#deliberate whumper

[defire]

Ghost of Seattle Chapter 66

Previous

Content: manipulative whumper, caretaker whump, caretaker as hostage, fighting, gang bullying, deliberate cruelty

"We can shake the Yellowcaps off and become our own gang. What? It happens all the time in the city."

Kiraba circled a little into the middle of the room, panting hoarsely.

"Okay, just. Why--and how--did you do that?"

Oldman smirked.

"And, again, I have no idea where your guy is." Kiraba added. 

"I don't enjoy being lied to," Oldman said.

Ghost couldn't face these guys and win. But he couldn't face the Shivers outside and win. He should just run...

"But," Kiraba said, head turning around as the Shivers surrounded him more completely. "I let you in; would I let you in if I knew anything? I would've run."

Ghost could have told him that Oldman was too smart for that kind of thing.

"What's your name?" Oldman asked. 

"Kiraba." He said with satisfaction. "And you're Oldman?"

"Kiraba," Oldman said. "Trust me when I say this..." 

As he spoke, he stepped around Kiraba, and Kiraba turned in place to keep facing him, frowning.

"I really don't want to do this to you. Your family's out there, right?"

"I... do what to me? and yeah?..." Kiraba said.

Oldman nodded.

"Thought so."

"...Do what?" Kiraba repeated.

Oldman put a hand on Kiraba's shoulder, then drew him closely face-to-face.

Ghost was baffled to see Kiraba's eyes widen with interest. He looked fascinated. His fingers still fluttered at his sides though, and Ghost had noticed he did that when he was anxious.

"You're not going to be smiling in a minute." Oldman said. 

Kiraba's fingers clenched.

"Why?" He said.

"Because I'm going to have to hurt you." Oldman said.

Ghost couldn't think fast, couldn't let Oldman hurt Kiraba. How could he defeat everyone in there though?

Staring Kiraba in the eyes, Oldman clamped his fingers down into the nerves of Kiraba's neck and shoulder. Kiraba ducked with a wince, but Oldman gripped tighter and followed him. Moved in to whisper something with a twist of his mouth.

Kiraba pushed off Oldman's hand with a step backward.

"You like him, don't you?" Oldman said, turning around. He looked straight at Ghost through the branches. "What do you think I might do to him while you're running away?"

Ghost bared his teeth.

"It's just a mind game." Kiraba said. "Just run!"

Oldman just smiled at Ghost. Ghost took out his knife and shoved at the door. It had auto-barred like the hut entrance.

"Oldman, just leave Kiraba out of this."

Oldman eyed the knife in Ghost's hand.

Then Kiraba lunged forward at Oldman with his own knife. Oldman hit his hand away. 

Finally Ghost found the small bar and pushed it up--Oldman dodged Kiraba's other hand, grabbed the knife hand, and pulled it down and in. Kiraba's body thudded loudly against the uneven board floor with a loud "uh!" Oldman wasn't gentle with him, like he had been with Ghost in training.

Oldman lightning-fast snatched the knife from Kiraba's wrenched-down hand and pointed it against Kiraba's neck, keeping the boy's arm extended over his leg. The elbow was right at Oldman's knee. If he so much as lowered his weight, he could easily break it backward.

"What the heck?" Kiraba grunted. "What the heck is this?" 

He seemed shocked that he couldn't move without hurting his entire right arm.

At the same time, Ghost was shoving into the tiny place with his own knife up to slash. He was fast, but the damn door and the stove slowed him down too much, and Kiraba was already on the floor. Fucking tight spaces. 

He gritted his teeth and looked around. Oldman positioned to kill Kiraba. Ray and his friends circled around them irregularly, poking each other, picking fingernails, unconcerned and mildly hostile. Even if Ghost killed Oldman, his fate wouldn't change--Ray would take over, and take him back. But if he lowered the knife, he'd be vulnerable, and have nothing to bargain with.

"You're not a child anymore, Ghost." Oldman said. "I won't be so easy on you as I was when you joined us."

Kiraba struggled, and grunted in pain when Oldman responded with a jerk on his folded wrist.

"Don't." Ghost said softly to Kiraba. "You don't understand."

Kiraba glared at Oldman.

"Ghost," Oldman said, ignoring Ghost's knife and instead looking up along Ghost's trembling arm with a smirk. "I was worried that you might have taken the easy out already."

"What--the easy out?" Kiraba interjected.

"Suicide." Oldman explained.

Ghost scoffed and bit his lip, looking away for a moment. Ray raised his eyebrows at him.

"Well." Oldman said to Ghost. "You, trying to attack me, was pretty brave. But you'll have to put down that knife now."

Oldman pressed in with his knee on Kiraba's elbow, pushed it it a little sideways. Kiraba was hyperventilating, squirming. 

Ghost went pale. He stooped to put down the knife. Oldman nodded toward Ray. Ghost clenched his jaw and pushed the knife across the board to Ray, pretending to shrug.

Ray picked it up and grinned.

"Not so tough now," He chuckled, elbowing Gray.  

Knowing Oldman, he'd probably brought Ray in here for his enthusiasm to knock Ghost down a peg. He probably made Buddy stand outside, so he could punish her for siding with Ghost a little. She'd be worrying what Oldman was doing to him.

"Ghost, you're a Shiver." Oldman said. "You should be helping me punish these Yellowcaps for seizing you."

"No." Ghost whispered.

"Speak up." Oldman said gently.

Ghost looked up at Oldman. 

"Can you let him go, and I'll speak with you personally?"

"Sure." Oldman said. He patted Kiraba's hand, which made him wince. Any extra pressure would hurt. "But first--"

"Please." Kiraba said. "This hurts."

Oldman smirked at Ghost.

"Oh does it?" He said, jerking Kiraba's arm.

Kiraba gasped in pain.

"Stop!" Ghost shouted. Every time he moved, Oldman was twitching Kiraba's hand like he was going to break Kiraba's wrist. Ghost was rooted to the spot helplessly.

Oldman stopped, smiling from under lowered eyebrows at Ghost.

"Where did you pick up this adorable virgin?" He said.

The others snorted and laughed.

"Oh help, it hurts!" Skunky mocked.

"Oh no!" Ray laughed. "We didn't realize!" 

"He's not like us!" Ghost said. He was breathing hard. Angry. Until a couple days ago, he never got angry.

"Not like us? Not like what?" Oldman asked.

"Mmh--" Kiraba groaned like he was trying not to. The position would only get more damaging the longer Oldman held him.

"You mean, 'Not like us', not a Shiver?" Oldman asked, losing his perfect cadence for a moment. He shifted, making a small pop like a knuckle, and Kiraba cried out through his teeth.

"He's not bad!" Ghost exploded. "Leave him alone!" 

"Get back."

"It's not his fault! It's mine!" 

"Get back."

Ghost stepped backward, chest heaving.

"What do you want from me!" He shouted.

"Stand with the other Shivers. Stand with us. Kiraba is not your friend."

Ray grabbed his arm and jerked him backward. Ghost let him.

"You're gonna kill him," Ghost said. 

"That depends more on you." Oldman said. 

"I'll do it." Ghost said. "Whatever it is."

"Good." 

Ghost ground his teeth as Gray grabbed his right shoulder by the sweatshirt. Not grabbing his hurt arm.

Oldman gently released Kiraba. Kiraba rolled over, still hissing with tiny grunts as he writhed around to his back, grasping his right shoulder with his left hand.

"That was not fair." He moaned.

"You're not part of this." Oldman said with contempt. 

"Kiraba, go." Ghost said, glaring at Oldman. 

"He can't force you, Ghost." Kiraba said.

Oldman's mouth twitched with fury. He squatted down next to Kiraba, putting a hand on his injured shoulder.

"You might do better to hold your tongue." Oldman said.

Kiraba looked between Ghost's distressed face and Oldman's easy smile.

"You have no idea what we are." Oldman squeezed down on his shoulder.

"Kiraba don't fight him!" Ghost shouted, but Kiraba elbowed Oldman's hand off him with an irritated expression. 

He got barely to his feet before Oldman's kick smashed into his ribs, knocking him sideways. Oldman hit the back of Kiraba's head with the knife palmed so the handle hit him. This was revenge for not just taking it like a victim. Kiraba caught himself on the stove, thrust off of it fast, and got kicked again into the weird stick-wall. 

"You're just mad that I'm right." Kiraba said quietly, glaring.

Oldman actually looked angry--chest heaving, nostrils flared, eyes wide open.

"I'm not 'mad'." Oldman said. "I was trying to spare you, for his sake."

He nodded at Ghost.

"Just let him leave!" Ghost said. 

"I'm not leaving." Kiraba said through ground teeth. "Because--"

Oldman snatched his right hand out of the way and punched him in the stomach. Kiraba fell down into a series of punches that took his wind all the way. 

Oldman turned back on Ghost, face working like he was trying to stuff all that rage down.

"You know this doesn't end well for you, don't you?" Oldman said to Ghost, huffing, red.

Ghost didn't answer.

"Ghost, you're a Shiver." 

"I don't want to."

Oldman reached for the bloodstained hem of his sweatshirt, lifted it over the taped-on gauze and above the Shiver tattoo on Ghost's ribcage. He tapped it with his finger.

"Then what's this tattoo?"

He leaned in with his eyes widening, dropped the sweatshirt and dropped a hand roughly on the gunshot wound. Ghost flinched back into the wall.

"I'm sorry this happened, by the way." Oldman said. "Now I understand. You like this kid." He nodded sideways at Kiraba, who was writhing with his hand clutched under him. "I can't just let deserters go unpunished." 

He'd give Ghost over to the friends of the Shivers he'd killed, so they could take their vengeance. Ghost had seen that happen before.

"But I can make you an offer." Oldman said. "Shall I?"

"I don't--"

"Listen to me." Oldman glared.

"I'm not gonna--"

Oldman punched him in the side. Ghost yelped and twisted away, but Gray wouldn't let go of him.

"You said 'I'll do it'." Oldman said. "You liar."

"I'm not a--a liar." Ghost stammered, flushing. 

"Then you'll do it, won't you?"

Ghost didn't answer for a moment. He'd gotten Oldman away from Kiraba, at least. Oldman was still waiting. He was extremely patient.

"They're all going to kill me anyway, for what I did yesterday." Ghost said.

"Oh, really? What did you do yesterday?"

Oldman was even willing to change the story for him.

"Oldman, I can't do it anymore." Ghost said.

"We need you." Oldman said. "And we own you."

Ghost snarled.

"Give me your hand." Oldman reached for his injured right wrist. Ghost twitched back, hiding it behind him.

"Oh!" Ray mocked him, as Ghost struggled against his grip.

"Give it to me." Oldman snapped his fingers at Ghost's arm hidden behind his back. "Give me your wrist. I'm not going to hurt you, Ghost."

Ghost panted through bared teeth.

"Come on, Ghost. When have I ever hurt you?" Oldman's eyes went a little shiny. 

Ghost brought out his hand.

Oldman took it in his own right hand with a firm grip. Ghost winced, but Oldman was still being moderately gentle.

"I want to make this agreement with you one more time, and I'm even willing to believe you again." Oldman said. "I want to shake hands with you, as a man, and promise. You're not going to try to leave Shiver again, either by suicide or by flight."

Ghost was afraid to answer the confusing statement. Oldman pressed in on the hand, twisting the wrist down a little.

"Wait, wait." Ghost said, cringing forward.

"What?" Oldman said.

"It--you said you wouldn't hurt me." Ghost flushed. "Please, it--"

"I'm not hurting you." Oldman said. "Now take the agreement. I'm not giving you an option here, Ghost."

"You said you wouldn't hurt me." Ghost repeated.

"You said you were loyal to a fault." Oldman replied.

Ghost was trying to pull his hand away, but the effort caused even more pain as Oldman increased the torque on the injury.

"Fuck!" Ghost whimpered.

"What's wrong?" Oldman said calmly.

Ghost growled. Fuck the wrist.

"I can't do it." He said. "I go with you, I know I'll kill myself."

Oldman wrinkled into fury. He threw back the arm roughly, straightening to match Ghost's height.

"You think that you control whether you live or die?" His hands were twitching like he could hardly control his rage. 

"Damn." Gray said softly.

Oldman passed the knife into his right hand.

"You have no idea what I--what I've done to--what I've been shielding you from!" He said. "If you're going to die, I'll kill you myself!"

Still, he didn't attack, though every muscle in his upper body seemed completely clenched.

Ghost could just see that Kiraba had recovered somewhat, but he wasn't moving. Maybe he'd finally gotten smart. Ghost kept his eyes down to hide that he was checking on him.

"Oldman, I did say I was loyal." Ghost said, slowly raising his eyes. "I also said if you hurt me, I'll kill you."

Rage snapped Oldman's eyes. He raised the knife and flipped it in the same motion, slamming it down into Ghost's forehead. 

The blows were loud in his head, dazing. They were gonna knock him out. Tie him up. Drag him back. He blinked, but he didn't go unconscious. Blood ran into sweat down his forehead and ran over the bridge of his nose. Ghost blinked as a blurry form rose from the shadows--Kiraba lunging from the back of the room. Oldman sidestepped and threw him into the other side of the room, where Regina moved to catch him and beat him up.

Panting, wrinkled up with rage, Oldman leaned toward Ghost, who was stooped over, baring his teeth.

"You asked for it." Oldman said, voice trembling. "You provoked me."

Whatever that meant.

Ghost panted little growls through a shaky grimace, showing his yellow fangs. It was the only thing he was certain of.

"You will regret this, dog. I will break you until you beg." He spat the word. "I have run out of mercy for you, Ghost."

Tag list: @joyjoygorl @cepheusgalaxy @little-rat-dragon @turtlesnap1 @atomicsandwichprince

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Kindle book: Masterpost: Next:

[year-of-whump-tropes]

Here's the tentative list for the second month!

February: Intimate Whumper

Week 1: Manipulation

Day 1:

Gaslighting

Repeating something until they believe it

Day 2:

Blackmail

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Day 3:

Manipulation via drugging

What manipulative tactics do you wish you saw more in whump?

Day 4:

Controlling partner

"After all I've done for you?"

Day 5:

Guilt tripping

Do you prefer physical, chemical, or emotional restraints?

Day 6:

Trauma bonding

"We don't want that to happen, do we?"

Day 7:

Planting ideas

Victim blaming

Week 2: Yandere whumper

Day 1:

Keeping whumpee to themself

“What is wrong with you?”

Day 2:

Overly extravagant gifts

“Let’s go home, [pet name]”

Day 3:

Forced relationship

What’s your favorite kind of intimate whumper?

Day 4:

Anniversary

“All mine.”

Day 5:

Possessive behaviors

What’s the most fun method of control for a whumper to use?

Day 6:

Romantic date night

“I love you.”

Day 7:

Love potion

“This isn’t love.”

Week 3: Touch/physically affectionate whumper

Day 1:

Tracing the contours of whumpee's body

Switching between pain and gentleness

Day 2:

Hair touching

“Don’t touch me!”

Day 3:

Noncon kissing

What’s your favorite kind of relationship in whump?

Day 4:

Forcing reciprocation

“Please…”

Day 5:

Hickey

Do you like hurt or comfort more?

Day 6:

Holding whumpee in place

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

Day 7:

Forced cuddles

Lingering touch

Week 4: Creepy whumper

Day 1:

Admiring whumpee’s appearance

Roofie

Day 2:

Whumpee put on display

“Look how pretty you are.”

Day 3:

Controlling what whumpee wears

What are your favorite tropes?

Day 4:

Suggestive whumper

“I like you like this.”

Day 5:

Looks that make whumpee uncomfortable

What makes for the creepiest whumper?

Day 6:

Whumpee as entertainment at a party

“I’ll treat you right.”

Day 7:

Invasion of personal space

Feeling watched

[whumperful]

Bringing this back for Valentine's Day!

Creepy/intimate whumper things

Using their belt to strangle whumpee

Digging their fingers into bruises

Gentle kisses that turn into bites

Telling Whumpee that they belong to them

Caressing Whumpee while they're tied up and blindfolded

Putting their fingers into Whumpee's mouth, knowing they're too afraid to bite

Placing a knife or gun in Whumpee's mouth

Slowly undressing Whumpee or making Whumpee undress themselves in front of Whumper

Telling Whumpee how good they look when they're bruised and bleeding

Kissing Whumpee's wounds

Licking the blood off from Whumpee's skin

Whispering Whumpee's dirty secrets into their ear while hurting them

Making Whumpee choose between being tortured and letting Whumper touch them

Whumper manipulating/killing anyone close to Whumpee to isolate them

[digital-nova]

hear me out. whumpees who know that acting vulnerable and weak can earn them things. whumpees who exaggerate their injuries/illness in order to be taken care of.

maybe it starts when they escaped/were rescued from whumper. they haven’t been treated kindly in so long, and caretaker is just so gentle. they’re exactly what whumpee needs - kind, attentive, and would do anything for them. anything, whumpee realises, so long as they’re helpless and weak.

“i-i’m sorry, i’m just not up for it today. could you do it for me, please?”

“i don’t mean to be a burden, but…”

“are you sure? well, if you would rather do it for me…”

it started off with small things; asking for favours, being lazier than usual, just generally just being more demanding. until whumpee realises that they can’t stop.

maybe they’re desperate to keep the affection, refusing to let themselves recover to make sure caretaker is always worried about them. whumpee needs someone constantly reassuring and taking care of them - they can’t go back to how it was with whumper…

maybe whumpee wants to take advantage of caretaker. if they’re around to all the work, why bother getting better? they can just keep faking and let caretaker do everything. (queue carertaker-turned-whumpee and whumpee-turned-whumper)

would caretaker snap back? force whumpee to take ownership for their deliberate self sabotage and start using ‘tough love’ on them?

and how would whumpee react to this? would they just have to be more manipulative?

“i thought you cared about me?”

“i’m sorry, just don’t send me back there!”

“you’re no different to whumper.”

or would caretaker feel too guilty to say anything? after all, whumpee has been through so much. it wouldn’t be right for caretaker to deny them recovery, right?

does anyone else notice how whumpee is behaving? other members of the team, friends, etc? does somebody else have to call out their behaviour to caretaker? if so, how does caretaker react?

just

manipulative whumpees. there’s so many possibilities

[the-bar-sinister]

When whumper digs their fingers deliberately into whumpee's injury, and whumpee suddenly can't stop themself from screaming.

[whumpsiedaisy]

Ohhh thinking about... tbh I don't know what it is but this specific flavour of Whumper:

"Shh, shh, this is for the best, okay? You were bad, and now you are being punished. Balance has to be restored. I'll go back to being nice [Whumper] afterwards."

"This is for your own good."

"Oh, stop complaining. Do you want to go back to [Other Whumper]? I treat you like gold compared to them."

Deliberately putting Whumpee in dangerous situations just so they can swoop in and save them.

"Now look what you've made me do."

"Do you have any idea how much it hurts me to punish you? But I have to."

[whump-in-the-closet]

Imagine: A stoic whumpee who is forced to recite all of the rules. So they do it, perfectly, even if it's a very long list. That's just how good their memory is. But then the whumper asks: "And you're going to follow these rules?"

"No."

Just a simple, almost nonchalant "no", just to see what the whumper's reaction is going to be. Because whatever comes after, it would've still been worth it.

I am imagining AND IT IS DELICUOUS. I was so so so excited about this prompt bc GOOD GOD the whumperfllies >:) i hope i do it justice ahhhHHHHH

Stoic Whumpee X Confidant Supervillain

content: possessive/ creepy whumper, flogging, stoic whumpee, leader Whump, implied amputation, graphic description of torture, humiliation, stoic whumpee becomes defiant for a sec and whumper isn’t happy, beaten unconscious

Leader stood with their hands on the wall, digging their fingers into the stone, searching for any kind of support at all. The click, click, click of the whip dragging behind Supervillain echoed through the space like a countdown.

"Start," said Supervillain and Leader could practically hear their smile.

Leader felt the familiar press of exhaustion in between their ribs. "Rule one," they began, voice hoarse with use. "No speaking without permission." The words tasted like acid even as they said them. "Rule two: No looking at you directly."

Leader gripped the wall until their knuckles whitened with sheer pressure. Still, they went on, each word clipped. "Rule three: comply with every order without hesitation, rule four: never question your authority."

Supervillain snapped their whip across the floor. No matter how many rules they added, Leader was always able to spew them off, perfectly. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

"Rule six--" Leader paused to take a breath, and Supervillain jumped at the opportunity. They cracked the whip across Leader's lower back, sharp and sudden.

The pain was brilliant.

"Faster," Supervillain demanded, but the order was tinged with triumph. With smug satisfaction.

Leader's eyes widened, arching their back in a silent scream. Their knees shook and they pressed their forehead to the cool concrete in a desperate attempt to remain standing. But to anyone else, it might have looked like a defense.

"Rule six," Leader inhaled faintly and resumed, spitting out the rules in a fasfire ricochet. "Rule six: address you with the proper title. Rule seven: no escape attempts. Rule eight: no disobedience in any form--"

The next strike came before they even reached the end of the sentence. Leader gasped. They bit down hard to stifle a scream and the metallic tang of blood filled their mouth, coppery and slick.

"Don't forget that one," Supervillain said with a sneer.

Leader had to swallow twice before they could go on. Their head spun. "Rule nine," they continued, ignoring the warm blood that dripped down their chin with their voice, "accept all punishments without resistance. Rule ten: show gratitude for your mercy—"

The whip came down again, tearing through the fragile equilibrium they had managed to maintain.

It hurt. It hurt so badly and it wouldn't stop and it was everywhere and it was throbbing, throbbing. And please–please not again– 

–Pull it together–  Leader pulled it together enough to wonder why there were dark blots in the corner of their vision.

Somehow, they were still standing.

Supervillain leaned in close, their breath hot against Leader's ear. "And you're going to follow these rules, aren’t you?"

Leader turned their head, slow and deliberate, making direct eye contact with Supervillain. They almost smiled when they replied.

"No."

“You little shit.”

They were almost prepared for the slap when it came. It snapped their head forward into the wall, their temple colliding with the stone. Not enough to knock them unconscious, but enough to send splintering pain and slick blood down their face and neck. 

For a moment, they saw stars.

Leader slid down the wall, their legs giving out on them as they crumpled.

"You-- you're going to regret that," Supervillain enunciated every word with a vicious kick.

Leader curled in on themself, trying to cover their face as best they could, slipping in and out of consciousness.

Probably.

The last thing they saw was Supervillain's face, far too close for comfort as they straddled them. Dirt was embedded into Leader's back, bitter and searing.

"Tell me," Supervillain spun in and out of focus, but their voice was tinged with amusement. "What hand you like least?"

Through the haze, Leader caught sight of what exactly Supervillain was holding.

Still worth it.

[holidayinhell]

Whumpee’s breaths came in shallow, rapid gasps. 

Whumper watched his lips transition from blue to purple, finally fading to an ashen pink. His pale skin bore a faint flush, and his ragged breaths leveled out.

Finally, Whumpee let out a series of sharp, painful coughs.

He was alive. 

Somehow, Whumper had actually managed to save him.  

He studied the man in his lap with wonder, watching as his chest rose and fell shallowly. He was grateful. He let out a grand exhale, relieved. Against all odds, Whumpee had actually survived.

“Easy.” Whumper murmured, pushing a strand of damp, dark hair from Whumpee’s eyes.

Blinking through the blur, Whumpee’s mind began shifting into focus. 

His ears rang with a deafening pitch and his head throbbed with the most painful headache he’d ever had. His throat burned like hellfire, but at least he could breathe sweet, sweet air. Never in his life had he felt so cold, so weak-- so close to death, to nothingness.

The chill seeped deep into his water-soaked bones. Everything hurt. It felt like he was frozen solid, every nerve ending screaming from the biting chill, except for the small spot of warmth radiating from his back.

For one sacred moment, he sank deeper into the warmth underneath him. He almost managed to relax. But when he realized he was lying in Whumper’s lap, his eyes snapped open.

“You. Y-You tried to kill me.” 

His words were frayed, but the accusation sliced through the room.

Whumper removed his hand from Whumpee’s damp hair, frowning.

“Shut up, Whumpee.”

After all of this, not one ounce of gratitude.

He shoved Whumpee off his lap, dropping him onto the freezing porcelain floor.

Whumpee’s cheek pressed against the slick, frigid tiles of the bathroom floor. His slender body shivered in the icy puddle of water that had collected beneath him. 

"I-I'm-mm sorry..." Whumpee's voice trembled, barely above a whisper. He imagined the tall man yanking him up by the hair and dragging him back over to the tub, finishing what he'd started.

Whumper turned and rose to his feet, leaning against the granite countertop. He let out an irritated sigh.

"Please, d-don't... don’t do it again."

“Don’t give me a reason to.” The tall man said over his shoulder.

In the mirror, Whumper’s eyes traced over Whumpee’s naked body. He’d never seen someone so fragile, so vulnerable. Whumpee was sprawled across the cold tile like a ragdoll, shivering and too exhausted to move. He was so pale and thin. 

Whumper watched with fascination as Whumpee attempted to push himself up. But just before he managed to sit up, his arms wobbled as he lost his grip, sending his elbows crashing back into the ground with a dull thud. 

A smile flashed across Whumper’s face. It reminded him of a newborn horse trying to walk for the first time, clumsily wobbling until it tumbles in the mud.

He wanted to laugh at the pathetic attempt, but thought better of it.

“For what it’s worth, Whumpee,” The tall man said to Whumpee's reflection in the mirror. “I forgive you.”

Shivering, he crumbled in on himself, curling into a fetal position. Tears welled in his eyes. Whumpee couldn’t even remember what he’d done to deserve this in the first place.

“Why did you... you were gonna k-kill me. You tried, y-you were gonna kill me...”

Whumper sighed again, trying to swallow the irritation buzzing in his brain. Each second he spent in the wreckage of the dripping bathroom only made his impatience grow.

“Stop. You're alive!” he said, attempting a light-hearted tone. The forced cheer in his voice was a poor mask for his growing agitation.

“Now come on. Sit up.”

Whumpee braced himself, palms trembling as they pressed against the slick floor again, struggling to find his grip.

He actually managed to sit up this time, but the effort sent his head spinning. He drew his legs into his chest for warmth, deliberately avoiding Whumper’s chilling gaze.

“Good, see? You're better already. Are you cold?” 

It was a dumb, painfully obvious question. Whumpee nodded.

“Ah well, sorry, Whumps. I’d let you take a bath… but, I uh, kinda think you’d hate that right now.”

Whumper collected a half-soaked towel hanging from a silver rack before flinging it over the crook of his arm, taking a step towards Whumpee.

“I'll admit, I was a little hard on you. Things just got a little out of hand. But I wasn’t trying to kill you, okay?”

Whumpee’s eyes were locked on the water pooled on the bathroom floor, his mind distant.

“Okay?” Whumper repeated more harshly, demanding an answer.

Whumpee nodded frantically. He didn't believe it.

Whumper's words were hollow. Empty. When he’d held Whumpee’s head under the water, he wasn’t trying to teach Whumpee some fucking lesson. And when the water closed in around him, seeping into his nose and throat, no, that wasn’t a punishment. It was a death sentence.

Whumper stood squarely in front of him, leaning forward. "Here."

The damp towel fell over Whumpee’s head limply, doing nothing to warm his frozen body. 

“Hey.” Whumper said in a callused, hushed voice. “Hey. Look at me, Whumpee.” 

"Don't worry." He clutched Whumpee’s chin, forcing his tired eyes to meet his intense gaze.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d be fucking dead.”

----

this is a part 2 to Went Too Far, but works as a standalone :~)

[a-living-canvas]

Sprinkles of Stardust

'Good pet.'

That's the first time Whumper praised Whumpee, along with the head pat. Maybe they weren't so bad after all. Maybe Whumpee was just overreacting. Like Whumper always said, 'It's not even that hurt.' 'It's not even that bad.'

The sound of the door being unlocked filling Whumpee's ears. Oh, it's master. Whumpee put the broom in their hands to the side and immediately kneeling on the floor with their eyes looking down.

It's just kneeling. It's not a big deal.

Whumper pushed opened the door. Their exhausted faces turned into delighted ones when they saw Whumpee kneeling on the floor. "Aww, were you waiting for me?"

Whumper was about to ruffle Whumpee's hair when they stepped on the remaining trash on the floor. With a gritted teeth, they hissed. "Whumpee…"

Whumpee lifted their head, noticing the change of tone in Whumper's voice when their eyes widened in panic and fear. "M-master, I'm sorry! I still haven't finished cleaning the floor yet. I'm sorry!" 

Whumper sighed, "Why did you stop then?'

"I just…I wanted to greet you. I want to be good…!"

Whumper rolled their eyes. "Yeah, with leaving trash everywhere around my house " they said sarcastically.

Whumpee hanging their head low, muttering softly. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to…"

Whumper stared at Whumpee for a few seconds before sitting on the couch, lifting their dirty feet. "That won't do, Whumpee…that won't do…"

Whumper beckoned their finger to Whumpee, watching as they came closer to them. They pushed Whumpee's head down, directing it right in front of their sole.

"Lick it."

Whumpee's eyes widened at the order. "M-master, please—"

"I said, lick it clean Whumpee. Don't make me say it again."

Whumpee stayed still. They couldn't do it. They just couldn't. They fingers curling up in a tight grip, hoping for an ounce of mercy from Whumper. 

Seeing them still glued to the floor made Whumper sighed loudly in frustration. They reached for their belt, slowly unbuckled it.

Whumpee flinched at the familiar sound. They immediately snapped their gazes back to Whumper and stopped their action. "Master, no please! Please! Anything but that…!"

Whumper raised an eyebrow at them. "You know what to do then."

Whumpee nodded hastily, sticking their tongue out and quickly licking Whumper's sole. They wanted it to end faster so they could forget that this day ever existed.

Whumper frowned, shaking their heads as they grabbed Whumpee's hair and pushed their head a few inches apart. "Slow down, pet. Do it again."

"Y-yes, Master…"

Whumper hummed in approval before letting go of their hair. Whumpee leaned closer again, started licking deliberately. 

"Just like that. Take your time, little one."

Whumpee felt disgusted. Disgusted at themselves for letting someone treat them like this. They grimaced at the awful taste that stuck on their tongue. They kept licking and licking, until their cheeks wet with tears.

"Hm? Why are you crying? It's not even that bad." Whumper leaned down and before Whumpee could pull away, they squished their cheeks with one hand. 

Whumper narrowed their eyes at them, "Stop crying. It's annoying."

"I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry…!"

Whumpee bite their bottom lip, trying to repress their sobbing. Whumper's eyes softened, brushing Whumpee's tears with their thumbs.

"Good…good pet. You don't want me to give you away to my friends, right?"

"N-no! No! Please don't…"

Whumper pushed a strand of hair behind Whumpee's ear. "They would treat you a lot worse than this. You should be grateful to be owned by someone like me."

"Y-yes, I'm grateful Master…I am…!"

Whumper chuckled, stroking Whumpee's hair. "I love you, Whumpee."

Whumpee froze. They weren't sure what to say. Obviously they needed to say the same thing back to Whumper, but they could only say those words to Caretaker. It seems foreign and weird for them to say that they love their kidnapper.

"I said, I love you Whumpee." Whumper glared at them, expecting a response.

Whumpee sighed, with a heavy heart, they muttered those tender words.

"I love you too, Master…"

~

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes

[thewhumpcaretaker]

🖤 Dehumanization Whump: Treating Whumpee Like a Monster 🖤

A lot of dehumanization whump relates to making whumpee act like a pet or an object. And that’s great! But you know what else isn’t human? Monsters. Here's some dehumanization that’s about treating whumpee as villainous, toxic, etc.

TW: gaslighting

Keeping whumpee in restraints not because they’ll run away, but because they’re “dangerous.”

Deliberately walking on eggshells around whumpee until whumpee gets annoyed and snaps - which just proves they’re dangerous.

Handling whumpee only with gloves.

“It doesn’t deserve kindness because it doesn’t even have a heart to receive it.”

“It can’t love.”

“Those aren’t real tears. It’s just trying to fool you - it’s not capable of sadness.”

Making whumpee sterilize things they’ve touched as if they’re diseased or poisonous.

Forcing whumpee to kill because “that’s in its nature.”

Refusing to accept whumpee’s apologies and pleas for mercy when they make a mistake, because “it’s not capable of real remorse.”

Dressing whumpee in armor or military uniform and refusing to let them be soft.

Warning any potential friends or allies away from whumpee to keep them isolated. “You don’t want to get too close. It’s scary.”

“Stop lying to me that you’re sorry. Liars are punished.”

Whumpee is punished until they “admit” that they enjoyed doing the bad thing.

Whumpee DOES want to do violent things, because they're lashing out at Whumper in revenge. This is treated as proof that they're bad.

“Who knows what you’re capable of?” And just listing vast amounts of horrific things whumpee will later be forced to do, in graphic detail.

[defire]

Ghost of Seattle Chapter 57

Prev

Content: manipulation, deliberate injury, betrayal, threats, escape attempt, touching bugs

"I told you you'd like Ghost if you just talked to him."

"I didn't say I 'liked' him. I said he was 'charismatic, in a rude way.'"

Oldman opened Buddy's door at that moment.

Ghost sleeved off his tears fast, turned around and lowered his head, glaring.

"You can't stop me." He said.

Oldman stepped forward. Ghost's eyes darted around to look behind Oldman for a way out. He'd brought some Shivers over here.

"You belong to Shiver." Oldman said, voice sounding sort of kind. "I'm sorry for my hard words, but I was upset over hearing what you tried to do. Can you forgive me?"

"I don't hold grudges." Ghost said.

"I want you to remember something you promised me a while ago." Oldman said. "You said, 'I don't ask why. I just do what I'm told.'"

Ghost didn't answer.

"I need some trust from you right now." Oldman said. "This is a difficult time for you, I've been through similar shit."

Ghost glanced back at Buddy. Her face was kinda red. Was she mad?

"Ghost." Oldman repeated. "Can you do that? Can you trust me to get you through this? We're all here for you."

The Shivers in the hall looked at each other, and Ghost, doubtfully.

"I... I heard what you said." Ghost said. "You didn't mean that?" 

He waited for Oldman's hesitation to stop--that moment when he opened his mouth, when he'd be focused on saying the words convincingly.

Then he darted forward to duck around Oldman, but Oldman caught the arm he used for balance, twisted, and pressed Ghost's momentum into the dresser. All the stress was on his wrist. The edge of the dresser cut in just above Ghost's hip as he leaned back to avoid the pressure Oldman put on his right wrist and elbow. The threat was that if Ghost moved, Oldman would bust the joints. Oldman knew Ghost's body well enough from training him, that he knew exactly how much pressure it took to make it hurt. He did.

"That was low." Oldman said calmly, twisting harder.

"Stop--stop." Ghost said, breathing hard. "Alright, I quit. You win." 

"Let him go," Buddy interrupted. "He said, you win."

"Stay out of this." Oldman said, making it hurt. 

Ghost winced and grabbed Oldman's wrist, tapping it. Oldman always used to release him when he tapped out. Today he didn't seem to want to.

"I'll give you one more chance." Oldman said, holding his wrist there.

Ghost nodded hastily.

Oldman let go.

Ghost released his breath, turning half away and cradling his wrist. 

He let Oldman do a long speech that would normally be pretty convincing. He stayed mostly silent, then started nodding occasionally. He pretended to be persuaded slowly, giving resistance at certain moments, then pretending to be swayed.

Oldman probably hadn't noticed exactly how closely Ghost had been watching him. Ghost was simply copying the verbal sparring tactics that Oldman had used on him.

He let Oldman think he had sufficiently brought down Ghost's self-respect. He nodded at the subtle accusations. He could see Buddy, still confused, out of the corner of his eye. She looked anxious.

"...When you take those situations into your own hands, those are the results you get."

Ghost listened, expressionless.

"Does that make it clearer to you?" Oldman said.

"I think so..." Ghost said, scratching his forehead. "Then... what can I do to earn your trust?"

It might be a dirty trick, but fighting dirty was what Ghost did best. He studied Oldman's face. Oldman also tended to hide his feelings.

"Let's walk back to my place." Oldman said. "We'll talk over expectations there."

They'd cross the courtyard. Ghost nodded.

Buddy stayed in her chair, looking confused, as they left. Ghost waved to her. She looked up at him, worried. Then back down at her gritty nails, like she felt bad.

Ghost turned back to follow Oldman. Sun had thawed the ground enough to make it full of air pockets and muddy, with clumps of snow here and there in the shade. Clouds said that more snow was coming.

He squinted in the early morning sun. When they reached the middle of the courtyard, that was the moment he chose.

Oldman let him walk a few feet away like he trusted him, but his reaction was lightning fast when Ghost bolted. Ghost was faster.

On the treacherous ground, Oldman slipped, and several Shivers outright fell when they tried to catch him before he got out of reach.

"Stop him!" Oldman bellowed. His frail vocal chords trembled.

Ghost ran carefully, lightly stepping and focusing on smaller steps, sucking his body in close.

He took a huge lungful of cold air and opened his mouth wide to let it through him. The daylight glare was so much he could hardly see. He smiled at the muddy ground. It felt so good to be running.

Shivers surrounded the courtyard in a U-shape. He dodged past a few of the faster ones, ducked hands and slipped over legs moved to trip him.

They grabbed his arms, but instead of pulling back, he twisted and shifted his weight, snapping out of grasp just before their grip tightened.

Nobody shot at him--not till he got over the barricade.

They couldn't climb after him. Nobody was as fast. He ran up it like a goat, hardly suppressing a giggle of excitement. A gunshot made him flinch, surprised. He jumped down, shoving in his earplugs after he landed in a low crouch. He kept going.

It only took a few seconds to find cover, and he kept going, even though his lungs felt like they were dying. Lots of people used the uncollapsed metro tunnels for a straight route.

Not Ghost. He hated feeling trapped, confined. You can't dodge in a tight space, really.

He couldn't run on top of roofs in broad daylight though. He could hardly see. It was too bright. Not to mention the main danger--sentries that thought of Ghost as an enemy. They'd been intimidated by him. Now that just put a target on his back. 

He clambered up into a building's 2nd floor and collapsed next to the wall, panting hoarsely. He coughed, covering his mouth to muffle it, not that it really helped.

It was so cold. Even the heat racing down his arms was whisking off in the breeze.

His throat hurt, and his wrist ached as well. He touched it lightly, trying to see where, and what kind of damage it had gotten. His other injuries didn't require as much caution to heal. This one would. 

He got up slowly, moving through the house to the kitchen.

There was no roof, the walls were blasted open, and the counter had been flipped up, but then had slipped back down, covering the pantry doors and drawers.

2 things you could find in this type of place--bodies, and cheaper loot. They could both be encountered in crevices Ghost could fit himself into.

He crept down between the countertop and the drawers. Cockroaches skittered over his hands. He released one from under his right finger. 

"Sorry. He whispered to it. Poor thing.

"Hey." He said into the darkness. He hoped to startle away any larger creatures. "Hey."

No response.

He crawled in and checked in the drawer under the oven. Pans, trays, and a mouse.

The next drawer was full of cloths. He stuffed them into his waistband.

He couldn't open the other 2, and he didn't want to disturb the ruins too much, trying to force it. If you did, you could end up in a pile of rubble. Lots of houses were just hanging on by a thread.

He paused and hunched at the sound of a copter over his head. They passed slowly. A long time ago, people used to get shot at on sight from the copters. Now, people just always hid. 

Ghost checked the last cupboard and found food. 12 cans of mostly tomato paste.

"Food." He whispered. "Hell yes." 

With some new clothes he found, a backpack of cans and a blanket, Ghost emerged from hiding at dusk. Rooting around and ducking out of sight from gang patrols had taken most of the day.

Time to get the fuck out of Seattle.

Tag list: @joyjoygorl @cepheusgalaxy @little-rat-dragon @turtlesnap1 @atomicsandwichprince

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Kindle book: Masterpost: Next:

[whumblr]

Bloody

The first time Whumpee had fainted after watching their own blood seep down their arm, Whumper had watched in silent amusement. Before realising that… well, this could be a bit of a pain.

So the second time he strapped them to a table and walked up with his knife at the ready, he came prepared.

Whumpee glanced at the knife and while their expression tightened, there was a hint of smugness crossing their face. Not much to torture when they’re out cold after just the first cut, Whumper had to admit.

But their face fell when Whumper held up the knife and a piece of black cloth dangled from the tip.

A blindfold.

“Figured we could see to what extent your fear of blood goes,” Whumper said, swinging the cloth back and forth until it slipped from the knife and draped over Whumpee’s collarbones.

“It’s not a fear of blood!” Whumpee bit, pulling at the leather straps binding them. “It just… happens,” they finished, less fierce.

“It happens…” Whumper mused. So this probably wasn’t the first time. “Have you ever tested it? Do you just go whoop when you see your own blood or is the sensation of it pumping out of your veins enough to pass out?”

Whumpee paused, their lips pressed together and their throat bobbed. “I… I don’t know,” they admitted.

“Let’s find out.”

He set the knife down on the table, deliberately placing it just next to Whumpee’s bound hand. If they struggled enough, maybe they could touch it with a pinky finger. Blindfold in hand, he leaned over them, easily slipped it over their head as they shook ‘no’ and they continued to shake their head even when the band fit snugly over their eyes. He shushed them gently, cupping their face with both hands, stopping them from shaking their head.

“Now, then…” His hand curled over the handle of the knife and as he lifted it he let the blade scrape over the surface with a scratchy shing to signal that he was about to start. And to draw a flinch from Whumpee. He grinned; now that they were dependent on their other senses, he wasn’t above helping out with that.

He rested the blade just under their shoulder where their deltoid curved, letting the cold touch seep into their skin before the sharp edge of the blade would follow.

A soft and surprised little yip sounded within their throat when the knife broke skin. Teeth clenched when he slid deeper, their chest heaving to keep their scream contained until he dragged the knife further through muscle and a broken gasp tore free.

Blood gushed along the stripe of the cut, streaming down their shoulder, tickling over skin.

A fist clenched. And Whumpee went white as a sheet.

But they didn’t pass out.

“You look like you already lost a gallon,” Whumper said with a smirk.

“Sh—shut up,” Whumpee shot back, but their voice was weak, high-pitched.

They tensed up when the blade rested against their arm again.

But Whumper merely held the flat of the blade under the cut, not yet breaking skin, and he caught a few thick drops of blood. Then he carefully brought the knife up, hovered it over Whumpee’s face, and watched as the red pooled closer to the tip. A single drop fell right onto their cheek.

And after an initial flinch, Whumpee completely stilled. To the point where Whumper thought that was it for the experiment.

But then a shivering inhale rasped past their lips.

“Don’t do that…” they managed to whisper.

“Don’t do what, dear?” Whumper drawled, smile creeping wider. He tapped a finger to the blade and watched a second drop fall right onto the blindfold. It drew out another twitch. The cloth absorbed the dark stain immediately, while the spatter on their face slowly rolled down their cheek. It sent a shudder through them as it tickled the underside of their ear and disappeared into their hair.

“That… the b—the blood, don’t—”

“It’s just a splash of water, love.”

“It’s not!”

Whumper grinned, fingertips swirling through the puddle of blood forming under their arm. “No,” he murmured in agreement, and he tapped two fingers slick with blood against their cheekbone. “It’s not.”

A strangled sound of anguish sounded in Whumpee’s throat as the two fingers slowly made its way down, leaving two cold stripes of red draped over their face.

Whumper watched them fondly. Amazing how the brain worked. It registered everything, from the warmth gushing out of their cut, to the splash on their face and it drying on their cheek. Yet it didn’t trigger that severe drop in blood pressure to make them check out.

With Whumpee blubbing their mouth like a fish on dry, heaving in shallow breaths yet none coming back out as cries, you’d think their level of emotional distress was at peak. But fight or flight was still overpowering everything. And oh, how they wished to fly; their wrists pulled tight against their bonds, straining as they hoped for the leather to give just a bit so they could slip free. Just a bit more, dear, and you’ll feel the blood bubble up there as well…

“Lost your voice?” Whumper purred.

His hand tightened over the cut and Whumpee screamed. Ah, no, still there. But they immediately fell silent when that same hand gripped their jaw tight. Fingers sleek with blood dug into the side of their jaw, just under their ear.

“That’s right,” Whumper crooned. He let a fresh drop fall onto his thumb and pressed it against their lips. “Just… shush.”

Their lips, slightly parted in despair, immediately pressed tight into a thin stripe. And with a grin, Whumper took advantage. He slowly smeared the drop over both their lips, coating them in red.

“You might wanna lick your lips. Seems a bit dry to me.”

Every little gasp had indeed made their lips uncomfortably dry, blood now seeping into the cracks, immediately drying and making things even worse. As Whumper pulled back, he could see them hesitate, fighting the automatic response of their tongue wanting to offer a bit of relief.

Those beautiful red lips trembled hard, and their chin started to quiver as well.

The underside of the blindfold started getting wet. Tears trickled out from underneath, mixing with the red stripes over their cheeks, breaking them up and a drop pooled on the edge of their jaw, tinted with a hue of red.

“P-p-please…” The word puffed past quivering lips. “Stop. Just… just cut me up like you wanted, but… stop…”

“Ah.” Whumper feigned his surprise, though he didn’t have to hide his grin, growing wolfishly large. “Right. I think we both got a little distracted.”

He scraped the knife over the table again before resting it against their arm, slowly moving up and increasing the pressure. “Let’s tap out some more.”

-

General whump tags: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna @oprhan

[montammil]

Caretaker knocked on Whumpee's door. "Hey, I made breakfast! Come get it while its still warm."

No response.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker frowned. After some deliberation, they opened the door, just to settle their nerves. "If you wanna sleep in, you can, I just wanted to make sure you're--"

They weren't there. Caretaker's breath hitched in their throat.

Caretaker practically threw off the covers to the bed, but there was still no sign of them. Worst-case scenarios flooded their mind already.

What if Whumper came back? What if Whumpee ran away? Did they do something wrong? Did they accidentally hurt them? Nonono...

They scrambled around their house, screaming Whumpee's name so loudly they were sure the neighbors could hear. They were hyperventilating, until in a last desperate attempt to find them, they staggered down to the basement.

"WHUMPEE?! ANSWER ME! WHERE--"

Whumpee, nestled with a blanket and pillow in the corner of the room, blearily lifted their head.

"Caretaker?"

"Whumpee!" Caretaker threw themself at them, yanking them into their chest and burying their nose into their hair. "Oh, thank god. You scared me." After catching their breath, they pulled away. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you come down here?! You fucking terrified me!"

Whumpee sniffled. "I'm sorry--"

"I thought you ran away! Or--or worse! I was this far away from calling the cops and leaving the house to find you!" They swallowed down their own tears.

The thought of being without Whumpee again... Caretaker wasn't sure they could live through that again.

"I'm sorry," Whumpee repeated. "It just... feels more familiar here."

Caretaker blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I mean..." Whumpee hesitated. "When I was with Whumper, I was never allowed out of the basement... it felt weird sleeping in my own room again. I just... I don't know how to explain it. I'm just sorry." Their lip wobbled. "Please forgive me."

The world came crashing down upon Caretaker for the second time in the span of just ten minutes.

"Oh, honey..." Caretaker cradled Whumpee close to them once again. "Don't apologize. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. Let's get you out of here, alright? It's cold down here, you're shaking."

"You are too."

"For different reasons. I was so scared you..." they trailed off. "It doesn't matter. Come on, you."

[paingoes]

Crash Out - Joey

(Content: past abuse, whumper turned whumpee, beating, implied child abuse, claustrophobia mention, addiction mention, retraumatization, crying, guilt, self harm?, blood, brief weight talk)

Still shaking, still sick, Paris stared up blankly at the ceiling again, for want of anything better to do. The manacles chafed at his bare wrists, leaving a thick band of raw skin beneath. He’d gotten used to it.

“Did you go to a school when you were little?” He asked Johanna without looking at her.

Without looking back from the control panel, she answered: “I’m not that fucking stupid, am I?”

He shook his head — and the movement of the collar caused the chain to click against the tile.

“No. I mean, like, a special one. For psychics.” He explained vaguely. 

“I went to St.Holly’s Prep.” She answered curtly.

“Oh.” He deflated. 

He had hoped for something that might give his life a perfect symmetry. He wanted any sense of justice to fall back on, though he knew well enough not to truly expect it. His hand traced the collar again, taking slow and steady breaths. He breathed easier when he was flat on his back. Any sudden motion made him feel like he might faint, so he didn’t move at all. The lock picks were burning a hole in his pocket.

She’d missed them, somehow. She hadn’t been very deliberate in the pat down — and at this point, he was all angles. His own hipbone had been as hard and as pointed as the metal. 

He did not dare reach for them here in the dead of space. He’d be no better off once he was out of the chains. Paris knew, with total certainty, that he would not beat her in a fight. He didn’t even think he could do it healthy anymore, some new flinch mechanism that made him so tired of hitting and of being hit. He certainly could not do it in the thralls of withdrawal, not with the cracked rib and the hole through his hand. No opportunity presented itself. He was scared to.

The stygian depths appear every time he closed his eyes, dark blue, teeming. He was scared. Some ancient dread was settling onto him, sharp-toothed and feral. He missed Delta. 

It embarrassed him just how badly he missed Delta.

But when he dreamed, mercifully, it was of Lorelai. It was a frozen morning and the last night’s rain had crystallized against the pale bluegrass. Her hair was undone, hanging in limp curls against the fabric of her sweater. It was the last morning before the break. He’d given her clovers and coffee and jasmine perfume. He’d have given her anything, but he knew the wealth humiliated her. It was an affront for either of them to even wear the uniform.

All the same, her fingers had been lined with white gems that morning. They were impossible not to notice as he’d brought her hand up to his lips. He’d have done anything for her then. The memories bled out into the edges of his dreams.

His heart was all the way empty when he awoke. Lorelai was safer without him than she’d ever be with. It was cold comfort. He’d left her alone and limp in the dirt.

There was no day or night to follow, but the ship’s lights had dimmed. Paris thought it was another hallucination, another dream he couldn’t shake — but the soft sound of crying permeated and echoed throughout the ship. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. 

She was whimpering in her sleep.

~

Johanna dreamed of something cold and breathing beneath the soft wet earth. She had the nightmare often. Big walls and little hands. A playful pulsing in each of them, turned violent and mean over time. She smiled because she could, because they always liked her. She smiled too wide and laughed too hard, some screw knocked loose, faulty wiring from having been hit in the head one too many times. A nervous laugh. Wide, pleading eyes.

She dreamt of a small box. She dreamed of a pulsing that grew into a frantic pounding — and a loving flesh that always come backs. It came back no matter how many times they tried to kill her.

Johanna dreamt of a hole dug deep into the earth. She’s had the same nightmare since she was twelve — and though it gets better, it never really goes away. She woke up with her eyes still blotted with tears and for a minute she had forgotten where she was. 

From across the room, the captive prince stared at her unblinking, and she knew he had heard everything.

~

Several hours later, when they were both wide awake, Paris tried again.

“Did you know Martino?” he asked.

Immediately, he knew it was a mistake. He had about three seconds to flinch before she’d crossed the interior to him and hit him as hard as she possibly could. The intention had clearly been to knock him unconscious, but he’d recoiled fast enough that she mostly struck the side of his jaw. He gasped, sure for a second it’d been broken. There was no time to recover in between the blows. He only shielded his skull as Johanna slammed the cleat into his side, over and over again, breathing heavy. She tore his arms away, gripping the collar’s chain just to slam his head back into the wall, pinning him there.

But Johanna looked so lost. All her anger was thick with confusion. Her eyes searched him, up and down, as if something in his body might tell her.

“How-“ she asked desperately. “Who-“

Paris shivered, retreating, hiding his head again. It hurt. His ribs were so tender he could’ve cried. She released the chain around his neck, staggering a few steps back.

“Don’t say his name again,” she warned.

Paris nodded.

~

“Are you mad at me?” Paris asked. He was stupid and chastened, both knees drawn up to his chest.

Johanna sighed, sitting up against the starboard wall of the ship. She tossed a tennis ball idly, only occasionally glancing at the autopilot to see they were still on course. She did not dignify him with a response. 

“Did you know him? Delta. One Zero Seven.” Paris asked quietly.

It felt like it’d been ages since he’d said his name aloud. The sound of it hovered in the air, seemed to echo in a way the other words had not. He still remembered the numerals that followed, though by the time he first learned them, they’d lost all their usefulness. But to her, those numbers must have meant something. It’d be the only way to distinguish them.

“As if I’d remember any of them.” Johanna rolled her eyes.

Paris quieted, tucking his face back down into his arms. He only peeked up at her as she stood up, moving to check up on the air filter. 

“Do you hate me?” he asked.

He was surprised when she didn’t laugh. She only sighed again, eyes flitted up to the ceiling as if she was considering it.

“I didn’t before. I think I’m starting to.” She decided.

“Is that why?” He looped one finger in the collar, tugging it.

“Nope.”

In return, she tapped one finger to his nose, booping it gently. He still flinched.

“That’s just business.”

~

It ate at him. He turned restlessly within the chains. There was nothing to do and only her for company. She was taking him to be killed, to hurt the whole time he died, to be mutilated and changed. All his future seemed an endless void. All he could focus on was the past.

“What was it like?” he asked. There will be no other opportunities to ask, no other ways to know. He wondered if anyone else who went to that school was even alive anymore. Delta wasn’t. Was Johanna alive, really? 

He looked at her and he could not tell. 

She stood up from the console, visibly irritated at the fact he was still taking. Or maybe she just didn’t like his choice in conversation topic. Either way, he’d pissed her off.

“You want to know what it was like?” She asked incredulously.

He sat up and nodded his head. For a second, she just looked tired. She undid the belt from around her waist.

“Hands out. Now.”

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before. He’d gotten his knuckles rapped millions of times, had the cane brought down against each part of his body. None of it ever helped. By the time he graduated, he knew it was more about anger than it ever was about correction. This was no different.

Except that all the previous times, he did not have a knife wound piercing straight through the flesh of his hand. A white bandage had been bound tight around it ever since he’d been rescued. It still held. She’d seen it, of course. She had to have known. She didn’t care. 

They must not have either.

Paris offered both hands without resistance, surprising himself. Would she have forced him to if he hadn’t? For some reason, he didn’t think so. If he wasn’t playing along, he thought, she might just give up.

He held both palms facing upward. It was what he was used to, what he assumed she wanted, and he was willing to turn them if it wasn’t.

The belt was folded over. He kept still.

It was worse than he thought it’d be. He gasped in shock and pain at the sting. He’d been comparing it to the wrong injuries, expecting the wrong kind of pain. The belt hurt his right hand about as badly as when it’d first been punctured, about as bad as an arrow through his fucking ribcage. His eyes watered immediately.

He still tried to be steady as the belt came down against his hands again. Again. Again. He resisted the automatic curling of his fingers in an effort to protect himself. It was really nothing. He’d had so much worse. He didn’t know why he was crying so badly. 

The belt swung again. He only pulled his hand back just to quickly wipe at his eyes. She got mad.

“Paris,” she hissed, exasperated, and he couldn’t remember her ever using his name before this. “I can make this a lot worse for you and you know it.”

“Sorry,” he muttered as he offered the hand back.

Again. Again. He lost track, letting his vision blur just the same as the count. All the nerves in his hand were beaten almost numb, stinging. He couldn’t keep the tremor out of them. 

Johanna grumbled in frustration, pulling the belt back to her side. She was fumbling with the end of it.

“…Are we done?” he asked weakly. 

The belt buckle hit him square in the face, drawing a pained gasp from him. He reeled to the side, barely catching himself. Blood dripped readily from the gash in his cheek. In shock, he moved two finger up to touch it. Wet. Warm. 

“You don’t fucking ask when it’s over.” She barked.

He kept his eyes trained on the ground, half-curled away from her. The impact had whipped his head to the side and he did not correct it. 

He heard her readjusting the belt. For a second, he really did think she was finished. He let himself be fooled twice.

The buckle struck him again in the shoulder. It produced much less of a reaction than the strike to the face did, but he still cried. It was worse when he couldn’t see it, but he knew better than to try and turn around. He twitched at each new impact.

“You don’t understand!” She yelled. It was infantile. And it was wrong. He did.

Then again, he doubted she was even talking to him.

The metal snapped at the bare skin of his arm, once again at his back. He shifted one shoulder up to shield his still-bleeding face and endured the hit for it. It was only then she seemed to tire. It didn’t matter. He was sobbing. Though he tried to do it quietly, there was so little he could focus on besides his own misery. The effort was futile. He hardly noticed whether she was there or not, whether the beating had even stopped.

He tucked himself further into the far wall, unable to stop crying or to even be silent about it. She did not speak to him again for the rest of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~

thank you to @floral-comet-whump for getting me to canonize Johanna being from Beldam!!! that was always supposed to be the implication w her character but i wasnt sure about making it explicit until they had the idea of her being an experiment that beldam tried to kill and ended up BURYING ALIVE. that was too tasty to leave as subtext >:)

tags:

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

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

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen

[letitbehurt]

Struggling did no good. Whumpee was outnumbered in the alley, two large lackeys gripping their arms hard enough to bruise while Whumper stood pointedly between them and their only way out. Whumpee’s cell phone and camera were on the ground nearby, crushed beneath the deliberate weight of heavy boots.

“You shouldn’t follow people,” Whumper said mildly. “All sorts of danger in a bad habit like that.”

A retort itched on Whumpee’s tongue. They were helpless to the urge, even like this. “Try telling me that at a different angle,” they suggested, breathing hard around bruised ribs. “This really isn’t your good side.”

They didn’t know what they were expecting—anger, violence, another swift, painful beating—but to their shock, Whumper laughed. A soft, sudden sound, as if Whumpee had managed to surprise them. They came closer until their shadow swallowed the light at the end of the alley.

“You’re not the first reporter I’ve had to take care of,” they said, eyes glinting in the dark, “but you’re certainly the most fun.”

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumper loved taunting the whumpee’s team, deliberately giving them leads and taking it all away at the last second. The whumpee knew about this, but couldn’t do anything about it, they’d learned not to hope that their friends would pull through- they never would.