I like whump, writing, and pretending I could
survive the zombie apocalypse! I'm a sucker for hurt with a lot of comfort. | Adult, woman, Michigan local.
Hello! I like whump and a helluva lot of comfort after a helluva lot of breaking my whumpees until they think it can't get worse (and then it does).
If you come across this and want to talk about your OCs, no matter what it is, feel free to drop an ask because I am real fuckin nosy...kidding, kidding, I just love getting to listen to people gush about their characters lol
I should probably make a masterlist at this point, SO:
Reed (cws/themes: male whumpee; female caretaker; whumpee is tortured to get information; whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper; setting: medieval-ish war) - Reed, a spy, was captured by enemy soldiers in the field. Despite intense interrogation that devolves into the soldiers' personal sadism, he resists giving up any information. After two weeks, he wakes to find himself in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar person who, by all evidence, has rescued him. But Reed, weakened and helpless, can't bring himself to accept that he's truly safe.
Ch. 1
Ch. 2
Ch. 3
Ch. 4
Zombies Are An Afterthought: Annette and Kel (general content warnings/themes: lady whumpee; lady caretaker; aftermath of multiple whumpers and near death; a very lame zombie apocalypse; whumpee thinks caretaker is a whumper; setting: modern) - Kel breaks into her weird neighbors' house to get some tampons while waiting out a zombie outbreak. Instead, she finds their discarded plaything.
Ch. 1
Ch. 2: Cold
Ch. 3
Ch. 4: Safety
Ch. 5, Kel's POV
Ch. 5, Annette's POV
Ch.6
Ch. 7
Taglist: @i-eat-worlds, @pigeonwhumps, @starfields08000, @generic-whumperz, @suffering-and-misery, if I have forgotten to include you or if I tagged you and you'd rather I not do that, just lmk, I am very scatterbrained
Conditioned whumpee's who, instead of taking caretaker's offered hand, shoves their wrist into caretaker's grasp because they're not used to having their hand held - just grabbed.
“Guess what I bought you!” Antonio shouldered into Simon’s apartment and dropped the box he was carrying onto the floor with a resounding whump.
“Oh, god,” Simon muttered, limping out of the way as Antonio pulled out a pocketknife and sliced through the tape.
“Voila!” Antonio heaved a mass out of the box, “A weighted blanket!”
Simon sighed, forgoing argument.
“I’ll try it.”
Less than twenty minutes later, Simon was sound asleep on his couch and Antonio was free to quietly do his friend’s dishes. It was the least he could do – Simon had been there for Antonio before, too.
screaming crying and sobbing over characters having hushed conversations over their injured/sick teammate.
Why are they whispering? Is there danger nearby? Do they want to avoid disturbing their teammate? Are they about to do something unpleasant but necessary for their teammate's survival - like setting a bone or flushing out an infected wound?
Or are they talking normally and the injured party just can't understand everything that's being said? Are they delirious with pain or fever? A head injury is affecting their hearing? Are they having difficulty staying conscious, and that one teammate keeps patting their face or shaking them, doing anything they can to keep them awake? Why are there so many hands on them? Why do they keep pushing on their stomach? Why does everyone sound so serious/nervous/angry/sad?
+ bonus points for manhandling their friend bc it's for their own good
Conditioned whumpee's who, instead of taking caretaker's offered hand, shoves their wrist into caretaker's grasp because they're not used to having their hand held - just grabbed.
cw: graphic depictions of injuries and care of, stitches, touch of angst, medical stuff, caretaker turned whumpee
“What’d they do?” Eric asked as he tore open a package of gauze. The rest of the van was dead silent as they drove back, partially because everyone was exhausted, but also because Joseph had pulled out The Glare seemingly at random.
“Not my story to tell,” Joseph said simply. He grunted as Eric pressed the gauze onto the wound, then wrapped a bandage around it.
“You sure?” Eric tapped the bandage down. “If there's something I can do…” He’d known Joseph for nearly a decade, and that pissed off, protective stare was a rare occurrence. Those heroes had definitely hurt someone that Joseph cared about.
“I’m sure,” Joseph said, then quickly downed three ibuprofen.
Eric had sometimes wondered if the stare was powered because of the way it seemed to unease anybody and everybody, but it didn’t really matter as long as he didn’t use it on allies that they needed to stay under the radar.
“I trust you, and if there's nothing we can do, there's nothing we can do,” Eric said as he zipped the medical bag back up, “but, we’re guests here. We have to play nice, yeah?”
“Yes, sir,” Joseph replied, nodding his head.
***
When they returned to the safe house, Joseph grabbed a change of shirt and some wound care supplies before heading straight to the bathroom. It hadn’t looked too bad when he’d gotten it, but he needed to examine it properly to be sure. As long as it didn’t need stitches, he’d be happy.
Ignoring how his injury protested, he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. After pulling on a pair of gloves, he cut away the bandages to reveal the wound. It’d at least stopped bleeding, but that would most likely change when he cleaned it. He scrubbed some of the dried blood away from the edge of the wound so he could better see the edges, then used the mirror to get a better look.
He grumbled when he saw the lobules of fat that were peeking out from the bottom of the wound. There would be no avoiding the stitches, then. The edges were clean, and it hadn't been horribly contaminated. It’d still need a thorough cleaning, but he wouldn’t be picking gravel out of it. Small wins.
Dodging the faucet, he positioned his upper arm over the sink, then grabbed the squirt bottle o the counter. He squeezed the bottle, repositioning the stream every so often to make sure the entire wound got cleaned. The pressure had dislodged several clots, and it had started bleeding again. Light pink water ran off his arm and into the sink, swirling around the drain before disappearing.
It was only when Joseph reached for his suturing supplies when he realized a major problem. He only had one hand. Because of the location of the injury, he couldn’t use his left hand, and that meant he couldn’t suture it on his own. Sighing, he pressed some gauze over the wound and used his elbow to open the bathroom door.
“Eric, are you free?” He said, standing in the doorway. “I need some help.”
Eric looked up from his paperwork. “Sure, what do you need help with?”
“I’m down a hand, and this thing needs stitches.” He said, watching Avia’s face cringe. They didn’t handle needles well. “Sorry to drag you from your paperwork.”
“It’s okay, I’d be happy to help,” He set down the mound of documentation that he’d never escape from. “It’s been hot second though,”
Joseph shrugged. He’d be the one actually stabbing into his flesh, though knot tying could be difficult.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I could do it?” The voice came from the couch. It was Alex, sitting to keep pressure off her injured hip. “Before I went into Intelligence, I trained in the medical corps.” She paused, uncomfortable. “I could help, if you’d be okay with that.”
“Yeah, that’d be great.” That explained her strange prociency at her own wound care then.
She shut the bathroom door behind them, then turned to face him. “How do you wanna play this?”
He kept his hand firmly clamped over his arm as he spoke. “I’ll use my good hand for the needle driver, you’ll be my temporary left hand with the forceps.”
“Alright,” she started pulling on a pair of gloves. “You think it’d be easier sitting in the tub?”
Joseph nodded. “Yeah, probably don’t want to be standing the whole time.” He carefully lowered himself down while Alex got the supplies ready.
He set his elbow down on the side of the tub. “I’ve already cleaned it, just needs stitched.” He said.
“I figured,” she said, peeling the tape off the sterile blue fabric. He moved his arm out of the way so she could slide it underneath, then set it back down. Carefully, she balanced the tools on the side of the tub.
“Did you ever get your heart?” He used his head to gesture towards the tattoo on his wrist.
“Nah. Got pulled before I finished my rotations.” She uncapped the pre-drawn syringe of lidocaine, then flicked it a couple of times.
“What rotation?” He asked, mainly as a distraction for the discomfort he knew was coming.
“ICU,” She paused, lining up the syringe. “Heads up,” She warned, then started to numb his arm.
The lidocaine burned a little as it went in. “That’s a crazy one, yeah.”
Alex recapped the syringe, then tucked it into the sharps bin on the counter. “Was my first rotation, too.”
Joseph raised his eyebrows. “Little bit of baptism by fire,”
She opened the packet of sutures and gripped the needle with its holder. “Lots of baptism by fire.” She chuckled a little, then handed him the instrument.
Joseph took the needle holder from her hand, sliding his fingers into the correct position. “I was one of the lucky ones.” After selecting his angle of attack, he pushed the needle into his skin. “Got to start in PT.”
“Lucky one indeed,” She grabbed the needle with her forceps and pulled it the rest of the way through the skin. They worked together to tie it into a knot.
“Are you gonna go back and finish?” He waited for Alex to pinch the skin together with the forceps before he made the second stitch.
“Dunno,” she shrugged. “Maybe. Haven’t really got out that far.” They cinched the second knot down.
“If you wanna, I’d be glad to have you for your mentorship.” Joseph said, placing the third stitch.
“Thanks, I’ll think about it.” The forceps clinked as they tied another knot.
They fell into a comfortable silence, working carefully to close the wound. Her hands were steady and sure, obviously practiced. Joseph couldn’t help but wonder how much of that practice had been on herself. Intelligence was notorious for lacking medical support.
“All done,” she declared after they finished the final knot. She swapped out her forceps for scissors and cut off the excess thread, along with the needle.
“Thanks for the help,” Joseph said, setting the needle holder down. His hand was a little sore from the unorthodox position.
“No problem.” Alex covered the stitches with a bandage, then tapped it down with much more ease than he would’ve had one handed.
Alex pulled her gloves off and dropped them in the trash can. “I dearly hope there's food out there.”
“There probably is. Sil is always absolutely ravenous after a mission.” He tossed all of the wrapping, packing, and used gauze into the bin before he removed his own gloves.
The dull ache was returning to his arm as the lidocaine wore off. “After you eat, I need to look at your hip again.”
"Joseph couldn’t help but wonder how much of that practice had been on herself. Intelligence was notorious for lacking medical support" ooooooof poor Alex!! it's just the little lines that paint that picture, and omg I'm such a sucker for other characters slowly realizing just how much the main chara has gone through if that makes sense
hope you enjoy! This is set towards the end of her time with Zorland
cw: violence, intentionally incorrect wound care, zorland is his own warning, general desperation and misery
Alex could feel the blood rolling down her arm from the wound on the top of her shoulder. It was hot and sticky, filling the air with a metallic smell. Her breath caught as one of Zorland’s cronies secured her wrists to the arms of a metal chair, pushing the leather strap hard onto her already bruised wrist.
The henchman did the same with the other side, cinching it down tight, before moving down to her ankles and securing her legs to the legs of the chair. The restraints were no less tight, but her ankles were in better condition than her wrists, so it hurt less.
Only after she had been tied down did Zorland enter his dungeon. His expression was his usual mixture of superiority and disgust, but today it was undercut by disappointment sprinkled with anger.
Alex would’ve expected no less, really. Her first real mission, the assassination of a low level hero, should’ve been a piece of cake. Unfortunately, she’d had to fail it. She was only a pretend villain, after all. They had enough evidence to arrest him, but now they just had to find and capture him. That was a waiting game. All she had to do was survive undetected while they narrowed in. That was a tall order with Zorland. He didn’t take failure lightly. He would make this one hurt.
Without saying a word, he deliberately started selecting implements from the many cabinets in the room and laying them down on the rolling metal tray with squeaky wheels that he used every time Alex found herself back here.
“Tell me how you failed today,” He said, voice hard as he began pulling his leather gloves off.
“It was out of my control,” Alex said, trying to keep her voice steady. “There was a stronger opponent in play than was expected. The intelligence provided was wrong.”
Zorland laid the leather gloves down on the table. “You’re wrong.” He stretched a fresh pair of latex gloves over his hands, material snapping against his wrist. “It’s always under your control.” He slowly approached her shoulder. “Let’s try this again.”
Searing pain seized her shoulder as he dug his finger into the wound. She couldn’t help but scream. “Tell me how you failed today.” He pressed harder, and more blood started rushing down her arm.
“I…” She sobbed overwhelmed by the pain, “…I let myself be caught o guard.” She gasped desperately for air. “I missed…I missed the target. I failed my mission.”
Zorland pulled back from the wound, then raised a bloody, latex covered hand to her chin. He wretched her head towards him. “There we go. Honesty is much better, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir.” She said, still reeling from the sudden onslaught of pain. He held her face for a second longer before he released his grip, leaving a bright red smear on her chin.
The smell of hydrogen peroxide filled the air as he unscrewed the lid of a dark colored bottle. A sinister smile spread across his face. “I’m glad you understand.”
Before Alex could answer back, Zorland leaned the bottle forward.
Fire erupted on her arm. She wailed with pain, tears starting to drip out of her eyes. It stung and burned and it hurt. The peroxide mixed with blood, forming a noxious coopery-chemical mixture that smelled like misery. It ran down o her shoulder and onto the oor, slowly swirling down the drain underneath the chair. “Stop,” She groaned breathlessly. “Please.”
“Don’t beg, Olena. I made you better than that,” He sneered, tipping the bottle further so that the peroxide came out faster.
The onslaught only stopped when the bottle was empty. Zorland placed it back down on the table. “What do you say?”
“Thank you, sir,” Alex choked out. She wanted to vomit. Her shoulder was still throbbing with pain, and her lungs were only able to pull in shallow, infrequent gasps of air.
Zorland nodded, satisfied as he tore open a package of gauze and stuffed it in her wound. She winced, a quiet whumper escaping her lips. “Don’t complain. You know you don’t deserve it.”
Alex nodded. “Yes, sir.” He held her arm with a crushing grip as he tightly wrapped a bandage around it. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, Olena.” He peeled his bloody gloves off, dropping them on the floor. “Sleep tight.”
“Thank you, sir.” She said as Zorland grabbed his pair of fancy leather gloves off the table and started heading towards the door.
The door slammed shut, sealing her inside, and then the lights clicked off, plunging the room into total darkness. Alex let out a breath. She was finally alone.
Tears welled in her eyes, and Alex was too tired to stop them from rolling down her cheeks. Exhaustion seeped into her bones, along with the numbness that always followed Zorland’s punishments. But he was gone, and this nightmare was almost over. She only had to hold on for another couple weeks. She could survive this.
I read the chapters I hadn't gotten to during my lunch break and was halfway finished this one when I had to go...maaaaan I'm glad I finally got a chance to finish it! That last paragraph tho!!
The morning started with Eric leading an hour long briefing detailing their operation. It was complete with a map of the area and several photos that had been pulled from Google Street View because of the short notice. He went over the specifics of each person's role.
Avia would position herself on the other end of the pond, concealed by foliage, so that they could be close by if Alex needed help. Aarav would liaison with the local pigeons for aerial surveillance. Joseph would be on the same side of the pond as Alex, far enough behind that he could go unnoticed. Sil would remain with the van, keeping it running so they could make a quick escape. Teri would be in the back, monitoring other signals from the area to make sure that Tindley didn’t call for help, ready to alert the local supers that Tindley had been caught. Finally, Eric would watch the street to the west, and would float as necessary.
When the briefing was finished, Alex waited for everyone to stand up and start gathering their things. Instead, only Teri moved. She pulled out the bag of peppermints that they’d been gambling with last night. “Unwrap it, but don’t eat,” She said as she handed a peppermint to each member of the team.
After everyone had received their candy, she smiled widely and counted down from three. “Suck now so you don’t suck later!” The team said in unison, then popped the peppermints into their mouths. Alex smiled a little bit and slipped her own piece of candy into her mouth. She bounced it around in her mouth as she packed her stuff up and slid her knife into her boot.
***
Somehow, Aarav had convinced Nyx to lend them the company van for the morning. They piled into the back of the van. It smelled vaguely like beer, but it was relatively inconspicuous, and most importantly free. The early morning traffic was heavy, but Sil eventually pulled the van into the parking lot.
It was chilly, leaning towards cold, and Alex was glad she’d bundled up a little more than normal. Eric passed out earpieces to everyone, and then they got underway. They fanned out across the southeast quadrant of the park, heading towards their various positions.
Despite the anticipation brewing in her stomach, walking through the park was almost peaceful. Morning bird songs filled the cool, misty air and the light filtered through the tree branches overhead, casting her in alternating shadows. Pea gravel crunched underneath her feet as she walked to the meeting site.
Eventually, the path opened up to a pond. She followed the edge of the pond for a short stretch until she saw Tindley sitting on a bench by the edge. A breath got caught in her throat as she approached him. Ignoring the panic that rose in her chest, she sat down next to him.
“Good morning, Alexis. I’m glad you’re alright.” He said, and it took everything Alex had in her to not to wipe the polite smile off his face.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet,” She said. “I assume you have a plan to get me out of this mess?” Tindley scooted closer, and Alex felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
A voice cracked over her earpiece. It was Aarav. “I’ve got three people approaching from the northwest side.”
Eric quickly responded. “I’ll go check it out.”
“I’ve got a safe house waiting. Off the books, nobody knows about it but me and you.”
Tindley looked pleased with himself as he stood up. Like he’d won.
Alex was ending this. She stood up, lining herself up to grab his wrists and make the arrest, when Teri’s voice filled her head.
“It's a trap! Alex, run!”
She quickly turned around and tried to escape down one of the paths. Tindley planted his foot in the back of her knee, sending her tumbling to the ground.
The next voice was Aarav’s. “Four people converging on your location. Northern end is clearest.”
He went to kick her again, and she quickly rolled out of the way. A spray of tiny rocks went up instead.
“I’m going in for back-up.” Avia said.
Alex launched herself at him, tackling him to the ground.
“Beacon’s up. Hopefully local heroes will be arriving soon.” Eric reported.
She climbed onto his back, pinning him down with her legs. Her hands ew to her handcuffs and she quickly secured them around his wrists.
“Bitch,” He said, face pressed against the gravel.
“Shut up,” Alex said.
Avia rounded the corner out a full sprint, stopping when she realized that Alex had subdued him. “Let’s go,” she said, helping Alex hoist him up.
They dragged him behind them as they made an escape from the northern end of the pond. As fast as they could, they ran up the paths, surrounded by immaculate, well kept gardens. Joseph met them halfway up the path, following behind them.
The three of them had just cleared the tangle of paths in the forest and were making a beeline towards the road when they were blinded by a flash of green light. The teleporter popped up from the ground, knife drawn. It was one of the Andros brothers.
“I’ve got Tindley!” Joseph yelled, pulling him out of the path of the teleporter while Avia and Alex engaged him.
The teleporter jabbed towards Alex first, lunging for her throat. She grabbed his arm, deecting the knife away, while Avia kicked his legs out from underneath him. He disappeared in another ash of green.
“Duck!” Alex called as he reappeared behind her. Avia listened, squatting down then turning to face him. She landed a fist in his stomach, causing him to double over in pain.
Avia took the opportunity and pounced, clipping the suppressants around his wrists. Alex was about to call it in when a spray of dirt went flying. Another mercenary, this time an energy manipulator.
“Leave ‘em here.” Avia said, and then bolted over the fence, giving a report as she went.
Alex was close behind, jumping the fence, crossing a wide paved path, and entering another green. Joseph was further ahead, about half-way across, with Tindley in tow. Another blast behind them signaled that the mercenary was in pursuit.
The fact that they were still standing meant that whoever was chasing them was only a short range energy manipulator. They might have a ghting chance. “Parking lot!” She yelled at Avia. Cover was going to be key.
Alex could feel the ground vibrate behind her as she cleared the green and ran into the parking lot. She pointed at a white car. “Behind this one!”
They both collapsed behind the vehicle, tucking themselves out of sight as their pursuer entered the parking lot. Alex pulled out a knife from her boot. “Get ready to cuff.” She whispered. Avia smiled back, holding a second pair of restrictors in her hand.
The mercenary had stopped running, and they were now carefully walking through the center of the lot, checking behind every vehicle. Alex and Avia waited in tense silence as footsteps approached their car. They stepped forward, in front of their hiding place, and Alex lunged forward for them. She wrapped her knife around their throat and pulled them back, and Avia quickly strapped the cuffs on.
Taking the mercenary with them, they started running to the van again. They were nearly to the van when there was another ash of green, and the metal of a knife glinted in Alex’s vision.
PSA: If you live somewhere where it gets cold this time of year, consider making a winter cat shelter! All you need is some hay, a plastic bin with a lid on top, some blankets or towels, and (optional) insulating foam sheets.
You just cut an entryway into the bin, make a little room from the styrofoam sheets, surround them with hay, and voila. It's best to elevate it on some planks or cinder blocks because of how cold the ground gets. This will help feral or lost kitties find a warm shelter in the winter :)
Here's a link to more detailed instructions and tips! https://www.neighborhoodcats.org/how-to-tnr/colony-care/feral-cat-winter-shelter
Fics with hurt Ford and protective Stan? I believe I can shake up a few of those.
1982:
Be Careful What You Wish For by embulalia @embulalia
2K, finished. Bill tortures Ford before Stan arrives.
2012:
Scars by pinesinthewoods @pinesinthewoods
2K, finished. Ford takes his first shower after his return, and Stan accidentally sees his scars.
Weirdmageddon:
Rescue by RadioactiveDeLorean @radioactivedelorean
1K, finished. Ford is half-dead from torture by the time the rescue party arrives.
Somewhere in the Fearamid by WDW @dubsdeedubs
2K, finished. Stan convinces Ford to do the twin-swap, and gets to see Ford’s wounds.
Hopelessness by plaidventurer
3K, finished. Stan convinces Ford to do the twin-swap, and gets to see Ford’s wounds.
Post-Weirdmageddon:
In Our Bedroom After the War by shayera @invisibletinkerer
6K, finished. In the immediate Weirdmageddon aftermath, Stanford tries to deal with the double traumas of Stanley’s amnesia and his own torture.
Mending by GinAndShatteredDreams @rum-and-shattered-dreams
5K, finished. Ford collapses during the first scrapbook session and is taken to the hospital.
Support by RadioactiveDeLorean @radioactivedelorean
5K, finished. Three days after Weirdmageddon, Ford has nightmares and still tries to deal with the electrical burns himself.
Sea grunks:
One Month Today by embulalia @embulalia
2K, finished. One month after reconciliation and a week or so into the journey, Stan confronts Ford about keeping secrets.
The Soul Has Bandaged Moments by azhdarchidaen @astriiformes
1K, finished. Ford has Weirdmageddon nightmares, and he and Stan has a talk.
False Prophets by scribefindegil @scribefindegil
3K, finished. In which Ford is lured and almost eaten by what seems to be a riddle-spouting magic fish.
Long fic:
In Search of Antidotes by azhdarchidaen @astriiformes
30K, finished. Stan comes to Gravity Falls in 1892 instead of 1982, finds a Ford who is a mental and physical wreck. Bill is a more classical type of demon.
by the skin of your teeth by apathetic_revenant @apathetic-revenant
70K, finished. Ford collapses from exhaustion during the fistfight in the portal room, and Stan slowly learns the extent of Ford’s problem.
30 Seconds Later by shayera @invisibletinkerer
89K, WIP. Stanford spends half a minute on the other side of the portal, while for Stanley it’s been 30 years. The Ford that comes back is still a paranoid, sleep-deprived, half-starved wreck, vulnerable to Bill’s possession, but Stanley is determined to help him.
Hello, lovely people! I'm back with more hurt/comfort (I promise, comfort) for Reed.
CWs/themes: multiple whumpers; male whumpee; graphic memories of being forcibly burned and interrogated; whumpee isn't sure of what is real and what isn't; memory of sexual abuse; memory of dehumanization; healing from wounds (I feel like my CW lists get more and more scattered and needlessly detailed as time goes on, idk anymore)
Link to ch 3
...
Reed let himself be carried off by a stream of fluid time and murky memories, the current too deep and too fast for him to gain a foothold on the river’s bottom. He could barely breath; his face was pressed down into the waters, and visions of the soldiers, of his own broken body, of Cervine’s face twisting into theirs swirled in front of him. One dream led to another, and Reed wasn’t sure which was real.
If any.
When his head was above the water, he was vaguely aware of the passage of time. At some points, there were hands on him – but just two or even just one, and somehow he knew they weren’t possessive. They cupped his chin and tapped him awake so he could swallow warm broth and cool water; they felt his forehead and took his blankets on or off depending on whatever they gleaned from that; they caused sharp, prickling pain on his wounds and followed up with a soothing coolness that left him feeling floaty and adrift in slower eddies.
Briefly, he connected the dots and realized that the Laarylni agent was doing something to him.
Healing him.
He had little sense of day or night, but he was certain that time was passing steadily on in the outside world. He could feel it. His ribs slowly started to feel less painful; the ache in his jaw lessened; the slash wounds on his legs began to itch; the blanket no longer hurt the rope burns on his neck and wrists; the abused, inflamed skin around his anus felt clean and painless for the first time in days. Slowly, slowly he felt just a little bit stronger. He neither tried to resist wakefulness nor accelerate it; he felt cocooned in his suspended state of awareness, and he didn’t have the energy to consider if that was a good or a bad thing.
He drifted, never quite waking up in the same position – he was always warmed by blankets and supported at his head, but sometimes he found himself on his back, other times on his side, and once or twice half-seated, leaning on something warm and soft, as a water skin was pressed to his lips. He felt too hazy to be claustrophobic, but he was distantly relieved when, one – night? Day? He didn’t know – but he was distantly relieved when he cracked open his eyes, just enough to see the grass beneath him flickering in the firelight, to find that he’d been taken outside to rest.
Flickering.
Why was it flickering?
Smoke curled into his senses – singed his airway – scarred his face and suddenly Reed was breathing shallowly, lungs struggling, and his half-healed broken fingers screamed when he scrambled back but he didn’t care, he had to get away – dimly he noted that he was unrestrained, which was strange, but it didn’t matter because –
“Reed –”
--because he couldn’t escape them.
He blinked, and the world became horrifically clear for a moment before the smoke stung his eyes and the world was turned upside down as one of the enemy soldiers kicked him to the fire’s edge, laughing with the others as he flinched away. The flames in the firepit licked so close to his face that he could smell the pure plasma. Reed recoiled and coughed so hard that he managed to spit out the dirty underwear crammed into his mouth, earning another round of merciless mocking. Erac’s cruel grin flickered demonically in the firelight as Edite pinned Reed’s arms behind his back for Rust to loop thick ropes around, tightening them until Reed cried out in pain. Edite whirled him around to kiss him before slapping his cheek and letting go, leaving Reed to stumble and try to keep from falling into the fire.
“Please,” he rasped.
“Just tell us what’s in that message,” someone called. “Unless you like this?”
“He totally does,” someone else snickered, and still someone else kicked his knees in from behind. Reed felt a flame lick his bare chest, and he screamed –
Another wad of cloth was shoved into his mouth as too many hands clamored to grab him, prod him, dangle him over the fire and –
“Put him down!” A voice thundered.
Reed let out a strangled sound of surprise as the soldiers reluctantly settled him on the ground.
Calac strode forward. “Think about this, you idiots,” he snarled. “Why the hell would you want to give him burn scars like that? Those mean nothing. Those could come from anywhere.” His eyes gleamed. “We need something to remind him of this.”
He held out his hand, and one of the soldiers behind him passed a long metal rod over to him just as Edite, squeezing is thigh just a little too tight, yanked his hair to jerk his head forward. He was forced to see what Calac was planning.
They’re going to brand me. Before Reed could react, more soldiers pinned him to the ground and held him down, cruel laughs rising high with the smoke as Calac advanced and as Reed thrashed uselessly against them, tears streaming down his face and leaving tracks in the smoke smudges and blood stains. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his sight off the red-hot metal tip that came, with dramatic deliberateness, closer and closer as he pleaded with his captors from behind the gag.
The first touch didn’t hurt. Reed briefly hoped that this meant it was too hot for his nerves to deal with – and then the true pain came, and Reed was sure that he had never felt pain like this before. His mind teetered on the verge of blanking out, but he wouldn’t be given the mercy. Just as the waves of pain rose to a crescendo, another careful touch of the poker sent him into convulsions – he heard someone scream; the gag had been taken out of his mouth, and as spit and drool dribbled down his chin and onto the newfound wound, he lost his voice. Reed went limp save for automatic convulsions caused by the pain. He couldn’t escape this. He didn’t deserve to escape this. He had failed his mission, he had been humiliated and dehumanized by these monsters, and he would never, ever know anything else.
“Shh….”
Reed sobbed harder. He was being quiet; couldn’t they see that he was trying to be good? That he was just a limp, defeated doll for them, that he wouldn’t and couldn’t pretend that he was anything else? He would never tell them what they wanted to know, that was true, but couldn’t his brokenness be enough for them?
“Just breathe…”
Someone was cradling him in their arms, and the smell of singed flesh was joined, then replaced by the scent of herbal soap and sun-baked meadow.
Reed blearily cracked open his eyes. His own chest wavered before him, and the first thing he could make out was the ridged, angry brand on his skin.
Toy.
He flinched and buried his face in the crook of the neck of whoever was holding him, finding comfort in her scent.
“Easy there,” Cervine said softly.
She stroked his hair with her free hand, and a very distant part of him noted that it was untangled. She must have combed it.
“Good, good, you’re doing great,” she murmured. “Just breathe with me. That’s it, that's it...”
Reed slowly let his heartbeat return to normal. He kept fearing that he would wake up and find himself back in the soldiers’ clutches, but he began to accept that this was real. There was a fire somewhere, yes, but nowhere near him.
Reed sank deeper into the sense of safety. He ached for it. He wanted to trust it.
“This is probably unprofessional of me,” he heard Cervine say to herself, and then he felt himself be lifted and settled more securely in her lap. He couldn’t care less about professionality. This was all he wanted.
