poc-whump

[poc-whump]

Fruit of the Wicked Masterlist

Content warnings: lady whump, male whumper/female whumpee, poc whump (whumpee is a Black woman), age gap whump (whumper is an older man), religious whump, whump within a family, character death, violence against women as a theme, nsfwhump, noncon

A wayward waitress lands in the lap of a notorious serial killer and will do whatever it takes to make it out alive.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Pointersfield, VA moodboard

AO3-Exclusive Prologue

[poc-whump]

@cosmic-deeds-undone ths was moderately terrifying but thank you

[poc-whump]

Chicago Med s09e10: “Probably not a tension pneumothorax.” — “Hemo pneumo. You're bleeding into your chest.”

[poc-whump]

TW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, HOMELESS WHUMPEES, AUTHORS THINLY VEILED (VERY THINLY) RELIGIOUS TRAUMA, RELIGIOUS THEMES AND QUESTIONS

Peyton belongs to @wildfae-afterdark and is used with permission. Christians Against Pets belong to @pigeonwhumps and are used with permission. Thank you, Ruth!

TAGLIST: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump , @poc-whump , @badgerwhump , @flowersarefreetherapy , @gottawhump , @oddsconvert , @cepheusgalaxy, @flailingfrog

They were tired of sleeping on wooden and steel benches that left splinters in their ass and in abandoned buildings with concrete digging into their back, and in alleys with the stench of death and rot filling their nose. They wanted a comfortable bed. They wanted, needed, a shower. Peyton needed one too but the shelters were full and, for obvious reasons, safehouses weren’t easy to find. Dami knew most of them in this area wouldn’t be willing to take in a guard dog either, especially one that had been a Retriever. They were known around here and they kept their head on a swivel. Most pets were complacent, compliant, and non-confrontational but Dami had learned to never put their trust in that. Revenge would be easy and Peyton would be collateral. Although Dami didn't blame them, it didn't mean they would allow themself or Peyton to be harmed.

They didn't want to hurt anyone but they would choose themself everytime.

The church was the last best option and even still, they hesitated. They’d been to this place before. People came to worship in jeans. Members tutored kids from the neighborhood Title I school, ran a soup kitchen once a week out of the fellowship hall, and attended rallies and marches for progressive causes. They did some good, often looking the other way when runaways ended up in their shelters and bread lines. It belonged to Christians Against Pets, a non-profit that marketed itself as a refuge and safe haven for pets.

Dami’s first reason for hesitation came from the fact that they often worked with WRU, taking in the pets that were….unusable. The leftovers. The ones they didn't discard and bury beneath their facilities. They were doing the corporation a favor and in return, WRU didn't often raid or harass them.

Their second reason was the fact that they’d been kicked out of the shelter once before. The priest hadn't been too thrilled with their attitude towards church and the religious people that resided that often profited from it. Neither had they been accepting of their refusal to attend the service.

Despite the comfort and routine of Mass, they didn't consider themself particularly religious. They liked attending services with Kestrel, liked seeing the peace on her face afterwards, the way her shoulders relaxed and seemed to strengthen. To borrow a phrase from a show they’d watched a lifetime ago, they didn't believe in god, but they believed in Leigh Kestrel and that was enough.

Thane Barlow had been the god they’d been trained to love for as long as they could remember. He’d demanded devotion from them in a way too reminiscent of the God all denominations of Christianity worshiped. They were made to love a holy and righteous being who allowed them to suffer over and over and over again in an attempt to make them just as good and holy as they were. There would be endless reminders that they would never achieve that being the pathetic being that they were.

They’d escaped one. They wouldn’t go back to another.

Damiel’s devotion was now reserved for themself and those who never demanded that kind of faith from them.

Faint beams of rainbow light shone through the stained glass, touching here and there on the walls and floor and altar. The morning star cast a glow on the red carpet and highlighted the cross above the doors in a perfect shadow. The warped glass of the windows still blocked out the view of the outside world, besides the shadows of bushes growing too close.

The service had already ended and Dami followed the flow of the crowd down to the Fellowship Hall.

Peyton followed them.

“Hey, everyone!” called a familiar voice from the front of the room. Pastor Henry beamed at the group. He wore a purple denim jacket with a bisexual pride flag pin on the lapel.

“I want to welcome all our brothers and sisters in Christ, friends old and new —” his eyes roved over the crowd and landed on them, on their and Peytons’ intertwined hands “— who are gathered here tonight. As we break bread together, let us remember that we do so around the table of the Lord.” He paused for a beat, then smiled again. “And everyone has a place at this table.”

“Everyone has a place at this table,” most of the room echoed back. Dami kept their head up and eyes opened when everyone else bowed their heads and the priest offered thanks.

Lunch was laid out on the table but people continued to deposit food onto the long table. The tempting delicacies included Swiss cheese (no crackers), Doritos, Jello salad with bing cherries and walnuts, hummus, baked beets, hamburger casserole, and store bought potato salad.

Dami stayed clear of the potato salad.

“Welcome in!” They turned to see a warm young woman with multicolored hair. who they had chatted with a couple of times during the passing of the peace. She’d walked in with a child who was attempting the firm grasp on their hand. Her other hand grasped a dish of baked macaroni and cheese. Dami eyed the dish.It would be another one they avoided. She smiled at the two of them. Peyton met her smile with an equally bright one of his own “I’m Janine. I’m married to Pastor Henry. So glad y’all are here. Please enjoy yourself and don't hesitate to ask if you need anything.”

She chased after the little boy who'd finally gotten his freedom. Dami remembered her from last time. She'd been pregnant then. She hadn't remembered them.

Another person came up to them and Dami tensed at the crowd slowly starting to form around them. They met Elle, a talented young artist who had painted the colorful murals of Jesus and the disciples that stood in for stained glass windows in the modest sanctuary.

“Be sure you try Hope's roasted veggies,” she loudly whispered as Hope walked up. “She’s really proud of them.” Hope elbowed Elle good-naturedly as she welcomed the men with hugs.

Peyton’s hand in theirs kept them from shoving the woman into the table.

Everyone was overly friendly and Peyton returned the friendliness. He would always be more friendly than they were.

They were grateful when they were finally able to get food and sit down.

The priest slid next to them. Dami eyed him before they slid away and closer to Peyton. The other man eyed Dami and then the priest. He pressed closer into their side but smiled and said a soft hello, thanking the pastor for the food. He showered it with compliments but His eyes never left the priest’s face even as he quickly shoved food in his mouth.

Lighter and less noticeable if you weren’t looking for it, their wariness had become his. They’d known it would happen. They’d known Peyton would lose, would lose some of his naivete. Still, they hated it. They’d missed so much. The stone in their stomach grew heavier.

“Damiel,” Pastor Henry said softly. They didn't look up from the table, “I’d like to say it’s good to see you again but that wouldn’t be true. It’s been a few years since you’ve been here last. Is this your husband?”

“No.” Not that it was any of his business. Peyton shrunk beside them. “Pets aren’t allowed to get married. He’s mine.”

Pastor Henry blinked. His eyes darted between the two of them. Something close to disappointment flicked in them at the implication. “Really.”

They shrugged again. “No sin is greater than another. Taught me that.”

“I didn't mean for you to be…A sin is still a sin, Damiel. Owning another person is a sin.”

Dami looked up at the Pastor. “If pets weren’t supposed to exist, God wouldn’t let them exist. Right?”

Pastor Henry sighed. “Damiel, I wouldn't blame God for that. I'm certain WRU has a board of directors.”

Of course, humans were evil. Owners were never responsible for their pet’s mistakes.

"But you said God is in charge of everything."

"God gives people free will."

".....but doesn't God direct people's paths?"

"Yes. He does. I wouldn’t be here today if he didn't."

Peyton smiled again. Dami didn't. Good for him. Maybe God just liked some people better than others.

"So God let people torture and rape and almost kill me. Suppose to apologize, right?"

"That's not-” He paused and then spoke again, slowly, “Sometimes ....sometimes, God allows us to be tested, to endure things, so we can tell others how he brought us through them. And our story can help others. Does that…help?”

“No. It’s stupid. Don't want to help others.”

They glanced at Peyton before turning back to the Pastor. "God never came for me.”

They shrugged. The food settled heavy in their stomach. It was decent food, church food .”Stopped believing in God because… how could such an all-knowing, all-seeing, supposedly benevolent being look down on the world and see its creations being treated ....badly? How could he have let m exist? I don't even care about him saving me. How could he have let me live to do all the damage I did? No God that really cares about their people should just sit by and let something destroy them like that.”

He didn't move, didn't flinch, seemingly unfazed by the onslaught of questions. His hands remained folded in his lap, on his black pants Dami was sure cost him quite a bit of money. Thane used to wear the same brand.

His face stayed the picture of perfect patience. Dami recognized that face. They hated it. It was the face adults gave children when they didn't want to discourage their learning but knew the question being asked was impossible, preposterous, nonsensical.

Damiel’s questions weren’t silly. They were a long way from childhood.

“Questioning is good,” he said, “Having faith doesn’t mean never questioning God. It means accepting you may never get an answer or at least not one you recognize.”

Dami frowned. “I ignore people who don't answer my questions. Been told that that’s rude. I’m not questioning. I'm not asking. I'm not begging. I’m demanding answers. This isn’t a tantrum, this is a call for accountability.”

[poc-whump]

CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, HOMELESSNESS, RECOVERING (SORTA) PET WHUMPEES, IMPLIED PROSTITUTION, MITCHELL (WHO WILL NEVER BE MENTIONED AGAIN AFTER THIS CHAPTER)

Peyton belongs to @wildfaewhump and is used with permission.

TAGLIST: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump , @poc-whump , @badgerwhump , @flowersarefreetherapy , @gottawhump , @oddsconvert , @cepheusgalaxy, @whump-card

The sky was turning pink beyond the sliding glass doors that also served as a window to the world. Every color stood in stark contrast to the beiges, blues, and brushed nickel-platings of the Speed Queen washers and dryers. They’d probably been white at some point but time and cigarette smoke had aged and discolored them. Or maybe it was the era of the building and not the age that made the scratched enamel the color of egg wash. Greasy, curry-orange chrysanthemums bloomed on the walls. Blue-frosting fiberglass egg chairs tipped against them.

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing loudly and making them wish they had their headphones. The strong, fragrant smell of Downy permeated the air.

Dami’s eyes grew heavier and heavier as they sat in one of the chairs across from the wall of washers and dryers. The rhythmic humming of the machines had already lulled Peyton to sleep and was doing its best to send them there as well. Peyton’s head rested on their arm. A blanket, one of their only clean ones, sat around his shoulders. They were one of the only people in the laundromat at this time of the morning and Dami was grateful for it. The clerk at the front hadn't asked them to leave. With the payment Dami had given her earlier that night, they’d be safe for the night. The chairs weren’t the most comfortable but it was better than sleeping in the alley out back.

There was only one more load of laundry they had to do anyway before all their clothes and the backpacks were clean. Then they’d have to find something to eat. They’d spotted a cvs down the road. They could stock up on peanut butter, granola, and waters - things that could get them to the next town easily. There were so many pros and cons of college towns. Stores closed late and opened early.

Maybe they could rest their eyes a little bit. It wouldn’t hurt to sleep for a minute and let their clothes sit. The machines hummed, a hollow clanking as the interior mechanisms tossed clothes about in a soapy mess. Tiny waves of suds washed up against the circular window of the washing machine, along with glimpses of black, blue, and green clothing.

They’d barely closed their eyes for a second before the harsh, sharp beeping sound rang in their ears.

Or not.

With a soft huff, they pushed themself out of their seat, careful to maneuver Peyton so he was sleeping comfortably again. They leaned over the machine and thumbed quarter after quarter into the hungry slot until the control panel blinked options for color, white, delicates or permapress.

The boy who walked in looked young, with a warm, dark complexion and a toned physique that draws Dami’s attention as he moved to the washer a few spaces down from theirs. The stranger smiled at them for a moment with a flash of blinding white teeth

"Hi," he said.

Damiel turned to him. He was shorter than Peyton, but still cute in a just figuring out life kind of way. He didn't feel dangerous, there was no need to be unfriendly, so Dami nodded and muttered something that could pass for a hello. They went back to the washer and their clothing but continued to watch him out of the corner of their eye. He took their muttered utterance as an invitation.

He sidled closer, eyes darting around before resting on Dami again. He looked up at them and tried to smile.

"Are you here alone?" he asked. His voice is deep and kind of husky, like one of the clients Ms. Dahlia used to have. The one that let Dami taste their first cigarette and was disappointed when they hadn't flinched at the cigarette on their skin. It was strange to hear such a deep voice on someone so small.

"No," They answered. From a distance, Peyton stayed asleep, nervous hands hidden in the sleeves of Dami’s worn hoodie. They hoped he kept sleeping. He’d need it with the walking they'd need to do today.

"Just a friend?" the guy asked. Another forced smile. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. "I'm Mitchell."

Mitchell, no last name. They didn't bother to answer, putting more coins in the washer instead. They pushed the lever and moved to the next washer, which meant, unfortunately, they had to walk towards Mitchell.

"What's your name?" Mitchell asked. They gave him a flat look and moved around him.

"Look, I forgot to bring a book or anything else to do while my laundry's busy, so I was wondering--”

"No," they cut him off. They didn't give a shit what he was about to say even if they could clearly guess. The answer was no. No, he couldn't talk to Dami. No, they didn't have a book to lend him. No, they didn't want to play cards. Honestly, they didn't want to be there at all, getting the smells of strangers into their clothes from sharing a public washer and dryer, sitting for hours in uncomfortable too-small plastic chairs and counting the minutes while Peyton jumped at every shape, shadow, and ringing bell.

"I was just going to ask if you want to fool around in the bathroom a bit," Mitchell said, easy as anything, shrugging. If Dami were alone, like they'd been their first escape, they would've said yes. They would've let him pay for their laundry. They would've made him pay for every touch. They would’ve longed for the company. They would’ve welcomed it.

But they weren't alone. They were trying to be a better example for Peyton.

"No," they said. They moved on to their third washer.

"You don't even have to touch me," Mitchell continued, like he's deaf to Dami's voice. "I just want to get my hands on your dick, just a little."

Dami slammed the coins into the washer too hard. The machine moved with it but nothing broke. They ignored it.

"No."

"I like 'em big and bulky," Mitchell said with a small smile. His voice dropped in something reminiscent of a Romantic’s whisper as he reached for Dami’s bicep and curled his fingers around them, touching them as if he’d been invited to. As if he had the right. Another smile accompanied the violation, “And you….look perfect.”

They whirled to him, growling. They pulled his hands off of them, squeezing his fingers together just painful enough to feel threatening. Their nails pricked the skin on the back of Mitchell's hands, digging deep into the lines and numbers Damiel was too familiar with.

They let go as if they’d been burned. It made sense.

Eyes wide, Mitchell stumbled backwards, pulling the sleeve down over the barcode.

"I'm so sorry,” he whimpered,”Please don't hurt me. I didn't…I need….please.”

“Shut up.” Dami grunted. “Not going to hurt you. You’re bad at this.”

A Romantic wouldn’t have been that clunky once they’d found their target and they would’ve chosen someone with more money than Dami currently had. They’d obviously been a Platonic or a Domestic.

“Flirt first. Tease.”

“Flirt?” Mitchell squeaked. He rubbed his wrists and backed up again, putting some much needed distance between them.

Dami was grateful for it.

“Flirt. Make them laugh and if you can’t,” they shrugged, “you’ll go hungry. Laundromats aren’t good places. No money here. Just college kids and single parents. Try nightclubs. Bars. Golf parks. People there always want more than they have.”

He nodded, holding his fingers close to his chest and Dami sighed, still glaring.

“Here.” They shoved some clothes into a backpack and almost threw it at him. They could live with one bag. Less things for them and Peyton to carry. They dug into their pocket and pulled out a few bills, giving those to him as well.

Eyes wide, Mitchell took them and stuttered out a thank you.

“Someone says no, move on. Don't be pushy. Will get you caught.” Mitchell nodded eagerly. He didn't stop talking, alternating between apologizing and thanking them. Dami ignore them. “CVS down the street. Get food that will last a long time. Don't steal it. They track stuff.”

Mitchell leaves soon after but Dami couldn't relax. They'll be fine with one backpack. They hurried to finish the rest of their clothes and leave the laundromat.

[poc-whump]

Echo 1x01

[poc-whump]

Hello! Call me Viridian, I’ve been a long time lurker who finally wants to be part of this community! I’ve been into whump pretty much forever (since my formative years in the single digits), but Iv’e been reading, writing, and drawing whump on and off for the last 15 years. I can’t imagine getting to the point of feeling confident enough to post my own work, but who knows? My partner is probably getting tired of hearing how I want to torment my OC’s, so that is another motivation to start this side blog! For now though it’s probably gonna be very reblog-heavy.

Obligatory warning: minors DNI. Please. There’s gonna be nasty stuff on this blog probably.

Likes and Interests

Slavery whump

Captivity whump

Pet whump (not exactly BBU, but BBU’s not bad)

Noncon/NSFW -will tag!

Noncon body mod -e.g., branding, tattooing, piercing

Kidnapping

Bondage

Caretaking

Communication barrier (language barrier, nonverbal whumpee, etc.)

G/t dynamics -relatively new interest but I like it

Squicks (that how you say it? Things I don’t like)

Medical/lab whump

Gore -experimenting with mild gore, but I cannot handle a lot right now

Most hero/villain tropes -no shade, I’m just not into it

Supernatural whump -again, nothing bad about it, just not really into it

Special thanks goes out to @burnticedlatte @demondamage @whumperofworlds @poc-whump and other blogs and the people behind them who inspired/encouraged the making of this blog. You guys are awesome ❤️

[poc-whump]

tfw you have a poc whumpee but everyone wants to focus on their white whumper 🥲

I'm sorry you're dealing with that, it is hard to find spaces for characters of colour because of people actively ignoring them in favour of white characters.

But that's also why I believe in spaces like this blog which focus specifically on poc so you're always welcome to share your whump here

[poc-whump]

Buen viaje

[poc-whump]

Something i did while on my break for @sunshiline-writes !!! I adore hen and yall NEED to read A Rose Amidst Thorns.

Art Tag: @whump-tr0pes @whump-queen @whumpsday @whumpinthepot @kixngiggles @onlywhumpcomments @project-xiii @quietly-by-myself @ka1imba @suspicious-whumping-egg @cyborg0109 @whatwhumpcomments @whumpcomica @i-eat-worlds @blood-and-regrets @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @burntcoffeewhump @lonesome--hunter @whumpifi @oddsconvert @painsandconfusion @whumpasaurus101 @sadcatjae @kiratheperson @studyofwhump @sunshiline-writes @emmettnet @just-a-silly-little-whumper @chaotic---calm @ladyjaye13

[poc-whump]

- Whumpmas in July -

- Day 30 -

Prompt: Antidote

---

I actully had the story for this prompt like 60% written but then i realized it just Wasn't Going i so went fuck it, last minute art. Fun fact is that Elaine is terrified of hospitals so when she wakes up she's gonna have an Even Worse Time (◡‿◡)

[ID in alt]

[poc-whump]

Chains over Kawoli

Summary: The young and inexperienced Queen of Kawoli, Nia was born to maintain the balance between the two neighbouring empires of Veros and Nahrus. Said balance, however, will be broken as the emperor of Veros has the young queen kidnapped to keep a tight control over Kawoli, its crucial mountain pass, and its ruler. Trapped in a hostile court, Nia would have to serve her homeland by navigating its inner workings, but even crowned queens have little power on foreign shores…

Story List: Coming Soon!

Taglist: @winedark-whump (If anyone wants to be added to this list please comment!)

Art by Haleviyah

[poc-whump]

Premonition

[poc-whump]

Lupe Esparza & his descent into madness Días de Gracia (2011) Directed by Everardo Valerio Gout

[poc-whump]

Tagging is open again and changed up the info so give it a read :)

Info

I'm mari, my main is @noirineverysense

This blog is for whump of characters of colour.

Feel free to tag the blog if you want your writing featured, gifs and art are welcome too! If I choose not to post it, don't bother me about it tho.

Any hate will be automatically blocked and deleted.

Interaction/tagging is welcome from both poc and white people.

I hope that everyone can have a good time!

[poc-whump]

Lightning In A Bottle #1: Bring in the Calvary

oh boy. The first post of my own writing! How exciting. This story does in fact have some pretty heavy stuff so read at your own risk I suppose. It takes place in a world where powers exist and there is a war going on in the background. More plot/worldbuilding will be revealed as I upload chapters so.. uh.. enjoy? also let me know if I miss any tags or anything. CW: minor Whumpee, he's forced to do stuff so Forced To participate, electrical burning via powers of child, mentions of cuts and broken bones, conditioned/weapon whumpee, intimate whumper, lots of bad language because Christian is.. Christian

The man was pleading and crying. Tears streamed down his face. His arms were strapped down in the chair, his legs tied to the chair as well. There were also straps around the man's stomach and chest. He was effectively pinned down. Even though he squirmed and screamed, there was nothing he could do to escape. 

“So Christian,” said the other man in the room, now standing behind him. His hands snaked over his shoulders, applying a light pressure. “All you have to do is give me the location of the bases,” he said, his lips by his ear. Breath hot. Christian shuddered, locking his jaw. No. No he could handle this. All of the things Zachary had done. The cuts, the broken bones, and the words. Everything, he could take it. Christian had taken it for weeks. He could go a little longer. That’s all he needed just a little more time. His silence must have been enough of an answer, because Zachary pushed himself off of Christian. Walking in front of him and grabbing his chin hard enough to bruise. “So stubborn, it’ll be the death of you.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Christian spat, breathing heavily. “Asshole,” he added as an afterthought. That earned a tighter grip on his chin that made him wince, and then Zachary let go. Christian watched as Zachary stepped back, looking frustrated. His blonde torturer had to get creative with Christian. He was a rarity, someone unaffected by Zachary’s power of mental manipulation. Unaffected by most powers unless they were a physical one. A 'Mind Sheild' is what people called it. So Zachary had to get creative, hence the physical cuts on his body. Though, Christian had a feeling he wasn’t the first one he’d done this too. He was too calculated with the knife, with where he broke the bones, it was like he knew where it would hurt the most. Who else had this man done this too? How many people suffered under his hand? The thought of the numbers alone was enough to keep Christian fighting. 

“Fine then,” Zachary said with a small, unsatisfied smile, “do not say I didn’t give you a chance.” Then he knocked on the door behind him. His smile took on a darker quality that made Christians breath quicken. “What are you doing Zachary?” “Bringing in the calvary.” 

Christian didn’t know what he expected to walk through that door but it wasn’t the scene in front him. A kid, no older than fifteen with a shaved head and two different colored eyes. His eyes were the most stunning part about him. Otherwise, the kid was straight faced, dressed in a dark grey jumpsuit. Standard uniform for the kids they train here according to the rumors he’d heard of. His hands clenched and unclenched in their restraints. 

“A kid is your calvary? Really? Ho-” 

“Shut up Christian,” Zachary snapped, his attention now turned on the boy. By default, so was Christians. One eye was brown and the other was blue, and inside them was fear. This kid was afraid. His eyes betrayed the stone faced expression he tried to put on. The boy swallowed thickly. 

“Now, you know what you’re supposed to do right?” Zachary asked the kid, hand on his shoulder the other hand on his wrist. “You are going to get this right, I believe in you.” 

The hand on the kid's wrist made a whirring noise and something released from around his wrist. A bracelet. An inhibitor. This was bad. The hair on his arms stood up and suddenly it felt like static was all over his skin. For a moment, the lights flickered. 

“Wait wait, come on, please don’t make the kid do this,” Christian attempted to reason, already fighting in the restraints as the kid walked closer. Hesitant steps, careful steps. “Come on! Come on! Zachary! Hey!” Zachary ignored him and leaned against the wall with a grin. Watching this take place as Christians breath turned into hyperventilating. 

“Awww, is someone scared now? All it took was a little bit of static?” 

“Fuck you!” 

“You wish you could.” 

What a disgusting man. He nearly forgot about the kid who was now behind him. If he couldn’t appeal to Zachary, his next move was the kid. 

“Kid, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to listen to him. Come on! Please don’t do this.”

“Shh, don’t talk to him, he’s not going to help you.” 

Small, scarred hands landed on his shoulders, barely touching him. Christian could feel the electricity shock him slightly as the boy silently stood there, waiting. What was he waiting for? 

“Now.” 

Oh.

His whole body lit up in flames. He was on fire. He was on fire. Every part of him was being stabbed with white hot knives and he screamed. Christian screamed and threw his head back, his body seizing with the electric current. Then it stopped and he took deep shuddering breaths, heaving with effort. His head lolled to the front of his chest and his muscles seized with the aftershocks. There was a ringing in his ears and there was a sharp pain in his scalp as his head was wrenched upward. “The locations of the bases?” 

A laugh built up in his chest. “Not gonna happen.” 

His head was roughly let go of and he barely registered the word again before his world exploded into pain once more. 

[poc-whump]

Rin and Venka hii 🤲🏼🫠