#tw sensory deprivation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

serickswrites · 3 months

Text

Solitary

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, solitary confinement, small spaces, sensory deprivation

"SHUT UP!" Whumper growled at Team Leader. Whumper had, for the better part of an hour, been trying to hurt Teammate One, but each time Whumper raised their hand, Team Leader began to scream. Scream at their top of their longs, breaking Whumper's concentration.

Team Leader didn't relent. They couldn't. As long as Whumper wasn't distracted, they wouldn't hurt any of the team. Team Leader wouldn't let Whumper hurt their team.

"If you do not shut up, I will make you." Whumper said as they stalked away from Teammate One.

But Team Leader didn't stop. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Their throat was ragged from screaming, but they wouldn't stop. Couldn't stop.

Whumper stalked forward and boxed Team Leader's ears, disorienting them quickly. Team Leader's scream faltered as they listed sideways from the blow. Whumper took advantage and began to drag Team Leader out of the room. "I will have my way with your team. I will. There is nothing you can do to stop me."

Team Leader opened their mouth to start screaming once more, but Whumper shoved a filthy rag in their mouth. "You will not spoil my fun."

Team Leader began to struggle in their restraints, trying to free their fingers enough to rip the rag out of their mouth. Whumper quickly pulled a blindfold down over Team Leader's eyes. Team Leader struggled violently against being blinded, but Whumper boxed their ears once more before lifting them into the air.

"You will not spoil my fun," they growled in Team Leader's ear as they dropped Team Leader.

Team Leader's heart fluttered as they had no way to gauge how long they would fall. Their fall was broken abruptly by cold metal. They were enclosed on all sides by metal. They thrashed against the sides. They had to get out of the box.

"Let's see how you do with some time alone with your thoughts, Team Leader." Whumper whispered in their ear before shoving something thick and cottony in both their ears.

Team Leader was cut off from their senses. Cut off from the world. Cut off and in a tight space. Cut off and unable to help their team. Cut off and unable to do anything but try and calm their breathing.

Time passed. Or didn't. Team Leader had no way of knowing. Had no way of knowing anything. They only had their hope that Whumper would come for them soon. And then they would have their revenge.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw torture #tw solitary confinement #tw small spaces #tw sensory deprivation #team whump #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #day 2 #prompt: solitary confinement #queue

104 notes · View notes

gothghostiie · 3 months

Note

awwww pet’s first heat must have been so scary :((( not understanding what’s happening to it, just that it needs its Master to fuck it silly, and it’s terrified because it doesn’t know why!!!!!!

And ohhhh my fucking GOD temporarily taking away his pet’s senses as punishment???? A TEAR DOWN MY THIGH GHOSTIIE

Forcing his poor pet to spend a week without sight as punishment for disobedience… taking away its sense of smell/taste and forcing it to eat things it hates, saying it shouldn’t bother it like this… and as punishment for an escape attempt, maybe he takes all of its senses save touch away from it for a day or so. Leaving it completely and utterly dependent on its Master to remind it of its place!!! Watching it twitch and tremble on the bed as it tries to figure out how to move without hurting itself on something it can’t see or hear!!!!! Its moans and whimpers are so much more primal too, now that it can’t even hear itself!!!!! And by the end of the sensory deprivation, all it can do is curl up in Wesker’s arms, shell shocked and sobbing as it gets used to having its senses back :(((((((

YESSS pets first heat was so scary:((( it was trembling, wondering why it was so slick and worked up one morning after waking up, rubbing itself on one of the pillows while thinking of its master because it knows only his touch now :((

when wesker comes in he wants to get mad but when his pet immediately begs him to fuck it he just cant be mad!! he smiles so happily and gets it out of the cage, fucking it silly until it's nothing but a drooling mess :((

and the thought of taking its senses away is driving me so utterly wild. poor dumb pet stumbling around and crying softly while wesker occasionally touches it to make it flinch and cry out, primal noises escaping it as wesker pins it down, not knowing what's happening, just knowing how good it feels and how scary it is :((

once they have it back hes so sweet though, cradling it and even letting it sleep in his bed for the night because obviously the poor little darling needs the touch!! :((

41 notes · View notes

whumpcereal · 2 years

Text

behavior modification, part seventeen

<previous, Masterlist here! This chapter has a little bit of everything--all our characters (even Mama Prescott and Carl), lots of hurt, some comfort--so enjoy!

Content warnings for intense sensory deprivation, noncon stimulation, suffocation, emotional distress, dissociation, and adult language

part seventeen, deprivation

Hi. You’ve almost reached Jack. Leave a message, and we’ll see if you make it.

Joe is ashamed of his own relief when the beep sounds and the call rolls to voicemail. He knows that Jack’s mailbox must be getting full; he dreads the day when he calls and won’t be able to leave a message. Not that Jack has heard any of them. Not that he knows that Joe calls every day, just to hear Jack’s voice.

“Hi, baby. It’s me again. I–I just wanted you to know that I miss you. I mean, of course you know that. Don’t you? I hope you do. Mama’s on her way. We’re going to–we’ll do everything we can to find you. I love you, okay? I love you so fucking much.”

He holds the phone to his ear for a few unnecessary seconds, but there’s no answer, no voice on the other end of the line. There never is. He ends the call and slips the phone back into his pocket. His toes dig into the carpet, and he drags them aimlessly back and forth.

He takes out his phone again.

Hi. You’ve almost reached Jack. Leave a message, and we’ll see if you make it.

“Sorry, I know I just–just–wait for me, baby, okay? Don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I love you.”

-/-/-

Jack doesn’t know how long it’s been. Maybe ten seconds, maybe ten hours; it can’t be ten days; it feels like ten years. But he couldn’t track the time, even if he wanted to. The blackness has seeped into the fissures of his brain. It’s in his mouth, his eyes, his throat. It fills him and still, somehow, leaves him empty.

At first, he fought. He screamed beneath the duct tape gag and thrashed inside his leather prison. But it didn’t make a difference. The restraints are so heavy that he barely moved. Ivan didn’t come. The hood stayed on. His tears and sweat dried up. And then, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Like a fucking prehistoric insect in amber.

The panic does not recede. It’s tidal: the sensations he’s given–Joe’s voice, the throb of the beads–draw away, leaving Jack in stasis, in some kind of impenetrable void where he isn’t sure that he even exists; and then, they crash against him at once, sneaker waves that drag him into the undertow of feelings he doesn’t want and can’t escape. Tiny bursts of energy that cannot be expended explode inside his skull. He’s lost track of his body, feels like his limbs may have disappeared into space, and still, he aches to move. But he can’t.

He’s gone. So fucking gone.

Until he isn’t. Until Joe’s voice fills his head and yanks him back to the shallows.

“Jackie, I love you. If you can hear me–”

The beads whine, and Jack’s body burns. His muscles light up under their leather casing, but the movement is small, just a twitch.

“Please, baby–I just want to know you’re alright.”

Joe. Jack’s tongue, dry and heavy in the cavity of his mouth, twitches to answer, but his lips stay frozen beneath the tape. The vibration inside of him speeds up, and he curls inside the leather bag. He can’t, he can’t–

Joe’s voice is angry then, strained. “Jack, this isn’t funny.” Jack thinks he’s heard Joe say this before. He must have really fucked up. But the sound cuts off short, like somebody’s snaked their hand over Joe’s mouth and pulled him backward.

Half-formed thoughts pool in Jack’s darkness. Was Joe here? How could he be? Why–

A sob. “Jackie, please!”

The buzz inside drops off suddenly and then builds again, slowly, until the beads are humming against him, faster than before. If Jack has a voice, it shreds in his throat.

Colors flare beneath his eyelids, hot and dark, and Joe’s voice catches like a broken record.

“Please...please...please...”

Please, Jack thinks, if he can think at all. He swells against the metal between his legs, but there’s no release, nothing to move against, no body to move with. If Joe is here, it isn’t to help him.

“This isn’t funny,” Joe says again.

It isn’t. Jack keens beneath the hood, and the sound echoes inside his head. The colors pulse, but there are no shapes, nothing concrete. The beads drone, getting faster again. His body fights to move, to chase the sensation that’s gnawing at his insides, but the restraints pin him down.

“Jackie,” Joe says in his head, voice trailing off like there’s something more to say.

Something presses down, hard, on Jack’s face; leather butts against his skin, and it’s too much. Joe’s voice plays on repeat, and the beads scream, and there is no air.

Jack falls into blackness again, and when he comes to, there is only the silent nothing to greet him. Joe is gone. He feels nothing. He drifts. If he could want anything, he would want this to end. But he can’t want, doesn’t think, is barely there.

He’s gone. So fucking gone.

-/-/-

Joe is still staring at his phone when Carl’s bark pulls him back into the room. Paws skitter against hardwood floors, and the front door creaks open. There’s a soft laugh, even if it’s not quite as warm or easy as it should be.

“Well, hello, granddog.”

Carl pants, and Marilyn laughs again. Joe doesn’t move.

“Bear?” Marilyn calls. “Where are you, sweetheart?”

“In–” Joe’s voice is a clot of tears; he clears his throat. “In here, Mama.”

Marilyn walks in, the same care in her steps as when she used to come into his bedroom to soothe him after a nightmare.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs. She wastes no time in wrapping her arms around Joe. Joe tries to breathe her in. Soft powder and lavender; her scent never changes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here faster.”

“Mama–” Joe tries, but the words dissolve. Marilyn only holds him closer.

“I know, Bear, I know. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Joe whispers. He should be embarrassed, a 34-year-old man coming apart in his mother’s arms, but he can’t bring himself to care. He rubs his face against her shoulder.

“I know, but I’m here now, huh?” she says.

“Thank you.”

“Always, baby. You know that.”

“Yeah.”

Joe takes a shuddery breath, and Marilyn rubs tender circles across his back.

“When was the last time you ate?” she asks.

Joe shrugs. “I don’t know.”

It hasn’t seemed important. And besides, the kitchen is Jack’s. Joe doesn’t want to mess it up.

“Well, we’re going to fix that,” Marilyn says, brushing Joe’s curls from his forehead. Her hands are soft and cool. “And then, we’re going to take Carl for a long walk, and you’re going to tell me everything that’s happened.”

“Okay,” Joe says softly. He rubs at his eyes.

Marilyn sighs. “Bear, have you been sleeping?”

“No.”

He tries, but the bed doesn’t feel right without Jack in it.

Marilyn purses her lips. “Then, we’ll take care of that too. You can’t run yourself down like this.”

Joe laughs cheerlessly. “Sure I can.”

She takes Joe’s face between her hands, smoothing the stubbled apples of his cheeks with her thumbs. “No, you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I say so?” Marilyn raises an eyebrow, and then her face softens. “Because it isn’t good for you, Bear. And besides, don’t you think Jack needs you at your best?”

Joe winces like he’s been burnt. He doesn’t quite look at his mother. “I guess.”

“Well, I know,” Marilyn counters. “I’m here to take care of you. Both of you. We’ll bring him home, Joey. You’ll see.”

“How can you be so sure?” Joe whispers.

“Because this isn’t how it ends. Not for Jack, and not for you, Bear. I know it.”

Joe blinks against the stinging in his eyes. “But I don’t even know where to start.”

“Then we’ll figure that out together, sweetheart. Haven’t we always?”

Joe nods.

“Good,” Marilyn says. She presses a kiss to his forehead. “Now, food first. Then some vitamin D. And then, my love, you are sleeping, even if I have to ram an Ambien down your throat.”

A weak smile plays at Joe’s lips. “And then?”

“Then we start.”

Marilyn moves, ready to head to the kitchen, but Joe can’t make himself get up. His phone is still clutched in his hand.

“Mama?”

“What is it, baby?”

“I miss him. So much.”

Marilyn’s face pinches for a moment, and Joe knows that she’s willing her own tears to stay put. “I know, Bear. And I know he misses you too.” Her smile is watery. “Now, get your butt into the kitchen and let me feed you.”

“I’ll be right there,” Joe says.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

She leaves him. Carl saunters into the living room, settling himself on top of Joe’s feet. He makes a grunt low in his throat, his brown eyes searching Joe’s. Joe’s thumb presses against his phone screen.

Hi. You’ve almost reached Jack. Leave a message, and we’ll see if you make it.

“It’s me again. We’re going to find you, Jackie. We’re going to bring you home. Just hang on. I–I love you. You know that, right? I love you so much.”

And even if there isn’t any answer, Joe tries to find it in himself to believe.

-/-/-

“It’s me again. We’re going to find you, Jackie. We’re going to bring you home. Just hang on. I–I love you. You know that, right? I love you so much.”

Ivan rolls his eyes. Joe’s voicemails are getting more and more desperate. On the one hand, he calls often enough that Ivan has plenty of material to mine for his little sensory experiment with sweet Jackie.

On the other, Joe should be embarrassed.

There are sometimes eleven or twelve messages in one day. If Jack had really run off–which, unfortunately, Joe doesn’t seem to believe he would–Joe would do better just to send the kid his balls in an envelope. It isn’t dignified, this level of devotion.

However, Ivan supposes he doesn’t mind. He has eyes on Jackie’s disintegration, and ears on Joe’s.

Jack’s first twenty-four hours are nearly up. Ivan mostly lets the treatment work its magic unaided; he watches Jack from the video feed on his laptop in between clients and case notes.

The first few hours were the most eventful. Jack wriggled in the mummy bag like the captive worm he’s meant to be, but the restraints did their work; eventually, he stopped moving altogether.

Now, Ivan plays Joe’s little soundtrack when the mood strikes him, and he cycles through the beads’ settings until he can see some life. A few times, he’s gone to the basement to watch. When he thinks Jack is at his edge, when that delicious lean body twitches and jolts in its leather prison, Ivan covers the airhole in the hood to give the poor thing some relief. Better to be unconscious than to dwell on the fact that he won’t be granted release.

Ivan checks the window on his screen. Sweet Jackie is still just now, a black cocoon on the steel table. He’ll need food and water; he’ll probably need sedation to get some real rest before they try this again. It’s time.

Ivan goes to the basement.

Jack is barely conscious when Ivan removes the hood. His dark head lolls against the table, and when Ivan peels the tape from his mouth, his lips are already whitish and cracked. Ivan slowly unzips the sack. Jack’s limbs are pliant as a doll’s, and even though his skin is hot to the touch, he trembles when the basement air hits him.

“Jackie?” Ivan says gently.

Jack rasps out a moan, shaking his head listlessly back and forth. His eyes crack open, and the sliver of blue Ivan can see is brilliant against their bloodshot whites.

“Jackie,” he says again. It’s important that he use Joe’s words. “Baby, are you alright?”

He caresses Jack’s cheek, and Jack flinches away like a frightened animal. But there’s nowhere for him to go.

“P-please,” Jack whispers. He closes his eyes again; even the dim overhead light must feel like torture just now. “Please.”

Ivan moves his thumb in a rhythmic circle over Jack’s skin. He knows it’s too much, but Jack can’t pull away. “Please what, baby?”

“Please, Joe.”

Ivan smiles. “What is it, Jackie? Tell Joe what you need.”

“Sorry. S-so sorry.”

“I know you are, baby,” Ivan murmurs. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’re going to work to get better, isn’t it?”

Jack cries, but there aren’t any tears. His pretty little face twists into a grimace of pain, and he nods.

“You’re so good for me, Jackie. You did so good.” Ivan lifts Jack out of the leather sack and cradles him against his chest. “But I know you can do better, huh?”

Jack doesn’t respond. He’s limp in Ivan’s arms.

“Let’s take a little rest, baby. And then we’ll try again.”

next >

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy-s, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @goldywhump, @reflected-pain, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keep-beach-city-werid, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things (send a message to be added)

#behavior modification #joe prescott oc #marilyn prescott oc #jack kenyon oc #ivan peters oc #lots of hurt #a little bit of comfort #tw sensory deprivation #pray for jackie #because yikes

67 notes · View notes

modern-day-kleavor · 10 months

Text

Experiment log #1: Obstagoon

TW for: pokemon cruelty, amputation, starvation, abduction, sensory deprivation

Subject Overview:

Subject Obstagoon (who will be referred to as Subject 1 from now on) is a dark/normal type, standard, wild-born specimen. Subject appears to be slightly smaller than the average size for its species at a round 5'00", as opposed to the usual 5'03". Subject is a female and weighs in at 95.5 lbs, and bears the ability Reckless.

Experiment Performed:

Because an Obstagoon is typically a very efficient hunter in the wild using its tongue to scent its prey, I am curious to see how it would perform without one. Its tongue will be removed and it will be placed back into the wild under observation, to see how it does.

Prediction:

It is most likely that it will have difficulty locating its prey/swallowing what food it does find, and will starve to death.

Log:

Subject is released into the wild and immediately flees to the treeline, as expected. It does not seem to perceive our cameras in the forest, thankfully.

Subject moves in zig-zag patterns, similar to its pre-evolution galarian linoone, heading west. Subject appears to be having difficulty navigating its surroundings, running into various roots and plants. Perhaps it also uses its tongue as a way to identify its surroundings?

Subject has stumbled across a Skwovet by chance. It does not appear to realize the Skwovet is there. The Skwovet has, strangely, began approaching the Subject, appearing hesitant.

The Skwovet has gotten the attention of the Subject and provided it with an oran berry. The Subject doesn't appear to be able to eat it. The Skwovet resolves to slice the berry in half and try again, this time with success in getting the Subject to feed.

The Subject and the Skwovet appear to be communicating. The Subject appears to be in distress. The Skwovet climbs on top of the Subject, surprising it, and starts chittering to it.

The Subject travels through the forest without further issue with the Skwovet atop its head, seemingly guiding the Subject towards berries and warning it about obstacles. Eventually it makes it back to its old den from before I took it, and invites the Skwovet inside, seemingly indefinitely.

Result:

Well this was unexpected. It found a prey animal, something it would usually eat upon locating, and worked together with it to become a more efficient unit. Should they continue working together, neither will have any problem surviving in the wild. A relationship like this is odd and unprecedented.

My hypothesis is that the Skwovet took pity on the Subject, or decided to use its loss of direction to its advantage. I wonder if the Subject even knows that it's a Skwovet.

Overall, I think it's really interesting how this worked out! I'll keep an eye on these two and perhaps bring them in for further testing in the future.

#tw pokemon abuse #tw death mention #tw dismemberment #tw amputation #tw starvation #tw starving #tw abduction #tw kidnap mention #tw sensory deprivation #tw pokemon cruelty #tw animal cruelty #tw animal abuse #tw experimentation #tw experiments #obstagoon #skwovet #predator/prey friendship

2 notes · View notes

winniethewife · 5 months

Text

I'm getting what is mine (William Tell x F!Reader)

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Kidnapping, Sensory deprivation, Non-con, Stockholm syndrome, Drugged, PinV, Fembodied, Oral sex, Bondage, unprotected sex, toxic relationship, Fake Death

Minors DNI

For @romana-after-dark 's Dead Dove Do Not Eat December.

Words: 1162

Just call my name, I'm yours to tame…

I'm wide awake, I crave your taste

All night long 'til morning comes

I'm getting what is mine, you gon' get yours,

It was Dark, Silent, and the gag in her mouth made chafed slightly at the sides of her mouth. The blindfold around her eyes was secured tight as were her hands, tied together behind her back. She had noise cancling headphones over her ears. Whoever had done this know what he was doing. From what little she could tell she was on a bed, the sheets weren’t every comfortable. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, clad only her bra and underwear, the cold air of the room on her skin. Suddenly she feels a hand on her shoulder, she flinches at the touch. It’s oddly gentle, the rough calloused hand caressing her shoulder, then down her arm, lifting her hand, Pressing lips on her fingers and slowly but surely up her arm. A chill runs up her spine, she’s not sure what she’s meant to do, such gentle actions in a situation that was far from gentle. She lets out a soft involuntary whimper, this causes William pause.

This was something he had fantasized about for a long time. Just taking what he wanted, it had seemed so easy when he had started talking to her at the bar of the casino, when he bought her a drink and slipped the tasteless powder in her drink, when he got her back to his motel room where she was out cold. But it seemed a little harder watching her over night. He hadn’t tried anything yet, showing restraint, just sleeping next to her unconscious body, after making sure she couldn’t get away of course. In the morning when she started to wake, he positioned her on her knees, then watching her squirm and twitch in fear, until finally… he was ready. But that soft innocent sound, that was what made this just slightly harder.

“I’m not going to hurt you…” He says softly, knowing she can’t hear him, he wonders if he’s saying it to reassure her or keep himself accountable. He doesn’t think about it very long before moving to lay her down, his mouth moving along her body, his fingers curls under the elastic of her underwear, pulling them down gently. She lets out a sob, terrified. For her every touch was so intense. Every single time his lips made contact with her skin, every move he made, when he pushes her legs to the side, when he trusted into her…It was all so much, too much. Tears soaking the blind fold as she cries out, terrified of every second, terrified of her own bodies reaction, terrified of what will happen next.

Two days pass, William does everything to take care of her, something she doesn’t expect. He makes sure all her needs are taken care of, but he doesn’t ever take off any of the sensory deprivation devices, just the gag. She has barley spoken a word, just letting him know when she needed to use to the bathroom or she was done eating or something similar. But that morning when she woke up, she realized she could hear the soft breathing of the sleeping man who held her tight. She gasped slightly as he pulls her in closer. His mouth on her earlobe.

“Hello Beautiful.” He whispers in her ear then bites down softly on the helix of her ear. The voice, it calls back the image, the handsome man at the bar with the slicked back hair, and a handsome face.

“William.” She is shocked, her whole body freezes. It’s all starting to come together now. William kisses her neck and hums softly.

“Yes...God you’re so pretty baby. And you’re mine.” He growls in her ear, pulling her in close, thrusting his hips into hers, she feels his cock against her. A soft moan escapes her lips. She feels instant shame as she does so. William huffed into her shoulder, moving his hips into hers, snaking his arm down to her cunt, running his fingers through her wet folds, drawing more soft moans from her. She doesn’t know what to feel as he moves her body, parting her legs and finding his way with his mouth to her heat. Running his tongue along her slit his thumb rubbing circles on her Clit.

“No, No, No, Please, Please…Ngh.” She tried to move away, tried to make an effort, but he easily held her down as he moved to pin her. “I said you’re mine.”

This became her life after that. She was his, and that was her only reason to exist. She loses track of the time she’d been in this one motel room, but slowly she earns the ability to see, to be untied, to do things on her own. Over time she doesn’t even think about her life before, this was her life now, and at some point she hardly recognized herself. She was waiting for William to return after one of the now rare occasions that he left. As He came in the door she stood up from the bed, excited to see him. Like a dog who’s master had been gone all day.

“Hey, look at you, so pretty for me.” He says as he looks over her, she’s wearing one of the outfits he bought her, they don’t cover much, but he likes it that way. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her in to kiss her cheek, then deeply inhales her scent, burying his face in her neck. He nips at the sensitive skin under her jaw. She lets out a soft mewl as he does so. “Mmm…That’s it…Who do you belong to?”

“You, William…Only you.” She answers. Her hands wrap around his shoulders as he growls in appreciation.

“That’s right baby…You’re mine.” His voice is low as he presses his tongue on one of the Hickeys on her neck, a physical reminder of his ownership. After a moment of appreciating his prize he pulls away and looks into her eyes. “You’re ready, sweetheart. We’re hitting the road tonight babe, just you and me, gonna show the world who you belong to now.” He smiles softly, an unusual look for him. She smiles back.

“I’d follow you anywhere, Darling.” She whispers, she means it. She would follow him to the ends of the earth. She was entirely enraptured by him, not even a thought of what he had done, how she got in this position in the first place. None of it mattered.

“That’s my girl…” His lips meet hers and they move together in sync. He got exactly what he wanted, and all it took was a little persuasion, a bit of patience, and convincing the entire town that this girl…was dead. Now she was his, and his alone. They would leave in the morning around 10, when everyone who knew her buried another woman’s body.

And she was none the wiser, her mind, body and soul were devoted to him, and him alone. ~

Masterlist

146 notes · View notes

befuddled-calico-whump · 3 months

Text

Test Track AU (T$$ AU Masterlist)

previous (cw: gore) /// next

Suggested by anon!

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden , @snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @suspicious-whumping-egg , @cryptidwritings

#i just like the mitts :)#t$$ Sahota #t$$ test track au #whump art #injection #noncon drugging #needles tw #sensory deprivation #torture

95 notes · View notes

firefly-after-dark · 7 months

Text

Continuation of the whole "Dottore forgets his previous affiliation with Scaramouche and abducts the Wanderer for his experiments" bit.

it would be fucked up if you powered off a robot's bodies and senses without powering off their brain, huh. bet that would feel like a perpetual state of dying regardless of whether or not things like breathing are optional.

< Prev | Next >

#genshin impact #scaramouche #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact wanderer #wanderer genshin impact #genshin comic #genshin impact fanart #the balladeer #scaramouche genshin impact #tw suffocation #sensory deprivation #pain #angst

99 notes · View notes

fulcrumwrites · 4 months

Text

Trial and Error

Summary: After a failed escape attempt, a patient is punished treated with solitary confinement and a new method.

CW: Asylum/psychiatric hospital, medical malpractice, isolation, sensory deprivation, restraints, blindfold, muzzle, chains, straitjacket, mentioned kidnapping, gaslighting

“You can’t keep me here! Let me go!”

Dragged through the vacant hallways, the young man’s cries bounced off the walls unheeded. The grips on his arms were iron-clad as he struggled every step of the way. Digging his heels proved futile; his paper shoes slipping on the vinyl floor.

“As a matter of fact, we can, Mr. Doe,” Dr. Malcom threw over his shoulder. His professional tone only added to the fire that was Luca’s rage. “Your family admitted you into our care. That makes us responsible for your health and wellbeing, even if you disagree with our methods.”

“My family?” Luca laughed incredulously. “You have no right to bring them into this. You kidnapped me! You stole me away from them to satisfy your… your sick little experiments!” He yanked his right arm in hopes of breaking the large orderly’s hold. The desperate attempt resulted in nothing more than a deeper bruise. “And my name’s not Doe. Not ‘Mr. Doe’ not ‘John Doe’… My name’s Luca. Luca Barone.”

“I see your delusions still have a hold on you, Mr. Doe. We’ll have to adjust your treatment and boost your medication.”

Luca rolled his eyes. “Please. The only delusion here is that I’d believe my name is ‘John Doe’. You could have at least tried to come up with a convincing name.”

He was walking at their pace now, submitting to whatever punishment awaited him. This was not his first attempt escaping Mayfield Psychiatric Institution, and it won’t be the last. He wasn’t even sure where Mayfield was. It could be a fake place. A fake name. A fake asylum. All lies.

Dr. Malcom paused at a familiar door. The man shook his head and looked at Luca with those mournful gray eyes that he wanted to punch since he was first brought to this hell-hole.

“I had high hopes for you, John. You were improving. This escape attempt will only set you back. I’m disappointed.”

Luca barked out a laugh in the doctor’s face. “I couldn’t care less about your approval, old man. Do your worst.”

“And what of your family? They sent you to us to get better. Do you want to disappoint your mother, John? Your sisters? Valentina, Contessa, little Mia–”

The glob of spit splattering on his face cut the doctor off, and that’s all Luca could do as the two orderlies held him back.

“You keep their names out of your mouth!” the boy hissed with venom. “And my name is Luca Barone.”

Dr. Malcom removed his glasses and wiped off the spittle with a cloth. Then he pushed them back onto his nose before dabbing away the spit on his skin. His actions were calm, but Luca could see the flush in his cheeks and how his hands shook in contained anger. What once made him afraid now brought a rush of victory.

He held onto that triumph as the old doctor snatched Luca’s jaw and forced him to look him in the eye.

“I’m your psychiatrist with more years of practice than you’ve been alive, boy,” he seethed. “You will show me some respect.”

Luca grinned around the hand squeezing his face. “Only my mama deserves my respect.”

His jaw was released only for his head to whip to the side, cheek smarting. The boy’s impertinent smile only grew.

Fuming, Dr. Malcom turned to the door and jammed his key in the lock. His movements were clumsy with anger, but after a moment, he unlocked the heavy door and swung it open with a bang.

Luca braced himself for what he knew was next. The orderlies would stop in the doorway and shove him in. He would land on the floor on his hands and knees as the door shut behind him, locking him in the dark and silence. They would leave him there for a few days, maybe a week. Then they would let him out, he would try to escape again, and the cycle continues–if he’s caught.

“No,” Dr. Malcom says suddenly, stopping the hands on his back before the final push. Luca and the orderlies look at him expectantly, curious as to the change in routine. Dr. Malcom nods into the dark room. “I think the patient requires a firmer hand. Use the maximum security protocol, if you please.”

The orderlies’ grips tighten once more as they personally drag him into the room. Forcefully, they turn him around with his back to the wall as Dr. Malcom passes a folded white bundle as if summoned from thin air.

“Are you serious?” Luca groans when it’s unfolded to reveal a straitjacket. “Come on. How can you think I can escape this place? The door doesn’t even have a handle on the inside!”

“Your numerous attempts has made me cautious, Mr. Doe,” Dr Malcom replied dryly. “Additionally, this will be part of the upgrade to your treatment plan as other methods have proved inconclusive.”

Luca scowled but managed to not resist as they wrangled his arms into the stiff sleeves. As each strap was pulled snug and fastened behind his back, he felt smaller and more cramped as if the walls of the cell were closing in on him. Luca focused on his breathing as they finished buckling him in. His arms stretched securely around his torso and the final, uncomfortable strap between his legs prevented pulling the suit over his head to freedom.

“Happy now, Doc?” demanded Luca sarcastically.

“We have one more new method to try, Mr. Doe. It may be uncomfortable, but remember this is all for your benefit.”

“Can’t wait.”

As if on cue, a timid nurse stepped into the cell just long enough to deliver a box into the doctor’s hands. With great care, Dr. Malcom removed the lid and slowly lifted the contents into the air for all to see.

A mass of leather and metal dangled limply in his hand. Luca squinted at it in the dim light.

“What the hell is that?”

“This, Mr. Doe, is a device I had specially ordered for my new therapy. Since you were admitted into my care, I’ve been researching and experimenting new psychiatric treatments for your unique case.”

As he spoke, Dr. Malcom set aside the box to hold the contraption with both hands. He examined it from all angles, his eyes never leaving it as he addressed Luca.

“I had heard of an incarceration method where prisoners are deprived of their senses in a white room. I know that sounds inappropriate for a medical institution, but I wondered of the psychological effects as a temporary treatment. My hopes is that this method will help reset the brain and reduce mental ailments.”

Luca stared at him. “‘Reset the brain’? Do you even hear yourself, Doc?”

Dr. Malcom finally tore his eyes off of his new toy to glare daggers at his patient. “You dare question me, boy? What do you know of medical science?”

“Enough to know you shouldn’t get ideas from actual torture methods. And you all say I’m the sick one. You don’t even know if this will do anything.”

“Trial and error, Mr. Doe,” said Dr. Malcom as he lifted the device to Luca’s face. “Thank you for your involvement in the advancement of science.”

Luca instinctively stepped back and was once again trapped by the silent orderlies. They held him still as the leather straps and metal buckles inched closer.

“Don’t touch me! Get that thing away from me!”

He twisted and pulled against the straitjacket in vain. His hands itched to be free to push the offending device away from him.

“No! Stop, you bastar–”

Rubber was shoved between his teeth and over his tongue, cutting off the insult. Leather encased his face from beneath his chin to over the bridge of his nose.

The doctor breathed a sigh of bliss. “At last. I don’t have to listen to your insolence another moment.”

A strap at the base of his skull was tugged tight and buckled, followed by another above his ears at the middle of his head. The final strip of leather ran from his nose over his dark hair all the way down his cranium.

Once fastened, Luca’s teeth clenched over the bit, unable to open his mouth. Already his teeth and jaw began to ache from the strain. He inhaled sharply through his nose and smelled overpowering new leather.

Gently, Dr. Malcom took his chin in his hand again, tilting his head to admire his contraption.

“Excellent so far.”

Luca swallowed a moan of despair. If he could not speak, he would not give Dr. Malcom the satisfaction of hearing nonverbal sounds from him.

Metal flaps swung over his eyes, perfectly cupped to block out any light. He felt the doctor’s hands securing the blindfold. If he could talk, he would inform the overeager therapist that a blindfold was not necessary in a dark room.

“Perfect,” the old man breathed, sending a shiver down Luca’s spine. “I had this made with you in mind, you know.” The remark was casual as if he expected Luca to be grateful. “Used your measurements to ensure it would fit perfectly.”

He hardly had time to processes that information when his ears picked up the rustle of the doctor’s coat and his footsteps. He circled his patient, no doubt taking mental notes.

“You won’t hear me after the final step, so I’ll tell you now that this cell is to be your permanent residence since the normal rooms can’t hold you.”

Horror plummeted to his stomach. Protests lingered restlessly on his tongue, unable to be freed. Now he couldn’t resist a muffled whine, regretting it too late to take it back.

“Try to remember this experience. I’ll be interviewing you on it after I deem this first session complete.”

Hands groped the sides of his head and buttoned down leather flaps over his ears. Plugs precisely measured fitted into his ears. If the doctor was still speaking, he couldn’t hear him over the silence and the roar of his own blood pumping.

In his dark, silent world, Luca had no idea if he was alone. He stood exactly where the orderlies had placed him for what felt like hours, trembling. When his legs began to ache, he built up the courage to walk around his cell.

He only managed two steps when an unexpected pull at his waist brought him to his knees. Without sight, sound, or his hands, Luca twisted and pulled to deduce what had ensnared him. It was strong and unyielding. Possibly a rope, but more likely a chain. They chained him to the wall like some misbehaving dog. Not only must they deprive him of his senses and lock him away, they couldn’t even let him walk more than two paces in any direction.

A scream of frustration tore at his throat. In a surge of mad desperation, Luca thrashed against the excessive restraints. He flexed his muscles, pulled his arms, strained his jaw, and shook his head like the rabid dog they thought he was. For all his efforts, they many buckles and straps and links refused to budge.

At last, Luca collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. Sweat beaded his skin as the exertion made him hot in the jacket. He took as deep of breaths as he could through the muzzle.

Hopelessness took hold and all the fight drained out of him. The faces of his mother and sisters flashed in his mind; a memory to treasure rather than a reason to rebel.

So long as Dr. Malcom had control over him, Luca had no hope of seeing them again.

51 notes · View notes

lefthandedvegan · 3 months

Text

I want to keep him naked and bound in my basement as my personal fucktoy. I’d keep him blindfolded with headphones so he couldn’t rely on his senses anymore. I want to psychologically destroy him, I want him to understand that he can’t ask to cum until he’s bleeding and I won’t say yes until he’s crying so hard he can barely breathe. When I finally let him, I want it to hurt. I want him to associate pain with pleasure and make him realize there will be no more of the latter for him. I’d leave him there in a pile of his own blood, spit, and cum until the next time I decide to use him. Maybe he’ll get lucky and I’ll use the gun next time.

#i speak #ftm nsft #t4t nsft #cnc k!nk #cnc kidnapping #tw kidnapping #tw blood #gun k!nk #pain k!nk #blood k!nk #t4t free use #free use slvt #sensory deprivation

33 notes · View notes

robinrites · 9 months

Text

Villain Whumpee story part 3

last part here!

By the time Hero reaches the hideout with Villain, Villain’s whole crew has already arrived, eager to see their boss again. Thankfully, Sidekick quickly shoos them off, knowing that their boss wouldn’t want the crew to see him in this state. Hero thanks him, then carries Villain into the med room, extremely thankful Villain happened to have Medic on staff before all this happened. He lays Villain down on the table, then his head darts up as the door opens and Sidekick and Medic walk in.

“Holy shit.” Sidekick mutters, taking in all the injuries on their boss.

Hero can’t blame them either. Villain seems much worse than the last time he saw them. Hero can’t help but internally curse himself for taking so long. One of Villain’s shoulders is clearly dislocated, bruises and cuts and burns cover every visible inch of Villain’s body. Thick lines of scarring surround his wrists, throat, and ankles from where the shackles rested. Villain’s hand shows signs of being broken and healing wrong, which means they’ll need to re-break it so it can heal properly. Villain shivers, despite his forehead burning up. As Medic carefully takes Villain’s shirt off, the room falls silent. Every rib is visible, one or two even appear broken. Hero takes the scraps left of Villain’s shirt from Medic to dispose of and can’t help but notice how thin it is. He must’ve been freezing. He shakes his head to bring himself back to focus and notices that Medic has already got an IV running into Villain’s arm.

“It’s just nutrients and water for now. I’ll probably add some sedatives once we really assess the damage.” Medic chimes in, noticing Hero staring at the IV.

Sidekick places their arm on Hero’s shoulder, “It’s not your fault y’know? You had no way of knowing.”

“Maybe if I had rescued him sooner-”

“Hero, that’s not going to make it better. You did what you could.” Sidekick rubs his shoulder gently, “We have him now, let’s make sure it stays that way okay?” Hero swallows the lump in his throat and then nods.

“How can I help?”

One and a half years ago

Villain rushes down the maintenance tunnels under the prison and can barely stifle a laugh. “Oh my gods, I can’t believe my plan actually worked.” He steals a quick glance behind him, just to make sure he really isn’t being followed before continuing forward. When he finally reaches the end of the tunnel, he finds a duffle bag stuffed with civilian clothes to help him blend in, which he quickly changes into before climbing the ladder out of the tunnels.

Villain pops his head up hesitantly, and upon seeing that no one is around, he slides the street cover out of the way and quickly climbs up, making sure he slides the cover back in place before moving to a busier street to try to blend in. Six blocks to the safehouse, and then I just have to wait for nightfall to get out of the city. How hard could this be? Ten minutes pass and Villain finds himself standing in front of his safehouse, or as he likes to call it, his “totally nondescript house in the ‘burbs’”. Villain walks around the side of the house, then picks up the rock his henchmen told him the key would be in.

Villain slides the key into the lock easily and smiles, he closes his eyes as he throws open the door, saying “Honey, I’m home!” In a mock suburban tone. When he’s not greeted by a gaggle of henchman, he opens his eyes. The keys fall, and his stomach drops as he makes eye contact with none other than Superhero. “Y-you.” Villain takes a step back, panic beginning to fill his whole body. Villain’s heart sinks as the realization that there’s no winning this fight settles into his mind. Six months in prison means little to no exercise, and since he hadn’t planned on staying in the safehouse more than a couple hours, all his gadgets are at his lair outside the city.

“Me.” Superhero says with a smile, stepping closer and closer to Villain until his back is pushed up against the door he’d just come through. Superhero grabs Villain by his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. “What, you didn’t think I’d just let you go, did you?”

Villain tries to push fake confidence, “Since when do you care about low lifes like me? I’m usually Hero’s problem…So maybe you should just let him deal with me.” Villain’s heart races, he’s heard from other villains about how Superhero fights with no holds barred. He takes out all his anger on who he’s fighting, that’s part of the reason Villain is glad Hero is his archnemesis, and not Superhero. Well, that and the fact that Villain might have the tiniest crush on Hero, but that’s an issue for later.

Superhero shakes his head, “Tsk, but then you’d just escape again. Don’t you get tired of the same old cat and mouse game, Villain?” Villain yanks his chin out of Superhero’s grasp and tries to shove him away. “Don’t try to fight me on this.” Superhero shoves his forearm against Villain’s throat, pinning him to the wall. “This should make you a little bit more agreeable.” Villain barely registers the glint of a needle before he feels a sharp prick in his neck. He tries to say anything in protest, but all that comes out is jumbled, until he feels darkness take over and his body hits the floor.

Villain wakes up in a cell, and if it wasn’t for the glaring lack of dull prison decorations, he thinks he would have forgotten what had happened hours (or days, it’s hard to tell when you’re unconscious) prior. In spite of feeling groggy as hell, Villain pushes his hands underneath him to maneuver himself into a seated position. It’s only after he’s done this that he notices the shackles wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Chains connect his wrists to each other, and the same for his ankles, with one additional chain on each “pair” leading to a bolt in the center. His head darts around, checking for any hidden camera or microphone in the room.

“Alright Superhero!” Villain shouts, his voice shaky from nerves. “You’ve got me! You can take me back to prison now, I won’t escape I promise!”

A door slides open, frightening Villain who flinches back briefly. Superhero steps in, towering over Villain who is doing his best to put on a brave face.

“Ah!” Superhero smiles, “Glad to see you’ve woken up. Now, I think I heard you say you wanted me to take you back to prison, is that correct?” Villain silently nods, holding his breath. “That’s what I thought. Let’s get one thing very clear, okay?” He crouches down to eye level with Villain, grabbing his chin, just like he had earlier, to assert control. “You don’t tell me what to do. I am in control here. You are just a sad, pathetic, little Villain who needs to be taught some manners. Understood?” Villain spits in his face, or at least tries to. A lack of water results in barely a spattering of spit, which angers Superhero nonetheless. He lets go of Villain’s chin and stands up. “So this is how we’re going to play this hm?”

He turns around and exits the room briefly. Villain scoots as far back as his chains allow and releases the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Before Villain even has a second to collect his thoughts, the door opens and allows Superhero back in, who is now holding some mysterious object behind his back.

“W-What’s that?” Villain’s heart races a bit as a sly smile builds on Superhero’s face.

“I had really hoped we could do this the easy way, Villain.” Superhero shakes his head, “But, I can already tell you are going to make this anything but easy. So instead, I get to try something I’ve always wanted to try.” He reveals a black bag, “Tell me, Villain, have you ever tried sensory deprivation on any of your victims?”

“Victims? What the hell do you mean? I never hurt a soul while I’m out-” Villain’s eyes widen as Superhero begins to pull items from the bag. He watches silently as a blindfold, headphones, and a gag are laid before him.

“Pick one.”

“What the fuck do you mean by ‘pick one’?” Villain’s back presses up against the wall.

“Fine. Guess we’re doing them all.” Superhero grabs the blindfold first and quickly ties it around Villain’s hair, purposefully making sure some of his hair is tied up in the knot.

“Wait! Wait!” Villain tries to beg quickly, “Superhero please don’t-” A metal gag covers his mouth and Villain can hear a lock turning on the back, he shakes his head, tears starting to form in his eyes as he shakes his head, trying to avoid having headphones put over his ears.

“Don’t get too comfortable now.” Villain can picture Superhero smirking as he says this, making Villain’s stomach turn. “I’ll be back to take these off when I decide you’ve earned it, understand?” When Villain does nothing to acknowledge him, Superhero smacks him across the face. “I said, understand?” Villain quickly nods, then he feels big headphones slide over his ears, blocking out any other words Superhero might say to him.

In the end, Superhero leaves him like that for a week. Halfway through the week, he takes the gag off, purely so he can hear Villain beg. Sometimes Villain calls out for Hero, which always makes Superhero laugh, especially knowing that Hero is looking for Villain. Sometimes he cries for his mom, and other times he begs Superhero to listen to him. If Villain could hear, all he would hear is Superhero laughing at him, mocking him. Maybe it was for the best that way.

#villain whumpee #villain whump #hero and villain #whump #sensory deprivation #whumpblr #hero x villain #whump prompt #flashback #hurt/comfort #hurt/aftermath #torture tw

83 notes · View notes

poppetsisters · 1 year

Text

Psychonaut Badges for Real-World Psychonauts

#psychonautics #psychonaut #badges #merit badges #drug ment tw #art #cannabis #mescaline #LSD #psilocybin #DMT #dreaming #hypnosis #meditation #sensory deprivation #flow state

356 notes · View notes

whumpcereal · 2 years

Note

🗝 Jack, talk about your greatest fear, currently

It's been seventy-two hours since Ivan released Jack from his first round of sensory deprivation. Jack lies in his crate, eyes not quite focused and fingers twined in the wire. He's shaking. Joe's hoodie is crammed toward the back of the crate, tangled beneath Jack's feet.

"I--" he starts, and then clamps his lips shut again. He tries to take a deep breath; he isn't quite successful. "The dark. I can't--I don't want--please--please, I don't--he's going to--he's going to do it again. And I--I can't--I can't."

He's crying now, so hard that, for a moment, words are an impossibility.

"Joe," he says, voice so soft that it's difficult to hear. "He--he says it's--that Joe--that he--he wants me to--I--he says Joe asked for this. But--I--it doesn't--Joe loves me. Joe loves me. Doesn't he?"

His foot rubs against the hoodie, but he keeps himself from reaching for it.

"What if he doesn't?"

#jack kenyon oc #behavior modification #oc asks #tw sensory deprivation

27 notes · View notes

peaches2217 · 2 months

Text

TW: Self-harm

I don’t know what it is. I feel so completely impossibly drained and I’ve relapsed enough times in the past week to consider it an active episode. There’s six pairs of scissors in our tiny office building and none of them do what I need them to do, so whenever I haven’t been busying myself I’ve been fantasizing about getting home and prettying my arms up even more and I might just bring my scissors in to work tomorrow so I can keep myself occupied. I’m tired and I’m severely overloaded and even talking takes all of my energy anymore, not typing but like the action of speaking, and I can’t just relax or take a day to myself, because there’s some dire stuff going on right now and it’s my responsibility to be on high alert and ready to respond at all times. Life goes on no matter how much feels like too much and it’s my duty to keep up because this is nothing all things compared. And I don’t really know where I’m going with this, I’m just counting down the minutes until I get home because even if I can’t take it easy I can at least cut to my heart’s content, and that’ll keep me going until it’s time to do it all over again, and I guess that’s all I can ask for right now.

#not to worry! we’ll return to our usual content ASAP #in fact I am to have a new fic up tomorrow or Tuesday~#*aim #I wish you could edit tags on mobile…#tw self harm #I acknowledge that this likely makes little sense because I’m both sleep deprived and sensory deprived #it’s weird actually #like… I’m in a complete state of sensory overload for all of my senses except tactile senses #and those are severely UNDERstimulated #I wish banging my head against shit didn’t risk brain damage or eventual dementia because it’s cathartic 😅#delete later

18 notes · View notes

fallenwhumpee · 10 months

Text

Pawn

• Masterlist •

Warnings: Sensory overload, sleep deprivation, blindfold, interrogation, torture, broken nose, nosebleed, drugging, touch starvation, mentioned suicide bombing.

In the eerie stillness, their mind grasped for any trace of familiar sights, but all they found was an abyss. Their own breaths were the only thing they could hear, their gasps distant as if underwater.

They groaned, but the sound came out as a croak. They knew their captors were enjoying this show from somewhere, probably discussing what to do to them with sadistic smiles. As if on cue, a loud bang made them flinch, disoriented with the ringing in their ear.

They tensed as the sound grew clearer and closer. Footsteps circled around them, and they cursed the blindfold, not for the first time since they were first captured.

They cried out as their hair was yanked, their back sore from sitting in the same position without being allowed to lean on something.

"Were you alone?" the interrogator demanded.

"Yes," they answered, their voice unreadable but tired and hoarse.

"We both know you're lying. Tell me what your objective was."

"I was alone, a-and it was a suicide bombing. I was to receive the bomb f-from an abandoned warehouse. No contact, no info. I'm merely... merely a pawn," they recited from memory, trying to sound clear but failing towards the end.

"What was your target, you vermin?"

"The... presidential palace, of course," they replied, struggling to keep their thoughts together, with sleep once more trying to claim them.

"No one told you that you can't do that? We do not let people wander around the building, let alone an armed rebel."

They closed their eyes, despite knowing it wouldn't make any difference behind the blindfold. The next question was just a noise in the background, and their head fell, their senses finally giving them a moment to rest. Their hair was pulled harder, a cry escaping from their mouth as a punch met their face. Their eyes watered, pain jolting them awake. A warm liquid slid down over their mouth, the smell of iron stinging.

"How many times have I said that you're not allowed to sleep until I'm satisfied with your answers?"

"Or you s-satisfied your thirst... for violence," they shot back, but regretted it instantly. They tensed and shrunk as much as they could, their 'not caring about their life' persona cracking with this mistake. They really should've kept their mouth closed, but they didn't know how long they could comply enough not to anger the interrogator while withholding information about the rebel group. Maybe it was due to exhaustion or hunger or thirst or pain or the ringing in their ears or uncertainty...

"Mhmm, scared now? Maybe you'll chant 'glory to the government' if I work on you a bit."

Their stomach dropped with the thought, a shiver shaking them as a hand gripped their shoulder, heavy and authoritative.

"Since you began to understand the situation, tell me, do you know who this rebel leader is?"

They bit their lip, tasting blood. Of course, they knew them. They were the leader. But they didn't talk, and it was an answer good enough to let their hair go.

"You do. Good. What's your connection to them?"

"I told you. J-just a pawn ready to die for t-the greater cause."

"Such claims are not tolerated here. You have ten seconds to fix your mistake."

"The government, along with all its officers like you, can go—"

-•-

For a long time, there was only darkness. Slowly, the ringing in their ear made itself known, their whole body aching. Breathing was too hard, and they were unsure if it was from the broken nose or possibly broken ribs. They groaned, unable to make any other noise. They heard a shuffle from the back, but maybe they were imagining things. They couldn't trust themselves at this point.

They groaned once again, trying to determine their position on the ground as it seemed to shift beneath them. They were better than this—better than tossing around like an animal, better than getting caught, better than giving an opening. They were leading a rebellion with little to no support against a government with endless resources. They weren't supposed to be helpless, weak, and a burden on their limited resources.

Tears welled up as they suppressed the sobs racking their body, absorbed by the blindfold as they streamed down their cheeks. Instead of crying, they laughed. Their pathetic state in enemy territory felt like nothing but a cruel joke after too many years of being a ghost for both the rebellion and the government.

With a hitching breath, they forced themselves to sit up quickly, their body protesting and the ground tilting left and right beneath them. They swallowed the dizziness, leaning on their arms to steady themselves. They didn't feel any better than the last time; restlessness still clouded their thoughts.

The sound of a door jolted them, but they couldn't tell which direction it came from. They opened their mouth to call out, but a hand covered their lips, silencing them. Half of their face was covered harshly, and they winced as a sharp pain radiated from their nose, feeling the blood flow once more. They were pulled back by their hair again, struggles becoming futile as their strength left them.

They were roughly thrown onto a cold metal floor, their weakened body protesting against the harsh treatment. They tried to distract themselves from the gnawing emptiness by focusing on their surroundings. The sound of the engine drowned out their thoughts, and the rhythmic vibrations seemed to mock their weakened state.

In the cramped darkness of the truck, or at least that's what they guessed based on the size, Leader's hunger grew unbearable. They couldn't remember the last time they had eaten a proper meal. Days? Weeks? Time blurred together in the abyss of their captivity. They might have passed out at some point, waking up to find themselves seated. The lights were too bright this time, and the walls were painted in a claustrophobic shade of grey.

"So, we've got ourselves another rebel, huh?" a gruff voice sneered.

Leader straightened, their body aching.

"I've seen people like you," another voice chimed in, dripping with disdain. "You think you're making a difference, don't you? Sacrificed as pawns left and right, following orders from your high and mighty perch."

They clenched their fists, their knuckles turning white. The words struck a nerve, stirring up the guilt that had already weighed heavily on their shoulders. They knew that every decision they made as a leader came with consequences, but the thought of those sacrifices being in vain was something they always feared deep in their soul. They knew it wasn't the case. They had made a difference in countless small towns, becoming a threat to the corrupt order, but they would always feel guilty for the lives lost.

A sharp sting at their neck sent a sudden freezing void through their body.

"You rebels are all the same," the gruff voice continued, mocking. It was right behind their ear, but the bright lights were hurting their eyes. "Thinking you can change the world with your little acts of defiance. But let me tell you, we always win in the end. We break you down, reshape you, and all your lofty ideals crumble into dust."

Their vision blurred with pain as they were struck on the temples, plunging them into the familiar black void as the blindfold was pulled over their face. They flinched at the sound of a door, still able to hear everything more than they should. The coldness seeped deep into their bones, intensifying their weakness and making every movement an agonizing effort. They longed for warmth, for a comforting touch to alleviate the shivering. Time became a distant reminder, and soon, endless screams from the battlefield echoed with their commands, while unconsciousness offered the only escape.

-•-

Right Hand, leading the raid on the facility, surveyed the area with a sharp and calculating gaze. They had received information about the location of the rebels being held captive and had meticulously planned their operation to free as many as possible. As they approached the centre of the place, their makeshift army moved with the seriousness that training had instilled in them. The weight of their responsibility felt heavy, but they knew they had to push forward. Leader would be proud.

Their radio crackled, the names of the rescued rebels being counted. As the transmission ended, an unfamiliar voice came through the static.

"Uhm, there's someone... they're barely awake, but they don't look like anyone on the missing list. They just have the rebellion tattoo on their left wrist—although it's pretty ruined. Does anyone know them?"

Right Hand's heart raced, a mix of relief and concern washing over them. They quickly recognized Leader's weakened form, hidden in plain sight. It was a dangerous situation, their leader's identity at risk of exposure. They scanned the surroundings, ensuring no one else was nearby before motioning for the rebel to follow.

"Good job. Now leave them to me," Right Hand said, their voice barely a whisper. "I believe you can go help with the transfer."

The rebel nodded and hurried off to assist the others. Meanwhile, Right Hand rushed to Leader's side, their heart aching at the sight of their battered and weakened leader. It was a stark reminder of the sacrifices made for the rebellion's cause.

Leader's eyes flickered with a glimmer of recognition, their voice barely audible. "Right Hand..."

Right Hand's grip tightened gently around Leader's arm, their emotions overwhelming yet suppressed. They wanted to reassure their leader, to convey the unwavering support and determination that fueled their own actions. But they had to remain cautious, protecting Leader's identity above all else.

"I'm here, Leader," Right Hand whispered. "You're safe now. We've come to bring you back."

Leader mumbled weakly, their words a jumble of fragmented thoughts. Right Hand leaned in closer, their ear attuned to catch the faintest whisper.

"It's cold," Leader murmured again, their voice trembling.

Right Hand wrapped their arms around Leader, mindful of their injuries, and drew them close, feeling the chill emanating from their frail body. They wished they could shield Leader from the harsh realities they had endured.

"It's okay," Right Hand whispered, their voice soothing. "I'll keep you warm. We'll get you out of here. Just lean on me."

Right Hand carefully wrapped their arms around Leader's shoulders, cradling the limp body with utmost care. It was a testament to the bond they shared, the unspoken trust that connected them.

As they made their way towards the waiting transport, Right Hand spoke in a hushed yet comforting tone. They carefully carried Leader towards the waiting transport, their steps steady and determined. They spoke softly, their voice a constant presence in Leader's ear.

"You're doing great, Leader. We're almost there. Just a little bit longer."

Leader's eyelids grew heavy, exhaustion taking its toll. They mumbled weakly, their voice strained. "Tired... so tired..."

Right Hand tightened their hold, offering reassurance. "I know you're exhausted, but you're safe now. You can rest soon."

As they reached the waiting transport, Right Hand gently settled Leader into the vehicle, ensuring their comfort. They climbed in beside them, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle began its journey to safety.

Time refused to pass, and Leader's breathing became shallow and erratic. Right Hand leaned closer. "We're almost there."

Leader's fingers weakly grasped Right Hand's, and they gave a faint squeeze.

As the vehicle sped away, the rhythmic hum of the engine lulling them into a void of stillness, Leader's eyelids grew heavier. Their grip on Right Hand's hand loosened, their body finally surrendering to exhaustion.

Right Hand watched over Leader, gently brushing a hand over Leader's forehead, smoothing away the lines of worry.

"Rest now, Leader," Right Hand whispered softly. "We're nearly home."

#whump #whump writing #leader whumpee #leader whump #sleep deprivation #sensory overload #blindfold #tw torture #tw drugging #touch starved #mentioned suicide bombing #broken bones #tw nosebleed

38 notes · View notes