#torture aftermath

[letthewhumpbegin]

Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)

My GIF masterlist

[introvert995]

Stitches

[alkalineapparition]

Jaws

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Alone and half feral in a dirty cell, Ghost finds you during a raid beneath a foreign military research lab. It quickly becomes clear that something isn't right with you, your behavior more beast than human.

A result of horrific human experiments, you're a failed attempt at making genetically modified soldiers with killer instincts and keen senses. Instead they produced you - a mutt.

Ghost is assigned to be your handler, to help you heal and shape you in to the 141's very own attack dog. But the bond between a handler and his beast eventually turns into something more...

*Reader has human anatomy*

18+, MDNI

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[new-deerslayer]

Writing: June 31st, Part 6

Part 5

Breathe out, fellas, it's the finale!

Content: unbroken whumpee, resque, recovery, torture aftermath, a little bit of team dynamics, happy ending.

“I’m waiting!” 31st hears Muzzle yell. The asshole raises his arm and looks around for the hostage.

Domenic’s heart lights up with hope. He has an idea, brilliant and ridiculous—just right for an idealistic baby. He didn’t see anyone in the corridors on their way back to the platform. Wherever the nearest motherfucker is, they couldn’t get to the hostage woman before the SWAT arrives. He has a shot. He actually has a shot!

31st puts his head through the collar, facing the inner chest plates. The neurosensitive field of the suit links to his neck at the spine. Hardly anyone did this upside down, but why should the field care?

He can’t see Muzzle. He can’t aim, but… The suit has some recognition systems.

Domenic sends a non-verbal command—as these are the fastest—find and destroy the nearest firearm.

A distinct sound of a paralyzer shot to the concrete—its last one—followed by a scream. Some weapons have a nasty habit of shooting when they get shot. Muzzle should’ve kept the hostage at a gunpoint.

Find and destroy two nearest radio signal sources. 

The tracker and the pocket radio are gone. Bye-bye, birdie. You served me well. Screams turn into screeches: “My fucking arms!” Domenic laughs and finally falls to his side. He doesn’t even bother to get his head out of the suit.

Muzzle vomits profanities. Then heavy boots start thundering all around, and the platform vibrates under 31st. Shooting and screaming quickly moves somewhere underground, away from him. 

“That’s some way to wear a suit!” he hears a familiar chuckle as the footsteps approach him. “Why’d you even…” Bert takes the suit off Domenic’s head and gasps quietly. “Holy fuck, dude.”

31st smiles and gets another “Holy fuck” out of 30th.

“Don’t look at me, papi, I have a bad makeup day.” The immense relief intoxicates him like alcohol and he bursts in a painful hoarse laughter. Bert slices the cuffs’ chain and butterflies his partner’s shoulders with his fingertips. He knows how to fix dislocated joints. They all do. He also knows when not to.

“I won’t even try fixing that. Shit, and your hands! Let’s get you to the medics.”

“Hostages?”

“We got them. I got you, man. Good job.”

31st tilts his head to look behind Bert. He sees a small black crater where his tracker used to be. He sees his team, walking out Muzzle's puppies—some beaten, some wounded, all cuffed. He sees Muzzle, both arms blown off and now covered in med gel.

He sees 14th carrying the unconscious hostage woman in his arms, so big that he looks like her father. 

30th fetches the first aid pack from Domenic's suit and applies the med gel to his burned head. 

Domenic takes a deep breath and blissfully sighs out of consciousness.

A small portable table at the side of his bed is covered with drawings of little dicks with googly eyes. Domenic chuckles. He always thought this tradition was immature, but now he gets it. Whoever wakes up in a SWAT intensive care unit deserves to see something silly and lively. Something completely different from whatever got them here. 

“Fucking idiots…” he says. His voice is weak, but at least it's back. He faints again. 

Next time he wakes up, there's a green velvet box on the table, and doc Kiegan is with him. 

“Heya, doctor.”

“Good evening, Domenic. How are we feeling?”

31st has to deliberately think about each of his body parts, one by one. They all feel weird. The entire body feels alien, and his mind rejects it. 

“Good I guess? As good as it gets.”

A patch on his eye. A thick layer of bandages between the pillow and his head. A firm fixation system on his shoulders. A weird stinging buzz where his fingers once were. His hands are under the blanket and he doesn't want to see them. His jaws—numb and full. Apparently they did his teeth when he was out in Wonderland, but these things don't feel like his teeth. Their size and placement, the path that his tongue followed every day when he'd check if he brushed them good—everything is not the same. One side of his head bandage is wet. 

“Ah fuck… Am I crying?”

“Yes, and it's absolutely normal!” Kiegan reassures him.

Domenic doesn't think there's anything normal about him now, but he nods. Keigan is a good man, he doesn't want to upset him.

“I didn't know we had dental work covered in MPD health insurance,” he says, just to fill in the silence. 

“Oh, no we don't. Mrs. Leerman paid.”

“What? Mom knows? Who told her?” Domenic feels panic growing. 

“Everyone knows. You've made news, kiddo. The hostages gave a… very descriptive interview. By the way, this is for you,” the doctor points at the green box. “It's—”

“I know what that is. I'm not sure I want to look at it…”

“Your team brought it here before the official ceremony to honor you while you're healing. They stole it from the office, you know. Nobody said a word. You earned the medal, Domenic.” Kiegan stops smiling, his voice loses its usual soft and nurturing undertones. 

“I know. I sure bloody did. I just… I don't want to see it. It's like… I don't know.” It's like admitting that everything really happened. 

Doc Kiegan, a sensitive man he is, taps the corner of Domenic's bed frame and leaves. 

Next time 31st wakes up, he sees 30th darting out of his room. 

“It's alive!” Bert shouts and soon comes back with half the team. The room is packed top to bottom, thick with sweat, laughter and cross-talking. They don't ask him questions, they just waterboard him in overwhelming normalcy, and it's… Overwhelming. 

“Shut the fuck up for a moment!” Bert yells. “Babes, if you meet a magical whore, what's the color of her pussy?”

“What the fuck, you doofus?” Domenic smiles, more genuine than he expected.

“Just answer, it's important.”

“I don't know. Purple?”

“Noted!” Bert's voice rumbles with menace. 

“What are you up to, man?”

“Shhh!” 30th presses his giant tattooed finger on his lips. 

“Fuck off,” Domenic spits and smiles again. 

After stuffing him with chocolate bars and chips, they leave. He's drained, can't even focus his vision. He stares at the ceiling and distantly registers his bandage getting soaked on the temple again. The other temple is dry. 

They let him out of the hospital as soon as his bones stabilize. His hands and head still have a long way to complete scarring. The buzz in his missing fingers never leaves. Simplest daily activities are a whole new challenge. Domenic learns everything anew. He’s taking disciplined walks and doing supervised exercises.

Domenic doesn’t know what to do with his rehab leave. Visitors come and go, he’s hospitable and marketable, grateful and cheerful, he gives lots of smiles, hugs and interviews. Until the door shuts. As soon as he’s alone, he feels like he has no life outside of the suit. At least he’s still helping the MPD. Sergeant says their approval rates skyrocket.

One time the entire team comes over.

“Who’s on duty?” Domenic asks.

“We won’t be long. Here, try these on.”

A pair of thin gloves. They’re as empty and lifeless as they should be.

“Guys… You didn’t have to.”

“Yep,” Bert says and hands him a small box. “Now this.”

Domenic opens the box, still fighting with his fingers, and sees an aggressively purple sphere. “What’s that? Looks very high-tech.”

“That’s your new eye. You gotta put it on… er… in.”

“Why is it…”

“I know nothing, you’ve picked purple!”

“Bertie. I picked a magical whore’s pussy color, not my fucking eye color!” Domenic finds himself actually laughing. “Alright.” He breathes in and out before facing the mirror. The gaping eye socket stares at him and he shrugs involuntarily. He puts the sphere in. 

Immediately, it lights up. And as soon as it does, he feels his gloves getting firmer. He looks at his hands. They move. The buzzing stops.

“Bert… What is this?” 

30th grins like a straight-F-student who got an A. “Neurocontrolled prosthetics! With a neurosensitive field center in the eye. You’ve made our suit company quite the advertisement, it’s a gift from them.”

Domenic looks in the mirror, touches his new eye with his new finger. He tears up, and this time these are good tears.

“I kind of like it…” he says quietly. Bert laughs and crushes him in a bear hug, the rest of the team joins in, slamming his back like he’s a dusty carpet. Most of them soon go—duty awaits. 30th stays.

“Bertie.”

“Yeah?”

“I need the contacts of your tattoo artist. I wanna do some badass coverup for my head when it scars. I need to… I need…”

“Reclaim it.” Bert is unusually serious. “The word you’re looking for is ‘reclaim’.”

“Reclaim. Yes. And you know… I think I need to see another therapist.”

The End.

Taglist @stars-hide-our-fires @butterflywhump @suchprettypieces @chaotic-orphan @zabewhumps @elvenarcane @hot-rangers-in-chains @panic-at-the-aromantic @shakesfeare-whumps comment or DM to be added or removed

[uriswhumpchamber]

There is an inhuman amount of blood on the floor, and it would be funny for him to mention that, were it not that he was meant to stop the bleeding. That's what he assumes, at least, the tray of medical supplies he's been made to carry here giving him a hint.

It does not take long for his vision to focus on the writhing body of the other captive.

“Fix them up.”

The words out of Whumper's mouth are the one thing that stops him from shaking, if only because he cannot understand them. Not out of a language barrier —they're well past that—, but because of how utterly nonsensical they sound.

“You know how to do that, right?” It's that tone - he knows he can't say no. “Get to work.”

He swallows, even though bile cannot, in fact, rise up to his mouth, lack of a real stomach and all, and after managing to peel off his eyes from the one person that seemed to view him like a human being, gets to work.

[blurryeyeswhump]

augusnippets

Day 2: platonic bathing, hair care, makeup

*hello all! this no context snippet contains characters that haven’t been featured on my blog before now but they are part of a larger story i’ve been working on. meet jude and luke (and nathan although he’s only mentioned)*

Jude was already tingeing the bath water pink, seconds after lowering himself into it. The hot water lapped at and stung the lashes across his back and chest but he sighed softly through his teeth and sunk further down into the tub.

Luke eyed him carefully. He could make out a few welts the shape of a belt buckle.

Jude would never talked much whenever Nathan brought him back to the cell, but then again Luke wasn’t sure what he’d say back anyway. He had to start trying.

Jude’s eyes were shut but twitching wildly and his breathing was still labored. Tears started to cut through the dust on his face.

Luke came a little closer.

“Hey,” he tried.

Jude made an inquisitive noise but it came out like a whimper.

“Is it okay if I touch you? I’ll be really gentle.”

Jude’s eyes opened and he looked up at the man standing over him.

“I’m okay I think. I don’t need stitches or anything, he didn’t,” Jude choked

down something desperate, “he didn’t do anything too bad.”

“No,” Luke said, “it’s not that I just-I don’t want you to forget what soft feels like.”

The pair stared at eachother and Jude nodded, understanding.

“Okay.”

Luke circled behind the tub now facing the back of Jude’s head.

“Tell me to stop and I will, okay? Right away.”

Jude nodded and held his breath a few seconds when he felt Luke’s fingers in his hair. He felt himself relax into the touch almost immediately.

Luke dipped his hands into the water, cupped it, and let it run over Jude’s scalp. He picked at the boy’s long dark waves and did his best to undo the little knots and tangles, taking great care not to tug at it too hard.

Jude was sinking in on himself in ecstasy, his eyes shut, chills running down his neck and shoulders. He reminded Luke of a cat somehow, just short of purring.

“Do you like your hair to be this long?” Luke asked, continuing to finger comb through it.

“I don’t know, I can’t exactly get it cut,” Jude replied.

“I could ask him, I don’t know. I can ask for some shampoo or something too. I have no clue what he’ll let me have,” Luke said.

“I just don’t want him to take you away,” Jude spoke so softly Luke barely heard it. But he did hear it and it made him take pause. He tried to think of something to say but Jude stayed quiet so he just began running his fingers through the boys hair again and again.

The two sat like that in the quiet for what felt like ages. Just the tiny drip from the tap and Jude’s little sighs broke the silence.

Eventually Luke thought he’d fallen asleep like this but he kept going hoping to get every knot or to at least keep him relaxed. He was surprised when he spoke up again.

“Nathan, better not give you any scissors for my hair,” Jude started, leaning his head back against Luke’s touch before finishing,

“I’d make sure they’d end up in his neck.”

[susiequaz12]

Flower Boy 21- Good Work

Here's the next chapter! It's been a while, but I'm glad to be writing a bit more. This is the aftermath of Jeremy's last session from the past few chapters. Chapter 20. Masterlist.

CW: Aftermath of torture, nudity, blood, exhaustion, aftermath of noncon elements, electrocution, bruises, prisoner whumpee, brainwashing.

- - -

Prisoner 326 was deposited less than gracefully onto the floor of his cell by Handler Barrett. The man retrieved a clean pair of shorts and a tshirt from the supply closet and set them on the prisoner’s cot. 326 had earned them. 

“Come on now, we need to get you cleaned up. To the shower, 326.” 

326 let out a breath as he pulled himself up onto his arms. He was fully ready to collapse into the floor and pass out into delightful unconsciousness, but this wasn’t over yet. He scanned over his naked body- eyeing the filth and sweat and blood that scattered across him. 

He knew he couldn’t walk- his handler had basically dragged him here, his legs shaking too much to hold up his weight. His vision was blurry as well, his eyes darting in and out of focus. 

So 326 resorted to crawling across the floor, dragging himself as gracefully as he could, wincing with every movement, collapsing a few times until he finally felt the cold tile, the metal drain underneath him of the shower. 

He let himself collapse again, staring at his blurred reflection in the shower drain. 

Handler Barrett turned on the shower, letting it crash over the man’s body below and stepped away for a few moments so the water could rinse off the filth on the surface. 

When the Handler returned he had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a rag in one hand, and a plain bar of soap in the other. 

Jeremy’s eyes scanned across the bar of soap, then up to his handler’s face. 

“It’s not protocol, I know, but you’ve earned it.” 

326 let out a sigh as the handler wet the rag and began to lather up the sponge. 

“Th-thank you s-s-sir-” Jeremy tried to make the words as clear as possible, but there was a subtle shake to his jaw, a tremor that he couldn’t deny. 

“Here-” he held the items out to 326, and he took them in shaking fingers. 

Jeremy began to lather up his chest, feeling the cold of the soap against his hand, when it slipped out of his fingers and slid to the drain below. The prisoner cursed under his breath and reached for it again but he couldn’t stop shaking long enough to get a good grip on it. 

“Stop- just-” Handler Barrett scooped up the soap and gripped the top of 326’s arm. “Sit up, come on.” He helped the prisoner sit, his back facing the man and began lathering up the soap across his back and shoulders. 326 winced as it passed across the bruises and welts from an earlier beating, and bit back a groan as the Handler began to scrub some blood out from the deeper welts. 

“Hold out your arm.” He ordered. 

Jeremy did as he was told, and let the man scrub him, the rag passing over the crook of his arm where the ropes had rubbed his skin completely raw. Handler Barrett finished the other arm and then tilted his chin up with the back of his hand, turning the rag to his face. 

Dried blood had crusted around his mouth and Barrett was as quick and efficient as needed in scrubbing it off. 

326 breathed out a sigh as his face was washed, it almost- it almost felt nice as the man swiped the rag across his cheek, moving it around to his chin. 

The feeling left as soon as it came as the rag fell with a plop onto the wet tile. Handler Barrett turned the prisoner around, his back pressed against the farthest wall, and began to wash his legs. 

Jeremy hung his head forward as he was washed, the water hitting across the back of his neck, his hair falling limply around his face. 

He glanced up briefly as the Handler paused, and realized where the man was looking. 326 scanned in between his legs, seeing the blood caked between his thighs, other fluids that had made their way onto him… Their eyes met and Barrett glanced away quickly. 

“Clean yourself off and then rinse fully. Give me the soap once your done.”

Barrett plopped the soap and the rag into 326’s lap and then stood up, sliding the shower curtain over and stepping back into the small cell. 

“Yes- yes sir.” 326 mumbled, his mouth heavy and slow. 

Jeremy felt between his legs with his hand, wincing as the sore skin flared up. He choked back a sob as he cleaned himself off best he could with the water, before reaching for the soap. It slipped out of his hands again and he knew he couldn’t hold onto it long enough to thoroughly wash himself of all the filth. So he resorted to lathering up his hands as best he could, feeling the bubbles between his fingers, and with a shaky hand began to clean himself from all the blood and filth. He soon needed to grab the rag, but even being as gentle as he could he had to bite back a cry as he attempted to scrub himself off. 

When he was finished he collapsed back against the wall, letting the water run down his chest. He ran his fingers through his hair and then brought his hands in front of his face. 

He was shaking- the tremble in his hands was unmistakable, but from what, he couldn’t tell. The dehydration? Lack of food? Or all the shocks from the gag- the electricity… 

Shit, what if this was permanent? 

His body wracked with shivers as a rush of cold water splashed over his face. The shower was enough to pull him out of his thoughts and remember his Handler was standing just a few feet away. He couldn’t take too much time. 

He placed a palm against the cold wall, trying desperately to rise to his feet. He managed to get a knee underneath him, his other foot placed firmly on the ground. 326 tried to stand but all the lather and suds from the soap made the tile to slick, and he crashed right back down with a thud at any attempt to stand. 

Jeremy heard Handler Barrett curse under his breath and within a few moments the shower curtain was pulled away and 326 saw the man standing there, arms folded across his chest. The man shook his head and gripped the prisoner at the top of his arm, dragging him up to his feet. He helped him step out of the shower and then deposited him onto the bed, where 326 sat, head hung low on his chest. 

A cup of water was placed in his hands and he trembled as he raised it to his lips. He took a small sip, and winced as he swallowed, his throat raw from screaming. Eventually the water began to soothe the aches and he pulled the empty cup away, the remains of his last sip trickling down his chin. 

Handler Barrett took the cup away and 326 was left staring at his trembling hands. 

“326-” 

They were shaking so much… there were bruises across his wrists, his skin dotted with scars…

“326 look at me.” Barrett ordered. 

The prisoner brought his eyes up- his face contorted in a look of- of fear, the Handler realized. 

Handler Barrett paused for a moment, taking in the prisoner’s face. This prisoner, who was just a boy when he was first taken. Who was so defiant, so angry at the world, who now looked up at his Handler with the most fear he’d ever seen written on his face. 

It had been nearly six years, that boy was a full man now. But in this moment, staring up at his handler with shaking hands, why did he look so young?

“326, what are your rules?” Handler Barrett ordered. 

326 blinked, his programming taking over as his brain repeated what had been beaten into him. 

“I do- do not have a, a name-” he paused, trying to push past the tremor in his jaw. “My numb-b-ber is 3-326.” He swallowed, his mouth dry, and took a breath. “I will only speak when- when spoken too- I will not ask f-f-for anything- my- my body is- is not m-m-my own.” He breathed out the last few words as the effort of speaking them became too much to handle. But Handler Barrett nodded, he was correct. 326 closed his eyes tight as his brain washed over with pain- it was so fuzzy- like a piece of paper, crumpled tight into a ball, unable to read the writing on it. 

“Good. Do not forget them, understand?” Handler Barrett asked. 

326 was back to staring at his hands, it took a moment after Barrett spoke for it to register, and 326 glanced up at him. 

“Y-yes sir.” 

“326, I need you to understand. You must never forget your rules. Now, they are planning on doing a 24 hour session. 24 full hours each, of sensory deprivation, and the overstimulation.” 

Prisoner 326 flinched back against his cot as the words registered, his eyes shooting up to his handler. 326’s palms gripped the top of his thighs, digging into his skin as he tried to grasp some sense of control. 

“Listen to me. I am under the impression that a full 48 hours won’t elicit any other effect than it has already had.” Handler Barrett clarified as 326 furrowed his brow in confusion. “It’s unnecessary. At least from my perspective. It is your job to make them agree. What do you suppose that entails 326?” 

“Re-rememb-ber my rules, sir.”

Handler Barrett nodded. “And what else, 326?” 

Jeremy closed his eyes, hearing the words that echoed through the speakers, over and over again, engraving them into his brain. Obedience equals safety.

“Obey.” He said.

“Correct. Under absolutely no circumstances are you to lash out, disobey, or even hesitate with a command.” 

“Y-yes s-sir. Yes sir.” 

“Good.” Handler Barrett turned away from the prisoner, moving to grab the clothes he had set on the cot earlier. “You did well today 326.”

326 was about to utter a feeble thank you, when the door to his cell burst open, and three unfamiliar figures stepped into the room. 

- - -

Taglist: @imagination1reality0@morning-star-whump @deltaxxk @sparrowsage @whumpcereal@gala1981@his-unspoken-words@darkthingshappen@raddyscoops

[turn-the-tables-on-them]

Another brilliant commission from @albino-whumpee, of Joey finding Slipknot.