop himself, he reared his fist back, sending it straight towards the wall beside him. The wall stayed intact but Sparrow let out a loud shout before biting his tongue, cradling his hand. 
Why couldn’t one of these guys have killed him too? Why couldn’t he have had the peace that his friend had? All he wanted was to be with Jayden again, because he was the only one that made this place bearable. His smile and laugh lifted his spirits no matter how he felt and his presence made Sparrow feel safe, even though there wasn’t a single thing either of them could do when the Keepers came for them. If he didn’t have that, if he didn’t have him here, there wasn’t much of a point to keep fighting. 
The pain that now pulsed from his bleeding and possibly broken hand acted as an anchor to the real world for him and Sparrow was able to stop the tears from falling, taking in a couple deep breaths before he felt like himself again. Damon would probably point out his hand when he came in later, but right now, Sparrow didn’t care. If Damon was overly concerned about it, he’d get it looked at because unlike Logan, Damon wasn’t going to sit by and have a wound that looked serious enough unchecked. Sparrow had no doubt that the Keeper wouldn't let him die before he himself molded Sparrow into the perfect pet. 
Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whumpcereal (if you want to be added, let me know!)
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honeycollectswhump · 7 months
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Things End | People Change – Staining Touch
this is shameless friendfiction of my dear friend @whumpcloud's story Things End | People Change, featuring poorest little meow meow vincent, my beloved. go check it out if you haven't already !!!
CW: guilt, so so much self-blame and self-deprication, references to past torture and also past SA undertones (vincent is going through it)
Clary has brought him something new, something to slowly fill out the empty space of the basement that is not his but as close as it gets. 
It’s a mirror, almost two-thirds of his height, strange and wobbly and cause of a weird noise Vincent cannot categorize into his existing knowledge when it is bent. Arguably, it is doing a very bad job of being a mirror, besides the fact that it is floppy and almost entertainingly noisy before being put up on the wall, because it distorts his reflection at the edges, pulling him into comical shapes like dough if he moves.
But most importantly, most off-puttingly is the fact that it portrays his reflection at all. 
At first, he can do nothing but stare.
In a little under two hundred years, all Vincent has seen of himself was through the eyes of others and those never regarded him too kindly. Not that he didn’t share that sentiment.
He knows what he can see, from the brown of his hair to the shape of his body, he knows what little is left that connects him to Henry, like the green of his eyes, and he knows what separates him, like the scar that sits right under them, as if mocking. 
And now that he can see his eyes again, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, for the first time in two human lifespans, which is distinctly one more than he had any right to, he can’t look at what remains of Henry without seeing what remains of Lyfelde. 
That man, he… 
Vincent swallows. If it could, his undead heart would be beating faster –skipping like a rabbit– with each step that thought takes.
…He loved to leave marks. 
Not for some desperate desire to be remembered in an ever-changing world, but instead with the same expectations as couples that carve their initials in the bark of a tree, curious to see the way the tree tries and fails to heal the cuts, to see how they will twist with time.
Vincent is no stranger to cuts, to initials carved into his delicate flesh, to being torn open for amusement and to satiate careless curiosity, even though they will never show on his skin, no matter how he twists and turns to get a good look at himself in the mirror.
Lyfelde however never needed force to leave evidence of himself, even if he can proudly wear the title of the last permanent remainder of Vincent’s weak mortality long gone by, and at his hands no less.
After years and years of captivity, of relentless, giddy torture, Vincent couldn’t point out individual marks of memory, couldn’t remember the incisions, the lacerations, the breaks, only the aftermath, the pain ripping at the edges of his sanity.
But when Vincent closes his eyes, when he imagines his being as he sees himself, there are stains on his chest, in the shape of a freezing claw, long delicate fingers decorated with rings much older than Vincent ever hopes to be. 
There is one right over his heart, claiming it rightfully as Lyfelde’s, honouring the hard work he put into tearing him apart just to shape him into a–
Into a toy.
He is collared –like a pet–, marked by two hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing, a brute display of strength Vincent thought could keep him safe. 
Even now, after all of these years, his mind produces the image of his hands clearer than the face that is already blurred beyond recognition by time. Neither time nor the Hunters could beat Lyfelde’s touch out of Vincent’s memories.
Vincent stretches, looking over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the way his ribs protrude through sickly ashen skin. Even the thought that this is a far cry from his jutting ribcage in captivity, the corpselike result of starvation, turns sour with the sacrifice of those that feed him. 
He is tainted, he knows, from comfort twisted to form a blade –a stake– and embraces that should have been kind and understanding, that Vincent now can’t even bring himself to call “warm”.
He wonders –briefly– if, behind his back, in the security of Vincent’s blindness, Lyfelde’s expressions would have betrayed his intentions. If there was a way a trick of light and precognition could have warned him, if he had just seen it, seen the signs that should have been so glaringly obvious.
Still, at the cost of himself, he had found comfort and solace in the deathly cold touch, and that should have been warning enough.
Almost obsessively, his gaze scans over his own marred, unmarred skin, even as it is stretched and squished by the metal-mirror, now that he finally has the chance to, after decades of nothing. Some quiet, drowned-out part of him whispers back that this is why he avoided anything similar for so long, that the evasion of his own reflection was not only by force of his vampirism but by some self-preserving instinct.
It’s excruciating in a way that is dangerously addicting, a sizzling fire that he cannot look away from. Pain for the sake of pain for the sake of entertainment. 
Curiosity and her twin sister punishment.
If he dares to let his eyes drop lower, his hips will carry two hand-shaped brands of intimacy and trust that were only ever one-sided, burned into his skin deeper than any silver and scratch marks betraying the attempts to rid himself of the ever-present poison seeping from every pore. 
They condemned him to be both poisoned and poison at the same time, always a victim and always a monster and always rightfully so.
Vincent swipes the mirror from the wall, heaving, watching it fall to the ground, deafening but too slow. He wants to fall to his knees, begging and ripping the metal to shreds, ripping his own reflection to shreds so that he will never have to look at it again. … So that it will never be looked at again.
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whumpacabra · 3 months
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20. 10/10 Interrogation
Angst, past trauma, past captivity, referenced military setting, referenced torture, referenced murder, fictional politics
AU Masterpost / Previous / Next
“Sargent Harrison Gomez. Translator and technician for TF-42, deployed from Carson City, Nevada Tuesday June 3rd, 2003.” The words were practically a script, slurred between bloodied teeth between screams from broken bones. A prayer, a litany against surrender. But he wasn’t there anymore - there was no surrender to fear here. Wherever here was. Harrison paused as the Deputy scribbled down the information in his notebook. “Can I ask a - a dumb question?”
“Sure.” Thomas looked up, still parsing the words he had transcribed.
“Where - where am I? Where’s - I know this is Cedar Creek or - or something - but…”
“You’re in Cedar Hills, Idaho. Southwest corner of the state - just north of the Nevada line.” His eyes scanned over his notepad, brow furrowed. Harrison interrupted whatever thoughts were churning behind those dark eyes.
“Okay - okay. Okay. Dumb question number - number two - what’s today date?”
“February 29th, 2004. Leap year and all.”
8 months.
He had spent the last 8 months buried beneath the same soil he was sworn to protect. He had spent the last 8 months bleeding and starving and bearing witness to horrific human rights abuses on that soil.
8 months.
It felt longer - it felt wrong that years, or decades hadn’t passed. It felt wrong that more than a few days or weeks had been lost to pain and fear and grief. Had they been declared MIA? KIA? He was supposed to see his mother for Christmas that year - his niece Mel was so excited to show grandma her new knitting skills.
8 months.
He missed the new Lord of the Rings movie.
He wanted to laugh and cry and scream.
“Okay.” Harrison nodded, voice flat and expression blank. Laughing and crying and screaming didn’t help in the bunker, and it wouldn’t help now. He was lucky this small town cop hadn’t shot him on sight - a haggard, blood covered man of color half hysterical with panic and dehydration.
“You don’t seem okay with that…are you sure you’re - ”
“No, but it won’t change time and space if I was.” Harrison shrugged, shaking his head as if it would help clear the desire to scream until his lungs gave out. “Sorry, just - just wanted to get myself oriented. What were you going to ask next?”
“Sure, sure…” Thomas wasn’t convinced but the suspicion in his eyes was drowned by gentle curiosity. “You’re Sargent Harrison Gomez, and he is..?” The deputy nodded his head toward the door they had taken Wolf through.
“Wolf.” Harrison swallowed the half formed sentences on his tongue. He tortured me, my squadmates - killed my CO with a rabid dog and made us watch. He was tortured in ways I can’t imagine surviving. He got thrown into the same dark hole as me when we were left for dead. He got us out of the Box. He saved me from a fate worse than death. He took a bullet for me. I hate him and I can’t at the same time. “Just - I only know him as the Wolf.”
“He’s not one of your squadmates?” It was an honest question, Thomas’ brow pinched in thought. Harrison strangled the flare of offense in his gut - how dare he put the Wolf on the same level of comradeship as Elias and Merrick and Orson and Thatch and Clement -
“No. No, he - he was just in the shithole as us.” They had been there for 8 months. How long had the Wolf been down there? Was his real name on one of the dog tags weighing heavy in Harrison’s pocket?
“Oh. You two seemed…well acquainted.”
“Between getting shot at together and talking to him for however long to keep him awake until…until he stopped talking…well, we aren’t friends, but he’s not some random stranger.”
It was odd to consider. He knew more about his torturer than he knew about Thomas, or Dan, or Merrill. (Not that he knew much.)
“Is there anything identifying you know about him? Outside of his name, of course.”
“German. I think he’s German - he - he spoke German when he was…scared.” Harrison swallowed thickly, forcing down the memory of the Box and the Dark and the smell as the Wolf begged him not to touch him. “His Arabic is good. Accent was always just a little off - makes more sense after hearing him in his mother tongue.”
“Why was he speaking in Arabic?” Harrison opened his mouth, and then closed it. Thomas’ body language shifted, a tension gathering in his jaw. “Son, we won’t hurt you boys, but if you know something that could save lives - ”
“They weren’t terrorists.” Harrison bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing back the spark of anger in his chest. He thought they had been. He thought for so long he was under a different continent’s sand. “They were American.”
“Are you sure?”
“I - I’m not crazy.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“Don’t.” Harrison felt a cruel laugh bubble in his throat. “Don’t you fucking dare - I’ve spent the last fucking 8 months thinking I was watching terrorists torture and - and murder my squadmates only to crawl out and find I’m not a day’s travel from home.” The laugh hiccuped into a sob. “If they’re terrorists and - and they somehow got set up out here then this damn country is fucked. They’ve got enough men and firepower there to wipe out this town overnight.”
“You’ve been through a lot.” What a polite way to call him insane. But he didn’t have the energy to flinch away from Thomas’ gentle, steady hand as he rubbed Harrison’s shoulder. “How about we talk once you’ve rested up a bit? I’ll…keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”
“The hard drive…” His voice was hoarse, throat strangling his words. “The - there’s a duffel in the truck. We grabbed anything we could - I, there’s a hard drive.” Thomas’ eyes flicked away, guilt in his voice.
“We don’t have any computers in town. County library has a few…”
Of course this hick town wouldn’t have a single computer between them. Harrison’s sobs turned to gasping sighs.
“I’m sorry. I’m - I’m not lying. I wish - maybe - 8 fucking months.”
He was too tired to cry anymore today.
AU Masterpost / Previous / Next
(An AU of my Freelancers series)
Taglist: @i-eat-worlds
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rookthorne · 1 year
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Battle Worn | ꜱᴛᴜᴄᴋʏ
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Pairing; Stucky (post!TWS) Word count; 1.5k Warnings; hurt/comfort, disordered eating, cibophobia, reference to past torture and medical procedure, reference to WS!Bucky, swearing, petnames A/N; WELL, WE'RE DIVING RIGHT INTO THE DEEP END WITH THIS ONE! What Bucky goes through in this is what I deal with on the daily with my cibophobia, so it was very fucking difficult to write, but also cathartic. Please, please, please, heed the warnings on this one.
WHUMPTOBER MASTERLIST
Sometimes battles should not be fought alone. A Sergeant needed his Captain, after all. 
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It was a strange burn; coiling itself around his stomach like a live wire while he sat at the table silently, on his own. 
Bucky was no stranger to pain - hell, he was no stranger to suffering - but this, this was different. 
He could vaguely recall the time he spent under the illusion that what Hydra was doing to him was normal; a demented definition of health. The memory of being strapped to a chair, the acrid taste of plastic, and the way his throat constricted and gagged around the intrusion of a tube, caused a savage bubble of nausea to pop in his stomach and coat his insides like poison.
There was no way in hell that what they did was healthy, Bucky thought bitterly. 
He was eyeing the bowl sitting before him with the highest level of mistrust and suspicion anyone could look at a bowl of soup with. If Steve were awake, and the situation wasn’t so fucked up, he would have probably laughed with Bucky over how outlandish this all was. 
Only a fool, an idiot, would be afraid of food, right? Right?
Bucky shook his head quickly, defiantly stopping those thoughts in their tracks. He was no fool, and he was not an idiot. He is a survivor. A survivor of the worst kind of depraved torture anyone could dream up - sane, or insane. 
Steve, for all his grace and goodness, explained that what Bucky was feeling was hunger. For the entirety of the 70 years he was under Hydra’s control, Bucky had never felt hunger; there was no burn this strong and this intense that he could recall. It was safe to assume that whatever drugs they had pumped him with kept him chemically suppressed and satiated. 
The tube was only a tool to keep him alive, to keep him functional. It was of utmost priority and importance that his ability to maim and kill remained unhindered, and that was all that mattered. 
“Sick bastards,” he muttered resentfully, toying with the spoon like he would a blade.
It was still quiet in the kitchen, and the silence was beginning to press against his eardrums.
A sudden sharp pang of hunger tore its way through his stomach making him inhale sharply and groan quietly as he exhaled. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself to just eat, it did not work. 
“Buck?” Speak of the devil. “Are you alright?”
Light footsteps echoed off the stark white cabinets of the shared kitchen, but Bucky didn’t look over his shoulder to greet Steve - he was still staring at the bowl of soup like it would pull out a knife and hold it against his throat at any second. “Steve.” 
Please help, Bucky almost pleaded, but this was a battle to fight on his own. He was determined to get better, for Steve. 
A true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him. 
“Chicken noodle?” Steve questioned while smiling lightly. Bucky nodded stiffly, still staring determinedly down and into his bowl. Steve’s gentle grip to his shoulder didn’t make him flinch away and Bucky counted that as at least one win for the night. “Feeling peckish myself, I’ll grab a bowl,” a squeeze to his shoulder and Steve was gone. 
There was a quiet clatter in the kitchen and Steve reappeared a moment later, bowl in hand, and Bucky watched carefully from the corner of his eye as he approached and sat down on the bench across from him. 
“We didn’t have anything this good back in the day, Buck,” Steve grinned and gestured to his bowl.
“You keep talkin’ like that and people will start to believe you’re an old man.”
Steve barked a laugh and Bucky felt his mouth twitch into a small smile, unable to manage much more when panic was keeping a tight vice-like grip around his chest. He could feel the silver strain against the tight grip of his hand, and Steve noticed. 
“F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Steve called to the ceiling. “Can you please play some soft jazz or something for us?” Not even a second later a melodic tune carried through the speakers in the corner of the ceiling. “Thank you,” Steve looked back to Bucky and smirked. Bucky could not fathom how Steve could smile so much. “Beats having a phonograph, doesn’t it?” 
Bucky only stared back into Steve’s face, frozen with fear over some damn soup. “Yeah,” he gritted out against the rise of bile in his throat and he quickly looked back down at his bowl. It wasn’t uncharacteristic of him to be quiet - a man of few words, Nat had said - but every word he managed came out strained. Bucky hated it.
Showing any sign of weakness would get him beaten or killed. 
No, it wouldn’t, Bucky forced back against the torrent of thoughts that crowded his mind. He was safe. Steve was here. 
The clatter of a spoon against a bowl made his eyes snap up to find Steve bringing the utensil full of steaming soup to his mouth. Bucky had seen people eat before, more often than not perched on the edge of a building and looking through the scope of his rifle as his targets always rushed - finishing their meals with such haste. 
Steve wasn’t rushed. He was content. A small smile graced his features when he finally tasted the first spoon of soup. 
“Give it a shot, Buck,” Steve encouraged, lowering his spoon to gesture to Bucky’s own bowl. 
“What if-” Bucky hesitated, flinching slightly at the memory that played on a loop. “What if I don’t like it?”
Steve smiled sadly. “Well, then we’ll find you a soup that you do like.” Another clink of his spoon sounded as he moved to swallow another mouthful. The bowl between Bucky’s elbows suddenly seemed more inviting as he stared down at it. 
But the relief he felt at Steve’s answer that he wouldn’t be beaten to a pulp was short lived when another memory took its place. 
“What if it,” Bucky paused when he felt Steve staring at the crown of his head. There was no way for Bucky to ask while holding Steve’s gaze. “What if it hurts, Steve?”
He hated how scared he sounded, and he cursed quietly when Steve placed his own spoon gently down on the table. There was a shuffling sound and suddenly there was a presence beside him - not imposing or overpowering, but soft and caring. 
“Then I’ll be here to help you through it, sweetheart,” Steve’s hand was warm on Bucky’s back as it rubbed small circles, and it was all Bucky could do to suppress a small sob of fear. “C’mon, I’m right here.”
Maybe he didn’t have to fight this battle on his own. 
The spoon shook in Bucky’s hold but Steve placed his own steady hand over Bucky’s, and it was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, but surely, Bucky swallowed his first mouthful of soup. 
It was a strange texture against his tongue and the roof of his mouth, but it tasted good; a thousand times better than the slop he had endured for decades on end when the tube failed. Encouraged, Bucky swallowed another mouthful with a much steadier hand. Steve’s hand never left his back and the hand that covered Bucky’s moved to rest on his thigh. 
“What d’you think?”
Bucky smiled nervously and nodded. “S’good.”
The beaming smile Steve gave him was brighter than the sun, and it was more than enough encouragement to keep going. 
Four mouthfuls later, the knot in Bucky’s stomach tightened with a vengeance against the weight of an unknown substance. Panicked, he slammed the spoon down and hugged his arms to his stomach with a whimper, desperate to alleviate the ache that had started to bloom. 
“Hey, hey,” Steve rushed, throwing one leg over the bench so he could scoot closer. “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”
Bucky wanted to speak but the threat of opening his mouth and losing all of the progress he had fought to make - it was too much. A small hiccup sounded before he could suppress it and Bucky could feel himself begin to shake. 
“All right, it’s all right,” Steve whispered while pulling Bucky close, one hand resting against Bucky’s waist and the other cradled his head to Steve’s shoulder. “I need you to breathe with me, sweetheart, I know you can do it.”
The rhythmic rise and fall of Steve’s chest was easy to follow and Bucky persisted through more hiccups and whimpers of pain to breathe. “That’s it, Buck, you’re doin’ so good,” Steve soothed, his hand gently rubbing up and down Bucky’s side. 
A sudden pressure on top of his head made Bucky tense for a split second until he realised Steve had nuzzled against him. Stomach be damned, Bucky thought, forcing his body to relax into Steve’s arms.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. So damn proud.” 
Bucky couldn’t help but weep quietly at Steve’s words, and Steve only held him tighter. Chicken noodle soup quickly became Bucky’s favourite, symbolising much more than the comfort it brought; a story of recovery, and of strength.
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I want to thank @d-desrosiers for helping me through this one. I wouldn't have been able to do it without you and I can never, ever express my gratitude adequately for you being my best friend and seeing me deal with what Bucky goes through in this one, and you still hang around. I love you so much.
Graphics & Header made by yours truly.
Masterlist | Library | AO3 | Wattpad
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coffeeandcalligraphy · 11 months
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Easter eggs & also they’re in love | Seventh Virtue
“Why did you do it?” Harrison asks. Lonan is lovely, isn’t he? He’s always looked like a sculpture, but Harrison realizes that that isn’t quite right—he looks better than them. The muse.
Lonan grips Harrison’s wound, shaking his head as he lets out a sad laugh. “I was desperate to love you.”
Harrison laughs too. Because it’s funny, how in another plane, their lives could’ve been just the two of them driving silently from Oregon to Boston, chasing each other’s ghosts, separating for a year, coming back together on a cliffside. How easy would that’ve been?
Finally finished my SV reread after an unexpected break (5/5 stars, fantastic work of art tailored to all my needs LOL), and I haddddd to share this hilarious excerpt that starts out super sweet with all the romance & Lonan going full hopeless romantic yada yada yada AND THEN devolving into a quick & dirty summary of Moth Work/Feeding Habits.
HOW easy could THAT have been??? BB Harrison is ON THE PHONE.
HAHAHAHAAHAHA
From Seventh Virtue (2023). Contemporary fantasy.
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blue-kyber · 15 days
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I remember what happened.
I'm Caesar on the Ides of March.
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nablah · 5 months
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submitting this self-insert fanfic with blorbo from my philippine history for my rizal class
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Febuwhump Prompt Day 18: Can’t Stay Awake CW: Insomnia, references to past torture, PTSD, nightmares
“Stay awake.  Stay awake.  Stay awake.  Stay.  Awake.”  Whumpee kept repeating this mantra to themselves.  They were sitting with their back up against the wall in their room.
Their very safe room, they reminded themselves.
Their knees were hugged to their chest, head resting on their kneecaps, as they watched the door.
The door that they had locked.  No one else had a key.
They could feel their eyelids drooping, but they couldn’t sleep.  Even though whumper was gone and they couldn’t touch them any more, that didn’t mean they weren’t with whumpee in their dreams.  
Not dreams.  Nightmares.
Every cut, lash stroke, burn, whatever torture whumper thought of always came back to whumpee in their nightmares. 
Couldn’t fall asleep.  Couldn’t stay awake.
@febuwhump
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whumpitisthen · 1 year
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"...What am I even supposed to be?"
"What do you mean, love?"
"No matter how hard I try, it's never good enough for you. You want something different every day! I try to be a good pet, but you want a competent servant that day. I try to be a servant, but your mood changes and now I'm supposed to be acting like some kind of fucked up life partner! Then, when you get bored, you tell me that furniture doesn't talk and call me a toy... And no matter what I do, I always end up getting, getting fucking tortured. What even am I anymore? Please, just tell me! I hate this god damn guessing game all the time!"
"Hmm... Good question."
"You don't even know!"
"I suppose I haven't thought of that."
"Well, make up your mind then! B-Because I can't, I just can't do this anymore, I can't..."
"Don't start crying now. You know I hate to see you cry."
"Oh, do you now? Because I seem to remember you praising me for my 'beautiful tears' just yesterday, when you were done strangling me. But I guess I'm not a pretty prisoner anymore, am I, because your mood has changed since then! Maybe I'm a pet again, or a slave, or a toy, or a housewife, or a lover-"
"Mine."
" - or a piece of furniture... Huh, what?"
"You're mine. That's what you are."
"Wh... But that doesn't-"
"No, hush. You've said a lot more than I wish to tolerate for today. I think I'd rather you stop talking now."
"Aw, did your mood-"
"I said shut it, Whumpee. That's enough out of you.
And yes, my mood did change, thanks to you, and now I would like you to be my little stress toy again. You've gone and made me wanna squeeze the life out of you. You really shouldn't remind me how adorable you look squirming under me when I choke you, by the way. If you hadn't, I might have been content cuddling you a little while longer."
<
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tortoisesshells · 5 months
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if anyone needs me, I'm quietly losing my mind that Blackwall refers to the bad future from "In Hushed Whispers" as a mistake and then again refers to [spoilers] in "Revelations" as a mistake, which, in a game full of people making questionable choices on a scale from "you're wearing that to a ball?" to "world-ending", seems significant.
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liinos · 9 months
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It makes me fucking insane how grad programs are like oh did you not go immediately into a masters? Well you better have a good reason why or we might not think you deserve to get one bc you're not committed 🤭 omg you didn't cure cancer or solve world inequality before applying? Don't even look in our direction 🤮 it's so great you want to further your education it would really be a shame if we made it as hard as possible 👉👈
#you read the shit they want and its like okay guess i should kms would that be enough for you😭#also omg i fr need the whole 3 references needed thing explained bc a lot of people do higher education later in life#for one reason or another and i KNOW professors dont remember people past like. a year so 🤨 what then#also sorry sorry but stuff like that grinds my gears bc some of us keep our heads down and mind or business#we dont network and the whole 'you should do it for your future' idea leaves such a bad taste in my mouth bc it feels exploitative#but like sorry i suffer from crippling shyness and speaking to my professors made me feel like i should have been shot 👍#higher education is so fucked bc they make you jump through so many hoops and like. mf i am still paying you for this#do you want money or not???? like a phd program i get but you pay tuition for a masters.........#anyway. i dont think ill end up bothering bc reading requirements today made me almost cry out of frustration so👍👍👍👍#anyone else feel like everyone else is miles ahead of them and that theyre just floundering😁 woefully underprepared and#underqualified for life and suffering the consequences of being terrified to speak to people in college 👍#and also simultaneously numb to and unable to handle rejection 👍#like i could find non college courses just for personal betterment but even thinking about it fills me with hashtag shame#and it doesnt help that no matter what i do if it isnt smth exactly in line with my parents thinking theyre so judgy about it 😔#and i cant even talk to them about how i feel bc one thing about them they will make me feel sooooo much worse when🤣#they never react the way id want or expect them to its kind of hilarious like i dont even WANT to talk to them#it would be equivalent to torture for me quite frankly 👍 idk maybe ill talk through it with my friend#shes at least sort of where im at but shes also like. Doing Shit and Has Plans so.#but i think she gets me a little bit. granted i may cry and i dont really need to do that in front of her#for many reasons 😭😭 i would fr never be able to face her again#anyway. how are your nights going
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cornfieldsrambles · 6 months
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YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO INFODUMP PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT WIGGLY'S SIBLINGS???? THAT HE APPARENTLY HAS????
omg ok SO
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Meet the Lords in Black. Charming, aren't they?
Yes, Wiggly does indeed have four brothers who all do different things, so I'll cover them one by one, in order of introduction (since we've already met each of them in Nightmare Time at least once). BTW Nightmare Time has a fuckton of lore in it that I won't go into here, so even though I am about to spoil significant parts of it for you, I do recommend watching it, it's really good and if there's enough interest they might make a third one!
(Also you might notice they're all in doll form in this picture. This is how we knew them up until NPMD introduced us to what I call their Tumblr sexyman forms. Which are rad as hell by the way.)
So you already know Wiggly. That little green fucker, Wiggog Y'Wrath, the Capitalist Cthulu who does uwu-speak and starts a cult by invading people's minds. This will become a bit of a reoccurring theme with these guys. He's also the only one to successfully start an apocalypse, and the only one to have attempted to birth himself into our reality. (Or is he? We'll get to that...) He does seem to have some kind of dominion over the other LiB, as whenever all five of them show up there's always emphasis placed on him, like in NPMD where he does most of the talking while his siblings occasionally butt in.
Now for Bliklotep. Blinky seems to have slightly lower-scale ambitions than Wiggly, but don't let that fool you. Eyeball Boi is still incredibly dangerous. He runs an amusement park, WatcherWorld, deep within the Hatchetfield Witchwood. But it's not for the amusement of the patrons. Oh no. It's for Blinky's own amusement. Once you step inside, every insecurity, every shred of potential conflict will be ripped to the forefront, turning people against each other to the point of trying to kill each other until he's fully infected their minds. It's implied that, if not all, but a significant chunk of the workers at WatcherWorld were once patrons before having their minds taken over by Blinky. He's also implied to be the thing in Trail To Oregon that Jack Bauer sees during his venom-induced hallucination, as Blinky is referred to as "The Watcher With 1,000 Eyes", which is exactly what JB says he sees? Making Blinky the only LiB to induce a Starkid crossover. My headcanon is that the Dikrats founded Hatchetfield. But regardless.
Next up on the roster is Tinky. T'noy Karaxis, the Time Bastard. You may be wondering about that one line in NPMD where he recognised Pete as a Spankoffski, and said he "could have the whole set in his toybox". Has Tinky gone after Pete's relatives?
Well. Um. You know Ted, right? Yeah, his name is Spankoffski. He's Pete's big brother. We actually got the surname reveal before the brother reveal, lol. And that's not the only reveal we got about Ted. Our boy Teddy Bear has this whole entire tragic backstory and it turns out he gets fucked over in literally every timeline! Isn't that fun?
So, to summarise an entire episode: Tinky makes travel fuckery happen, Ted wants to go back in time to fix his life, accidentally goes back to before the time machine was created and gets stuck in the past, literally. Tinky is watching and laughing at the whole thing, then shows up to blow Ted's brain to smithereens with his weird little magic box, the Bastard's Box, where he stores all the people he toys with. Anyway Ted eventually catches up with the present by aging, except now no one knows who he is, he's... actually I won't spoil that. But once he dies he ends up eternally trapped and tortured in the Bastard's Box. Yaaay.
Fast forward to Nightmare Time 2 and we get introduced to Nibbly, in possibly the most unexpected way imaginable. He's revealed to have been behind a whole episode literally right at the end of said episode, and even though it was kind of foreshadowed, it hits you like a freight train in the best way. Remember when I said Wiggly was the only one who tried to birth himself into reality? That was kind of a lie. Nibblenephim can sort of do that anyway. Every year, he can possess a bunch of carcasses and create a living form to walk the earth for one night. He also has a cult of followers who provide him with the carcasses, as well as a sacrifice to feed on. There's a little more to it, specifically with how the sacrifice is chosen, but again, I'm trying to spoil as little as possible. Go watch Nightmare Time. Nibbly also seems to have a "pig" motif, and his theme song, The Nibbly Ditty, is a banger, easily my favourite of the three LiB theme songs we've heard so far.
And finally, we are introduced to Pokotho, in the very last episode of NMT2.
Except no. We were formally introduced to Pokey there, yes, but we've seen his apocalypse already. Long before NPMD, before Nightmare Time, even before Black Friday.
Yeah, remember me saying that Wiggly was the only one to successfully start an apocalypse? That was also a lie! Pokey already did that, and he did it without ever showing his masked face. Remember The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals? The blue spores that came down in a meteor and turned everyone into singing zombies? That was Pokey's doing! That's his blue spores! That's his apocalypse!
This also provides an explanation for why blowing up the meteor didn't work. Emma and Hidgens were right about the hivemind thing, but wrong about the location of the central brain. It wasn't the meteor - the meteor was just the vessel which carried the spores to Earth. The central brain was sitting safely up in the Black and White, laughing as Paul blew himself to smithereens. The central brain was Pokey, the Singular Voice, the most uncompromising of his brothers. The one who hates every voice that is not his own, hence the hivemind and making all of his zombies speak in HIS voice.
Anyway in NMT2 he's happily collecting musical zombies by taking on a human form and infiltrating a fighting ring of superpowered children until he has enough to kickstart another apocalypse. (Don't question it, we're almost done). He also calls himself Otho, not Pokey, making him the only LiB to have two different abbreviations of his name. Hannah is also there (remember her? Lex's little sister?) and she is like incredibly important to this whole thing, she has a super powerful mind, but that's a whole other thing.
But I did mention Hannah for a reason. Because you said "Wiggly's SIBLINGS". And while the Lords in Black are always referred to as brothers, they do have one more sibling. A sister. A Queen in White. And her name is Webby.
Yep, Hannah's imaginary friend isn't imaginary, who could have guessed? She's benevolent, always trying her best to combat her brothers' antics, but given that there's one of her and five of them, this is a bit of an uphill battle. Webby doesn't have a full name that we know of, nor does she have a doll. We don't know much about her. And she may not be all-powerful - but then again, neither are her brothers.
Infodump concluded. Hope this helps, it was very fun to write.
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