#caring whumper

[jordanstrophe]

Whumpees bedroom had anything they could ask for. A massive bookshelf, TV, music, a silk laveshing bed.

Whumpee pulled back the curtains and sighed. It was hard to look out the window with thick metal bars caging them here.

Whumpers voice called them lovingly downstairs for dinner.

Whumpee wished they could go home.

[andithewhumper]

June of Doom Day 8:

“Breathe, damn you!” | Shock | Amputation | Infection

Masterpost

Content: Caring Whumper (sorta), Wilderness, Escape, General Injury

Whumper was having a bad day. First the FBI showed up at their door, then after finally getting them to leave Whumpee was nowhere to be found. They started with all the rooms Whumpee wasn’t allowed in: the office, the kitchen, the library. Then they went outside. They were dreading what might happen if Whumpee got too far away from the house and since they had no idea how long Whumpee had been gone it was their best guess how far they could have gotten.

Whumper found the first clue after an hour of searching. They had been about to give up when they noticed a print of a bare foot in the mud by the river behind their house. After that it was only a matter of time until they found where Whumpee had gone. They were completely surrounded by forest and mountains for miles which meant two good things for Whumper.

One, they knew the terrain very well from living here all their life and Whumpee had no idea where they were.

And Two, Whumpee had no way of getting help from anyone else.

Unfortunately this also meant that if Whumper didn’t find Whumpee before the first night there was a high possibility Whumpee might get hurt or die and Whumper certainly didn’t want that. At least, not at the hands of the forest.

Whumper forged on, though, hoping their tracking skills would come through for them. And come through they certainly did. After another hour and a half of searching they saw the best thing they could have ever hoped for: smoke. It was still about two miles away, but if Whumpee stopped for long enough to build a fire they were probably planning on staying put for a little while. The sun was starting to set, but with their new found lead they kept going.

As Whumper approached the campsite where their escaped captive resided they slowed their pace, making sure not to make noise or do anything else that might attract the attention of Whumpee. When they got close enough to see them, they noticed Whumpee had successfully caught a squirrel and was cooking it over their fire. Whumper felt a surge of pride at the discovery that Whumpee had more survival skills than anticipated.

After a few minutes of watching, Whumper decided to make an appearance.

“Well I must say, Whumpee, you have impressed me.” Whumper leaned against a tree with their arms crossed. They took great satisfaction in the look of pure panic and surprise that painted Whumpee’s face.

“H-how did you-?”

“Find you? Oh, Whumpee, you forget. This is my forest. Nothing and no one can hide from me in it.” Whumpee started to stand when they winced. Whumper noticed immediately.

“What did you do?” Their voice was stern, all the playfulness draining from their tone.

“N-nothing I-”

“Don’t. Lie to me. What. Did. You. Do?”

Whumpee stumbled backwards and tripped on the stump they were sitting on. They landed hard on their back. Whumper stalked up to them and crouched down.

“No, no please. Leave me alone.” Whumpee tried to scramble back some more, obviously in pain.

Whumper wasn’t having it. They reached down and grabbed Whumpee by the neck.

“Show me.” Their voice was cold and dangerous. Whumpee’s eyes went wide with terror. They slowly reached down and lifted up their shirt showing a long gash across their abdomen.

“I-I fell on a rock in the river.” Whumpee’s voice shook as they explained.

The look on Whumper’s face made Whumpee want to crawl into a little ball. They should have just kept going. If they hadn't stopped maybe Whumper wouldn’t have caught them.

Whumper let go of their neck, which made Whumpee blink in surprise.

“Get up,” Whumper ordered.

“What?”

“You heard me. Get up. I need your help to set up camp.”

“We’re not going back to the house?” Whumpee’s voice was full of hope. Maybe Whumper was going to let them go.

“Oh no we are absolutely going back to the house, but not right now. You are exhausted and I need to make sure that doesn’t get infected.” They pointed to Whumpee’s wound. “So get up and you can help me build a shelter. You need a full night's sleep for what I’m going to do to you tomorrow.”

[whumpwordsoftheday]

“Let me go! Stop!”

“Oh for goodness sakes, you said and I quote: All I want is to be kidnapped and held in a basement and forced to beg like a broken record :) ps, preferably by a hot woman. Aren’t I giving you what you asked for?”

[chaotic-orphan]

Helo helo, just asking...r u planning to update heroic betrayal? 👁👁 NO RUSH THOUGH IT'S JUST REALLY GOOD AND I CAN'T WAIT SJSJHSHSH

GOOD DAY!!

Heroic Betrayal (X)

Read part one // Continued from here

This part is dedicated to everyone who commented under the last part, that made me cackle like a maniac, and everyone who asked for a continuation of this series that warmed my heart— I’m so sorry it took so long, and I hope you enjoy <3

*~*~*~*~*

The concrete cut into her cheeks like a sharp edge, her shoulders hitting the walls and her feet tumbling over her head until she crashed and bashed every point in her body on the way down. She ended up on her stomach, blood dripping from the side of her head. She tried to push herself up, but a hand grabbed the back of her neck and dragged her stumbling to her feet.

She felt like she was going to be sick, stuck in a twister of Supervillain’s strong sharp movements that she couldn’t anticipate with her pounding headache raging.

“Now, here we are,” Supervillain said and he shoved Hero forward again. Hero tripped over her feet, her ankle rolling as they tried to stop her momentum in vain. An edge of something metal caught her around the hips and she fell forward, her torso folding with an oomph. A click and the room flooded with light. Hero squeezed her eyes shut, the light burning compared to the pitch black it was not a moment ago.

Hero squinted taking a quick survey of the room, searching for an escape, but no, no, no, no. There would be escape from this room that was just a concrete square of torture devices. Hero’s heart jumped into her throat as she glanced down at the metal bench below her hands. It was a table. A surgical table. Her stomach bottomed out as she gasped involuntary, stepping back and right into a solid chest.

Her blood ran cold and she couldn’t stop the tremors of fear tearing through her. Two strong hands settled on her shoulders and she flinched despite herself, her entire body trembling, her eyes and brain disoriented from the fall and the lack of oxygen and her fucking pounding headache. And she was really starting to wish she didn’t open her mouth.

Hero let out a sharp breath, a claw of panic grabbing at her chest as her eyes scanned the room searching for a window or anything that would tell her she wasn’t underground right now. She couldn’t… couldn’t breathe, oh fuck, there were no windows, there was a window in the cells, she gasped, pushing back against the chest shaking her head.

“Oh that’s right,” Supervillain cooed behind her, his voice painted with sick delight as his fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Villain told me you were claustrophobic. Does being underground trigger it, Hero?”

Hero drove her elbow back wildly hitting her mark, but Supervillain didn’t flinch or even grunt. Instead he grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm up and around her back, the other going to the back of her neck and slammed her down against the table.

“You really have no manners, Hero, do you know that?”

“F—fff— fuck you,” she said between fretful breaths. Every action, every movement was lessening and lessening, she only had a little bit of oxygen left in her lungs that was stuttering out. The walls pulsing closer, shrinking and she squeezed her eyes shut. At least the metal of the table was cool under her cheek.

Supervillain pushed her wrist further up her back until Hero was crying out, trying to kick back at Supervillain to get him to stop but the lack of oxygen in her lungs was dizzying as she scrambled. Her brain was fried, and she couldn’t remember any of her combat training as panic seized her throat.

She splayed her fingers, mind reaching, the invisible pull of her blades familiar as they rushed back to her hands. If she could just— two clangs against the door upstairs and Supervillain straightened, letting up some pressure. Hero pulled and pulled, trying to rip the daggers through the obstacle but Supervillain grabbed her splayed fingers and pushed them back down into a fist, smothering her connection to her daggers.

“No!” Hero wailed, struggling furiously under him, kicking back, trying to do anything, get anywhere away away away away from the danger, be able to breathe again properly. Her tears hit the metal table with wet, metallic drops, like a leaky tap dripping into the sink.

“What did I tell you about using your powers, Hero, hmm?”

“Let go of me, you fucking psychopath!” Hero cried, anger flooding her veins. With Supervillain’s hand off her neck, Hero threw herself back with a roar of adrenaline mixed with fury. Supervillain’s grip tightened on her wrist, about to push it up but Hero wedged a knee up between the table and shoved until the pair went stumbling.

Hero slipped free of Supervillain’s hold in his stunned state, but he recovered quickly, grabbing at her hoodie but Hero was too quick, and she was ascending the stairs, her breaths getting heavier but her breathing becoming even the closer she got to the surface.

She got to the door and grabbed the handle and shoved it open.

Only.

It didn’t open.

Hero stared. No. No. No, no, no, nonononono!

NO!

Hero slammed an open palm on the metal, screaming. “FLYNN! FLYNN I’M SORRY PLEASE! Please!”

Footsteps on the staircase. Hero slid down the door, banging weakly against it and crying out for Flynn to save her as Supervillain advanced again.

“Did you really think I’d leave a handle on the way out of this room, Hero?”

Hero swallowed the lump in her throat, focusing all her energy into the glare she shot at him, hoping he would melt right on the spot. Which he didn’t.

“You can come down and your punishment will be less severe than if I have to drag you down.”

“Fuck you,” she said, her voice cracking halfway through. She splayed her fingers again and wished, hoped, prayed that somehow they would get through the thick metal door she was trapped behind.

Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! What was she going to do? There was only one option for her right now and that was down, down into a tight, underground nightmare that was threatening to kill her. She needed— she needed to be able to breathe to think clearly, but even thinking was difficult at the thought of being dragged back down to Supervillain’s torture chamber.

Supervillain sighed, a few steps away from her. “Okay, Hero. Have it your way.”

He reached down and grabbed her ankle and turned to walk down the stairs. Hero kicked at him, landing a few solid ones on his arm and back before he was dragging her down and Hero’s head smacked off the concrete steps. She didn’t even have time to scream or groan or whine, small gasps at every bounce fogged her vision until she was back on solid ground.

Supervillain appeared above her, grabbing her, one arm under her shoulders, the other her knees as he bent over and scooped her up. She protested weakly, her brain rattled and her reaction time non-existent. Supervillain placed her on something cool under her skin, but she could feel something wet on the back of her head.

She reached a hand up to find the source of the wetness, but Supervillain grabbed her wrist before she could investigate and strapped it down to table in leather. He pulled the cuff tight around Hero’s wrist, so tight she couldn’t move it left or right, just up and down. She whined when he took her other wrist and restrained it the same way by her side. Then he moved onto her ankles and soon Hero couldn’t move an inch, her eyes glazed over and staring blankly above her.

Supervillain grabbed Hero’s cheek, appearing in her scope of vision, but there was two of him now, a shadow or a clone. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Hmph, you spoiled some of my fun, Hero. I was hoping to teach you this lesson to remember, but, oh well. I guess I’ll just have to leave a reminder for you when you’re more conscious, won’t I? Something you can’t ignore.”

Hero blinked at him, the entire world moved like cotton and she was completely out of it, Supervillain’s words echoing around her head. On loop over and over again, but still seemingly so far away.

“Lemme go,” she pleaded weakly, pulling at her restraints.

Supervillain smiled a wicked smile down at her. “I’m thinking something like a three strike system, Hero. Like tally marks or something to that effect. Something easy to understand, strike one was your insolence at dinner which will not be tolerated. What to do,” Supervillain mused stepped away from the metal table and out of sight.

Hero pulled against her restraints, trying to loosen them as hot tears ran down her cheeks. Flynn… she thought hopelessly. Please, please, rescue me. Please.

Supervillain returned to the table, a hunting knife in hand. “Wait, no, please.” Hero didn’t even know what she was protesting, but the words fell from her mouth anyways as Supervillain grabbed her right hand.

“Three strikes, Hero. While I know I could cuff you in power dampeners and leave you down here to hyperventilate all night I think this will be far more effective.”

“Tell me Hero,” Supervillain began as he started undoing the cuff of her right wrist. “Is it all knives you can summon with your ability?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Any will do.”

“Fascinating. And do they all sharpen your senses when you feel them in your hand?” Hero glared at him as he free her wrist and turned it so the back of her hand was positioned above the metal table. Hero didn’t bother asking him how he knew that, because she knew the answer he would be all too happy to supply. The reason Supervillain knew everything about her; Flynn told me.

“It depends on the knife,” Hero answered, the pained fog of her mind ebbing and flowing allowing some coherent thoughts to pass through her brain. “None are as good as my blades, but that’s because I made them myself.”

“I will never cease to be awed by adepts and their crafts,” Supervillain said fondly, tracing the tip of the hunting knife up Hero’s elbow and forearm before pinching it down slightly on Hero’s wrist. Hero didn’t dare struggle or move, afraid if she did the knife would slip and she would be dead. “But now that you’re more conscious, I’ll repeat your punishment.”

“We will do a three strike system, this is strike one. With every strike I will leave a wound on you, a scar that will remind you not to make another mistake again, okay?”

Hero shivered at how easy he explained his punishment system for her, as if he was telling her that her car needed an service or one day it would just stop. “Three strikes, and I will drag you along to watch Sidekick being murdered and you’ll know it was all your fault. Okay?”

“You’re a fucking—”

“Wonderful.”

In one quick movement, Supervillain slid Hero’s right hand over the rim of the table and plunged the hunting knife in all the way through her palm. A howling, banshee’s scream tore through Hero’s throat as she bucked against her restraints, howling and screaming: please, please, stop! Stop!

Tears and snot clogged her senses as she shook her head, her arm violently trembling against the trauma and Supervillain’s tight hold. Hero splayed her fingers on her left hand, trying to summon the knife out of her hand, but Supervillain’s grip was too strong, or Hero’s pull was too weak, and he twisted the knife in her hand instead, pulling more shrieking screams of pain from Hero.

“There, now. The first two strikes will be in your palms, Hero. To remind you that even if you try to fight back, with your knives or your words or otherwise, you,” he said, stressing the final words, “will fail.”

Hero sobbed as her fingers tried to curl around the blade but could barely move more than a flinch in any direction. Hero wouldn’t be able to summon her blade for this hand for a while, until the wound healed and even then? Would she get physio for the muscles and tendons Supervillain just cut through with a terrifying amount of strength?

Supervillain put a hand on Hero’s hair, brushing the strands from her face like a parent would a child who’s eating an ice cream and threatening to get their hair stuck in it, chiding but fond.

“This doesn’t have to happen again, Hero. We can be civil with each other. You and Flynn, I know you have a special connection. A bond. You can have a nice life here, free from the burdens of being a hero in this city, of always fighting uphill battles hmm? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Hero was shivering, staring up at Supervillain and she knew she probably looked sickly pale and ashen as she felt the blood harden around the blade in her palm, dripping down to the floor on the other side. She knew it would leave a scar, the reminder that Supervillain wanted her to know in her gut and it made her sick.

“So Hero,” Supervillain beamed, smiling down at her. “Will you behave?”

Hero’s bottom lip trembled as she nodded, warm tears flooding her cheeks as she sniffled. Supervillain’s smile turned softer, comforting, like a concerned parent. “Use your words, Hero.”

Hero sniffed. “Y-yes,” she croaked.

“Yes, what?”

Hero sucked in a breath. “I’ll… I’ll behave.”

Supervillain smiled. “Good. Good. Excellent. Now, let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

Supervillain removed her restraints and sat her up on the metal table, and said he’d be a minute getting the things he needed around the room.

Hero sat upright shaking violently and trying to hold her hand steady by supporting it with her free hand at the wrist. She stared blankly ahead, both staring at nothing and staring resolutely at one white painted brick, where the groove was a faded, paler white, less glaring at her while Supervillain gathered supplies.

Before too long Supervillain was in front of her, setting bandages and gauze and rubbing alcohol down on the tray beside the bed. Along with other stuff Hero wouldn’t think was necessary like a ruler and Q-tips and other supplies. He was wearing surgical gloves as well, and despite herself Hero was thinking about what he did for a living.

“Are you a doctor?” She asked, her voice hollow.

Supervillain smiled a secretive smile at the question, as if he just found her out. “Ah. You’ve noticed, have you?”

Every once in a while Hero forgot that Supervillain was her nemesis of the last year, the Moriarty to her Sherlock Holmes, the Joker to her batman, although really more like the Riddler with how elusive he was. When she considered Supervillain’s job back before she knew him, she suspected it would be something as cerebral, like a lawyer, or a judge, or a doctor. She didn’t feel good that she was right.

“Yes, I’ve been a doctor since medschool. Long hours, overworked conditions, but I won’t bore you with hospital tales, snd luckily for you I happen to be an acute trauma surgeon,” he told her, smiling up at her through his lashes. “So your hand won’t have too much lasting damage. I didn’t hit any of the important muscles or tendons.”

Hero gasped, which sounded more like a bewildered laugh, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hissed as Supervillain pressed down on the wound. He smiled. “Sorry, I just have to make sure I didn’t hit anything important. Okay, yes.”

He took a Q-tip from the table and said, “okay, Hero. I need you to remain as still as possible while I do this. Try not to move too suddenly.”

Hero let out a sharp gasp of pain aa Sueprvillain inserted the Q-tip through Hero’s wound until it almost poked out the other side. “You’re doing great Hero.”

But she wasn’t. She was going to be sick as he pulled it out and she saw the blood. The smell had never annoyed her before, but now the metallic kiss hung on the air like a factory that had to suddenly cease operations, a promise of something to come.

He set the Q-tip on the table and measured the blood stain against the ruler. Hero stared down at it, her vision blurring slightly as her mind went woozy and she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Supervillain was standing over her hands on her shoulders sitting her back up again. Hero blinked, bile climbing up her throat.

“Here,” Supervillain said and shoved a bar of chocolate into Hero’s hand, the wrapper already opened. Hero blinked at it dumbly, and Supervillain gently guided it to her mouth. Hero took a small bite of the sweet, velvet chocolate. “You fainted. You’re okay. It’s normal with this kind of injury, but I would like you conscious while I tend to it.”

Hero blinked at him and when he was certain she wasn’t going to faint again he released her shoulders and Hero remained upright.

“If you’re a doctor…” Hero said, her head spinning, but she was determined to get this out of her head. “Didn’t you take an oath to do no harm?”

“Ah,” Supervillain smiled. “Yes. The hippocratic oath. I did.”

“Then how can you justify this?” Hero asked, nodding to her hand. Supervillain was silent for a moment, dabbing at the bleeding of the wound, staunching the blood and cleaning around it. His movements were so methodical, so clean and purposeful, Hero found their eyes drawn to it as she took another bite of chocolate.

“Where I stabbed you, Hero, is a very delicate place to be stabbed. There is a flurry of activity in the centre of your palm.” Supervillain squeezed just below the wound and Hero squirmed with a groan. “Here is your carpal ligament that controls the movement of your thumb, index and middle finger.”

He squeezed Hero’s thumb and said: “and here are all the muscles for full use of your thumb. If I went too far to the right I could risk damaging the ligaments that connect to your other two fingers, or hitting a clump of nerves.”

Supervillain dropped Hero’s hand and held up his own, pinching the spot the dagger went through Hero’s palm. “Here, there is a hole in your hand. No bone, no muscle, no nerves or ligaments. Minimal damage and less time for recovery. No need for more than standard hand physio and six weeks recovery at most.”

Supervillain smiled at Hero. “The Hippocratic Oath is an oath all doctors must take to do no harm. However, all doctors must accept that in order to make something better, there must first be pain. To treat the sick they must make the sick endure the pain, and fight infection, the body must fight.”

“Your defiance, in the long run, will make you worse than if I curb it now. So I am doing no harm, by ensuring that you quit fighting me unnecessarily. The same way I am trying to stop this city from running straight to ruin.”

“I must do no harm,” his smile was warm, “as a doctor. But as a civilian I can’t stand by and watch this city burn. Does that answer your question?”

Hero stared. Then shrugged with their good shoulder. “Not really, but I’m kinda woozy from blood loss right now.”

Supervillain laughed. “Mmm, let’s do something about it.”

Supervillain worked fast, careful to only press too hard when Hero gave him a snarky reply, and later on she would wonder how she got so comfortable with the man bandaging her up being the same man that stabbed her in the first place. She would attribute it to blood loss and Supervillain would bandage her head and help her up the stairs he threw her down before, and when they got into the kitchen he gave her painkillers and water.

Flynn rushed through the doors, his heart racing when he saw Hero. Her head bandaged and her hand bound so tight and thick that Hero couldn’t close her fingers even if she wanted to.

“H-Hero?” He asked, breathless. Hero smiled at him when he came in and waved. Flynn was by her side in a second, while Supervillain stopped chatting to her about the reason they chose to replace the black and white tiles for the floor in the kitchen. “Are you okay? Hero, oh—”

“She’s fine,” Supervillain said lightly. “We’ve cleared the air, haven’t we Hero?”

Hero nodded, smiling at Flynn. Something she’d attribute to her concussion later because everything was just a little too smiley, a little too comfortable, a little too easy, and she wasn’t entirely convinced that Supervillain didn’t give her the floating, high end painkillers.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard the screaming,” Flynn said, his hands going to Hero’s cheeks, checking her over and looking for any sign that she was lying to him. Other than her too large pupils she seemed okay. “I— your daggers— you—”

Hero grabbed Flynn’s hand with her unbandaged one and interlaced their fingers. “I’m okay. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Tears brimmed on top of Flynn’s bottom eyelids as he looked at Hero, his Hero, acting so unlike herself. So compliant and soft. It made him ill, the fact that he was the reason Hero was injured in the first place. That she was being subjected to the whims of his family.

God, he didn’t think Dad would do this…

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hero asked with wide eyes.

Flynn ran a thumb over her bruised cheek, his touch featherlight. “Of course. Will you give out to me tomorrow about it?”

She shrugged happily. “Probably.”

Flynn laughed, and leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’d love to.”

Flynn helped her stand, and wrapped his fingers around hers keeping her close. “Be sure she doesn’t sleep for the next hour or two.”

“We can watch a movie!” Hero said, her voice light and chirpy, so like it was when she’d get excited before that it made Flynn’s heart ache.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat as he guided her out of the kitchen, away from his father and up the stairs to her room, terrified that if he dropped her hand for even a second he would lose her forever. “We can watch a movie.”

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call: (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @xenlust @books-are-everything @micechomper @shywhumpauthor @aarika-merrill @0eggdealer @watermelonrandom @tippytappytyping @swift-perseides @gloriousqueen101 @isnortkoolaidpowderteehee @jumpywhumpywriter @bitter-space @lumpofsand

@xxgalgurlxx @silentpotat0 @ladygwennn @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee obediently sat off to the side of Whumper's feet while Whumper flipped through the TV channels.

"Nothing on TV today", Whumper sighed and glanced at Whumpee, "pet?"

Whumpee hurried to their knees and crawled to Whumper. They then laid their head on Whumper's lap to wait for head pats or a command.

Whumper squeezed Whumpee's cheeks lovingly, "I am so bored, you got anything to entertain me, I don't care what."

Whumpee thought for a minute and had a thought. Would it be too much they questioned. 'I can test it', Whumpee thought to themself.

They crawled toward the coffee table and eyed a cup of water Whumper was sipping on. They eyed Whumper, who was watching them curiously. They raised a shaky hand towards it.

"No bad pet", Whumper stated, but still with a smile, "no making messes."

Whumpee laid their head on the coffee table and tried their best to make puppy dog eyes. They mustered a whine.

"Thanks for trying", Whumper smiled, "do you need to go outside?"

Whumpee jumped back and crawled towards the door excitedly; ready to go relieve themself. Whumper didn't pick up on their signs earlier.... they had to go bad now.

Whumper scrolled on their phone while Whumpee wandered around the yard.

"Hmm, things every pet should know how to do", Whumper spoke to themself as they started to read a post, "maybe we can work on a new trick."

"Muzzle training", Whumper snickered to themself. They had tried to do muzzle training a few months ago, but Whumpee had no interest at all. It ended in a horrible mess, and Whumper swore never again.

Whumper looked up at Whumpee for a few moments.

"I would like to have them muzzle trained, just to say they were. I would never cover their cute face", Whumper smiled.

"Use peanut butter or whip cream...", Whumper began to read.

Whumper dug through their closet until they found Whumpee's muzzle.

They tried it on themself first.

"Yep, that should still fit comfortably", Whumper smiled.

Whumpee was playing with a toy in the living room when Whumper came in carrying the muzzle, a training clicker, and a whipped cream can.

Whumpee nervously backed away until they bumped into the wall.

"Whumpee come", Whumper sat on the ground, "come on", they sounded cheerful.

Whumpee continued to stare at Whumper nervously. They tried to back even farther into the wall. There was no other exit, Whumper had trapped them. The only way out was trying to run past them or if the wall would move.

"Whumpee, come here", Whumper said a little sterner.

Whumpee shuddered at the stern voice and slowly started to crawl toward Whumper.

"You know better than to disobey", Whumper scolded, "are you a good Whumpee or not?"

"Good Whumpee", Whumpee whispered.

"Then prove it", Whumper held up the muzzle, "I would like you to be trained with this. It's not something permanent, I just want you to be able to do it."

Whumpee looked at the muzzle questioningly.

"I just washed it as well", Whumper patted Whumpee's head, "you'll be alright. I promise I won't let anything hurt you."

Whumpee whined lowly.

"Okay go ahead and give it a sniff", Whumper held it to Whumpee's face.

Whumpee sniffed over the torture device.

*Click... click*

Whumper clicked the clicker to tell Whumpee they did good.

Whumper smiled as they offered Whumpee a treat.

"And sniff again", Whumper held up the muzzle.

Whumpee did as they were told a little quicker this time.

*Click... click*

"Good job Whumpee", Whumper grinned, "I think you'll like this next part, though it's going to be a bit messy."

Whumper sprayed a dab of whipped cream into the muzzle and held it up to Whumpee.

"Clean it up", Whumper smiled.

Whumpee cautiously leaned into the muzzle and gave a small lick before they realized what it was. They lapped the rest up in seconds.

"Muzzle yourself", Whumper made a command.

Whumpee looked up with concern. 'What?', they questioned to themself.

Whumper sprayed more whipped cream into the muzzle and held it up for Whumpee, "clean."

Whumpee quickly leaned into the muzzle and lapped up the sweet cream.

"Muzzle yourself", Whumper commanded again.

Whumpee looked up with a questioning look and cocked their head to the side.

*Click... click*

Whumpee happily received another treat.

"You're doing so good", Whumper stood, "I'll be right back... stay."

Whumper reached for the whipped cream can and sprayed a tiny bit under Whumpee's nose.

They chuckled as they watched Whumpee work to lick the cream off.

Whumper came back with a cleaned muzzle.

"I thought this would be a little messier, but you are doing so good", Whumper sat down again.

"Muzzle yourself", Whumper held up the muzzle.

Without thought, Whumpee leaned into the muzzle. They were disappointed when their was no more cream.

The muzzle suddenly tightened and was locked into place.

Whumpee quickly backed away from Whumper and started to frantically shake their head and paw at the muzzle. They rolled around the floor wildly.

Whumper watched them get their angst out, completely unbothered by Whumpee.

After a few minutes Whumpee made a tired huff and gasped for air.

"You done?", Whumper sighed, "if you come here I'll spray some whipped cream into your mouth."

Whumpee pawed at the muzzle again, before finally crawling to Whumper.

"Alright open your mouth" Whumper held up the can and stuck it into a slot and sprayed the cream into Whumpee's waiting mouth.

After a few minutes Whumper removed the muzzle and let Whumpee rub their face.

"Let's try again", Whumper held up the muzzle, "muzzle yourself."

Whumpee pawed at the clicker and whined.

"No, no clicks until you perform satisfactorily", Whumper shook their head, "muzzle yourself."

Whumpee leaned into the muzzle and shuddered as they felt it tighten and lock.

It took them everything not to try and shake it off again.

Whumper grinned as they sprayed more whipped cream into the muzzle.

Whumpee happily lapped it up again.

*Click... click*

Whumpee coveted that sound.

"Very good job Whumpee", Whumper happily removed the muzzle, "you did so good. I think you will have this down after a few more training sessions."

Whumpee happily rolled on the floor.

"Such a good Whumpee... are you my good Whumpee?", Whumper cooed.

Whumpee happily trotted to Whumper.

"Come here, such a good pet", Whumper praised as they hugged Whumpee tightly, "though you are absolutely sticky from the whipped cream."

"Let's give you one more spray before we get you cleaned up", Whumper held up the can and sprayed into Whumpee's mouth.

After giving Whumpee a bath, Whumper finally settled back on the couch.

Whumpee rested on the floor right under them.

"Let's see if there is anything good on TV now", Whumper reached for the remote, "if not, we might have to find another trick to learn.

Whumpee quietly pleaded that Whumper found something interesting to watch.

"Oh good... you're in luck Whumpee. The new season is out", Whumper chuckled, "I guess you get a break for the rest of today."

Whumpee happily rested their head on a pillow Whumper had given them earlier in the day.

'Thank goodness', Whumpee sighed in relief.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains @3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006

[deluxewhump]

I Know You Remember Me

John recognizes a wealthy client’s stolen pet immediately, even filthy, with two black eyes. He moves quickly to buy him back from the box truck driver in possession of him, and then must think what to do about this. Meanwhile, he looks after the abused pet in a motel room.

CW: lay it on thick hurt/comfort, pet whump universe (not bbu), caretaker has some ulterior motives but is largely sympathetic, offscreen noncon with multiple whumpers, sti mention, underweight whumpee mention, whumpee offering sex, bruises, burns & cigarette burns, nonsexual nudity and bathing, platonic bed-sharing, medically inaccurate care I’m sure, one shot probably

-

“I know you remember me. I’m sure I remember you.”

The unfortunate creature— for he looked more a creature than a boy in the low light, in the filthy west Texas motel room John had rented for the night with cash— dared to steal a glance up at him.

His eyes were dark, and bright with fear. Bruises ringed both of them like an unlucky fighter, purple as the Easter cloth draped on all the crosses they’d driven past. John knew from the taut look of the eyelids they’d been swollen shut a day or so earlier. The boy pet had dried blood caked in his nostrils and on one side of his downturned mouth. His hair was a matted and filthy mop that fell over his forehead and ears in greasy, wavy sections crusted together with more old blood.

The boy looked at him cautiously. There was too much fear in his posture, in his eyes. It was impossible to tell if he recognized John, too.

John squatted down to be eye level. As he thought it might, this made the frightened pet drop his eyes and flatten his spine as best he could against the nicotine stained paint of the motel wall.

“Hey, now,” John murmured, as if to one of his racehorses. They were spirited, flighty things, nothing like the quarter horses he’d grown up with. He talked to them all the same, though, from the spring colts to the swaybacked veterans.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I know you’ve seen a lot of people lately, huh? You probably don’t remember me. That’s okay. I remember you. You were at Jack Kinsington’s place before all this.”

The boy did not look back up at him, and his dirty hair gave away his trembling, but he was listening.

“I came by with a couple of horses. Bays, both of them. Soaked in sweat and prancing all around, you remember them? They’re high strung, they don’t like to ride in the trailer. Anyway, I told Jack he ought to let you stretch your legs. He did, but you were so numb you couldn’t stand for a while. You looked right at me.”

The boy turned his head an inch, so he could glance up at John’s face again.

“You remember that day. Sure you do. I thought you were in rough shape then, but I have to say, you look worse now.”

That lost him the eye contact. That was okay. The boy remembered. If not his face, then the incident.

“I thought it was awfully cruel to keep you in a space that small,” he went on. “I don’t know how some people do to a person what they wouldn’t do to an animal. They justify it, I guess. They project things onto these pets they buy and then they punish them for it. Gives them their kicks. Even Jack Kinsington, who I have to admit I respected up until that day.”

He stopped that train of thought.

“Why don’t we get you up off the floor there and let me take care of you, huh? No offense, you look kind of like roadkill.”

The boy made no sound, no indication that he’d even heard except for the way his chest expanded a little faster with his quickening breath. The poor thing's heart must be pounding. John had a knack for fixing things up, be it a business his brother had fucked up or a lame horse, a broken water heater or a vehicle. He spent less time fixing things now and more time delegating what other people needed to fix, but this boy was downright hurting his innermost, rarely expressed tenderness of heart, and he wanted to fix something for him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said again. His knees were getting tired in this deep squat, and his boots had no give in the toes for it. “I’m gonna clean you up and look after you. You don’t have to do anything, just don’t fight me too much. Can you do that?”

He reached out and laid a hand over the boy’s. The abused pet flinched but didn’t jerk away. John encircled the boy’s wrist in his hand and pulled it slowly away from his body, towards him. “Can you stand?” he asked, pushing himself to standing and bringing the boy with him.

He made it to his feet, and was nearly as tall as John, but stumbled when he tried to take a step.

“Please,” he whispered reflexively as John moved closer, flinching to protect his battered face.

“Please what, baby?” John muttered, lifting the boy’s arm over the back of his shoulders and wrapping his arm around his slim waist to help him walk. “You’re okay, you’re right here. I’ve got you. Let’s get you in the tub.”

Slowly, they staggered to the motel bathroom a d John flicked on the staggeringly white lights that buzzed and hummed to life. He sat the boy on the lip of the low bathtub as gently as he could.

“I’m going to give you a bath,” he said matter-of-factly, turning the taps so warm water began to fill the tub. “Where did all this blood come from?”

The boy was watching him warily, dark eyes following his every move.

“You hear me? Where’s all this dried blood coming from, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

John nodded, pleased the boy had spoken. Some didn’t, or wouldn’t, he knew, not once they looked like this one did.

“Did they beat you? Is that what all this is from?”

He gave a small nod, blinking in discomfort at John’s bluntness.

“Did they hurt you in any other ways?”

He nodded again.

John felt a tug of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach. “How?”

Jack’s pet looked evasively at the rising bath water.

“If you tell me how you’re hurt, I can help you better.”

Nothing.

“What’s your name?”

“Paulo.”

He put the emphasis on the au, and there was a way he said his L that positioned the tongue differently than he did when saying other words.

“Paulo,” John said, putting the emphasis on the vowels of the first syllable too, but with no attempt at altering his very American L. I’m John. I bought you from that man, the one with the box truck. I take it Jack Kinsington sold you? Or were you stolen?”

Tears shimmered in the boy’s dark eyes, swollen and purple still like a raccoon mask. He bit the inside of his cheek to steel himself and keep from letting them fall.

John gentled his voice. “Paulo. I only ask because it’s important. If you legally belong to Jack, I gotta bring you back to him.”

Paulo’s head snapped up. He lost control of the tears, which spilled down his bruised cheeks. He grabbed hold of John’s sleeves, pulling himself closer as if his whole body was not bruised and sore. “No,” he begged urgently. “Please. I’ll do anything. Please. I-I’ll do anything you want, I can’t… please don’t….”

An idea dawned on him and he let go of his latest captor’s sleeve in order to lift his trembling fingers to his own tattered shirt. He pulled it over his head with a barely-suppressed whimper of pain. His torso was bruised like his face and arms, dark black and purple impact points on his warm toned skin like fists or boots, some that looked like electric burns left from a cattle prod and others more reminiscent of the yellow, oozing wounds cigarettes tended to leave. He was ribby, in a dehydrated, sudden sort of way that looked like he hadn’t eaten much of anything in the last few days.

He started on the button of his pants and John reached out to stop him. “Hey. No. What’s this?”

“Do- do you prefer girls? I can be just as good for you.” His glittering eyes were simultaneously like a starving animal and horribly blank. “They all say so.”

Ah. There was an answer to one of his questions. He pulled Paulo’s wrists away from the opening of his pants, held them in his own on the cool edge of the tub between them. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not interested.”

“I could take a bath,” he whispered hopefully.

“You will take a bath. But I’m still not interested. I need to know— were you given to someone by Jack Kinsington rightfully, or were you stolen?”

The fear was back. John didn’t know which was worse on this one, the dead eyes or the fear. “Don’t take me back to him.”

“He hurt you a lot, then? Jack?”

John already figured as much. Despite his admiration for the man’s business sense, he was a cruel and sadistic pet owner. Once he’d seen a boy shoved into a cage fit for a fox, he’d reconciled that much in his mind. It was like that often, when it came to human pets, and never quite who you’d expect.

The boy begged miserably. “Please, Sir. I’ll do anything.”

“You mentioned that. He didn’t sell you, did he?”

Paulo glanced down.

So he’d bought a stolen pet. That’s what he more or less suspected when he’d seen the boy at the rest stop, weeks after he’d seen him in the cage at Jack’s and much worse for wear.

Jack Kinsington would probably be even more open to buying more of John’s racehorses in the near future if he returned his favorite boy-pet to him. Don’t worry what it cost to get him back, Jack. Less than the yearling I’ve got for you to look at this spring, I can tell you that. Call it even.

John turned off the taps and tested the water with his fingers. He’d wondered if the boy would be willing to take those filthy clothes off in front of him, but seeing as he’d just offered himself, he thought it more likely now.

“Take those off,” he said of the boy’s remaining clothing. “You can borrow some of mine when you’re cleaned up.”

Despite his offer less than five minutes ago, Paulo was modest to the point of shyness once he was naked.

“It’s okay. I’m not even looking at you,” John assured him a little gruffly as he helped him into the water. “I just want to get you clean.”

Paulo flinched as he submerged, undoubtedly feeling every burn, cut, and bruise as he did. He was so dirty that tear tracks were now visible on his face from his crying. John wet a rough motel washcloth in the warm water and brought it to his face. He dabbed and nudged the dried blood from Paulo’s mouth and nose. The boy tried very hard not to flinch and shy away, and in return he tried to be very gentle. “Good,” he said quietly, wetting the cloth and returning it to the blood and swollen tissue. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

Paulo made brief eye contact with him at that, probably because it had become a foreign concept that someone would make an effort against hurting him. Just as quickly he slid his gaze away, back to an indeterminate point on the bathroom tile.

“You wanna do this next part?”

Paulo didn’t answer.

John moved as gently and quickly as was prudent over the rest of his body, knowing he was hurting him when he passed over the yellowed cigarette burns on his legs and hips.

“I know. You’re gonna be okay. Almost done. You’re doing really well.”

Paulo let John wash his hair, using some of the hotel shampoo that would likely sting some cuts but was desperately needed. He closed his eyes as John worked his fingers through the blood and dirt, the snarls coming apart slowly with gentle patience. As he rinsed the boy’s dark hair clean, John noticed he had stopped shaking.

He drained the now red-brown water and wrapped Paulo in a white hotel towel. He looked better clean, though there was nothing to do for the bruises but wait. He sat on the side of the motel bed as John went through his black duffel bag, pulling out sweatpants, a gray cotton T-shirt, and ibuprofen for him.

Paulo dressed in the bathroom and accepted two of the pills. He came out and sat on the end of the bed afterwards, staring at the pattern on the comforter.

“Does Jack know who had you?” John asked as he set up his phone charger. “The guy with the box truck out there?”

Paulo shook his head. “That man wasn’t the first.”

So he’d been bought and sold multiple times since being stolen—kidnapped— from Jack's property. It was possible Jack knew the original perpetrators, but had no idea where his pet was now. John sighed. His mind was working analytically, trying to understand every facet of the situation before he acted— trying to understand how he could manipulate it most in his favor. But that all felt shallow and cruel when he truly saw the boy in front of him, his damp hair and his bruised face, his narrow chest and the way he was nervously picking at a scab on the inside of his wrist.

“Don’t do that,” John said softly. “I don’t want you getting any infections.”

Paulo stopped immediately but looked intrigued by the care in that statement. Likely no one had said anything like it to him in a long while now.

“Are you hungry?”

Paulo shrugged. John raised his eyebrows and he went with a more committed shake of the head. “No, Sir.”

“…Are you scared?”

The boy swallowed, touched the scab on his wrist without picking it.

He’d said it before, but he knew he’d have to say it a hundred more times, and show it a thousand, before it sunk in. He likely would not end up doing that, but he’d say it as long as the pet was in his possession. “I promise I'm not gonna hurt you.”

“What, then?” Paulo asked, shrugging one shoulder to his ear in what felt like embarrassment at his own question.

“If I’m not going to hurt you? What then?”

He nodded.

“Nothing. I'm gonna take you back to Tennessee.”

“To Jack?”

“For the time being, to my place in Lewisburg. I have a farm.”

“What kind of farm?”

“Horses. You wanna come?”

He said he did. Not that he had much of a choice. John suspected they both knew that killing him on the side of a dirt road in west Texas would be better than what might happen if he took him back to Tennessee and failed to promptly return him to Jack. Jack would take it out on his lost little pet as much as he did John.

“I can’t believe you’re still even sitting up and talking. Come here.” John stood up and pulled the corner of the bedsheets down. “Lie down.”

Paulo did as he asked.

Before John would cover him up he asked, “Can you tell me if anyone kicked you in the back or abdomen, or if you feel any pain when you move or breathe?”

He thought about that. “I don’t know. I’m sore.”

“Any sharp pains, anything feel broken?”

“No?”

“Can I touch your stomach right here? It won’t be for long.”

A little apprehensive, Paulo agreed. John placed his hands on his abdomen and prodded his way along, trying to feel anything amiss or to get a sharp yell from Paulo. None came.

“Does this hurt anywhere more than soreness?”

“No,” his patient said in a small voice.

“Okay,” he said, and covered the boy to his chest with the blankets. “I’m done. Thank you. I was worried you might have internal bleeding, or broken ribs.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll need to get you checked for other things too, soon. Make sure you didn’t contract anything.”

It took a moment for this to register, but when it did, Paulo blushed scarlet.

“It’s okay,” John assured him. His next gesture surprised him. Tenderly, he brushed the back of his knuckles to an unbruised spot on Paulo’s cheek. He was quickly becoming endeared to this unfortunate little pet. “You’re probably alright. And even in the event you did, it’s not your fault.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to?” Paulo asked, leaning his cheek almost imperceptibly into John’s knuckles.

John retracted his hand. “No. I didn’t want to because I am not interested in hurting you.”

“I said you could.”

“You and I both know it would still be hurting.”

Paulo laid his head back on the pillow. “I don’t understand what you want.”

“For starters, I want you to tell me what you want to eat.”

He didn’t eat much, but he did make an effort. John got the impression he was suspicious of every simple kindness, every time there were footsteps outside their door in the breezeway.

When he turned out the light and put a partition of pillows between them to sleep, he felt Paulo start awake every time a car pulled into the parking lot, or the AC beneath the window kicked on with a rattle.

“You’re okay,” he said drowsily from across the pillow divide, which made it feel more like bunking together and less like sharing a bed. “Nobody knows you’re here. Nobody knows where you are at all. That door is deadbolted. And I’m here between the rest of the world and you. You can sleep tonight. Nothing can hurt you.”

He doubted words would actually help, since the boy's nerves were probably completely shot, and who knows when was the last time he’d had a good nights sleep, and felt safe enough to do so? Still, he thought it should be nice to hear. It was the least he could do. He didn’t make any undue promises. Just tonight.

Paulo was quiet for a minute, and then John heard a wet sniff that was the unmistakable sound of crying. He didn’t think he should say ‘don’t cry’ to someone in his position, so he didn’t. He just listened from across the pillows until the little pet fell asleep.

[aceofwhump]

The Silencing starring Nikolaj Coster-Waldau

For @whumpers-monthly Shot with an arrow

[whumperer-86]

Biting his own hand from the extreme pain, Concerned for him, and being manhandled by close people to him

[painsandconfusion]

Ethan's Ship

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Forty-four

(tw: death threat, torture mention, manhandling, knife, fluff) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Ethan ignored how the wooden chair dug in against the bruises in his back. The rest of the position was comfortable, so he remained lounging there, slumped with feet kicked up on the corner of the dining table. Crossed and cozy as he carved dry, flaking blood out from under his nails with a pocketknife. No matter how many passes he took, there always seemed to be a little more pressed up against the tender white skin that hid beneath the keratin. Strange how parts of the body could be so dark while others were so bright. How blood gathers in one place more than another. How the crevices and curves seemed to suck in the wrongness and blight.

Human bodies had always fascinated him. He never had any interest in studying them at a medical level. To some extent, that seemed like disrespecting the body. Studying it to the point that you knew every sinew and cell by name depersonalized it. It took away from the glory and wonder of the gore and put a focus on the mechanical, computeristic labels. Neat, pretty diagrams where flesh is held back by calipers took so much beauty out of the scene.

He’d much rather rip someone open himself and have the lines between flesh, fat, and bone be blurred and smudged by welling blood. He didn’t need to know what the terminology was. He only really cared for feeling the warmth under his fingers.

Pass by pass, the little blade scraped and carved away both the dust of the nail itself and the little flakes and freckles of black so they fluttered down to his shirt or the floor. He’d sweep it up later if Nate didn’t get to it first.

That man was so strange. Ethan hadn’t ever greatly disliked household chores, but he certainly didn’t love them. Yet, cleaning seemed to be a comfort to Nate. When the bitch was stressed, he’d mop or shove cleaners and ice down the garbage disposal. He’d scrub down the toilets and sanitize the railings. Wax the key-holes or scrub at grout with a wire-bristled brush.

It didn’t make sense to Ethan, but he did appreciate not having to do much. Nate could snap at him for leaving plates or sweatshirts around the house, but he never seemed to expect Ethan to do any actual cleaning. If Ethan got to it first, fine. If he didn’t, Nate never brought it up.

Still, Ethan would make sure this got taken care of. He wasn’t going to leave blood around the house. Even if it wasn’t very visible, he wanted no evidence of there being people in the basement, and Nate agreed. Downstairs was for mess and blood. Upstairs was for bright, fresh order.

His train of thought was interrupted by the front door clicking open. It was locked unless Ethan’s bracelet with a computer chip embedded came close to it. It was a simple thing. Braided black leather. Thin enough it might just look like a hair-tie to the naked eye. He could take it on and off at will. Without it, Ethan hadn’t been able to escape this house. He’d needed to get ahold of the chip that was in Nate’s watch instead.

Ethan wondered if Nate had moved that chip by now. If it was still in his easily-removed smartwatch, or if he’d wisened up after Ethan’s escape and had it put into something else instead. Unfortunately, Nate was far too light a sleeper for Ethan to sneak into his room while he slept to swipe it when it was on charge. 

If he ever needed that chip, he would have to play trial and error in the moment.

Hooray.

“E-!?” Nate called out, sending his voice echoing through the house.

“Here,” he responded without much enthusiasm. Just still prodding at a spot of red that wouldn’t leave the innermost corner of his thumb. The dining table was close to the door - just obscured by the grand staircase that cut to the upstairs.

He liked it here. Hiding under the stairs. It was a comfort some days.

“Sup,” Nate greeted, stepping up and dropping a brown-paper-wrapped box in front of Ethan.

Ethan’s eyes admittedly perked up to the box, curious. Still refusing to look at Nate. “...what’s that supposed to be?”

“An apology,” Nate hummed, pulling a chair out and sitting down next to Ethan.

Ethan frowned at it, finally looking to Nate. “Do you think you can buy me off or something?”

Nate shrugs. “No. But I can make life a little more bearable. You’re right. He’s yours, not mine. If we’d switched places, I’d probably have killed you for almost taking him. Soooo… if not an apology, this is a ‘thank you for not killing me’ gift.” He flutter-blinked his eyes to ham up the delivery a bit because of course he did.

Ethan snorted half a laugh, pulling his feet off the table and clicking the knife shut. “What even is it?”

Nate raised a are-you-kidding-me-right-now brow. “...it’s giftwrapped. You’re supposed to open it to find out.”

Ethan sighed, picking at the paper until a corner ripped free. It tore straight across the box in a long strip.

Barely any color shone through that stripe, but Ethan knew exactly what it was. Not which model, of course, but he could see the planks. The gundeck. The edge of the stern.

“..you….got me a boat?”

Nate rolled his eyes, pulling back more of the paper for him. “A model that you can build.”

“I- I mean yeah, dipshit, I know what a model is.”

“Then why are you asking.”

“I wasn’t- This is basically a toy.”

“It’s not like it’s for kids or something. I have it on very good authority that this is ‘tOo DiFiCuLt’ for me to do to, so clearly it’s a very grownup thing.”

Ethan can’t help the laugh that puffs from his chest. “Yeah? Who said that?”

“Oh, no no, you need to hear the whole story-” Nate was standing just enough to straighten his chair - perfectly facing Ethan. He perched on the edge of it, hands poised up and locked in for storytelling.

“..you’re making a big deal out of this-”

“Of course I’m making a b- Do you even hear yourself? Have you met me? ‘BiiiG dEaL’ -Shut up-”

Alright, Ethan could admit he was smiling. “I stand uncorrected.”

“Damn right, you do.” He flicked his pointed finger down toward Ethan’s chair. “Though, the court should note that you are sitting right now.”

And the unimpressed glare was back.

Puns.

“So anyway~” Nate locked back into what seemed to be his official storytelling stance. “So I go into the store, right-?”

No response. Just listening.

Nate held the pause for a few moments before his eyes deadened. “This is where you say ‘yeah’?”

Ethan’s nose scrunched up. “Why? You’re going to tell the story anyway.”

“Oh no no no, I need constant verbal affirmation and engagement.”

“And I have to supply that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why?”

“Do you see anyone else here,” Nate posed, gesturing around the house.

Ethan’s arms crossed, almost playful in this stubbornness. “And if I don’t want to~?”

Nate’s eyes shifted somehow at that challenge - a certain hunger there dragging across Ethan as a spark of intrigue. Nate’s hand clicked open his own knife under the table. He lifted it just enough to drag the point across the table. Not even enough to scratch, yet enough to hum a pitched threat against the wood. “Are you sure about that? I can be very persuasive~”

Ethan couldn’t quite decide if it’d be best here to glare or laugh, so he ended up with something between the two. Darkly amused. “You know you can’t make me do shit.”

“Oh? You seem very confident in that.” Nate rose slowly to his feet, looking down on Ethan for once.

“I am,” Ethan parried, at ease; slumped in his chair.

Nate took a small step closer, touching the knife to Ethan’s shoulder before slowly tracing it across the edge of his collarbone through the fabric of his shirt. “Never say never. I’ve had all kinds of ideas I never got to try out on you.”

Alright, he was tired of being under Nate. He pressed up (happy to see Nate move the knife to keep from cutting him), standing to look down on Nate. The knife did raise with him, though, staying pricked against his chest. Ethan snatched it, twisting it easily and simply out of Nate’s grip. 

He tossed it to the table.

Nate pouted, eyes following the knife. “Oh come on, how am I gonna get you to participate in the story??”

Ethan’s fingers gripped into Nate’s shirt, tugging him closer by it. Slightly upward. “You could always just tell the story.”

Nate’s grin flashed right back onto his face. “Oh, so you do want to know what happened~”

A sigh. “Well now I kinda do, so yeah. Start talking.”

Nate’s eyes narrowed, calculating. “Alright! Good enough for me- So-!” He clapped his hands together, not really caring about the grip on his shirt. “So I go into the store and start browsing, yeah? Not really looking for anything specific, mostly going off vibes.”

A pause.

Nate raised a brow, gesturing to Ethan as if to say ‘It’s your line’.

A sigh dragged out of Ethan’s chest with all the silent subtlety of a rusted bumper dragging behind an oldsmobile up the highway. “Y e a h ?” he forced out, the single syllable somehow multiplied and beaten out his throat with punched pronunciation.

Nate’s smirk made a reappearance, so fucking proud of himself for getting Ethan to play along. “There you go~ Very affirming thank you.”

Ethan shoved him backward, watching Nate flail until he landed hard in his chair again.

Sitting up immediately, Nate seemed unperturbed. “So I picked this one out right away and this lady who was working there came over to ask if I needed help.”

Ethan watched, waiting for Nate to continue as he sat back in his own chair. Nate did not continue. Just waiting for Ethan. 

Ugh.

Well, he wasn’t in the mood to have that petty fight again, so he prompted- “And?” As pointedly as possible.

“And I asked her about the kit. The lady looked me up and down and had the audacity to say ‘are you sure you can handle this model?’ Like. In the bitchiest voice you can imagine.”

“Ooo- she sure showed you.”

“Yeah yeah whatever- anyway- She said she didn’t want to sell it to me. Insisted that I wouldn’t be able to handle it and would bring it back for a refund all ruined. So I had to ask for the manager and it was a whole thing.”

Ethan breathed a laugh, reaching forward to pick up and examine the box. “Yeah, okay Karen.” He flipped it over, eyeing the pieces and the complexity of the details. “...wait this one? This is the one she said you couldn’t make??”

“...yeah-?”

Another laugh snickered out of him as he popped open one of the flaps and rummaged under the cardboard to pick out the info sheet. “This is like… level two or something, Nate-”

Nate’s nose scrunched up. “What does that mean?”

“It means you must have looked pretty pathetic to her if she didn't think you could do it.” He hummed, looking over Nate with pity in his eyes and a pout on his lips. “I’m not sure I disagree,” he cooed.

Nate scoffed a laugh. “Um- rude-??”

A shrug as he looked back to the paper, unfolding it to see how many stages there were. “Just saying.”

“So you think you can do it, but I can’t??”

“Yeah, pretty much. Too bad I’m not building it.”

Nate pressed a hand to his chest, practically clutching his pears. “You would just throw this away after I went to all that work to get it for you???”

“Uh-huh-” He was just a bit distracted looking over the instructions. It was a good size. Absolutely huge. A statement piece rather than simple decor or a project. He didn’t even know where they’d put it…

“Ethan, if you don’t build this, I’m going to build it myself and paint it with your blood.”

“Mm. Very nice visual,” he murmured, plucking up some of the planks to survey them. They were.. admittedly a great quality. He didn’t think they’d split under the tacks. Each plank separate and perfect rather than the cheap full-decked pieces that department store models had.

“I thought so, thanks.”

So much missing, though… cheap sets assume you don’t have the essential tools and include shit versions of them. Better models do have faith in you, and therefore give you nothing.. “I don’t think this comes with half of the supplies we need to build it. You’ll have to go back to the store.”

“Oh no, fuck that. Drive to the store yourself.”

The corner of Ethan’s mouth twitched up slightly as he pulled out the rope. It was so well corded for being so small. Incredibly realistic. Far better than the little bits of string the others he worked on had.

“..yeah okay, have fun with that,” Nate eventually said after there was no response. He Stood, swiping his knife back up and closing it.

“I’m not gonna build it, I’m just looking.”

Ethan could feel eyes on him, but didn’t bother looking back. He started pulling more things out, compiling the pieces of the project into a line by what stage of building he’d need them in.

“...uh huh. I’m making coffee - you want some while you work?”

“Oh- yeah sure, thanks,” he muttered, distracted as he ripped open the package with the ribs inside.

“No problem.”

Things quieted down again after that. No one spoke again for hours once Nate had brought the steaming mugs through to the table. They just sipped at coffee as Nate sketched and Ethan planned out what he’d need to get to put this monster together.

David might not be here to help him build this one, yet it still seemed that he was somewhere much closer than before; as if he were secretly watching Ethan work from some corner of the room, whiskey in hand. Just another ship they’d build together.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

tags: @prisonerwhump

@whumpawink

@wormwriting

@distinctlywhumpthing

@whump-cafe

@jo-doe-seeking-inspo

@azayta

@batfacedliar-yetagain

@there-will-always-be-blood

@siren-of-agony

@whumpworld

@deltaxxk

@whumpasaurus101

@pickywhumpreader

@whumpberry-cookie

@morning-star-whump

@nailevislev

@throwawaywhumper

@the-mourning-star

@d-cs

@pigeonwhumps

@suspicious-whumping-egg

@snakebites-and-ink

@whumpedydump

@whumplr-reader

@rainbowsandwhumperflies

@starfields08000

@crystallizedme

@lumpofsand

@taterswhump

@starsick1979

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

(Sorry for the weird taglist, tumblr has been rude lately)

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned whumpee: Final 1/2

CW: Betrayal, team whump, whumper turned caretaker, assassination attempt, hurt/comfort, annggsst

[Previous] - [Masterlist] - [Next]

Whumper watched over whumpee all throughout the night. Whumpee would wake up, not remember where they were, then struggle until whumper soothed them back asleep.

Whumper knew the sleepless nights would catch up with them eventually. They downed a tall cup of coffee, hoping to stay awake until morning...

------

Whumpee woke up that morning staring wide-eyed at whumper fast asleep on the bed with them. "Hey." Whumpee spoke, testfully poked whumper's arm. They groaned, but remained out cold.

Whumpee climbed over them and touched their bare foot to the floor, they immediately felt something cold as they flinched. There was spilt coffee at the foot of the bed along with an assortment of papers. They were badly stained, any information whumpee could have gleaned were long gone.

A silver key was dangling from whumper's pocket. If whumpee couldn't find information here, then there would be something elsewhere.

They clutched the key and snuck out of the infirmary. There were guards patrolling the halls as whumpee ducked around the corner. They let the guards pass, before slipping into the hall behind them. Whumpee tried every door they passed, all locked tight and the key fit none of them.

There was one last engraved door at the end of the hall. Whumpee heard the guards coming back around as they trembled and kept missing the keyhole. There was a silent *click* as the door swung open. Whumpee jumped in and shut the door behind them, taking a deep sigh of relief.

They stood in what seemed to be whumper's office; a large wooden desk, walls adorned with weapons, massive bookshelves. Everything whumpee expected whumper's office to look like, really.

They turned on a lamp and rooted through the desk. There were moundfuls of documents detailing whumpee's team. There were things here whumpee didn't even know... Things they weren't classified to know. They were told whumper was a murderer, someone who killed on sight; they took no prisoners and mercy was unheard of.

"Then why did you save me?" Whumpee whispered, looking at a framed picture of whumper proudly standing with their team. "Why capture me for intel if you had it already?"

In the depths of a drawer, whumpee found a roughly bound journal. It was branded with whumpee's team logo. They recognized it; each team carried one to document missions. Even whumpee had their own, though this one looked ancient...

They opened the first page before suddenly, the door opened and the lights flashed on. Whumpee gasped and dropped the book, frozen as they looked up like a deer in headlights. The person staring back had the very same expression. Horror, adrenaline, confusion.

-It was one of whumpee's teammates, dressed darkly and hooded as they took an astonished step towards whumpee.

"Whumpee? You're alive?" They whispered. "How? We thought they killed you." They gasped. Whumpee covered their mouth and clambered back to their feet. They were flooded with relief seeing a friendly face. They tried to figure out how to say a million words in a single breath.

"It's a long story-" Whumpee heaved, "I've been kept here by whumper, I got hurt in the attack and I-I was bleeding out and I was-" Whumpee trailed off with a flicker of doubt. They knew their team would think whumpee betrayed them if they were found alive in whumper's custody. The amount of intel that could be tortured out of them...

"I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't looking right at you." Their teammate filled in the silence, taking a step closer. "To think all this time, you survived..."

They didn't sound happy. Both of their eyes dropped to the journal between their feet, branded with their symbol.

"Ah, I see... So you found it." Their teammate stared.

"Found what? What have you not told me?" Whumpee demanded.

They crouched down to pick up the book, as they heard a *sswick* of a blade being unsheathed. Whumpee stopped in their tracks. They slowly looked up and stared into the tip of a blade and the eyes of someone who was no ally.

"I really am sorry." Their teammate whispered softly. "But you died that day, whumpee. It has to stay that way, for the good of all of us. You understand, don't you?" They took a step closer as whumpee snatched the book in their arms and backed away.

"Oh, come on, don't make this difficult. You've died once for us already. You can do it one more time, can't you?" They tilted their head.

"Can't I know why?" Whumpee's voice broke as their back hit the wall. "I- I didn't give you up, I didn't tell whumper anything. They weren't even what I thought they were... They weren't what you told me!" Whumpee suddenly shouted.

"I'm sure you didn't, you were always loyal. But it was never about that."

The blade came to their throat as whumpee shuttered and closed their eyes. The sound of a blade piercing flesh, a hot splatter of blood hit their chest, yet they felt nothing but cold adrenaline.

There was hollow silence. Whumpee opened their eyes, their teammate's face was blank as they sunk to the floor on their knees. Their silhouette was replaced by whumper, holding a dripping blade with a look of pure hatred.

"They dare set foot in my house!?" Whumper shouted. Their eyes suddenly darted to whumpee, who flinched. Their back was to the corner, face stained with blood, they trembled while hugging the journal to their chest.

"How did you get- ... No, one thing at a time." Whumper stopped themselves, putting the blade out of sight. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" They asked instead, nudging the corpse off their feet.

"I'm- ... I'm not hurt." Whumpee responded rapidly, trying not to show they were gasping for breath. "They were going to k-kill me." Whumpee touched their fingers to their chest where their teammates blood was splattered. "And you just... S-saved my life..."

"As much as I want to gloat and say I told you so- I'm just glad I got here when I did. Come with me, let's get you changed and we'll talk." Whumper held out their hand.

To be continued, 2/2

[Previous] - [Masterlist] - [Next]

@parasitebunny @starzabove @frog-hat-fa-ggot @morning-star-whump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @mommymarichatfurever​  @isita-torrrres @tobiaslut @anonintrovert @sausages-things

[paingoes]

Crash Out - CTRL

(Content: (ex) royal whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, guns, minor character death, rescue, reluctant caretaking, blood, past torture, wound care, panic attack, crying, guilt, comfort)

~~~~~

Antony looked again to the girl stood in front of him, one of her arms propped up against the ancient computer tower. Her other hand hooked two fingers on the collar of her broken heels. She’d come dressed like it was a new job interview. He supposed in some ways it was.

He carded through the folder she’d brought him, recognized Vi’s monogram at the corner of the page. The two of them spoke in a language no one else could. Even without the aid of the cipher-breaker, he could make out some of the fine script off memory alone. Amendments to the passion project. Top secret. Vi wouldn’t even send it over the wire, but she’d sent it with her.

“I’m an excellent shot,” Lorelai had said. And a smooth talker, apparently, if she had wormed her way out of the imperial arms. She’d been proud of that, he could tell as she recounted the story. She described the soldier who’d released her, asked for him to be spared if CTRL so happened across him. The infantry all looked the same to him, but he said he’d do his best.

She wasn’t bad, he thought. He could see why Vi had wanted her. But something about the gesture felt too showy for his tastes.

Look what I bagged, he could hear Vi’s voice in trills down his mind. She was beautiful, there was no question. But more than that, she was cute. Incorruptible and delivered right to their doorstep.

She could be such a roué when she wanted to be.

They were not onboarding, exactly, and she had picked a hell of a time to show up. The timing was no good for him — and it seemed it was no good for her either. 

“I can’t stay all night,” Lorelai had said, as if he’d invited her to.

He liked her, though. He didn’t mind walking the dark tunnels of the base with her, didn’t mind showing her around. 

“Long way from home, then,” Antony said casually. “All on a whim?”

She laughed lightly, the same trill in her voice.

“It might as well have been, the way it happened.” She brushed a hand through her hair. It caught on her broken nail. She unhooked it. 

In the range, he watched the target light up where it was shot. He watched the way she reached to reload — in the wrong place, on the wrong rifle. Muscle memory.

“Military school?” He asked. And she blushed, as if she had caught the same tell but was too late to stop it.

Then - “Are you always this giddy in a warzone?”

“No.” She put the gun down. “I don’t mean to be. You think I’m a tourist, don’t you?”

“No,” Antony answered. “Just that you’re strange.”

She couldn’t argue with that. As they started back towards the center, he held the door open for her. She did something like a curtsy as she passed through. And for the fifth time in twenty minutes, she glanced at her phone. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she saw the display.

“Something wrong?” he asked her.

Lorelai scrolled back up the message log. She bit at her nails, then stopped as her gaze returned to him.

“I told you, I didn’t know they were planetside when I first got here.” She refreshed the messages again. From the colors alone, Antony saw no change on her screen. “I left my friend — and my ship — out by the edge. Now he’s not answering my texts.”

“Oh,” he paused, “You think something might’ve happened.”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip again. “I left the keys with him, I don’t know.”

Antony paused a minute. He was not in the business of charity. For a long while, their footsteps on the concrete floor were the only sound.

“What are the ship coordinates?” He offered, finally. It wouldn’t hurt just to send a scout. She’d done Vi a favor, so he could spare one for her. The fighting hadn’t even started yet.

Lorelai looked up in surprise. Maybe she wasn’t such a smooth talker, the way he’d taken her for. Maybe all those encounters had gone just like this. He felt a kind of chivalry for her, some deeply buried instinct. Maybe she brought that out of everyone.

She listed out the long string of numbers that revealed the ship’s location. She must have memorized it, even before she left.

~

The sky held the first gloom of twilight and so CTRL’s units felt no need to persevere. Even when they could see in the dark, it wasn’t a fun game to play. 

But Milo had liked it once, the way the woods turned evil at night. He’d lived in the center all his life — all his best memories had been in this stretch of land. Maybe that’s why he took it so personally when the soldiers arrived. Even when they were all flushed out, the woods still would not be safe to play in for the kids who lived there now. It wouldn’t be safe for years afterwards, when all the mines were finally dug out and the bodies all excavated.

They’d taken out two imperial units in one day and sustained minimal injuries in return — all stealth. The off-roader ran wild through the undergrowth. They didn’t need to take their chances.

But then another unit was right there — and their coxswain could not help herself.

“Floor it,” she said.

It was so easy when they were all congregated like that. Nobody was even standing watch. All close together, all it took was a single-

Milo covered his ears, covered his eyes. He didn’t enjoy it, not for anything. But he enjoyed it more than the alternative, easily.

Body parts were strewn out into the dirt. Those who survived the first explosion were shot dead right after, too dazed to even crawl away.  Cleo plucked them all off with her revolver in swift and unpretentious shots. Milo scanned around for any signs of life, anyone lying in wait to avenge themselves upon them. There was no movement.

The coxswain stood up through the sunroof, taking in the scenery just the same. The camp was shoddily arranged, probably only pitched a few days before. Maybe even a few hours.

She elbowed him. It was only then that his attention was drawn to the large hole right by the edge of the camp’s clearing. It cut a rough shape into the earth, but it was — unmistakably — a grave that had yet to be filled.

His heart sank. There was no one unaccounted for on their side. It wasn’t one of their own. If it was full, then…

She elbowed him again.

“What?” He threw his hands up. “It falls to me?”

But the others had already unloaded from the vehicle, taking what they could of the discarded imperial weaponry and food stuffs. Milo grumbled, taking unenthusiastic steps towards the grave.

His eyes widened as he caught movement inside.

He gasped in shock, loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. They were all there then, none of them eager to see a corpse but all too eager to see what else could possibly be there.

It was not a comforting sight. The figure there was bound and bleeding. Both their hands were tied behind their back. A thick rope was wrapped around their ankles — and another length connected the two restraints. Even with the limited movement, the figure had rearranged themselves into a half-upright position against the wall of earth. A blindfold — once white, now colored with dirt and blood — covered their eyes. Blood dripped in a thin line from their mouth.

“Holy shit,” Milo said.

The figure tensed at the sound, seemed to back further into the wall. Milo was pretty sure they were a boy the longer he looked, but couldn’t really tell. He looked to the coxswain for advice. Cleo stared at him like he was crazy. The others did, too. Why did this fall to him?

“Okay,” Milo said louder, “Hold on a sec. Stay right there.”

As if they had any choice. 

Milo carefully lowered himself down into the grave. It was a tight fit. He was glad the other had tried to rearrange himself. He wouldn’t have had the space to maneuver otherwise. Milo landed on the soft earth, crouching down beside the figure. He took them in.

That couldn’t be right.

When he looked back up at Cleo, he could tell she saw it too.

He untied the blindfold. The prince stared back at him with eyes so full of fear and hatred that he actually startled. 

“Holy shit,” he said again, “Your Highness?”

He visibly cringed at the title. Milo supposed he shouldn’t have used it. He wasn’t prince anymore, and CTRL wasn’t supposed to recognize that authority even if he had been. But it’s not like they were on a first name basis with each other. He didn’t know what else to say.

The prince said nothing. He seemed too occupied with trying to breathe properly inside of the tomb, though his eyes followed each of Milo’s movements with a laser precision. The air did feel thinner in here, stale. The earth was cold and seemed to wick away any life inside of it.

“Hey,” Milo’s hand moved to his knife. “If I untie you, you’ll behave? No hitting?”

He stared at him for so long that Milo began to wonder if he’d been deafened too. Or maybe just dazed, hit in the head too many times. He looked confused. 

Finally, he gave a small, slow nod. Milo removed the knife from his belt and cut away at the binds around his ankles. Without the pressure holding them there, his legs fell into a more natural position, but did not move any further. No kicking. A good sign. He placed one hand on the prince’s shoulder, gently tilting him forward to cut his wrists free from behind his back.

The prince pulled them forward slowly, just as cognizant of the threat as Milo was. Milo saw the absolute state that his hands were in. There were rope burns around the wrists, but that was far from the worst of it. The palms had been worked raw. One had a hole right through the center of it. The wound bled openly onto the soil.

Milo put the knife back into his belt, scooting backwards a bit.

“Can you stand?” He would’ve usually offered a hand, but he was very careful not to touch those right now. He stood up and took his forearms for support instead. The prince stood unsteadily. His limbs were all locked up, like he’d been tied there for a while. Milo caught him before he could stumble all the way. He leaned against the dirt wall to keep upright.

Cleo and one of the gunners helpfully extended their hands down.

“Boost,” Milo said, forming a cage with his fingers. The prince stared at him, untrusting, still unable to speak around his own gasps.

“Boost,” Milo insisted.

They nearly had to carry him out of that pit.

They pulled Milo up next, after joking for a few seconds about just leaving him there, which was not very funny. He clambered up along the dirt. He hadn’t liked those clothes anyway — and the soil was easier to wash away than gore.

He saw that the prince had collapsed onto the ground. He seemed unable to even sit up, leaning back on one elbow for support. It had to be the blood loss.

“He needs bandages,” Milo said, though Cleo had beat him to it. Her hands were cleaner anyway, better for the job.

She knelt down onto the grass beside him, taking the punctured hand in her own. The prince yanked it back abruptly, protectively. He got more blood on his shirt in the process.

“You’re bleeding,” she said impatiently, like it wasn’t obvious. She held up the water bottle. “I’m just gonna patch it up. I’ll be quick.”

She gestured to the torn up, makeshift bandage that now hung in tatters on the prince’s wrist. He did not offer his hand back, but when she reached for it again he did not resist. The torn strip of fabric fell away.

She poured the water over his injured hand, washing away the dirt and blood that had coated every inch of it. Milo watched carefully — it was a nasty cut. He thought he was seeing it wrong, but no. It went all the way through his hand. It had to hurt.

The prince made a small, choked noise as she pressed the gauze to it, confirming his suspicions. His hand was shaking slightly, barely steadied by her grasp. She wound the bandages tightly, stopping the bleeding for the first time in what was surely hours. Was he always that pale? Milo couldn’t remember, couldn’t tell from the pictures he’d seen.

Cleo handed the water bottle to Milo, which he took thankfully. He moved over a bit. Before he could pour it out, the gunner stopped him. She grinned mischievously.

“You’ve got royal blood on your hands.” She pressed her hand to his own, smearing some of it onto her fingertips. “That was one of my bucket list items.”

It’d been one of his, too. This was not how he had pictured it.

They loaded back into the off-roader. Cleo took the prince’s arm again, helping him to stand even though he fought against it. She shrugged, letting him walk the remaining few steps to the vehicle without help. Even though he was clearly about to keel over.

By then, the sky was fading from twilight and into the true dark. Milo was glad to get out of there. Something about that camp felt haunted. Probably something to do with all the dead bodies.

He slid into the backseat beside the prince, who immediately backed up into the furthest side of the vehicle, one leg drawn up protectively in front of his chest.

Milo said, “You’re quiet.”

He’d been told the opposite was true. But the prince just stared at him wide-eyed, his expression heavy with doubt and accusation. Milo noticed he hadn’t really closed his mouth once since he’d found him. His chest was heaving rapidly beneath the bloodied shirt. Panic attack, maybe. 

“Drink,” Milo said, removing his canteen from his bag and offering it to him. Dehydration was a consequence of blood loss — and even if it hadn’t been, who knew how long he was in that grave?

Somehow, the look grew even more accusatory.

Good instinct, honestly. Milo almost admired it. He took a swig from the bottle, just to prove it wasn’t poison, before offering it up again. 

This time, the prince took it. He held it carefully in his less-injured hand, fingertips only, shaking just a little.

“Better?” Milo asked once the bottle was empty. 

The prince handed it back, nodding with an expression that Milo could really only describe as abashed.

~

“My family was very protective, so no.” Lorelai shook her hands out a little bit. “No prior experience.”

“Bit of a big jump,” Antony had to point out. 

“To armed militias? Yes, I’ve been told.” She smiled. “I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t have to be armed, necessarily. I’m good at data input. I’m good with field work. All I’m saying is, if you wanted me to, I could.”

“And do you want to?” He had to ask. The secret question hung in the air. Do you enjoy it?

She seemed to sense the trap as soon as it was laid. Her smile grew crooked.

“Do you want me to?” She asked slyly. Her tone was almost playful.

He rolled his eyes. She was only a handful of years younger than him, but she seemed so much more like a kid. He guessed that was what money did. The scars along his arms ached right on cue.

She glanced at her phone again.

“Nothing?” He asked.

“No. You?”

“Nothing.”

She’d kept it under tight cover this entire time, but the worry slipped through whenever she saw the unchanging screen. It was more than worry now.

At that same instant, the doors to the compound opened.

He saw Cleo first, then a blur of motion to his left as Lorelai sprinted across the room. He caught sight of the prince standing upright for only a second before she tackled him. He just barely caught her as they fell onto the floor.

He murmured something to her in his native Latin. Lorelai, who was sobbing into his shoulder, responded in kind. Antony guessed she really had been holding it down. And it looked like she’d been right to be worried. The prince was pinned in place by her — and though half his face was buried in her hair, the bruise was still visible on his cheek. There were matching ones all along his arms, stark against the pallor. Blood stained his skin and clothes.

Antony looked to Cleo. Cleo looked to him. 

What do we do?

He almost didn’t want to interrupt the moment — he was sure if he said anything in that instant, neither of them would even hear him. 

“Watch them,” he gestured to one of the guards on-duty. He knew Lorelai was unarmed, was certain they wouldn’t have brought Paris inside if he had a weapon — though he would’ve appreciated some notice that he was being brought in at all. 

Milo crossed the threshold. He looked worse for wear.

“He’s gonna need a medic,” he explained, unhelpfully. Antony could tell that much. 

~

“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?” He didn’t keep the irritation out of his voice now, remembering the way she’d said my friend. Well, if that’s all-

“You didn’t ask,” Lorelai said, “I didn’t think it’d come up, honest.”

Antony facepalmed. 

The two of them hung just outside the medbay. Lorelai’s nice blue jacket had been turned purple from the contact. The gems on her face glistened just the same as her eyes.

“It’s a pretty fuckin’ huge conflict of interest,” he explained.

“It’s not like I’m married to him,” she said in that honeyed accent, almost apologetic. 

Antony sighed. She continued.

“And it’s not a conflict, not anymore. You heard what happened. Empire hates him.” 

The hatred was clear, but that didn’t mean there was no conflict. Antony could think of a long, long list of conflicts. They had names and families. 

“I hate this,” he said to no one in particular. Lorelai frowned. “I guess you’re in no rush to go anywhere now though, huh?” 

It was fully dark now. No stars were out tonight. Only the neon glow of the low-flying battleships. She nodded, a small blush rising to her face.

“You can’t stay long,” he told her. The needle was dipping dangerously close. The real conflict could pop off at any second. He needed them both out quickly. He didn’t need to bring that same wrath down on the base. He just got this job.

“But you can stay for tonight, I guess,” he conceded. “Don’t think you’ll make it far otherwise.”

~

CTRL had carved them out some corner downstairs — not a bedroom. Many of their own didn’t even have bedrooms. But it was passable for what it was, a collection of pillows and blankets against a soft mat, guarded by an armed sentinel. 

Antony would not have felt safe enough to sleep there, but then he never would have gotten himself into that situation in the first place.

From what he could tell, the girl had fallen asleep quickly, making herself right at home. The prince had not. Antony looked up over the comms to find him leaning in the doorway. He leaned more heavily against his left than his right. The fracture of his rib showed when he walked. He looked more alive after they’d given him plasma, less ready to pass out at any second. But not by much. 

He’d washed the blood off him. His hair now lacked the pinkish tint it’d taken at the base of his neck. The bruises were all the more visible along his bare arms than when he’d had blood and soil to hide them. He was wearing what Antony distinctly recognized as one of Milo’s shirts.

He’d regained his speech, apparently.

“What do you want?” He asked through gritted teeth. His voice sounded sore, cut up somehow. It was clear that it hurt him to speak.

“Excuse me?” Antony replied, still not appreciating the tone.

“What. do. you. want?” Paris glared back at him. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Antony said. He was out of patience for this kind of thing. What did he want? He wanted to live until the end of the week. In the long term, he wanted the destruction of Empire. Somewhere in between, he wanted to see the beaches of Sedonia again. He had no desire to share any of these dreams with the lapsed prince and was sure he’d have no interest either way.

“What do you want from me?” Paris clarified. Naturally. Antony didn’t expect for him to be thinking about anything other than himself.

“I want you to get the fuck out of my sight, frankly,” Antony admitted.

And a shadow of a recognition crossed Paris’s face. Contempt was a language he could understand. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“What? It doesn’t mean shit. I told her: you are leaving tomorrow morning and that is the end of it. Goodnight.” Anthony waved him away.

“Don’t fucking giving me that,” he hissed. “You didn’t have to lie to her. What do you want?”

“Are you stupid?” Antony asked. “I want you gone. That’s all.”

“Are you seriously just letting me walk out of here?” He said it like he was angry about it, a heavy note of accusation just beneath his words. 

He reminds Antony of a mouse he’d once saved from his cats. It had been curled up in the corner of the box he’d trapped it in. Nearly every part of its body stayed deathly still, but each rapid heaving of its chest as it tried to catch its breath showed enormously on its small frame. Its eyes had been enormous as it stared out the edge of them. He could tell how fast Paris’s heart was beating just by looking at him.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.” Antony squinted at him with a disgust he didn’t bother hiding. “We don’t have a court system. We don’t even have a cell. I could kick it off to Galatea, if you want. Do you want that?”

Paris gave a small shake of his head, visibly alarmed at the suggestion. Thank god. It was an empty threat, anyway. Antony would hate to bring Galatea into this, the busybodies that they were.

“As far as I’m concerned, you were never here.”

Paris only looked angrier. He looked like he wanted to kill him.

“You’re lying,” Paris spat. His hands curled up his fists at his side. As if he’d get any use of them now.

Something clicked in Antony’s brain. He tilted his head, a soft and astonished smile appearing on his face.

“Oh wow,” he realized, “You can’t stand it, can you?”

The prince’s eyes widened. He knew he’d hit the mark. He dug in.

“You can’t accept that not everyone is like you. You think we have to take advantage of any weakness, because that’s what you would do, isn’t it?”

His voice picked up too quickly, too loudly. He was sure everyone could hear it out in the hallway. Paris recoiled as if he’d been slapped.

“That’s all you know how to do. You think the whole world is as cruel as you are. But it’s not. It wasn’t. It’s cruel because you made it this way! It didn’t have to be!”

Decades of rage and frustration bled into Antony’s words. He couldn’t help it. God, he couldn’t fucking stand it. He watched as the shock eclipsed Paris’s expression, as the fury seeped out of it. He’d got him.

“You spend your whole fucking life abusing and exploiting everyone you come across and you think it’s okay because it’s just the way things are! But it’s not! It’s not fucking okay! It doesn’t have to be like this! It never did!”

His own anger got away from him. He felt like he’d just run a marathon. Now he was the one struggling to catch his breath, the one about to pass out. It took everything to bring himself back.

He looked up at Paris — he’d been looking his direction the whole time, but he’d stopped seeing him somewhere in between. His head was somewhere else. Now he regained his focus. 

Paris looked like he was about to cry. For a minute, with his hair still wet and the oversized shirt, he appeared so young that Antony almost felt bad. Almost.

“You can’t stand it,” he repeated, “Oh god, this must ruin everything for you.”

He was even paler than he’d been when they found him. His eyes were wide, but the pupils were all dilated. He was shaking. Antony didn’t have the patience for it anymore.

“You leave tomorrow morning,” he said. “There’s a back door, you won’t have to deal with the Imperial checkpoints. You should sleep while you have the chance.”

Paris nodded, taking a few unsteady steps backwards to the exit. He didn’t answer. Antony felt his irritation flare up again.

“And would it have fucking killed you to say thank you?!” he snapped. 

To his amazement, Paris’s face reddened several shades, eventually settling on a soft pink.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. He couldn’t look at him.

~

Morning came. Cleo sat up on the fortress walls with Lorelai. Dew was settled onto every surface. It was colder that sunrise than it had been in months, but not unpleasantly so. 

“Um, I spy…something orange,” Lorelai said around bites of a red apple.

“It’s the surveyor mark,” Cleo said.

“Shit, how are you getting them all first try?”

“Do you know how many times I’ve played this game here?” Cleo responded.

Lorelai shrugged. “FMK?”

“It’s 4AM,” Cleo said.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The trapdoor flipped open. One of the scouts popped through midway.

“Car’s ready,” he said to Lorelai. 

She nodded and pass the remaining half of the apple to Cleo. She left all clad in the other girl’s clothing, down to the tennis shoes.

“I’ll see you around, then?” she said hopefully, the same way she had to Vi, without quite the same implication.

Lorelai climbed down the ladder until she’d hit the ground level of the base. She found Paris where she’d left him. Conscious now, but just as silent and sullen as he’d been the night before. She did not particularly blame him for that.

His hands were still a bit too bloodied to hold, so she placed her own gently around his wrist, feeling the pulse that still beat there. He rose reluctantly from beneath the blankets. She knew moving hurt him. 

Antony was waiting by the exit. She was relieved to find she had not totally burned that bridge. Antony said none of this had ever happened. He meant it. She’d check in with them later, once she’d gotten Paris across the border. It wouldn’t be long now, anyway.

She watched Paris slip Antony a folded up note. She knew what it said. It was signed from him, but it was in her handwriting. He couldn’t have bend his fingers around the pencil.

Ships are moving in Gamma formation but half of them are unarmed carriers. It’s a feign. Late gen G-12 ships have a point of catastrophic failure at ball turret joint. IRW Palace is in orbit so there’s a 99% chance Lt.Furness is here. He will try to torch the whole forest if he feels like he’s losing. Keep an eye out for that. Invest in flame retardant.

Thank you.

                                                         ~Paris

Antony’s eyes scanned the paper. Paris walked away before he could see a reaction, but Lorelai saw him slip the folded note into his jacket pocket. She waved goodbye before she clambered up into the transport.

The ride back to the ship was fast and quiet. The woods went by so much quicker on wheels and they did not run into any trouble. She couldn’t believe she’d trekked through it, alone and on foot, just one day before. It felt like forever ago.

She was pleased to see her ship was right where she left it, free of crack marks and bullet holes. The driver opened up the door for them. They fell out onto the forest floor.

“Make sure you do those hand exercises. I’m serious,” the driver called after Paris. He nodded in response, not really paying attention. His eyes were all far out.

The transport disappeared back into the forest, leaving thick tread marks in its wake. 

She opened the door for Paris, because she wasn’t sure he could it himself. He climbed in silently. She slid into the driver’s seat. It was all icy inside. She adjusted the ship’s settings to break through orbit again. It gradually warmed as the engine kicked to life. She felt a sense of homecoming that surprised her.

She glanced over to him to find him still staring off into nothingness.

“…Are you okay?”

It wasn’t a very good question. She knew that. She already knew the answer.

He nodded mutely. Lorelai frowned. She waited a while, hoping he’d go on. But the distant look in his eyes remained and his lips did not move. She realized the rest of the drive would probably be in silence. He got like that sometimes, even on better days.

“…Okay. I love you.”

It was the worst thing she could’ve said. He gripped the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling it up to cover his face. As much as he tried to be quiet, he couldn’t help the way his body gasped for air in-between sobs. 

“Oh, honey,” Lorelai gasped. 

She’d seen him cry before. It happened enough out of frustration, bitter tears forming at the edges of his eyes, wiped away just as quickly as they came. Not like this.

She placed a hand in between his shoulder blades, trying to steady him. She might as well have not been there at all.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” his voice broke up. He curled away from the touch. “I-I-I-“

None of the words were making it out. Lorelai moved mechanically, so used to piloting by now that she could do it without thinking. She put one arm behind the passenger seat, checking behind her before she backed out.

“Okay. Okay, breathe,” she whispered, because he needed reminding sometimes.

He stopped trying to speak through it. The ship entered the open morning sky. The inside of it was filled up with the sound of his half-sobs, barely muffled from within the fabric of his shirt.

“Easy,” The ship was on autopilot now. The sky gradually darkened as it pulled out of the upper atmosphere. She ran her fingers in circles along his arm. “In for four, out for eight. You remember. You’re fine.”

She could feel him struggling to make up the ragged breaths through all the convulsions. Little half-formed words slipped to the surface, none of them coherent. 

“Breathe,” she insisted.

Slowly, it steadied. He was still crying, but it didn’t possess him the same way it had. He reluctantly removed the fabric. His face had turned red and blotchy underneath it. He turned away as if he was embarrassed by it, like it might’ve offended her. 

“…’m sorry,” he mumbled into the glass pane of the window. She looped her fingers into his own, careful of the blisters that had formed there. His skin was warmer than hers now. It was the only time she could remember that happening. 

“It’s okay.” She pressed her lips gingerly to the bruises on his knuckles, the same way he’d done for her when her arm was cut open. “That was a lot. I’d cry too. I’d cry way worse, you know me.”

“…’s not that,” he said. His voice still shook even on small sentences. He wiped desperately at his eyes.

“What is it?” She brought her other hand to hold his now. She traced her fingers gently over the raw skin, as if she might be able to read his fortune that way.

He shook his head and he did not answer.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @dietofwormsofficial @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen

[echo-goes-mmm]

So we all the love the whumpee-thinks-caretaker-is-their-new-master trope but what if it's true

Caretaker who did buy whumpee, and who does wholeheartedly believes and acts like whumpee belongs to them

But damn it they take great care of their possessions. After all, cats and dogs get spoiled with treats and comfy beds and vet visits when they're sick and cuddles and a form of love

Why should a slave be any different? Especially because caretaker bought whumpee for companionship

Plus whumpee can tidy up, cook for themselves, hold a conversation, and even play games like cards or board games, and can go everywhere caretaker can

That's infinitely better than a cat or dog.

It's just such a shame their old owner was so terrible. Whumpee is so timid now, and nearly skin and bone. But that's nothing a good owner can't fix, right? The poor thing needs some proper structure and attention that's all. It's a good thing whumpee is human. It would be a lot harder to rehabilitate a rescue who can't comprehend speech.

And whumpee doesn't want to leave. Fetching files from a desk and playing checkers and occasionally cleaning the kitchen while master chatters about work is far better than being locked in a cold basement and getting beaten every day

Their new master doesn't lay a hand on them, their version of punishment is no music while doing chores, or no dessert

After all, you wouldn't hit your dog. Caretaker's new pet deserves at least that

[whumpwordsoftheday]

“I guess…I’m just scared of ending up like my dad, someone who doesn’t really care about anyone else. And I feel like if I don’t reblog all those posts about important issues, it’ll make me a bad person”

“I don’t think that makes you a bad person. But um having me locked inside your basement kind of does.”

“…ok well that’s different, it’s self care.”

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumpee and the four other prisoners sighed when the guards walked in.

"We are going to shackle you all and lead you outside. If any of you act out of line, your punishment will be severe", the guards ordered as they started to line the five and shackle them together.

Whumpee sighed. They weren't supposed to be down there to begin with, Whumper normally had them upstairs as a plaything. Whumpee was placed in the dungeon a few months ago, so Whumper could remodel the upstairs.

"I think he forgot about me", Whumpee would often whisper to themself, "I wonder if I displeased him, or if he grew tired of me."

As they were led out to the gardens, Whumpee could see Whumper enjoying a cup of tea amongst the lilies.

"I miss those days', Whumpee thought to themself, 'he used to bring me out here for tea.'

'He's happy and whistling', Whumpee watched as Whumper stood and looked over the prisoners.

"A fine group of trash", Whumper walked down the line, "oh except one, hello Whumpee."

Whumpee wished to fall to the ground and beg for forgiveness or anything to change his mind and bring them back upstairs.

Yes, being his plaything was not a great lifestyle, but it beat being in the dungeon.

Whumper walked down the line, "guards, go ahead and put the collars on them."

The guards came around, removing the shackles and putting shock collars on the five.

"I'm going to give you a chance of freedom today", Whumper announced.

"My garden has an invisible electric fence around it, with only two spots open for escape", Whumper laughed, "if you find a spot or manage to break through the fence with that collar at max power, you've earned your freedom. We will not chase you if you make it out."

Whumpee looked at the group of prisoners, they all looked like they were going to try.

'I don't want to do this', Whumpee thought to themself, 'I don't even want to try to do this, can't they see it's a trap.'

"You may give up at any time, there will be guards around to drag you back. Good luck to you all", Whumper grinned, "you may start."

Four of the five took off running, screams of them being electrocuted soon followed.

"Go on Whumpee", Whumper encouraged.

Whumpee fell to the ground and crawled to Whumper.

"Please master, if I've found mercy in your sight, allow me the privilege of staying beside you", Whumpee kissed Whumper's shoes when they reached them, "I do not seek to escape you, only to stay loyally beside you. Please don't make me try to escape."

"Guards go ahead and remove their collar", Whumper smiled at Whumpee, "they don't have to play my game, I'll also bring them back upstairs as well. I've missed having their company. This remodel took longer than I expected. It seems the dungeon hasn't been kind to them either, they look very sickly."

Whumpee could imagine how unhealthy they looked. Food and water were scarce as it was, but often the other prisoners would steal from Whumpee. Whumpee was Master's pet, and they would often be bullied for that.

More screams could be heard. A guard came by dragging a limp body.

"They fell over so I guess they give up", the guard commented as they went past.

Whumpee sat on the ground next to Whumper and leaned against his leg.

Whumper reached down and patted Whumpee on the head, "go over to my tea table and grab something to eat. You look starved", Whumper looked at a guard, "get them some water as well."

Another guard walked past leading another prisoner before Whumpee could turn toward the table.

"Oh look at that. The pet doesn't have to play, then they get treated to good food. You had no reason to even attempt to escape did you", the prisoner mocked.

"Hault", Whumper walked towards the prisoner and guard.

"Do you have something you'd like to say to me, prisoner,", Whumper crossed their arms, "do you think Whumpee has it easy?"

The prisoner looked at Whumper angrily, "we all do."

Whumpee looked down.

"I have to disagree, you see, you four have the guards to deal with you, I'm only down there once in a while", Whumper pointed at Whumpee, "they deal with me all day every day, I do whatever I please with them. I could put that collar on them and throw them into the electric fence if I pleased, then I could force them to beg for more."

Whumpee shook, 'please don't', they thought to themself.

"They're better taken care of then us", the prisoner commented.

"You are right with that, but they deal with more than what you do", Whumper waved their hands to shew them away, "I'll deal with them later."

A guard had brought over some water for Whumpee and helped them drink.

Whumper turned and watched, "are you that weak to need help?"

Whumpee bowed, "I apologize master, but yes, they often stole my food and water, and said things like that. I haven't had a lot to sustain me."

Whumper sighed, "I wish I had been made aware of that, I would have separated you."

Whumpee took another drink of water as it was offered.

Whumper lifted them up and carried them to the table, "eat what you like, we will get you cleaned up and to bed later. I'll let you regain your strength before I play with you."

Whumpee looked at the table, everything looked delicious. Their body shook as they reached for a pastry.

"Thankyou master, for your mercy", Whumpee looked down at the ground, "thankyou for allowing me to come back."

As the game was coming to an end Whumper sent Whumpee inside to be cleaned.

Whumpee now lay on the floor in front of a fireplace. A guard was kind enough to start it for them.

"Someone looks cozy", Whumpee heard someone chuckle.

They looked up quickly to see Whumper coming into the room.

"Y-yes Master", Whumpee bowed their head, "is that okay? Would you like me to move?"

"No you're fine", Whumper sat down beside Whumpee.

"Master uhm", Whumpee paused when Whumper started to pat their head lovingly.

"Go ahead. What would you like to say?", Whumper smiled.

"I-I don't remember", Whumpee melted into the touch, "thankyou Master."

"You're welcome", Whumper sighed, "how do you like the remodel? I definitely love this fireplace."

"Yes Master, it's all so nice", Whumpee looked around, "the fireplace feels nice as well."

"Ymhmm", Whumper hummed.

"May I ask if there are any new rules you wish for me to follow. I still remember all of your rules", Whumpee whispered, "I will work hard so that I don't disappoint you again."

"Again?", Whumper made a concerned face.

"I thought maybe I disappointed you or you had grown bored of me", Whumpee looked down, "I was scared that you were mad at me."

"No I wasn't mad or anything. I just didn't plan for this to take as long as it did. Had I known you were having issues down there, I would have separated you from the rest. I'm not happy with the guards for allowing this to happen with my favorite toy. You definitely look very weak", Whumper grinned, "as for rules, nothing new. Except don't start the fireplace on your own."

"Yes Master", Whumpee nodded, "thankyou so much for letting me come back up."

"You're welcome Whumpee", Whumper chuckled, "though I don't know how thankful you'll be in a few days when I decide to play with you again. I haven't played with you for a long time. I may be little more than you bargained for."

"Yes Master... I understand", Whumpee nodded.

"For right now, get some rest. We will get you back to a healthy weight and make sure you are okay", Whumper patted on the floor, and pushed Whumpee's head down gently.

"Th-thankyou Master", Whumpee looked up at them with the best puppy eyes they could muster.

"You're welcome.... now go to sleep."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains @3-2-whump

[whumpypepsigal]

Dunkirk (2017): “I can’t see.”

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

controversial whump opinion:

I really, really dislike using and reading "whumpee" and "whumper"

Like, yeah I get that it makes things easier to post and interpret and all that jazz. It's probably easier on our consciences instead of using actual, real-world terms like "victim" and "attacker" - and that's a very valid reason. It's another way to distance whump media from real-world scenarios because we don't actually want bad things to happen to real people (just our fictional blorbos pls n thx)

but, regardless, a tiny part of me just has an ick when whumpee and whumper is used.