#tw references to vivisection
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Reluctant War AU Part 3
Part 1 Part 2
More of the brain worm that has taken me over, gonna probably post it to Ao3 here before too long. Already got another part started and so many ideas for additional stuff, someone please send help I've been consumed by this thing lol
Sorry if Waller seems out of character, outside of fandom I'm mostly familiar with her through Justice League the animated show & Justice League: Unlimited and her vibe there has always struck me as "deeply incredibly unlikable character that also kind of has a point but also has done so much fucked up shit in the name of her goals that you don't really care about her point anymore." So you know, complicated lol. If she's completely unrecognizable let me know, but I'm hoping she feels at least somewhat like Waller.
Forgot to say this in the last update, but still feel free to use all this as an overly long prompt if yall want. Literally anything I throw out to the void should be treated as a prompt lol If there's anything at all interesting to you in any of this nonsense go for it <3 <3 <3
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Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.
Ruthless, heartless, vicious, cruel.
She’d been called it all. Wore the words thrown as insults as a badges of pride and valor. Because at the end of the day, when it came to the problems she was given to face, the issues she was meant to solve, those words meant she’d done what others had been too squeamish or cowardly to do. Life was a never ending slog of trolley problems and she the only one unshakable enough to pull the levers that needed pulling.
It wasn’t so simple as a matter of greater good.
Greater good was what the weak willed muttered to themselves after having feelings over doing the bare minimum. A justification used by people on all sides to do what they wanted with fractured, faulty logic thrown around like truth was a thing immutable. To assuage their guilt when they were forced to make a call they didn’t want to.
It wasn’t a matter of greater good. It was a matter of preservation. Of protection. Of digging through the filth to find the threats skittering beneath and crush them with ruthless abandon. Of facing a god and not blinking because if you did it could cost the world.
Of doing what needed to be done, no matter how underhanded or atrocious it was.
Hands dirty.
Hands red.
Hands wrapped tight around the throat of something that could threaten to destroy it all.
When the Ghost Investigation Ward had been shoved her way with it’s sucking wound of a budget, it’s bloated incompetent staff, its asinine methods she’d seen a rotted limb in need of hacking off. It hadn’t been until she’d been conducting her inspection, digging through the trash for a few pearls of effective agents she could snatch up and put to work elsewhere, that she’d truly seen what they were working on. The potential.
Potential to better arm themselves with in the forms of the strange new weapons being created.
Potential for threats far greater than anything even she had thought possible before.
The GIW as it had been when she’d first come across it was a fetid waste of time and resources. A laughing stock agency only secret because no one took them seriously enough to look. Made stupid and useless with its own conceited delusions of importance it didn’t actually have. Yet.
She went to work on it. Hacking away as she’d originally intended, but this time with a different goal in mind. She ripped out the weeds with bare, calloused hands and planted proficiency and loyalty in their place. She took over as director herself, tossing the self-aggrandizing fool that had been running the place into the ground to the dogs as the culprit for misappropriate spendings, saving the agency by tweaking things until their ballooning budget was pinned neatly onto the former director as an embezzling charge.
Then she got to work.
The Fentons were brilliant, if entirely insane. But Amanda could work with that. She’d reigned Harley Quinn in - more or less - she could do the same to the two deranged scientists that so eagerly wanted to be apart of the fight against the dead. Especially when the benefit came in the form of the inventions they threw together so easily, especially when those inventions were weapons.
It took very little to get them on board with her plans for the GIW. Keeping their focus could be a chore, at times, but she didn’t even have to really do much in the way of pressing to get them back where she wanted them. They craved knowledge and understanding nearly as much as they craved the eradication of the entities themselves. Letting them have the first look at a new subject here, free reign over a vivisection there, it took so little to fuel their fervor and keep them busy working on the projects she set for them.
Things had been going smoothly.
For a time at least.
Until Phantom.
He’d been the main focus of the previous director’s attention, the big fish he’d so desperately wanted to catch and put up on his wall. Amanda wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a tempting prospect, but not one she’d put above the other projects she had set in motion since taking over. No, Phantom was powerful, enough to be a real problem one day, but she could the awkward youth in the way he held himself, the inexperience in how he handled situations. She had time to get everything else in order before focusing on getting Amity Park’s would-be hero brought to heel.
And he would be brought to heel. One way or another.
Hands dirty.
Hands red.
Hands wrapped tight around the Core of a fledgling god and bending him to her will.
An artifact, old an powerful, recovered with some effort. A means of controlling specters, of chaining them to the will of the artifact’s wielder. Dangerous in the wrong hands. Dangerous in the right hands.
It was shattered, and even whole and functional Phantom was resistant to its power. But Amanda Waller prided herself in her ability to see the potential in things. It could be repaired, be made better. Even gods could be bound, be made to kneel, with the right pieces, with the right application of force.
It was just a matter of time to gather everything needed.
Phantom didn’t know he could single handedly destroy every last member of the Justice League. The baby fat, the innocent eyes, the split-second hesitations when he fought. He knew enough to be confident in fighting the usual ghosts that haunted Amity Park, but he still very much saw himself as a little fish. Maybe it was the part of him that was still Daniel Fenton, gangly teenager not quite sure what he was truly capable of yet.
She had time before the Fenton’s son truly became an issue. Time to judge if his parents’ obsessiveness would overcome their - rather shoddy, by Amanda’s estimation - parental instincts and continue to hunt him once they knew the truth. Time to get as much out of them as she could before hand, should they falter at the idea of attacking their own son. Time for the staff to be repaired and returned to working order, to get the other items needed for the truly big fish hidden on the other side of the veil between worlds.
She had time.
Until she didn’t.
Pariah Dark had not been something she thought she’d have to account for - not yet, at least.
If he wasn’t already dead, she’d ring the Ghost King’s neck with her bare hands. His arrival had opened Phantom’s eyes to what he was capable of, of just how big of a fish he was. Worse still, Phantom’s defeat of the war mongering King changed the state of play. Phantom was no longer an impressively powerful half dead teenager.
He was King Infinite.
He was an Ancient.
He was getting on her last damn nerves.
Phantom’s rogue gallery were now firmly under the boy’s control. Still distinct nuisances around Amity Park, but no longer considered true concerns. They were loyal to their boy king, delighting in ruffling his feathers but never crossing the line into treason or attempted regicide. Which meant that the GIW was the only thing that held his attention.
Amanda took the time to send a care package to the former GIW director in his tiny, dank prison cell. As thanks for his carelessness in revealing to the entire town - both living and dead - of the agency’s existence and their intentions. Had he stuck to standard protocol, Phantom would have been none the wiser to their presence. Would have scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders at the ghost that went missing upon occasion. Would have been boredly uninterested in the people his parents had begun working with. Would have been taken by surprise when they finally came for him.
But no.
No that self-obsessed, fame chasing imbecile had to go and announce to everyone and their dead mother that the GIW existed and exactly what it was they were in Amity Park to do.
Phantom knew what they were there to do.
They could only count on his naive certainty that he could broker peace with them for so long.
Peace. As if he and his people weren’t the invading force, the monsters slipping in through the cracks between worlds, the latest threat that had to be accounted for. As if he himself hadn’t rent their world asunder himself in another world, another time. No. Peace was not something they could hash out with this baby-faced monarch with his too-big crown. Peace was the assurance of safety, security. Of control of the situation.
There could be no peace.
The higher ups were somehow surprised when Phantom took that to mean there would be war.
Amanda Waller was not.
The Fentons, as suspected, took the right side when all was revealed. Steady hands and flinty eyes as they crafted the weapons that would be needed for the coming fight. Minds even sharper in their maddened grief, hearts set on revenge for the son lost and the entity that stole his face and friends and sister in his garish pretense at humanity. They were blinded to the reality of the situation in its entirety, the potential in what their son truly was, but at the end of the day it didn’t really matter. They did what she needed them to do, they could believe whatever it was they wanted so long as they did.
By the time the boy king and his armies marched upon the Amity park facility, preparations had been put into place. The base in Amity had been stripped back to bare essentials, everything of importance moved to more secured locations.
The weapons labs.
The artifact.
The girl.
All tucked well away from the front lines where Phantom and his motley crew could not reach. Their time to be put in play would come, but not yet. First she needed to gauge what Phantom and his people were capable of, what they were willing to do in the name of what they wanted. Amity Park was a pawn well sacrificed on that front. As were the other facilities she’d left easy to find.
The problem with making children gods, with giving them crowns and calling them King and giving them armies to play with, was that they thought there should be rules. That even in the trenches tearing apart their enemies, there was a certain level of playing fair that everyone was held to. They thought there was a way the world worked, of how things should be that blinded them to more effective options even as time stretched on and desperation set in.
It was the Dead’s problem though, not hers.
She reached out to the Justice League. Sour faced, unhappy, bitterly reluctant to accept that she needed their help. Stone faced and barely containing their rage at what little they knew of the situation, they agreed to a meeting.
She didn’t let herself smile until she was well and truly alone in her office.
Greater good. A lie people told themselves. A fairytale told to children. A means of convincing the weaker willed that they had no choice, that they had a noble duty to bend to. A belief that could be wielded like a weapon if the fantasy of the idea had dug in deep enough. And there were few it had dug into so deep as the members of the Justice League.
Amanda Waller was someone who did what needed to be done.
Hands dirty.
Hands red.
Hands clenched tight on a victory long in the making.
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Part Four
#dc x dp#dp x dc#dpxdc#danny fenton#amanda waller#GIW#ghost investigation ward#Jack Fenton#Maddie Fenton#bad parents jack & maddie fenton#cause none of this is angsty enough yet lol#tw references to vivisection#tw references to death#waller out here playing 3d chess#of course she wasn't surprised by the inevitable war she was just hoping she'd have her secret weapon ready before it actually kicked off#oh well she still has plans B - J to get through#and all the variations for each#gonna take care of her ghost problem and her justice league problem in one fell swoop if she gets her way#just throw some GIW agents into the meat grinder for a bit while she gets stuff in order & so she can see just what Danny is willing to do#anyway wonder what Elle is up to during all this#i'm sure she's fine and there's nothing to worry about#waller playing the long con yall
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🩸BLOODY TROPES FOR YOUR (FAN)FICTION🩸
tw: blood drinking, blood, obviously, also mentions of violence, body horror.
🩸whumper licks the blood off of whumpee’s face
🩸whumpee ends up with a cut on their finger, whumper slowly puts whumpee’s finger in their mouth and, without breaking eye contact, sucks whumpee’s finger clean.
🩸vampire! or nonhuman! caretaker struggles to contain and control themself as they take care of whumpee’s cut when the sight / the smell of whumpee’s blood awakens that raw instinct within them (caretaker).
🩸human! caretaker and vampire! whumpee; whumpee needs blood, so caretaker offers whumpee their own, by pressing their inner wrist to whumpee’s lips. whumpee doesn’t want to drink from caretaker in fear of hurting them, but they don’t have a choice.
🩸whumpee tries to hide their injuries from caretaker. they were doing so well until the front of their white shirt begins to turn red right in front of everybody.
🩸whumper hunts whumpee down by using the scent of whumpee’s blood, visibly sniffing the air before they smile creepily once they smell the blood.
🩸gotta love me a good old classic blood seeping through the bandage trope!
🩸a stubborn whumpee insists they’re fine (they’re not); “you’re bleeding through your bandage,” says caretaker. “I am fine,” whumpee insists. “no, you’re not. I told you to let me do it, but you were too stubborn to accept my help. now stay still as I take care of the cut and the bandage for you. and no, I’m not taking no for an answer this time,” caretaker’s voice is stern and final.
🩸whumpee choking on their own blood is such a criminally underrated trope. caretaker has to turn whumpee on their side so they don’t choke on their own blood!!!!
🩸caretaker rushes to save whumpee from whumper, the second they kick the door open they find whumpee and whumper lying side by side on the floor, both covered in blood. caretaker quickly rushes to kneel next to whumpee, expecting the worst, before whumpee slowly opens their eyes and says (referring to the blood), “don’t worry, it’s not mine.”
🩸whumper, who is covered in the blood of whumpee’s friends, walks into whumpee’s cell, and they make whumpee guess whose blood these belong to.
🩸whumper tells whumpee how pretty they look “in red”
🩸vivisection? vivisection.
🩸caretaker cleans up whumpee’s blood off the floor / off the walls, after what happened (a murder? a success or failed surgery? the choice is yours).
🩸there’s also something very painfully angsty about caretaker having to eventually clean whumpee’s blood off of the wall or the floor where whumpee died, because it’s not the process of cleaning up that hurts but the realization / the acceptance (whether or not caretaker want to accept) that whumpee is gone, and by getting rid of these blood stains, caretaker is saying goodbye to whumpee for good.
🩸caretaker is visibly trembling as they look down at their shirt that’s still covered in whumpee’s blood after whumpee a.) died in their arms, b.) got taken into surgery where they’re trying to save their life (the choice is yours).
🩸that soft little “oh” whumpee lets out when they realize how severe they’re bleeding, when they start feeling dizzy, like they might faint.
🩸field amputation!!! field amputation!!! field amputation!!!!!!
🩸caretaker applies a tourniquet on whumpee to try to slow down the bleeding, though it is hard to ignore whumpee’s crying out in pain each time caretaker tightens the tourniquet around whumpee’s limb.
🩸or, whumpee is alone, so they have to apply the tourniquet on themself. they may find something to bite, maybe their own shirt, to stop themself from screaming in pain as they tighten the tourniquet.
🩸maybe it doesn’t have to be an act of slowing down / stopping the bleed at all, maybe whumpee is alone where they have to perhaps remove the bullet from their own shoulder / leg / arm by themself? or maybe they have to stitch up their own wounds because they’re on their own?
🩸it’s so sexy when a wounded, bleeding and whimpering whumpee has to be their own caretaker.
#whump#vampire#angst#writing#writeblr#whumpblr#whump tropes#vampcore#vampirecore#medical whump#whump prompts#whump trope#whump prompt#writing tropes#writing trope#writing prompts#writing prompt#tropes#trope#writer#prompts#prompt#whump community#writing challenge#vampires#dark academia#writing inspo#writing inspiration#whump writing#whump blog
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Adoption Isn’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be --- Chapter 3
Words: 1,132
Ao3 Link
Previous - Next - Masterpost
TW: references to past trauma/vivisection/and death (done to a minor)
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Danny winced as he shifted in bed. The healing scar pulled on his skin, and it had started to itch. Ghosting his fingers over the makeshift bandages, he felt his way over the creases and wrinkles. He closed his eyes, hoping to see a comfortable field of darkness and to feel the lull of sleep, but all that approached him was green. That stupid neon green.
Green, green, green everywhere! Slippery and disgustingly warm in that that coated the table, reflecting the tinted lights that were glaring and cruel, flecks of green on the surgical blue of his parent’s gloves, just green everywhere. And it was all too bright.
Danny’s eyes snapped open. He- he couldn’t. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this, he needed to get out, he needed to get away, he needed to get away from the grimy walls of the cheap hotel that seemed to be closing in on him all too quickly.
Danny flinched when he noticed the green light his eyes were giving off in his panic. It was a soft light, subtle, but much, much too green. Too neon.
Stupid color anyway, he thinks, shivering in the sudden chill that wafts over him when he throws the blankets off. He needs to get out. The floorboards creak as he makes his way across the room, glancing at Jazz, who was sleeping soundly in the bed. She looks tired, even in her sleep. Stressed, worried, upset. She’d been run ragged taking care of him the past week, not to mention the stress she’d been going through trying to make plans, trying to figure survival for them out… he’s sorry.
The hotel’s roof is surprisingly easy to access. The building has no alarms and barely any locked doors. Climbing the stairs winded him. He would have simply floated up, but the… incident had left him with little ectoplasm to spare; what he did have was going into keeping himself alive. No powers other than the barebones necessary could be used, meaning he had to climb the stairs like a normal person. He decided he didn’t like it. The night air was humid, but a light breeze still introduced a slight chill. Danny winced as his bare feet grated on the gravelly texture of the roof. He should have put on shoes. Sparing a glance over the edge of the roof, he shuddered, imagining what it would be like to have to deal with falling off a roof without his powers, and quickly snapping his gaze away from the edge. Nearing a secluded corner of the roof which hid behind a large air conditioning unit, Danny lowered himself with bated breath onto the precipice. Dangling his legs and kicking his feet, he leaned back onto his elbows and gazed at the few stars he could see in the cloud-ridden sky. They winked in and out of sight as the rain-laden clouds plodded past, but they remained. A steady fixture, something to be counted on. Persevering. Danny smiled. He liked stars. And so he stayed there, enjoying the way the air pulled on his feet as he swung them, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair, and keeping his gaze steadfastly on the sky. And it would be that unwavering gaze that was his undoing, for in his solitude, he quite terribly failed to notice Red Robin, who, at the moment, was in turn gazing slack-jawed back at Danny.
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Tim had always admired the second Robin. Always looked up to him, respected him. He was an idol. He knew what he had looked like when he had died. And he knew that he was dead. He knew, without a doubt, that Jason was dead. So why, then, was what looked like a fifteen-year-old Jason Todd sitting on top of a roof of a shitty hotel. Swinging his legs and looking at the sky like he hadn’t a care in the world. Actually, scratch that. He looked like he had several cares. Jason the kid winced when he brought up his arm to wipe his nose, and the hem of his too-small hoodie rode up to reveal dirtied bandages.
Tim’s breathing picked up. This couldn’t be Jason. This couldn’t. Jason was dead. Tim had seen his body, broken and drenched in bruises. And yet… this boy. Looking too much like Jason to be a coincidence. Wincing like he had a large wound on his chest. Something like an autopsy wound. Looking just a little too pale, too pallid to be on the safe end of healthy. Many evident bruises. It couldn’t be, and yet. Here he was. Here Jason was.
Tim had to tell the others. They would be ecstatic! Jason was alive. Somehow. They’d figure that part out later. But he was alive! Oh, just wait until he was back at the manor. Jason could have his room back! It wouldn’t sit empty anymore, serving only to remain silent under Bruce’s quiet gaze, a haunting monument to the lack of Jason. They didn’t bring it up. But it would be okay now! The room would no longer be silent! It would be okay. Yeah, it would be okay.
Calm down, Tim, he chided himself, It could be a clone. Or even just a doppelganger. It could be anyone (Or it could be Jason, a quiet part of himself whispered. It could be Jason again). He was broken out of his thoughts as the kid (Jason, it’s Jason) stirred. He shivered, as if he was just noticing the chill, and made to get up. He winced once more, bringing a hand to his chest this time, clutching it as if he was about to shatter. As luck would have it, as he turned to leave, his sleeve caught on one of the screws on the clunky AC unit. The boy (Jason) grimaced, annoyed, and yanked on his arm. He only succeeded in tearing his hoodie. Huffing, he simply walked away, steps light in a guard against the loose tarmac and hands stuffed firmly in the pockets of his hoodie. The door to the roof thudded closed, the sound resonating across the now empty rooftop. This was it. This was his chance! He could get Jason’s DNA off the sweatshirt scrap, he could prove his theory!
In no time at all, Red Robin was back on the ground with a little baggie containing the scrap securely in one of his many pockets. Heavy shoes pounding soundly against the street, he started running, eager. So very eager. In that, it was quite soon that he disappeared entirely from the flickering glow of the hotel’s neon sign, hungry tendrils of crackling light licking at his boots like a brilliant, dancing fire, and him leaving it to hum gratingly and alone in the night.
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Constructive criticism would be appreciated!
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Next - Masterpost
#dpxdc#dcxdp#my fic#Danny Phantom#Jazz Fenton#Red Robin#Tim Drake#Jason Todd#Red Hood#Batman#Tw past trauma#Tw past vivisection#Tw past death#Did that last sentence make sense?#I have no idea#I tried#It may be complete gibberish#I've been reading it over and over again#So it has lost all meaning to me#Who knows honestly
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Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist!
@febuwhump i made it babeyyy! thank you so much for organizing this, i had a lot of fun!!
Total Word Count: 25,212
Day 1: helpless - “show us some good entertainment"
Hermitcraft, Teen, 1.1k
TW: blood, violence, broken bones
Day 2: solitary confinement - within your walls (desire, desire, till there’s nothing left of me)
Hermitcraft, Teen, 2.4k
TW: Kidnapping, Torture, Human Experimentation, Temporary Character Death
Day 3: ALT 4: human weapon - These are the Glorious Days (TGD) Ch 1: Slice, Come Paradise
Generation Loss, Teen, 1k
TW: Major character death, Blood, Flashbacks
Day 4: ALT 1: human shield - Starting With Them
The Owl House, Teen, 1k
TW: Possession, blood, violence
Day 5: rope burns - Black skies change to blue
Tangled the Series/Varian and the 7 Kingdoms, Teen, 1.3k
TW: Blood, Injury, Rope burns, Tourniquets
Day 6: “you lied to me” - Everything Moves Ch 1: So many angles, so many lines
Varian and the 7 Kingdoms, Teen, 1k
TW: crying, yelling, betrayal
Day 7: suffering in silence - TGD Ch 2: I give you the Judgement of God!
Generation Loss, Teen, 1k
TW: Dissection/surgery, Derealization, Graphic description of dissection
Day 8: “why won’t it stop?” - Kill The Rabbit (KTR) Ch 1: Eclipse
Original Work, Mature, 3.4k
TW: Arson, Death, Derealization, Panic Attacks, Scars, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
Day 9: bees - Futurum Ch 1: Humanity
Original Work, Teen, 1.2k
TW: Death
Day 10: ALT 9: lightning strike - Sacrosanctity
Original Work, Teen, 1k
TW: blood, lightning, cult ish
Day 11: time loop - KTR Ch 2: Waxing Crescent
Original Work, Mature, 3.2k
TW: Murder, Blood and Violence, some Very distasteful discussion of suicide
I just realized that i forgot to make a tumblr post for it but its too late for that now so
Day 12: ALT 6: immortality - In a Tulip Field (Tulip) Ch 1: Always More
Original Work, Teen, 232
TW: discussion of death
Day 13: “you weren’t meant to get hurt” - Everything Moves Ch 3: So many ways to see the sunrise
Varian and the 7 Kingdoms, Teen, 1.2k
TW: Violence, injury, crying
Day 14: blood stained tiles - Neon green and scarlet red
Danny Phantom, Teen, 857
TW: Dissection/vivisection/surgery, self loathing, bad parenting, blood
Day 15: “who did this to you?” - Rusty Repair Kit (RRK) Ch 1: A Bright Red Poppy
Hermitcraft, Teen, 658
TW: Mourning
Day 16: came back wrong - “You don’t remember?"
Malevolent Podcast, Teen, 642
TW: yelling, swearing
Day 17: hostage situation - I’m Gonna Win Ch 1: I’ll be Bloody and Bruised
Traffic Life, Teen, 100
TW: Defeathering, Violence, Reference to past trauma
Day 18: too weak to move - Thrill of the Chase
The Magnus Archives, Teen, 162
TW: Violence
Day 19: “please don’t” - Everything Moves Ch 2: To keep the pulse alive in you
Varian and the 7 Kingdoms, Teen, 594
TW: Yelling
Day 20: ALT 7: last words - Tulip Ch 2: Those Who Remember
Original Work, Teen, 187
TW: Discussion of death
Day 21: unresponsive - “All you have is your fire"
Traffic Life, Teen, 100
TW: Unconscious
Day 22: “you weren’t meant to be there” - I’m Gonna Win Ch 2: I’ll be Laughing Alone
Traffic Life, Teen, 200
TW: Yelling
Day 23: presumed dead - Tulip Ch 3: For Them
Original Work, Teen, 181
TW: Discussion of death
Day 24: “i’m doing this because i care about you” - Molten Gold
Traffic Life, Teen, 959
TW: Kidnapping, Flashbacks, References to past trauma, Fire powers, Yelling
Day 25: ALT 5: CPR - Make a mercy out of me
Hermitcraft, Teen, 200
TW: Drowning, Burns, Crying
Day 26: “help them” - Boogeyman
Traffic Life, Teen, 100
TW: Violence, Betrayal, Lying
Day 27: left for dead - RRK Ch 2: Bloodstained Gears
Hermitcraft, Teen, 842
TW: Violence, Blood
Day 28: “no…not like this” - TGD Ch 3: Hail His Majesty!
Generation Loss, Teen, 100
TW: Panic, Yelling
Day 29: not allowed to die - Success
Traffic Life, Teen, 100
TW: Panic, Suicidal thoughts
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I love me a good vivisection >:) @onlywhump
[part 2]
[tw: Vivisection, surgery without anesthetics, gore, talk of selling organs, ask to tag]
Home Is Where The Heart Is
Nothing had prepared the hero for what today would bring.
Tasked with surveilling Supervillain’s base, extracting any information if possible, and then bailing before Supervillain could even catch wind of intruders, Hero and Sidekick were moving through the thick shadows outside of the base’s walls. If this mission was to prove successful in finding and extracting any possible prisoners trapped deep within, they needed stealth and heaps of luck on their side. If all failed, they were warned that a rescue mission was likely impossible given the level of Supervillain’s danger. Many had come in and none had yet to leave alive. Aside from Supervillain and their underlings of course.
Hero had pulled open the panel to the front gate and was fiddling with the wires while Sidekick kept watch. The guards weren’t going to circle around the corner for another few minutes at least. The gate opened and they slipped through into the courtyard leading into the building. They followed camera blindspots around the back where they would climb the fire escape up the levels. Stopping at the fifth floor, they snuck through the window and checked for traps.
Technology flashed and flickered with an immense amount of buttons and screens. Wires lined the floors between machines and monitors showed various statistics and news articles. Sidekick cautiously slithered through the room to a computer while Hero scanned for files and plans. Sidekick was left unbothered, but Hero had made one wrong step onto an invisible tripwire and a steel cabled net snatched up the hero. They hung and swung from the ceiling as adrenaline spiked from the sudden event of capture. It was silent for a moment before Sidekick came rushing over.
Hero was out of reach as they jumped up to grab onto the trap. Their fingers inches from brushing the net. “Are you okay?” The hero nodded while glancing around for a way out. The net had cinched closed effectively trapping the hero. They were both looking for a wire or a switch that led to the netting. “Try that button,” the hero suggested. Sidekick glanced at the big red button at the side of the room.
“Don’t you know that big red buttons usually mean doom? Have you ever seen a cartoon?” Sidekick was mostly joking to lighten the situation, but deep down they were panicked. They scanned the various buttons and switches hoping anything was labelled “trap”.
“I don’t see any pulleys holding up the net. It has to be one of those buttons.” Hero pulled out a knife and was hopelessly sawing at the net.
“I’m not seeing anything over here.”
“It has to be over there, I swear if it isn’t-“
“Well if you know so much about Supervillain’s organization and traps, how about you come down here and push it yourself?”
“Now isn’t the time for attitude!”
“I can’t find the button though!”
“It’s the little green button next to the door,” a third voice interjected. Hero ceased their sawing at the steel cabling and Sidekick’s veins turned to ice, freezing them in place. “For future reference of course.” Supervillain stood in the doorway with Right Hand just behind them. The sight was enough for Sidekick to want to run for the hills, leaving their partner behind in a desperate attempt to preserve their life.
Sidekick couldn’t move from their spot, rooted with fear.
Supervillain slammed their fist down on the aforementioned big red button, and the entire building was put on lockdown. Metal shields shuddering down over windows, red alarms blaring through the building for a solid minute before ceasing. No one was leaving. No one was coming in nor out. What happened now was between them and the gods. Supervillain approached Sidekick, gripping their jaw and lifting their averted eyes to meet their own. They studied the young face. “Yes you will do nicely. So very kind of you to deliver yourself to my doorstep.”
The nimble fingers gently holding either side of their jaw had now clawed into Sidekicks cheeks, dragging them out of the room. Sidekick struggled against Supervillain, swung any gadgets they had (a set of keys and ) uselessly, anything to be freed. “Have the other brought down as well. I want them to watch.” Right Hand nodded at the order and set about relocating the Hero, who was now struggling wildly to escape the trap.
Down and down the spiral stairs, the four descended into what would be known as Hell. Hero, still stuck in the net, was pulled down every stair. Thump thump thump. That was surely going to bruise, not that it mattered now. They fumbled with their phone, thump thump, sliding it out of their pocket, thump thump thump, only to have it plucked from their grasp. Thump
“Ah ah.” Right Hand wagged a finger at them and dangled the phone over the railing, letting it fall several stories to the bottom where it would crunch against concrete. There was no getting that back the hero realized with diminishing hope. Glancing over, Sidekick wasn’t faring much better as they continued to flail and squirm in the supervillain’s iron vice.
They stopped on one of the countless, possibly infinite amount of floors. Beeping from the dial pad and a scan of Supervillain’s thumb, and the heavy metal door before them squealed open. The blast door only closed behind them and cut off any light previously pouring in from the stairwell. A breaker flipped and fluorescent lights turned on, relieving them of the darkness.
Though the hero and their sidekick wished they didn’t have a view of the horrors in front of them. Metal tables and chairs splattered with old, brown blood that would screech along the linoleum flooring when moved about. A tray adorned with gore spattered tools shone in the artificial lighting. Sidekick was going to be nauseous at the sight of it alone.
“I’m sure you both have heard stories about me, and I’m sure they are all true. And do know,” Supervillain picked up a scalpel and studied the gleam of the fine blade, “that me telling you all of this does spell your last days here. No one gets the sweet privilege of having information on me and living to tell the details. Just last week, a sweet girl was in here, a reporter, under my expert care.”
Supervillain spoke sweetly, calm, and collected as if they weren’t slamming Sidekick down on the table in the center of the room and strapping them down with thick leather straps. Tools and bedpans crashed and clattered to the floor with the impact of Sidekick against the gurney. “I found her snooping around my guards out front, asking questions like there weren’t consequences for sticking her nose in my business. Can you guess what happened to her?” Both the Hero and Sidekick shook their heads, more out of not wanting to know and less out of not knowing.
Once Sidekick was strapped down and immobile, the master villain had grabbed a remote from one of the many tables littered with metal tools and devices of torture. A click of the button turned on the overly large screen adorning the moldy brick wall. The hero turned green and many other colors much like the stages of grief.
Pictures of what was assumed to be the reporter flashed on the screen like a slideshow. Her insides were torn open and ripe for viewing. Her cranium had been sawed open and brains shoved into a meat grinder. Hero could see the very same industry grade meat grinder off to the side of the room. They looked away before bile had a chance to bubble up.
“You need to stop!” The sidekick bit out before clamping their mouth shut, realizing their mistake as the Supervillain glanced down at them. The villain looked to be without worry while Right Hand watched on like children watching a peer be dragged to the principal's office. Sidekick craned their neck up to see the hero being hoisted up to the ceiling once more, Right Hand using their telekinesis as an aid. “Please let us go,” the young hero whined out.
Supervillain feigned thinking about the question deeply, tapping their finger on their chin. “Hmmmmm no. You already know too much.” Picking up the scalpel once more, they sliced the sidekick’s uniform open leaving an unobstructed view of their chest. “Where shall we cut, dearest accomplice?”
Right Hand came over wordlessly and began to draw long lines along Sidekick’s skin with a black sharpie marker. Sidekick was now realizing that Right Hand hadn’t said a word their entire visit. Though their visit was beginning to look like imprisonment.
“Will I ever leave this place again?” It was a bit of a stupid question on Sidekick’s part given the small lecture and gruesome powerpoint earlier, but they wanted any grain of hope they could get their hands on.
Now that was a question the villains truly pondered. “Maybe.” They ran the edge of the scalpel against the Sidekick’s cheek, cutting off any peach fuzz they had. “I could use you both for ransom. A bargaining piece with the other heroes for benefits. Or perhaps a trade, your lives for theirs? Not that I need anything from your organization of clowns and circus acts. If I wanted something, I would have taken it already.
“But I will humor you. Keeping you alive could benefit me.” Right Hand held Sidekick’s squirming head still while Supervillain began an expertly precise incision on their abdomen. Sidekick cried out as the clean blade pierced their skin.
“STOP!” The hero reached out from their spot high up, only for Supervillain to return an unamused glance to the captive. They had spent the last several minutes spamming SOS on their fancy watch the Heroes Organization had issued them, and yet no one was returning the call. They could only pray that it was the lack of the signal reaching the organization and not the lack of people answering the call.
“Or else what?” The supervillain challenged before returning to their suffering captive on the table. “Please clean up the blood there,” they spoke to Right Hand before continuing their long incisions. Right Hand grabbed a clean rag and cleaned up the blood beading out of the wound. The flaps of Sidekick’s skin were now being peeled open and clipped back.
“I will call Superhero.” Hero put on their best stern face, pretending the visible viscera wasn’t bothering them.
Supervillain perked up, though with a smile and not horror. “Oh that is a jolly good idea! Right Hand, get the court jester on the line please.”
Right hand nodded and wrestled with the remote, punching in numbers on the screen.
Secretary sped through the halls, busting into Superhero’s office. They looked like they had seen a ghost, jabbing a thumb back to the conference room. Superhero and Leader had glanced back at the frightened intern. “It’s for you,” was all they said before speeding off.
Superhero, Leader, and various other heroes and employees were gathering around the large table in the conference room. They all heard that Supervillain had personally called them. Even the tech nerd that talked to no one had shown up to see what all the hubbub was about.
Leader flicked on the large television to be greeted by the sight of Sidekick having their intestines pulled out and hung on a large hook, much like a surgeon would do. “Oh good day you lot, Hero had the wonderful idea of calling you. Let me say you all sometimes have the most exciting ideas.”
Other Hero and Tech Nerd had left the room to vomit while others guaked in horror at the scene before them. They were speechless. What would anyone respond to this kind of situation with?
“You can come and get them if you would like. If any of you dare try.” Supervillain was speaking still as they began to slice into Sidekick’s liver. Removing astounding amounts of the vitamin rich organ and setting them aside for everyone to see. Sidekick was wailing and sobbing every second, nearly drowning out Supervillain’s talking. “Or we can discuss things later. Hand them over safely, without issue.”
Hero watched on as the sidekick squirmed in their bonds. Their eyes focused on something behind the horrific scene, spotting a medical degree. The supervillain was a licensed surgeon. This monster of a human being was out in the world doing who knows what to innocent lives in public.
And right now, they were removing one of Sidekick’s kidneys. “Oh yes, this will sell nicely in the market. Very healthy.” Supervillain ordered Right Hand to store the organ away in a foam box in the freezer. “Your organs are very healthy,” the supervillian observed, “You don’t smoke or drink. I can tell.” They patted the sidekick’s lungs and they audibly wheezed with effort trying to breathe against the shock of their internal organs being patted. They jolted when their lungs were nudged aside and their heart was openly handled. The beating muscle in gloved hands strained, fighting for life. “I think your kidney will sell for more too, having been in a young hero’s body.”
Sidekick was beginning to disconnect from their surroundings, dissociating in a desperate attempt to cope with the situation at hand. They were jolted out of their reverie when cauterizing iron burned the open wounds closed. “Scalpel.” The scalpel was pressed into their hand once more with the Right Hand confirming, “scalpel.”
Next was the gallbladder. Flesh put up no resistance to the pristine blade of the scalpel finely slicing through. Sidekick pulled against their leather restraints, growing weak from the operation. “If your little superiors want you back, they better say something now. I might just keep going. Afterall, the organ donation waiting list is very very long. Especially for hearts and lungs.” The heinous surgeon prodded at the beating heart once more.
“What are your terms?” Superhero choked out. They all had seen horrific scenes and people in gruesome states, but not like this. Not one of their own much less.
The supervillain held up a finger before grabbing the cauterizing iron and hook needle with thread. Disinfectant cleaned the wounds thoroughly before the intestines returned to the body cavity and flaps closed. Sidekick’s world was growing dark at the edges, the last thing they remember was being closed up and carted off to some dark corner in the base where they were locked up with Hero and let themself sleep.
#heroes and villains#whump scenario#whump writing#sidekick whump#hero#superhero#sidekick#supervillain#right hand#villains and heroes#pyros writing
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og honey i'm home lore/honey i'm home song lore from ghost
these two images read:
tw: the stuff that's in the video + suicide and unreality
so you got your local lad, norman minecraft,
no but anyways first i'll give a rundown of the story then go back and clarify some symbolism
this guy's father believes that the world is an awful place to be, and that ascending to the afterlife is basically the equivalent of waking up from a nightmare (ironically, dad was the nightmare of this family). under this logic, he "mercy"-kills his wife. owwie:(! growing up with this mindset, norman questions whether things are even real at all. like, maybe this world's some elaborate setup and in order to wake up you need to pass away. he gets into substance abuse to deal at first, but eventually decides it's time to "grow up" and pull the plug. after all, everything would be alright it he could escape to the supposed real world. that's when god and charon show up:
god confirms norman's suspicions, but clarifies that there's so much more to the situation than meets the eye. he advises norman to stay by his side though so he can show him the truth. charon offers norman an easy way out - just kissing him will poison him. because the father was essentially the heart of this reality god "eats" father as both a notion of ending the simulation and of taking his place, becoming norman's new caretaker. norman leaves everything behind, wanting to forget all about it
upon waking up, it's learned that in the real world norman had been used for public live dissections in front of large audiences of angels
as for symbolization:
father's a praying mantis due to a) "praying" mantis hahaha funny and b) a reference to how the girls will sometimes kill and eat their mates. i know that doesn't 100% line up correctly, but it's just a small reference i wanted to make
the moth is basically norman - "a tied up moth seemed to know a different way" is kinda like norman theorizing to himself that dying really might be the only way out. the moth also foreshadows what happens to norman, since the moth's stuck in a spiderweb and it's a personified spider who kills him in the end. then the moth reappears chained to god's hand, which at first is meant to seem like a sign of trust, like "yea dude ur in good hands!" but it's kinda obvious later on that it's really symbolizing being trapped by this guy. i specifically used a moth since they can symbolize blind faith, since they like, u kno, they see a light and go Oohh Lämp and fuckign die. the species of moth used (small emperor moth) was just an aesthetic choice cus oh those are just-some pretty boys!!!!
this more so has to do with out-of-song info. but charon's name came from the greek god who transports souls to the underworld. which is exactly what purpose he serves in this story
the three voices are specifically talking about norman, charon and god - the only real people who appear in this simulation ("[they] come all alone" is saying they're the only people who exited the simulation after its destruction). i will confess gramophones nave no significance, just needed something that rhymed and fit the flow of the melody
"vivisection" has two definitions - first one used in the song is that it can mean a harsh analysis, so "a vivisection of me yielded the start of a mystery" is kinda saying that he's self-analyzed a lot of things about himself and his life only for it to get more and more confusing/bewildering. the second and more popularly-used definition is that of a live dissection, used specifically with the connotation that this practice is unethical - in the last chorus, it's used literally. in Ye Olden Days, criminals were often punished via public dissections being done on their corpses and proper christian burials were refused as a disrespect the individual. this also paired alongside the belief that if a body isn't given a proper burial it inhibits the spirit of the deceased from moving on. so i wanted to sorta link those two concents to show that god was, on top of publicly humiliating the poor guy, further exerting his control over norman by refusing to let him pass away peacefully (probably as punishment for thinking he could take control back over his life)
calling the figure "god" is actually a symbolization in and of itself (same goes for the religious themes that follow) so don't worry the song isn't criticizing/against religion :) i grew up with religious parents, so i defaulted to using themes i'm most familiar with - i do wanna clarity i think that whether religion hurts or helps is entirely up to the individual. how it's taught to them and/or how they personally interpret it. so if it does good for you, great! if not, i totally understand! this song isn't a commentary on that topic though so yeyeyeye
the religious themes in the song are more so playing on the idea that, it someone sets up a simulation and essentially creates everyone thing within it, what makes them any different from a god? the bible verse used was also actually a happy accident - the song turned out to be 3 minutes 33 seconds long, and i was like "oh lol just for funsies i wonder what bible verse that is and funny enough it.... kinda fit the theme a little too well
the angels at the end are kinda like npcs, but as a group are just....... there, watching. there's a whole bunch of em and they're all watching
the title and use of the phrase "honey i'm home" is saying that norman's come home, basically. he's spent so long theorizing about and anticipating the day he'd get out of a fake world, idolizing this real world and a god he knew nothing about, only his new home isn't much prettier than the one he grew up in.
so yea like i guess tl;dr honey i'm home is about a local lad who is led to believe he's being saved by god, only to realize it's just some fuck with a control complex running a simulation
ooh edgy
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It’s weird that at this point in time, I’ve listened to two songs that are about religious trauma and also bugs.
Despite the fact that these are very different genres by very different singers, the songs are surprisingly similar. (Tw: Religious trauma, cannibalism, mentioned substance abuse, bugs.)
Both are songs that tell stories: Sun bleached flies is part of the album ‘Preacher’s Daughter’ which tells a story about a character named Ethel Cain. (Yeah that singer also goes by Ethel Cain. Yeah it’s confusing)
Honey I’m home is about a oc of Ghost’s named Norman Da Luz (I think that’s his name?)
Both characters are trans, Norman is a trans boy and Ethel Cain is a trans girl. Both characters are implied to struggle with substance abuse and alcohol abuse.
‘Head full of whiskey but I always deliver
Jesus, if you're listening, let me handle my liquor’
- American Teenager. (from the Album Preacher’s daughter. Ethel Chain’s story is told throughout the entire album, so I’ll be using all songs from the album as references, not just Sun Bleached Files.)
And both characters have difficult relationships with their fathers.
‘I am poison in the water and unhappy
Little girl who needs her daddy real bad’
- Hard times, from Preacher’s Daughter. Also throughout the album, it mentions her father, with admiration in the first few songs, then later, with exhaustion and anger, which shows how the characters view of him has changed.
‘Father said that this world isn’t for me
I tried to pray for a new reality’
- Honey I’m home. Ghost and Pals confirmed that Norman’s father killed his mother.
In addition to this, both songs are about bugs in some way.
‘Sun-bleached flies sitting in the windowsill
Waiting for the day they escape’
- Sun bleached Flies. I think the sun bleached flies are supposed to represent grown up figures and teenagers in Ethel Cain’s life. They are ‘Breathing in the poison of the paint’ and killing themselves in the process.
‘A tied up moth seemed to know a different way.’
And:
‘A spider preaching with poison on its lips
‘To get out of here is to promise me a kiss.’’
-Both of these are from Honey I’m home. In the song, I believe the moth is supposed to represent Norman’s freedom, and how it is taken away by God and killed by the spider.
In both songs, strangely enough, there is an underlying theme of cannibalism. In Ethel Cain’s story she is eventually killed and eaten by her boyfriend. (Actually the song Sun Bleached Flies is sung after she’s been killed, as she looks back on her life.)
In Norman’s it mentions ‘God devouring that of father’ (which is probably a metaphor for how God is taking is father’s place, but really, you never know.)
Also, in both songs, there is a God figure.
‘A vivisection of me
Done by God for all to see.’
- Honey I’m home, God is portrayed as a terrifying figure, lying and taking away his freedom and eventually preforming a vivisection on him, leaving dark, angry feelings against God. Which is kinda fair.
‘Listening to the choir so heartfelt all singing:
God loves you but not enough to save you.’
- Sun Bleached Flies. Some could see this as an accusation against God. However, I read it differently. It’s not God saying that. It’s the choir. It’s the Church telling trans children that they are not loved.
‘So I met him there and told him I believe
Singing, "If it's meant to be then it will be"
I forgive it all as it comes back to me’
- This is part of the end of the song Sun Bleached flies, as Ethel Cain confirms that she does believe in God, and she forgives her life and the church.
In conclusion, there’s some sort of conspiracy here, involving religion, trans people, cannibalism, and bugs.
The duality of man.
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OOC
a list of ember’s scars/markings (tw for various forms of trauma including eye, neck/throat, torture) (not all of these are visible all of the time, this list is more for my own reference than anything)
burns around neck from collar
burns around wrists from manacles
scar on chest from the forced removal of their soul-stone
brand in the shape of the nitram symbol across his chest
vivisection scar
arms cut off, reattached
burn scarring, whole body (differently visible depending on how many glamours are up)
spinal scar - was repeatedly ripped out from lumbar region
runes on bones, joints, abdominal organs
tbd?
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Fun fact I learned what vivisection was due to fanfiction and I have never mentally recovered!!
#tw vivisection mention#tw implied animal abuse#(no animals were actually abused in the fic i am referring to; it was a human. that...is not better but i figured i had better clarify)
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Wide Open
AO3 link here
This is for the "Vivisection" square on the @badthingshappenbingo. It is a repost, this time including the full text on Tumblr instead of just an AO3 crosspost. The sequel is here.
CW: Gore (detailed descriptions of vivisection), military dictatorship whump, and creepy intimate whumpers
It's a wild one be careful lmao it's literally just self indulgent vivisection descriptions for 3k words skdjfh
Kai had watched the video of the prisoner struggling, fighting to breathe, drank in the sight of their stretched-out trembling body and listened to the little wheezes picked up by the mics that were supposed to perfectly record confessions. Not that they had been useful for their intended purpose with this one. The higher-ups rarely told Kai anything about who they were hurting, and what they have or haven’t said, and most of the time they didn’t bother to find out on their own, but word had travelled with this one. They hadn’t said anything, of course, but there was no doubt about it and even if there were, there was no mistaking that fire in their eyes. Kai recognized it well, had seen it under them as they pressed knife into flesh and as they pushed rebels to their knees against the wall; they’d seen it in nights where whispered secrets were traded and uneasy laughter shared before they returned to their lies.
Perhaps they had seen a bit of themself in this prisoner, the once dutiful soldier that was now facing the punishment for their treachery, and that was why their touches were bordering on gentle as they fastened the rebel’s hands behind their back with coarse rope and dragged them down the hall. It wasn’t something they would allow themself to think about now, and it was unlikely that they’d return to the thought late at night when they longed to feel the embrace of the darkness. They walked in silence, Kai feeling the furious trembling in their prisoner’s shoulders beneath their hand, and they rubbed their thumb over the curve of the bone absent-mindedly. They were still quiet as they arrived in the room and Kai manhandled them onto the table, pressing them down gently as they tied them down.
The prisoner opened their mouth to speak, but Kai shushed them with a finger over their lips. “Trust me, you’re better off not trying,” They warned, breaking the silence. “You were gorgeous.” Kai traced the line of their jaw, fingers almost dipping down to touch the line of red encircling their neck, the texture of rope still faintly visible. “You suffered so well, I’m proud of you.”
“Please, Lieutenant Waykes. They say… they say you would understand, right? You would be sympathetic, please, there has to be something you can do.” Their eyes were so filled with fear that Kai thought it’d spill over even if they had blindfolded them like Elena did. “I was prepared for torture, sir, but- but- I don’t think I can… not this…”
Kai rubbed down the sides of the rebel’s face, applying even pressure as they held their shaking head still. “Call me Kai. You can call me Kai if you want to.” They weren’t going to offer false reassurances, they wouldn’t lie and say that what’s coming wouldn’t be that bad, but they knew people could always take more than they thought they could. How much pain you could take was no longer your choice once you’re at the mercy of the torturers here. “I will be here,” that was all they could offer them. “I’ll be here the whole time, right here with you. I will see everything.”
Kai left them alone after that, and they seemed to be too terrified to say anything again. They were arranging the tools on the cart for the umpteenth time, making sure everything was lined up perfectly straight, when the click of boots and creak of the metal door signalled Anastasia’s arrival. She looked surprisingly emotionless for someone who so often described what she would do in detail to prisoners bound before her with a gleeful sadistic grin on her face. She wasn’t one of those with whom calm meant something worse, but even after all these years Kai could never tell what her subdued calm really meant.
Anastasia slowly brought a knife near the rebel’s chest, watching them flinch and try to pull away, and she smiled when saw that Kai had tied them down securely, leaving them just enough room to twitch but there was no escape. “Has Lieutenant Waykes told you what I’m about to do to you yet? Or have you guessed on your own?”
The rebel stubbornly looked away, turning their head to the side. They faced away from Kai now, and they wondered if there was more fear or anger in those pretty eyes now.
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s just get started now, shall we?” Anastasia skipped right over the line of thin blades Kai had laid out, grabbing the bottle of alcohol and pouring it over her own knife. She sank the blade in quickly but dragged it slowly down with more care than Kai had ever seen her wield a knife. They grimaced at how deep it went in, at least three ridges on the back of Anastasia’s tactical knife hidden in the flesh.
The prisoner screamed and threw their head back against the table with a loud clang and Kai rushed over, pressing them down. “Don’t scream yet, it’ll get worse. Captain?” They turned to Anastasia, hands still smoothing over the rebel’s forehead. “Do you want me to strap their head down?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I want them to be able to look up and see what I’m doing. Just put something under their head, and then come over here and help me.”
Kai put a rubber block under their head and tied it into place, avoiding their eyes as they did. They stroked over their cheek again before moving over to Anastasia, standing behind her uncertainly.
“Pull the cut open,” Anastasia grabbed Kai’s hands and placed their flat palms on the sides of the deep cut down the middle of the prisoner’s stomach. “Not too much tension, just keep it stretched so I can see what I’m doing.”
It was worse like this, feeling the quivering beneath their hands, or maybe it was their hands that were shaking. They knew Anastasia expected them to enjoy this, this uncaring violence because they shouldn’t see traitors as people. They felt the pull of Anastasia’s knife pressing down between their hands before the flesh gave way, and they closed their eyes, taking a deep breath through their mouth.
“Pull more now,” Anastasia nudged them with the handle of her knife, looking at them with concern until they pulled themself together, hiding their emotions away once again. “You have to keep holding it taut as I cut.”
They nodded numbly, turning to look at the rebel. Their eyes were closed and their head strained back, their lips pressed into a thin line, and Kai wanted to thumb at the bright red spot on their lip where they clamped their teeth down to keep silent, to wipe away the tear hanging just at the corner of their eye, but they didn’t dare move their hands.
They ran on autopilot, always keeping the same tension as Anastasia was cutting, but soon they turned back to watch her pick at the tissue with her blade. It didn’t look the way they expected it to, although they weren’t sure what they expected. This looked more complex, more alive, and they were suddenly glad they didn’t heed the career advice their mother gave them in their childhood. They weren’t sure what it said about them, but it’s easier when their only responsibility to human life was to kill, and they had to keep people alive only to prolong their suffering. They had to pull themselves away from their thoughts as the flesh under the cut seemed to thin with every new movement of Anastasia’s hands, and when it finally started to split apart to reveal the cavity beneath, they had to dig their fingers in to keep it from slipping under their increasingly sweaty palms.
“Keep holding them open, I’ll get something,” Anastasia walked over to the cart Kai had prepared and picked up a metal instrument, putting it into the hole she just cut out of a person—Kai had to stop themself from continuing that thought—and cranking it open. If Kai didn’t work with those everyday, they’d say the thing looked like an instrument for torture.
It was the touch of metal and the feeling of being pulled open and revealed that finally made the rebel cry out again. It was an ugly sob that broke out of them and their eyes flew open, searching for something to focus on through the haze of agony. Kai moved to their head again after Anastasia locked the ratchet in place, and the rebel flinched at their touch on their cheek, but they didn’t draw their hand away, only smoothed their hair down and whispered in their ear to keep quiet.
Kai felt the rebel give a full-body shudder when Anastasia’s hands reached into their abdomen, a quiet squelch to be heard barely above their desperate whimpers. “Make them look,” She said, tone light, but Kai knew it was an order. They cradled their head, coaxing them to look up as Anastasia pulled their intestines out.
There was less blood than they expected, but the pale-grey length was still covered in slimy red liquid that clung to Anastasia’s fingertips as she held it up. The rebel stared, their breathing short and rapid, and Kai could feel the movement of each breath and heartbeat and they rested their hand below their chin, just against their neck.
She dropped it back in with little care, and Kai found it unsettling how silent it was. Maybe it would have fit with how sick the whole ordeal was if it made a sound as it fell back into the body. Anastasia reached back in, and from this angle Kai wouldn’t see what she was doing, so they gently laid the rebel’s hair down, fingers feathering over their eyelids as they squeezed their eyes shut again. The moment was almost peaceful until they wrenched their head to the side, their scream cut off with retching. “Please,” they croaked out between cries, “Please, I can’t.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kai planted a kiss on their forehead. “You’re taking this so well.”
“No, Kai, please,” Their eyes flickered to Anastasia but it was obvious they knew begging her would be useless. Kai wasn’t sure if the rebel was correct in assuming begging them would be more useful, though. “Please, Kai, no more.”
“Kai already?” Anastasia repeated. “You get all personal with them fast.” She looked at them, eyes trailing down to their chest, then glanced over meaningfully at the bound sobbing figure on the table, the implication clear. “Come over here.”
Kai gave the rebel’s cheek one last pat before they moved over to Anastasia, rubbing their hands nervously, waiting for her instructions. “Maybe if you got more personal with them, Captain Ridley wouldn’t be getting mad at you all the time for not being able to get any information from them.”
Anastasia laughed. “Shut up and come over. Touch.” She grabbed Kai's hands and stuck them into the rebel’s abdomen as they begged Kai to stop. “You can gag them if you want to. Grab the intestines. Pull a little, not too hard. Feel it.”
Feel it. Kai repeated to themself silently. It was never the insides that bothered them, although that would be much more normal. They focused on the sliminess in their palm as they tugged slightly, feeling it slip even when they squeezed, almost like those toys that were tubes of water that you couldn’t hold onto. It was much easier to forget this was a person when they concentrated on those sensations, and they found themself breathing easier for a moment before they snapped back and some indescribable feeling seized their chest again.
“Are you alright?” Anastasia grabbed their chin, pulling them toward her. “It’s okay, the texture may be hard to get used to on your first time. You can wear gloves if you want to.”
“Hm?” Kai tried to wipe away the blood Anastasia left on their face, only to add to it with their own bloody hands. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I was just… yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.” They pulled again, harder this time, more to prove to themself they could be it.
“Alright, that’s good enough. They won’t really feel that.” Anastasia took Kai’s hands again, gripping their wrists while she pointed at the dark mass at the top of the cavity. Something in the back of their mind told them they remembered the name of the organ from the not at all accurate diagrams they saw in high school biology. “This right here, hold it. Grab a bit more of it, yeah, just like that.” She rubbed her thumb at the back of Kai’s neck, just above their shirt collar, and Kai was sure she got a bit of the blood in their hair. “Now squeeze, lightly. Not too much, just enough to make them scream.”
“Wait wait no Kai please-” The rebel strained up, making eye contact with them. Kai could tell how much effort it took for them to move at all and they grimaced with the way their open skin shifted. Their eyes were wild and desperate, and Kai stared back, feeling the familiar vibration of sadism in their chest creep up again. With that look in their eyes, it wasn’t hard. They squeezed, slowly, with the same trepidation they remembered having pulled the trigger with the first time they picked up an automatic weapon.
There was the harsh panting first, the even breathing controlled with too much effort that Kai knew from experience meant they were trying not to scream. There was a point beyond which it was rarely possible to not scream, even if they stopped, and they pushed the prisoner right past that steadily, waiting for the moment the scream broke out.
They didn’t expect the scream to be accompanied by thrashing and their hands slipped despite how well they had tied the prisoner down. It was enough of a reprieve in the pain for them to stop screaming, and despite Kai’s dislike of screams, they respected how well this prisoner held it in, and a part of them wondered if they would scream if this was done to them.
“Fuck you Kai, you fucking t-”
Kai surprised themself with how little hesitation they had when they gripped the organ and squeezed again, using just a bit more force than before and stopping the rebel’s words by wrenching another scream out of them. They heard Anastasia chuckle behind them, complimenting them on how fast they were picking this up. They kept squeezing, varying the pressure but never enough for the pain to fade, allowing themself to bask in Anastasia’s approval and momentarily purely enjoyed hurting someone.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Anastasia pulled Kai away. “Go hold their hand or stroke their hair or whatever while I finish up.”
By “finishing up”, Anastasia meant ripping scream after scream from the rebel for another hour. Kai held their hand through it, feeling their fingers tighten with every new wave of pain, and loosening before Kai had to slap them awake twice for more suffering. Between the screams and sobs, they begged and cursed Kai incoherently, and for once Kai found it endearing enough to not gag them immediately. They wiped away the drop of blood at the corner of their mouth, thumbing at the spot where they had bitten open their lip. By the time Anastasia finally let up, Kai doubted the rebel could hear their whispered reassurances that it was over.
“Stitch them up,” Anastasia said to Kai as she gave the inside of the prisoner’s stomach a last jab with her nails before taking the retractor out and wiping her hands clean. “Keep your hands steady, you know I’ll be taking it out on you if you make a mistake. Take them to the med wing when you’re done.”
“Please,” Kai felt the rebel’s fingers scrabbling for their hand as soon as Anastasia was out of the room. “Please, Kai, just kill me.”
Kai wrapped their hands into a fist inside their own hand, squeezing lightly before turning away. They didn’t give them a response, only a light touch on their shaking shoulders as they sobbed harder.
They worked in silence after that, pushing the curved needle through skin time after time, laying down knots that pulled the wide-open skin close together again. It wasn’t the first time they had done this, but the experience was new enough to bring back memories of the first time. Memories of hiding under their covers at night with a faint flashlight, hoping no one in the crowded dorm hall would notice their muffled whimpers as they dragged the rough thread through their own flesh, hoping that no one would find out about the mistakes they made. This was much easier, without the need to control the shaking or the buzzing numbness in their fingers as they worked. The silk thread, wet with blood, cut into their fingers as they tugged each knot tight, but the repetitive looping and pulling were calming just like coloring a mandala. The long cut was closed together in no time after they zoned out, and they ran their hands over the stitches, surprisingly even for their lack of practice. If the prisoner survived, Kai let themself entertain the thought, the scars left behind would be pretty.
“Alright, let’s go,” Kai undid the straps, and the rebel was too weak to fight even with their hands and arms completely free now. They picked them up, gathering their limp form in their arms, and was surprised they didn’t even try to pull away, instead wrapping an arm around Kai’s back and holding on, tucking their face into their chest to hide their tears. “It’s over,” Kai promised them. “That’s it, you took it so well. I’ll take care of you now.”
#whump#whump writing#my writing#whump works#bad things happen bingo#Prompt: Vivisection#Fandom: Original Work#creepy whumper#gore tw#vivisection#vmd#vague military dictatorship#OC: Anastasia#OC: Kai#unnamed rebel character#who has been named since I first posted this and its sequel#but will not be refer to by name like ever lol#since Kai doesn't find out their real name until after the revolution
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American presidents lie. They always have. Just Google “Lyndon Johnson and the Gulf of Tonkin,” “Bill Clinton and NAFTA” or “George Bush and weapons of mass destruction.” Even Honest Abe likely told a fib or two.
But no U.S. president has ever lied as prolifically, constantly, insidiously and dangerously as Donald Trump. He never stops. He’s the Energizer Bunny of endless falsehood.
It’s enough to make even Orwell’s head explode.
Trump, who received votes from just one in four U.S. adults in 2016, claimed that he would have won the popular vote over Hillary Clinton were it not for the voter fraud of undocumented immigrants. The alleged criminal votes were never cast.
Trump called his 2016 Electoral College victory “The biggest electoral victory since Ronald Reagan.” It was no such thing.
Trump lied about the size of his inauguration crowd even as aerial photographs of the event contradicted his boasts.
He has repeatedly and preposterously claimed that the Latinx immigrant population is full of murderers, rapists and gang members. It is not.
Trump claimed that President Obama “had my ‘wires tapped’ in Trump Tower” just before his 2016 election victory. They were not.
He claimed to have as president-elect negotiated a deal to “save 1,100 jobs” at a Carrier plant in Anderson, Ind. He did no such thing.
He absurdly concocted a terrorist attack that never occurred, in Sweden, during his first month in office.
He claimed that the head of the Boy Scouts called him to say his speech was the best ever delivered to the Boy Scouts Jamboree. No such call ever took place. Trump’s terrible oration was widely reviled.
Trump claimed to have fired James Comey because the FBI director mishandled Hillary Clinton’s email scandal prior to the 2016 election, not because he was continuing to investigate Trump and the Trump campaign’s ties to Russia. That was another baldfaced lie.
He claimed that white-nationalist and neo-Nazi marchers in Charlottesville, Va., were “protesting very quietly,” and that liberal and left counter-protesters “didn’t have a [protest] permit.” False and false.
Trump laughably told oil workers in North Dakota that environmentalists “didn’t know why” they opposed the ecocidal, petro-capitalist Dakota Access and Keystone-XL pipelines. Ridiculous.
Trump lied repeatedly and viciously about the number of people who diedduring and after Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico.
He ludicrously claimed to have led a strong federal response to the devastating storm in Puerto Rico. (He gave himself a “ten.”)
Trump absurdly claimed that his former national security adviser Michael Flynn didn’t do “anything wrong.” Flynn was later convicted for lying about his communications with the Kremlin during Trump’s presidential transition.
Trump farcically claimed that Paul Manafort never played a major role in his 2016 campaign. (Manafort chaired the Trump campaign up through the Republican National Convention that year.)
Trump falsely claimed that a Justice Department inspector general report exonerated him of collusion with Russia and obstruction of justice. The report did neither of those things.
Trump ridiculously claimed that Michael Cohen was never a big player in his career or campaign. Cohen was Trump’s longstanding personal attorney and “fixer,” and he too has been convicted on federal charges.
Trump has claimed to know nothing about the illegal campaign finance payoff of Stormy Daniels and Karen McDougal. Cohen exposed that lie this summer.
After Cohen turned himself in to federal authorities, Trump said that Cohen pleaded guilty to two counts of campaign finance violations that “were not crimes.” False. The violations are indeed federal crimes.
Trump unbelievably claimed not to have known that his son and son-in-law met with Russians claiming to have dirt on Hillary Clinton in Trump Tower in June 2016.
Trump helped concoct the White House lie that the real subject matter of that June 2016 meeting was U.S. adoption policy.
He says that China “has been attempting to interfere in the upcoming 2018 elections.” There is no evidence to support that charge.
He falsely claims to be a self-made billionaire, something that The New York Times shows to have been a lie. (His father staked his entire business.)
Trump says that he and the Republican Party passed a “middle-class” tax “reform.” He certainly knows that they enacted a plutocratic tax cut, a great windfall for big corporations and the richest 1 percent.
Trump absurdly claimed before the tax cut that “we [U.S.-Americans] pay more taxes than anybody in the world” (we don’t) and that the tax “reform” would “cost me a fortune.”
He absurdly said that “public lands will once again be available for public use” while handing over 2 million acres to private corporations for coal mining, oil drilling, uranium extraction and other environmentally disastrous industrial activities.
He falsely claimed that he was legally compelled to order a “zero tolerance” border policy last spring that separated Mexican and Central American children from their parents.
In defense of his good friends atop the absolutist, head-chopping Saudi Arabian regime (which sends kill teams to torture, kill, and vivisect dissenting journalists in foreign embassies), Trump claims that Saudis have purchased $110 billion worth of military equipment from the U.S. and that this purchase creates “five-hundred thousand jobs,” later inflated to ““1 million jobs.” ”in the U.S. His numbers here are absurdly exaggerated.
He claims without evidence that there are “people of Middle Eastern descent” in the latest Central American migrant “caravan” moving through Mexico towards the U.S.’ southern border.
He baselessly insisted that “Democrats are paying members of the caravan to try and get into the U.S. to harm Republicans in the midterms.”
He has sent U.S. troops to guard the border on the absurd lie that the beleaguered caravan constitutes a “national emergency.”
He preposterously claims that it is the mainstream media, which he calls “the enemy of the people,” and not him that has created our current climate of hatred and violence—even as he applauds a Montana congressman for body-slamming a young reporter.
Trump’s evasion of responsibility follows a hate-filled campaign and 21 months of ax-grinding in the Oval Office that has seen him call immigrants criminal gang members, murderers and rapists, while maliciously describing his political enemies and media critics and journalists as “evil,” “low lifes,” “low IQ” and “the most dishonest people on Earth.” Along the way, the openly sexist Trump has referred to women as “animals,” “dogs,” “horse-face,” “fat” and worse. The white supremacist who killed 11 people in a Jewish synagogue last Saturday was egged into violent action by Trump’s ridiculous and hateful caravan rhetoric.
The Trump Lie Machine is going into head-spinning and soul-numbing overdrive as the midterm elections draw closer.
Trump claimed earlier this year that leftist violence will break out across the country if Democrats reclaim Congress in the upcoming midterm elections. The absurdity speaks for itself.
Trump said in Arizona recently that immigrants had illegally taken over a city council in California. The claim was complete nonsense.
Trump has recently and insanely suggested that people are “rioting” in California “to get out of Sanctuary Cities. …They’re demanding to be released from sanctuary cities.” (This may be the single craziest thing I’ve ever seen Trump claim. It is truly bizarre.)
Trump is ridiculously claiming the Democrats will kick seniors off health insurance, abolish insurance protections for people with health problems, destroy Social Security, abolish U.S. borders and (I am not making this up) give “illegal” immigrants “free cars.” That’s right: “free cars” for “illegals.”
Trump repeatedly—36 times across seven political speeches this fall—called the Democrats “radicals.” Of course, the Democrats are a deeply conservative, Big Business-friendly, imperial/pro-military, and depressingly centrist apparatus. There isn’t a single genuine radical in their entire party.
Trump says that the “new platform of the supposedly ‘radical’ Democrats is to abolish ICE” (Immigrations and Customs Enforcement). That is flatly false.
Trump lies and distorts so relentlessly and profusely that tracking and fact-checking his false statements has become a full-time job for journalists at home and abroad.
One of these journalists is Daniel Dale, the Washington bureau chief of the Toronto Star. He calculates that Lyin’ Don has made four false claims per day since being sworn into the presidency 21 months ago with his hand on the Bible.
When Dale was first assigned the Trump beat in September 2016, he found the Republican candidate “so incessantly dishonest” that his habit of twisting and inverting reality required a specific focus “separate from the day-to-day news coverage I was doing.” Dale looked forward to being “freed from this [ugly] task” of covering Trump’s persistent untruths once Hillary Clinton prevailed, as was widely expected. Trump won “and so, [he] had to continue.”
What accounts for this endless mendacity and rhetorical manipulation? Speaking to “Public” Broadcasting System “NewsHour” anchor and Council on Foreign Relations (CFR) member Judy Woodruff last week, Dale theorized that Trump and the Republican allies and outlets who repeat his outlandish and bogus assertions want to drive media coverage and political discourse away from topics they wish to avoid—health care, the Mueller investigation and “anything else the president doesn’t want us to talk about,” such as Trump’s still unreleased tax returns, climate change and the party’s regressive tax cuts.
Dale is on to something there, no doubt, but the real meaning of the president’s Twitter-amplified Fibby Pulpit is deeper and darker than mere diversion and partisan spin. As Chris Hedges suggests in his latest book, “America: The Farewell Tour,” Trump and his party’s continuing defiance of reality suggests that the United States is sliding into “corporate totalitarianism”:
Trump and the Republican Party represent the last stage in the emergence of corporate totalitarianism. Pillage and oppression are intensified by the permanent lie. The permanent lie is different from the falsehoods and half-truths uttered by politicians like Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, and Barack Obama. The common political lie these politicians employed was not designed to cancel out reality. It was a form of manipulation. … But Clinton did not pretend that NAFTA was beneficial to the working class when reality proved otherwise. Bush did not pretend that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction once none were found.
The permanent lie is not circumscribed by reality. It is perpetuated even in the face of overwhelming evidence that discredits it. It is irrational. Those who speak in the language of truth and fact are attacked as liars, traitors and purveyors of ‘fake news.’ They are banished from the public sphere once totalitarian elites accrue sufficient power, a power now granted them with the revoking of net neutrality. … “The result of a consistent and total substitution of lies for factual truth is not that the lie will now be accepted as truth and truth be defamed as a lie, but that the sense by which we take our bearings in the real world – and the category of truth versus falsehood is among the mental means to this end – is being destroyed,” Hanna Arendt wrote in The Origins of Totalitarianism. …
The permanent lie turns political discourse into absurdist theater. … Treasury Secretary Steven Mnuchin claims he has a report that proves the tax cuts will pay for themselves and will not increase the deficit – only there never was a report. … The permanent lie is the apotheosis of totalitarianism. It no longer matters what is true. … When reality is replaced by the whims of opinion and expediency, what is true one day becomes false the next. Consistency is discarded. Complexity, nuance, and depth and profundity are replaced with the simpleton’s faith in threats and force.
Consistency is discarded. The Trump administration has cited “states’ rights” in trying to roll back federal requirements that out-of-date coal and nuclear plants be shut down, even as it endeavors to federally negate the state of California’s right to enforce comparatively stringent emission regulations.
Republican Congressional candidates run campaign commercials proclaiming their commitment to retaining the Affordable Care Act’s provision prohibiting health insurance companies from discriminating against people with pre-existing conditions at the same time that the GOP is viciously challengingthat provision in court.
Trump blames the nation’s bourgeois media and a timid, centrist Democratic Party for the hatred, incivility and demonization that pollute U.S. politics while he calls his opponents “evil” and celebrates violence against liberals and journalists.
It is important to understand, as Hedges does, that the Trump-led assault on veracity, evidence and our very ability to separate truth from falsehood has been able to gain traction only because a decades-long corporate coup has devastated and discredited public education, academia, organized labor and the legal and criminal justice systems. It has done all this and more while turning the Democratic Party into what the late Princeton political scientist Sheldon Wolin called the nation’s Inauthentic Opposition.
Think of this distinctively American “corporate-managed democracy” and “inverted totalitarianism” as the nation’s pre-existing authoritarian condition for the rise of an Amerikaner-style fascism.
In the face of what an authoritarian like Trump and his white-nationalist Republican Party have done over the last two years of one-party rule—an annulment of what’s left of the U.S. Constitution’s much-ballyhooed “checks and balances”—there’s no credible moral argument against the notion that progressives living in contested districts should choose the lesser of two evils in next week’s midterm elections. Adolph Reed Jr., Noam Chomsky and Arun Gupta’s warnings about the dangers of a Trump presidency have been richly born out. I, for one, should have paid them more heed.
Still, we on the left, what’s left of it, should nonetheless retain our capacity to be properly nauseated by a yard sign I recently saw in arch-liberal, super-blue Iowa City, Iowa. Surrounded by other, smaller signs with the names of a handful of dismal local and statewide Democratic candidates, it read “MAKE AMERICA GOOD AGAIN: Vote.”
Please. The notion that the richly bipartisan corporate totalitarianism of which Trump is the apotheosis can be reversed, and the nation made “good” simply by voting Herr Donald and the Republicans out of office is a childish fantasy.
That, too, is a Great Lie. As marchers celebrating a rare legal victory over a white supremacist U.S. police state in Democratically controlled Chicago chanted last month, “The whole damn system is guilty as Hell.” It’s the whole damn system that must be democratized from the bottom up. From the dismal dollar Democrats, The New York Times, The Washington Post, CNN, MSNBC, “P”BS, Tom Steyer, the Gates Foundation, the Brookings Institution, the CFR, the Atlantic Council, the Obama and Clintons on the so-called left, to the radically reactionary Republicans, the Koch brothers, the Mercers, the Heritage Foundation, the American Enterprise Institute, Fox News, the Weekly Standard, the Hudson Institute, the Hoover Institution, and the American Legislative Exchange Council, Breitbart, right-wing talk radio, the Sinclair Broadcasting Co., the Federalist Society and more on the actual right, imperialism, racial inequality and class rule have brought us to this menacing pre-fascist moment.
Paul Street
ContributorPaul Street holds a doctorate in U.S. history from Binghamton University. He is former vice president for research and planning of the Chicago Urban League. Street is also the author of numerous books,…
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