#whumper in prison

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned whumpee

CW: Whumper turned caretaker, injured whumpee, defiant, restrained, angst

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Whumpee awoke in their enemies infirmary.

An IV was pricking their arm and the lights were dimmed. They twitched as their wrist ached from the handcuff binding them to the bed.

"You're awake? I was getting worried about you." Whumper hummed, sitting by their bedside with a large cup of coffee. Whumpee shakily rose their hand as the handcuff clinked.

"This isn't necessary." Whumpee tiredly mumbled.

"My my, you've been awake for ten seconds and already making demands." Whumper chuckled. "But I'm afraid we're not on that level of trust yet, I can get you something for the bruise."

Whumpee tried to sit up, everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. 

"I'm a w-wounded prisoner. It's not like I know my w-way around here-" Their voice hitched as their arm gave in as they collapsed. Whumper was quick to pull them up and put a pillow behind their back.

"Easy now, you're still healing. -And don't downgrade yourself, you could still pack a punch, I know how you were trained." Whumper scolded, fixing the blanket around them.

"How could you possibly know that." Whumpee squinted. Whumper ignored their question and waved someone over; they were handed something whumpee couldn't see from the bed. Whumper moved towards them whumpee tried to scamper as far as the handcuff could go.

"Hey! Hey, calm down. It's not going to hurt you." Whumper lulled, placing a plate with a full meal on their lap. "Look, it's just a peace offering."

Whumpee's face flushed with a hint of pink as they lowered their shoulders. Hospitality was the least they expected from their enemy's leader. "You're feeding me?" Whumpee tilted their head.

"Of course I'm feeding you. I saved your life, I'm not going to waste it all by starving you. Gracious, eat your dinner." Whumper scoffed. 

"This is dinner? How long did you sedate me?" Whumpee suddenly perked up.

"I didn't sedate you, you were exhausted. That's just how long you slept. Now eat, you'll feel better." They nudged, taking their wrist and putting a plastic fork in whumpee's hand.

"If I didn't know any better," Whumper chuckled, "I would guess your beloved team wasn't feeding you either-"

Whumper felt movement and grabbed whumpee's arm before they attempted to plummet the fork into whumper's neck. They glared at each other as Whumpee was panting and pouring with sweat.

"Sweetheart, that is a plastic fork you're holding." Whumper glared.

"I know. But it's got three sh-sharp points and that's good enough f-for me." Whumpee grunted, still attempting to stab them. Whumper grabbed their collar and yanked them mere inches away. Whumpee pushed and tried to back-peddle as whumper held their collar.

"That was a cute try." Whumper whispered in their ear. "But you don't have the strength to fight just yet, little lamb. Should have eaten first." They plucked the fork out of Whumpee's hand and released them. Whumpee fell back and winced, holding their wound as it pulsed. They could feel the stitches underneath their shirt, staying intact at least...

"You honestly can't believe you'll keep me here like this! I don't want to be here- I'm not your pet to tease!" Whumpee shouted at them.

"You're not my pet. If you want to be that way, then sure; you're like a lamb running for the cliffs that I have to keep pulling you away from." Whumper straightened their jacket and rubbed their neck.

"You're only keeping me alive so you can torture me later, I've told you from the start I won't ever give up my team-"

"-No." Whumper cut them off.

Whumpee suddenly quieted and closed their lips. "... What do you mean no?" They quietly asked.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, your head is so full of lies it sickens me to know what they've taught you! You want to know why I stayed by your side all day? You woke up throughout the night and cried yourself right back to sleep!"

"I wasn't crying!" Whumpee sobbed, covering their face and fell silent. Whumper shut their mouth and leaned back, realizing they had corned them. "I'm sorry. I uh ... I'll give you some space. I'll come check on you later." Whumper quickly stood. They craned their head back to see whumpee was now curled on their side facing away from them.

Whumpee flinched when they heard a "clink" as the handcuff fell off their wrist. It was a feeling of pure light and relief. It was a surprising gesture, even for the stunt they pulled with the now-revoked plastic fork.

This wasn't the ruthless enemy whumpee was expecting; whumper speaks as if they know more about their own team than whumpee does. If they got trusted enough to freely walk around, they would get to find their own answers deep in the core of their enemies base. 

 Perhaps this was an opportunity.

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@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee and the four other prisoners sighed when the guards walked in.

"We are going to shackle you all and lead you outside. If any of you act out of line, your punishment will be severe", the guards ordered as they started to line the five and shackle them together.

Whumpee sighed. They weren't supposed to be down there to begin with, Whumper normally had them upstairs as a plaything. Whumpee was placed in the dungeon a few months ago, so Whumper could remodel the upstairs.

"I think he forgot about me", Whumpee would often whisper to themself, "I wonder if I displeased him, or if he grew tired of me."

As they were led out to the gardens, Whumpee could see Whumper enjoying a cup of tea amongst the lilies.

"I miss those days', Whumpee thought to themself, 'he used to bring me out here for tea.'

'He's happy and whistling', Whumpee watched as Whumper stood and looked over the prisoners.

"A fine group of trash", Whumper walked down the line, "oh except one, hello Whumpee."

Whumpee wished to fall to the ground and beg for forgiveness or anything to change his mind and bring them back upstairs.

Yes, being his plaything was not a great lifestyle, but it beat being in the dungeon.

Whumper walked down the line, "guards, go ahead and put the collars on them."

The guards came around, removing the shackles and putting shock collars on the five.

"I'm going to give you a chance of freedom today", Whumper announced.

"My garden has an invisible electric fence around it, with only two spots open for escape", Whumper laughed, "if you find a spot or manage to break through the fence with that collar at max power, you've earned your freedom. We will not chase you if you make it out."

Whumpee looked at the group of prisoners, they all looked like they were going to try.

'I don't want to do this', Whumpee thought to themself, 'I don't even want to try to do this, can't they see it's a trap.'

"You may give up at any time, there will be guards around to drag you back. Good luck to you all", Whumper grinned, "you may start."

Four of the five took off running, screams of them being electrocuted soon followed.

"Go on Whumpee", Whumper encouraged.

Whumpee fell to the ground and crawled to Whumper.

"Please master, if I've found mercy in your sight, allow me the privilege of staying beside you", Whumpee kissed Whumper's shoes when they reached them, "I do not seek to escape you, only to stay loyally beside you. Please don't make me try to escape."

"Guards go ahead and remove their collar", Whumper smiled at Whumpee, "they don't have to play my game, I'll also bring them back upstairs as well. I've missed having their company. This remodel took longer than I expected. It seems the dungeon hasn't been kind to them either, they look very sickly."

Whumpee could imagine how unhealthy they looked. Food and water were scarce as it was, but often the other prisoners would steal from Whumpee. Whumpee was Master's pet, and they would often be bullied for that.

More screams could be heard. A guard came by dragging a limp body.

"They fell over so I guess they give up", the guard commented as they went past.

Whumpee sat on the ground next to Whumper and leaned against his leg.

Whumper reached down and patted Whumpee on the head, "go over to my tea table and grab something to eat. You look starved", Whumper looked at a guard, "get them some water as well."

Another guard walked past leading another prisoner before Whumpee could turn toward the table.

"Oh look at that. The pet doesn't have to play, then they get treated to good food. You had no reason to even attempt to escape did you", the prisoner mocked.

"Hault", Whumper walked towards the prisoner and guard.

"Do you have something you'd like to say to me, prisoner,", Whumper crossed their arms, "do you think Whumpee has it easy?"

The prisoner looked at Whumper angrily, "we all do."

Whumpee looked down.

"I have to disagree, you see, you four have the guards to deal with you, I'm only down there once in a while", Whumper pointed at Whumpee, "they deal with me all day every day, I do whatever I please with them. I could put that collar on them and throw them into the electric fence if I pleased, then I could force them to beg for more."

Whumpee shook, 'please don't', they thought to themself.

"They're better taken care of then us", the prisoner commented.

"You are right with that, but they deal with more than what you do", Whumper waved their hands to shew them away, "I'll deal with them later."

A guard had brought over some water for Whumpee and helped them drink.

Whumper turned and watched, "are you that weak to need help?"

Whumpee bowed, "I apologize master, but yes, they often stole my food and water, and said things like that. I haven't had a lot to sustain me."

Whumper sighed, "I wish I had been made aware of that, I would have separated you."

Whumpee took another drink of water as it was offered.

Whumper lifted them up and carried them to the table, "eat what you like, we will get you cleaned up and to bed later. I'll let you regain your strength before I play with you."

Whumpee looked at the table, everything looked delicious. Their body shook as they reached for a pastry.

"Thankyou master, for your mercy", Whumpee looked down at the ground, "thankyou for allowing me to come back."

As the game was coming to an end Whumper sent Whumpee inside to be cleaned.

Whumpee now lay on the floor in front of a fireplace. A guard was kind enough to start it for them.

"Someone looks cozy", Whumpee heard someone chuckle.

They looked up quickly to see Whumper coming into the room.

"Y-yes Master", Whumpee bowed their head, "is that okay? Would you like me to move?"

"No you're fine", Whumper sat down beside Whumpee.

"Master uhm", Whumpee paused when Whumper started to pat their head lovingly.

"Go ahead. What would you like to say?", Whumper smiled.

"I-I don't remember", Whumpee melted into the touch, "thankyou Master."

"You're welcome", Whumper sighed, "how do you like the remodel? I definitely love this fireplace."

"Yes Master, it's all so nice", Whumpee looked around, "the fireplace feels nice as well."

"Ymhmm", Whumper hummed.

"May I ask if there are any new rules you wish for me to follow. I still remember all of your rules", Whumpee whispered, "I will work hard so that I don't disappoint you again."

"Again?", Whumper made a concerned face.

"I thought maybe I disappointed you or you had grown bored of me", Whumpee looked down, "I was scared that you were mad at me."

"No I wasn't mad or anything. I just didn't plan for this to take as long as it did. Had I known you were having issues down there, I would have separated you from the rest. I'm not happy with the guards for allowing this to happen with my favorite toy. You definitely look very weak", Whumper grinned, "as for rules, nothing new. Except don't start the fireplace on your own."

"Yes Master", Whumpee nodded, "thankyou so much for letting me come back up."

"You're welcome Whumpee", Whumper chuckled, "though I don't know how thankful you'll be in a few days when I decide to play with you again. I haven't played with you for a long time. I may be little more than you bargained for."

"Yes Master... I understand", Whumpee nodded.

"For right now, get some rest. We will get you back to a healthy weight and make sure you are okay", Whumper patted on the floor, and pushed Whumpee's head down gently.

"Th-thankyou Master", Whumpee looked up at them with the best puppy eyes they could muster.

"You're welcome.... now go to sleep."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains @3-2-whump

[letitbehurt]

Whumper testing the limits of an immortal Whumpee.

A cut, then a burn, then a severed tongue. A fatal shot, a cup of poison, the snap of a noose gone taut. Whumper tries all of this and more, but Whumpee cannot die—at least, they cannot seem to stay that way. No matter how much they might want to.

[whumblr]

Lights out

Crossed out - Continued from ch.7 - Prologue

-

Amazing how the word ‘no’ could cause so much pain.

Lucas writhed on the floor of Nero’s office, lying flat on his stomach. A dull pain radiated over his entire body, easily spreading along over the bruises. It was like he was buried in a ton of bricks; pinning his body to the floor, bruises left by every brick that fell down on him, a hue of red seeping into his vision—ah. No, that had a different cause.

He blinked the blood away. It tickled down his brow, against his upper lip. He rested his forehead against the floor, slowly shook it as if it could loosen the web of pain pulsing through. Tried to get his palms under him and push up, but as soon as his weight shifted onto his arms, he collapsed back into a heap.

His back had had to endure most hits, with him trying to protect his ribs, and he was sure he had a wealth of baton-shaped bruises crossing his skin.

Still, he suspected that Nero did hold back. With his strength, it would be nothing to punch his ribs through his lungs. Three at a time even, especially with that baton. Yet he seemed to avoid vulnerable spots, not meaning to disable. Well, not too much anyway. Merely to hurt. And hurt it did.

He did start to understand why the baton was a favourite; if you have to smash one inmate into the floor by ten, and beat another inmate into the infirmary at secret midnight meetings… well, guess you’ll go for the option that doesn’t leave your knuckles wrecked.

The sound of those combat boots getting closer was a full on trigger by now and it made him want to draw up in a foetal position. His body, however, didn’t even have the strength to curl up anymore.

“Now, Varga, pay attention, because this next rule is important. Are you listening?”

Lucas groaned. All his attention was currently redirected to making sure his limbs could still move, or taken up by the paralyzing pain. He peeked up at the man standing over him, a certain amount of relief washing over him as he noticed the baton was dangling against his hip, snapped back to his belt. Not fully reassuring, but at least it was a good sign that the worst was over. He scraped himself off the floor, pushing up to a sitting position. “Ye—Yes sir.”

“One of the main rules here is to be in your cell before lights out at ten o’clock. If you are not present during the night call, we will assume you are attempting to break out. And all consequences to that apply.”

Lucas glanced at the clock. It was fifteen to ten. “Then I’d better get going,” he tried.

Unexpectedly, Nero nodded. “You should.”

Glad to be dismissed, Lucas didn’t think twice. Mentally he was already checked out, back in his own cell, licking his wounds and taking the bits of rest he could. Fifteen minutes should, in his current state, be enough to teeter back to his cell. He struggled to his feet, helping his body along, hand on his knee using all his strength to push himself to straighten up and he made for the door.

“Not so fast.”

Fast was seriously overreaching here, with him barely getting one foot in front of the other and having to force himself forward every step. With his hand on the door handle, he slowly turned.

Nero held his gaze, then slowly glanced down, to the red drops showing where Lucas had just occupied part of the floor. Some were smeared out, matching the streaks on his arm from when he’d tried to scramble up.

“Clean that up.”

Lucas stared at him, back at the blood on the floor. He was suddenly very much aware of the drop sliding towards his upper lip and he quickly wiped it away. “You’re not—”

“I am dead serious. You made a mess, spilled blood all over my floor. Now clean it up.”

“There’s barely fifteen minu—”

“Then you’d better hurry.”

His head was pounding, his body wanting nothing more than to collapse onto the hard slab they called a bed here. Fuck’s sake he could barely stand, let alone—! He groaned out a sigh, resigned. “Fine. Where can I find the cleaning supplies?”

Nero turned away from him, rounded his desk, and sat back down in his chair before he answered, because he did have all the time in the world. “I’m sure one of the guards can help you with that.”

Fuck you very much.

Before he could earn another smack for being disagreeable, Lucas quickly exited the office. He let the door fall shut behind him and glanced around. Of course, there was no one in sight. He hobbled through the hallway, fast as he could biting through the pain, trying some of the doors. Everything was locked and an urging anxiety swirled around in his stomach. He already pictured himself outside his locked cell at one past ten, clawing at the bars, begging to be let in with Nero pulling him away by the collar of his shirt to administer… consequences.

He shook his head fiercely – nearly tilted himself off his axis – come on, focus!

Let’s see. Five minutes to find this stuff – 2 minutes left. Five minutes to swipe blood of the floor, and himself afterwards, which would probably take most of the time. And five minutes to crawl back to his cell. Not unreasonable. Except, totally unreasonable, when every step was a gamble with his body ready to collapse.

He stumbled around, very much aware how much time was ticking away until he finally found a guard who pointed him to an unlocked storage room.

A sigh of relief escaped him and he leaned in the doorway giving his body a small break, scanning what there was to use.

He really wanted to get a mop to use as a crutch, use it to scramble back and save a few seconds – and pain – pulling himself back up when he was done, but given his luck, there were only some cloths.

Knowing Nero, he wouldn’t like it if he left a wet stain on his floor and would send him right back to fetch something to dry it. He already was so short on time, so he took two cloths. With a quick detour to the bathroom, making sure to leave only some water drops in a trail behind him and not more blood – he swiped again at his nose – he knocked on Nero’s door. Had to be polite there, and not lose more time getting chewed out for barging in.

Aiming a sour glare at Nero – unanswered and luckily unnoticed as Nero didn’t even look up – he let the one cloth fall with a wet spletch. Followed along and fell to his knees, catching himself with a hiss, leaning on all fours for a moment to let the pain in his ribs fade, and cleaned up the drops of blood, his blood.

His nerves gave a jolt as he heard Nero get up, but the man merely stood and watched from a distance, leaning against his desk, arms crossed. When Lucas glanced up looking for approvement – with a quick glance at the clock first – Nero pointed without a word at a missed red smear under his knee.

“Permission to leave, sir?” Lucas almost panted, as if he’d completed heavy labor, sitting up high on his knees.

Nero nodded, not responding to the layer of sarcasm. “Dismissed. Don’t forget to bring that back.”

Suppressing a groan and a flinch, Lucas pushed himself back up. Every-thing hurt. Getting a baton across the ribs was one thing, but having to actively hurt yourself merely by having to keep moving was quite something else. He tossed both cloths back into the broom closet, blood and all, limped back to the cell area, and dragged himself up the stairs almost on all fours. He got some strange looks from the men already in their cells, but he ignored them, stumbling past as fast as he could.

He let out an exhale as he let himself fall against the bars of his cell door. The buzzer sounded before he could even catch his breath, and the bars shifted against his shoulder blades as the door closed.

Made it.

-

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @andithewhumper @tippytappytyping

@suspicious-whumping-egg @cherrychupachup @alexmundaythrufriday @defire

[whumpshaped]

whumper is a prison guard, and a horrid one at that. abuse of power all the way. so imagine how satisfying it is when one of the inmates finally manages to get out and throws that fucker against the bars of one of the cells and yells "HOLD THEM THERE" and the guys in that cell swiftly pull whumper's arms inside — while outside, whumpee quickly snatches the keys and then possibly takes advantage of this new power dynamic and dishes out a bit of a punishment on their own.

idk. just. imagining whumper pressed up against the bars, desperately trying to get their arms free. staring into the eyes of ppl theyve abused for who knows how long. still screeching about "you dirty dogs i will fucking flay you once i get out UNHAND ME AT ONCE" and its like...... yeah no. fuck you. even if it costs them their lives, theyll at least get to participate in whumper getting the shit beat out of them and thats worth it <3

[pyrepostings]

Cw: blood mentioned, needles, noncon drugging, noncon use of a straitjacket, defiant whumpee, old timey abusive mental asylum setting, medical whump, carewhumper, multiple whumpers, accidental self inflicted wounds

~

Whumpee bit down, hard, on the hand clasped over his mouth, and simultaneously pulled his free hand out of the grasp of the second orderly. He pushed, and headbutted, and somehow managed to scramble away, to underneath the nearest hospital bed. Despite the ringing in his ears, he heard the orderlies he just escaped cursing him out.

He was under no illusion that he was safe now, but he couldn't just stand there and let them do what they want with him. He had just earned the right to not wear the straitjacket in the common room, and now a simple mistake was going to erase all of that. He wasn't going to just let it happen.

He heard the door opening, and chatter. The one he had bit was getting chewed out for putting his hand near a patient's mouth. He struggled to control his breathing. He just needed the steadiness to undo the buckle of the hand they restrained with the hand they didn't get to. He knew he was smearing blood over the white canvas fabric, but he just needed it off-

the chatter was gone, replaced by the sound of a pair of women's heels walking towards him. With the jacket off, he balled up tight. There was only one pair of legs in the room he could see, but he wouldn't put it past them to be perched on one of the beds. His breathing was still too ragged for him to try to listen for others' telltale breaths to give away an ambush. Still, he pushed himself away from the side of the bed she was on.

She didn't do anything at first. Listening, probably. He pulled his knees to his chest, ignoring the pain in his bad leg from the struggle, and running his hand through his hair while he still had the chance. He needed to calm down. He wouldn't be able to escape, but there had to be a way to put off the torture, for just a little while longer. He couldn't find it if he couldn't calm down and think-

"whumpee?" She called, as if she knew him. As if she wouldn't hurt him like the rest. "Whumpee, I want to help you. My name's caretaker. Can you come out from under there please?"

Whumpee couldn't help the strangled laugh that bubbled out of him. Oh, she was here to help. Like they always were. Right before they stab him in the back. She wore enough of the uniform to tell him she wasn't on his side. No, he would not come to her beck and call, heeling for her like a trained dog. She would have to drag him out, kicking and scratching and biting if she wanted to put him in a jacket again, or to prick his neck with sedatives.

"Whumpee, they told me you were hurt pretty badly. I just need to clean and bandage the wound, how's that sound hm?" He could see as she crouched down and spoke.

He shuffled further away. "No. No, I won't please don't-" his pleas were barely audible. The was no point in making sure she could hear them, she wouldn't listen anyway. She would have him punished. But it was a mistake, a slip of the hand. He just wanted to go home.

"whumpee, if you don't come out on your own, or at least talk to me, I'm going to have to call the boys back in, and we're going to have to drag you out from under there. You don't want that, do you?" Her voice was sickly sweet, and did nothing to draw him out.

If she wanted to drag him out, she could do that. But he wasn't going to just let her. He watched her feet like a cornered animal would watch a tigress, knowing she could smell blood on the wind, which wasn't all that dampened by his clutching his injured hand to his chest.

She lost her patience eventually, and did as she said she would. The original two orderlies were called back, and they circled the bed, hunting strategy now much closer to that of wolves.

Between the three of them, he didn't have a side to back out of, couldn't fight them all off. They all crouched down, and he curled on his back, gripping the bed frame from below. He heard them coordinating, but it did him little good as hands were on him, twisting into his clothes, yanking his deteriorated limbs free.

He was soon out, and he struggled. He clawed and spat and bit and snarled, but they pinned him down on the floor and he soon felt the needle pierce his skin and steal his fight.

He felt his resolve drain from him like pouring water from a cup, coating his limbs and nerves in cement. He could barely keep his eyes open as they lifted him to put him in the jacket, stopping only to wipe the blood on his hand away and bandage it.

It was over. There was no use fighting anything anymore.

He let them manhandle him to the bed, not listening to their orders but knowing they weren't expecting him to anyway.

The thick leather straps were overkill, but it meant they would leave him alone for awhile to let him cry in peace.

[rizzoto-whump]

Whumper threatens Whumpee during an interrogation

"I won't stop until you tell me everything I want to know!"

"I'll make sure your loved ones pay the price if you don't confess."

"I have ways of making you talk, and they aren't pretty."

"I'll make sure your pain is the only thing you fell until you confess."

"You'll never walk again if you keep lying to me."

[avvail-whumps]

‘the facility’ — the breakout 1/?

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content warnings: prison whump, medical whump, captivity, imprisonment, prisoners of war, mass prison breakout, minor character deaths, blood, gun and knife violence, murder, manhandling

Noah’s wide eyes flickered desperately around him, as if trying to make sense of the deadly warning that had just rang out. As though it was some cruel, unfathomable joke, the automated voice spoke again.

“Code: Black.” 

The personnel that had been speaking to him slapped their hands over their mouth, backing up with staggering footsteps. They gave Noah a wide eyed stare, before they were racing out of the laboratory with panicked speed. 

Soon, everyone else followed. 

“Code: Black,” the voice crackled. “Level Nine. All staff make their way to…gency…Code—” 

Over the blaring sound of the alarm and the dark red tinge concealed over his vision, Noah just barely felt his new assigned Apoid grab his shoulder, and start tugging him out of the laboratory with intense urgency. Once he’d managed to unstick the abhorrent terror in him, the blood boiling panic spurred him on. This was the stuff of nightmares. 

Code Black was only meant to be purely theorectical. The Facility was built to withstand multiple breakouts at the same time, but it must have devolved into something much more serious. If Level Nine was on a Code Black, that meant there was a mass breakout, and lots of angry prisoners would be on the loose. 

The Apoid kept a tight grip of him as they raced down the corridors, filled with scrambling Personnel and scientists and even Apoids, their guns raised in case a threat came racing down the corridor. Noah’s throat was parched, each step foreign on his own two feet. 

He could only think about one thing. Where was Fionn? In a situation like this, Apoids were the last to make it to the emergency elevators. They were expected to execute and contain as many prisoners as they could to buy time for an escape for everybody else, and the last thing he had said to him was not to come near him. 

As the alarms continued to screech, the defeaning sound of gunfire suddenly pierced through the air. The staff that had been racing down the corridor screeched to a sudden halt, a burly prisoner rounding the corner with an Apoid’s rifle in his hand. 

Noah’s eyes widened in shock, and the Apoid threw him behind cover just as he started firing into the crowd. 

He heard a sickening thud next to him, uncurling his arms from around his head, just to meet the wide, bloodshot eyes of a dead scienist. Noah’s own filled with stinging tears at the sickening sight.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he wheezed, flinching violently when there were more gunshots and blood curdling screams. The Apoid wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hurled him in a different direction, staggering over his own two feet when bullets sprayed against the corner of the wall, just missing the top of his head. 

He struggled to catch his breath.

Dead bodies were sprawled along the ground, patterns of fresh blood, streaks, puddles, hand prints, all surrounding them.

He resisted the urge to throw up as they dashed past, swallowing down the sting of bile in his throat. Noah ducked behind the Apoid as they came to a crossing, raising his rifle and gunning down a prisoner that had been careering towards them. They covulsed and crumbled to the floor, and Noah was glad they were going in the opposite direction. 

The emergency elevators weren’t far from here. As long as they got them and to a safer, higher level that wasn’t in the same situation, everything would be okay. 

Noah was suddenly shoved forward by his Apoid, who didn’t raise his gun time before a huge prisoner had grabbed him by the skull, and slammed his helmet into the wall. The Apoid stuttered from the sheer force, and even as Noah whipped around in shock, he could see he was dazed from the attack. Before he could shoot him, the prisoner had ripped his rifle from his very hands, and cracked his skull back against the wall. 

Noah had to surpress a scream when the prisoner ripped the knife from his belt, and jabbed it straight into his neck. The Apoid went all tense and his legs buckled, but the prisoner was relentless. The knife jerked in and out of his flesh until his throat was mangled, blood even visible against the blackness of the uniform. 

His foot slipped on a puddle of blood when he tried to make a getaway, his chin colliding with the solid ground with a painful crash. His heart was in his throat and his blood was burning in his own ears as he desperately scrambled forward, eager not to meet the same fate. 

Before he could get up, he felt something roughly seize the back of his jacket, and jerk him back. 

“No!” Noah screamed, desperately flailing in the prisoner’s grasp as he wrangled him onto his back, his blood soaked hands slipping against the floor as he frantically tried to squirm away. “Please, please, oh my god.” 

The prisoner’s hard glare looked him over, fingers twisting into his jacket to get a look at his nametag. Noah’s vision was spinning, his head overflowing with thoughts of how brutally he was going to kill him with that knife, that his guts were going to be hanging all over the walls and he would never get to see his family again, and—

The prisoner let out a snort. 

Noah flinched violently when his rough hands wiped away his streaming tears, smudging coppery blood all over his cheeks. The prisoner abruptly let go of him, and he scrambled backwards in sheer panic. 

“You’re gonna wish I had killed you, little man,” he sneered, gripping the Apoid’s rifle in his hands with a smirk. “Better get running before he finds you.” 

He watched with wide, unblinking eyes as he turned away and disappeared down the corridor, as if he expected him to change his mind and finish the job. His eyes couldn’t help but drift to the Apoid’s dead corspe, still convulsing as if he was alive, and Noah let out a harrowing sob. He wrenched away, heaving, before realising he was still sitting in a puddle of someone’s blood. 

Disgust wriggled into his skin, and he forced himself onto his wavering feet, biting back his terrified sobs. 

This was a nightmare. It had to be. 

Just a cruel nightmare. One that he would wake up from, and he’d be okay. 

But then something the prisoner said resonated with him. Better get running before he finds you. Noah didn’t want to think about the obvious implications of that warning; the easy deduction of who he was. It made him wonder if other prisoners knew, if Cash had told them to save Noah for himself. Because that was what he had told him, hadn’t he, when his arm had been wound tightly around his throat?

He staggered, shoulder hitting the wall with a thud. The sobs wracked through his body, constricting the air from his lungs, and it made it hard to even stand upright. Like this terrible weakness was plaguing his limbs. 

Distant gunfire and shrill screams, ones of agony and pain, spurred him onwards. His vision swam at each dead body he came across, stumbling over bloated, bloody corpses, but he knew he needed to get to the emergency elevators - somehow.

The sound of raging gunfire got louder, and Noah sank behind cover before peering down the long corridor. Scientists were cramming themselves into elevators, bloody handprints smeared along the doors. There must have been dozens of bodies on the ground, all sprawled haphazardly ontop of each other, and Noah’s breath caught in his throat when he met wide, bloodshot eyes.

It was a massacre. Scientists and Personnel of all kinds were scrambling to get inside, most gunned down before they even made it, their bodies convulsing and hitting the ground with a thud. 

One elevator, packed with Scientists, had been about to close, before a prisoner with access to an Apoid’s gun stepped inside. There was the uproar of frightened screams, and when the doors slid shut, Noah could hear the distant sound of muffled gunfire. He slapped a bloodied hand over his mouth, his knees buckling. 

It was practically slaughter. 

Prisoners were swarming everywhere on the Level, and everything was spinning out of control. These sorts of emergencies were supposed to be purely hypothetical - never in the history of the Facility had a Code Black ever been announced on those speakers. 

Something twisted in his hair, jerking his head back, and Noah gave a sharp gasp as someone wrangled him onto the ground. A gangly prisoner was ontop of him in seconds, causing Noah to thrash out in panic, sinking a knee into his boney stomach. 

The sight of the knife was enough to spur him into action. 

The prisoner’s fingers were digging into his skin, stinging the flesh, yanking Noah along with him. His heart leapt into his throat when the knife almost slashed across his chest, forcing him to scramble, grabbing the prisoner’s wrist in a tight, desperate grasp. They let out a teeth bared hiss, attempting to violently buck Noah off. They succeeded, for just a moment, and Noah felt their leg shove him off, his back slamming into the wall. 

When they came at him again, he threw himself out of range, boot smacking into their head. 

It was with enough adrenaline fueled force that the prisoner flew back, the knife slipping from their fingertips. Gunfire rained over the top of them, and Noah pressed himself close to the ground, choking on hard pants. He met the prisoner’s eyes, just for a moment, before they both leapt for the knife. 

By some miracle, Noah seized it first, gripping it tight in his hand. 

The prisoner barrelled into him, knocking the wind out of his lungs, their nails scratching at his face and only narrowing avoiding his eyes. The skin tore, beading with little spots of blood, and Noah’s fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife when the pain made his eyes water. A desperate rush smashed into him. He might have told himself that he wasn’t thinking clearly, but he was. He wanted the prisoner to get off of him, no matter what. 

Noah grit his teeth together, jabbing the knife into the prisoner’s neck. It was shocking how easily it went in, straight down to the hilt, and they made a garbled, pained noise, eyes bulging. Noah rolled them over abruptly, the air rushing back to his lungs, before he forced the knife out. A spray of blood erupted from the wound, feeling it drench his hands, and the prisoner’s body violently convulsed, jerking and stuttering, drowning on the fresh liquid. 

Noah forced himself onto his feet, almost tripping over their corpse. The strength had completely lost him, the knife clattering to the ground, tearing his eyes away from the still convulsing body. 

His legs carried him in the direction of the elevators. They were closed, taking Scientists and Personnel to safety, and Noah prayed to whatever was out there, that that could be him. 

He screeched to a halt, hairs pricking on edge when a group of armed prisoners came around the corner, blocking his path to the elevators. Noah felt the world around him spin when their guns tilted in his direction, and he dove into a doorway just as they started firing. He swore he felt it shave the hairs on his head. 

He held back a sob, kicking the door to the room shut behind him, before slamming his still bloody hands on the lock, sticky against the pad. 

Loud bangs reverbated from outside, the prisoners shouting and attempting to force the door open. Noah’s wide eyes were glued onto it, crumbling to his knees, the tears sliding down his cheeks freely. It stung the scratches on his face, but he didn’t even have it in him to wince, numbed by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

When the banging stopped, Noah deflated. He lifted his shaking hands, staring at the sticky redness painting every inch of skin, filling his senses with tangy copper. Noah’s face wrinkled, and he let out a harrowing sob. He tried to scrub the blood off, frantically wiping it against the ground, the tears dripping from his chin like a downpour. 

He backed himself up into the corner of the room, curling himself up so he was as small as he felt. The blaring alarm rang through his mind like a cruel mantra, sobbing until his throat went raw. 

This was a nightmare. Just a nightmare - it had to be. Nothing like this could ever happen to him. 

Noah choked on a startled breath, trying not to flinch at the assortment of sounds outside of the room. The crackling of gunfire, the screaming, the huge thuds and bangs. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately burying himself into his arms. He wasn’t sure how long he had spent huddled in the corner of the room, his head buried between his knees and desperately trying to breathe. 

It didn’t come easy for him, with all of the blazing noises outside, with all of the memories of the dead bodies, Scientists, Apoids and Personnel alike, left as mangled corpses in a pool of their own blood. Noah’s chest stuttered, lungs fluttering, caked in tears, sweat and blood of both his own, and other people. 

He wondered if hiding in here was the best option. 

If the Facility was under lockdown, they would eventually send reinforcements to control the situation. No prisoner would ever leave, unless it was dead. But then Noah thought about Cash, and those dreaded warnings he had got, and he wondered if a door was enough between them to keep the vengeful prisoner far away from him. 

It couldn’t be. 

His puffy eyes squinted, lifting his head up. He wondered what Fionn would say to him. What he was doing right now. Any one of those lifeless Apoid corpses could have been him, and Noah would have never known. His heart squeezed painfully at the thought. 

Above all, he prayed that Fionn was safe. Even though, out of the two of them, he stood a better chance at surviving this nightmare with his training and his weapons, Fynn still couldn’t be sure if that would be enough to make it out of here alive. It hadn’t been for his second assigned Apoid, who he had known for no more than ten minutes. 

Slowly lifting himself onto his feet, Noah numbly stepped over to the door, ever so slowly. 

Hiding wouldn’t work forever - the emergency elevators were his best chance to get to safety. The breakout could have extended to Level Eight or Level Seven, so he couldn’t delay a chance. Ever since the first disruption of chaos, the noise by the elevators had seemed to die down. Noah saw the mounts of bodies, and the amount of prisoners that had been slaughtering them. The initial scramble for safety will have quietened down by now. 

He hoped. 

His heart was pounding against his ribcage like a jackhammer, swarming up to his ears. He counted the agonising seconds that he stood there, staring at the door, not even daring to move. It was as though one breath would give him away. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake the blurriness encroaching the edges of his vision. With a firm push, Noah slid open the door. He was met with the same blood soaked hallways, and flinched back when a body slumped unceromomiously by his feet. Another Apoid. He released a shuddering breath, tearing his eyes away. 

With a pounding heart, he checked the corridor. Some shouting prisoners caused him to duck back, but they passed the elevators only after a few moments. The blood rushed to his head. One of them was open - empty and awaiting him, like some sort of enticing treat. 

He had to move now. 

Giving the corridors one final glance, his shaking legs managed to step over the dead body, bracing against the wall. Each little step was as though lead weights were melded into his skin, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling on edge. With each second that dragged on, Noah’s desperation increased. It was like he could taste freedom and safety on the tip of his tongue, and his pace quickened just a bit. 

He didn’t even dare look behind him, blocking out the rips of gunfire in the distance and the ear piercing screams. 

There was a sudden breakout of footsteps behind him, and something hard barrelled into the side of his body. It sent him smacking into the hard ground, almost clipping his chin in an awkward way. He sucked in a sharp, pained gasp, head snapping up to find another scientist making a beeline for the elevator. There was blood dripping down his face, from what he could see, and Noah’s head snapped around in the direction he had come from. 

His heart sank to his boots.

Cash was going at a calm, leisurely pace as he crossed the intersection, those intense eyes finding Noah’s immediately. He hadn’t even broken a sweat, as if he hadn’t been the one chasing the frightened scientists. 

He heard the shrill beep of the elevator, and his heart leapt into his throat. The scared scientist was jabbing frantically at the button, tears slipping down his cheeks, and by the time Noah realised what was happening, the doors were already beginning to slide closed. 

“Hold it!” He screamed, staggering to his feet frantically as he burst forward with a newfound shock of adrenaline. The scientist backed away from the buttons, bumping into the rail, his wide eyes flickering towards Noah. The doors continued to slide close. “Please! Please, hold it!” 

He desperately threw himself at them, but it was too late. Noah pounded his fists desperately against them, a rush of anger and terror making his throat burn. 

“Motherfucker!” Noah sobbed, banging so hard he was sure his hands had gone numb. “Motherfucker! Open the door!” 

Instead, he was met with strong fingers twisting in his hair, and Noah only caught a glimpse of Cash’s face, before he slammed his head into the elevator door. He was out cold instantly.

tag list – @suspicious-whumping-egg @sunshiline-writes @rabidrabidme @whumpatize-me-captain @thegirlwholived1213 @reverie1234 @unforgiven235 @morning-star-whump @seaweed-is-cool @d-cs @whump-me-all-night-long @whump-me @gala1981 @pirefyrelight @whumpterful-beeeeee @miss-unicorn0907 @avidrambling @anoontjecanush @2in1whump @ha-ha-one @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @whatwhump @sowhumpful @whump321

[dresden-syndrome]

Requested by @whumped-by-glitter

Whumping in EESU: Public humiliation

Newly designated pet whumpee being observed by owner and their colleagues, all gathered in a big office room.

Whumper listing their all of whumpee's political crimes, bragging about how dangerous they were and how great it is to have them caught.

State Security/Politburo/Party Committee whumper having a meeting, presenting their tied up and collared pet as an example of a state enemy and giving a passionate speech about ways of getting rid of them.

This goes without saying but whumpee used as a party entertainment - but not before being made to celebrate the achievements of EESU regime and cheer to the destruction of dissident movements. (Bonus point if whumpee was in one of them).

Whumpee with a singing skill forced to sing propaganda songs as their whumper and party guests clap and giggle at their attempts.

Whumpee forced to publicly declare their loyalty - whether stating that in front of their owner's department workers, giving a propaganda speech for the radio or taking part in a TV advert.

Whumpee forced to publicly beg for forgiveness and put on a regret display for their crimes. Especially if they were done deliberately by a spy or dissident whumpee, or whumpee hasn't actually done anything "wrong" at all.

Even after lots of humiliating sessions like that, they're still being treated as an enemy of the regime: poor class 4 whumpee may be secretly hoping to regain some of their rights yet under EESU laws they're still an enemy - forever.

Whumper taking a photo with their pet in a humiliating pose - with the whumpee on their knees or their boot stepping on whumpee's chest or head.

Whumper recording a film video of whumpee being tortured and handing it to State Security for watching how "spies and traitors" must be treated.

Whumper using their whumpee as the source of motivation for the department to fight political dissent and a sign of power they have over it.

An arrested spy being shown all the undisputable evidence of their work. Papers, equipment, ID cards from West countries' intelligence services, things they've used to sneak through the EESU border and mask their intentions - all on the table for the whumpee and detention personnel to see.

Newspapers and magazines announcing whumpee's arrest and declaring them a dangerous political criminal. (Bonus points if they're given to the whumpee to read).

A caught runaway class 2/3 whumpee paraded around their labor camp/commune as an example of what happens if one decides to attempt escape.

Whumpee had escaped from EESU and caught back; now they've been made to tell how horrible life in the West was an how much they regret running away from their dear homeland.

Whumpee being not allowed any privacy, having to undress, shower, sleep and do whatever they're told while always surrounded by the facility personnel. It can happen for different reasons - they're the beloved pet their owner can't leave alone, they're injured, aggressive or a high escape risk and need to be watched for their own good, or they're simply a class 4 subject which shouldn't need "human" things like privacy in general.

Medical checks in detention and the labs. Enough said.

Same goes for class 4 ear tags.

Public trials! of state enemies! forced to confess! all their imaginary crimes! for the audience to see and hear!

"Look at that, Whumpee. All your friends and family are ashamed of you. You were such a good worker, a Party member, you were your factory's pride - and then disappointed everyone you know with trying to destroy the government that gave us all work and bread in the first place! Where's your regret, Whumpee? Do you feel bad about that?"

[Masterpost link]

[shes-some-other-where]

Rain and Apple Blossoms

[ID: a banner featuring bright red apples, prison bars, and medieval looking text of the story's title, Rain and Apple Blossoms. End ID.]

A nameless convict suffers in a prison camp, sentenced to years of hard labour for his crime. There, he is tormented by cruel guards and an even crueller chief overseer who seems to enjoy humiliating him. Eventually, he escapes, and he finds himself cared for by a kind stranger who is on her own journey of grief and self-discovery. With soldiers still hunting for the fugitive, every moment he spends in his unlikely caretaker's company is a risk to them both.

Heavier on whump than plot. Heavier on hurt than comfort. But it's all there.

Full list of CWs at the bottom of this post.

Written for The Merry Whump of May 2024. All drabbles, exactly 100 words. All connected, but many can be read as standalone pieces. However, if you want to read it as a full "narrative," the suggested reading order is below. (Alternatively, find the list of prompts in event order here.)

Suggested Reading Order

🌫️ The Camp

Day 9 - “You’re nothing.”

Day 27 - C for “convict”

Day 8 - A proud, arrogant fool.

Day 2 - Snake venom and molten sand

Day 2 - “Don’t you dare.”

Day 7 - “Forget about them.”

Day 10 - “I don’t have regrets.”

Day 11 - “Pretty little thing.”

Day 12 - “Let me hear you.”

Day 3 - “See what happens.”

Day 14 - “Leave him alone.”

Day 16 - Your neverending insolence

Day 16 - Twenty-nine and one

Day 16 - “Naïve fool.”

Day 1 - Swallowed by the dark

Day 28 - The indistinct phantoms of nightmares

Day 14/23 - Deserving sinners

Day 5 - The chance to flee

Day 6 - Disobedient dogs who try to run

Day 13 - “To know you'll only fail again.”

Day 8 - “I’m fine.”

🌫️ The Escape

Day 13 - Leave no trail.

Day 7 - The world beyond

Day 6 - A sombre dawn

Day 15 - A fool, a dead man

🌫️ The Cellar

Day 4 - “Who are you?”

Day 15 - “Let me help you.”

Day 17 - “Wait, are you afraid of me?”

Day 24 - “Lean on me.”

Day 23 - Cursed, hunted, condemned

Day 27 - “You’re trembling.”

Day 12 - “I’m dangerous.”

Day 17 - “You’re not a prisoner here.”

Alt Prompt - “No one knows you’re here.”

Day 15 - Her foolhardy selflessness

Day 25 - “Is that wise?”

Day 24 - “Just forget about me.”

Day 30 - “I think you might be a good man.”

Day 29 - “Just another few days.”

Day 15 - Endless pools of sorrow

Day 20 - “Are you alone here?”

Day 24 - “What’s with all the apples?”

Day 13 - “I just wish I could repay you.”

Day 28 - “You've found your smile again.”

Day 25 - “I’ve always loved the rain.”

Day 2 - “What are you doing in my house?”

Day 1 - “What were you thinking?”

Day 18 - “Why do you love him?”

Day 11 - “An arrangement, and nothing more.”

Day 6 - “He would never hurt me.”

🌫️ The Recapture

Day 18 - “Nowhere to run, crook.”

Day 19 - “Rot in hell.”

Alt prompt - “It was her.”

Day 4 - He with no future

Day 20 - “Don’t tell me you forgot about me.”

Day 22 - “It’s been too long.”

Day 22 - A death sentence disguised as mercy.

Day 31 - “Enjoy your last night here.”

Day 31 - “Now you’re a broken man.”

Day 28 - “Hope you enjoyed the last taste of freedom you'll ever have.”

🌫️ The Pits

Day 29 - “You ought to be grovelling at my feet.”

Day 26 - A shambling spectre that once was a man

Day 21 - Leashed, muzzled, and ordered around like a beast

Day 3 - Half-lives in the dust

Day 30 - A creature soft, yet wild

Day 25 - “I’ll always love the rain.”

🌫️ A Free Man

Day 1 - Retribution well-deserved

Day 29 - “You are free.”

Day 29 - Charcoal and silver

Day 26 - Fading stars and blooming sun

Alt prompt - Rain and apple blossoms

Full List of Content Warnings

pain, angst, prison, prison camp, labour camp, forced labour, chains, blood, restraints, cruel law enforcement, branding, taunting, humiliation, physical violence, beatings, very brief minor whump, whipping/flogging, gag/muzzle, exhaustion, thirst/dehydration, mine collapse, minor character death, death mention, failed escape, torture, barbed wire, exposure, guilt, fear, grief, loneliness, prospect of a loveless marriage, betrayal, recapture

[sowhumpful]

Kinda obsessed with Sir and this twisted relationship.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Assassin Rescues Prisoner from Target's house part 1

TW: blood, intense torture, recovery, pain, death, assassination, severe whump, etc.

PROMPT: an assassin breaks into their target's house and kills them, easy enough, a job they've done a dozen times before. But as they're leaving, they realize that the target wasn't alone in the house – whumpee has been kept there in captivity, and is in a bad state. The assassin considers leaving for a moment before making up their mind to get whumpee out and do whatever they can to help them – they've never been so happy to have killed someone after seeing what the target did to whumpee.

MY WRITING:

The mission itself was easy enough. Get in, kill Target, get out. Jax was a professional assassin, the best one in town. Killing was what he did best.

Dressed in his black outfit and cloak and armed with his favorite daggers and throwing knives, the assassin effortlessly infiltrated the extravagant mansion his target lived in. Using the throwing knives, he took out every guard he came upon, quickly and efficiently, making his way deeper into the building, his footsteps quiet as death as they ghosted over the floors, unnaturally silent. He had scoped the place out ahead of time, mentally mapping out every entrance and exit that he now knew by heart. Jax made his way to the private living quarters of his target, taking a deep breath before kicking down the door to the bedroom.

The target never saw it coming. They didn't even have time to gasp in surprise before Jax leapt gracefully forward and slashed their throat open with a wickedly sharp dagger, watching impassively as they crumpled to the floor, twitching feebly and clutching the gushing wound. Choked gurgling was all that escaped them as they tried to speak. It was over in under a minute, a quick, clean kill. The assassin wiped the blood from his blade on his target's own clothes before sheathing it, preparing to make his escape now that his task was complete. But something made him pause.

A strange, muffled sound reached his ears, that almost sounded like... crying? Whimpering? Jax's curiosity was piqued, and he debated whether to investigate. He didn't like to stay in one place for too long, lest he be caught, but something about the sounds intrigued him. He cursed himself for the hesitation, knowing that curiosity often kills cats.

But eventually he decided that there couldn't be any harm in snooping around his now-dead target's house. He realized that the sounds were coming through a wall, so he left the bedroom and went to the next room over, picking the lock in seconds and stepping inside. It was the absolute last thing Jax would have ever expected to find. It was the complete opposite of the lavish, excessively-decorated mansion.

No, this room was solid concrete top to bottom, cold and dark like a prison, or some twisted sort of dungeon. And against the back wall... chained up in a standing position... was a person? Almost unrecognizable, covered in dirt and blood and bruises. Was it a dead body?

The assassin warily crept closer, cautious, taking it all in. The prisoner was a young man, no more than a teenager, with wrists chained spread out to either side of him, the only things holding him up as he slumped forward limply against them, head lolled against his chest. And the boy was blindfolded with a piece of thick black cloth. The poor kid's breaths were broken and hitched with pathetic sobs and sounds of pain and suffering.

Jax's eyes roamed across his beaten body, all he was wearing was shorts and a ragged shirt. He was horrified to see the hundreds of vicious gashes and lacerations shredded across his entire form, some older but a lot much fresher, still oozing blood. Lash marks, burns, the cuts made from unkind blades... it was a miracle the boy wasn't dead already.

The prisoner's bones were highly visibly beneath his bloodied and bruised skin from starvation, their appearance haggard and broken. It was hard to believe Jax's target could have been so cruel. It was clear this captive had been brutally tortured for weeks, if not months. And the boy's face was deathly pale from obvious blood loss, his whole body trembling with fear.

"What on earth did they do to you...?" Jax breathed aloud, hardly believing the brutality.

The teenager flinched hard at the sound of his voice, barely mustering the strength to weakly lift his head, still blindfolded.

"P-Please sir... n-no more..." he croaked. His voice was no more than a raspy whisper, throat bloody and raw from screaming. Then a racking cough shook his frail form.

Jax felt a sharp twinge of pity, and slowly unsheathed his dagger, hesitantly bringing it to the boy's throat. Perhaps it was better to put the poor mangled creature down, end his suffering. The prisoner let his head droop back down against his chest in defeat when he felt the cold metal rest against his artery, giving himself up to the mercy of welcoming death. Like a puppet with strings cut his body lolled forward against his restraints, going limp and submissive.

A few seconds of heavy silence passed, before Jax pulled his blade back and re-sheathed it, cursing under his breath. He couldn't bring himself to kill him.

"I'll get you out of here...." Jax reluctantly grumbled. What was he doing? Was he going soft? This was definitely not part of the plan. Jax shoved the thoughts out of his head and focused on the task at hand, picking the locks on the cuffs holding the teenager to the wall. He was barely able to react in time as the prisoner pitched bonelessly forward, and Jax caught him in surprised arms. The boy was feather-light from malnourishment, and he felt a hot flash of pure rage at how brutalized he was, barely alive.

Jax lowered him to the floor, resting his broken body in his lap as he eased the blindfold off.

The prisoner let out a pained groan that was dipped with the purest agony, blinking up at the assassin several times with sunken, hollow eyes full of pain. "...You're not... (Target's name)..." He wheezed softly, before more coughing racked his weak frame.

Jax could only nod, too speechless with horror and anger. He could feel the sorry soul shivering violently, skin ice-cold to the touch with blood loss, as his head rolled weakly against Jax's chest. Shallow breaths wheezed in and out of his lungs, a struggle to even draw air.

Wordlessly, Jax slowly got up and as gently as possible slung the teenager over a shoulder to carry him out of the wretched place.

The boy let out a weak, strangled, rattling cry of sharp pain as he was picked up, injuries singing with excruciating agony at even the most simple movement. He didn't even have the strength to struggle, or jerk away from the pain. He remained a limp weight over the assassin's shoulder as Jax carried him out of the mansion, to a new life.

It was a long journey back to his hideout, and with the dead weight over his shoulder, it slowed him down. The whole way, Jax was highly aware of the warm blood sliding down his shoulder, flowing red over his black stealth suit. Part of him wondered if the prisoner was even still alive, or if he was now carrying a lifeless body. But at last, he arrived. He slipped silently into his secret hideout, which was no more than a small underground dwelling built under the city to conceal him. His personal base of operations.

Jax was aware of every second ticking by, every second that the teen lost more blood with each sluggish heartbeat. He felt his adrenaline rising as he carried him over and set his broken body on the couch. The kid's head rolled lifelessly to the side, and his breaths were shallow and wheezing as he writhed and twitched weakly in pain.

Why am I doing this? Jax asked himself. Why do I care whether this kid lives or dies? I've ended plenty of lives myself...

Saving this captive could bring him trouble in the near future, maybe more trouble than he was worth, but Jax didn't have time to dwell on that. He whisked over to a corner of the room and dug through a wooden chest, gathering some medical supplies he often used on himself after missions gone wrong. He brought it to the side of the couch, placing fingers on the boy's pale neck. There was still a pulse. Barely. Fading more with every passing moment.

Quickly, Jax reached over to cut open the center of the prisoner's shredded, tattered shirt to check the extent of the injuries and prioritize the worst of them.

And he couldn't help a small horrified gasp when she saw what was beneath the ruined shirt. The captive's skin was mottled black and purple and red with hundreds of bruises and cuts and lacerations, all in various stages of healing, a grotesque mosaic carved into his flesh. It was cruel beyond belief, and to do something like this to someone so young... it made Jax's blood boil with rage.

His wide eyes roamed across the damage, taking it all in. Deeper gashes laced across the prisoner's chest, and larger bruises had formed over his ribs, some of them no more than a day or two old. The poor teen was covered in so many vicious injuries that it was hard to believe he was even still alive at all.

Jax's eyes flicked over to his wrists, chest twisting in knots as he spotted the inflamed chafe marks there where the skin was rubbed raw and bloody, signs of a futile struggle. It was clear he had been held captive for a long, /long/ time. He let out a shaky breath and rifled through the medical kit, quickly finding his suture kit, the same one he'd used on himself countless times to fix up battle injuries.

With trembling hands, he slipped on a pair of gloves and turned his focus to a particularly deep, oozing gaze. He had seen a lot of injuries in the past, but this was one of the worst.

His practiced skill came to aid him as he started stitching up the wound as fast as he could. Then the prisoner suddenly came back to semi-consciousness with a jolt, a weak scream of agony tearing loose from him as Jax brought the needle to his skin again and again. He started blindly lashing out in pure panic and terror, clumsily trying to push him away with failing strength, which was about as effective as pounding on solid rock. He was desperate and frantic, doing anything he could to escape the terrible agony racking his body with every breath, with every stitch Jax made. The teenager's breaths were strained and labored, coming in gasping pants, and the cries of pain were only broken up by breathless sobs as he writhed weakly on the couch, unable to out-scream the pain. Tears rolled down his filthy face, mixing with blood.

Jax winced as another gurgling scream wrenched from his mouth, making his ears hurt. He paused for a beat to reach over into his basket of supplies, pulling out a bundle of gauze.

"Quit making so much noise, it's giving me a headache," Jax growled, growing annoyed. "Bite down on this." He stuffed the roll of gauze roughly into the prisoner's mouth, muffling his cries of pain as he resumed stitching his side, tying off the thread at the end. He did the same for several other wounds he found, until finally it seemed he had gotten them all closed up. And not a moment too soon. The prisoner's face was deathly pale from blood loss, and his breathing kept growing weaker with every passing second. He was in terrible shape. And he had stopped trying to scream, falling silent, having finally passed out from the pain and physical distress.

Jax loosed a heavy sigh, and set to work covering up all the places he had stitched with gauze and medical wraps, before shifting focus to the smaller injuries. It was astonishing that the boy had survived so much physical trauma. He must have endured so many unspeakable horrors during his time at Target's house.

When Jax was finally done patching him up, he sat on a chair adjacent to the couch with another weary sigh, giving him a chance to reflect on everything that had happened. This was a stupid idea, he told himself. Even if the teen survived his grievous injuries, what would he do with him? He worked alone, that was how it always was. Keeping track of another person would be... hard. He knew this from experience.

Because a long time ago, he'd had an apprentice he worked with. Together, they were the two most dangerous assassins the world had ever seen. At least... until his apprentice had been executed in front of him as an act of revenge. Assassin had sworn to work alone ever since that day, the pain still sharp and fresh despite the years. He winced at the memory.

Exhaustion tugged at Jax's limbs, and he got up to check the teen's breathing, which had finally steadied a bit. He was too tired to worry about cleaning up all the blood in his hideout, so he just grabbed a blanket to pull over himself as he sat in a chair next to the couch, letting himself doze off for the night.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[whumblr]

Nuanced

Crossed out - Continued from ch.5 - Prologue

-

All worries and what-ifs accumulated over the day coiled together into a big ball of fear, bouncing heavily in his stomach now that he stood in front of Nero’s office door.

Lucas tried to expel the worries with a large exhale. He didn’t need what-ifs. He knew perfectly well he was going to sleep with a black eye tonight. That is… if he made it that far and if sleep could still be considered sleep or if it slipped into a more permanent state of unconsciousness. Like a coma. Or—

He knocked. Because not going in would probably be even worse.

“Enter.”

The low voice rumbling through the door made him tense up, but Lucas pushed through, tilting himself up, ignoring the weight increasing in his stomach.

“Warden Mathison,” he forced out as greeting. Nero sat at his desk, wearing his white button-up. Leaving Lucas to assume that he went out today.

“Ah, Varga. Right on time.”

Yeah, he didn’t need to push his luck by being a few seconds late. Lucas closed the door and glanced around.

The office was larger than he’d expected. Or maybe his expectations were now just a little skewed, having gotten used to the tiny living arrangements in this place. Nero’s desk was directly on the right as he entered, leaving a large space ahead up to the windows, probably overseeing the courtyard. The arrangement made sense; Nero didn’t seem like someone who would sit with his back to the window.

Lucas was, however, more interested in other details. The file cabinets lining the wall next to the desk, for example. How he wished to flip through the contents, probably chockful of evidence of every infringement of human rights over the years. Not to mention there was a phone on Nero’s desk. And a computer. Should Nero ever make the mistake of leaving him alone in here, or better, if he could break his way in here, the first thing he’d do was try to contact Ava. Now all he needed was the key to the warden’s office. And the determination to get straight up murdered in this room because Nero wouldn’t take kindly to it…

Still. There were lifelines.

Nero stood, slowly rounding his desk, letting his hand rest on a piece of paper that he slid to the front of the desk.

“Your letter of representation. Only needs your signature.” He deliberately placed a pen next to it and took a step back, giving Lucas something that gave the illusion of space. The oppressive aura of silent expectations, however, remained, pressing up against him.

Lucas ignored it, gingerly stepped closer and scanned the letter. They hadn’t used his full name. Something Ava would immediately pick up on. That is, if he ever were to sign this thing and if she’d ever get to see it.

“I don’t know why you need this.” He put the letter back onto the desk. “There’s never even gonna be a trial, is there?”

Nero gave a wry smile. “We need it for the paper trail,” he merely said, not answering the question, which gave Lucas all he needed. “See it as a formality.”

“I still refuse.”

“I see.”

Lucas registered the hand on the back of his head. But what happened after was a blur.

Without warning, Nero slammed him forward, doubling him over, ramming him face first into the desk.

It was like getting hit by a wrecking ball. The shock blasted through him, rattled his brain, turned his legs to mush. Before he could even slump over, the hand on his head slid down to the collar of his shirt, and not only held him up but threw him backwards across the room.

He crashed into the floor with a sharp cry. Barely had the presence of mind to see Nero take a large step towards him. And he kicked him right in his stomach.

He spewed the air from his lungs. Coughed. Retched. Slammed a hand flat to the floor, as if bracing to launch himself up, away, back, whatever way to safety. But his body refused to follow and he collapsed on his front, twisting in pain, protecting his torso. But a second blow didn’t come.

Nero simply loomed over him, watching him, expression neutral but tainted with the barest hint of disdain.

Lucas couldn’t help it and scooted back, drew in a shaky breath. The little breather didn’t give much of a break. In fact, it allowed his body to catch up with what happened. Pain slammed into him, like another full body blow, starting with his head. It felt like his forehead was going to explode. A piercing pain kept repeatedly stabbing from the inside out, throbbing where Lucas was sure a new huge bump was going to form.

“So, what,” he wheezed, “You’re gonna— You’re just gonna beat me until I sign?!”

“It’s a little more nuanced than that,” Nero said. “As I said, you are also here to learn about the rules.”

Lucas curled up with a hiss, head pounding spreading pain with every heartbeat. God, yes, please, he much preferred a lecture about the rules.

“It’s quite simply, really,” Nero said, stepping past him like he was dirt on the floor and pretended to look out the window. “The basic rule here is, you do as you’re told. And right now, you are breaking that mother of rules. So, naturally, there are consequences.”

“Nuanced,” Lucas scoffed, glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn’t get another kick in the back. He sat up, clasping an arm around his stomach, face twisting in pain, voice warping along with it. “Potayto, potahto, really. You’ll just keep going until I do what you want!”

Nero, hands clasped behind his back, turned back to him. “There is one thing that can help you avoid all this.”

He swiftly stepped forward, pulled the baton from his belt and in one movement swung full force at Lucas’ head.

Lucas flinched hard. Fell back, made himself as small as possible and threw his hands over his head.

But the expected blow didn't hit home. The baton stopped merely an inch from his cheekbone. A shocked silence. Then a shivery exhale of relief escaped him.

“That’s it.” Nero straightened back up. “Fear. It’s already taken a hold of you.”

“I wouldn't—“ Lucas took a deep breath to get some air back into his lungs and the squeak out of his voice. “I wouldn’t call an automatic physical response fear now.”

“It doesn't matter what you call it. It’s the first step. Only the first... and it will keep growing. Spreading its roots further and further, until it makes your limbs still, your knees buckle, and finally spreading up until your mind succumbs. By then you’ll have learned that talking back only brings you more pain, and how much easier it is to just follow the rules.”

“You mean obey.”

Nero shrugged. “Potayto, potahto,” he echoed. “You can fight it, of course. Cut off those roots that pull you down. But you’ll only make things harder on yourself. It’s easier to just let the fear take you. Let it protect you.”

Lucas shakily got to his knees. But when he planted a foot under him to straighten up again, the baton came down lightly, resting on his shoulder, warning him to stay put. He snarled. “I will keep fighting it.” And he swiped the baton from his shoulder, getting back up.

Nero merely gave a single solemn nod and raised the baton again, preparing for a backhanded swing. “Then I will see to it manually until you get it.”

This time he didn’t hold back. The baton crashed against his face. Lucas cried out, twisted away. Tensed every muscle back from its mushy state to remain upright. He stumbled back, hunching over, panting hard.

He watched as Nero’s fist tightened around the baton, preparing another backhand strike. He drew up, raised his arms to catch the strike in the palm of his ha—

A sharp blast in his stomach caught him completely by surprise. He coughed out a shocked yelp of pain. His body completely locked up, arm still up. Instead of aiming up at his face, Nero had merely given a sharp jab. He glanced down, to the baton in Nero’s fist resting against his abdomen, up to Nero’s cold grey eyes.

Only when Nero’s fist retreated, and the end of the baton poking out of said fist dug free from his stomach, he collapsed to his knees. He folded over, forehead nearly touching the ground, and he rocked back and forth, groaning and cursing in pain.

The baton tapped on his shoulder. The tip slid down, rested under his chin, and forced his head up. He followed, eyes watering, squeezed half shut, until he locked with Nero’s unimpressed gaze.

“But we don’t have to go this way. Every night,” Nero crooned, lightly turning the baton. “Think it over. Tonight. You are going to sign it eventually. It would be a shame if you would lose some bodily function over something easily avoided.”

He stepped back, put the baton back on his belt, and gestured for Lucas to get up.

“Go get some rest and tomorrow, we’ll try again.”

Lucas, not fully trusting there wouldn’t be another blow, shakily got up on his knees.

“Come on, you’re fine. Get up.” Nero grabbed him hard by the arm and pulled him up. “And if you’re not…” He shoved him towards the door. “Then you’ll know what to do tomorrow.”

-

Continued here

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop

@andithewhumper @tippytappytyping @suspicious-whumping-egg

@cherrychupachup @alexmundaythrufriday

[unforgivenn]

DEAR SOMEONE MASTERLIST

Sypnosis: When Mile is given a notebook as a “reward” for his obedience, he’s both terrified and relieved. To Ezra, it’s a token of control, a way to keep Mile’s mind occupied and compliant. But to Mile, it becomes a lifeline, a place to pour out his soul, document his suffering, and cling to the last shreds of humanity.

Dear Diary, Why is this happening to me?

General warnings: physical abuse, a lottt of emotional trauma and abuse, torture, suicidal thoughts, power dynamics, betrayal, depression, dehumanization (maybe more in the future)

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Entry #1

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Taglist: @anutz1234/ @nuriiz134/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234/ @miireux134/ @lordcatwich/

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees(let me know if you want to be added)

[mj-iza-writer]

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through my home not a creature was stirring. Well at least maybe one.

Whumpee tiptoed past my room, and down the stairs they slank. Having no idea, I to was awake.

Down by the tree, they pulled their blanket tight. They couldn't believe this was the night.

A night they hoped and prayed for for so long, they now got their wish, it was finally here.

Whumpee adjusted the cookies and ensured the hot chocolate was warm, for old St Nick was sure to be near.

"Please keep them safe", Whumpee quietly prayed for Santa. They hoped he wouldn't forget.

Whumpee often felt forgotten those several Christmas nights. Whumper's house wasn't at all jolly and bright. It was to him just another night.

A noise startled Whumpee, they jumped in fright.

Loud foot steps on the roof this very night.

Some dust spilled from the fireplace, Whumpee gulped as heavy boots appeared just in sight.

Soon Whumpee looked up at a person who matched Caretaker's explanation on what Santa looked like.

"Sa-Santa?", Whumpee whispered fearfully.

"Hello Whumpee, how I've missed visiting you", Santa sat down, "I'm sorry I haven't visited you for so many years. Whumper often waited to make sure I didn't come see you. I've never forgotten you, I promise", Santa smiled happily, "I'm so happy you're with Caretaker now."

"Now here is everything I was never able to leave you", Santa poked his nose, and presents appeared, "you must wait until morning so Caretaker can help you."

Whumpee quickly nodded, "yes sir, you really mean it? You never forgot me?"

Santa held open his arms to welcome Whumpee for a hug.

"Never, I forget no one. Even Whumper gets coal", Santa chuckled to himself, with a "ho ho ho."

"Thankyou Santa for everything", Whumpee wiped their eyes.

"And don't worry, Caretaker has gifts as well", Santa winked, "I know you'll worry about him."

With one more hug Santa waved goodbye, "I'll be back next year, Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year."

As Santa went up the chimney Whumpee fell to the ground and sobbed at the thought of Santa not forgetting them.

**stomp... stomp... swoosh**

Caretaker jumped from his bed to see what was the matter, he had hoped it wasn't Whumpee who made that big clatter.

He glanced out the window in time to see it, a sleigh flew by, pulled by nine reindeer.

Caretaker quickly went down the steps, he found Whumpee sobbing on the floor.

Whumpee turned to see Caretaker there.

"He-he didn....didn't forget me sir."

Caretaker's heart melted for Whumpee, what a sight.

"Merry Christmas Whumpee, he would never forget you."

After putting Whumpee to bed again, cuddling a stuffed toy they had found in the pile of gifts Caretaker went back down stairs to assess the pile.

"This is a lot", Caretaker marveled.

They noticed a note beside Santa's cookies.

"Dear Caretaker, these are all gifts that I wasn't able to deliver to Whumpee these last few years. I hope you are okay with this. There are also gifts for you as well. Thankyou for taking care of them. Santa."

Caretaker read the note over and over, each time more tears flooded their eyes.

"Thankyou Santa, it's an honor", Caretaker smiled, "have a safe flight."

Enjoy your holidays however you celebrate, and if you don't celebrate at all I hope you have a great day. I qlso wish everyone a Happy New Year. You are all amazing, and I'm so happy to be part of this community. -MJ

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

[whumpshaped]

A whumpee who killed the wrong guy.

tw murder, gore, knives, prison setting, abuse of power, nonhuman whumper

"Please," Whumper sobbed. "Please, I don't know what you want, I don't– I don't know why you're doing this! Please don't kill me! I'll do whatever you want–"

"This? This is your strategy? To pretend you haven't put me through hell? To pretend you don't even recognise me?" Whumpee had never been so angry in their entire life. They punched Whumper again, then grabbed their aching face and pulled them close. "I guess that's funny. Hilarious, even. Because after that you've done? Sometimes I don't recognise myself either."

"Please, listen to me," they whimpered, the desperation and fear in their eyes so real that Whumpee almost believed it. "I don't know you. I swear on my life, I would never hurt anyone. Please. Please believe me. I'll prove it in any way you can think of, I will!"

"I don't need to listen to this any longer. Fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid games. I let you live for this long because I was stupidly hoping for something... an apology, maybe. Anything. But this just pisses me off." Whumpee took their knife and pressed it up against their victim's throat. "Any last words, maybe?"

"Please don't," they breathed. "Please don't kill me over a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding my ass."

The murder was messier than Whumpee could've ever imagined. All the blood gushing from the wound, covering their hands and clothes. The sounds of someone choking on their own blood, the gurgles, the twitching of their body. It was horrific.

But it was finally over.

-

The days in prison passed in a blur. They were simultaneously neverending and fleeting moments. Whumpee didn't even try to run from the authorities, but man, did they want to strangle the judge and the jury when they failed to recognise the atrocities Whumper had committed.

'An innocent life', they had called it. Fuck that.

"We need to talk," one of the guards said, and Whumpee looked up at them with a blank expression. "Right now. Come on."

They were dragged to a more remote location, away from the other inmates. "Have I broken a rule, sir?" Whumpee asked, almost bored. What did it even matter? What were they going to do? Send them to prison?

"I see you still have some manners. I'm glad."

The tone... the wording... Whumpee froze up for a second, as if they'd just seen a ghost. "What?"

"I said," the guard's body began to change right in front of them, skin shifting and bones being rearranging to morph into the person they had killed months ago. "I'm glad to see you still have some manners. Even if killing an innocent guy isn't really part of proper etiquette."

Whumpee stumbled backwards, but Whumper, the person who was supposed to be dead, grabbed them by their handcuffs to pull them right back. "No– no, let go of me! Let me go!"

Whumper swiftly changed their appearance back to that of a prison guard, grinning widely. "Oh, but I can't. It's my job to keep you in line."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night