go on, shove whumpees head back under water just as they take that first desperate gasp of air (watch them choke on the water and drag them back up; watch them fight the instinct to inhale for fear of going back under)
summary: orion gets manhandled through a hallway
word count: 733
tw/cw: hand gore, finger breaking, woman whumper, male whumpee, asphyxiation
continued from here
“Since your team was kind enough to come visit, we should give them a show, shouldn’t we?”
Leona drags him off the bed with strength unbefitting of her stature, not even bothering to tie his hands. When you’re the “god-queen of almetria” you don’t have much to worry about, Orion muses.
Well. No god-queen is getting him on his best behavior.
He squirms, too afraid of further injuring his hands to grab her but unwilling to go easily. He pulls back against the grip, but her fingers tighten and something in his neck creaks.
“I heard what happened downstairs,” he growls. “Juno’s out. The team’s here. They’re gonna kick your ass.”
“And I should, what, release you in anticipation?” She reaches around him and wrenches an arm behind his back, seemingly oblivious to how he flexes against it. “You’re the perfect leverage, Orion.”
Without regard for his struggles, she walks them out into the hallway; one hand firmly on the back of his neck, and the other gripping his wrist tight. It’s barely even a march – she hardly has to try and push him, just moves him effortlessly along the hallway.
He digs his heels in, fighting every step. “If you think I’m just going to let you--Ngh!”
Leona digs a thumb straight into the wounds in his hand. Her nail catches the edge and presses, blood welling up at the pressure, and her words come right next to his ear. “You don’t need to “let me” do anything. I’m more than happy to make you.”
“Let go!” Even he’s aware of how pathetic he must look, thrashing wildly in her arms. Desperately, he stomps back and manages to connect his heel with her foot, but she just presses in harder.
“Stop fighting.”
Tears prick the edges of his eyes as he flails more, trying to throw her weight off him. Before he can react, her thumb jabs harder into his palm while her other hand moves from the back of his neck to the front. With too much ease, she yanks him back by the throat and pins him to her chest.
Needle-pricks of pain shoot down his hand, and combined with the way her hand tightens on his neck, there’s not much he can do other than go still. Her body is eerily cold, and he swears he can feel her tattoos pulsing at his back. The stench of magic rolls off her in waves like rubbing alcohol permeating his nostrils.
“You’re mine. If I decide to let you go, and that’s a heavy if, it’ll be on my terms, not yours. Do you get it?”
He pants heavily through his mouth, fighting desperately against the black crowding the edges of his vision.
“Nod, pawn.”
“Fuck you!” He gripes out.
Without warning, any twitch or any indication in her body, she deftly takes his pointer finger – his trigger finger – and snaps it in half. Orion heaves a shuddering breath and screams. Instinctively, his body collapses downward, only to be jerked back by Leona’s impeccably-maintained (and notably still intact) fingers around his mouth.
“Don’t be a child. Will you be quiet and behave, or do you need to lose another finger to understand?”
He’s struck with the desire to look at it, to have some sort of idea of how bad it is, but that’s not happening. His whole hand is one hot pulse of pain, and every breath he or Leona takes only exacerbates it. He hasn’t stopped screaming, even with the muffling of her palm. Her nails dig into his cheekbones, but it’s a drop in the pond and hardly a fitting distraction.
A wet, embarrassing noise escapes his raw throat and he can feel her roll her eyes.
“Very well then.”
Again, without warning, the fingers not currently occupied with his mouth close on his nose. The world narrows to a pinprick as he’s thrown into terror. Still half out-of-breath from pain, the sudden lack of oxygen nearly shuts his brain off completely. His boots scuffle on the ground as he struggles to keep his weight up, struggles to maintain his footing, struggles to stay alive.
A few desperate seconds of flailing pass until, half intentionally and half in defeat, Orion goes limp.
Immediately, Leona’s hand comes off his face and he sucks in a greedy breath of air.
summary: orion gets nailed to a bed
word count: 900
context: Orion is a demon hunter turned demon. the Smiths are homunculi goons. Leona is Layla's boss. Sazarin is a demon Orion killed when he was hunting.
tw/cw: hand gore, nail goes in hand, graphic descriptions of pain, somewhat intimate whumper but in a mocking way
When he saw the hammer and nails in Layla’s hands, he thought it was an intimidation tactic. He’d kicked and struggled against the Smiths as they dragged him up the stairs away from Juno, and before that when they’d handled him roughly into the truck. He assumed she’d threaten him, say something vaguely ominous.
He didn’t expect for her to say nothing, just gesture for the Smiths to pin him to the bed. Only then does he start to panic. He digs his heels in, throws his weight around--- nothing. Their grip on his arms is absolute.
“H-hey, Layla, is this really necessary? You could just cuff me or something, you know.”
She leers at him, entirely too pleased as the Smiths slam him on his back to the bed with his arms pinned neatly above him. He devotes all his energy to trying to get a hand away, but they grab him tight by the forearms and hold him far too still.
“Aw, Orion, you’re the pro at dealing with demons. Everyone knows how you took down Sazarin.”
Fuck.
Brandishing the hammer, she sidles up next to him. “Stay nice and still for me, alright? Wouldn’t want this to hurt.”
He’s lightheaded as she lines up the nail with his palm. It digs into his skin, only a dull reminder of what’s to come. His head spins as he tries to center himself, brace himself mentally and physically, but there’s no time, no way to ready himself for the sick crunch as Layla brings the hammer down.
It punches through the bones in his hand immediately, a blinding surge of pain undulled by the gritting of his teeth. A groan escapes him, a wet, sick noise of pain. On instinct, his arm spasms, jerking the nail and sending fire up to his shoulder.
His whole arm throbs, but his hand pulses, hot agony radiating outwards. When he manages to flick his eyes to it, his stomach turns. The nail is through the meat of his hand, but a quarter of an inch still sticks out at the top. Regardless, he’s stuck firmly.
More than the immediate pain, he can’t stop the thoughts spinning through his head of never holding a gun again. How solidly he’s trapped against the bed; no handcuffs to pick, no ropes to struggle in. He can’t even begin to convince himself to try to move his hand.
Before he has time to quell the nausea in his stomach, Layla digs the point of the next nail into his other hand. He’s too distracted by the opposite hand to pay attention to the stream of blood it produces.
“Ready?” Layla’s eyes are wide and bright, only outshone by her smile. She presses the nail further in with her hand, making some sort of pattern with the point on his palm.
He grits his teeth. “Eat shit.”
“Should I take it slow? I’m not sure how you like it.”
Unable to stop himself, he flexes forward and sends a fresh wave of pain down his forearm. “Just do it!”
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” She whips the hammer forward.
He’s still unprepared, and somehow it hurts more this time. His head spins as the white-hot pain spins from his wrist to shoulder until it burns in his stomach. Bile spreads up his throat but he forces it back down, desperately trying to see straight as the Smith's hands leave him.
Layla brushes his hand as she stands up, pulling it up the extra space of the nail and making the tendons in his palm twinge dangerously. Another sound breaks from his throat, raw and too close to a whine for his liking. His heart thunders in his chest, but every beat sends more blood to his throbbing hands.
“Proud of yourself?” He grits out. “Think Leona will be a fan?”
Even half blind with pain, he doesn’t miss the twitch of her eye before she smiles.
“Oh, I know she’ll be happy with it. I’d be more worried about what I think of the handiwork. If I'm not pleased, I might just need to…” She runs her fingers along his palm. “Redo it.”
All he can do is glare. Fear curls through his chest, but he’s too far down the hole he’s dug. No reason to be afraid of a goon, he tries to reason. But even in his state, he knows it's a lie. Like this, even one of the Smiths could do some serious damage.
“I think your handiwork is fine,” he grits out.
“Oh, breaking out the manners?” She pats him on the face, none too gently. “Who knew some iron was all it took to get you to tone back the sass.”
“Whatever. Let Leona know I’d love to chat.”
She smiles again (not that she ever really stopped). “Don’t worry about that, Orion. It’s just you and me for the foreseeable future. We’re gonna have a blast.”
His head pounds, and his palms only pulse more. He’s lucky he’s been able to talk, but now it seems his throat has finally given up on him. All he can do is glare, but he can barely follow Layla as she stands and shuts the door behind her.
Whumper gags Whumpee by sticking a knife into their mouth.
Like. Imagine they were talking, maybe begging, or maybe shouting curses at Whumper, and then suddenly they taste metal and blood and they panic as they realize that if they speak any more, they might cut off their tongue.
thinking about whumpees who were taken because they’re useful
they can make something no one else can. could be a map, could be a spell, the possibilities are endless...
they’re a walking dictionary for something niche. maybe they’re the only one in the world who can translate a lost book, or they understand a certain kind of tech better then anyone who took them
they have something physical that makes them appealing. maybe they have a rare blood type or immunity to something that makes them a perfect specimen
they're particularly entertaining. maybe they can sing, dance, narrate... other things. plenty of opportunities :)
maybe they're just leverage, plain and simple. all they need is to stay with whumper and they'll be kept alive.
with that in mind, how does whumper treat them?
are they oh so careful? do they try to avoid letting whumpee know they can’t leave? do they treat them like royalty, providing them with food, a bed, all the comforts they could ask for?
are they perhaps a bit less careful, reminding whumpee they’re expendable (even if they’re not)? where can whumper hurt them so whumpee can still do what they were taken for?
do they keep them wherever its convenient with no regard for their comfort? maybe they simply forget about whumpee when they're not needed... oh no :)
does whumpee give whumpee the resources they need, or are they forced to work with limited supplies and make a product up to whumpers standards or face the consequences?
drop ideas/suggestions/responses anywhere! i stalk reblogs and my message box so chances are i'll reply (full of joy)
this is the last of my backlog on this story, so unless there's more interest, i'll end it here!
CW: hero/villain, kidnapping, made to watch, sibling whump, shock collars, physical violence, tortured for information
Word count: 1200
While his ears ring, anonymous hands jerk cloth into his mouth and tie it behind his head. It doesn’t do all that much to stop the noise, but it prevents him from speaking.
Thane looks to Three, gesturing at Seven. “First question, does he ever shut the fuck up?”
Three stays silent, chest jerking as he tries to stay calm. Seven kicks and bites for everything that he’s worth but Three doesn’t lose that sick, desperate look. Eventually he takes a long, slow, inhale and exhales like he’s counting every second.
Reclaiming his chair, Thane smiles. “Breathing exercises are great! They steady the mind, which is really important for you right now. Or, rather, for little fox here. You’re not in any danger.” He reaches out, taking Three’s face in a vice and jerking his head when he struggles. “Look at me. Look at me. No matter what happens, I want you to understand that I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t lay a finger on you moving forward. You are going to stay unscathed for as long as this lasts.” He forces Three’s head to look at Seven. “I will tear him limb from limb and I will make it slow. I have an arsenal and as much time as I need to make it so that he can’t even look at a harbor without thinking of tonight. Do you understand?” Seven begins trying to gnaw through the gag with limited success as Three jerks his head in affirmation. “Good. Good. Let’s get started.”
Drawing a knife, Thane begins flipping it lazily over his fingers. “What’s the newest hybrid that MIND’s developing?”
Color drops from Three’s face. “I-I don’t know. I don’t get told stuff like that, please, please, don't hurt him—”
It’s too late. Thane whips the knife around and drives the pommel into Seven’s ribs, just below where he hit earlier. He jerks but doesn’t make a sound, and Thane frowns.
Crouching to Seven’s level, he grinds the hilt of the blade further into the bruise. “I need you to do your job for me, Seven. Come on, be the weakling I know you are. We wouldn’t want your brother to be slow about answering questions, would we?” Flipping the blade, he pulls it down the inner part of Seven’s arm where the skin is thin. At that he can’t help a noise, even as he glares at him. Thane nods. “Better.”
He stands and wraps a hand around his injured arm, squeezing so Seven makes another vague noise and soaking his hand in his blood. “Now, come on Three. You’ve got to have some sort of an idea.”
“I don’t know!! The last thing I knew about was the kitsunes, nothing else.”
Unable to comprehend that he should stop, Seven thrashes in his chair. This time he manages to get a leg off the ground, but it works against him. The chair tips backwards and he hits the ground with a clatter, pain shooting up his back.
“This is almost impressive, actually.” Thane stares down at him, eyebrows raised. “You do understand that you’re not the center of attention, right? You could just sit quietly and maybe this would be over faster. But no,” he grunts as he pulls the chair back up to standing. “You just love to make things worse for yourself.”
In one quick motion, he yanks the gag off and tosses it to the side.
“Go on then, say whatever you’ve been wanting to say.” He disappears behind Three, absorbed into the darkness behind the floodlights.
Never one to back down from a chance given to him, Seven shouts after him. “Fuck you! Let us go, we’re not going to tell you anything!”
Three leans forward, desperately scanning him for how bad his injuries are. “Seven, please, stop. I don’t want you getting hurt, just stop.”
Seven glares outright at Three. “Don’t tell him anything! You’re stronger than this, stop being a coward! He can’t really do anything to us, we’ll be fine.”
Before Seven has time to continue, Thane reappears, knife in hand. Seven bares his teeth but contrary to what he expects, he slices through the ropes on his legs. Immediately he kicks out, but Thane drives the knife across his leg, just missing his achilles. He snaps at him and Thane only digs the knife harder into his calf.
“Try that again and you’ll never take another step.”
Seven continues to thrash and make Thane’s job as difficult as possible, but for all his fighting, he doesn’t try to kick him again. Thane makes quick work of the rest of the bonds, completely unaffected by Seven’s movement.
In a rare moment of strategy, Seven stays still while he unties his wrists. However, the moment both of them are free, he launches himself forward. He doesn’t get far, already off balance as Thane steps back and turns the dial on the remote all the way up. Seven sees it and puts the dots together a split second before the electricity starts.
There’s no time for him to anticipate or prepare for it, only to handle it as best he can. The electricity rockets through his body, carving a horrible path across his nervous system. He stays on his feet for a moment but the charge steals his strength and he drops to the ground. The world spots into static as he claws at the collar, eyes flitting wildly for anything that could help him.
This time Thane doesn’t turn it off after a few seconds, instead leaving it on while he pulls another line of holy rope from a bag near him. He barely spares Three a glance as he shoves himself into his bonds over and over again.
“You’re going to kill him! Stop!”
“If he’d been trained better maybe he’d know when to shut his mouth.” Thane snaps. “Can’t get jack shit done if he’s knocking his goddamn chair over every 30 seconds.”
A few long moments later he turns it off and kicks Seven onto his stomach, ignoring how hard he’s shaking. He drops a knee onto his back and wrenches Seven’s arms across it, pulling a low groan from him.
Seven comes back to himself bit by bit, but not before Thane finishes tying his arms behind his back. He wants to fight but he can barely stand, legs spasming as his heart tries to beat out of his chest. Pain laces down his arms, shoulder joints creaking from the angle.
Thane drags him up by the arms, holding his body weight as he struggles to get his balance. His knees threaten to give out but the ache in his shoulders forces him to try to stand, balancing on his toes to keep pressure off of them.
With a shove, Thane frogmarches him forward, towards a tub of water near the three chairs. A terrible burst of energy shoots through him and he tries to drop his weight down but Thane pulls him up by the arms like he doesn’t weigh anything. He half drags, half carries him around the tub and kicks out his knees, dropping him so he’s kneeling before the black pool of water and facing Three.
No poisoning today so Xavier should be happy and having a good time, right??
←Previous - Masterlist
Ingredients: i talk about piss again i hope this is the last time, fever, accidental self-harm (ask for details if you need but it's a mundane kind of thing), some wound description, slight dehumanization
Xavier would have thought it was a cool shade of purple if it wasn't on his leg.
The bruise spread in the following days, pus leaking from the swollen injection site, but Makena assured him that those were just lingering side effects that would get better with time. His only choice was to believe her and do his best to take care of his leg.
The wheelchair was fucking awesome. It was nice to be able to still move around even when he couldn't really walk, and hell if he was going to fucking crawl. It would have been nice to have one back when he had his awful period cramps as a teenager, the pain so bad he could barely walk. At least that stupid organ was gone now, so that shit wasn't ever coming back.
He'd figured he'd be okay without painkillers, not wanting to obey Makena's order to fill the cup up. He had a pretty high pain tolerance, after all, thanks to years of shitty cramps and now this stupid fucking shock collar. So he could handle it, right? He was tough.
But fuck did his leg hurt. Didn't help that his fingers were starting to hurt now, too, the joints aching every time he moved them, which was a lot more than he realized until every little movement shot pain through his hand.
Fully giving in? No, no way. But malicious compliance?
He could figure something out.
The next time he had to use the bathroom, Xavier filled the little cup up as much as he could. His fingers got dirty, but that meant that the outside of the cup was dirty, and that would be Makena's problem. She was probably going to be wearing gloves, but still. He set the full cup on the back of the toilet, topping it off with a little water from the sink dripped from his fingers. Makena was definitely gonna spill it if she tried to pick it up, and the cap was indented a little, so it wouldn't go on without a mess, either.
Looking at it, the color…it kind of reminded him of when he was on his period, just no big clots mixed in, and there was no way anything was coming from that hole, so…another place he was bleeding from. Great.
After thoroughly washing his hands, he wheeled himself back to bed, wincing every time he had to shift his grip. What the hell kind of delayed effect of the venom was this? She hadn't injected him anywhere near his hands. Stupid fucking snake. Stupid experiment. Stupid Makena.
Not long after, stupid Makena came in, wordlessly exchanging his ice pack. Xavier crossed his arms, looking away to hide his smirk. "I left something for you in the bathroom," he huffed.
"Did you now?" Makena sounded almost surprised, and Xavier couldn't hide his smile any longer as she walked in and saw what he did. Her sigh was long and loud, and it was music to his ears. He heard her rip some toilet paper, and a minute or so later she emerged holding the little cup, the lid screwed on tight. "You're happy with yourself, aren't you?" she asked, meeting his gaze.
"I don't know what you mean. I did what you asked me to do."
"Uh huh." Makena put the cup in a plastic bag and changed her gloves. "Despite your…enthusiasm, you did give me a sample, so a deal's a deal." She poured out a couple of red pills and handed them to him. "These are all you're getting until you fill another one up exactly to the line. No more, no less. Understood?"
"I'll be sure to be one milliliter off," Xavier replied before taking the painkillers, wincing slightly as he moved his fingers. Should he ask about that? Probably. Just for his own sake, not to give her any stupid data. "Uh, by the way, are my, um…are my fingers supposed to hurt? From the venom?"
Makena's eyes narrowed, and she grabbed one of his hands, flexing his fingers. "How so? In the joints?"
"Y-yeah, fuck, stop it-" She did stop it, instead moving to wrench his arm down and expose the inside of his elbow, fingers pressing in where the antivenom had been injected earlier. Her other hand went to his forehead, pressing his head back against the pillow when he tried to lean away. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Makena frowned, pulling back. "You're likely experiencing a delayed reaction to the antivenom. Your symptoms may worsen in the following days." She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers. "Not unexpected, but still annoying." Well, at least she was upset about it.
However, when Xavier woke up drenched in freezing sweat, aches gripping his whole body now, he realized he'd rather feel better and see Makena happy about it than suffer through this shit.
He only had a sheet and a thin blanket on his bed, not enough to keep him warm against the freezing cold of the room. Curling up was pointless while still keeping his injured leg stretched out, but he couldn't bear this cold, he wouldn't last. Wincing with every move, he managed to get himself into the wheelchair and wheel himself into the bathroom. He fumbled for the shower handle, turning the water on as hot as he could before pulling off his sweat-soaked clothes, shivering as he waited for the water to be warm enough.
Once he didn't flinch at the feeling of it on his hand, he hopped onto the shower stool Makena had brought him, still shivering furiously despite the hot water raining down on him. Fuck, he hoped he would finally feel warm soon.
It started in his pounding head, radiating down and out, and suddenly he was hot, way too hot, too much steam, handle twisted as far towards blue as it would go, feeling cool relief until the icy drops hitting his skin sunk their cold in deep and started the cycle all over again. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red.
Red. Red. RED why wasn't the water getting warm again he was freezing he had to stop the water before it sapped the last bit of heat from his body and now he was just sitting in the cold air, naked and dripping wet, body shuddering violently.
He'd only made things worse, hadn't he?
Okay, new plan. Dry off, rubbing the towel as hard and fast as he could force his aching fingers to go, the fabric scratching an itch on the inside of his left elbow that he hadn't even noticed until now. It still wouldn't go away, clawing at the back of his mind as he grabbed both of the dry towels from the bathroom and then stopped by the cabinet, piling every single piece of clothing in there onto his lap.
He returned to the bed with his hoard, throwing everything on the mattress before climbing up himself. One, two, three layers of everything, the rest laid over him along with the towels, makeshift blankets against the chill gripping his core.
When he was as settled as he could be, not bothering to keep his left leg elevated, he was free to scratch that itch, finally able to make his body feel good in some small way. And, as much as he hated having short hair, it did dry a lot faster, and he'd take every little thing he could get at the moment.
Soon enough, he'd found enough scraps of comfort to sink back into a dreamless sleep.
"…st ridiculous. How much of a mess can you make in one night?"
Xavier groaned, trying to curl in on himself further, but something stopped him. Something soft. Wrapped around his wrists.
His eyes flew open, limbs pulling weakly against the straps holding him down. Makena, currently in the process of securing his ankles, held them fast, her thumb pressing into the bandage around Xavier's left leg.
"Hija de la chingada! What the-fucking untie me, puta!" he cried, pain shooting up this leg.
"You know that's never worked," Makena replied flatly, strapping his ankles down without much trouble. "You've scratched yourself bloody, and I don't trust you to stop on your own."
"Scratched myself-what are you talking about?" All Makena gave him in reply was an exasperated glance, conveying all-too-clearly that she thought he was an idiot in this particular moment. Or maybe all the time. Regardless, he looked down to see what-
Fuck.
The inside of his left elbow was angry and reddish, slightly swollen, littered with spots that were smeared with blood. The fingernails of his right hand were dark at the tips, dried blood caked underneath his nailbeds.
"I didn't-I must have done this while I was sleeping I won't do it now so-so fucking untie me."
"Mmm, don't trust you. And even if I did, it'll be much easier for me to get you cleaned up without you squirming around."
"I can clean myself up-"
"We're well past that point." Makena squirted something onto a scrap of gauze before dabbing the inside of his elbow with it. Xavier hissed at the sting of the disinfectant, the sensation making the rash feel even itchier than before. Maybe it was secretly for the best that he couldn't scratch at it right now, but no way was he gonna tell Makena that.
Once she was finished cleaning off the blood, Makena rubbed some sort of weird-smelling cream all over the rash, and that actually calmed the itching down, thankfully. She finished by taping gauze over the site, probably more there to keep him from scratching than anything.
"Can you fucking let me up now?"
"In a moment." Makena held up a thermometer. "Open." Xavier almost retorted, but kept his jaw shut tight. Why the hell would he make things easy for her? She lazily prodded his tightly-shut lips with the thermometer before sighing and reaching into her pocket. "I figured this would happen." She pulled out a capped syringe, clicking it open.
"A-alright, fuck, I'll let you take my temperature, just put that thing away." Xavier hated how fast he caved, but the last thing he needed right now was to be fucking drugged again. He was sick, so it was just harder to resist right now. He'd be back to it once he was feeling better.
Makena smiled as she re-capped they syringe and put it away, sticking the thermometer under his tongue when she was done. Xavier closed his mouth around it obediently, figuring the faster she confirmed he had a fever, the faster she would let him up. Soon enough, the thermometer beeped, and Makena nodded upon seeing the result. "Yup, fever. Not as high as I'd expected given your…behavior, but maybe it's come down a bit since last night." She paused before leaning down and jabbing a finger in his face. "And don't ever try layering up like that or showering in cold water when you have a fever like that. Those just make things worse."
"I was-wait, how did you know I did that in the shower last night?"
"Do you really think your water usage isn't monitored?"
Xavier blinked a few times, taken aback. "I-why the fuck would I think that it is?!"
"Because you're a test subject? Nearly everything you do is monitored for the sake of data collection." She made it sound so goddamn obvious, like, of course every little aspect of him was under the microscope. He was gonna start leaving the shower on randomly.
"Okay, fine, great, can you untie me now?"
"Only," she grabbed his chin, "if you promise not to touch the bandage around your elbow."
"What if it brushes against my side?" Makena's grip on his chin tightened, squeezing it painfully hard. "Yeah, sure, I won't fucking touch it, pendeja." She rolled her eyes, but she also let him go, so good enough.
Once she untied him, he made a show of rubbing his wrists, though he doubted she'd give a shit even if that had hurt him. Still, he could try to tug at her conscience, see if there was anything there.
"I'll give you painkillers and antihistamines once you've filled the cup in the bathroom properly." There probably wasn't anything there, after all. Oh well, he could deal with it.
She made him take off his extra layers and then left him alone again after he ate, towels and spare clothes locked up tight. He hated how much she made him feel like a child sometimes, not to be trusted around normal-ass objects or with basic freedoms. At least he had his adult books to read for the second time.
Books for an adult reading level. Well, sure they alluded to like, sex sometimes but they weren't fucking erotica. Makena wouldn't give him that. He wouldn't want her to give him that.
The rest of the day passed without much of note, and by the end of the day Xavier was confident that he could make it through the rest of his recovery without caving into the promise of painkillers.
Waking up soaked in cold sweat, shaking with aches once again, his resolve started to waver.
Fuck, it was fine, he'd be fine. He just had to tough it out. He could deal with it. Deal with the aches and his throbbing leg and the sharp pain in his finger joints and that awful, incessant itch crawling around inside his elbow.
The tape peeled back pretty easily, and he could just scratch a little and put it back and Makena would never know, good, easy, a little bit of relief even as his fingers creaked through the motions, his skin hot, starting to feel slippery, something sticky collecting under his fingernails, bandage hastily replaced as if that could erase the damage he'd done, it was probably just sweat, he was sweaty, hot, burning, still aching, he didn't know how much longer he could hold on, far too hot, far too cold, in far too much pain, and, before he knew it, his stubbornness slipped though his sweaty fingers.
Hands shaking, he filled the cup up exactly like Makena had told him to, looking at it at eye level like in chemistry class, lid on, placed in front of the door, an offering to whatever passerby god wanted to take pity on him, and even though he'd been good and listened he'd still have to wait, lie there as whines crept up the back of his throat.
He imagined he was laying on the couch, holding a warm bowl of pozole Mira had made for him, watching cartoons like they always did when one of them was sick or recovering from surgery, imagined he was comfortable and safe and wasn't going to wake up tied to the bed again, imagined that there wasn't a torture device buckled around his neck, imagined he had any reason at all to smile.
Even if he found it in his dreams, the familiar padded cuffs wiped it off of his face the moment he woke up.
This time, Makena had managed to strap him down completely before he woke up, the bloodied bandage already pulled from his arm. He couldn't help but wince as he looked down at the angry red bumps and smears of blood. It felt so good to scratch it, but, fuck, did it look like shit. And now he'd totally justified her leaving him strapped down for the entire goddamn day, if she wanted.
Makena, after noticing that he was awake, used the remote to sit the bed up. "I was glad to see you left a sample for me. Here," she held a small plastic cup to his lips, and Xavier accepted the pills without any backtalk. It'd been hard enough to get these in the first place, so no way was he gonna jeopardize it now. He just wanted to feel better. He swallowed the pills after she held up a cup and a straw, continuing to drink as he realized how thirsty he was.
"Good boy." Makena looked at him with a slightly amused smile, and her words were enough to send water down the wrong pipe, causing him to cough and gasp.
"Fuck-cough-don't fucking-cough-I'm not doing it for-cough cough-for you. And I'm-" he devolved into a fit of coughs again, stubbornly refusing the water she continued to offer him. "I'm not a dog," he finally choked out, blinking away the tears his coughing fit had brought to his eyes and reluctantly taking a sip from the straw.
Makena rolled her eyes. "You know I've never actually called you a dog, right? You're the one who keeps making that comparison."
"You literally called me a chihuahua, fucking pendeja!" Xavier snarled.
"Okay, besides that one time." Makena shrugged. "I've never explicitly treated you like an animal. You get clothes and normal food and I hold conversations with you, even if I don't enjoy it."
Xavier's vision went red. "I-you-you put a fucking shock collar on me and there's a goddamn electric fence-"
"That's just because you're a disobedient human."
"Vete a la verga! You're keeping me prisoner and fucking torturing me why the hell would I listen to you?!" He strained against the straps, wanting to lash out with more than just his words.
"Perhaps you're right," Makena sighed. "Maybe I should try other ways to motivate you." Her hand gripped his chin, and he tensed. "I could lend you out to some of my colleagues, try some other methods besides pain. You have a rather high tolerance for it, don't you?"
"I'm not gonna answer that. Let me go, bitch."
"I could always lean into the whole 'dog' thing you seem to hate so much." Her hand slid lower, resting against his collar. "I'd be easier to drag you around if you were on a leash."
The blood drained from Xavier's face. "I-I'll fucking kill you if you ever-"
"Relax, it's just a thought." She released him and stepped back, holding up her hands.
"It better fucking stay that way." Even just imagining the feeling of being pulled along by a leash was making his stomach squirm. No fucking way. He might be a lab rat, but he wasn't a pet.
"We'll see, won't we? That all depends on you." She looked down at his arm and sighed. "As for this…you're not getting untied until it heals."
"Wha-you can't just do that to me I-I can't be stuck like this for fucking days I-"
"Should have thought of that before you scratched your arm up again," Makena said as she wiped away the dried blood coating the inside of his elbow.
"I'd like to see you try not to scratch an itch this bad, asshole." Xavier winced as she disinfected his wounds, the stinging overtaking the itch for a few moments.
"I have eczema, you idiot. So yeah, I have."
"Oh." Xavier couldn't really think of anything else to say, so he just kept his mouth shut until she was done taking care of his arm. Maybe if he was quiet she wouldn't actually leave him strapped down for that long?
He got a little excited when she unbuckled the strap around his left wrist, but she just stopped there and pulled over the rolling table with his breakfast. "Eat. And don't you dare try and free yourself. I'll be watching." She crossed her arms and sat on the rolling stool.
"Don't you have anything better to do?" Xavier grumbled as he picked up the fork and started to eat, grateful that his dominant hand was his free one.
"Oh, believe me, I do, but since you've made it clear you can't be left by yourself, I'm stuck babysitting. So don't you dare complain to me," she huffed.
"Soooo sorry, sounds way worse than being held captive and injected with poison. Can't believe I never considered your feelings." Makena just rolled her eyes at that, so Xavier rolled his back and focused on his food.
Once he was finished eating, Makena grabbed his wrist again, and he felt his stomach sink. "Come on, you can't just fucking-huh?" Despite his efforts to pull away, she managed to loop a zip-tie around his wrist, pulling it tight. "What the fuck is this for?"
"Restraint, what else?"
"Yeah but it's not tied to-oh." She'd slid a second tie under the first, dragging his free wrist over next to his strapped-down one. There wasn't much he could do as she nudged the strap out of the way and circled his wrist with the second tie, securing his wrists to one another.
"There, now you don't have to be completely tied down, alright?" She made short work of removing the restraints keeping him secured to the bed, and, when she was done, Xavier sat up fully, looking down at his wrists and frowning.
"I guess, but what was wrong with the handcuffs? These are way more uncomfortable." The ties were snug around his wrists, but not so tight that they were going to cut off circulation. Still, way worse than the handcuffs.
"You'd still be able to scratch your elbow with those on. Just be grateful you're not stuck in bed. It'd be too much of a pain to take care of you like that." Makena picked up his empty breakfast tray, making her way towards the door. "I have some things I need to do, so I'll be back to check on your leg in a few hours. Try not to do anything stupid."
"I'm not-wait, how the fuck am I supposed to use the wheelchair like this?!"
"Not my problem. I'm sure you'll figure something out." And with that, she was gone.
When Xavier felt better, he was gonna fucking kill her.
Taglist (i want YOU to join my army 🫵👁👁): @befuddled-calico-whump @weibun-art @rainbowsandwhumperflies @catnykit @vampiresprite
CW: hero/villain, kidnapping, made to watch, sibling whump, shock collars, physical violence, tortured for information
Word count: 1000
He’s forced down into a chair and he wants to struggle more than anything but it’s so bright and his ears are still ringing and he still can’t quite breathe right. He wills himself to move, to do something other than squirm while someone secures his wrists and ankles to the chair. There’s a burn in the binds that he’s unfamiliar with, an acidic sting paired with the bite of the rope.
A clatter from across him finally brings him back, and he forces his eyes open to find Three staring at him, two masked figures securing him the same way to a chair opposite him. His eyes are wide, and he desperately jerks against the people holding him in an attempt to reach Seven. Blood drips from his mouth and hands, but he realizes with a fierce kick of pride that it’s not his own.
Someone’s hand curls around the back of his neck, and Seven whips around to snap at it. It tightens faster than he expects, and he can’t do anything but go still like a prey animal.
“Not so good survival instincts from this one, huh Three?”
Three bares his teeth. “Leave him alone, Thane. You don’t have any business with him.”
The man—Thane—slacks his grip on Seven’s neck and leans on the back of his chair, digging hard fingers into his shoulder. “You two are so cute, the younger brother following his elder around like a bumbling fool. You two waltzed right in here! I don’t think they’re teaching the younger generation how to take things seriously, Three. I mean, I was worried someone as experienced as you would have noticed something was off, but I guess I was worried for nothing! Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you won’t make that mistake again.”
He fishes something out of his pocket, and Three’s mouth tightens at the sight. Seven’s heart beats faster, pumping adrenaline through his system, and it skyrockets as what feels like leather brushes against his throat.
“This is an industrial strength shock collar.” Seven jerks as he wraps it around the length of his throat, trying to shake off his grip with no success. “They use it on dogs. Of course, little fox here isn’t the intended subject by any means, but it’ll serve its purpose.”
Thane’s hands leave his neck, but not until after the collar is locked in place. Three’s gone pale, hands shaking with what Seven hopes is rage. He tries to steady his breathing, focus on Three, but the collar is tight in his neck and fear is already seeping into his veins.
“What do you want from me?” Three grits out, and he can hear him fight to keep the tremble out of his voice.
Pulling himself to his full height, Thane walks around Seven’s chair and drags his own up. “I’ll give you that one for free since I haven’t explained the rules.” He flips the chair around and sits with his chest to the back of the chair. “I’m going to ask you a question. You’re going to answer truthfully, or I get to see how long it takes before your brother passes out. I don’t want anything out of your mouth besides answers.”
Three chokes out a laugh, but it’s a painful, desperate sound. “Why are we here?”
He clicks his tongue and pulls out a remote with a dial at the top. “Really? I just told you how this was going to work. Your choice, not mine.”
Nervousness straining his voice, Seven tips his chin up. “You really think something like that is going to hurt—”
With a look that borders on boredom but is still undershot with sadism, Thane turns the dial on the remote. Seven is screaming before he can process the pain, fire that’s so much sharper than anything he’s felt previously racing down his neck and up his face. It’s frozen needles and molten shards flying down his nerve endings, locking his entire body in electric agony.
After what feels like hours, it stops. Bile immediately floods up his throat, but he forces it down. Snot or maybe blood trickles from his nose, but there aren’t tears in his eyes even as he twitches from the remaining electricity. He locks eyes with Three, tries to tell him that he’s strong with just eye contact.
To his horror, Three’s eyes are wide and his chest is heaving like he’s the one that just got electrocuted.
“Seven!” Three jerks his head to Thane, whites of his eyes flashing. “I’ll tell you whatever you want, don’t hurt him. He’s just a kid.”
Thane flips the remote over his fingers, eyes trained Three. “M.I.N.D.’s information safeguarding tactics were always pretty good. I mean, they teach you guys to withstand… whew! A lot. But one thing I don’t think they quite account for well enough is the little bonds you kitsunes have with each other.”
Seven snarls at him, still shaking with electricity. “Stop it! You’re better than this!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Thane rolls his eyes and snaps at one of the masked people still lurking near them. “Gag him.”
“Fuck you-“ Seven lurches in his chair as Thane whips around and punches him in the ribs. Something cracks. Dizzy with pain, he still tries to pull away from the hands coming towards him. Thane backhands him and the sound is like a gunshot.
So, I don’t know who this is going to reach, but I hope it reaches anyone or everyone <3
I really want to meet small whump creators on here. I do obsess over a lot of whump creators who are big and somewhat popular, and I always wonder how to find smaller blogs that are lurking around like I do. As a small blog myself.
So if you’re a small whump blog and want to meet new friends, I’d love to read your stories and see what you create. Even if you don’t make anything and just reblog, that’s okay too. I really do think there are hidden gems out there that I’d love to find, but sometimes it’s hard to.
And if you interact with this post, we’ll all find each other and make more friends. At least, that’s what I’d like to think would happen.
And while you’re here, maybe say something in the comments about yourself, your blog, or your stories. What’s your favorite whump trope? What have you put your characters through? What’s the whumpiest media you’ve consumed lately?
As usual, I’ll say that I obsess over everyone’s OC’s and literally want to eat every crumb of lore I can get. I love drawing them too! So please talk about them!
Coming in a bit late but hello!! I'm Axel! I've lurked for a bit now but am here as a writer this time.
I use they/them pronouns and am 21 :) My main is @axeaesthetic so any follows/likes will be from there.
I love hero/villain whump, and cowboy or dnd-esc settings are always a solid go-to for me. Trope wise, I love defiant whumpees, intimate whumpers, conditioning, kneeling, any sort of power dynamics, and recapture.
Currently, I've got up a Forced to Watch story that I wrote for a superhero campaign. Featuring shock collars and someone else being tortured in your stead for information! Read it here!
My favorite Guy Ever tm to whump is Orion, my monster hunter who fucks monsters (unrelated to the whump) who I also play in a city, monster of the week style campaign. Very recently, he was turned into a demon, kidnapped, and nailed to a bed. If you like defiant/mouthy whumpees and whump related to holy weapons, I'm planning on posting consistently about that in the future.
I'd love to meet more moots to yap with! I'm a bit rusty with some of my writing stuff and am about to kick off another semester of college, but am always in the market for some sweet sweet whump community.
hello hello! i'm returning to the whump community after a long break, this time as a writer. i'd love to meet some other whump writers, so feel free to drop a comment/reblog/like if you wanna be moots!
i'm a huge fan of defiant whumpees (who isnt), and i love dnd-esc or cowboy-time settings. I'm also a huge fan of hero/villian whump.
CW: hero/villain, kidnapping, made to watch, sibling whump, shock collars, physical violence, tortured for information
Word count: 1300
“I bet I can take this Kelpie out before you!” Seven dances on the balls of his feet, eyes flitting from edge to edge of the dock. Excitement burns away any sense of stealth the pair had going for them, but Seven could care less.
Three scoffs, absently tying his hair up into a bun as they walk. “As if. I’m older which obviously makes me better.” Dropping back to fall into stride with Three, Seven moves to punch him in the shoulder. He steps out of the way easily, grinning. “Besides, you can’t even beat me in a fight.”
“That's because you always turn into me and confuse me! How do I know which one is the real me?”
Completely abandoning stealth, he skips ahead again, flitting into alleys and peering off the edge of the docks. Darkness swallows the harbor, and the tall, bleak warehouses only block out what little light is left. Seven ignores all of it to chase a snake that slithers between two of the warehouses, eyes gleaming.
“You’re…so dumb.” Despite his light tone, Three peers around warily.
“And you’re ugly.” The snake escapes his clutches and Seven darts back to his side. “Ooo, this is the place!” Seven is bouncing in place, heat radiating off of him. “We should go in, rush 'em and take' em by surprise and boom bam we win!”
He starts forward but Three puts a hand on his shoulder before can dash off. “Hold up a second. Something’s fishy.”
Seven stops dead. “Was. Was that a pun??”
Three rolls his eyes, and Seven doesn’t catch tension building in his shoulders. “Let’s just scope it out first.”
Squirming out from under Three’s hand, Seven shifts impatiently. “If we wait around for long the monsters gonna leave and then we’re both gonna have to face Nine and tell him that we fucked up again!”
With a sigh, Three begins walking the perimeter of the warehouse. “Unlike you, Nine likes me.”
“Nine likes me!” Seven whines indignantly, trailing behind Three. “We’re gonna lose the element of surprise if we keep doing this your slow, boring way.” He peers at him, hoping to see some change in posture that indicates agreement.
Somehow, Three agrees. “Fine. But I’m going in first. You’re noisy.”
Seven huffs but falls in line, shadowing Three’s footsteps. They approach the doors of the warehouse, Three with trepidation and Seven with hungry excitement.
The second the door slides open, Three knows something’s wrong. It’s dead silent, darkness swallowing every corner of the room. Before he has a change to stop him, Seven creeps past on his tiptoes. All Three manages to get out is a hissed “Seven!” and a step into the building before everything goes to shit.
Floodlights clunk on as the doors slam shut behind them like a tomb. Seven yelps, but Three can’t see anything but fluorescents. He feels a burst of heat on his right and a rush of air to his left and reacts before his mind has time to process it. In a flurry of motion, he warps his body into a panther and shoves where he felt Seven’s heat signature. There’s another yelp from him, but the heat moves away and Three lunges in the opposite direction, jaws wide. His teeth connect with the shoulder of someone in tactical gear, boring through armor and bone.
“Three!! What’s happening?”
Changing back into himself, Three spits out a chunk of flesh and wills his eyes to adjust. “Seven! Find a way out!”
There’s a flare of heat and light again from his left and Three hopes that Seven can handle himself as he shifts into a falcon and dives at the throat of his attacker.
Fortunately, Seven’s eyes adjust faster and he manages to see the nightstick coming for his torso. Half instinct and half terror, his hands alight and he goes for the face. There’s a terrible smell of burning flesh and a horrific scream, and Seven’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t have time to recover before a heavy blow connects on the back of his neck and the world tilts on its axis. The ground approaches faster than he expects, and his knees hit the floor with a crack.
Then there’s a hand in the back of his hair and cold steel at his neck, dragging him up against an armored torso. Even with a knife at his throat Seven struggles, desperately kicking back against his assailant's thighs. They don’t move, only dig the knife in harder.
“Quit.” He kicks the back of Seven’s knee, forcing him to stop or have the knife slit his throat. “Three. Stop fighting or I kill the fox.”
His voice is only slightly above normal volume, but carries unnerving authority. In the background, the noises of carnage that Seven had previously tuned out pause. His eyes have adjusted as best they can with floodlights still blazing, and Three is silhouetted with his tails flaring behind him. There are three bodies on the ground, but two more framed in black near Three.
Despite everything, Seven jerks and flails, even as the blade cuts a line of heat across his jugular. “Three!! Don’t stop fighting, run!”
Slowly, Three raises his hands into the air. “It’s ok, Seven, I’m not letting you get hurt.”
Blood trickles down his throat and Seven’s body goes cold. With a strength that feels terrifyingly like his own, he wrenches around and claws at the man’s face. He digs in, curling his fingers behind his eye and unwittingly relishing the bark of pain from him. In his peripherals, he sees Three lurch forward, and relief floods through him.
The pause costs him and the force behind him takes the opportunity to wrench him around and kick him to the ground. Air leaves his chest in a rush, and the man settles his boot onto Seven’s throat. He gags, hands scrabbling at the leg as the eye falls limply from his hand.
For the first time, he manages to see his attacker's face. In that split second he decides that this is his worst enemy. His one remaining eye blazes, red and set deep in a sharp edged face. Blood seeps out of his ruined eye socket, black and viscous. In Seven’s mind, he doesn’t look human.
The worst of it, however, is that he barely looks phased by a missing eye. In fact, he hardly even glances down at Seven other than making sure he’s not going anywhere. When he speaks, he speaks out to Three.
“Is this really the best you have to offer? A pathetic fox who can’t hold his own in a fight?” He crunches his foot down further until black spots at the edges of Seven’s vision. “I wouldn’t have bothered making this a show if I’d known you were this weak.”
Seven feels sparks in his eyes, and he thrashes again, only to be met with more weight on his chest. “Three! Get out of here!”
“Stop! Stop.” The tone in Three’s voice is one Seven never imagined himself hearing, ragged at the edges and thick with panic. “Let him up. I surrender.”
Dizzy from lack of oxygen, all Seven can do is whine in the back of his throat. Distantly, he hears shuffling and a grunt of pain from Three, but he can’t find the strength to crane his head to see. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have to.
The boot leaves his chest and he gasps for air, but the respite doesn’t last. Chairs screech on concrete, and rough hands drag him to his feet. Absently, he tries to struggle, but a blow to the side of his head sets his ears to ringing.
“Don’t bother fighting back, fox.” The man’s voice is too quiet for anyone else to hear, cold against Seven’s ear. “All I need from you is screaming.”
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