Wash

warnings: nooses (not in a suicidal manner), captivity, morally grey whumper, descriptions of hanging / loose / broken skin, nudity (non sexual and not described), implied pet /  institutionalized whump   <3 i’m not so active on tumblr anymore but i’ve been thinking about these boys a lot!  Jak huffs to himself, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. Stupid, stupid captain and stupid elf and stupid everything. The last thing he wanted was to look after the thing, yet here he is.

"Jak, you seem rather interested in our captive. Or so I'm told. Why don't you keep an eye on it today? The others tell me they're tired of seeing it everyday. Keep it out of our way."

Yeah, whatever. At least it's a day off from training. The spot he'd chosen off of camp wasn't so bad either. A quiet area, in front of the river and surrounded by woods. He sits on a stump, the elf kneeling next to him in the grass. A rope wraps around its neck, loose for now, but the threat of Jak yanking it tight persists. He wishes he didn't have to hold it.

"Nice day, huh?" Jak says, looking over to the elf. It doesn't respond, eyes closed and head tilted toward the sunlight. He supposes it might've missed it after being tied up under an outdoor tent for days. It's fists are curled in the grass, like its afraid it'll float away if it lets go. "You awake over there?"

The elf moves at that. Its eyes - lacking pupils, ugh - open, head turning to face the human. Jak cringes. Maybe he should've let it stay like that. He hadn't really gotten a good look at it before.

Its ears are more mangled than he thought. Drooped down, tattered at the tips and crusted over with blood at the earlobes. As far as Jak knows, elf ears are supposed to stand tall. These look wrung and ripped to shreds.

It's skin, too, smooth yet dirtied with blood and grime. It's nose is slightly lopsided, neck littered with fingerprint bruises. Malnourished, too. It stares at Jak, blinking slowly, lips slightly parted.

"Do you talk?" Elves talk. Don't they? Jak is sure he's heard them speak before. In their own language, yeah, but he's heard English too. Maybe this one doesn't speak. It doesn't look like any elf he's ever seen, anyway.

"Yes, sir." Its voice is clunky, like it's trying to talk around its tongue. Maybe it isn't used to talking. "I can read, too. And count. I was known in my home as a scholar. I know how to do many things," It says, carefully, like it's testing the waters for Jak's reaction. "And I will leave that at that, sir. Do with it what you will." It dips its head again, seeming quite proud of itself. “..Alright, then.” He glances out toward the river, if only to rid his eyes of the other. He doesn’t like looking at it for too long. It’s blank stare is bad enough, not counting the infected wounds and scars littered across its body. It doesn’t look in pain, though. Maybe it’s gotten used to it? Or it doesn’t feel it? He doesn’t know how elves work, maybe it can heal itself and that’s why no one’s been tending to it. “Do you want to work?” Jak keeps his eyes on the water, but he feels the elf’s eyes turn to him again. It hesitates. “I.. want to prove myself, sir,” It decides. “I can be helpful. I can do whatever you need.” It looks down at the grass. “I know you’re taking me back to the jail, though. That’s okay. It’s your job. You seem like you are very good at your job. That’s a good thing to be. Back at home, I was-” “Stop.” Jak exhales, exasperated. “I don’t care what you were like back at home. You clearly don’t, either, we didn’t find you at home. We found you running away.” The elf makes a strange, sort of huffing-humming noise, fisting its hands in the grass once again. “Yes, I know.” It says curtly, dipping its head and closing its eyes again. It doesn’t speak, and Jak assumes the conversation is over. At last.  - How do other elves do it? Aymer digs his nails into his palms, screwing his eyes shut. He wants to be useful, so, so bad, but whenever he tries he babbles on and on and no one wants an elf who talks. He’s surprised the human hadn’t beaten him black and blue for uttering a word, much less a conversation. Maybe it was a test? If it was, he definitely failed it.  No one wants an elf who’s been to jail, either. It’s just his impulses. He runs away, gets thrown into whatever jail finds him first, and thrown into a shelter the next day.  He supposes he’s lucky humans still think elves are useful enough to keep around. He knows many would rather they get killed off. Hunters, especially. The only thing that stops them from killing the elves they catch is the bounty. Aymer’s sure his luck will run out one day, though. Maybe it’s now. Maybe the human took him out here to kill him and dispose of him quickly. He glances up, seeing the human’s eyes dart around the woods. Maybe he’s looking for a place to do it easily. The knot in Aymer’s chest twists painfully.  “Look,” The human starts, and Aymer’s ears twitch in response. “We’re packing up to leave tomorrow morning. You’re going to have to walk all day, and you’re already dirty enough as is.” He stands up, exerting lightest pressure on the rope around Aymer’s neck. The elf stands quickly, legs wobbling. “You can wash off in the river. It’s still and calm here. Just get the dirt off.” He glances in the direction of the camp. “And don’t take too long.”  “I, I won’t, sir,” Aymer hears himself say, stumbling over his words. The human leads him downhill, stopping at the riverbank. He stands there for a moment, as if thinking, then loops the rope around Aymer’s neck on a thin tree hanging over the river. “Just the dirt, like I said. Don’t dawdle.” The human gives Aymer a look, then turns around. To give him privacy, he assumes. “I won’t.” Aymer replies, far too late, stripping and stepping into the water. It’s cold, but not unbearably so, and sways around his legs nicely. He can feel excess dirt caked on his skin already coming loose. He steals a quick glance at the sun, then starts to quietly clean himself. He wonders - no, no, they’re still going to kill him. He knows it. Maybe they just.. want to wear his senses down. Or it’s going to be.. formal? So he should look clean? None of this makes sense to him right now. But he will admit: it feels awfully nice to scrub dirt off his skin after so long.

zeke and tobias, part 5

finally !  warnings: captivity, human weapons, implications of torture tagging: @livingforthewhump @firewheeesky “Alright, soldier.” Tobias clears his throat, tapping his papers on the table to straighten them and sitting up ridiculously straight. He looks over to Zeke, grinning.  Zeke stares back, one hand wrapped loosely around their bandaged waist. They look unimpressed, slumped in the chair across Villain. “Alright, alright. Maybe loosen up a bit, though.” Tobias leafs through his folder, humming softly. Zeke recognizes the tune, but they keep it to themselves. “Pretend we’re on a gameshow. You ever seen one of those? Trashy, but man, they’re entertaining.” Another glance at Zeke. Another bored expression back. “Question 1: You know where Hero is?”  They blink, giving Villain a blank stare. Zeke hadn’t expected him to start with that right off the bat. “No,” They answer anyway, shifting their position a bit. Their back is still sore from that guard. “If I did, I would have escaped already.” Ares would’ve been so proud of them if they did that. He’d never think about replacing them again.  Villain laughs. Zeke decides they don’t like his laugh. “Good point. I’ll take it. Question 2: Do you know where Hero wants to be?” “The fucking Bahamas, I don’t know.” They’re surprised at their tone. They never cuss. Not in front of Ares, at least. And they always, always give straight answers. True answers. They’re supposed to.   Villain laughs again. “Funny. You’re funny. I can see why Hero keeps you around.” Why does that make Zeke’s stomach flip? “Question 3: You plan on answering these anytime soon?”  “No.” There’s a straight answer. True, too. Villain gives them a weird sort of half-shrug half-nod, which irritates Zeke greatly. They don’t know why. Everything Villain does irritates them.  They look down at their palms, exhaling slowly. Warm. Almost, almost glowing that soft light that made Ares curious about Zeke in the first place. Just a few more days and they can do what they’re meant to do. No guards to bother them - Villain had kept that promise, surprisingly - and Villain doesn’t look very keen on fighting, either. Zeke can’t lose.  “You done with that inner-monologue?” Villain’s annoying voice interrupts their thoughts. They looks up, dull eyes boring into Villain’s friendly ones. Stupid.  “Great. Listen, you don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to. Just look over them, okay?” Villain unclips one of his papers from his folder, pushing it towards Zeke.  A long list of questions. Zeke picks it up, crumples it in their fist, and tosses it toward their cot.  “...Or, that, too.” Villain stands up, tucking their folder under their arm. “It’s almost suppertime. I’ll bring your food over as soon as I can.”  “Bring more this time. I’m hungry.” They know Villain will. He’s far too concerned over them for a villain, Zeke thinks. But they’ll take advantage of it if they can.

The elf had been there for two days, sixteen hours, and thirty-seven minutes. Jak had counted. He counted because the elf had not moved in two days, sixteen hours, and thirty-seven minutes.

Well, he had moved. He had cried, and squirmed, and bled, but he did not stand up or make any effort at all to run away. Part of this was because of the thick ropes bounding him down, Jak assumed, but surely any reasonable person would've attempted to escape. Or, at the very least, tried to fight back.

But the elf wasn't a person, was he? He wasn't human.

This, of course, is how the elf ended up here in the first place. Here being their camp. Jak's camp, with his wonderful friends that he's starting to wonder if they are any kind of wonderful at all. Would wonderful people spit on someone's face, jeering and laughing and digging their fingers into their wounds? Would wonderful people starve another? Would wonderful people help tie down another, then sit and count the minutes go by?

Though, perhaps it doesn't apply. The elf isn't a 'someone', anyway. He's an elf. It's different.

And elves are who Jak is supposed to hunt. For good reason, of course. Elves are manipulative, lying creatures, one that ensnare you in charms and take you of everything you own. It's only right they stay chained up in jail.

"Can you believe we found this one so easily?" Jak hears the sound of clashing weapons as one of his friends sits next to him. Her armor shifts as she sits. It looks heavy. Jak wonders why she bothers wearing it when they aren't hunting. "I mean, we didn't even have to attack. He was just sitting there, shaking like a leaf." She looks over to the elf, slumped and asleep. "A bit pitiful, don't you think?"

"I suppose." Jak rubs his hands on his thighs. "I don't know. I'm worried he was faking it. What if it's all a big trick, and we'll wake up one morning with him as the upperhand?"

She laughs. "You imagine things too much. Even if that was the case, he's too weak to do anything now. Don't fret so much. We'll take him to the jail in the town over, drop him off, pick up our due. Just like always."

"I guess so." He looks over to her, then back to the elf. "Hopefully he doesn't slump over and die before then."

-

Aymer quivers, his chains shaking as he does so. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, willing himself to fall asleep. If he does, they'll leave him alone. If he does, it won't hurt so bad.

He shouldn't have been out alone. He knows that now. He shouldn't have run away, run away from the people that were helping him even though he couldn't get it through his thick elf brain that the humans were the good ones. They put up with him for so long, and yet he ran. Just like he always does. Except now, he can't run. He won't.

It's scary, being alone. Surrounded by people who hate you, people who want to see you suffer. Only one of them has yet to work him over with their fists, and he dreads the day that time comes.

How many are there? A dozen? It feels like more. It feels like everyday he wakes up to new pain and a new cruel smile. But there can't be that many of him. The camp is small.

In the back of his mind, he wonders what crime he committed, and he nearly laughs out loud. Stupid, stupid elf, He thinks. You're a slap away from tearing your ears off and begging, begging to be human. You know it's not good to be an elf. That's your crime. You couldn't even be useful. No magic, you're too clumsy for chores, too ugly to sit and look pretty and too human-looking to be put on display. What's wrong with you?

Aymer breaths in heavily, tilting his head up to the sky. He flexes his hands and feet in their cuffs; they're still working. Maybe he could do some sort of labor. He isn't very strong, though.

As he breaths in the dusty camp air, his eyes staring at the sun, he feels a shadow cast across his legs. Someone's in front of him. Waiting. Waiting for him to look, so they can shout, Did I ask you to look me in the eye?! You think you're important enough for eye contact?!, and start pummeling him until he's shaking and crying just like how they found him. Always leave things better than how you found them. Better, in this case, is more beaten.

"Put these on." A sharp voice says instead. Old boots, nearly missing their soles, drop at Aymer's feet. "You're going to do a hell of a lot of walking tomorrow. Best get prepared."

Aymer can't help the frightened tears that fill his eyes.

zeke and tobias, part 3

(part 2 here) i need a name for this :sob: idk what to call it. Me and my demons warnings; forcefeeding (implied), general whump elements ? lmk if i need to add more Zeke had gotten a cot, eventually. That Villain had apologized profusely about the wait. It did nothing more than to annoy Zeke. They'd passed the nights by worrying about Ares.

The blanket is nice. It's one of those big, puffy ones, those ones that never get too hot and always feel cool. They aren't sure why Villain provided them with one, but they're sure it'll come into play eventually. Maybe Villain'll make Zeke use scraps of it to dress their wounds. Or they'll lose food privileges as long as they have it. Or.. something. Anything other than this waiting game.

Zeke sighs, closing their eyes and fisting their hands in the blanket. It's only been three days, and yet that's three days too many for Zeke. Villain has kept them well-fed, healthy, and strong. He didn't even stop them from recharging their powers. It's all building up to some horrible thing, and they'd rather not stick around to see what.

They look up when they hear the door to their cell heave open, tensing out of habit.

"Hey there, soldier," Villain nods to them, leaning half in the doorway. "Don't worry, we didn't forget about you. I'll follow up on those questions soon. Some of the guards - oh, I hate calling them that - some of my guys will drop by with food. Tell them if you want anything." Villian gives them a smile, and Zeke scowls back. "I'll come get you when everything's set!" What that means, Zeke isn't completely sure, but they don't have time to protest. The door shuts with a heavy thud, and Zeke is alone again.

-

Later, around when their stomach tells them is supper time, the door opens again. Villain doesn't step in, and Zeke is relieved. A serious-looking guard takes his place. They can handle that.

"Rations." The guard says, dropping a tray of food at his feet. Some of it splatters onto the ground, and Zeke grimaces. "Come get it before I make you work for it."

What that means, Zeke decides not to ask. As they're squatting down to collect the tray, they feel the heavy weight of a boot resting on their back.

Their hand hovers over the tray, and they can practically feel the guard grinning down at them. "What'd you stop for? You didn't think you were gonna eat at the table, did you?"

Zeke exhales through their teeth, closing their eyes. They just won't eat, then. They've gone without food for weeks before. This isn't much different. As they move to stand up, they can feel the guard pressing his boot against it. 

“Go on, where’d that fighting spirit go? What, don’t know what to do with yourself now that you don’t have someone to command you around?” 

They grit their teeth. “I’m not hungry,” They say, which warrants a laugh from the guard. 

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry, did I? I told you to eat.” 

“I’m not going to eat down here.” 

The guard huffs, grabbing a fistful of Zeke’s cropped hair and yanking their head up. “You’re supposed to be good at taking orders, aren’t you? Eat. I’m not asking again.” He pushes down on Zeke’s back, forcing them down until their face is an inch from the tray.  Supper ends with Zeke curled up on the ground, clutching their stomach and hiding their face in their arm. The guard is gone. They’re glad. They might’ve thrown up on him if he was there any longer. 

Knew it, Zeke thinks, a sick sort of satisfaction worming its way into their brain. No one’s that kind to their enemies. That’s no way to get information at all.  tagging  @livingforthewhump

finally introducing my ocs!! took a while but ; here it is :')

warnings: hero whumper, prisoner whumpee, captivity, kidnapping, references to conditioning, references to past abuse, lmk if i need to add more!

Zeke growls, trying to buck their capturers off of them. Their arms are tied tight behind their back, but their legs are still free. They could still get away.

"Fucking hell, calm down!" One of the captors hisses, struggling to keep them down. "No one's going to hurt you, just stay still for one goddamn second." The other one kicks Zeke in the side, and a whine bubbles up in their throat before they still. Maybe if they stay very, very still, their captors - Villain's Henchman - won't kill them. Maybe.

"Not what I asked for." The first one - the one that tackled them - huffs, managing to secure Zeke's legs and heaving them up. "You know what he said."

The second one - the kicker - shrugs. "Thing was one second away from biting your hand off. I'm sure boss'll overlook one little kick."

"You know he's particular about these things." The first one mutters, dragging Zeke along across a long, long hallway. One that fills their chest with dread the further they go.

Ares always told them what would happen they were captured by the enemy. They'd be killed, or worse, tortured. It's not like it'd be particularly emotionally taxing for the team, but it served to keep Zeke in line.

Zeke isn't meant to be captured. Their whole purpose is to stop that from happening. They're a weapon, one broken and reforged by Ares long ago. They dread what would happen if they somehow escaped.

"Alright, go on." The group has stopped in front of a strong-looking steel door, and Zeke falters slightly. They never were a good combatant to metal. Their powers never did work against it. The kicker - clearly the stronger of the two henchman - pulls the door open. "Boss said he'll come 'n see you soon." They say, pushing Zeke forward and into the room. And with that, the door slams shut, and they are alone.

They aren't particularly afraid. That isn't it. They're... apprehensive. Whatever Villain does to them, they're sure they can take it. But they aren't sure if they could handle seeing the look on Ares' face if they managed to escape. If they even managed to find the team. The team isn't going to come looking for them - they know that, and they don't mind. Not really. They're a tool. The rest of the team isn't. Ares could just.. find another.

They look around their cell. A table, chair - both metallic, damn it - and a few windows, far too high for Zeke to look out but low enough for sunlight to stream in. How generous.

Carefully, they sit down on the chair, shifting. Their arms are getting terribly sore, and the ropes are digging into their wrists painfully. Maybe they could.. surely they have time before Villain saunters in.

Turning around, they bite their lip in a moments hesitating before starting to rub the middle of their bound wrists against the edge of the chair, catching the rope on it. If they do it hard enough, maybe it'd fray, and..

The edges are rounded. It'd take hours. But still. They aren't just going to sit there and wait, are they?

(next)