“You have the ability to talk to animals,” the spymaster walked around the chair they were tied to as they talked, “which makes you either very valuable to us, or very dangerous in the hands of our enemies. So it’s really very simple, would you like to be an asset we protect or a threat we eliminate?”

“I’m not going to be either,” the young captive pleaded. “You don’t understand, my gift isn’t useful to anyone. I can literally only talk to animals, I can’t control them. I mean you have the power to talk to people but that doesn’t mean they’ll do everything you want, right?”

In an instant there was a knife against their throat. “Oh no dear, people always end up doing whatever I want.” He pressed harder with the knife, and the first few drops of blood started to flow. “It’s just a matter of how much pain they endure first,” he whispered.

“That was your last chance,” the hero threatened.

“And that was your last breath,” the villain replied with a serene smile.

“We could avoid all this nastiness if you would simply negotiate with us.”

The envoy seemed incapable of wearing an expression that wasn’t smug. The Queen wondered if he would still look smug when she sent his severed head back to his court.

Some apologies amount to someone asking for permission to keep doing something bad.

• These apologies generally shouldn’t be accepted.
  
• (But it can be really hard not to, because who want permission to do bad things tend to lash out when they don’t get it.)
  
• (If you have to accept a bad apology to protect yourself, it’s not your fault.)
  

Eg:

• Moe: “I’m sorry, I know this is my privileged male opinion talking but…”
  
• Or, Moe: “I’m sorry, I know I’m kind of a creeper…” or “I’m sorry, I know I’m standing too close but…”
  
• At this point, Sarah may feel pressured to say “It’s ok.”
  
• If Sarah says, “Actually, it’s not ok. Please back off” or “Yes, you’re mansplaining, please knock it off”, Moe is likely to get angry.
  
• The thing is, it’s not ok, and Moe has no intention of stopping. 
  
• Moe is just apologizing in order to feel ok about doing something he knows is wrong.
  

Another example:

• Sam is a wheelchair user. He’s trying to get through a door.
  
• Mary sees him and decides that he needs help.
  
• Mary rushes to open the door. As she does so, she says “Oh, sorry, I know I’m supposed to ask first”, with an expectant pause. 
  
• At this point, Sam may feel pressured to say “It’s ok”, even if the ‘help’ is unwanted and unhelpful. 
  
• If Sam says, “Yes, you should have asked first. You’re in my way. Please move”, Mary is likely to get angry and say “I was just trying to help!”.
  
• In this situation, Mary wasn’t really apologizing. She was asking Sam to give her permission to do something she knows is wrong.
  

More generally:

• Fake Apologizer: *does something they know the other person will object to*.
  
• Fake Apologizer: “Oh, I’m sorry. I know I’m doing The Bad Thing…” or “I guess you’re going to be mad if I…”
  
• Fake Apologizer: *expectant pause*
  
• The Target is then supposed to feel pressured to say something like “That’s ok”, or “I know you mean well”, or “You’re a good person, so it’s ok for you to do The Bad Thing.”
  

If the Target doesn’t respond by giving the Fake Apologizer permission/validation, the Fake Apologizer will often lash out. This sometimes escalates in stages, along the lines of:

• Fake Apologizer: I *said* I was sorry!
  
• Fake Apologizer: *expectant pause*
  
• The Target is then supposed to feel pressure to be grateful to the Fake Apologizer for apologizing, and then as a reward, give them permission to do The Bad Thing. (Or apologize for not letting them do The Bad Thing.)
  
• If the Target doesn’t respond in the way the Fake Apologizer wants, they will often escalate to intense personal insults, or even overt threats, eg:
  
• Fake Apologizer: I guess you’re just too bitter and broken inside to accept my good intentions. I hope you get the help you need. And/or:
  
• Fake Apologizer: Ok, fine. I’ll never try to do anything for you ever again. And/or
  
• Fake Apologizer: *storms off, and slams the door in a way that causes the person who refused their intrusive help to fall over*.
  

Tl;dr Sometimes what looks like an apology is really a manipulative demand for validation and permission to do something bad.

whumpadventureprompts:

“You’re bluffing,” says Whumper.

“No I’m not,” says Whumpee, trying to stop the tremble in the hand holding the knife to their own throat. “I’d rather die than be recaptured.”

“Everything you’ve done so far indicates that you want to live,” says Whumper. “You’re bluffing. Put down the knife.”

just-horrible-things:

The Merry Whump of May 2: Beg To Differ
Denial | Confined|Eye Contact
@themerrywhumpofmay

“How does it feel,” the victor crows, “knowing that in the end, it was all for nothing?”
The traitor, naked and bruised and stuffed into a cage sized for a dog, cranes his neck to look up at his enemy. “It was not for nothing,” he says. “It was for justice.”
The tyrant kicks the cage. “Don’t play facetious with me,” he hisses. “You failed. Your little rebellion is nothing but ash. Can you taste it?”
“I regret nothing,” the traitor says. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Oh you willregret it,” the tyrant growls. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He casts about the room angrily. The fire is not lit – that’s an idea for later – but he grabs the poker from its stand anyway, and jabs it sharply between the bars. The naked man grunts, and bares his teeth.

“I am going to breakyou,” the tyrant tells him, digging the tip of the poker in hard between two ribs and leaning his weight against it. “You will regret everything before I’m done with you. You will beg me for mercy. I will make you scream until you can’t remember your own name.”
“You can – break my body –” the traitor answers, body twisted under the pressure, voice twisted under the pain “– You can make me scream. You can – maybe even make me beg. But you can’t make me – regret. I did what had to be done.”

The tyrant loses his temper then, and beats the prisoner savagely through the bars of the cage, bringing the metal poker down hard on immobilised limbs and quivering flesh. When he finally steps back, both men are panting hard.The traitor looks the tyrant dead in the eye and grins a snarl of a grin. “It was worth it,” he says. “It was worth it.”
“It was worth nothing,” the tyrant snaps back. “I will put them all to death. Everything you built will burn. I will erase your name from history. You have failed, and no one will ever remember that you even tried.”
“How like you,” the traitor sneers, “to think that a thing is only worth doing if it is glorified. Do whatever you want with me. You can’t change the truth – It. Was. Worth it.”

Whump prompts

TW/CW : torture, abuse, whump, kidnapping, threats of violence, death threats, manipulation, graphic to implied torture/harm, implied self harm

1. “And what ? You’ll hurt me ? Go ahead, you’re already weak - I’ll just have to hurt you back”

2. “Is that a promise ? Oh wait, you realize I have the power here to do whatever I want to you”

3. “I’d choose your words carefully, one slip up and I could just snap that little neck of yours, would be a shame for you to go so soon”

4. “You’ll soon understand that messing with me has consequences”

5. “What is it that you want ? It seems a death wish, otherwise you’d watch your tongue”

6. “What makes you think you’re somehow different than other victims before you ? You’re nothing”

7. “You are just another target, and boy I’m having some fun with you”

8. “You may not enjoy this, but I am”

9. “Keep screaming - keep squirming, keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll only tire yourself out”

10. “You’re not allowed to have the blissful taint of death, I won’t let you - we only just started”

11. “You gonna back up your words with actions or are you just another coward with a big moth and no filter ?”

12. “Funny how you think you have a fighting chance, you’ll lose your hands before you’re able to even touch me”

13. “we could make some,, arrangements if you obey me - for now however, you must learn”

14. “How hot will it be seeing you in your own blood ? We’ll just have to find out”

- “N-no..no please —“

- “Bold of you to assume you had a say”

15. “Trying to stay alive is a lot harder with me, isn’t it ? More fun for me seeing you struggle and collapsing”

16. “You say anything else and I’m carving my initial on your tongue”

17. “Learn to keep your mouth shut and your jaw won’t be ripped clean off”

18. “I’d hate to hurt such a pretty face”

- “Then why do it ?”

- “Never said I’d feel bad”

19. “Aren’t you clever ? But not clever enough, move anywhere and I’ll brand your thigh”

20. “Burning you is so satisfying, your screams with the sound of sizzling is so, amazing - now you’ll learn not to question me, won’t you ?”

21. “Watch where you stare, you may get it, or you may get it taken off your body”

22. “If only I liked you enough to make you mine”

23. “You’re a bold little [guy/girl/person], [y/n], but not bold enough it seems”

24. “You don’t faze me, but this knife will certainly go into something if you keep that shit up”

25. “What are you thinking ? Escaping ? Don’t make me cut off your/break your legs”

26. “If I have to tie you up and put you somewhere far away, I fucking will - don’t test me”

27. “What is it like — knowing you could die at any moment ?”

28. “Are you sure to be so cocky ? No one is coming to save you, only you, me and my little toys, the scalpel will be first if you move again”

29. “Who has control here ? Me, and whose blindfolded and tied up ? The one whose gonna become my little punching bag”

30. “And who do you think you are ? You think you have any ounce of power, respect or even rights down here ? You’re with me, [y/n], you should know better”

31. “I could break your neck so easy, your body is so fragile”

32. “You look so different with bruises and cuts along your soft skin…I could get used to this”

33. “You’re begging for mercy ? You don’t realize how quick I’ll be to burning you alive”

34. “Go ahead, underestimate me, but remember who keeps you, who owns you, at the end of the day”

35. “What ? Bargaining ? You can’t trade me anything in the world to let you go, you look so good when you cry in pain”

36. “Keep still and maybe I won’t slit a vein, maybe”

37. “You’re begging for death ? I said I wouldn’t let you go, and I intend on keeping my word”

38. “If only you had someone who pitied you, someone who cared about you - maybe you’d be free by now if someone did”

39. “Well, it seems that you’ve been rejecting food as of late - I don’t intend on letting you starve yourself to death, I’ll force feed you if I fucking have to”

40. “What makes you think you even deserve life ?”

41. “What makes you think you deserve freedom ?”

42. “Everyone hates you”

43. “Everyone thinks you’re dead, no one is looking for you”

44. “No point in trying to beg, I never listened before - what makes you think I’ll care for your safety now ?”

45. “Such lovely scars, all made by me, on a canvas like you”

46. “So many scars, how about we reopen them ?”

Distrust/Betrayal/Angst prompts

1. “You’d hurt yourself just to make them smile and then they want to see you bleed”

2. “One who holds the blade doesn’t claim his innocence”

3. “You killed them all in-front of me, and you expect me to blind it from my conscious ?”

4. “You won’t get what you’re looking for here, you’re nothing but a liar. I thought I knew you back then - but I guess I was wrong”

5. “Why spare me when I would kill you in an instant”

- “Because I know you, I may not trust you, but I know you”

6. “No amount of pain could ever amount to when you left me, no amount of tears that fall from your face will ever make up for the agony I’ve endured in your hand”

7. “No matter what you will never be a saint, you will always be a husk of who you were - if you ever were something to begin with”

8. “I loved you at some point, but the person I loved isn’t the person I see in-front of me”

- “Then fake it”

- “I don’t think I can fake it anymore”

9. “You’re more of a monster than any of your past has ever been”

- “Don’t act like you know what I’ve been through !”

10. “You’re a condescending, compulsive liar - who can’t be trusted as far as they can be thrown and even at that is a stretch”

11. “It’s all been a ruse, hasn’t it ?”

12. “You aren’t the hero you claim to be, I see that now”

13. “You’re cocky for someone whose been outed as a manipulative liar”

- “Because there’ll always be fools who’ll believe me”

14. “Why must you torment me with more promises that you’ll break as soon as you make them”

15. “I have a job to do, trust me or not I’m sure you understand”

- “Trust you ? You’re a fucking murderer ! You — you killed my friend ! And — and you were going to kill me - !”

- “I want to keep one person alive each time to tell my story”

16. “You’re quite cowardly than when we first met”

17. “I might’ve did all that horrible stuff but I’m still your spouse/friend/best friend !”

- “You’re not them, you never were - you’ve made that perfectly clear”

18. “The terrors only just beginning ? What the fuck does that mean you vague cynical bastard ?!”

19. “You fucking traitor ! You traitor I hate you I HATE YOU !”

20. “You bring dishonor to your family”

- “Not like there was any there to begin with”

21. “You were able to make these decisions, you were knowingly hurting people and I can’t stand by and do nothing anymore, not again”

22. “You..I trusted you - I treated your word as gospel !”

- “Well that was your first mistake”

23. “You’re a power hungry, sadistic —“

- “Finish that - I dare you, little lamb”

Day 2: Talking is Overrated

CW: choking, threats, self-deprecation

Summary: Erik and Mia have returned to Sniflheim. There they encounter an unwanted old acquaintance.

Word count: 715

Being back in Sniflheim set Erik on edge. His skin prickled as though he’d been shocked with a weak zap spell and he kept checking behind himself as if expecting someone to be following him.

“Why are you acting like a ghost is following you?” Mia asked. She shoved his side. “Cut it out.”

“I’m not,” Erik snapped back, attempting to dispel his nerves with the usual light banter.

“Hey, I know! Why don’t we visit the bar?” Mia asked.

She danced on ahead and Erik strutted behind her, grabbing her by the wrist just as she was about to step through the bar’s doors.

“You’renotgoing in there,” he snapped.

“Why not? Who’s gonna stop me?” she asked.

“If it ain’t Mia, the little blighter!”

Mia’s face fell the instant the voice cut into their conversation. Erik froze in place, dropping Mia’s wrist.

“Hey, yer old boss is talking to you! Pay attention to me!”

No, it wasn’t Chief. Just one of the lackeys, though his voice still made Erik’s blood run cold. The man’s hand landed on Erik’s shoulder and Erik whipped around, yanking his arm off.

“Don’t touch me,” Erik snapped.

“Erik—” Mia started, but the Viking cut her off immediately.

“Not now, you squirrely brat!”

He had deep set, dark seeds for eyes and coarse gray hair all over his face except the top of his skull, the one place hair shouldbe. He was as wide as he was tall, an impenetrable brick wall.

"I haven’t seen you in years! What have you been up to lately, eh?” the Viking — Gorm, Erik remembered — asked.

“Staying away from you bastards,” Erik growled.

“When can we expect ta see you come back again? We missed yer cute liddle face around the harbor—”

Gorm reached for Erik’s chin and Erik smacked his hand away.

Erik backed away, but Gorm grabbed his wrist tightly in his large hand and squeezed. Erik felt the muscle tighten, and the bone became sore underneath his bruising grip.

Erik was supposed to be stronger now. He’d defeated Mordegon. The world had been saved. So why did he still feel like he was little more than a twig in the presence of this man?

Gorm rammed Erik into a nearby brick wall, making Erik gasp. Gorm shoved a hand against Erik’s throat and hot tears pricked at the edge of his eyes. He felt like he had seawater up his nose and he coughed, but that just made it sting more.

Erik’s eyes focused on Mia and her shouting as his breath tapered out.

She threw her fists at Gorm, but he ignored her, glaring into Erik’s face instead. Erik tried to unlatch the hands from his neck, but they wouldn’t budge, so he tried to strike out with a kick instead, missing the first time but landing a solid stomp into Gorm’s toes on the second.

“You think yer doin’ somethin’?” Gorm asked. He sneered. “Good luck wiv that!”

“Get outta my way!”

A new voice entered the fray as someone shoved the Gorm of the way to get into the bar. Gorm dropped Erik and Erik fell onto his knees, gasping for air. It felt like his neck had been singed when he breathed in, and his cheeks splotched with heat of dual embarrassment and shame.

How could he let the man get the upper hand on him like that? Erik thought he was better than that. He thought he could deal with such threats now. But apparently, he hadn’t learned his lesson yet. He was still nothing but a little weakling, someone who needed to be put in his place.

He wished El were here. El would know what to do or say to get the bastards off his case. Maybe if Erik had brought a larger sword with him or if he had a larger build. If there were anything that could have showed physically how he had grown outside rather than making him feel like he was still a useless sack of shit on the inside.

“Erik! Are you alright?” Mia asked.

She approached, and he turned slightly away from her, grimacing when she tilted her head to examine him.

“Yeah, just dandy,” Erik said. He rose on shaky legs. “Thanks.”

Day 21: Threats [Alt Prompt]

Summary: Eleven speaks to Erik before leaving for the World Tree.

Word count: 787

Eleven had only been back in Cobblestone for a few days and he already hated it here. He hated how people stared at him. He hated how much his mum had cried when they’d told her the news that the other him was dead. He hated having to exist anywhere but with the people who had gone through Hell and back with him.

It was a mistake to have come here. A mistake that he wanted more than anything to fix, but that would require him to go back to the World Tree.

And the problem with that plan was that the others didn’t want him to go.

Eleven believed it was because a part of them deep down still thought he was the Darkspawn and was set on destroying everything. In truth, Eleven just wanted to go home. He wanted answers. He wanted to see his Erik again and Serena and everyone else who had helped him defeat Mordegon the first time.

The ones who had seen the apocalypse with him.

The others in this timeline were keeping tabs on him, he knew it. They probably even had someone scouting his bedroom at night to make sure he was asleep.

If it were the otherRab and Jade, El might have been flattered they were that worried. But with them, it just felt like an annoyance. An extra slap to the face after they had left him to rot away in a prison cell when it was their own El they should have been worrying about.

A bunch of stupid hypocrites, that’s what they were.

Eleven had snuck out one night and visited the tree root in the center of Cobblestone. Gemma had been there. She had made things feel okay— at least for a little while.

And then Eleven had tried it a second night and ran into Erik on the way out the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Erik asked.

Eleven had been fully dressed. He’d had all his provisions strapped to his back, including extra magic water and special medicines. He should have known it would be Erik he’d run into on his way out.

“The World Tree,” Eleven said.

He stood in the center of the living room. Erik leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed.

“Oh no you aren’t,” Erik said.

What did it have to do with him? Eleven narrowed his eyes.

“I’m going.”

He strutted toward the exit and tried to push past Erik. Erik held up his arms and pushed back.

Eleven had grown substantially weaker than he’d been once and was silently surprised at how much force Erik had shoved him with. That, and there was still a part of Eleven that could not, in good conscience, hurt his partner.

He remained inside the cottage and tightened his grip on the bag slung around his shoulder.

“I want to leave, Erik. Please let me go.”

“Why should I?” Erik asked. He dropped his arms. “Honestly man, aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to take a break for a little while?”

“No.”

Erik stared at him. Eleven wanted to look away instead of staring back into those shocking blue eyes.

“You’re making a mistake,” Erik said.

“I’ve already made plenty. What’s one more?”

Eleven stepped forward and tried to push past him again. Erik shook his head and grabbed him by the shoulder.

The touch terrified him. Eleven jerked away.

“Erik, it’s not fucking funny anymore. I’m goingto the World Tree.”

“Why? Because you think dredging up recent trauma is a good idea?”

“Donotjoke about that with me.”

“I’m just saying, I think you’d feel a lot better if you actually tried to talk to us instead of bottling all your feelings up and thinking the World Tree’s gonna solve all your problems.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Eleven retorted. “I’m trying my hardest, and I’ve gotten guff for it. It’s not like you guys care about me anyway.”

“We do.”

“No you don’t.”

“We do, El. Promise,” Erik said.

“I’m going to the World Tree,” Eleven stated one last time. He reached for the sword at his side. “If you get in my way again, I willfight you.”

This time, Erik stepped aside, although he frowned and turned to stare at El’s back as he strutted onto the clearing in front of his house.

“What do you plan on finding there, anyway?” Erik asked. “You’re only gonna make things worse by leaving.”

“Then so be it,” Eleven said. “Better than seeing the end of the world here.”

He raised his hand to the sky and, latching eyes with Erik as he cast the spell, disappeared to a far-off place.

Continued from here

Next

CW: Blood, threats, discussion of murder

“This could have been so much easier for everyone.” Azari let go of Morgan, who fell limply to the ground, barely conscious and too weak from blood loss to stand. Azari drew the back of his hand across his lips, wiping away blood. “But you had to complicate things.”

Azari knelt on the ground next to Morgan. “I’m going to use you to take him down once I find him.” He whispered, a grin splitting his face. “And then, I’m going to kill you both.”

And Azari walked out the door.

—

August closed his eyes, leaning back against the tree in the park. He didn’t realize he was shaking.

It didn’t matter how many years went by. Ten. A hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand.

The pain always felt fresh when he thought about it.

Hissister.His responsibility. He was supposed to take care of her, but he didn’t.

He killed her.

Maybe he shouldn’t have walked out on Morgan so abruptly. But then again, if he had stayed, things would have only gone downhill.

Suddenly an odd feeling of uneasiness stabbed at August’s mind. He opened his eyes just in time to be knocked suddenly to the ground. He didn’t have time to register who his as a assailant was, but he could tell from their strength that they weren’t human.

August kicked them off relatively easily and scrambled to his feet.

A bitter taste settled in his mouth as he locked eyes with Azari. “You.”

“Surprise! It’s me.” He looked too happy. There was no way he was going to beat August in a test of strength— August had just proved that. So why was he smiling?

August’s thoughts snapped back to Morgan.

“What do you want? What did you do?”

“I think you can make an educated guess about that. Both of those, actually.” Azari stepped closer.

August brought up his hands to fight.

“Put your fists down. You look like an idiot. You can’t hurt me if you ever want to see your little pet alive again.”

“You know that’s not true. There’s only one way vampires can die, which means you’ve either already killed them or you have to go back to kill them. If they’re dead, what the hell is the point of leaving you alive. If they’re alive, I’ll find them after I put an end to this shit.” August lunged forward, but Azari was able to sidestep in time.

“Wrong. I mean, partially correct, except there are billions of places they could be. I’m fast enough that they could be at the bottom of the ocean right now. Or buried six feet underground— do you really think you can find them? And if so, how long will it take you? Maybe hours. Maybe decades. Maybe never. Are you really going to put them through that? When you could cooperate and save them from years of torturous waiting? Some things are worse than death, you know.”

August hesitated. Azari wasn’t wrong. He might be bluffing— Morgan could still be in his house. For some reason, though, August doubted it. He was right. August wasn’t going to make Morgan wait years to be found again. And he couldn’t guarantee he’d find him quickly.

“… So what happens if I decide to go with you? I can’t imagine you plan to just lead me straight to them. What’s your trick?”

“No trick. At least, not yet. I will lead you straight to them.”

August didn’t trust him— how could he— but he didn’t see a better option. “Fine. Take me to them.”

@elizabeth-ithink@sunflower1000@scared-and-crying@thelazywitchphotographer@wolfeyedwitch@lonesome–hunter@whump-me-all-night-long@dabi-s-whore@jadeocean46910@emeraldwhump@appleejuicee

Part 2

Reaction Junkie started in on my beaten and already beginning to bruise thigh. He brought his open hand down on the spot, slapping hard, and mixing in punches that made me groan and gasp. Then he began throwing elbows again, his weight slamming into me behind the elbow. With the rope now gone, I had to exert more control over my body to fight the urge to struggle. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to change what was happening, and the attempt to get away or stop him would only result in my situation getting worse. As he hit me deep and hard, I wanted to safeword, at least to say “yellow” to make the pain lessen or maybe move to a different part of my body. But at the same time, I was hesitant to test him. There was the chance that he would ignore my “yellow” again, or even ignore a “red.” To be completely honest, I can’t say which outcome would have upset me more – if he had ignored them, or if he hadn’t.

Before I could put that to the test, the pain from the impacts and the racing thoughts about safewords and not being able to stop him and the fear all became too much and I began crying. Reaction Junkie continued hurting me as the tears started to fall. I tried to stop being a little bitch, but wasn’t able to stop crying. Rather than risk breaking his favorite toy with too much intensity, Reaction Junkie decided to stop beating my thigh. He lay next to me, arms around me, and held me. This break from the physical abuse didn’t mean I was free to relax, however, and Reaction Junkie began to talk.

He told me he was going to take a melonballer to my eyes to blind me. Then he would put drops of molten lead in my ears. Not enough to damage my brain, mind. Just enough to destroy my eardrums, making me deaf. Next, my tongue would be cut out and all of my teeth pulled. After he removed my septum, he would burn every inch of my skin, except maybe my tits. When I went to say something about dying, he stopped me and informed me that he would do all this with me sedated and give me painkillers during all of it. The different mutilations would be performed over the course of a few years, giving me time to heal in between. Reaction Junkie promised that I wouldn’t die from shock, adding, “You can’t get away from me that easily.”

He continued, saying that after he’d done all that, mutilated me and destroyed my body, after that was all done, one day he would gently lead me to the car. He would drive me out to the woods, carefully take me out of the car, and then just drive away. I wouldn’t have any idea where I was or what had happened. He might even do it somewhere where if I got lucky and went in the right direction, I could have a chance to wander into civilization. If I did, someone would find me and take me to the hospital. People will try to figure out some way to communicate with me, but it’s going to be difficult, what with me being blind, deaf, mute, and without fingers. Because of course, he’ll remove my fingers before he lets me go. Scientists will want to study me, trying to figure out how I could have survived the trauma. They’ll assume I was in some kind of horrible car wreck. Who could even begin to fathom that someone might inflict such damage on another person?

I was done crying well before he was finished speaking. At the beginning of the story, I’d been amused by the seemingly over-the-top threats, but as he continued describing the mutilation that would be coming my way, amusement turned to some kind of fucked up enjoyment. It wasn’t arousal, exactly, but I got into the narrative and felt strangely comforted. The level of dedication that it would require to keep me like that made me feel wanted and valuable. A favorite toy. A well used, beaten up, and almost entirely broken toy. But a favorite nonetheless.

Reaction Junkie saw that I had recovered from the beating. He asked me, “Do you know what’s going to happen now?” “No,” I responded with some trepidation. Leaning in closer, Reaction Junkie said, “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you until you yellow. And then I’m going to keep hurting you. You’ll probably try to say red, but I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to stop until I feel like it.” As he spoke, I thought about how it felt when he was slamming his elbow into me, about taking more of that, about it not stopping until he decided it should end. Ignoring my “yellow” earlier in the scene had made it clear that I was in a position of powerlessness. It drove home my utter lack of control of my situation. “Red” wouldn’t work, “safeword” wouldn’t work. Nothing would work. I curled into myself and started sobbing uncontrollably.

After making me cry with his words, Reaction Junkie cuddled me close again. He whispered into my ear that there was a DM standing right over us. I don’t like the idea of someone getting the impression that I’m not okay with what’s being done to me (I know, I know. Maybe not the most rational thing in these circumstances, just from crying after being beaten.), so I turned my head and kissed Reaction Junkie. I later found out that the DM had been there for a while and had heard Reaction Junkie talk to me about ignoring my safewords. Thinking about that fact makes me shudder. Of course no one would interfere. He’s my owner and I’m his property. What he does with me is no one else’s business.

Reaction Junkie comforted me and then began beating me again. I begged him not to hit that thigh any more, and he kindly agreed. Just as he was starting to hit me in the tits, a DM came over to us and let us know that time was up. Reaction Junkie had been abusing me for too long. Or, from my perspective, not long enough.

Whumptober, Day 18 - Jack Morrison and Reaper

Prompt:The Doctor is In (“now, smile for the camera”, doctor’s visit, cpr)
Fandom:Overwatch
Characters:Jack Morrison and Reaper
Rating:T
Words:789
Notes:Requested by Anonymous!

——————-

Bright light burned through Jack’s eyelids, dragging him back to consciousness. Someone pulled him upright by the hair sending tendrils of pain spiraling downward from his scalp. He blinked, trying to clear the blood haze from his vision. The grip in his hair tightened, forcing his neck to bend backward. Tensed for a blow, Jack let out a soft gasp when cool water wiped across his cheek and brow. He winced as it tugged and pulled at cuts he didn’t remember receiving.

“Boss ain’t gonna be happy about that,” whispered a voice that sounded just a few days past puberty. “Didn’t want him roughed up.”

A man answered from the other side of the room. “Well, he put up a fucking fight. What did he expect?”

Jack tried to recall the memories, to figure out where he was here, but nothing surfaced from the probable concussion that left his right temple throbbing. Water sloshed into Jack’s hair, dripping from his ears to a towel that the boy held ready. Unfamiliar fingers raked through the wet strands, and Jack coughed out a laugh. “Not sure getting my hair done counts as torture,” the words came out in a hoarse croak.

“Fuck off,” the older jailor answered. Jack turned to the sound and caught sight of the man. Arms and legs like tree trunks sheathed in black and grey armor. Jack didn’t need the insignia on the sleeve to recognize a Talon member. “When they’re done with you, I’ll show you what real torture is.”

Tipping his head to the side, Jack affected a grin that made his lips ache. “Your boss won’t let you,” he taunted. “You aren’t even allowed to make your own decisions. He wouldn’t let a lackey like you near—”

The man surged forward, fist cocked back to throw a punch, but the second guard stepped between them. “Don’t,” the boy squeaked, balling one hand into a ifst. “He’s been in a pissy mood lately. Don’t give him a reason to hate you.”

“What’s going on here,” growled a third voice. Black mist coalesced behind the pair. The sudden silence accentuated the crack of knuckles.

Both guards’ paled as they scampered apart with excuses, but Jack didn’t hear them. He knew the man in front of him. A low snarl started in the back of his throat. “Reaper,” he spat.

The skull-like mask turned toward Jack with a tip of its head. “Strike Commander,” it taunted, modulated voice almost familiar. “How nice of you to join us.”

Jack squared his shoulder and looked up at one of the most wanted men in the world. “You can’t break me. I’ve been through worse torture than you can imagine.”

Reaper waved his hand dismissively and the guards stepped back. “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood my aim. I’m not trying to break you.” The man leaned closer. “You’re just a figurehead, a pretty face on the cancer that is Overwatch. So, you’re going to help me dismantle it.”

Laughter made Jack’s ribs ache beneath his uniform. “Why would I do that?”

Though the mask didn’t move, Jack could feel Reaper’s smile in the chill that filled the air. The man gestured toward one side of the room where a curtain was being drawn away. “Because if you don’t,’ Reaper whispered. “I’m going to kill him.”

Jack’s heart lurched, missing several beats then thundering to make up for them. A one way mirror peered into a similar room to the one where Jack was. Vincent stood in the middle, arms bound above his head. The brutal position had probably dislocated one, if not both of his shoulders by now. Welts and bruises covered the man’s bare torso, but his face had taken the brunt of the damage. His right eye was swollen shut, surrounded by angry red skin that would turn into one hell of a bruise by morning. Vincent’s lower lip stuck out in a cracked pout, streaks of dried blood flecking his chin.

“I’ll kill you,” Jack growled, jerking his arms hard enough that the chair groaned under the strain.

Reaper chuckled, a low sound on the edge of insanity. “No, you’ll start revealing all of Overwatch’s dirty little secrets or I’ll cut off his fingers while you watch.”

Vincent’s head lolled forward on his neck, unaware that his fate hung in the balance. It had been years since Jack saw him, but the hollow place in the center of his chest felt the same. He sighed. “And if I cooperate?”

“I’m not a monster. Talk, and I’ll let him go.” Reaper squeezed Jack’s shoulder with a familiarity that made Jacks’ skin crawl. Then, he nodded toward the older guard and chuckled. “Now, smile for the camera and start talking.”

gayzoid:

Devils in the Details

This is just a little piece of experimentation writing, I had an idea and ran with it just to try out the Vibes. I had to give them names for it to feel right, I guess we’ll see if either of them show up again in the future. I wanted to try something here, starting with the small detail and slowly widening the lens… I like how it turned out!

Contents: aftermath of torture/interrogation, mob/crime type setting, hand whump, knives, guns, blood, threats, all that juicy stuff.

It hurts like hell as his hand is lifted—the mangled broken one with its cracked bones and dislocated joints—so the pad of his thumb can be pressed to the fingerprint scanner. Of course it’s the broken one that Blake uses, not the one that’s chained to the table leg.

Gil grits his teeth through every tiny shift, air whistles past his teeth as he hisses, almost a whine. And then he breathes, swallows, gets air into his lungs just in time to be able to gasp as his hand is laid back down on the surface of the table and the pain spikes all over again. There’s a gentle clunk in front of him and he opens his eyes to see his phone shining up at him. 

“Now the passcode.”

He looks up, licks his lips. The handcuff rattles as he tries to raise his right hand. Blake holds his gaze, waiting perched on the edge of the table.

“The passcode.”

They’d asked for it before, but that was hours ago. Hours before the pain he’s in now. Long before he’d reached the point of caving in, willing to do this—to make it stop.

“Y-yeah, give me… yeah.” His voice is hoarse. He’s out of options, or at least out of options that don’t involve more pain.

It’s a special kind of agony to raise his hand and use the back of a knuckle to key in the four digit number. It aggravates the injuries, but it cuts deeper too. He knows he’s giving in; too weak to hold out. But wouldn’t anyone, after all this? He isn’t sure. 

“Very good. See how easy this can be?”

He scowls, face twisting in disgust. Gets a laugh for it.

“I know, you have your orders, your principles to follow. Unfortunately so do I, it’s a shame they clash. I’m sure neither of us wants to be here.”

No, he doesn’t want to be here. Would walk out if he could, if his legs would even hold his weight after all the pain, the exhaustion.

“Not exactly my choice for a vacation, no,” he replies, stifling a cough as his lungs protest. Cracked rib, then. Or bruised at least. The chair squeaks under his weight, the legs crooked. His knee knocks against the table but it’s too solid to wobble. Had held his weight well enough while they worked him over.

Blake leans back, spreads his arms wide. “We do our best with what we have.”

And what they have is a pile of shit. Fuck all. Until now… until he gives them everything he has. Maybe not everything, he’ll have to see what he can hold on to. He takes a steadying breath. Pulls himself back from the points of pain in his body, into the room to focus on what he has to do next.

“Now, let’s go through this a bit at a time.” Blake swipes the phone and clicks around. “Contacts first, one by one. I show you a name or number, you tell me what their relation is to you and your operation. Understand?”

“Can I have some water?”

There’s a silent exchange between Blake and the man guarding the door. It’s thick and heavy–the door, and the man– off to the side near the corner, opening to a room longer than it is wide, but not by much. Not big enough for Gil’s screams to echo, but big enough that his eyes can wander over cracks and peeling paint on the walls. He snaps his attention back to Blake as he gets his answer.

“After you answer some questions, sure, then you can drink.”

His throat is like sandpaper, raw and rough. He bobs his head anyway. What else is he going to do?

“Of course you’d say anything right now to get this to stop, wouldn’t you?” Blake appraises him over the phone, the blue light glinting in his eyes. Makes him look even more unnerving, eerily otherworldly. But he’s only a man, he just happens to be a man on the winning side of this exchange.

Another hesitant lick of his lips. “I… no, I mean, I’m cooperating?”

“Right, sure.” The phone is waved around as Blake squints, thinking. “But even so, you know I’ll need to verify each thing you tell me, independently. You talk, we check, then we move on. I can’t take your word for anything under these conditions.”

These conditions. The ones where he’s ratting out everyone he knows. “I understand.”

“Great, so, first things first—your role. And your real name?”

He must hesitate a fraction of a second too long because there’s the distinct sound of a gun being cocked behind him, and the large man blocking his exit comes into his field of view. Finger casually held down the side of the barrel, gun turned slightly in his direction. He sinks down in his seat, bare feet sliding on the boards underneath—slick with blood. With other things.

Blake shakes his head, chuckles. “That’s not necessary, Crill. No, no death is not what’s going to motivate you right now is it?”

He clenches his jaw, rotates it, grinding his teeth. Took one too many hits to the face and it’s all swollen, bruised and hot. He shakes his head, or at least, he shakes.

“No, the threat of more pain, that’syour motivation.”

“You don’t need—” he starts, desperately, and is cut off as a large, sharp knife appears in Blake’s hand from the sheath at his hip. He follows it, can’t look away from it. “Please, come on, I won’t…”

“Won’t what? Talk?” The knife twirls, the point edges towards him, wobbles like a wagging finger. 

“Won’t hold back!”

That gets a smile, the knife sidles closer, plucks at the collar of his shirt and swipes downwards slowly until the top button strains and then pops. He looses a breath with it as the button bounces out of sight, a whine stuck in his throat.

“I know,” Blake replies.

His shirt is already in tatters, burnt, ripped, soaked in blood. Not like he’s going to miss that one button but the casual destruction fills him with dread as Blake rounds the table, picks up a pad of paper and a pen. A second phone. Settles in like this is a business meeting. As if one person at the table hasn’t been brutalised, isn’t bleeding.

The morning light just peeking through the mesh covered window paints the entire scene in bleak, grey tones. A washed out horror show that he’s too tired to make sense of.

“Keep doing what I ask and we can relax while we wait for your stories to be corroborated.” 

That makes him shudder. How can he relax like this, alone, haunted, hurt? His mind drifts out of the window. There’s an entire world waking up outside. Getting out of bed, eating, starting the day right. And yet he can’t wake up from the nightmare he was dragged into. He blinks, stupidly, trying to clear some of the haze from his mind. His wits are nowhere to be found, though. Must have bled out of him along with his screams.

That smile again, small, but so confident. “Let’s begin.” 

Tying the knot

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

In terms of tie whump, I can offer something close to tie fluff

-

Okay, not waking up with Zayne in his bed was a small blessing in the morning, but having him sit casually at the kitchen table wasn’t really doing wonders for Jay’s morning moods either.

He was sure Zayne was just waiting for him to leave so he could get into bed. You aren’t being sneaky about it, man. Luckily, this wasn’t an everyday occurrence – at least not while he was aware of it – but this thing with ‘Zayne’s house’ being demolished really razed his sense of safety and privacy to the ground as well. Mornings used to be the one time he didn’t have to be on the alert. Used to be.

Now he just got to stay on his toes for the entire goddamn day.

Joy.

He glared at Zayne through the open door. The nuisance leered back.

With a sigh, Jay just focused on getting dressed and getting out the door.

But when he grabbed his tie and popped his collar up, Zayne popped up too.

He jumped up from his chair. “Let me help.”

“No.” Handing him a noose? Hell no.

But Zayne just walked up to him, holding out his hand. “Come on.”

“What, you know how?” Jay asked, skeptical and still looking for an excuse; he really didn’t want to hand it over.

“I watched a YouTube vid.”

“For me? You really shouldn’t have.” Because this obsession now got kinda creepy. He was way too enthusiastic about this. Zayne already kept him on a leash with it, literally. Jay knew he fucking liked it. Whenever he wore his tie Zayne found a reason to pull him in close by it. Even when he didn’t really do anything, he couldn’t help running his fingers over it, slowly creeping up towards his throat, the threat always there, or just gripping it tight to hold him close and letting it slip out of his palm again. Jay pretty much started avoiding wearing one in order to avoid such close encounters.

Yet now Zayne’d found a new way of playing around with it to the point where he’d watch a tutorial. Probably a perfect How-to-creep-Jay-out vid.

“It’s that or I can tighten it around your throat without elaborate knots.”

“What a gentle way to say strangle.” But Jay relented and handed him his tie. Before things turned… ungentle.

Zayne draped the fabric around Jay’s neck, pulling him in a little closer by the ends. He tipped Jay’s chin up with barely a touch of a crooked finger, caught his eyes and fondly smiled down on him.

Jay’s stomach tightened at the close proximity and the open access to his throat.

Come on, just get this over with, he thought as Zayne kept fidgeting, the smooth material sliding back and forth over the collar of his neck as Zayne tried to decide on the length of the ends.

But besides that, nothing really happened yet. He just heard the soft shwishing sounds of the fabric being pulled back and forth and Jay was sure his collar was about to catch on fire because of all the friction with Zayne’s hemming and hawing.

“Are you stalling?”

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Zayne shot back in a soft murmur, still focused on his task.

Both were true and both men avoided answering. Yes, Jay was uncomfortable and yes, Zayne was already quite lost at the first step.

He twisted the ends of fabric over each other, left and right, up and down, Jay’s brow furrowing deeper with each attempt.

Until Jay brought his hands up with a sigh, closed them around Zayne’s and guided them in the right direction.

“Wide over narrow,” he said, guiding him through the motion. He could already see the end results if Zayne were to succumb to impatience here – wide over narrow or whatever and just fucking pull – and helping him could avoid that and bring this awkwardness to an end sooner.

“Oh yeah.” Zayne lit up a little and with the first step correctly done, it triggered the memory for the next steps. Nothing too fancy, thank god. Jay’d almost worried he’d watched the most difficult vid and that he was going to end up with half a rose or something.

Zayne glanced up, keeping a mischievous eye contact as he slowly pulled the wide end through his knot and tightened it. And, to Jay’s surprise, he stopped and merely pressed it snugly against his throat.

“There,” he said with a sly smile, and folded Jay’s collar down. “Don’t say I never do anything nice for you.”

Jay checked himself in the mirror. The knot was a little thin – he adjusted it carefully – but overall, a good first try. “Not bad,” he admitted, but refused to further spell out his thanks. This really shouldn’t be a recurring thing. He picked up his jacket, before Zayne would get any other ideas and hold it up for him to dress him, and shrugged it on.

“Busy day?” Zayne asked sweetly.

“Kinda,” Jay said absentmindedly as he roamed about the flat checking to see if he had everything.

“Well…”

Jay’s eyes snapped up at the dangerous tone.

“I’ll make sure you can relax tonight,” Zayne continued, now standing behind him and softly turning him around.

“By staying away?” Jay tried without hope.

Zayne’s finger buried itself under the knot of Jay’s tie, but didn’t pull it loose, not after his hard work. He just hooked it, knuckles resting against Jay’s throat, keeping him close.

“No, no,” he cooed and Jay was sure he could feel him swallow hard. “It’s such a rare occasion for you to wear this lately,” he pulled lightly at the tie, “figure I should make use of it. And, you know, I’ll let you return this favour.”

His fist curled, knuckles pressing harder against Jay’s windpipe as a prelude for the evening. “You will not take this off. That’d be rude.”

He pulled back with a grin as Jay tried to nod and shake his head at the same time.

And Jay scurried out of the flat, his tie weighing him down for the rest of the day like a chain around his neck.

-

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi@burtlederp@castielamigos-whump-side-blog@hurtmebeautifully@rougenoirofthepurpleterror@snuffhimout@susiequaz12@coldresolve@whump-me-all-night-long@whumpinggoodtime@starnight-whump@rippedjeansandfadeddreams@im-just-here-for-the-whump@restrainthenmaime@freefallingup13@whatwasmyprevioususername@myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19@firewheeesky@redstainedsocks@myst-in-the-mirror@whumpawink@break-so-beautifully@approach-me-and-ill-cry@painsandconfusion@afabulousmrtake@wormwriting@soopytime@villainsvictim

Summer Of Whump - June 3rd- Facade

~prompt list~

@summer-of-whump

CW: Interrogator / Whipping (brief) / Threats /

Whumper strode along the floor, their boots making a clunking sound with each step as they circled Whumpee.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

Whumpee’s eyes burned into the floor. They were nothing but the eagle’s prey. Nowhere to run, no one to save them.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

“You know,” The footsteps paused for a moment, making Whumpee’s heartbeat pick up. “I’m not falling for this pathetic excuse of a defiant facade.” Whumpee clenched their jaw, trying to stop their trembling. Breathe. In and out. 

“The others might believe it, but me? I have patience,” They bent down slightly, taking Whumpee’s jaw and whispering in their ear, breath hot along Whumpee’s skin, raising goosebumps, “And darling, I have the patience to break you to a weak pulp, begging me to forgive you.”

A whimper escaped Whumpee’s lips as they cringed away from Whumper.

Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone.

Whumper smirked, standing up straight and walking to the side of the room, out of Whumpee’s peripheral vision.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

Whumpee’s heartbeat picked up even more. They were in trouble. What were they gonna tell their team?!?!….did their team even care about them?

No. Don’t say that, of course they do. …Then why did their team leave them here?

Jesus, just talking to themself was enough torture, never mind Wh-

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

As each step got closer, Whumpee could feel themself shaking. A whip was brought down hard against their back. Whumpee cried out, bound hands fighting against the metal chair’s arms as much as they could. 

They bit their lip hard, refusing to make a sound. Just hold on a little bit longer, they’ll come to rescue me.

“Where is your team’s base?” Whumper’s voice was demanding. They wanted the answer, and they knew they were going to get it.

Whumpee just bit their lip, slowly raising their head, glaring at Whumper as tears brimmed at the edge of Whumpee’s eyes, threatening to fall. Whumper simply tilted their head, “Where?”

Whumpee just spat at them. They didn’t know what else to do. How in the world do they not just give it all up. They could just tell Whumper, they wouldn’t have to go through all this pain!

Whumpee watched, petrified, as Whumper’s face darkened. “Oh you’re going to fucking pay for that,” They growled.

And they did. 

Twenty lashes later Whumpee crumbled, they couldn’t take it anymore. They gave in. Whumper was right, it all was just a dumb defiant facade. Their team didn’t deserve them. They were better off with Whumper…