Whumpay - Day 2
Whumpay - Day 2
Main Challenge - Mad Science - Paralytic Drug Mini Challenge 2 - Torture - Whipping Original Work - Doorway in the Sky
“It’s going to hurt.”
“Can’t be that bad, right?”
Ash frowned at Mel and sighed loudly out of his nose. “You ready then?”
Mel nodded.
Ash jumped, slammed his hands down on the table, and swept their food trays off. The hard plastic clattered loudly on the tile and the food painted the jumpsuits of the nearby people.
Mel’s wide eyes goaded Ash on.
“The fuck did you say?” Ash shouted.
Then he threw himself across the table and tackled Mel to the ground. One punch to the nose got Mel’s blood flowing. Several guards jogged over and tried to pull him off her. Soon enough, Ash felt a prick on the back of his neck, and then nothing.
He stopped wrestling Mel and reached back. There was a dart sticking out of his neck. He yanked it out and saw the yellow band about the metal casing. His lips went numb. His fingers tingled. His hands fell to his sides.
And Ash slumped to the tile floor, hitting it cheek first. It hurt like a bitch.
Mel lay beside him and met his eyes. She grinned through blood-stained teeth.
Ash would have smiled if he could. But he could not. He had been hit with the yellow banded dart. The paralytic. Oh good.
Ash’s eyes slipped mostly closed as he was hauled from the floor. He could still hear and feel everything. Plastic restraints were tightened around his wrists and ankles. Which didn’t make much sense since he was paralyzed.
Ash watched the floor flash by beneath him. His head, hanging limp, bobbed with every step the two orderlies holding him up took. Their grip on his arms hurt. But there was nothing he could do.
They were buzzed through several doors. The hallways became quieter. The floors became cleaner. Whispers all around him.
Finally, Ash was brought into an office and propped up in a soft chair. With his chin resting on his chest, all Ash could see was the plush, patterned carpet and a pair of shiny, black shoes.
Drool dripped from the side of his mouth.
“Lift her head.”
A pair of sweaty hands clamped onto Ash’s cheeks and propped his head against the back of the chair. When the orderly stepped away, Ash was looking up into the face of Dr. Palmer.
Dr. Palmer gave Ash a small smile then held up his penlight. “You know what to do, look into the light.”
He shone the light into Ash’s eyes and leaned in close.
Ash could smell coffee and disinfectant on him.
“Mmhmm, pupillary response is good.” Dr. Palmer leaned back. “Good, good. Now I’m going to ask you some yes or no questions, would you please blink once for ‘Yes’ and twice for ‘No’? Demonstrate by blinking once for ‘Yes, I understand the instructions.’”
Ash rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.
“This will go much quicker and easier if you cooperate.”
Ash blinked once.
“Thank you.” Dr. Palmer made a note on his clipboard. “Now, is your name Ashley Durham?”
Ash blinked once.
“Is your birthday the twenty-second of June?”
Ash blinked once.
“Do you know why you’ve been brought to my office today?”
Ash blinked twice.
Dr. Palmer chuckled and set down his clipboard, taking off his glasses to polish them a little with a handkerchief. “Ms. Durham, Ashley, I think you know why you’ve been brought to my office today. You were fighting. Again.”
Ash looked around the office as Dr. Palmer talked. He spotted the curtains on one wall almost immediately.
Dr. Palmer’s eyes flicked up and focused on something behind Ash’s left shoulder. He nodded. The pair of orderlies picked up Ash by the shoulders again, holding him upright in a standing position. Ash’s head fell back and he was able to see Dr. Palmer’s faint smile.
Dr. Palmer turned around, walked away, and took a cane from a stand across the room.
“Ashley, why would you want to hurt your best friend?”
Ash would have shrugged if he could. He just couldn’t move any part of his body right now, other than his eyes. And he could not help but look at the curtains again.
Dr. Palmer returned to Ash and the orderlies, brushing against the curtains as he went.
There was a flash of sunlight as the curtains rippled.
Ash drew in a quick breath and felt tears form in his eyes.
“Seeing you hurt your friend has hurt me.” Dr. Palmer stopped in front of Ash, blocking his view of the curtains.
This was Ash’s first glimpse of sunlight in months.
Months that had stretched on and on, feeling like decades. Or centuries. It has been so long since Ash had felt the warmth of sun on his skin. So long without daylight.
Dr. Palmer had a window. The only window Ash had seen in the Institute.
Ash hungered for sunlight. He felt something feral and innate rise within his belly and chest.
Dr. Palmer was still speaking.
Ash ignored him until Dr. Palmer took Ash’s chin in his hand. Warm, soft fingers stroked Ash’s cheek.
“Ashley, would you please listen to me? I want to help you.”
Dr. Palmer angled Ash’s face away from the window and towards him.
“Blink once for yes, twice for no.” Dr. Palmer’s voice dropped down to a murmur.
Ash could feel his breath on his cheek.
“Are you listening to me, Ashley?”
Ashley blinked twice.
Dr. Palmer sighed and removed his hand from Ash’s chin and wiped the drool off his fingers on the front of Ash’s jumpsuit.
“You’ve let me down. And what’s worse is that you’ve let yourself down.” Dr. Palmer stepped back and nodded at the two orderlies holding Ash.
Their grips tightened.
Dr. Palmer disappeared. Then his voice came from behind.
“This hurts me more than it hurts you.”
Ash focused on the curtain. The tiniest sliver of sunlight was poking, needle-like, through a gap.
The blow came down upon Ash’s shoulders. He heard it before he felt it.
Ash gasped and choked on the drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
The cane landed again on his back, a swift stinging blow. Loud as a gunshot in Ash’s ears. Bruising. The cane felt as though it were made of fire.
Another blow.
Ash heard himself groan, low and guttural.
Another blow.
Ash panted. Felt tears rolling down his cheeks.
That little finger of sunlight. Through a window. From the outside.
The last blow.
Dr. Palmer reappeared. He was saying something again to Ash but Ash had long ago tuned him out. Ash was dragged out of the office, back down the clean hallways, out of the quiet, and back into madness.
Hours later, Mel returned to their cell. The door buzzed shut and the lights out warning was given.
“Ash.” Mel whispered close to his ear.
Ash, laying belly-down on his cot, turned his head.
In the harsh fluorescent lights from above, Mel’s nose was purple and gray with bruising. One eye was blackened and swollen.
“Tell me.” Mel murmured.
Ash looked into her eyes. “I saw sunlight.”
Mel’s face crumpled into a watery smile and she kissed Ash’s forehead. “Thank you.”
“When we go,” Ash spoke so quietly he could barely hear himself.
“We go through there.”
“I’ll go with you anywhere.”
Ash turned his head away and faced the wall again. He stared at the hundreds of tally marks he had made. One for every day he had been in the Institute. “One more thing.” He whispered.
Mel’s fingers brushed gently through his hair. “What?”
The lights went out.
“Before we go, I’m killing him.”
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Merry Whump of May - Day 1
(The Man From U.N.C.L.E. 2015)
@themerrywhumpofmay
“You should not be here.”
This was the first thing that Solo said to Illya in two weeks.
“Too bad.” Illya whispered and finished uncuffing Solo from the metal chair. The dim bulb above made it hard to parse Solo’s expression, as did the bruises.
“You should have left.” Solo stood slowly, arm wrapped around his chest. He leaned over and spat dark blood on the floor before speaking again. “Why didn’t they bring you in?”
Illya jerked his head towards the door, holding out a pistol.
Solo took it.
Illya took the lead and left the room. “They tried.”
He heard Solo wheeze out a laugh softly behind him.
They finally got outside and Illya led the way to the first car he spotted, halfway down the street from the warehouse. It was unlocked. But no keys.
While Illya hotwired the vehicle, Solo eased himself into the passenger seat, groaning in pain.
The engine rumbled into life.
Illya slammed the door closed and caught sight of Solo’s face. His head was back against the headrest and his brows were furrowed. The harsh light of day brought the bruises into sharp relief. Yellowing greenish contusions that were healing. And darker, reddish purple for newer ones.
Illya gripped the steering wheel hard and set his foot against the gas. “Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
They sped off into the sunset.
An hour later, sun down and surrounded by dark trees, Illya pulled the car to the side of the road.
“We have arrived at milepost-” Illya turned and noticed his companion was asleep. “Solo.”
No answer.
Illya reached out and just barely touched his shoulder when Solo gasped awake. He pressed as far away from Illya as the car door would allow.
“Solo.” Illya retracted his hand and filed that reaction away for later.
“Y-yes.” Solo relaxed a little. “What?”
“We have arrived at milepost 8. This is where we start walking.”
Solo sighed. “That sounds like the last thing I want to do.” His voice was hoarse.
Illya left the car and circled around to Solo’s door and opened it. “Too bad.”
Solo unfolded himself gingerly from the car. “Where-” He stopped to breathe. “Are we going?”
“Remote cabin.” Illya retrieved two bags from the side of the road from underneath some bushes, damp with dusk dew.
Solo limped over and took the map, compass, and bag Illya held out to him. “How remote?”
“We will arrive by dawn if we make good time.”
Solo swore, coughed, and swore again as he slung the bag over his shoulders.
Illya paused for a moment and looked his partner up and down.
“What?” Solo asked. Hunched over. Already panting.
“Can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Make good time?”
Solo straightened up immediately. Even in the darkness of night, Illya could see his jaw was set. Eyes gleaming.
“No pain, no gain.” Solo grated out.
“That does not make any sense. Follow me.” Illya led the way into the dark trees.
A few hours later, Illya stopped and waited for Solo to catch up. “Water.”
Panting, Solo nodded.
They both drank from the canteens in the bags and caught their breath. The forest was thick with trees and brush and the hillsides were steep with slippery pine needles and rocks. It was slow going. Slower than Illya had hoped. But it could not be helped.
He watched his partner take out the map and compass.
“Flashlight?” Solo wheezed.
Illya stepped over and flicked on his flashlight.
Solo took a small step back, map shaking in his hands.
“Th-this is the location?” He pointed at a small pen mark in the middle of the map.
Illya stopped where he was. “Yes.”
“Right.” Solo sighed, held the compass into the flashlight’s beam, turned a pace or two to the right. “We need to be going this way.”
“We should take a break.” Illya did not want to push Solo too hard. The way he was favoring his chest suggested a broken rib. Or more. And that could not be all. The point of rescuing Solo was not to kill him in the process.
“Sit down.” Illya urged his partner.
“No.” Solo pocketed the compass and map again. “Sorry, but if I do that, I won’t get up again. We keep moving. Unless, you need a break?”
It was dark but Illya could hear a little smile in Solo’s last words. At least he felt well enough to needle Illya.
“We keep moving.” Illya agreed.
The first tatters of dawn were showing when they reached the cabin. They were cold and damp from a mist that had settled into hills. Feet wet from fording a few streams. They trudged inside. It was bare bones. Cool and musty. A fireplace. A table. Kitchen sink. Bed in the corner.
“This is honestly worse than the warehouse.” Solo drawled, panting. He dropped his bag to the creaking wooden floor planks.
“Be grateful.” Illya sniffed and set down his pack on the rough table. “You are safe here.”
“Yes, safe from a hot bath.”
“There is a gas generator and well-water. This is better than most hotels.” Illya dryly said.
Solo edged closer to the kitchen windows and stripped off his jacket and damp shirt slowly and painfully.
Illya stayed across the cabin, despite how much he wanted to help.
Finally free of the shirt, Solo let it drop to the floor and looked down at his torso. In the dim dawn light from the grimy windows, Illya could see a mess of mottled bruises, the worst of it dark like thunderclouds over Solo’s ribs.
Illya realized Solo was falling before Solo did.
A brief moment. A sway. Eyes glazed. Eyelids fluttering.
Illya strode across the cabin and caught Solo as he went down, head hanging limply. The heat coming off Solo’s body was concerning. And he was slick with sweat.
Solo’s faint only lasted a moment.
He began to thrash in Illya’s arms, pushing away. Frantic. A rough sob tore from his throat.
“Stop.” Solo’s voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t.”
Illya did not drop Solo to the floor but lowered him as carefully as he could as Solo struggled. And then he backed away.
“Sorry.” He muttered.
Solo propped himself against the kitchen cabinets, panting, eyes wide and wet. Tears threatened to fall.
“Sorry.” Solo coughed. “I don’t-”
“It is fine.” Illya cut him off. “They beat you. I know. I am sorry.”
Solo just breathed and shook then closed his eyes. “Yes.”
“You are safe now.” Illya knew there wasn’t anything he could say that would fix this. But he tried. “You rest. I keep watch. I will keep you safe.”
A few tears hit the wood floor, soft sounds, the only sound.
“Thanks, Peril.”
Whumpril 2023 Day 18: “Take me instead.”
L.A. Confidential (1997)
Toshiro Mifune as Detective Murakami in Stray Dog (1949) dir. Akira Kurosawa
Whumpay - Day 4
Main Challenge - Mad Science - Vivisection Mini Challenge 4 - Torture - Begging To Be Killed Original Work - The Sleeping Stones
(content warning - graphic violence)
The silvery light of the glowing noose illuminated the tears running down Ylen’s cheeks from below. He rushed to grab hold of the rope of light, and reeled back with burned hands.
“Alixor.” Ylen gasped. “Alix, what are you doing?”
“You did this.” Alixor sat down heavily in the dewy grass, panting and sweating as though he had just run miles. The spell had taken almost all of his energy. “You did this.” He gasped. “When you refused to help me.”
“What?”
Ylen fell to his hands and knees. His eyes were wide and stared into Alix’s face.
Alixor looked down to the ground, averting his eyes from Ylen’s stricken look.
“You refused to help me.” He said again, much quieter than before.
“Alix, I-”
Alixor pounded his fist into the wet grass. “You won’t help me!” He screamed. Alixor looked to Ylen again. Braved the terrified eyes. “You won’t help my people!”
A beat.
Ylen’s face softens.
But instead of looking scared, Ylen just looks sad.
“I will not kill for you. That is what you mean.”
Alixor shook his head. No, Ylen can not change this. Ylen is wrong.
Ylen continued, voice becoming stronger, the furrows of rage in his face becoming deep in the silver light shed by the noose around his neck.
“I will not use my power to kill.” Ylen said.
Alixor shook his head again, feeling tears pouring from his eyes. “You won’t help me.” He sobbed. “I need help.”
“I am not your weapon. I am your friend.”
“We are not friends. Not anymore.”
Ylen fell silent at this. With shaking hands, Alixor pulled out the rest of his supplies from his bag. When he set the ornate knife on the rock, it rang out softly against the stone. Ylen started and stared at the weapon. But he asked no more questions.
Ylen remained quiet as Alixor finished the spell and bound his hands and feet to the ground, spread-eagle.
Ylen said not a word when Alixor picked up the knife and crouched over Ylen’s body.
He only looked at Alixor. Studying him. Eyes shimmering with the light from the luminous ropes.
“I’m sorry.” Alixor sobbed.
“No.” Ylen smiled. “You are not.”
Alixor plunged the knife into Ylen’s belly and began to carve. Ylen screamed and struggled, but the shining ropes held him fast to the ground. Alixor’s vision was blurred by tears. He continued to cut and cut, laying Ylen’s body open to the air. Exposing every facet of the god’s existence. When Alixor finally found Ylen’s heart, the ground was soggy with blood.
The crimson organ beat wildly in the god’s chest, cradled in a nest of blood and bone and sinew. It was hot. Burning. It almost smoldered.
“Please.” Ylen wheezed.
Ylen had watched Alixor’s every move. Almost like he was committing this atrocity to a memory that would soon be gone.
Alixor wished Ylen would screw up his eyes and just scream. Rather than this. Rather than pleading with him. Anything but this.
“Please.” Ylen repeated. “Please kill me.”
Alixor set down his knife, now slippery with viscera.
“Please don’t use my power for this.”
Alixor had long ago run out of tears. He was feverish and thirsty at this point. Dizzy with the heat of Ylen’s burning body. Who would have thought a god of wildfire would boil on the inside? Alixor braced himself and reached for Ylen’s heart with his bare hand. He wasn’t thinking. He wasn’t lucid. The cold night spun about him and he gasped for breath.
The heart seared his flesh. Alixor cried out but did not let go. He pulled and tore and wrenched and ripped and twisted. The heart came free. Alixor slumped down on the ground, clutching at his scorched hand. The heart flopped onto the grass and continued to beat.
“Please.” Ylen continued to whisper.
Alixor sobbed, great heaving sobs that nearly choked him. He vomited bile. Then lay there for a long time trying to catch his breath.
“Please don’t use me to kill.”
Alixor, laying on his side, watched the heart continue to beat. It steamed in the cold night air. His hand throbbed. He had to do this. This was the only way. He had to save his people. This would give him the power to save everyone. Alixor reached for the heart again with his blistered hand.
“Please.”
Alixor’s mouth was scalded when he took the first bite of flesh. It hurt even more when he swallowed down the second. Agony bloomed in his stomach. He was on fire, from the inside out. Still, he ate.
Ylen watched him. “Please.”
Alixor kept eating.
Major Sharpe has a slash to the left shoulder that's gone to the bone, but what's gonna kill him is the bullet in his belly. If he were a dog I'd shoot him.
Sharpe's Sword (1995)
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