flamingwhump

[flamingwhump]

I fell head over heels into character building for Antoni. I am now buying (ANOTHER) book on Russian history and damn it, a Russian cookbook too.

Why do I do this to myself

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Let’s play a game!

Send me your headcanons about my ocs and I’ll tell you how accurate it is!

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Cander Cult Propaganda 

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is there any look hotter than disheveled and slightly bloody

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I saw you mention that Jake is a lightweight, so here’s me begging that we get some drunk Jake content at some point 🥺😭💞 or at least get to hear what type of drunk he is, it’d make my friggin day

CW: Alcohol use

Tagging @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump

Takes place after the Safehouse Raid. Also features a fact about Chris that was mentioned on his intake paperwork but may have slipped your notice at the time!

Addie doesn't drink and she doesn't eat meat, so when Jake wants to chill with something to take the edge off before he has to really buckle down to study - and a giant burger with fries - he has to do that alone.

Well, not alone - he's never alone here, and wouldn't want to be. Antoni is responsible for the burgers and homemade fries, Leila is next door at Naomi's house watching some TV show and laughter drifts out Naomi's window loud enough that Jake can hear it all the way through theirs.

Leila’s probably going to move out soon, and they’ve gotten word of a bonded pair of rescues that might need to move into the space Krista and Leila have left behind. Might not be much longer they have this particular group together.

Well... Antoni and Chris probably won’t go anytime soon. Antoni has shown no interest, and Chris... probably wouldn’t last long. 

Nat's out at a group meeting, and Jake chose not to go with. He goes to fewer meetings, now, since the raid. He stays close to home, keeps his head down. Talks to a few people he knows really well, yeah, and meets up with the frat guy on campus for coffee and, like, talking shit out, but mostly Jake is pretty happy to just... stay here. Talk to the rescues, and Nat, and call his mother on the phone so she can disapprove of his life choices.

For now, Jake is eating, Antoni cleaning up from cooking, and Chris... Chris makes drinks.

"Did, um, did it for, for-for for Sir every day," Chris says brightly, as if talking about a trip to the zoo rather than the details of a daily horror. "Gin and, and tonic, cold as it gets without, um, without... being, being ice. Little, little bit of lemon, plus a, a, a a a twist of peel on the, the side. Or limes, he, he, he he he-he... he liked lime with gin a, a lot..."

"I don't like those, thanks, I don't even think we have gin." Jake puts his hands up in the air, smiling. He has a mostly empty Jack and Coke in front of him - second one, actually - and he feels mostly relaxed, a gentle warmth spreading through his shoulders and down his back. Less angry, and he’s angry all the time these days, not that he wasn’t before.

"Not a gin and tonic kind of guy."

Not like he'd drink the same thing as that goddamn asshole smarming up the fucking television anyway. The fucking Governor... Jake can’t even see him any longer, and unfortunately they’re going into an election year and the smug fuck’s all over the TV with his advertisements now. If Jake could just get ahold of that video of Chris... Jesus, he could end the Governor’s career, his whole life.

Maybe if he could find that video, it’d have some kind of identifying... something that could help them figure Chris out, more. His real name, whether or not he has any family... but no, the video had mentioned a legal guardian, and Chris - terrified and looking an inch from tears - had mentioned Aunt Jo, Joanne... Jake can’t figure it out. He’s missing something... something... important.

He hasn't told anyone else yet. Sooner or later, he'll have to. Chris first? Nat? Drive to an empty lot on the old factory district and scream to the fucking sky?

He hasn't decided yet.

He’d rather drink until he’s in a better mood, first.

"Well, well, well well well I trained Mixology, what do we have?" Chris asks, glancing back and forth between Jake taking a bite of his hamburger and Antoni leaning with his back against the counter, watching them with a slight smile in his slightly narrow face.

"You trained in-" Jake stops, his mouth is full, he needs a second. He chews and swallows, leaning on his elbow on the table. "You were trained to make drinks?"

Chris nods, green eyes locked on his, before he gives a little grin and bounces on the balls of his feet. "I, I liked those classes."

Jake and Antoni briefly meet eyes. Antoni shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I only took cooking classes and learned cleaning.”

“Well, maybe next you could make us something fancy you know how to do,” Jake says - the pride in Chris’s eyes, this is something he can do for them, is unmistakable and as uneasy as it makes him, part of him really wants to let Chris show off for once. “D’you know anything with vodka? Antoni keeps some in the freezer he thinks I don’t know about-”

“Don’t you dare,” Antoni says with a one-sided grin, pointing a finger at Jake. His barcode is visible in his T-shirt and jeans, in this one place where his arms can be bare without danger. Normally they’d have had it removed by now, but Antoni keeps refusing, not giving any reason. “I spent my money on good vodka, you don’t drink good vodka with anything but itself, Jasha.”

“Okay, okay. You’re no fun.” Jake pouts, a little, and Chris grins so brightly at the unfamiliar, rare expression of humor that Jake worries his face has to hurt. “I’d share my liquor with you, you know.”

“I don’t want it,” Antoni says primly, even sticking his nose in the air, and Jake laughs, shaking his head a little, picking up a fry and tossing it Chris’s direction. Chris catches it in midair and stuffs it in his mouth like it might disappear if he doesn't. “I don’t want your Jack Daniels swill, thank you very much.”

“My apologies, not all of us have your refined tastes.” 

“Apology accepted.”

Jake throws a fry at Antoni this time, and he only ducks to the side, the fry landing harmlessly in the sink. 

“You have terrible aim, Jasha.”

“You ducked! I’d’ve hit you right in you forehead if y’didn’t!” Oh, he’s starting to slur his words, pick back up the accent he’d had growing up, before he and his mom moved out here. Probably a sign he should stop drinking anyway - Chris made his Jack and Cokes stronger than he usually drinks them and being 6′3″ and made of muscle after working out since he was a teenager seems like it made him look like he can hold his liquor, but his liver never got that memo.

“Hey, Ant.” Jake clears his throat. “Antoni.”

“Yes?” Antoni grabs the bottle of vodka from the freezer, fogged and cloudy with frost, and slides into a chair, glancing over at Chris and patting the seat next to him, between Antoni and Jake. Chris grins and plops down into it so hard the chair creaks a little at the thump of his weight. He sits with his hands between his legs, palms resting on the wood of the chair, leaning slightly forward. It’s similar to and the opposite of his posture in the Contract Signing video, his eyes wide and bright, smiling slightly instead of crying, bouncing his feet off the ground in a constant blur of motion that allows the rest of him to be, largely, still. 

“What do I call you?”

“What?” Antoni blinks, confused, popping the corked top off the vodka bottle and taking a swig straight from it, not even bothering with a glass. He’s a little less refined with every week that passes, a little more casual in the way he holds himself, the way he sits, in the way an odd lilt has begun to seep into his syllables, harsher R’s but drawn-out, softer everything else. Jake wonders if he’s witnessing some kind of grand experiment, some days, in what it means to recover yourself and learn that you are something else entirely, in a way you could never have anticipated, than what you were made to be.

“What do I call you? Y’call Chris, ah, Chrisha-” Jake trips over the diminutive, his tongue struggling against the unfamiliar phrasing, and Antoni grins, taking another drink. Chris’s fingers skip up to the table, begin to sneak their way to the last bits of Jake’s second Jack and Coke. Jake catches him at it and puts on a stern face, shaking his head, picking the glass up and finishing the rest, watered down by melted ice to nearly nothing, by himself. He sets the glass down, the remaining ice clinking against itself. “No, man, you’re not 21 and I’m the closest thing to a responsible adult in this house right now.”

Chris drops his hand back between his legs again, but his smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it grows wider. “Oh, oh, okay, Jake. Maybe next, next time?”

“Turn 21,” Jake says, pretending for the moment that he himself wasn’t sneaking cheap beer behind the bleachers with the other guys back in high school. 

Chris is just testing, like always, but in different ways. Always testing to see if they’ll be like Sir in this way or that, learning about himself while he does it. Jake hasn’t let him down yet - and he has to hope he only ever lets Chris down in ways they can recover from. 

“... and you call me Jasha,” He continues speaking to Antoni. “So what do I call you?” 

“Hm.” Antoni thinks. “Ansha? I don’t know. I think...” His eyes go slightly distant, with the furrow of his thick eyebrows that suggests the pain that always comes with trying to consciously remember what was taken from him. “I think someone called me that once... Are we so close, you think?”

Jake shrugs. “I think so. Do you not?”

“I think we are, yes.” Antoni shrugs right back at him, then reaches out and pours a bit of the vodka over the remaining ice in Jake’s empty glass. “Jasha, what do I do if I don’t want to move out of the house?”

Jake blinks at him, taken aback. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave here. I like you, and I like our Chris, I would not want to leave him.” 

Chris bites down on his lower lip - not the practiced little nibble of teeth against sensitive skin he learned to weaponize, but a genuine attempt to hold back the surprised ecstatic smile trying to take him over. “You, you, you you-you-you-you-”

“I wouldn’t,” Antoni says softly. He reaches out to squeeze Chris’s shoulder, once, Chris leaning heavily into the touch. “I would not leave you willingly, Chrisha.”

Jake glances at Chris, bouncing in his seat, his head cocking back and forth in a kind of rhythm, feet tapping on the ground. Eternal whirlwind movement, he’d doing cartwheels on the lawn if they were outside. He won’t sit for long, he’ll be doing handstands in the living room or twisting himself in pretzels, getting out the energy that races through his muscles in any way he can. 

“I wouldn’t, either,” Jake says, thinking. He picks up the vodka Antoni poured for him and takes a sip - the vodka is weirdly smooth, runs down his throat with only the barest hint of fire. “Oh, this shit’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

“It is if you are you,” Antoni says, giving him a wicked little smile. “And not me.”

“Ha. Jackass.” Jake grins, to take the sting out, and catches the moment of worry fading from Chris’s face to be replaced with the smile he’s been wearing all along. “There's something I’ve thought about...”

“What?” Chris asks, cheerfully.

Jake looks at him, considering. Then he just shrugs on more time. “Nothin’. I’ll tell you later when I can talk about it without rambling all over the place. I’m too drunk for good conversation right now.”

“I, I, I liked this, this conversation,” Chris says, a little shyly. Jake bumps his foot against Chris’s under the table, and watches Chris toss his head with a smile, hair over his eyes falling to the side. 

“Yeah,” Jake says, taking another drink of the vodka, watching Antoni drink straight from the bottle and Chris sip the glass of Sprite and grenadine. Chris has only had a few sips, but the more he drinks, the bouncier he gets. “Yeah, I’m likin’ it, too. Like family dinner, except y’guys already ate and everyone but Chris is drinking.”

He holds up his glass, and Antoni clinks his entire bottle of vodka against it, and Chris clinks his Shirley Temple, and the three of them laugh. 

“To family dinner,” Antoni says cheerfully. “May it always include vodka.” 

Jake blinks, hearing the soft dip of the v into a different sound, almost a w. Vwahd-ka.

“To family dinner,” Jake says brightly, tossing another fry to Chris.

“To, to, to, to to to family,” Chris says, soft and nervous, as if he expects them to correct him, demand he take it back.

“That one is better,” Antoni says, pitching his voice low, too. “To family, Chrisha.”

Jake has an idea, but it might not be as safe for Chris as their situation is now.

He’s got one more year of school, and then he’ll have the education he needs plus three years of shelter life under his belt, and maybe... maybe he can ask Nat to help him pull off the one big dream Jake’s allowing himself to have. Let her use that fucking blood money she keeps in a bank account growing in bits and pieces each year since she left WRU to do something that’ll piss those fucking human traffickers off royally.

Maybe... maybe he can take Chris with him, and Antoni, too.  

“To family,” Jake says, louder than the other two, holds up his glass, and downs the rest of the vodka in one long drink. 

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Passerby commenting that Whumper and Whumpee make such a cute couple as they walk the town. Whumper beams and agrees enthusiastically, their hand bruising as they hold Whumpee by the waist. Whumpee blinks back tears and forces a watery smile as they choke out a “thanks”, silently praying someone, anyone will see the call for help in their eyes.

[flamingwhump]

Box Boy Plurality: And Just Like That

CW: referenced noncon, slavery, dehumanization, conditioning, training, caning, multiple whumpees, creepy + intimate whumper

Tag List: @thatsthewhump @whump-it @ashintheairlikesnow @fairybean101 @finder-of-rings @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper @that-one-thespian @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @raigash @im-not-rare-im-rarr @spiffythespook @whumps-the-word @frnkieroismydaddy @whumpity–whump–whump @michelleswhumpyreblogs @jo-castle @newandfiguringitout @lumpofwhump @infested-with-bloodv2

Masterlist

02 was broken by day four.

02 was broken entirely by day five.

That first day, after Exalted had finished explaining, they’d made 02 clean every single room he’d set foot in before his shower, thoroughly. Mistakes, surprisingly, hadn’t been punished, and not deep cleaning the carpet or the walls or the fucking whatever the first try was excused, as long as 02 clearly hadn’t understood just how clean Exalted wanted things. He kept waiting for the pain to rain down, aching skin of his exposed back twitching, each sound of their voice making him cringe, tense as wires.

But it was only when 02 intentionally disobeyed–frustrated by the effort Exalted was expecting, the sheer perfection that he was too exhausted and aching to do–it was only when he angrily shoved away the bottle of cleaning fluid and threw the rag at Exalted’s feet that he heard the telltale shhhhk of the cane extending.

The third time he acted out in frustration and heard that metallic glide, he’d apologized, immediately swallowing his words, but Exalted was true to their word, and punished him for his disobedience. But, he was forced to admit when his shaking hands fumbled and accidentally dropped the scrub brush when he cleaned his own blood and spit from the utility room floor, Exalted did only punish him for disobedience. And he hated it, because he thought about that morning’s lesson, just like they said he would, and genuinely started wondering if they’d meant all that bullshit about consistency, just like they’d said he would.

He knew if he made too many mistakes, it’d be interpreted as willful fucking up on his part, so he wasn’t about to let himself go lax. Exalted was strong for all they didn’t look it. But, as much as he hated it. As much as he loathed them, he had to admit that they were staying true to their word, that first day. Obviously they’d change their tune, but for whatever reason, they were in fact consistent to start. And of course they wouldn’t stay that way, even if they said they would, because 02 wasn’t fucking stupid and he knew better than to expect permanence, but if they wanted to keep up their little charade of consistency. Then. Fucking fine, or whatever. He had no intention of playing into their dumb monologuing but the thought of permanence niggled at him. Just like they’d said in their stupid speech. God, he hated it here.

Keep reading

[flamingwhump]

A Little Comfort

Warnings: box boy universe, dehumanization, memory loss mention, vaguely fucky thought processes, people as pets. Mostly nice things this time though!

Word count: 2,255

Tag list: @haro-whumps, @theycomeinthrees, @whumpthisway, @samanddeaninpanties, @teachunks, @draganies, @pepperonyscience, @whump-it, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @untilthepainstarts, @galaxywhump

Kit has a nice evening!

It had been a strange evening. Emile, for the first time ever, had agreed to let Libby close up shop and make sure all the store pets and Kit were secure for the night. She’d chosen to stay through the evening, something Kit could not comprehend. Didn’t she have a home? Somewhere better to be than the mostly bare room where he lived in the upstairs apartment?

He’d offered to cook for her, but found the cupboards relatively bare. With a wince he’d apologised and explained that Emile hadn’t restocked his supplies yet. She’d frowned in concern and he’d worried he’d made her mad until she asked what he wanted to eat, saying she would go get take-out food from one of the restaurants a few streets over. When he couldn’t tell her what food he liked from any of them, having no memory of ever having tried their various cuisines, her face lit up and she’d bought a small selection of her favourite dishes. All for him to try. All for him.

And they’d sat at the table, together. She’d talked to him, told him some things about her life, her studies. He knew her favourite colour now—peach. Her favourite shade of lipstick—dark red. He knew she liked butterflies and wanted a tattoo of one, and he’d only shivered for a moment at the ghastly idea of letting someone like Brandon mark her skin.

It was all very strange. He felt a little overwhelmed, if he was honest. In a good way, like he’d been full up of good things and didn’t know how to hold it all inside himself.

Keep reading

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The extremely detailed OC ask meme

Send me a number and an OC and I’ll answer!

The Basics

1. Age, Birthday, Star Sign

2. Gender Identity

3. Orientation and Relationship status (single, taken (by who?), crush (on who?))

4. Race and Ethnicity

5. Height and Body type

6. Headcanon VA

7. Occupation

8. Weapon of Choice(?)

9. Hometown and current residence

10. Do they have any markings, piercings or scars?

11. Do they have any notable features, like horns, tails, or so on?

12. Own any pets?

13. Have any kids?

14. Can they cook? Can they bake?

15. Can they sing? Can they dance?

16. Can they drive?

17 Can they fight?

18. Have any special keepsakes?

Interests

19. Hobbies

20. Clothing/Aesthetic

21. Fave food(s) and drink(s)

22. Fave Color

23. Fave Genre

24. Fave Season

25. City or Country?

26. Guilty Pleasure

Storytime

27. What’s their family like? Who’s in it? What’s their relationship with them?

28. Are they literate? Did they go to school? How long? What level?

29. What was childhood like?

30. What was adolescence like?

31. What’s their current main conflict?

32. What steps have they taken to overcome this conflict?

33. How have they changed over time?

For Fun

34. What’s their room look like right now?

35. What are they like as a friend?

36. What are they like as a partner?

37. Do they have any phobias?

38. Did/do they go anywhere special for vacations?

39. Your character walks into a cafe. What do they order?

40. What time do they go to bed, usually?

41. What’s their morning routine like?

42. What’s the dumbest thing your character’s done?

43. What pokemon would your character be (if they’re already a pokemon/gijinka tell us what they are, and how that’s affected them)?

44. What’s their pokemon team? Try to pick all 6.

45. Theme song (and a playlist if you’ve got it!)

46. If this character was in a musical, what would their motif be (what kind of instruments do you hear, what’s the tempo, ect).

The Deep Lore™

47. What was this character’s biggest turning point in their life, something that changed them almost completely?

48. What was their lowest point? What was their highest point?

49. What are some themes tied to your character’s story?

50. What are some motifs associated with your character?

51. What were some inspirations for your character (people, movies, games)?

52. How are you and your character the same? How are you different?

53. Expectations vs Reality: what did you expect and what did you get with this character?

54. What does your character want, and what do they need?

55. What’s your character’s core trait? What’s their best trait? What’s their worst trait? When happens when these all interact with each other?

56. What’s your overall goal with this character? Will they get a happy ending or will they succumb to their faults?

[flamingwhump]

I coloured that ‘pulling teeth’ sketch!!

[flamingwhump]

Promise Kept: Chris and Jake

CW: References to parental death/murder in the past, references to conditioning, memory loss, box boy setting, past trauma, injuries as a result of beating/police brutality sort of. Stimming. Brief reference to past noncon/whump of a minor.

Tagging @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxckfxck, @slaintetowhump

“Chrisha? Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Chris says automatically, without looking away from the window, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He keeps his head slightly back, staring through a crack in the new drapes that Naomi’s friend Kari brought by and hung up herself. Kari used to be in the military, too, and she and Jefferson made fun of each other for being different kinds of military - oh good the Chair Force has arrived vs. I’d insult you but you were already in the army, what more can I say?, but they laughed a lot about it and he thinks it was a nice kind of making fun, like when Jake teases him for always moving or Nat ruffles his hair.

“Chris?”

“I said I’m listening, Antoni.”

He says yes anytime anyone asks if he’s listening, because part of his brain is, there’s a track listening to Antoni and a track thinking about the cake they made from a box mix Antoni found that someone brought over and a track that sees the cardinal is back again building a nest in the white birch tree, here for good, for keeps. There are tracks running all of the directions there are, big tracks and small.

Chris’s mind is racing, and he feels swept away by all his thoughts.

“Chrisha, you must be gentle.”

“Uh huh.”

“You must not hug too tight.”

“I, I, I won’t.”

“You must remember he is likely very hurt.”

Chris sees a car and his heart leaps in his chest but it drives past and his heart drops again. Not yet. Soon. Not yet. Soon.

“Chris, you need to listen.”

“I, I am listening, I hear, um, I hear you, Antoni, I hear hear you, I’m, um, I’m listening, I am.”

Part of him is listening.

Most of him is a train where wheels on the tracks whisper come home, come home, come home to me. He can hear the circle of thought inside his mind and he wishes and wishes and wishes and hopes that wishes are good enough to make it all happen faster.

The wall is cool and familiar as he taps on it, the gentle soothing rushes of calm that move through him, settling his nerves, keeping his eyes locked on the road. Jefferson left in an old car the color of one of Jake’s favorite sweaters, a deep deep red that has a little brown in it that Jake calls burgundy and Nat calls maroon and Antoni calls is this really worth having a disagreement over?

“Come on come on come on come on,” He whispers to himself, his eyes moving back and forth, scanning and scanning. Jaden and his friends are in school today because people go to school, other people, people who are allowed to read and write and learn things that don’t get taught at the other end of pain.

Jake is going to miss school. Chris swallows back the guilt. Jake is going to struggle because of him. But Jake would have missed him, if he’d gone with the cops, and Chris is smart enough to know that if he had gone, he wouldn’t have come home.

Jake will come home.

Keep reading

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“It’s been a long time since you’ve had food and water, hasn’t it, A?” Whumper says smugly.

Character A wheezes from where they’re curled up on the floor, their mouth too dry to retort, their body too weak to be defiant. They’re in so much pain. They feel hollow.

“This is the deal I offer you: You get as much food and water as you like today, but that means B spends the day with me.” A stiffens and Whumper grins. “I’m sure I can come up with plenty of fun things to do with them.”

A’s stomach roils pleadingly. Selfishly. I won’t survive much longer if I don’t say yes. B is strong, their mind whispers. They could survive one day. Just one day. 

[flamingwhump]

“I want this,” the blonde purred, pressing his body down on the other man’s hips, “and I know you want this too.”

The other man looked up, his face, red, already breathing heavily. And he shoved the blonde off.

“What the fuck!” the blonde yelped, barely catching himself from hitting the floor. He glared at the other man.

“You don’t want this,” the other man told him, his face contorted in agonizing pity.

“I do!” the blonde hissed. “I’m telling you I do! My dick is telling you I do! What’s the holdup?”

“That’s what they trained you to think. I’m not going to take advantage of you like that.”

“You insufferable-” the blonde gritted his teeth. “You are not taking advantage of me. I WANT this. If you don’t, say something, don’t pretend it’s because you’re such a good guy.”

“I do want you.” The other man knelt down to the blonde, stroking his arm apologetically. “You’re just not ready. So I won’t.”

“Well how the fuck are you supposed to know when I’m ready if you’re ignoring every time I say I am? WHEN am I finally fuckable to you? When will your misplaced morals stop cockblocking me?”

“When you stop crying anytime I start touching you!”

“I’m a crybaby! I was one even before- be-” he clutched his head, screwing his eyes shut against the pain.

“They called you that. They made you that. It’s okay, it’s just… it means we can’t do anything.”

“Fuck you. They made me nothing. I am my own god damn self. Stop treating me like a child, I know myself!”

“I’m not trying to treat you like a child-”

“BUT YOU ARE!” the blonde slammed his fists into the floor. “You treat me as if I have no fucking idea who I am! You blame any flaw, any imperfection, any bad thought on them! I’m not perfect and innocent and pure, I’m a god damn person!”

“I know, I know, but-”

“No! They might have put those fucking positions in my head and beat the swear words out of me, but they didn’t make me someone different! I have a sex drive! I have kinks! I’m not a sex toy, but I’m not a princess doll either!”

The blonde stood, glaring daggers into the other man’s eyes.

“I was a person before- before them, and I am a person after them. You can see me as just a rescue pet if you want, but if that’s the case…” he blinked, and tears spilled down his cheeks. “Stop leading me on. We’re done.”

The blonde stalked out of the room, and the other man could say nothing to stop him.

[flamingwhump]

If They Knew: Chris

As part of the No Good Horrible Very Bad Week for Chris and Jake! This is more just Chris having thoughts than it is anything else. Kind of a bridge to the next Jake, which is going to be… much more intense.

CW: Head banging mention, stimming/punishment for stimming references, references to noncon, survivor of abuse/torture having some very fucky self-blaming thought processes, conditioned thought processes that include thought of dubcon

Tagging @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxck-fxck, @slaintetowhump

“Hey, kiddo, whatcha doin’?”

Chris doesn’t look up. “Thinking,” he replies, slowly, just one word. It’s hard to do it, to slow mouth and mind, but he’s trying very hard to be good. Good means keeping your hands still, your head off the wall, your words slow and steady. When he taps, they watch him, and they ask questions.

He was asked questions before, too, and then his hands were tied to his thighs and behind his back and they said if you like to hit your head so much we can help you with that and so when they ask him questions, he stops all the things he’s been punished for.

He sits very, very still. 

He is very, very good.

Jefferson sighs and settles himself heavily onto the other end of the couch, giving Chris plenty of space. He doesn’t understand that Chris doesn’t like space. If he has too much space between him and someone else, it starts to itch and burn under his skin, licks up his nerves, alone alone touch me I want this please just touch me anything everything just touch please.

“What are you thinking about?” Jefferson asks.

“There’s… a new… couch… now,” Chris says, enunciating every word. Stop your fucking stammering, you stupid piece of shit. A handler didn’t say that. Someone else did, a woman’s voice, a voice he wanted to understand and hated and thought he was supposed to love.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty nice one, right?” Jefferson pats the cushion, like the couch is a very good boy. Chris swallows against the wish that Jefferson would touch him that way. 

I could be such a good boy for you.

“It is… nice. Thank you.”

Chris doesn’t like the new couch. 

He’s sitting on the unfamiliar cushions, a little too hard and new compared to the old couch that Nat claimed had come with the house and she’d just changed covers on and kept clean. The plaid fabric is rough to the touch of Chris’s fingertips, which run back and forth along it, tracing a line of deep red thread down the length of the arm, his eyes trapped there, staring at the hints of red and blue layered over brown or green, he can’t really tell. 

“Feels better to be in a clean house, right?” Chris glances sideways, looking at Jefferson. He’s older than Jake, but not as old as Sir. His belt buckle is silver and there’s a horse carved into it, words Chris carefully doesn’t try to read. He’s got narrow cheekbones and a hard jaw and he looks like a cowboy, and his boyfriend doesn’t look like that at all. 

Keep reading

[flamingwhump]

Reminders

It’s been years since the whumpee escaped the torments of the whumper, years since they stopped having constant nightmares and panic attacks.  Still…

Walking through their house, they take one wrong step and their foot gives out.  That was the ankle the whumper loved to break and dislocate.  Laying on the floor, their foot throbbing, the whumpee suddenly can’t shake the sound of the whumper’s laugh, taunting them to get up and stand.

Playing with their kids on the floor, feeling so lucky that they have a life back, the whumpee suddenly gets a serious rug burn.  It feels too much like the chaffing ropes that bound their hands to bed posts and chair rungs.  Mumbling any excuses they can, the whumpee barely makes it to the bedroom before falling apart.

Wandering around a pier just to feel the salty ocean air, the whumpee catches the slightest hint of a scent: the cologne the whumper used to wear.  Their eyes widen and dart to the crowds around them.  There are too many people.  They can’t breathe.  There is no way of knowing who could be a threat, who could be waiting to plunge them back into hell.

The whumpee may have escaped, but they feel like they’ll never be free.

[flamingwhump]

Patroclus: Quick, you’re losing a lot of blood! What’s your type!?

Achilles: Dark haired, smart, brave, caring…

Patroclus: NO BLOOD TYPE IDIOT

Achilles: Oh

Achilles: *looks down at his wound*

Achilles: Red.

[flamingwhump]

Give me more cauterisation. I want to see the whumpee quietly pleading, pinned down by their teammates as one of them heats up a blade, apologising the whole time. I want screaming, I want crying, I want blinding pain, making every second feel like an eternity-

And then it’s over. And then their hair is brushed away from their eyes, and their friends are whispering soothing words, because its okay now, but it still hurts so much, and they’re trying so hard to push past the pain and stay conscious, because they can’t afford to delay anymore.

Made even better with no painkillers and of course the high risk of infection. :)