#firewheeesky fucks with this

[firewheeesky]

Not one of yours, not one of theirs', not anyone's child.

Whumpee tortured for information, beaten inches from death. Only once the gun is turned on an innocent person do they spill everything they know. (Bonus points if the innocent person is Whumpee’s loved one)

Once their torturers are sure Whumpee is telling the truth, they’re patched up and released from captivity.

When Whumpee gets back to their organization, they’re not sure what to expect. Maybe a celebration, a “hey we’re glad you’re not dead and we totally understand that you didn’t have a choice”, something.

They did not expect to be treated like an enemy. They did not expect to be shoved into a small, bare holding cell, roughly searched for trackers or mics.

Their team treats them like a traitor, which Whumpee assumes is what they are now. They are left alone for days on end, not given any food, barely enough water.

When Leader finally comes to visit, Whumpee is thin, pale and sweaty. Maybe one of their wounds got infected, or dehydration is just getting to them.

They look at leader with sad, desperate eyes, silently begging for help.

Leader just glares down at them, and kicks them hard in the ribs.

(Extra bonus points if Whumpee’s “loved one” from earlier was someone on the team, OR MAYBE EVEN LEADER THEMSELF, and it completely breaks Whumpee)

[whumblr]

What's best

"You'll want to wait inside, Whumpee."

Whumpee glanced from Caretaker to the strange man. They were curious, especially why Caretaker's demeanor suddenly changed so much... and why the man was looking at them like that. But Caretaker's expression and tight clipped voice stopped them from asking.

"I... okay."

Whumper watched them carefully until they were fully out of sight.

"Don't you leer at them like that, you fucking piece of shit," Caretaker snarled as soon as the door closed.

"Just curious..." Whumper said casually. His gaze remained on the door, somewhat lost in thought. "They really don't remember?" he said after a beat. "Anything?"

"I'd like to keep it that way. Stay away from them."

Whumper hummed. "I didn't beat on them that hard... Or wait, maybe that time when-- Hm, no... No, they were still frantically begging me for forgiveness, so they definitely remembered that they did something wrong..."

"Stop it."

"Keep them like this, huh?" Whumper turned to leave, a smile creeping over his lips. "Well, if you think that works. Just remember... Surpressed memories are a tricky thing. At some point, probably when you and Whumpee least expect it, everything will violently explode back to the surface."

He glanced back at the rigid Caretaker. "And I wonder who will be worse off... you... or Whumpee."

-

General tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna

[whump-mania]

Writing some Dark Leader because I missed it!!! TW here for flashbacks, implied noncon (not explicit and ignorable, misgendering of nb person)

previous / next

In the beginning, Quinn quite liked having a room to themselves.

Back with the old team, they had to share a room with about four other people, cramming into one space. And sharing a room came with sharing space, sharing looks, sharing insults…Quinn shivered. God, they were glad to be out of there.

They’d taken some time to decorate as much as they could. Kari had smuggled some magazines one day, and Quinn printed out some pictures of plants and animals to decorate it. It wasn’t much, but it made the small room their own.

As time went on, though, the cons of having their own room started to outweigh the pros. Well…more like just one ‘con’.

They were all alone with their thoughts.

In the dark, alone, Quinn’s little room was an echo chamber.

You pathetic little waste of space.

The words bounced off the walls. Back into their ears.

No no, I’m not done with you. Back on your knees.

No matter how far Quinn went under the covers, they couldn’t hide.

Don’t make me bring Hunter in here.

“No,” Quinn barely whispered, starting to shake. “Please.”

The voices started to change.

So fucking tiny. I could crush you.

“Hunter, p-please, no…”

God, the way you tense up when I even look at you…so cute.

“I can’t, I can’t…” Quinn sobbed.

Open that mouth, pretty boy.

“SHUT UP!”

Quinn finally snapped, throwing a pillow across the room. It hit the wall and thumped to the ground unceremoniously. Hitting no one.

They were truly alone.

Until the door creaked open.

“Quinn? You okay in here?” Vincent’s head popped through. “I heard you yell.” His eyes went to the pillow discarded on the floor.

“Yeah…yeah, fine,” Quinn breathed, standing up to get the pillow. They sat back on top of their bed, staring at the floor and waiting silently for Vincent to inevitably leave.

He didn’t.

“You wanna talk about it?”

With those words, Quinn broke. They sobbed into their hands, leaning into Vincent when he sat next to them.

“I-I don’t wanna have my own room anymore,” Quinn said, muffled in Vincent’s sleep shirt.

Vincent smiled slightly, rubbing Quinn’s back comfortingly and holding them tighter. “Done.”

tag list: @tears-and-lilies @whumpasaurus101 @whmp @freefallingup13 @sadistgalore @firewheeesky @authorofemotion @whatwhumpcomments @wingedwhump @mammonsemptycreditcard @eilarchswhump @whumblrwork @ficklefuddle @mylifeisonthebookshelf @lizzydizzyyo @whump-cravings @whumpcreations

[comfy-whumpee]

Jane

Whumptober Day 17 - Collar. CN: BBU.

Birdhouse Taglist: @neuro-whump​, @rosesareviolentlyread, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question, @highwaywhump

-

Occasionally in her life, Avis had been stopped by strangers and asked for help. It happened more when she’d been out with Franco as a little boy, deemed safe by the social role of mother-with-baby. She had helped students, tourists and, once, a lost and very teary child. She had given directions, advised on train times, confirmed bus stops and held tiny, damp hands until they let go to run to daddy.

Even today, she was a middle-aged white woman, so she was occasionally deemed a trustworthy source to someone in need. So she was not overly surprised when a pretty young woman approached her in town and asked, in an American accent, if she had a second.

“Of course,” Avis replied, smiling. The stranger was wearing a simple thin jumper and leggings, so probably wasn’t selling anything, and wasn’t dressed up like she was from a Church either. Probably a tourist.

The girl smiled a wide and beaming smile. “Thank you,” she said, and seemed about to say something else. Then she switched tacks. “I’m trying to find a…government place. Or an embassy.”

They wouldn’t find one of those in this little town. As for government buildings, “I don’t think they’ll be open on the weekend. I can have a look online, though?”

“Oh.” The girl’s face fell, and then quickly she put a smile back up. “I’m sorry to bother you. Is there anywhere that could shelter someone?”

Avis looked at her more closely. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed recently, just scraped back into a ponytail. She was clean and there was no smell, but there was a thinness to her face that suggested she wasn’t eating well. Habit flicked her eyes to the girl’s neck. Her jumper came up into a turtleneck, but…

There was something underneath, if she wasn’t mistaken. “I know somewhere. Can I ask how you ended up here?”

For the first time, the girl broke eye contact. She hesitated before saying, carefully, “I had to run away from some bad people.”

It made sense, but she still needed more. “Would you consider speaking to the police?”

The stranger shook her head. “They didn’t do anything illegal,” she explained. “I signed up for it.”

Avis closed her eyes suddenly, the words making her stomach lurch. She knows, she knows all to well, the lie that the pets tell. “Okay, sweetie. I want to ask you a more personal question. Before that,” she adds quickly, “I want you to know that keeping people as pets is not legal here.”

The stranger nods. “Okay.”

Avis studied her face. “Can you tell me your designation?”

There was no hesitation. No hint of confusion. No blanch. “Romantic.”

There it was. Of all the towns in all the fucking world, they’d bring a pet – illegally – to this one. Avis almost smiles. She’s going to make sure this poor girl never has to go back.

“Alright. You chose the right person to speak to. My name is Avis, and I’m going to get some help for you. Do you have a something I can call you?”

“354531,” the girl rattles off without hesitation. Then she pauses. “Or, um…” A blush blooms on her cheeks.

“I’ll call you Jane for now,” Avis interrupts swiftly. “And if you think of something you like better, just let me know. Do you have a place you’re staying right now?”

Jane shakes her head, not objecting to the name.

“Alright. Let me make some calls.”

-

Florence saw them coming up the drive. Avis went out alone to do the shopping, and now she was getting out of the car with no shopping and there was someone else with her.

The new person moved with fluid grace, holding herself like a ballerina. Every motion was a smooth one. She even closed the car door with elegance. Florence pushed their glasses up their nose to try and see her more clearly. They didn’t know her, but they recognised her.

They looked to Kamala. “She’s like me. A Romantic.”

Kamala looked worried. Often, Kamala hid that she was worried, from Florence and everyone else. But Kamala didn’t much like strangers. She said, “I wonder why she’s here.”

Florence got up. “Let’s go see.”

-

Tenten was ready for the shopping, and came out of the kitchen when he heard the door. His disappointment at the lack of groceries was swiftly forgotten at the sight of a stranger with Avis. Avis never brought strangers to the Birdhouse, not without lots of warning. Tenten felt his back starting to stiffen, his jaw lock up.

“Hi, Tenten,” Avis greeted him, a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry I haven’t done the shopping yet. This is Jane, and she needed some help.”

Tenten’s eyes flicked over to the stranger. She had black hair, pale skin, and had folded her arms behind her back. She smiled falsely. “Hello.”

He felt himself relax, just marginally, his shoulder blades lowering a fraction. She was a rescue. He couldn’t unlock his jaw yet, but he gave her a nod and tried to return her polite-pet smile.

“Jane is going to stay here for a day or two while someone from Durham drives up down to collect her and take her to a shelter that has room,” Avis explained. “I know I wouldn’t normally bring someone new here without letting you guys know, but she didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Tenten relaxed in compassion. He knew what it was like to be wandering, recently free but not yet understanding the weight of it. The streets all looked the same, and the people all looked away from you. She was lucky to have found Avis early on.

“Welcome,” he pronounced with care, only lingering on the ‘c’ for slightly too long. “It’s – safe. Here.”

Jane smiled a more genuine smile. “Thank you,” she replied softly, emerging slightly from behind Avis.

Avis seemed pleased. “There are a few more people about, but we’ll let them come down if they want to. Let’s go sit, through here if that’s okay. I can talk you through things in more detail, and then we can look at getting you some basics.”

-

“A new rescue?” Roman whispered.

Tenten nodded. They were together in the kitchen, sharing a moment at the table. Roman had snuck in after hearing unfamiliar voices. Tenten always seemed to know what was going on, so he had asked, and as suspected, Tenten knew exactly what was happening.

Tenten seemed calm, or maybe just distracted, sitting relaxed and still in his seat. “She met Avis in town. She’s not staying here bec-cause Avis says we don’t have space.”

Maybe he was trying to be calm for Roman’s sake. Roman was surprised to find he did not like the idea of a new rescue in the house. “We have spare rooms upstairs though,” he pointed out. “The music room and the craft room, and the library, and the box room.”

“I think-k,” Tenten takes a breath, hearing the stutter. He smiles kindly at Roman. He’s always kind. “Avis want-ts you to s, settle in more.”

“Oh.”

Roman thinks about how long it was since he arrived here, after the people who had taken him across America and across the sea. He wasn’t sure of the exact details, but it had been cold when he had arrived, and now it was starting to warm. There were green bits in the garden that hadn’t been there at first, and the afternoons were starting to be sunnier. It was at least two months, not as many as four. He could ask Avis for the exact details, but not if she was busy with a new rescue, one who needed more attention.

It would be lonely with a new rescue, he thought. Even though everyone was nice, especially Tenten with all his experience and knowledge, and the understanding they had of being Help At Home pets together… It wasn’t the same as getting that special help from Avis. He would miss her gentle encouragement when he tried new things. He would miss knowing that she was looking out for him, and if he struggled at something, she would step in straight away to coach him. It was going to be difficult to be like the others. They were all so good at being free.

But that was what Tenten said wouldn’t happen. There wasn’t going to be a new rescue. Roman would be the new one for a while longer.

“I think I need to settle in more, as well,” he admitted.

It was hard to admit those things to Tenten, who was so good at being free that he ran away. But Tenten could already name the million ways that Roman wasn’t perfect, because that was what they were both trained to do. One more wouldn’t matter.

There was no judgement in Tenten’s smile. His eyes were warm chocolatey brown in the afternoon sun. “Don’t-t worry,” he said. “You’ll – get there.”

-

There was an extra place set for dinner. Everyone was here except Avis and there were two plates set. That was the first sign.

They had been asleep for the last two hours. It had been a bad night, a night of staying awake and trying to be calm and trying to not disturb anyone, while sitting under their desk waiting for the intruder to break in. A night where their training ran around and around in their heads, the threat assessments they can’t turn off any more than Kamala can stop diagnosing people. They almost went downstairs, as if they would find Florence there, and help them in some small way to make up for everything they were meant to do. But they hadn’t been able to move.

So now, on waking up at the call for dinner, and coming down, and sitting at the table in the dining room while Tenten served up food for them all, Boo stared at the two empty plates that were side by side and wondered whether the knife on their right would be deadly enough if thrown.

When Avis came in, the intruder loomed behind her, tall and slim in an old jumper and with a low ponytail hanging off her shoulder. She moved like a Romantic, feet silent, limbs coordinated with grace. She smiled like a pet. She sat like a pet, back straight, head upright, with a diffident cast to her gaze that suggested she wasn’t used to making eye contact. Around her neck was a thin golden band, with some clear gemstones sparkling along it. Pretty as it was, it didn’t try to deny that it was a collar.

When Tenten brought in the food, she leaned to the side and glanced up from under her lashes to thank him in a sweet voice. She picked up her knife and fork, and paused, waiting for someone else to start eating.

Boo couldn’t ask, of course. Their words had never been further away. Their face had never felt more frozen. They couldn’t do anything about this. The stranger at the table was something they could not control.

Florence and Kamala. Tenten and Roman. Avis. All as normal. Chatting softly, eating, relaxing together, and she was in the middle of it all as if she belonged.

But she didn’t. The barcode on her wrist looked real, but her expressions gave it away. Not a hair out of place, not a twitch, not a flinch, nothing. Nothing at all except exactly what she wanted to show.

Control yourself. The voice in Boo’s head. The voice in hers, they had no doubt.

Her eyes lingered on Florence. Florence was looking back at her with interest, no doubt drawn to the performance of a Romantic.

Boo had failed in their mission, and Mistress Tara knew. She knew because she had sent someone to do it for them. She knew, and she didn’t accept failures.

Boo hadn’t even known there had been more than just them. Was this impostor new, or had she been trained after the hunter had failed to return?

They had to make their choice.

[whumpzone]

Linden & Colton - 18

(masterpost)

and so the slow process begins

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, discussions of intelligence

-

Pet- Colton, Colton didn’t realise he’d been asleep until he woke up. He had dreamt of nothing. How he had slept after the stress of yesterday was beyond him.

He suddenly saw Master in his room, a place he’d never been before, stood in the corner waiting for him to wake up and face his punishment. He cried out, pulling himself up and raising his hands protectively.

But-

He blinked. It was a shadow. The gap between the old wardrobe and the wall. Tall, thin, quiet. Just like Master. But Col was alone and he let out a long breath.

Master had probably heard him yell, though. He’d be here soon. So Col wasted no time and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He turned back to tuck his little teddy bear Chu under the covers, where Colton felt it was safe, and headed out into the corridor. Here, he was fair game. He didn’t know why Master never entered his room, but he had stuck to it vigilantly so far. It only made Col feel more aware of his own vulnerability as soon as he stepped through the door.

Master was downstairs, doing a puzzle in the local newspaper, and he looked up as Colton approached. His face brightened into a smile, the biggest he’d ever seen. Master never smiled like that. Col had to fight against the urge to freeze or drop to his knees.

“Good morning, Col,” he said, showing all of his teeth.

Oh, god. Master wanted him to reply. He wanted words, now. He finally knew that Col had been hiding them all this time, and he wanted to delve in, find out how he could twist them and use them to stroke his own ego and entrench his slave’s subordination.

Or perhaps he just wanted to hear his Pet wish him a good morning for the first time. Stop fucking overthinking.

“Good morning,” he ducked his head in reverence, “Master.”

“Wow. I still can’t believe you can speak. I’m so- I’m so proud of you, Col.”

What? Why? “…Please forgive me for not speaking sooner.”

“It’s my fault,” he sighed, which made Col tense up even more. “I just- wow. Where to start? Well, come, sit, have breakfast with me. Cereal?”

He gestured at the box already on the table. Colton obediently sat and took it in his hand with almost no trouble. Master noticed, and nodded happily. He was certainly pleased. It still made Col very uneasy, but he did seem to be doing something right.

He had never heard Master speak in such an excited tone, before. But he was silent while Pet- Col- ugh- made himself his breakfast. He could feel Master’s eyes on him. He was allowed to take the first bite, and then the interrogation began. It was obvious Master had a lot of questions.

“So- okay, first, what made you speak, yesterday? I never asked.”

Colton chewed and swallowed. It helped his throat feel a little smoother, although it was still very rough from disuse. His voice was small and unsure. “You… I saw- I saw Jaffa. At the bottom of the stairs. But I didn’t mean to- I’m n-not accusing you of anything, I know you wouldn’t hurt her I just, I wasn’t sure if you had… seen her, Master.”

He flicked his eyes up to Master, to gage his response. He had just accused Master of being a bad pet owner. Of being neglectful of Jaffa. Master seemed to parse this information, and then smiled.

“She does blend in, doesn’t she? Too bloody well sometimes. I’m so glad you stopped me. And that was so, so kind of you Col. Well done.”

He just nodded, and turned his face away. He supposed…. Master saw it as him looking out for Jaffa, rather than undermining his intelligence. That was a lucky escape for him. He knew that with his old master, any sign of insubordination would have been swiftly beaten out of him.

“Colton,” Col looked up. Master looked scary. Why was he smiling that like? What was he thinking? Col didn’t feel any closer to understanding him. “I know this is new, and I know you’ve not spoken in months. I won’t make you do loads of it, okay? We can take it slowly.”

“Thank you, Master,” he hazarded, although he didn’t see why Master hadn’t just forced him to speak from day one, if he wanted it this badly.

“God, but it makes me realise, I know so little about you. And now- I can ask. And if you want, you can reply. I’m really happy.”

“There’s nothing to know, Master. I’m just a Pet,” he mumbled. The spoon faltered in his hand. Cutlery was still a challenge.

“I know you’ve got a busy brain in there,” Master pointed a slender finger at his slave’s head, to emphasise his point. “I know you’re bursting with thoughts and ideas.”

This made Col look up, properly. An accusation like that came with dire consequences. “No, n-n-no, I’m not, I promise, I exist to serve o-only, I’m just a dumb Pet. Yours to use as you please.” Spoken exactly as his old master had taught him. Well- he would have been belted for stammering. He was out of practice.

Should he kneel? Well, yes, he should, but was it right, when he knew Master liked him on the furniture? But, god, he had to prove his point, he couldn’t let Master think he was starting to rebel, or forget his place.

Bitterly, he thought about how he knew this would happen. This was why Pets didn’t speak.

“Whoa, okay, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just meant- you’re not stupid, are you? I can tell. And that’s a good thing.”

Col just stared at his hands. He wanted to pause time, step out of his body, and float away. Somewhere without any questions, or expectations, or constant riddles. He was stupid. He knew that much.

Master’s voice brought him back to reality. Glancing at him, Col saw his smile had grown even bigger. His skin prickled.

“I think you’re Welsh.”

“M-Master?”

“You definitely are. You’ve got an accent. You’re Welsh, Col. Wow, now I’m kind of sad. Like, how on earth did you end up here?”

What was he implying? “I’ve… always been a Pet,” Col tried, but it was clear he didn’t believe himself, and from the way Master’s eyebrow slowly raised, he didn’t believe him either.

Colton had always been dimly aware that there was an other him, who had taken up the before-time. He was the one whom his old master had had to train so effectively, he was the one who had all the bad thoughts and urges. Col knew he didn’t start as a Pet. Or else his old master wouldn’t have had to torture him like that for so long.

He was a ghost in Colton’s brain, and Col didn’t know if he was locked away or completely dead. Were parts of him still hiding somewhere, curled up in a place that old master couldn’t ever reach? Or had he been completely laid out and hacked to pieces, until only Col remained. Thinking about it made him want to burst into tears. Some nights, when his mind was loosened by sleep, he felt like he missed him so much.

. . .

Linden didn’t push it. He knew most Pets didn’t retain any memories from before their conditioning. He shouldn’t have asked, really. Just… the realisation that Col had a background, he had lived before becoming the trembling man before him, made Linden ache.

He still wanted to curl up whenever he thought about how long he left it before he realised Col could speak. He hadn’t wanted to push him, there were a myriad of ways he could have been made permanently mute, and he had pretty much fallen into a routine at this point. But the knowledge that all this time, Col was patiently waiting for the chance to talk, probably wondering why Linden wouldn’t let him- oh, christ. He was so embarrassed and ashamed.

He suddenly had so many questions all on the tip of his tongue, that he couldn’t think where to start. He also really didn’t want to bombard the poor boy. But still… just a few, surely, wouldn’t hurt?

“So obviously I’ve named you Colton, but, if you actually do have a name, please tell me. We can use that one instead.”

Colton shook his head. “My name before was- was Pet.”

“Pet?”

“Yes, Master. Or bitch, or, um, mutt. Or toy.”

He hid it well, but Linden could see the shame in Col’s face. At least that meant he realised how fucked up it was.

“Those aren’t fu- those aren’t names,” he growled. “That’s just plain cruel. You don’t deserve that. Do you like being Colton? It’s not too late to choose another name for yourself, love.”

Col waited until he had swallowed down another spoonful of cereal before he spoke. That seemed good, to Linden. He didn’t feel pressured to reply immediately.

“Colton is a nice name, Master. It’s not my place to have likes or dislikes but I, uh, I am happy with it.”

Another quick glance at his face. Linden was getting used to them by now. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jaffa rolling around.

“Likes, dislikes, they’re fine. Don’t worry about that. But if you like the name, then it’s yours until you say otherwise. Oh, and- don’t worry about calling me Master. Honestly.”

Col stopped chewing, his shoulders hunching up suddenly. “I’m sorry, M-, uh, sir, sorry. I didn’t realise I shouldn’t, I’m sorry, I know- know that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed. Sir was fine, he decided. From the way Colton had panicked, he didn’t want to push it any further. “You didn’t know.”

“Thank you, I’m- I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re fine, you’re good. You’re doing great with talking, Col. I’ll put the kettle on.”

He had long learnt to pick his battles. Hearing Colton talk about being a toy to be used made him fucking sick, but he could tell that sentiment was deeply, deeply ingrained. He knew a recital when he heard one. Those weren’t his words. They were a tiny window into whoever had fucked him up like this.

. . .

Master was sir now, when Colton spoke. Col could learn that. But it didn’t change anything, right? Master still wanted him, didn’t he?

-

as usual, the first half of the taglist:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread

@vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate

[hurting-fictional-people]

Betrayal Story - part 7 (whumptober day 3: insults)

a bit of a different flavor of whump for today! it's time to mess a little with Liam's mind ;) also, pls excuse that I'm a day late for day 3 of whumptober, I failed at editing this last night lol

tagging @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot @sunflower1000 @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove @boxofblood @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince @livingforthewhump @1becky1 @shameful-indulgence @whatwhumpcomments @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @starnight-whump @writingbackwards @noodlesandkareokee @mylifeisonthebookshelf @nightwhumpee @nomadghost @firewheeesky @kittysselfships @jadeocean46910 @painsandconfusion @ladygwennn

CW: whumper fucking with whumpee's mind, as in twisting facts (and downright lying), insulting him, and pretty much convincing him he's worthless. mention of past wounds and tortures, blackmail, self-loathing, whumper pov at the end

Part 1 here, continued from here

-

Liam takes short, slow steps as he is conducted through the hallways, trying not to bend over each time he moves and pain pulsates from his stomach and his arms to his whole body.

Every time he’s been taken out of the room Jonah keeps him in, it was to be hurt. Even if the guards are patiently walking with him this time, Liam can’t help but wonder what pain is stored for him today.

Not that there’s any way to avoid that, no matter how much he wishes to curl up in a corner and beg to be let go. If he stops, Liam knows he’ll just be dragged wherever they are taking him. So he keeps moving, even when he feels more and more unsteady with each step he takes.

They stop a lot sooner than he is prepared for, in front of a wide wooden door. One of the guards knocks, and doesn't even wait for an answer before pushing it open and gently yet firmly pushing Liam inside.

Jonah greets him in an office-like room, smiling big as he gets up from his chair.

“Hey there, Liam. I’m glad to see you standing.”

Liam looks around, searching for where he’ll be restrained and tortured next, but there are only bookshelves, a wide window, and the ugly desk behind which Jonah stands. No promise of pain, only a smiling CEO staring at him like Liam is here for a business meeting instead of a talk with the man keeping him captive.

The absurdity of the situation is so startling that Liam finds himself at a loss for words, only a frown pulling his eyebrows together as a response.

“Want to sit down?” Jonah offers politely, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. Liam glances at it, but his gaze slides farther. “Oh, you haven’t been out much lately, have you?”

Still staring at the window and the sun beyond, Liam grits his teeth together. “It’s hard to get vitamin D when you are busy being kidnapped.”

Jonah chuckles, and if Liam wasn’t already swaying on his feet from standing for too long with his newly open wound and not-at-all-healed burns, he would’ve at least glared at the man. As it is, Liam stumbles to the chair and falls heavily on it, holding his side and swallowing down a whimper.

“Oh, I was told you reopened that,” Jonah comments, sitting down on his chair and placing his elbows on the table. With faux concern washing over his face, he rests his chin on his hand. “Again. You really should be more careful.”

He can’t do this. After weeks locked up, Liam simply can’t play this game.

“Why am I here? And what are you going to do to me?”

Jonah cocks his head to the side. “What do you mean what I’m going to do to you?”

“Are you just going to keep me in a forgotten room to hurt and heal, and hurt some more?” Liam asks, raising his eyebrows. There’s still fear running through his bloodstream, but looking at the cold amusement in Jonah’s eyes, suddenly all Liam feels is rage. “Do you ever plan to let me the fuck go?”

“Is that how you spend your free time? Wondering what’ll be your fate now that you’re mine?” Jonah smirks.

Liam’s hands are shaking. The one holding his wound and the one clutching the edge of the chair quiver, just like his legs do, and Liam isn’t sure why or when it started.

“Why am I here, Jonah?”

“Because I’m in a good mood.”

It isn’t what he meant and they both know it. Liam sighs and darts his eyes around the room instead of screaming out his frustration like he wants to.

“And because I have a proposition for you.”

He looks back at Jonah then, holding his gaze with a flutter of hope in his chest he barely dares to acknowledge.

“What proposition?”

“Tell me all you know about Chase Raymond, and I’ll let you ask something of me.”

Liam narrows his eyes and shifts slowly on the chair.

“Let me go and I’ll tell you anything you want.”

“Wow, didn’t even stutter, huh?” Jonah raises his eyebrows. Liam doesn’t tell him that he has no clue if his words are real or not. He knows what the answer will be, though. “But no. Ask for something else, dear.”

“A cell phone.”

“For you to call the police? Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll also give you footage of everything I did to you so far, just for funsies.”

Liam clenches his jaw and glares at him. The man simply sits back and crosses his legs.

“Liam, Chase destroyed the one thing that could’ve made you known,” Jonah utters, watching his every reaction to the words. “You had found out something big, from what I’m told. Some hidden government shit, right? Something that could have put a young journalist such as yourself on the map, in case you had had the chance to reveal it. And Chase used you to ruin it all, gave in all kinds of information on you to the very thing you were trying to expose.”

“Trust me,” Liam hisses. “I haven't forgotten any of that.”

“Then why do you hesitate to do the same to him?”

He tries to muffle it, but the answer is already being shouted by his heart, already making his lips quiver even when he straightens his back and looks away.

Because once he held me and told me I was the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen, and I believed him. Because Chase’s smile looks like a shooting star – so very rare, and so dazzling I always wonder if I should make a wish. Because that wish would be to go back in time and never meet him, so it wouldn’t hurt so much to lose him. Because I still dream about him. Because I want to make him hurt like I did, but the idea of hurting him makes me want to cry.

“Because I’m not like him,” Liam answers quietly instead. “I won’t betray someone for selfish reasons.”

“Yeah, you certainly aren’t like him,” Jonah scoffs, and Liam’s gaze shoots back up.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You lost your job. You failed on the one thing you tried to do because let’s be real, you were stupid.” He raises one eyebrow, daring Liam to deny it. “You fell for the guy who was sent to find out what you knew. You were naïve enough to think Chase would fall in love with you, kid. You actually, genuinely, thought you could leak info about the government and just get away with it? Are you really that dumb, Liam?”

Liam holds his breath and Jonah’s gaze, but he cannot convince his mouth to move to defend himself.

“Chase has a life, a job, a purpose. Why on earth would he fall for a kid barely out of college, dreaming of impossible achievements?”

A lump forms in his throat, and suddenly Liam can barely stand to look into the man’s eyes. His feet tap tap tap on the floor, and he breathes in tandem with it – too fast, just as out of control as everything else.

“So what you’re saying is that he was right to trick me into trusting him,” Liam grits out, firmly ignoring how shaky his voice sounds. “You are saying that I was the wrong one for falling for a highly trained agent sent by the fucking government specifically to entrance me? That he is right for defending the people who have lied to an entire nation?”

“I’m saying he was doing his job and you were on his way. Of course he betrayed you, why wouldn’t he? You are no one.”

Liam closes his eyes, fighting to even out his pounding heart.

“Did you bring me here just to insult me?”

“I brought you here to offer you the deal, as I already said,” Jonah says. “I’m just amazed at how highly you think of yourself.”

“How h– what do you want from me?” Liam snaps, flinching at the mock pity he finds in the man's gaze when he looks at him again. It starts as anger, but under Jonah’s gaze and the weight of weeks of loneliness and despair, suddenly Liam can barely breathe as hate and despise and regret fill him to the brim, then boil over. “Do you want me to say how much I hate myself for falling for him? Is that what you want, you psycho? For me to say that yes, I fucking know Chase has no reason to love me and that I hate that he can still hurt me? That maybe I deserve all of this for being so stupid to think he would actually care and–”

It gets caught in his throat. The words that have rotten inside of him ever since Chase told Liam who he really was and took his heart away with him. Liam chokes on hatred and loss, and shuts his eyes in a futile attempt to forget that there’s a man basking in his pain on the other side of the desk.

“Wow, that’s some real self-loathing huh?” Jonah snickers, and if his wound wasn’t hurting as much as his heart, Liam would have–

Done nothing.

Even if nothing hurt, what could he do? Scream? Cry? He’s already done all that. He can't fight, can't defend himself.

There’s nothing he can do to escape this.

“So, the real reason you don’t want to tell me about him is that you're still in love,” the man smiles, blinking innocently at Liam’s hitching breaths.

“Fuck you,” he spits, forcing a deep breath through gritted teeth. “If this is all you want from me, I’d rather go back to my room.”

“I told you what I want, Liam. Tell me something about him, and I’ll let you go back.”

“After all this you really think I’m going to tell you shit?” he snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

“Say what, you tell me one of Chase’s biggest fears and I’ll let you call your parents. They at least are trying to find you, unlike a certain highly trained agent.”

“Why are you so hung up on him, anyway?” He is staring at Jonah’s smirk, at the blond hair falling on his temples, at how unsettling his eyes are, how unnerving it is that they haven’t moved from Liam’s face since he’s come inside. But all he hears, even with his heart bleeding and the cracks in his soul aching, is the promise of talking to his family.

Liam looks down at his hands, blinking wildly to keep unwanted tears at bay at the thought. At how much he just wants to go home.

“Chase is part of the team that’s keeping too close of an eye on my business,” Jonah explains. “I’m just setting up precautions in case he comes too close again since now I know his little ex isn’t as important to him as I had hoped.”

“Then why am I still here?” Liam blurts, rubbing his eyes when a tear slips, hoping he was fast enough to hide it.

“Because you’re cute,” Jonah mocks, and Liam groans in frustration. “And Chase probably, somewhere deep inside, feels guilty for knowing you’re here because of him – we both know that in the end, he isn’t a bad person. I mean, he hasn’t called or tried to see you, but I bet he feels bad. Well, I guess you know him better than I do, so tell me: do you think he cares?”

“I don’t give one shit.”

Lie lie lie lie.

“Well, then start talking.”

Liam sighs, leaning forward on his knees, holding his breath when the movement sends daggers of pain through his whole body.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. We both know everything he told me was a lie.”

“Oh, but was it?” Jonah muses, leaning back on his chair. “Tell me lies, then. But tell me what he said scared him.”

“I…” Liam stops, words dying in his throat. He wants to talk to his parents like he’s never wanted anything before. So much that it hurts to breathe knowing they are one treason away. But when he opens his mouth, it isn’t Chase’s fears that slips out in a whisper. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Jonah asks, sounding truly annoyed for the first time.

“Why the hell would I do anything to help you?” Liam answers as dismissively as he can.

“You just lost the chance to speak to your parents, Liam. Talk to me like that again, and I’ll make sure you can’t talk at all.”

Liam bristles, but keeps quiet. There’s no forgetting who holds the power between them, after all. No matter how much Liam wants to get up and slap the asshole, there’s no denying he can barely get up on his own, let alone face Jonah.

“Give me Chase’s family’s address and I’ll let you send them a text,” he concedes.

“I don’t know it.”

A truth, for once. Chase had barely ever mentioned his family when they dated, let alone take Liam to meet them.

“Liam, I’m losing my patience.”

“I mean it, I don’t know. He’s not close to them,” Liam shrugs. “There, that’s info on him. Now give me my phone.”

“A shit info I already knew. Tell me something he’s embarrassed about, then.”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you actually choosing to protect the guy who ruined your life instead of talking to your parents? Are you really that dumb?”

Deep down, Liam doesn’t even know why he’s protecting Chase. He doesn’t deserve it. Every time Jonah mentions Liam’s parents his eyes water with painful longing. But, somehow, be it stubbornness or stupidity, he can’t get himself to say anything Chase has ever told him. He can’t bear to hurt him like that.

He's felt that pain before, and it’s not something he wishes to give anyone else, even someone who’s hurt him so much. Someone he could never quite muffle his feelings for.

“You have one minute to give me something or this is the last amiable conversation we’re having, boy.”

Liam simply raises his chin and counts the seconds as they go by.

One, two, three, and Jonah’s nostrils flare.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and he is scared of what he’s choosing, but what other choice does he have? Betray Chase for things he knows, somewhere deep down, aren’t lies?

That isn’t a choice, not really. Not one he can make anyway.

Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, and Jonah gets up, jaw clenched and eyes shining dangerously.

Sixty and Liam is still trembling, but when Jonah calls for the guards, he gets up calmly, as if the movement doesn’t burn and make him dizzy.

“You are going to regret this,” Jonah states.

Liam turns his back and doesn’t look back even when a chill climbs its way up his spine, or when one of the guards shoves him forward and he nearly falls.

Liam simply keeps walking, feeling like for once he’s won something, even if he knows he’ll pay dearly for it. Even if he knows he’s losing something, too – ever since he woke up bound to Chase in this place, maybe even sooner, he’s been losing it, one piece at a time.

Himself.

But today he's won the argument, so Liam pretends that's a good thing and only stops holding the tears that well up in his eyes when he's locked up in the room again and there is no one to watch him cry.

-

As soon as Liam leaves his office, Jonah gets up and turns around to his window. The whole city lies before him – his to take, his to conquer.

He expected the boy to give him something useful to work with, not only lamenting. Though it had been fun seeing Liam crack and shatter right in front of him, that served him nothing. If at least Jonah had thought to record the broken speech Liam had given, maybe he could use it to try to shatter Chase later, but he hadn’t even considered it.

Sighing, Jonah crosses his arms and purses his lips.

He is already winning. He’s already infiltrated Chase’s agency using the confidential information he’d made the man give him, has already donated such a huge amount of money to them that he knows no one will come after him again.

Not with the things he knows now, at least. Nothing too dirty, and yet nothing the general public can know either – just what he needed to successfully blackmail Chase’s boss into forgetting the case against Jonah’s company.

He would like to have seen Chase’s face when he got to work that morning and found out what the information he’d given Jonah was used for.

But even so, with all the pieces finally coming together, he can’t rest just yet. Not with so much proof of his… particular transactions that the law wouldn’t approve of still in the government’s hands.

It’d be easier to get it if he had something new to bribe Chase with, but Liam will have to be enough, Jonah thinks with a groan. At least he got a good laugh at the boy’s despair before he started being annoying.

Grabbing his phone from his desk, Jonah starts typing a message.

Have you seen my little surprise?

It’s not even five minutes later when Chase's answer blinks on the screen.

How did you do it

He can almost see Chase blanching at the news of how the agent's mission to keep an eye out on Jonah's company has gone down the drain. A smile stretches across his lips at the thought.

So you did see it! Isn’t it amazing what we did together?

Chase doesn’t take long to answer this one either.

What do you want Jonah? Haven’t you already done enough?

Why do you think I want something? Can’t I just want to have a chat with the friend who helped me save my company?

He waits, but no answer comes. Jonah smiles and spares Chase of the stroke he’s probably about to have.

Just kidding, handsome. I want all the files about me you have.

I can’t do that, he answers immediately.

Jonah smiles wider.

We both know you can, Chase. And we both know what, or who, is at stake here if you don’t do as I say... Do you think Liam would enjoy a new brand on his chest to go with the ones on his arms? Mmm, maybe I should brand him with my name for a change.

Fuck you, Chase sends.

This time, Jonah waits. Lets Chase go over the threats, over what’s already been done to the boy.

Fine, Chase finally answers. But only if you promise to leave Liam the fuck alone.

The denial is already typed when Jonah stops, and deletes it. It isn’t such a bad idea, he thinks with a giggle. It is, actually, a great one.

Deal, Jonah sends, smiling at his phone. I’ll wait for you tomorrow.

He doesn’t bother containing the laugh that bubbles up his throat. This will be fun, Jonah thinks to himself, watching the sun lower on the horizon. Just what he needed to better his humor after the disappointing chat with Liam.

As he walks to the intercom near his desk, Jonah can barely contain his excitement.

“Hello dear assistant,” he says through it. He should learn her name, he thinks to himself for a moment. Maybe later. “Please have that special cell on the basement floor ready for tomorrow. Yes, mister Beaumont has been having too good of a time here, I feel like a change of accommodation is in order. Besides, I promised mister Raymond I would leave Liam alone and I intend to do exactly that."

[whumpurr]

Adrien and Sawdust part 7

cw: pet whump, whump recovery, male caretaker, male whumpee, dehumanized whumpee, conditioned whumpee, dissociation, self harm, bodily mutilation, blood, knives

masterlist

--

Adrien almost fell multiple times as he ran downstairs as quickly as he could. His feet stumbled and he nearly fell down the stairs but only managed to keep himself upright by the handrail and the sheet speed he was going at.

He didn’t see Sawdust at first, but he knew that he was in the kitchen. He heard sobbing and wailing from behind the counter, and he followed that.

“Sawdust! Hey, hey, I’m-” He hooked around the corner of kitchen island and was greeted by the bony form of his pet, bright red blood streaming down one side of his head and soaking into his shirt and hair. One of Sawdust’s hands, now freed from the duct tape, was cupped over his ear, fingers all red with blood. Adrien dropped to his knees next to the pet.

“Hey, it’s okay, shit, I’m gonna call someone.” His hands hovered around Sawdust for a moment before going to fish his phone out of his pocket. He dialed the emergency number for the hospital and crushed the phone to his ear with his shoulder, using his hands to gently urge Sawdust’s hand away from his ear.

“Hello?” He said into the phone as soon as he got someone on the other line.

“Hello, sir, what’s your medical emergency and address?”

“My pet he- fuck- I think he cut his own ear off? I need help.” Adrien said, trying his best to keep his words concise. There was a beat of silence from the other end before the person returned.

“Sir, are you speaking about your… pet?”

“Y-yeah? One of the person ones? Should I uh- should I have called a vet?”

“No sir, I’m afraid both hospitals and veterinary clinics do not service those kinds of pets. Have a good day.”

“Hey, hang on-!”

The line went dead.

Sawdust was still howling on the floor, and the blood was beginning to drip onto the floor.

“Sir, Master, your pet is sorry!” Sawdust sobbed. “Sor-sorry for the- the mess on the floor, sorry, Master!” His voice was high and reedy and rough from the screaming, Adrien could barely understand his words through his tears and wobbly lips.

“It’s okay, let me see, let me see.” He reached up and snatched a roll of paper towels from the counter, gently adjusting Sawdust’s head so he could look at the wound. He couldn’t even really see that much through all the blood, it made him a little sick to look at. He tore off some of the paper towel and pressed it to the wound, using his other hand and more of the paper to wipe away the blood from around it as best he could, but more blood just kept gushing out.

“Your pet, I-” Sawdust hiccupped, “I’m your property Ma-Master! I shouldn’t h-have damag- ngh- damaged your property!” He screamed. He was shaking so much, shivering all over. His whole body was taut and tense, not pulling away but certainly not leaning into any contact with Adrien.

“Shh, it’s alright, try to breathe, okay? You’re gonna be fine.” Adrien tried to soothe Sawdust, even though his own voice trembled. The pet was crying so hard that he almost couldn’t manage a breath.

The blood cleaned up quickly, Adrien at least getting it to the point where he could see the wound. It was a jagged, uneven, diagonal cut across the shell of Sawdust’s ear. Adrien didn’t know where the piece that he cut off went, but he didn’t really have time to care about that.

“I have a first aid kit somewhere, will you be okay if I go get it?” Adrien said, tentatively pulling his hands back, only for Sawdust’s bony, bloody fingers to wrap around his wrist. The grip wasn’t tight at all, and Sawdust didn’t pause his wailing to look at Adrien, but Adrien was compelled to stay. He remained on his knees and continued to hold the paper towel over Sawdust’s ear.

“Okay, we can uh- just do real first aid stuff later.” He nodded, trying to seem resolute. “You’re gonna be okay, just-”

“Ma- Master,” Sawdust squeaked out. He reached one of his shaky hands out, and picked up the bloody knife, leaving a smear of bright red on the white kitchen floor. Resting the knife on Adrien’s lap, he continued to cry. “Please p-punish your pet, your pet is so- so- sorry-”

“I’m not gonna do that,” Adrien snatched the knife and put it behind him, further away from his pet. “I’m not gonna do that, I won’t hurt you. You didn’t- look, I just won’t punish you.”

That sentence forced a scream out of Sawdust that was so hoarse and so pained, so entirely filled with despair. It looked and sounded like that declaration hurt more than the actual injury did. All the strength was sapped from his body, he was sat on his folded legs and leaned down until his forehead was against the cold tiles and just wailed, hands pulled close to his chest. Adrien chase his head down with his hand, keeping the paper towel to Sawdust’s ear in the hopes that it will stop bleeding.

He watched the feeble, bony figure on his kitchen floor. Adrien was at a loss for what to do.

--

Sawdust was at a loss for what to do. He didn’t understand. His master took away his ears, he forced him to eat, he ran right to his pet after it damaged his property, and he wouldn’t punish it.

What was Sawdust even good for?

He wanted nothing more than for Master to just punish him already, absolve him of the guilt of all these bad things he’s done. The guilt of the mistakes, of forcing Master to care for him and feed him and house him. It wasn’t fair.

Sawdust didn’t deserve any of these kindnesses. They made his head and heart hurt, they made him want to cry and beg. He had hoped that this would either satisfy master so he could get his ears back, or that it would anger Master enough to finally hurt him. He couldn’t stand living in this state of limbo forever, Master not praising him but not truly punishing him either.

He’s never had to think so much before. He wasn’t supposed to think like this. In his old life he had to do was follow the directions from his master, and let his stupid head grow even dumber from disuse. But now he was constantly guessing what he was supposed to do, why Master had him in the first place. Why was master devoting so much to a stupid pet who didn’t have a purpose? One who didn’t deserve it?

Did Sawdust… not deserve a purpose?

His head hurt.

--

Sawdust screamed and screamed towards the floor. Adrien didn’t know if it was right to put a hand on his back, but he did it anyways, stroking that expanse of skin as soothingly as he could manage.

Finally, finally, Sawdust stopped wailing and went limp and panting on the floor. Adrien pulled the paper towel back, and it didn’t seem like more blood was welling up in the wound for now.

“Come on, come on,” Adrien dropped the bloody clump of paper on the floor and scooped Sawdust up in his arms. The pet’s face was lax, eyes distant and not seeming to track or recognize anything. He was loose in Adrien’s arms, save for the occasional sniffle or jump in his chest as his breath hitched. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet with tears.

Adrien laid him down on the sofa in his living room, deciding that he’ll just throw the cushions’ covers in the wash if he had to. With Sawdust in such a state, he didn’t reach out when Adrien left to get the first aid kit.

Adrien had to gently push and pull Sawdust’s head to get him to tilt it so he could apply the ointment and gauze onto it and wrap it up. The pet didn’t even wince when Adrien handled it.

“I don’t know if you… If you can hear me, I guess.” Adrien sat down on the floor by Sawdust’s head, “But I really, really don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m sorry.” He felt kind of stupid talking to Sawdust when he was like this, showing no response.

“Obviously you’re not- not happy here, I don’t know. Should I find someone else to take you? I don’t know anyone, but I, I could probably find someone.”

Sawdust blinked slowly, and shifted a little. A little bit of recognition came back to his eyes.

“It’s fucking obvious I haven’t been doing a good job with you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ve given you a home that makes you feel like you need to do- do this to yourself.”

Silence stretched between them. Sawdust’s fingers twitched where they rested on the fabric of the couch.

“I should’ve thought more about this before I did it.” Adrien reached out and ever so gently pet Sawdust’s head. “I’ll try to find someone that can take you, give you a better home.”

With small, stained, damaged fingers, Sawdust weakly held on to Adrien’s wrist.

taglist: @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @neuro-whump @whump-me-all-night-long @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpzone @whumpcreations @dancinglifeboat @pinkraindropsfell @looptheloup @cowboy-anon @meetmeinhellcroutons @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @firewheeesky @maracujatangerine

[whump-world]

Reunions will hurt

Prompt: Whumpees expressing their frustrations only to be shot down with “other people have it worse.” Superior angst if Whumpee internally agrees and makes a conscious effort never to speak of their problems again. (From this post X)

I know you guys expected villain whump, and quite honestly me too, but my ocs wouldn’t leave me alone! sorry if this isn’t quite what you were waiting for.

TW: implied and referenced past abuse, implied future abuse. not much except for emotional whump.

Tag list: @insaneinthepaingame @firewheeesky @vuvulia @myst-in-the-mirror

One could call it a fated coincidence. Their meeting that is.

Kiḷi was doing his Saturday morning drill. He drove by each of Sir’s factories to check on the accounts none of his thick-headed mates could understand, and finished by two o’clock in the afternoon. Which was around the time the rest of them woke up with a brain damaging headache from the previous night’s partying. No wonder Sir prefers him. That day, he stops to change a tire after the third factory, stomach rumbling for some tea and a good ol’ bun.

Kiḷi needs this done quick and calls on the lady squatting at the front of the store with her back to him. “Miss,” he starts, climbing out the of jeep. “Can I trouble you—“

Thumla’s face greets him as she looks over her shoulder. The Al-Amira around her head hides all the curls of blonde hair. She stills, hazel eyes that sink into brown in the middle flit to his ears. Sir used to make them wear trackers.

Relief trickles into her lips and lifts into a grin to see them gone. She hops to her feet, a water bottle in hand. She’s grown taller than him and casts a lean shadow over him. The scar along her left eyebrow disappears into the scarf, what used to be bright pink now a dull white. “You and your posh manners, Kiḷi. I didn’t have to turn to recognize that.”

Kiḷi stares.

“What? Got grease on my face?”

“Five years,” he rasps. Five fucking years. He narrows his eyes to keep the tears out of his eyes, though the tension in his chest couldn’t be denied. He skips past the first three questions that come to his mind. Where have you been? How are you still alive? How did you have the guts to get away from Sir? Kiḷi settles for “You look old.”

“Punk.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her denim overalls that must be too much for this hot weather. “I look fine, some would say great—“

“You owe me an explanation,” Kiḷi says, stripping any light air in the conversation. He doesn’t feel light. He could smash a wall with all the frustration he’s holding in. This woman—who helped him join the most nefarious gang in the country, made a partner out of him, taught him how to kill and not be killed—ran. Took her things and ran with the night.

How could she?

Thumla’s observant eyes clocks his temper before it comes. She could read him as much as he could read her. That was how they used to be. Thumla places a hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t try again when he jerks back. Thumla steps back, lips hardening into a straight line. “We can talk, if you’re ready to listen. Stand down.”

He scoffs under his breath. Shakes his head and snatches the water from her. “One bun.”

They silently decide to move out of public eye, a small space between the drain and the door which leads to the back of the garage. The stench is thick, guzzling down any appetite Kiḷi has by the time Thumla comes back with food. He still takes the bun offered to him. Sewage, puke, blood. It doesn’t matter. Kiḷi’s nose is immune to all of it.

“I assumed you were still the boring person you were. Butter and bread,” she glances at the bun with a teasing look.

It took energy to be mad at her. “Shut up, okay?” Kiḷi dampens his uninvited smile, though it’s already too late. “Shut up about my food choices, and tell me why you left.”

“Why do you think I left?”

“I’m serious here,” he says.

“I am too.”

“So what happened?”

“I got a passport, a proper one, stole a few things—“

KiḷI rounds on her. “I know all that. You think I’m fucking dumb, Thumla?” His voice hitches at her cool stare. The piece of bread he choked down must have lodged in his windpipe because he couldn’t breathe.

“So what do you want to know?” she asks. Thumla grabs his collar and yanks him close. “Stop spinning words and ask the right question.”

“Why… you…” he hates her. Almost. “I thought we were friends.”

Her throat bobbles. The grip on Kiḷi’s shirt loosens. She didn’t expect that, he realizes. Big, bad Kiḷi doesn’t acknowledge feelings and friendships. Her breath is hushed, the way it was trained to be regardless of emotions, injuries, loss. “Getting soft on me.”

“I should have said it long time ago.” KiḷI looks away, taking interest in his hands. They’re tanned, with too many scars to count.

“I guess you forgot.” Thumla clears her throat. “We wouldn’t have made it. We wouldn’t have made it out if we went together. So I, I, I didn’t tell a soul. I didn’t even think about it unless I was alone—“

“I would have helped.”

She cracks her knuckles, a little sheepish, a little disbelieving. “Maybe, maybe not. At least you didn’t, you didn’t come after me. Thank you. For letting me have that chance. You did help that way. And, uh, sorry. I’m sure Sir gave you one good beating for that.”

He almost killed Kiḷi for that. He digests all those words, picking and pulling them apart. Why would she think he wouldn’t have helped her— he would have joined her. He tries to plaster a smile; the bubble suffocating him doesn’t let it stay. “I would have helped,” he repeats weakly. “I don’t like being with the gang. Sir— he— he hurt me too. He still does.”

Thumla shrugs, but the casual gesture is loaded with wet envy. Her glance strays to his clean, more-than-what-he-can-afford jacket, then back up. “Okay.”

“He did,” he insists, hunching into himself. The judgement prickles, like a thorn under his skin. Kiḷi couldn’t understand why he needs to convince her. Frustration crushes him in its fist. Thumla used to care about what he said.

“You weren’t his protege back then. I was. You took my place when I couldn’t take more.”

Kiḷi glares. “And you’re going to put that on me?”

“My point is”—she rubs her forehead—“your work was simpler. Follow orders, reap rewards. You don’t, then you take the punishment.”

“Look who’s spinning words now. You think I had it easy.”

She ignores him entirely. “I’m not here to argue with you. You asked why, and there’s the reason. I’m here for a day and talking to you is cutting it close.”

“I’ll be on my way then. I wouldn’t want to ruin your free life by imposing my luxuries on you.” Kiḷi isn’t certain what he’s saying makes sense, but he’s scowling hard enough to make up for it. There’s a roar in his ears as he stalks out of that narrow space and back to his jeep. He could change tyres elsewhere.

Thumla follows him to the front, calling him back with a shaky laugh. “Hey, come on. Don’t be mad—“

“I’m not.” He climbs into the front seat, tossing her a final look. Resting one hand on the steering wheel, he starts the vehicle, letting its growl swallow what Thumla says next. He couldn’t care less.

The answer to the question he’s been toying with for years came as a slap to the face, delivered by none other than Thumla. The usual anger he’s felt ever since she left withers, spitted on and stamped down by humiliation. That’s what the roar in his ears is. Hot, searing humiliation. Kiḷi’s face crumbles and he only manages a short “I’m running late” before he steps on the gas.

He drives away, keeping his eyes peeled for another tyre shop. The glint of his watch fixes a pointed stare on him. His jacket feels too soft, leather seats too comfortable. Even the last of pieces of bread in between his teeth accuses him. Food on his plate, clothes on his back; he shouldn’t complain. Kiḷi shudders. Is it so wrong to want more?

Kiḷi exhales. He wishes he never went to that stupid store.

[ Next ]

[clockworkwhump]

zeke and tobias, part 5

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

[whumblr]

Since Jay's and Zayne's relationship has grown since the warehouse and the visitation at prison. Maybe we could see a reunion? Maybe intimate? Since Jay couldn't handle the thought of cuddles even after being straddled multiple times, lol spicy intimate? Jay's nerves still wrecked, but he likes it? Idk lol

They don't have much reunions, only in court and prison. So this is the most intimate they'll get :D

-

Untouchable

Jay felt a tiny twinge of guilt as he noticed Zayne lit up when he was sat at his table in the visitor's room. He hadn't visited in a while. But of course, as soon as the guy opened his mouth, that guilt melted away.

"Good to see you!" Zayne started enthusiastically. "I've missed you, you know. It's been so long since we had our bouts, I've been itching to drag you over and slam you down on this table."

Besides rolling his eyes, Jay didn't repond; he wasn't impressed nor intimidated.

"If it's violence you're after, I'm sure there's plenty people here willing to scratch that itch." Getting his ass beat for once might get him to simmer down for a bit. "What about that big guy over there? He seems like he'd appreciate you picking a fight with him."

"I tried, he didn't. He's a genuinely nice guy and anti-violence."

Jay swallowed the urge to ask what the hell he was in here for then. But yeah, of course he fucking tried.

"Now that little weasel guy, over there," Zayne rested a fist under his chin and discreetly pointed a single finger, "he was more than willing."

"Do the guards here even serve a purpose? How many fights did you pick?"

"You find the quiet spots. But I prefer fighting with you. It's more fun."

"Because you know you can win."

"No, because you fight in your own unique way."

"Instigating violence in the visitation room would be a unique way to show you've completely lost it."

Zayne pondered that with a smile. "You think?"

"Positive. I'm untouchable here."

"You just said the guards are useless here yet you feel safe." Zayne leaned forward, twinkle in his eye and a mischievous grin. "Untouchable huh? I disagree."

And Jay completely stiffened up when he felt the toes of Zayne's canvas shoes slide up along the inside of his shin.

Zayne burst out laughing and Jay assumed he went red.

"That's it. That's the itch." He slid his foot down again and caught Jay's ankle in-between both shoes, still leering at Jay with hooded eyes.

"Will you stop it," Jay hissed, trying to pull free. "I'm actually here to discuss something serious."

"I know, that's why I'm changing the subject."

"I scratched your itch now you scratch mine."

Zayne sighed and, after a beat, sat back, releasing Jay's ankle. "I saw your face, during the trial," he said, looking away now and his tone more serious. "Knew you were gonna hassle me about it."

"Yep. So tell." Jay swung his feet back, safely under his chair.

After a long silence, Zayne finally said: "Remember when you asked me about my bruised hands?"

-

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98

[whumblr]

Executioner

Little follow up to Weapon.

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

It had been more than a week after the… events with Emery before Zayne finally allowed himself to visit Jay again. He didn’t trust himself not to snap if Jay were to try again to ask about what happened, nor did he want to see either knives or blood for a while.

What he had really wanted to do was just get on his bike and drive until the land stopped. Just to get away from it all.

He couldn’t, unfortunately. He had to be available for Emery, be ready within the hour if he called. Can’t do that when you’re trying to drown your sins somewhere out on the cliffs surrounding the Atlantic Ocean…

When Emery finally called for – luckily – some burglary stuff, there was no mention of what had happened last time.

Zayne found he somewhat preferred it that way.

After he finished for the night, his body reminded him not too kindly that he hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep during that entire week.

And so he let himself into Jay’s flat in the early morning and silently crawled into bed, waiting for Jay’s alarm to go off.

He rested his hands under his head and just lay there staring up at the ceiling.

He often wondered… if he fucked up badly enough for Emery to go for the ultimate punishment… who would his executioner be?

Not Emery. Right? Or would he make an exception? He’d probably laugh in his face, telling him not to conflate himself. Why would he be important enough for Emery to drive a bullet into his skull himself… Besides, would Zayne want that? Would it be better than a nameless executioner? Someone who was as deep in this shit as Zayne was, someone who didn’t have a choice.

Would Emery even be there? Or would he just give the order to have some truck flatten Zayne while out on his bike…

It's not that he’d consider it an honour – god please – if Emery were the one to do it. More of a last little fuck you. To finally force him to stain his own hands. Have his fingerprints on the weapon. To step out of the shadows.

But yeah, wishful thinking probably. And useless. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t going to die. Not long now before he could finally wash his own hands off the man and get out. He wasn’t going to fuck up this bad right at the finish line.

But what about—

Something stirred next to him. A huff and a sigh followed that weren’t reactions to the alarm going off.

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t speak or acknowledge anything, just kept staring up. But his eyes slid to Jay’s back as the man rose from his sleep, sat on the edge of the bed and pushed off – somewhat stiffly – to pad to the bathroom. Even with his shirt on and his shoulder blades covered, Zayne could still see how tense he was and – Oh? – even after more than a week still in pain judging by the way he walked.

He turned over, his back to Jay and to the worries that came with it. But sleep didn’t come immediately. The soft smile faltered and his thoughts drifted back to his newfound worry that had forced up before Jay interrupted it:

…who would his be?

-

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @susiequaz12 @whump-me-all-night-long @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13 @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @hold-back-on-the-comfort @whumpawink @break-so-beautifully @approach-me-and-ill-cry @painsandconfusion @afabulousmrtake @wormwriting @soopytime @whumpedydump @pickleking8 @itsmyworld98 @scribbelle

[comfy-whumpee]

The First Bird 3

Last part! CN: BBU.

@neuro-whump​, @rosesareviolentlyread​, @whumper-in-training​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

-

Her anger was like a lump in her throat, molten glass, choking and burning. She threw her last shirt into the bag and pulled the drawstrings so hard they cut into her fingers. Incompetent fucking man.

 She stepped out and left the door open behind her. She'd stripped the bed, if only because she knew Bryony would do it otherwise. Ray wouldn't.

 She walked downstairs briskly and was at the front door a moment later. The house around her was taut with silence, as they all watched from the kitchen, the site of her kangaroo court. Ray with his earnest frown, and Bryony with her pursed lips, and poor Dinah, worried and watching and believing everything she was told.

 The indignity of fishing the spare key down from the hook over the door made her throat close in a fist and she couldn't help her mind spitting out curses. Lazy fucking moraliser. Too saintly to do good for people you don't like. Ignorant, egotistical idiot. Shallow arsehole. I was trying to make a fucking difference.

 She got the door unlocked and flung it wide.

 A hand touched the back of her coat, right between her shoulder blades, and she stilled. She turned.

 "You're starting a shelter," Paris told her, sanding in the middle of the hall as if they'd just materialised to answer her silent cry. "You said so."

 "That was the plan," Avis agreed bitterly, grinding out the words.

 Paris drew in a breath, and then said with quiet conviction, "Can I be your rescue?"

Avis hated that her first response was to look past Paris to the kitchen doorway, where Ray was already standing to intervene. Paris knew more than they let on, she was certain.

 "It's your decision completely," she said, even knowing Ray would never risk giving Paris such freedom to make terrible choices. "I won't have anyone else there for a while, and my house is quiet and old."

 Paris glanced over their shoulder and nodded. "I want to go with you."

 "Alright. Do you want to bring anything? You should bring…"

 They already had a bag in their hand. It looked like they'd taken it from the kitchen and packed it before things had even blown up. Seeing her look, they said, "All my things are in it."

 She could get into real trouble for this. But then, what did people have to go on? She'd been breaking the law from the start just by being around all this stolen 'property'.

 "Paris, you'll stay here," Ray said, crossing into the hall. "You can't go over the border, even if it was safe to let you go with a stranger. I know you like Avis, but I need you to look after yourself."

 Paris didn't look at him. Avis decided to follow their lead, and turned to the door.

 "Let her go," Ray said firmly. "It might feel wrong, but you'll be alright. She isn't your owner."

 "Nor are you," Paris said.

 Avis hid her grin, and stepped out into the humid suburban air. Paris followed, their shadow emerging under her feet. They were squinting in the light, but smiling faintly. Sunlight didn't hurt.

 Exposed to the neighbours, Ray was forced to lower his voice. "This isn't safe, Paris. She came and latched onto you immediately. She targeted you. I know you don't see it that way, but please trust me. I can't let you put yourself back into a dangerous situation."

 Paris was looking at the clouds.

 "She gave you special treatment. She found excuses to go into your bedroom or watch you. That isn't normal. She targeted you as soon as she heard you were a--"

 "Thanks, Uncle Ray!" Avis interrupted cheerfully, calling back over her shoulder, smiling brightly at a woman across the road. "See you at Thanksgiving!"

 He didn't follow. He couldn't risk the others. Face drawn with displeasure, he withdrew, closing the door behind him.

 Paris was walking beside her now, bag hanging from one hand, other dropped at their side.

 "Where do you live?" they asked her, looking around as if the house would be right in front of them.

 "We're getting on a plane first," Avis told them. "Or rather, first we're finding out how much money a border guard wants to let you into Canada."

 "Canada is America's France?" they asked, apparently having been told this before.

 "Not even slightly. But they don't have pets there, so you'll just be Paris."

 They stopped suddenly, in the middle of the pavement. Avis turned to see them frowning at their feet.

 She was about to ask if she'd said something wrong when they murmured, "Florence."

 "Florence? That's in--"

 "Italy. I liked it better than Paris." They looked at her and smiled faintly again. Was it a real smile? She couldn't quite tell, but it was different, and she liked it.

 "Okay, Florence," she said, and the name felt right, even to her. "Let's go home."

 -

 Several hundred dollars, an argument at an embassy and a lot of legal finagling later, the newly documented Florence Jacobitz was entitled to remain in the UK indefinitely. Avis had left in search of her son, and returned with a ward.

 During the journey, Florence had been a dream. They were quiet, discreet, and had coped surprisingly well with the exhausting and unclean conditions of travel. Avis hadn't budgeted for the first-class tickets and expensive hotels they were used to, which they explained Sir always got for them.

 Avis had said with tentative sincerity, "I'm sorry we don't have those."

 But Florence, as it turned out, had simply been informing her of a fact. "I don't mind."

 Their arrival at her old farmhouse was another sore point Avis foresaw. Even the shelter, for all its lack, was a modern-ish building and didn't come with a mile hike in any direction. But as with everything else so far, Florence took it in stride, sitting patiently in the car while Avis drove them to the door.

 "There are several bedrooms you can choose from. They all have furniture in. You can change your mind later, too. I'll let you know which room is mine, anywhere else you can go whenever you want. I only lock the doors to outside at night for safety."

 They pulled up. Florence was looking out the window, but they didn't crane their neck to take in the rambling stone exterior or the sash windows. There wasn't even a flicker of interest in the climbing ivy.

 "There's a good-sized town near here," Avis added. "We'll go there whenever you want. There's a small fund we get from a parent charity, that's all for spending on you."

 "I would like nice clothes," they opined.

 "That's a good place to start." They'd been in the same clothes, or same few clothes, for three days. "I'll take you in and turn the hot water on so we can clean up and rest. Later, we'll decide what to have for dinner."

 Florence waited for Avis to unbuckle their seatbelt, and then to open the door for them, which Avis did without comment. Clearly, they hadn't made much progress on their initiative. Not yet.

 She dug her keys out of her rucksack and jiggled the heavy old lock open. The smell of old carpet and encroaching dust greeted them as the door swung wide. She would have to get a regular cleaner, if other people were going to be here.

 Avis stepped into the hall, and Florence followed, leaving the door without any instinct to close it behind them. Avis leaned past them to do it instead.

 In a moment, Florence's back was against the door. Their eyes had focused on her.

 "Sorry," Avis said calmly, “I just wanted to close the door. We can leave it open if you want."

 Florence stayed where they were. Their head was tilted back, neck elongated, chin in the air as if they were about to accept a kiss from someone taller than them. Avis stepped away, watching them hold the position even after she had pulled free of Paris and their personal space.

 "Florence," she said softly, "where are you right now?"

 No motion whatsoever. Avis felt her heart sinking.

 "Take a breath," she tried next. "Just one breath."

 The command made it through. She watched their chest rise just slightly, before it fell again.

 "That's it. Another breath. You're safe."

 They were taking the breath before she finished. She hoped some part of them could hear her other words too, that they weren't just being filtered in terror.

 She kept talking in a low, steady voice. "Keep breathing, nice and deep. I'm not going to touch you. You're in England and you're free."

 She had seen shelter staff do similar affirmations at other times, and could only bargain that they would make a difference.

 Florence's breath moved in and out mechanically. They looked ready to be attacked. The thought made her stomach turn.

 "It's Avis, Florence. Just me. You're in the sheller, the new shelter. Do you remember driving here? We had chips for lunch, British chips. You told me you'd never had them before because they were greasy."

 Their lips moved in a faint mumble. She wouldn't have been able to decipher it if it wasn't an echo of their earlier phrase. "Makes bad skin."

 "That's right. And I asked you if you minded as much as you used to, and you said you didn't. You ate the chips and thought they were okay, but you didn't like the vinegar. Do you remember?"

 There was the slightest tensing of their upper lip, a hint of distaste. They remembered.

 "That's it. You're doing so well. I think I did something that alarmed you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I surprised you and it got in the way of you being in the present."

 Florence's breathing was stronger now. Their eyes didn't focus, but that was normal. They did straighten, finally moving away from the door. Their head dropped. "I'm sorry," they repeated back to her.

 "That's alright. Later, I would like to know what I did so I can avoid doing it again and making you feel like that. But right now, I want to go through some things that might help you. Do you want more food or some water?"

 They shook their head, a lock of hair draping down their temple, escaping their immaculate updo. A sure sign that they were rattled, despite their lack of expression.

 "Would you like to use the bathroom?"

 They shook their head again.

 "Do you want to sleep or take a rest alone?"

 She knew to add the last word from experience. But Florence declined this too.

 She thought for a moment, at a loss. She wanted to establish something for self-care, now that they were in this new location. An idea occurred to her. "Do you want to go outside?"

 Florence's eyes lifted. They nodded.

 Avis nodded firmly back and led the way through the long living room to the back of the house, where the dining room was lit by glass sliding doors. She wiggled the key in the lock until it took, and slid the left door wide.

 Something about an open door seemed to change Florence's body from heavy weight to light as air. They drifted out as easily as if their feet weren't touching the ground. They didn't go further than the paving stones of the patio, wisely, as it was much colder here than they were used to. But they turned their face to the horizon and soaked up the daylight.

 Avis withdrew to just inside, taking a chair and deciding to unpack the bags then and there on the table. She could stay in the background and wait until she was needed. Like a good parent would.

 It was halfway through the first bag that Florence turned their head to her and said, "Your garden sounds different."

 Avis lifted her head from folding dirty laundry. She didn't know why she was doing that, but it kept her busy. "That makes sense. The animals are different."

 Florence's face was turned in her direction, but it looked like they were contemplating the bricks above the doorway, or the rest of the dining room behind her. "I've seen Europe animals. I didn't get to meet any."

 Avis wondered why that was significant before offering. "You can see some here, and you can help them survive with doing things like a bird feeder."

 "For the squirrel," Florence said sagely but absently.

 Avis laughed. "Not for them, I hope. But we'll see what turns up. We'll have to hang it in a window so we can keep watch without disturbing them."

 Two weeks later, she had the idea to take them to a birdwatching hide.

 -

 Avis still made dinner twice a week, when the cook took the weekend off. There was so much to do around the house, and Florence still didn't show any interest in self-sufficiency, so a few hires took the pressure off - especially the therapist she'd found. But on Saturday, a few months after Florence had arrived, she wanted to have a private dinner for her own reasons.

When Florence was sitting down with her and a bowl of pad Thai, Avis broached the topic. "Someone has got in touch about a rescue from America, like you. They wanted to know if they could send her here. They want her in a small shelter like we have."

Florence ate slowly with small bites, quickly able to reply. "What is she like?"

"I don't know a lot," Avis admitted. "They said she's a Domestic who fled her old home and someone helped her get here where she could be liberated. I told them I have you, but they thought it would be okay."

"If she's nice," Florence said philosophically, "then I don't mind."

And so, a second rescue came to the old farmhouse, delivered by a different faith network than the one who had delivered Florence to Ray.

The new rescue was mute at first, but she and Florence quickly became close, and she started to open up. She appeared to be from the Middle East, in heritage if not directly, but when Avis offered her some chances to narrow it down, she declined. Nevertheless, when Avis helped her find hobbies, she ended up drawn to comics. Then, to a character.

Soon, she had named herself Kamala.

After that came Boo, then Tenten, and finally Roman. Florence stayed. The way they had come was not ideal, and Avis sheltered her regrets carefully, but they were steady even if they didn’t improve.

Eventually, Avis discovered - or rather, Kamala discovered, to her eternal chagrin - that they hadn't ever been tested for glasses.

In the end, the glasses were the key.

 -

 "Avis," Florence said, looking at her directly. It was strange, after over two years, to finally see their eyes meet hers. "I'd like to learn to read now."

Avis decided not to ask questions. She simply nodded. "I'll find you a tutor."

Florence smiled. The smile was different too, these days. "I want to read like Kamala."

Avis decided she could spare one question. "Like her comics or the Quran?"

"…Both," Florence decided after a moment's thought. "And recipe books like Tenten. And music. Mrs Kaur said you can write down music."

"Neeta can teach you that. Do you want someone to help you with the Quran? Kamala has lessons about it." Kamala was also learning, or relearning, but Avis suspected for a different reason.

"Maybe. Not like Pastor Ray's lessons. I want to know about Kamala. And everyone. And stories."

"Then that's what we'll do."

Florence came over and hugged her. Hugs from Florence were rare things. Avis suspected the reason they'd run away wasn't because of their Sir, like they said, but because they couldn't bring themselves to be what they were made for.

"Thank you, Avis." Florence told her. Still in their same dreamy way, but no less sincere.

A lump in her throat, Avis could only pat their hands and nod, until Florence drifted back into the garden.

[whumblr]

Heyyy, id like to request a whumper driving nails into a whumpee's leg(or anywhere you want)

develop the idea if and however you like <33

Whumpee just watched as Whumper came in, carrying a box of nails and a hammer, humming a cheerful tune. The faint curiosity in their eyes betrayed a certain hope. A hope quickly squashed as Whumper sat down in front of them, cross-legged, and gave the box of nails a little shake.

"Are you redecorating this mess of a basement?" they tried, giving them the chance to swallow their nerves and keep up an appearance of defiance.

"In a way, sure," Whumper said as he opened the box and rummaged through, making the nails clink and shift about as if wanting to find the right one. The sound had the right effect and he watched in glee as he saw the goosebumps spread over his captive's arms.

His eyes snapped to Whumpee and his hand clamped over their wrist, pressing their hand to the floor.

"Open up, darling," he said, teasing the nail over their clenched fist. "Open up, or I'll drive them into some muscle first."

Trembling hard, Whumpee opened their hand, planting their palm against the wooden floor.

"That's it," Whumper purred. He held the nail in-between their thumb and index finger, pricking it into the little web of skin between their fingers.

"No... no, please..." Whumpee whispered.

"Shh," Whumper shushed. He removed his hand from their wrist, not without giving it a little squeeze in warning first, and picked up his hammer. "Don't move now, don't pull away. Or I'll break your fingers first." He let the cold steel of the hammer rest over their knuckles.

"Shh," he shushed again as soft whimpers rose up. "This won't cause too much damage, it's not like broken fingers, or a nail through the hand, shh. I just want to give you a little... test trial. You know, to see if this will help you to stay in one spot. Instead of flitting about and trying to get away all the time. Because if that happens again... should I misplace you again..." The hammer hit home, piercing the nail through skin and into the wooden floor, and he had to pause as Whumpee interrupted him with an agonising scream.

"If this time I can't find you where I left you," he said in a more sinister voice, rubbing his thumb over Whumpee's hand that they didn't dare move. "I will put a nail through both your hands and pin you to the fucking wall and we'll see about redecorating this basement."

-

Tagging, sorry if ya dont like hand gore ^^: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpawink @painsandconfusion

[whumblr]

Just us

Okay, so the Whumpers teaming up thing got me thinking. What would happen when the old Whumper was very possessive and—

-

“Y-you killed him.”

“I did,” came the callous, cold reply.

Whumpee stared at the lifeless body of their captor, blood gently streaming away from his head. They should feel some form of relief, with at least one of their threats neutralized. But with the man standing over the body, completely at ease without remorse, and the now dawning realisation that they were alone with him - again - their terror only rose.

Whumper gave a soft sigh, looking over the mess he created.

“This was nice while it lasted, and it was good of him to invite me, I’ll give him that… but it gave me a little taste and I’m not ashamed to admit that I need more.”

His eyes snapped to Whumpee, who flinched back, but Whumper merely gave a fond smile at the sight of it.

“Because I realised, I just don't like sharing you, baby. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Because here I was, pleased to see you again, but something was gnawing at me. I couldn’t enjoy it.”

His tone grew harsher as he continued.

“No. I couldn’t stand it. The way you looked at him, how your eyes flicked to him when I told you to obey, or kneel or to beg. As if you were asking him for permission, asking him ‘are you going to let this happen?!’, fucking looking for approval from him, I can't stand it.”

He took a step closer to Whumpee now. “What was it, really? Hm? Were you hoping he'd say ‘no’ and stopped me? Deny me what's mine? That he'd protect you? Is that it?

“I...I don’t know," Whumpee answered truthfully.

Whumper softened a little. “It's okay, hun, it must've been confusing for you. But no longer.”

He stopped in front of Whumpee, let gentle fingers trail over their cheek though his eyes narrowed when Whumpee winced as he touched over a bruise that was not his.

“Don't even get me started on seeing him lay his fingers on you,” he muttered darkly as an afterthought to his rant. “God, I don’t know how I put up with it…

“No, this is how it's supposed to be. Just me and you.”

He gripped Whumpee's chin, almost gently but just hard enough to show his mark, and tilted up until those fearful eyes were on his.

“All eyes on me. No distractions. All mine.”

-

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @villainsvictim

[comfy-whumpee]

Roman: Everyone

read this before Tyler

@neuro-whump​, @rosesareviolentlyread​, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @whumpsday, @firewheeesky, @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

The hour before anyone came in used to be his least favourite time. It was quiet and lonely, and when he woke up to get ready for the day, the office was silent. It wasn't like the end of the day, when he would be tired and ready to finish up and rest, watching the sunset or the lights at night through the big window in reception. It was painful anticipation, waiting to find out when people would come, what mood they would be in, and what they would need of him that day.

In the months before now, Mr Charlie had always been first in. He was the boss, he had explained, and that meant he had to show up first and leave last. Mr Charlie said he was a good example, and a good boss always led by example. He had read it in a management book. He had read lots of them.

Roman would always listen to Mr Charlie after bringing his mail, and sometimes he would learn about the business. He still didn't really understand what the company did, but it was something to do with an app, and logistics, and streamlining, and something about an organisational nexus. Mr Charlie had created it and he was very proud of it, and his college friends had liked it so much they had come to work for him.

Roman couldn't imagine them being in college, and had only a hazy idea what college was. It was like an office, but they all did the same work. And for some reason it made them like Mr Harden enough to invite him along. Or maybe he was just that smart. Dillon said he was only here because he was so smart.

Mr Harden was always next in, but he didn't speak to anyone until he had his morning coffee. Nobody spoke to him either. The other three would follow after that, everyone in by half past nine, almost two hours after Roman had woken up.

Recently though, Tyler had been coming in before Mr Charlie. Tyler lived alone, and usually when Roman was at his, he did some of the cleaning and laundry, but mostly Tyler got him to watch TV or play video games he didn't ever properly explain. Tyler had said he hated winter, and he hated breakfast, to explain why he had changed his routine.

"You make good porridge," he told Roman, and that was why he came in every day at eight, just after Roman had snuck into the gym downstairs for his shower, dressed, and eaten his toast.

Tyler would sit at the little table in the kitchen with a bowl of porridge, honey stirred in. Roman would lean against the counter. And even as Tyler ate, and scrolled through his phone, and watched videos, he would talk. Not like Mr Charlie, though. They would both talk.

It started off with the kind of thing Tyler had asked before. "What was training like?"

Roman was wearing a forgotten cardigan from the lost property, grey wool covering his hands to keep them warm. "Help At Home training is ethical and nonviolent," he said, easy as breathing. "We take classes and complete practical activities, and we're cleared for sale by an assessment on our designated capabilities."

"Is it true that they don't hurt you?"

The smile came onto his face without his volition. He had to smile, for this bit, soft and grateful and reassuring. "Never. I never saw a handler hurt a trainee. They even made sure we didn't get collar chafing."

He can hear every other trainee in his set saying the lines in unison. He hears it when Tyler asks next, "So what if someone changes their mind?"

"The contract we sign is legally binding," he recites. Tyler doesn't seem to notice they aren't his own whispered words. "But applicants can and do withdraw from the service prior to their Fresh Start."

"Fresh Start?"

"The Fresh Start is our cognitive transition from who we were to who we are."

"Fucking hell." Tyler was quiet for a minute, staring moodily at his bowl. Then he looked up. Tyler had grey eyes that always seemed unsure if they were more blue or green. Today they were greener. "Do you ever wish you hadn't signed?

That wasn't a question he had a trained answer to, so he hesitated. But the right information was in his head, just applied differently. He proceeded with care. "I can't answer that question. I am a pet before a-anything else." He paused, doubting that Tyler would be satisfied with that. "No," he answered eventually. "No, I'm…I'm not the person I used to be. So I would only be missing…um, an idea, maybe. Something that isn't real anymore."

"Huh," Tyler had said, and nothing more on the topic. "Hey, look at this dog."

Then the next week, after days to think on it, he had come up with another. "If you quit, what would you do?"

Roman hadn't thought about it before, but he did then. Tyler's elbows were on the table and their knees were touching underneath it. "I think… I'd like to try being a catering Domestic. They get hired for events as a little team, and go out to cook and serve at lots of different places."

"I didn't mean…" Tyler had started, and then cut himself off. "Never mind. This bowl's getting cold."

Now, it was the third week. They were sitting together at the little table. Tyler's knee was resting against the outside of his leg. He was leaning forwards with his phone between them, a video playing on the screen. It was some kind of food challenge, and Roman was watching it only out of obligation. Tyler made him watch a lot of things, but this was one of those times where he was the only one of them paying attention. Tyler himself was frowning thoughtfully, not reacting at all to the men on the screen and their gigantic plates.

It meant he was building up to something. Last time he'd been like this, it had been when they'd kissed. Now…

"If you stopped being a pet," he said, so quietly Roman almost didn't hear. "What would you want to be?"

This, Roman realised, was what he'd tried to ask last week. Who was Roman without the office?

"Nothing," he replied softly. "I can only be a pet."

"You can be emancipated."

The word made his breath stop in his throat. But he shook his head quickly. "It wouldn't change who I am. I am a Help At Work office Domestic. 993948."

"You can change who you are."

They had warned him about this. They had shown videos of what happened. He reached up and closed both hands around his collar. "I don't want to be e-em…" He swallowed hard. "I don't want to be someone else. This is where I belong, with my owners."

Tyler had that look on his face, the one that he had worn when he had pulled out of the kiss to see Roman unresponsive, the surprise and disappointment in his eyes. He wanted Roman to be different, but he wasn't. He was trained for specific duties and he knew nothing else. Help At Home pets are happy. Help At Home pets are content.

"Charlie's your owner. Nobody else. He could take you out of here whenever he wanted."

Roman's eyes widened as his stomach dropped. "But I-I'm made for, for an office. It's – where I belong. I'm happy here, I swear."

Tyler's eyes went cold suddenly and he leaned back, tossing his head. "You don't have to lie to me, Ro," he said, but his tone was both casual and sharp, like he was baiting Roman to react. "You can't be happy in a place that puts staples in your hands when you fuck up."

He flinched from the threat. "That, that's only Mr Harden…"

"Could be me though, couldn't it?" Tyler pointed out, his voice too uneven to be a sincere question. "Could be your precious Mr Dillon, could be anyone. And you'd just go silent and still until someone fixed you."

His hand itched and he forced it to stay still. Tyler's thoughts were alien to him, but he understood this mood. He had seen it before, when Tyler got really frustrated by a game and had to go calm down, or when he talked about his dad. It always sent a thrum of fear into his blood. Tyler was angry, and not just about not killing zombies fast enough. About something else. About Roman.

"Ro," Tyler said, and his voice stretched to cover an emotion Roman didn't understand. "Show me your hands. Come on."

Roman looked down at his lap. His hands were tucked into the cardigan sleeves. Hidden. To keep them warm, as he'd told Tyler two weeks ago. He was cold most of the time, and especially in winter. He had hoped it would be enough.

He couldn't disobey. He set his hands flat on the table. Tyler reached out and pushed the cuffs to his wrists. Holding his breath, Roman averted his eyes from the red dots scattered over the skin on the backs of both hands.

"Joel—" Tyler whispered in an instant, hissing fury.

Roman shook his head. Tyler's eyes flashed to his, wildly looking between them.

"Not Joel," he said, guessing, watching. "Dillon?"

He shook his head again. His chest was starting to ache.

"Phil? Charlie?" Tyler sucked in a breath. "All of them?"

Roman squeezed his eyes tight, but the air came out of him hard.

Tyler squeezed his fingers gently. Anger dissipated as fast as it had come on, replaced by concern. "Ro, all of them?" he repeated in shock. "I thought – Joel was always a piece of shit, but I thought, Dillon liked you…"

"He likes when I try to be still and silent," Roman whispered. It seemed important that he was still and silent now, not giving anything to trigger Tyler's rage again. "Mr Charlie only does it if I mess up."

"And Phil?"

Roman took a small, sharp breath. "He goes along w-with Dillon."

Tyler's chair scraped back, and suddenly Roman was pulled into his arms, pressed against his chest like something precious that he loved, wrapped tightly in strong arms. "I'm sorry, Ro. Shit, I'm so sorry. I knew they'd do this, people told me. Let me, I've gotta…" He pulled back suddenly and picked up his phone from the table. "I've gotta tell this lawyer I've been talking to, about you and what they're doing, trying to get you safe. Not sent back, just – somewhere else. Somewhere that doesn't beat you for existing and – god, what's wrong with me?"

Roman stayed still and silent. Tyler was talking at him, like he did sometimes when he needed ideas for social media. The best thing to do was to let him work it out. He'd get a pat afterwards, and it wasn't much, but it proved he was needed…

"Ro, are you not listening?" Tyler said abruptly, grabbing his arm again. "If we can prove you're in danger, they'll let you out of here. You can go somewhere better."

The fear surged back. He was talking about emancipation again. He was talking about failing. Nobody wants someone who can't do their job right. Handlers had always told him, told all of them. Be perfect or be sent away. The cold, cold room and all the cold, merciless eyes. Do you want to come back here?

"I'm sorry," he whispered back to the handler, to the terrible disappointment in her eyes. "I'll try harder."

You're a flagship product, all of you. If you fail, there's no future for you. There's no other place to send you. Perfection or nothing.

"I can do better," he promised. "I want to stay."

Your only future is with your company.

Tyler looked at him, and something like anger was back. He hadn't dropped their hands. He hadn't moved, just as Roman hadn't, except with Tyler it was like he was too rigid to have any yield in him at all.

"Do they make you say that?" he guessed suddenly. "That's not what you really want, is it? They made you say it."

Roman, the small part of him that he kept hidden very deep down, wanted to cry out and reply. But he only smiled nervously and said, "The only information I am – I-I was, I was required – to memorise, um, was the emergency contact details for m-my owner, and the relevant pet legislation."

Tyler pulled back, but then returned, hands dropping and coming back up. "They make you say that too. Shit, how much of you is – is them? Do you even like us?" He swallowed suddenly, looking away. "All the fucked-up stuff you said you didn't mind…"

Before he could ask, and Roman knew he was about to ask, about the kissing, the sound of footsteps both. Tyler dropped his hands like they were burning and Roman pulled his sleeves down, both of them stepping back from each other instinctively.

Roman picked up the bowl and spoon quickly, and turned to start washing them up. Tyler grabbed his bottle of water and stepped out of the kitchen. Neither looked at the other.

"Morning." Charlie's voice, already halfway across the office. "Early start again today?"

"Yeah, I don't sleep late in winter. Got to get up while the sun's up." Tyler's voice was strained, but casual, as he walked out of the kitchen without looking back. "Catch the game last night?"

"Yeah, course. Crap job we did, but pulled it through in the end."

Roman breathed out. His head was spinning and his heart wouldn't slow. Everything that Tyler had been saying was wrong. That he wasn't really himself. That he was only saying those things because he was made to. That he should be free.

There was nowhere else for him to go. He wasn't a normal Domestic who could suit different households. He was for an office, and he'd been placed in this one. He knew company secrets, account details. They were things that normal people would have to keep secret, but for Roman, it meant he couldn't leave. He couldn't be given to someone else, because he would answer any question honestly, even if he was asked about those secret things.

What would there be for him, if Tyler forced him to be free? Nothing. He'd have nothing at all but Tyler himself, and intense conversations, overbearing anger, and awkward, bewildering moments of intimacy that Tyler barely seemed to understand himself…

Better to be here. Stable and secure. Hurt, maybe, but…

But…

Tyler had looked so horrified when he'd found out everyone was doing it.

That meant there was something wrong. Tyler had barely batted an eye the first time. He'd never said a word about Charlie beating him for stress relief. He'd rarely even said anything nice. He'd been the one to bring that horrible bunny costume…

But…even Tyler thought it was too much. And there was a little voice in him, a little niggle, like a lump in his throat. It said this was wrong. It said he was scared of his so-called friends. He had to get away from them.

"Roman, get the mail!"

Charlie's call made him jump again, thoughts lost in the urgency of the irritated tone. He left Tyler's bowl in the warm water and hurried to sort out the day's deliveries.

He didn't look at Tyler. Tyler didn't look at him.

[whumpzone]

everyone wants to see col broken, but i want to see linden broken. maybe sick with a fever so bad he's totally out of it, maybe with a broken bone, maybe with the kind of panic attack that takes you out of reality and leaves you completely drained. i want to see how col scrambles to care for him with his still-unfamiliar hands, when linden isn't even in the headspace to praise or thank him.

yes!!! CW for general illness & mentions of pills/medicine

-

Linden woke- rather, he was pulled forcibly from sleep- to a pounding headache. He kept his eyes shut and furrowed his brow, realising slowly that his whole body hurt, not just his head. He was on his back- when he tried to roll into the foetal position, his muscles complained as if he’d hiked up a mountain yesterday.

“Mmph,” he grunted. The small noise irritated his throat enough to set off a coughing fit. He finally opened his bleary eyes. He was definitively ill. He groaned, grinding his head weakly into the pillow.

-

Pet didn’t see Master all morning. The sun was in the middle of the sky, casting only slim shadows, when he gathered his courage and went to check on him. Every step felt like a mistake. He was disturbing him, he was attention seeking, Master was probably busy, he was doing something that didn’t concern the stupid little animal he kept around, and Pet was going to get ordered away at best and punished at worst.

Still, he gently knocked on Master’s bedroom door. The action hurt his knuckles. “Col,” he heard, just barely, from inside. “Come in, please.”

Master’s voice didn’t sound right. He didn’t look right, either, when Pet pushed open the door. He was still in bed, his long hair stuck to his face with sweat. His dark skin looked flushed-out and pallid, and his eyes were half-lidded. Two pupils slowly met his own.

Oh, god. Master was dying.

Pet rushed and collapsed to his knees at Master’s bedside, his mind racing to find a solution. He wanted to cry out, ask what is it, where does it hurt, what do I need to do?

But he couldn’t. He could only stare stupidly, his mouth parted with worry, eyes big and searching. Master saw his panic and slowly spoke. It looked like the words were painful.

“I’m okay, I’ve just-“ he coughed, turning his face away. “I think I’ve got the flu. It’s fine, it’s-“ another few seconds of coughing. “Okay, I’m quite badly ill.”

He half-groaned, half-laughed. Pet’s heart was still thumping out of his chest, but he made himself nod. Master pressed his face into the pillow, a pained look on his face. His eyebrows were drawn close, heavy over his eyes, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Pet stared, waiting, but Master didn’t speak anymore. He was tense, like he was trying to stave off an invisible pain.

A car rumbled past outside. Had… had Master fallen asleep? Pet wouldn’t dare touch him without permission, so instead he got up and looked down. It felt so wrong. Pet should be the one laid out, sweaty and barely conscious.

He had to help. What did Master need? Paracetamol? He knew that word, from somewhere. Had Master given him some, when he burnt his own hand? He went to the bathroom and retrieved the packet. Water. Pet would get him water, too. He’d be a good, useful dog.

Pet’s mind wandered as he completed the task. So often his thoughts were preoccupied with what Master could do, what he was capable of, all the ways he could hurt Pet in that moment. Constantly vigilant of any attack. Would he kick him? Whatever was in reach, would he smash it against his head? Would he reach out and slap him?

But right now, Master really couldn’t do anything. He was weak, he was tired. He could barely open his eyes- would he notice, say, if Pet failed to kneel quickly enough? If he didn’t cast his eyes down, or if he was slow? He wouldn’t do any of that, of course. Pet knew he shouldn’t be thinking this way, but he also knew he wasn’t considering anything disloyal. Just because Master was incapacitated didn’t mean Pet would let his own training slip, or- god forbid- try to hurt Master or slow his recovery. Never. It was just… an interesting thought, the fact that Pet wasn’t at risk of harm right now.

He also thought about how seeing Master this way, pained and exhausted, evoked a strange feeling he hadn’t felt for his old owner, even as he died. All Pet could feel back then was hopelessness, and fear. He had felt like a balloon cut loose and left to fly, unguided, into the abyss. Here, he could tell that the drive to help Master feel better was motivated by more than his obligation to serve, more than his fear of his owner dying. Seeing Master so reduced had created a strange sadness in Pet. He didn’t like it.

-

Master didn’t look much better when Pet returned, a glass of water in one hand and the pills in the other. He knew it was disgusting, to give his owner pills that had been handled by an animal, but he didn’t know how else to give them to him. He wasn’t sure Master would be able to open the packet by himself.

He was curled up, his face still taut, and breathing far too shallowly. It made Pet’s heart seize up. This was wrong wrong wrong.

Kneeling, he put the glass down and tried to gently wake Master. He knew he would get in trouble for touching his owner, for daring to disturb him, but he had to help. Master opened one eye and Pet proffered the glass.

It took both of Master’s hands gripping it, with Pet supporting the base of the glass, for him to drink enough to swallow the pills. Once he was done he immediately slumped back into bed with a groan, and shut his eyes.

-

By the third day, Master was improving a lot. But, naturally, he didn’t have any time for his Pet. He understood, he really did. Master had to focus on recovering and look after himself.

Still…

He was getting really hungry. He had no way of asking, and duh, it kept him dependent on his owner’s mercy, as he should be. But he worried that if Master didn’t grant him the privilege soon, he would be useless at helping fetch pills, water, warm blankets, anything. He was already starting to wobble a lot more as he walked. Once he thought he would actually fall onto his owner.

Pet tried to push the hunger away. He had to focus, this was important! He had to be perfect. He could hear Master’s voice in his head, once he was back to full health.

You just let me suffer in that bedroom, you fucking mongrel. No help, no care, I don’t know why I ever kept you in the first place. You can get out and never come back, you hear me?

So he ignored the void in his stomach. Tried to compensate for the way his limbs ached. If this was a test, he was going to pass. He had to.

-

tagging: @newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whumps @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass @downrivergirl914