Living Weapon Whumpee, conditioned to see every person as either a handler or a threat, but they only ever met adults.
Suddenly, on a mission, they run into a kid. It’s certainly not a threat, the Weapon knows that. But what is it then? It must be… a handler then, right?
Weapon’s suspicions are confirmed when the kid orders them to come play. Well, who is Weapon to disobey a handler?
Meanwhile, their real handlers are sitting back in their headquarters, wondering where the fuck their weapon has gone.
Whump scenario: A mage/psychic tasked with using mind magic to ensure that the former enemy of their faction, who betrayed his superiors and offers information - is indeed truthful. There is a catch, though - the traitor had been found out before escaping, and tortured by his former masters. He also accepts the mind probe as necessary evil, but he is not exactly willing. Venturing into his mind is going to be both morally squicky, and a hell of a ride.
The traitor is asked questions during the procedure, so that his thoughts stay close to the matters at hand - but the lingering pain, and the memory of torture cannot be fully pushed into the background. Even dipping in the shallows of the his mind is vastly unnerving.
When the mage focuses on the reasons behind the traitor's actions, his feelings and emotions, the traitor feels as vulnerable and broken open as during the past interrogations - painful memories flare up, causing the mage to recoil. At first, it is a reflexive reaction on both ends - but when the mage apprehensively resumes, and again they poke around the intimate spots in his mind, the traitor deliberately uses his own pain to push them away. Despite wanting to cooperate, he is angry, fighting to keep the last shreds of his dignity. The mage, still deep in his mind, feels and understands this anger whether they like it or not. They have to make a choice - push further and inflict irreversible trauma on them both - or pull back, announce failure, and go from there - wherever it may lead.
…
OK, this is a serious, possibly tragic scenario full of tension and drama, let's acknowledge that-
On paper, it runs shelters, soup kitchens, free clinics, crisis housing, and outreach programs for the desperate and forgotten.
Off paper, it funds illegal safehouses, launders runaway pets through false identities, burns ownership records, blackmails abusers, bribes officials, steals medical samples, and breaks every law written to keep people property.
At the center of it all is Leigh Kestrel-Wickham: former Shield, co-CEO, survivor, and the woman polite society keeps mistaking for a charitable wife with excellent manners.
The Foundation calls it aid.
The courts call it trafficking interference, theft, fraud, conspiracy, and obstruction.
Kestrel calls it Tuesday.
These are the stories from a criminal enterprise.
CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, LAWFUL SYSTEMIC ABUSE, CONDITIONING/DECONDITIONING, RESCUE, MEDICAL ABUSE TW, PAST WHUMP, NEURODIVERGENT WHUMPEES, CHRONICALLY ILL WHUMPEE, CHRONIC ILLNESS, EPISTOLARY WHUMP, RICH WHUMPERS, ABANDONMENT, REFERENCED MINOR WHUMP, COERCION, BLACKMAIL, LADY WHUMP, LIVING WEAPON WHUMPEE, DEHUMANIZATION, RECOVERY WHUMP
Wick looked at Kestrel.
Kestrel lifted one shoulder. “Words are flexible when rich people use them.”
“That’s horrifying.”
“It’s useful.”
“Also horrifying.”
“Yes.”
Bartlett House Grant -
Publicly, the Bartlett House Grant funded domestic violence transitional housing.
Finch 1 -
There were things the body learned to recognize. A held breath. A spine arranged too carefully. Hands folded in the exact shape of fear. The small delay before obedience, not because the pet had disobeyed, but because pain made movement expensive.
Finch 2 -
Finch knew better than to look at Mrs. Wickham.
Finch 3 -
Mr. Harrow had sent them to fix their pearls after one strand twisted beneath the collar. Finch had stood by the sinks, fingers clumsy, pulse beating too hard.
Finch 4 -
Rho closed it behind them just as the service elevator chimed. The latch clicked.
Finch stopped breathing.
Elise -
“Do you swear or affirm that the testimony you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
Gray 1 -
At first, no one noticed him as an emergency and that was the point.
Gray 2 -
“He died,” he whispered. “My owner died, and everyone cried, and I didn’t know what to do because he told me I’d go with him, but then there was a funeral and then paperwork and then they put me in the car.”
Gray 3 -
“Daniel Whitcomb’s children pinned a note to their dead father’s Romantic and left him in a clinic waiting room.”
Jonah 1 -
There was a mother crying on television.
Jonah 2 -
Jonah sat between the bed and the wall with his knees drawn up, both hands clamped over the back of his neck.
Tess 1 -
Dami had been carrying a box of donated coats when the survivor saw them.
Tess 2 -
“She remembered me,” Dami said.
Sabine -
“I need to contact June.”
Nadia 1
Nadia 2
Nadia 3
Nadia 4
Nadia 5
Bishop 1
Bishop 2
Ellis 1
Ellis 2
The Midas Porter Arc
Micah 1
Micah 2
Micah 3
Micah 4
Dami - 1
Dami - 2
THE ASR-417 ARC (ALETHEPRINE)
OTHER FUN THINGS
WRU DOSSIERS
Surveillance and information gathered on the members of The Wickham Foundation.
Whumpee sits on their knees at the front of the stage, the auctioneer calling to the crowd from beside them.
His words sounds slurred in their ears, their brain trying to distract them from what is happening, eyes darting from the wooden floor to the giddy crowd.
Their head hangs down, a few silent tears dripping onto the stage.
How did they get here, how did they get here, how did they get here.
They just wanted help. Whumper promised to help them, and now they are being sold like an exotic animal.
They try to look at the crowd from underneath. Many figures in fancy clothes and animal masks sit in a sort of auditorium, raising paddles in tune with the auctioneers words.
But there is one that Whumpee can't get their eyes away from.
A person sitting in the center of the room. They take up two seats, lounging carelessly in the plush red chairs, immaculate attire covered with a velvety cape. They've dawned a bunny mask. Next to them stands a guard, tall and foreboding, a sword held between their feet. Even though the metal helmet would have sufficed to conceal their identity, they are wearing a bear mask.
Despite not being able to see their faces, Whumpee can feel the other participants' view linger on the stranger. They almost seem bored, as they raise the paddle offer after offer, every time they are outbid barely an inconvenience.
Whumpee shudders, as their eyes meet the dark holes of the mask. Their gaze returns to the floor, trying to suppress the shaking underneath their thick shackles.
There are only two bidders left.
The price for Whumpee goes up. And up. And up.
But the stranger doesn't budge.
If Whumpee didn't fear the violent hand of the auctioneer, they might have screamed. The stranger barely bat an eye at the steadily rising cost.
They wanted Whumpee.
"SOLD!" Whumpee jumps in their meek position, their forehead immediately pressed to the floorboards. "For two million dollars, to the dashing bunny in red!"
The crowd erupts into roaring applause, covering the sound of Whumpee's whimpering.
They are not worth that much money. They know that much.
So what does this stranger know that they don't?
Suddenly, Whumpee is yanked up by the chain around their neck.
"I said stand!", the auctioneer shouts, dragging Whumpee behind stage. They can see the crowd disperse, the stranger in the bunny mask talking to a member of staff. Their eyes behind the mask obviously stealing glances towards Whumpee.
It's not long before the hand off. Whumpee's chains have been replaced by course ropes, binding their hands to their neck.
The stranger isn't there, when the auctioneer and the guard discuss the final details. They have lost the mask, instead wearing the metal visor of the helmet over their face.
Their grip is iron on the end of the rope, as the two of them head out the door, Whumpee shivering in the cold afternoon wind.
"Do not hesitate to contact us, if there is a problem with it.", the auctioneer waves them off with a final goodbye, closing the door into the auction house.
The guard says not a word to Whumpee, before they start being pulled into a closed off parking lot. It's been while since Whumpee has been outside, they didn't know just how far from civilization they had been.
They walk towards a large, black limousine, with tinted windows. It looks barely used.
Whumpee doesn't pull, as they are ushered into the back of the car, the guard dropping the ropes and promptly making their way to the driver's seat.
In front of Whumpee sits the stranger. They still bear the mask, perhaps a parting gift for the successful purchase. Perhaps a safety measure, should someone see them enter the car. Though Whumpee doubts anyone would find them out here.
It doesn't take long until the car springs to life, and they start moving.
Immediately, the stranger starts reaching for the strings that hold their mask in place. Whumpee doesn't dare speak, trying to quiet the whimpers leaking from their mouth.
They recoil, when the stranger stands up and moves towards them, crouching beneath the low ceiling, Whumpee squeezing their eyes shut.
"please, please, please don't hurt me i'll be good i'll be good i promise-"
Whumpee flinches away from the sudden hand on their face. Until they notice that the pain never comes. That gentle, warm fingers are brushing away tears on their cold cheeks.
"Hey, hey, shhhh.", they coo. "Everything is going to be okay, Whumpee. I've got you."
That voice?
Whumpee opens their eyes, their breath hitching with small sobs.
In front of them, kneels Caretaker, gently sushing away their cries for mercy.
"It's me, I've got you now. We're going back home."
Suddenly, Whumpee can't stop the tears anymore. Doesn't want to try anymore.
They fall into Caretaker, who catches their thin frame.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…", Whumpee cries into their shoulder.
"Hey, none of this is your fault. You didn't do anything wrong, you didn't deserve this. It's okay now."
Caretaker rubs gentle circles onto Whumpee's back, hoping not to aggravate any bruises.
"I'm taking you back to my place."
"How did you find me?", Whumpee manages to catch their breath a little.
"This town has…a reputation. Knowing your situation and your sudden disappearance, I could put two and two together."
They pause. "…so the money-"
"It's nothing. There is no price I wouldn't have paid to know you safe."
Whumpee slumps against Caretaker's shoulder, putting their wrists over their head, while Caretaker gently slings their arms around them.
Only now does Whumpee recognize Caretaker's outfit from the very back of their bedroom closet. Too bold for their tastes, Caretaker had said.
Jace woke up, slowly, as if consciousness was sand between his fingers that he had to grip tightly to hold on to. Darkness enveloped him in a tight embrace, and he had to blink multiple times before a clear image formed in front of him.
What happened? Groaning, Jace tried to pull his hands up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. His hands didn't—couldn't—move.
With that, the memories of last night came flooding in: the mugging, the car ride, the dinner, all leading up to Jace collapsing in Theodore's embrace. Panic consumed him, washing over him in giant waves. Head shooting up, Jace swirling around to get his bearings.
He was in a basement. Dusty cement floors and walls surrounded him. There was only one window—not nearly wide enough for Jace to crawl through. Stray particles of dust floating through the air caught and scattered the slim light that managed to escape through the window. And there were boxes. Lots of them, all cardboard, all varying sizes. They were on top of each other precariously, as if they'd simply been tossed into place and left to sort themselves out. Out of the corner of his eye, Jace spotted a pastel blue baby rocker. It was covered in a thick layer of dust.
In the middle of it all, Jace was stuck in a flimsy plastic chair, hands tapped together behind the back. His chest felt tight, struggling to breath under the weight of the all-consuming dread. Theodore had drugged him. Theodore had kidnapped him.
Fuck.
He should've listened to his instincts, should've chosen jail over this. At least jail was a predictable environment with a predictable jailer. Now, he was locked away in a basement, god knows where, with a man going to do god knows what to him. Theodore had seemed normal enough, but then again there were those moments he would just… stare at him. With that strange look in his eyes….
Jace certainly wasn't staying around to find out what Theodore planned to do with him. Squirming, Jace couldn't help but grunt as he tried to break the duck-tape around his wrists, the tape biting into his skin.
Suddenly, the door swung open, momentarily blinding Jace all over again. Standing atop the stairs leading to the basement, Theodore was now dressed in what looked like a sleep shirt and a pair of sweatpants, hair mused with sleep. Briefly, his eyes widened as he watched Jace hiss and tuck his head against his shoulder, shrinking from the sudden light."O—Oh! Jace, you're awake!" The stairs creaked as Theodore rushed downstairs, hands reaching out as if to pet him.
Nearly knocking himself, Jace tried to wrench out of the way, snarling out a panicked "G—Get away from me!"
Theodore froze. The younger man glared up at him, shaking like a wet dog, and Theodore's eyebrows furrowed. "Jace… Please don't be scared. I—I know this must all be a bit disorienting, but… can't you see? This—us—we were meant to be!" Nervously, Theodore stood back from Jace, wrangling his hands in front of him as Jace practically dry-heaved.
"You kidnapped me…" Jace muttered in shock, brows furrowed, eyes staring at the pair of slippers Theodore was wearing. The childish star print on them seemed out of place given the current circumstance—too domestic, too innocent. "You fucking kidnapped me…"
Theodore's face twisted into something uncomfortable—a mix of shame, guilt, and violent need. "Don't say that, please don't say that," Theodore begged, "J—just think about it as a surprise adoption! That… That sounds more positive, right?"
"You kidnapped me!" Jace roared, denial and disbelief evaporating as rage took over. "Let. me. GO!" Jace renewed his efforts, squirming in his seat, hissing and grunting out curse words as the chair scraped back and forth against the concrete floor. "Fucker!"
The older man stuttered back two paces, staring with growing bewilderment and worry as Jace thrashed around like a feral cat. "I—I'll give you a moment to process…" he decided, voice hesitant. "I… I'll be back with breakfast!" Theodore practically bolted up the stairs, wincing as the sound of cursing followed him upstairs even after he closed the door shut. It was a good thing he didn't have any neighbours…
Glaring at the closed door, Jace blew the hair out of his face and continued trying to wrench his hands out of the tape's vicious hold.
The chair creaked louder in warning.
Jace's eyes widened as the chair began to tip over. Yelping, he crashed down onto the floor, smashing the chair into pieces. Jace rolled onto his stomach with a groan as pain pulsed through his wrists angrily. "Fuck…" Jace grunted. His hands were still stuck in the duck-tape behind him. Crawling into a kneeling position, he used his shoulders to lever himself upright. Then, gritting his teeth, he swung his bound hands beneath his legs and shifted them around to his front.
Ignoring how his body protested, Jace forced himself to dash up the stairs. His fingers scrambled for purchase against the wall, letting out occasional whimpers. Finally, he lunged forward for the doorknob.
His heart dropped to his stomach.
It was locked.
"Jace!" Theodore's muffled voice rang out causing Jace to tense up at the sound of thunderous footsteps nearing the basement door. "What's going on down there?"
Pressing himself to the wall beside the basement door, Jace held his breath, waiting for Theodore to come rushing in.
"Jace!" Theodore began, swinging the door open with one hand while the other clutched a food tray."Did you fall—!" Theodore grunted as something hard rammed into him. The tray holding plates crashed down with him as Jace scurried up and over him. "Jace!" Theodore yelled out once more, desperately reaching to grab a stray flailing limb, only to be kicked in the face by Jace's scampering foot.
Clutching his nose, Theodore stared wide-eyed as Jace hurried down the hall. Hot blood streamed over his lip and pooled between his teeth, filling his mouth with a rotten iron taste.
