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whumpy-wyrms · 1 month

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The Last Lab Rat #15: Broken Dreams

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content: recapture, lab whump, captivity, mind control, self injury, drugging, murder mention, winged test subject whumpee, creepy scientist carewhumper

Dew and Anton have a much needed conversation about stuff (things will only get worse before they get better i’m afraid)

—

The drive home was long and quiet.

Anton stared ahead as the windshield wipers went fast and rain pattered on the roof of the car. The roads were dark and empty, and thunder boomed in the distance. After a while, Anton turned in to a trail, mud splashing under the tires as he drove through his forest.

He looked in the backseat.

Dewey was sleeping, still and quiet. He’d fallen asleep after only a few moments of lying curled up in the backseat, letting himself drift off to the sound of gravel rumbling beneath the tires. He was weak and bloody and broken. Anton tried to ignore the sound of blood dripping onto the car floor.

God, this had never happened before. Nothing like this had ever happened before. What would Pierce think? If he found out Anton had let his test subject escape?

It hadn’t been a big deal at first. He knew what Dew and Sasha had been scheming, and Anton thought it was cute that the two of them were working together. Anton had just wanted to give him a sense of control, a small taste of a false freedom to latch onto, just something to keep him satisfied. He thought that even if Dew did escape, Anton would easily bring him back. He’d teach him a lesson not to leave, and they could have a laugh about it in the future after everything went back to normal.

But Anton had never expected, not in a million years, for his sweet little lab rat to do something not even Anton himself could stomach; murder. Dew had killed someone, taken a life, just like that. Sure, the clone wasn’t a real person. Anton could easily make a new one. Nobody saw it happen or would ever know about it. Anton wasn’t worried about whether or not he’d get away with it, because he knew he would.

Anton was worried about Dew. Maybe it was his own fault; this was what happened when he chose to let his test subjects have an ounce of freedom. Maybe he should’ve known better. He should’ve known better.

Anton arrived at his cabin and sighed. He hadn’t been one to listen to music, but maybe he should have, it sure seemed to help Dew during his spirals. He was still sound asleep in the backseat, chest rising and falling slowly as he breathed, so oblivious to the world around him. Anton stepped out of the car, ignoring the pouring rain soaking into his clothes and hair, and gently picked Dew up. He ran into the cabin while holding his test subject tightly against his chest, sheltering him from the rain.

Anton went straight to the lab, trying to avoid Sasha and their wandering eyes. They’d find out Dew was back eventually, but for now, all Anton wanted to do was sleep his thoughts away.

He cleaned Dew up, taking care of his bloodied clothes and matted hair. Then Anton dressed him in soft, warm pajamas and gently laid him to bed. He closed the latch of the vents, locking it tight. No more of that anymore.

Anton didn’t even know how to move forward from this. He should punish Dew. He should. That’s what Pierce would have done… Although, Pierce never would have let a test subject escape in the first place. He would have erased Dew’s memories, got rid of his free will, made him a hollow shell of a person.

Anton wasn’t going to do that. But what should he do then? He was growing soft. He had been too lenient, too… friendly. Dew wasn’t his friend, he had made that very clear.

As he lay in bed, staring at the blank ceiling alone in the world, Anton couldn’t help but think. Fuck, Pierce would be so disappointed in him.

. . .

I’m back.

The words repeated in Dew’s head over and over again. In the span of only a few hours, he went from being finally home and safe to finding himself back with the person who tormented him. Back to being a test subject in that horrible lab. Back with Anton.

A wave of terror flowed through him as he remembered last night, and he hid under his bed again. A million questions were flowing through his mind but he felt too tired and numb to do anything but quietly weep under his blankets.

It was most likely a very long drive back to the lab last night, but Dew wouldn't know, falling asleep too early to tell. He supposed it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know the directions to the lab or the way back home; he’d surely never see the outside world again.

After who knows how long of sleeping, he had woken up in soft pajamas, cozied up in warm blankets in his bed. He was so comfy, melting into the warmth. It was as if last night had never happened.

He really thought— he really thought he escaped, that he’d never be back here again. And that only made this all the more devastating.

He had been home, with his friends. They were there and they had been shot with tranquilizer darts by the scientist, so so close to danger and yet so far. It hurt to think about what would’ve happened if they had woken up, Dew bloody and broken, Anton standing there with a smug smile on his face. There was no knowing what the scientist would’ve done to them.

And then he was taken away from them again. He didn’t even get to talk to them before he was whisked away.

Dew knew things would never go back to normal. Not when he lied, tricked, and schemed behind his captor’s back. Not when he escaped and got caught brutally murdering his own clone that had replaced him all these months.

He shuddered thinking about it. Dew killed someone. Not just anyone, but another version of himself— the old him, the Dew who was free, the Dew he had always wished to be again. He killed him. Who could do such a thing? He felt sick— with himself and with the world. But most of all, with the scientist.

Anton. Dew hated him, more than anything. He was filled with so much burning anger that for a moment, he wished his clone had fought back and killed him instead. That would have been revenge against the scientist. Anton would have lost.

But he didn’t. The scientist had won. Again.

And that was terrifying. More than Dew could ever hate someone, he was so, so afraid. He could never be more scared of anything more than Anton. This man could control every aspect of his life easily, he could hurt his friends. At this point, Dew didn’t care what the scientist did to him anymore because he knew he couldn’t escape it. There was nothing Dew could do but cry and hope that whatever punishment Anton was planning for him wouldn’t be too painful.

. . .

Anton walked into his test subject’s room quietly, not wanting to accidentally startle the poor guy awake if he was still sleeping. He clicked the door shut, then realized that Dew wasn’t on his bed where he had left him. Anton looked around, noticing the bathroom door was ajar, light off. Dew wasn’t in there either. Anton’s eyes widened, could he really be…

“...Dewey?”

Anton knelt down beside the bed, lifting up the blanket to peak underneath. Sure enough, his test subject was hiding from him again, skittish and afraid. When he noticed the scientist staring, Dew shuffled deeper under the bed against the wall, trying to create as much space between them as possible. Anton clicked his tongue and let go of the blanket, letting it cover Dew back up, and stood up.

“You’ll have to come out eventually, Dew,” Anton said, setting the tray of food on Dew’s nightstand and crossing his arms. He got no response. “The silent treatment, huh?”

Anton leaned back against the wall and took a cookie from his pocket, taking a bite. “Aren’t you hungry? I’ll give you a piece of my cookie if you come out. As a treat. It’s really good.”

The only response Anton got was quiet sniffles muffled by the blanket. “Dew, I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll be okay, I promise. You’re safe.”

“Your… friends are safe too.” Anton’s voice was soft, as if he was trying to sound comforting. “Everything was taken care of. No blood, no body… no knife. It’s– It’s as if it never happened, okay? Nobody’s hurt, nobody’s sad, nobody knows. Everyone woke up like normal, completely fine, if not a bit tired from that party they threw you— your clone.”

Anton hesitated. “And you left a note, telling them you’d be gone for a few days, visiting distant relatives. They won’t suspect a thing. It leaves me the perfect amount of time to make a new clone and have it take the old one’s place. I have plenty of your DNA samples; you wouldn’t have to give me your blood, you wouldn’t have to do a thing. It was no big deal really, what you did. It changed nothing.”

The silence itself was driving Anton mad. He had no idea what his lab rat was thinking down there. They both royally fucked up this time.

“If you won’t say anything… that’s fine. I’ll just… assume you’re okay with this arrangement then, and I’ll go make another clone.”

There was a whimper coming from under the bed, followed by a couple sniffles. “N-no.” Dew said quietly.

“What was that?”

“No. Please don’t. Please.”

“I can hardly hear you under there,” Anton said. “If you want to talk, you’ll have to come out. You… don’t have to hide from me. I don’t want to hurt you, Dewey. You’ve put yourself through too much already.”

Dew’s breath hitched, failing to stifle a sob. “I-I can’t”

“...Why not?”

“I’m s-scared…”

Anton fidgeted with a pen in his pocket. “I’ll tell you what. I bet you have about a million questions floating through that little brain of yours, right? If you come out, you can get answers. I just want to talk, Dew. Talk. That’s it. You… You don’t have to be scared.”

You’ve been talking, Dew wanted to say, but quickly pushed that thought away. Arguing never worked before, nothing ever worked before. It was best to do as he was told from now on.

Dew timidly crawled out from under the bed, clutching his chicken plushie in his arms. He avoided looking at the scientist, and curled up in a different corner of the room. Anton had never seen him so afraid, so broken.

Anton forced himself to give a friendly smile. “How are you?”

No matter how much he wanted to act strong, Dew couldn’t stop himself from breaking down the second the question was asked.

“I-I didn’t wanna do it,” Dew squeaked, looking up in despair. “I didn’t mean to- to kill him. It- it happened so f-fast— I’m n-not a murderer! I didn’t wanna do it! I didn’t wa–wanna do it!” Dew’s voice broke down into uncontrollable sobs, his chest heaving.

If this was anyone else, Anton would give him something to calm him down, but Dew hated needles, and Anton didn’t want to scare him more than he already was. He sighed. “It was just a clone, Dewey. It wasn’t a real person. I promise, everything’s okay now. You don’t have to be sad.”

“I w-w-wanna go h-home. I was home, I… I got out. M-my friends, I didn’t g-get to talk to them— I d-didn’t want you to h-hurt them. Wh-why did you take me away? Why c-couldn’t you just set m-me free? I was out.”

It was a sad sight. Anton had always tried not to feel bad before, but this… it overwhelmed him. Maybe the only way to calm down and eventually see eye to eye, was to do what Dew always did to calm himself.

Anton dimmed the lights, causing his lab rat to curl into himself at the sudden change. The scientist walked to the other side of the room and picked up Dew’s MP3 player, then he crouched down in front of him, simultaneously caging him into the corner. He grabbed a blanket off the bed and sat it on the floor beneath them, a soft cushion from the cold, hard floor.

Dew stared at him while Anton turned on some music. They sat there for a long time. The only way they could tell that the minutes were passing was when each song ended and a new one began.

“Do you wanna talk now?” Anton asked after a while, when Dew had started to relax.

Dew nodded, taking a deep breath. “You cloned me,” he said numbly.

“That, I did.”

Dew looked up. “That’s why nobody was looking for me.”

“Yes.”

“The whole time?”

“Yep.”

“Nobody knew I was gone?”

“Nope.”

“How’d you do it?”

Anton’s face seemed to lighten up at the opportunity to explain something scientific to him. A small, familiar distraction from the gravity of this situation. “It was quite easy, actually. All I needed was a DNA sample, your clothes, a memory eraser, and the cloning chamber on the other side of the lab. It was on your first day, actually, when I got your blood, remember? It took a few days to make the clone, and once it was ready, I gave it all your stuff, drove down to your old house and set it free. I obviously had to erase its memories of the past day, so it wouldn’t remember me or my lab.”

“After that,” Anton continued. “It was like you had never left. I don’t actually know what it did as you. I could’ve made it so I’d be able to see through its eyes if I wanted, but I didn’t think I needed to.”

Dread pooled in Dew’s stomach. There was so, so much about this man that Dew did not know and couldn’t begin to understand. If he had cloned him without Dew realizing, what else had he done to him?

Dew ignored the fact that he felt so utterly helpless, and swallowing his nerves, he decided to ask more questions. “If– If you could make clones this whole time, why didn’t you just experiment on a clone of yourself instead? Wouldn’t that be… easier?”

“I did,” Anton replied. “For five years before I got you, the only test subject I had was myself— and obviously I didn’t experiment on animals, that’s unethical. Sometimes I would experiment on a clone of myself. But it got to the point where it was getting too dangerous to do that anymore. And that’s why I got you.”

“But—”

Anton shushed him. “I needed a test subject separate from myself. I couldn’t keep experimenting on a clone because, well, he’d be me. He’d know all my weaknesses. We’d have the same strength— he’d be stronger, even; enduring everything I'd put him through. He'd easily overpower me if he could, maybe even outsmart me. I needed someone smaller, and weaker, someone who didn’t know me like I know myself. Like you.”

Dew swallowed down his unease. “Then– then why didn’t you just take a clone of me instead?”

Anton looked surprised at the question, as if it was obvious. “Because… I needed the real you, and a clone isn’t the real you. Unlike my mentor, Pierce, I like my test subjects to be themselves, to be their own person and to have their own personality. I want them to be real. Clones are just… a fake, a facade. Making a clone of someone feels like a cheap, easy way out.

“I couldn’t just keep a clone of you knowing that the real you was out there living your life. Clones don’t mean anything to me. They’re not real people and can easily be recreated and replaced. I wanted the real you, Dew. And I’m so happy I got it.”

“Will you make another clone of me? Like you said?” Dew asked, fearing the answer.

“Yes, most likely. Unless, of course, you want your friends to think you’re dead? They’ll be awfully sad about that I think. It’s in your best interest to be cloned again.”

“How would they think I’m dead? I thought… you got rid of the body?”

“I did, but I could always fake your death. That’s… what Pierce used to do when he got new test subjects, sometimes. I could clone you and kill the clone, make it look like some horrible freak accident. Everyone would think you’re dead and that’d be the end of it. But I don’t think you want your friends to be sad, do you, Dew? I’m giving you a way that’s beneficial for all of us.”

“Except me.”

“...Except you.”

“Fine. Clone me again, I-I guess. My friends will figure out something’s wrong eventually.”

“They hadn’t for almost three months.”

“Well, I don't want them to be sad.”

Anton smiled and ruffled his hair. “Good choice.”

Dew looked down and fidgeted with his hands. So, that was it, then. He’d just given up. He’d just agreed to be replaced by a clone. That entire escape plan, those weeks of crawling through the claustrophobic and cold air ducts, had all been for nothing. He was back where he started, and far worse. He was completely and entirely defeated. He lost.

“Hey, where’s Sasha?” Dew asked, looking for the only friend he’d ever had in this terrible place.

“Oh, they’re upstairs.”

“So… are you mad at them for- for helping me?”

“What? No. I mean, I didn’t realize that they were such a great escape artist,” Anton chuckled. “I guess it makes sense though. They’re a snake, after all. But no, I’m not mad. They were just… doing what was right, I suppose. We’re both their friend, they just wanted to help you.”

“Can I talk to them? Please?”

“Oh,” Anton looked around awkwardly. “I um, I actually didn’t tell them you’ve returned. They were in their room when we got home last night. I just… couldn’t bear to break the news to them? They still think you’re free.”

Dew stood up. “What!?”

Anton stood up after him. “It’s fine—”

“You need to tell Sasha I’m back! You can't keep this a secret from them!”

“But I'd feel bad. I don't want to disappoint them. I don't want them to hate me.”

“Grow a fucking spine Anton! You made this happen! You ruined everything!”

“Lighten up, will you?” Anton said, playfully poking Dew’s stomach. “Where’s birthday Dew? Where’s the Dew that had fun throwing balloons around, or watching TV with me? Or—”

“‘Birthday Dew’ is fucking dead!” Dew hissed.

“That’s a shame,” Anton tutted. “I liked that Dew more than this one.”

“I should have ran when I had the chance,” Dew hissed, hopping over the bed and away from the corner he and his captor had been sitting in. He couldn’t go anywhere, but standing on the opposite side of the room was much better than being anywhere near the scientist. “I should have fucking ran!”

“You wouldn’t have gotten very far, I’m afraid.” Anton’s voice darkened, and he pulled out that horrible device Dew recognised and turned it on, activating the mind-control. “Don’t move,” Anton said.

He watched his test subject’s eyes go wide in horror, the blood draining from his face. “N-No, you—”

“Don’t talk.”

Dew was fuming on the outside. But on the inside, he was more scared than he’d ever been in his life.

“Yes, I made a spare.” Anton waved around that remote as if it was nothing. “Of course I made a spare. Why wouldn’t I, when I knew what you and Sasha were planning?”

Anton walked closer to Dew in slow, deliberate steps. His body was still, frozen in place, once again so easily cornered. Dew couldn’t say anything.

“I think you underestimate me, Dew. And that’s a dangerous thing for you. I feel I’ve been letting you off too easy. It was all my fault, really. I wanted you to have some freedom, because I didn’t want to see you so completely hopeless. But now I realize that it only made you more comfortable to act out against me.

“You’re never leaving this place again. I thought I’d given you enough time to accept your situation, but you’re simply too… too determined to escape me. It’s admirable, truly. But it’s gone on long enough.

“Let me put all this in perspective, Dew. It doesn’t matter if you run away, because the world won’t accept your wings. If you let anyone see them, they’ll catch you and turn you into the authorities, where other scientists will get their grubby little hands on you and perform far worse and merciless experiments than I ever had. Face it, Dew, you know you belong here.

“And if you don’t accept that, I could make you want to stay here. I can control your mind, Dew. I can control your thoughts, your desires and dreams. I could make you yearn for experiments. But I don’t. Because I want you to come to trust me naturally. I want you to choose to be loyal to me.”

“And I thought…” Anton laughed. “I thought you were doing so good, too. We had fun together, didn’t we? I thought we were making progress.”

Anton didn’t want to say the next part, but it might be the only thing he could say to finally convince him. “If you try to escape again, I’ll hurt your friends. And I know you know I’m capable of it. I could erase their memories of you, destroy any evidence of you ever existing in the outside world. There are so many things I can do to make you stay here, but I’m going to continue to give you a choice. I don’t want to resort to those measures, Dew. I want us to trust each other.”

Dew stared blankly. So there was really nothing he could do now. All hope was lost. He’d rather endure an eternity of horrible pain than see his friends get hurt because of him. He had truly lost everything. This was his life now. Of course it was, rang a little voice in the back of his head he had tried to ignore for so long. It had always been, from the start.

Anton shut off the device, and Dew was in control of his body again. He collapsed to the ground and brought his knees to his chest.

“...Will you still let me fly?” Dew asked, quiet and broken.

“Of… Of course,” Anton said. “I won’t ever hurt your wings.”

“Okay.”

“As for Sasha… of course I’ll tell them you’re back. When the time is right. You’re both friends… after all. It wouldn’t be right to separate you.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“I’m thirsty.”

Anton held his hand out. “Let’s go to the lab and get something to drink, alright?”

“Okay.” Dew grabbed his hand and Anton pulled him up. They walked into the lab, Dew unrestrained but obedient. He stayed by Anton’s side as he filled up a glass of water, and Dew slowly drank it.

“Now, Dewey, I wanted to say I’m proud of you for coming back so nicely last night.” Anton smiled brightly, the praise making Dew’s stomach turn. “But… I still have to punish you for escaping. There’s an experiment I’ve been wanting to do for a while and— hey, don’t worry. It’ll benefit you too, y’know. You just sit tight while I start preparing it.” Anton ruffled his hair, ignoring the tears forming in his eyes.

Dew couldn’t do anything but nod along, numbly watching Anton gather his clipboard and tape recorder. Another experiment? Really? After everything that had happened, Anton just wanted things to go back to normal? Dew felt sick to his stomach.

He should have ran. He should have fought back. He should have murdered Anton too, with that knife, when he could. He should have called out to his friends, screamed for help that wouldn’t have come. He should have gotten away when he had the chance. But instead, he fucking complied. What was he thinking?

The scientist wanted acceptance? Okay, sure! Dew would accept this life. He’d be his test subject. He’d stay here in this lab with that monster, but he’d do everything in his power to make the scientist’s life a living hell in the process.

Dew grabbed a random vial of liquid from a shelf and drank it.

“Dew!” Anton exclaimed, dropping everything and rushing over to him. “What the hell?!”

Dew flinched. “I– I just—”

“Shut up.” Anton picked up the vial his test subject had just drank, and rolled it over in his hands, reading the label. In a split second, Anton’s horrified expression warped into one of concern, then surprise.

“You just— Oh man. I um, I forgot all about this stuff. You just drank something I created a very, very long time ago. It’s supposed to, um, make whoever drinks it extremely happy. Like, ecstatic.” Anton laughed, and to Dew’s horror, he laughed back.

“What?!”

“Remember that first round of experiments I ever did on you? This was the stuff that made you unable to stop laughing.”

“Ser- seriously?! This isn't funny! This isn’t— hahahaha— fucking funny!”

“Why did you do that?” Anton asked.

“I– F-fuck you! Fuck you!”

“No, seriously Dew, why the hell did you do that?”

Dew giggled, almost painfully. “Make this stop!”

“Why did you drink something when you didn’t even know what it was? I have dangerous and deadly things all around my lab, if it was something else, it could’ve killed you. Surely you knew that.” As Dew continued laughing maniacally, Anton’s eyes went wide in horror. “Is… is that what you wanted?”

“No!” Dew cackled. “I don’t want to fucking die, Anton! I want to make every single little thing harder for you if I really am going to be your test subject forever.” He laughed, tears forming in his eyes. “Because– because the experiments are just gonna get worse from here on out right? If I cause problems for you then– then it delays whatever fucked up thing you’re gonna do to me. Because nothing I do to myself could be worse than the shit you have planned for me, I know that.”

“No, Dew, look at me.” Anton grabbed Dew’s arm and pulled him closer, making eye contact. “You don’t know that. And you just told me your whole stupid plan. I can easily stop you from doing any of that. I could keep you sedated permanently, keep you docile and relaxed and completely defenseless. You don’t want that, do you?”

“Fuck— hahaha— you! You would've found out my plans anyway!” He spat. “Just like all the other times! No matter what I do, you always win! If hurting myself is what it takes to get you to open your fucking eyes, that’s what I’ll do!”

Anton never should have played their game. He never should have let Dew leave, if he knew this was going to happen. He had ruined everything. “Stop this.”

“You made me like this!” Dew roared with laughter. “I was– I was happy before. W-with my friends! You took everything away from me, Anton! You ruined my life!”

The worst part was, everything Dew was saying was true. And Anton knew that. But he wasn’t going to admit it. “I didn't ruin your life, Dew. You’re still alive and your life here is just beginning. You’ll come to see that eventually.”

“I’m tired of listening to you, just m-make this stop!”

“I don’t have the antidote. We’ll have to wait until it wears off on its own.”

“Damn. This sucks!”

“C’mon, Dew, let’s… let’s go back to your room.”

Dew slapped his hand away. “No! No, I–I can’t go back there again! Not yet! It’s suffocating—”

“Okay, okay, fine. We can sit out here. Just don’t touch anything else.”

Dew hopped up into the air, flapping his wings rapidly. He curled up in a ball, and focused on his wings beating into the air around him. “Talking makes me laugh less. I need to keep talking,” he said.

“Okay,” Anton said, sitting down in his spinny chair. “You can talk to me about whatever you want, about anything.”

“Okay… Anything. Anything… I-I…” Dew choked back a sob. “I can’t stop thinking about it, I can’t get it out of my head.”

“What?”

“What I– what I did! The screams, the blood, it- it was horrible— and- and it… it was me! My clone! And- and he did everything I was too much of a coward to do. He– he lived a better life than me.” Dew giggled painfully. “And I just ended it… just like that… How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Live with– with hurting people? Don’t you feel remorse? How can you even- even live with the guilt weighing on you like this? It’s torture!”

“I guess I… Never had to worry about that. I’ve lived here all my life with Pierce and his test subjects, and I guess he just taught me not to feel guilty. It was just a fact of life for us. I didn’t know any better.”

“That sucks. What a freak. I wish—”

“Dew, let’s not talk about him right now, okay?”

“...Okay.” Dew wanted to keep talking, though. “My wings are getting tired.”

“You can touch the floor.”

“Sweet.” Dew stopped flying and collapsed on the hard tiles, laying flat on his stomach while his wings covered him like a weighted blanket.

“I cannot believe this is my life now.” Dew giggled into the floor.

Anton felt relief mixed with sadness. He should feel good about this. He won.

Dew sat up, criss crossed on the smooth tile floor, and stared up at the scientist with a grin on his face and tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, A-Anton. I shouldn’t have drank that. I just didn’t wanna be experimented on. I won’t do it again. Please don’t wipe my brain.”

Anton sighed. “I won’t, I promise. And I wasn’t actually going to conduct that experiment today, I was just gonna talk about it. But I think we both needed a break.”

“I think that experiment will be shit. I don’t want you to do it.”

“You don’t even know what it’ll be yet…”

“I guess not.”

“Y’know, Dew… You don’t have to be scared of me. You don’t even have to hate me. We could start over, work together. …Become friends.”

Dew snorted. “I think it’s a little too late for that. Nothing will be normal after what I did, after everything you put me through.”

“...I suppose not.”

“Hey, why’d you even make that stupid laughing stuff an-anyway?”

“It’s not– I didn't think it was stupid, at the time.” Anton sighed. “It wasn’t for me. I wanted to see if there was a way to just, uh, take away someone’s… bad feelings completely.”

“Pfft. You couldn’t just get them antidepressants? Or therapy? Or– or better yet! Set them free?”

“It wasn’t like that, and that wouldn’t have helped. I… I needed something that could have an immediate effect. Something they could drink that would make them feel better, happy, completely ease their pain and mental anguish in the moment. Something that could make them never feel sadness ever again. I thought it would help. As you can see, it backfired.”

“Help who? Help what?”

“That doesn’t matter. I was young and… didn’t have my priorities straight.”

“You said you’d answer my questions!” Dew exclaimed.

Anton rolled his eyes. “These questions have nothing to do with you.”

“Well I’m not fucking happy, Anton. It’s painful as hell. It’s like it’s stealing all the air from my lungs and forcing me to laugh, and stretching my skin to make me smile. And yet I can’t seem to feel upset about it. I feel elated. It’s fucking horrible.”

“I know, they said the same thing.”

“Who?!”

Anton changed the subject. “In any case, I’m glad you drank that instead of… something else. Thankfully this won't have any negative side effects.”

“Well when the hell will it wear off?”

“I don’t know… A few hours?”

“A– a few hours?! Hahaha. I can’t do this anymore!” Dew collapsed to the floor, crying and sobbing in a ball.

“For what it's worth, I really am sorry,” Anton said, voice so soft and genuine. Dew didn’t trust that for a moment, but just hearing him utter those words had affected him more than he would’ve liked. He looked up at his captor. Dew just wanted it all to be over, he just wanted the pain to stop. If this really was the rest of his life now, he’d have to make the most of it. He didn’t have any other choice.

“Can I—” Dew hiccuped, futilely attempting to wipe his never ending tears. “Can I have a hug?”

Anton looked surprised for just a moment. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. “You’re not gonna… stab me in the back during it, are you?” Anton joked.

Dew laughed. “No, I don’t have a knife.”

“Yeah, then um, sure.” Dew ran to him and wrapped his arms around Anton, gripping his lab coat and crying into the scientist’s chest. Anton held him, slowly petting his hair and rocking back and forth. What a long fucking day.

They were all each other had now, all each other had always had. Alone in the world, nothing but the lab. Anton tightened his arms around him and buried his face into Dew’s shoulder. Sitting there like that would’ve felt nice, if it weren’t for Dew’s body uncontrollably trembling and silently laughing and Anton’s intense sense of guilt that never seems to go away anymore.

Dew was the one to break the hug, and take a shaky step back. He smiled even though it hurt, and laughed despite it feeling like a burning fire in his lungs. He was so tired. He stared at Anton as he walked backwards and scurried up to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. From the lab, Anton watched his test subject leap under his bed and pull the blankets and plushie underneath with him. Dew put on his headphones and curled up in a ball.

Anton turned Dew’s light off, and began to clean up the birthday decorations that they both had forgotten all about.

—

i laugh when i’m nervous (sorry for taking literally 2 months to finish this omg i feel so bad y’all!!! tllr will hopefully return to bimonthly updates after this!! i hope!) (also idk i struggled with this a lot and i’m gonna be real y’all i feel like it didn’t turn out very good… the next ones will be better though i prommy! yippee!!)

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl @catnykit @tettlod @delicateprincepaper @rejectedbytheempty @mijajaj @anothertawogsideblog @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @parasitebunny @bottlecapreader @thecareandkeepingofwhumpees @inkwell-and-dagger @vidawhump @thepotatoofnopes

let me know if you want to be removed or added to the taglist!

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whumpsday · 1 year

Text

Kane & Jim #48: Basement

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: whumper turned whumpee (turned caretaker), whumpee turned caretaker, vampire whumpee, recovery, comfort, nightmares, starvation

sorry this took 10 thousand years. tbf, it’s my longest chapter ever! enjoy!

Tonight, just like every night, Jim led Kane back downstairs before sunset. Kane never seemed to have a problem with it. He honestly seemed happier now than he ever had back when he was free, when their positions were reversed. It was weird to think about.

The door swung shut behind him. It’d been doing that lately instead of staying open, but this time it was even louder than it had been the past few days, like it was insisting that Jim remember to fix it. He made a mental note get to it tomorrow.

He unlocked Kane’s ankle cuffs, letting him free of the restraints for the night. “See ya tomorrow. Sleep well and all.”

Kane smiled back at him. “You too.” He went over to sit at his desk, picking up a book and humming pleasantly.

Jim walked back up the stairs, keys in hand, and pushed the door.

It didn’t budge.

Jim stood there for a second, unbelieving. The door had closed behind him every morning and night for the past three days, and it’d always just opened right back up at a push, because it wasn’t locked.

The lock. The lock on the outside. The metal bar that made the sound of the door closing extra loud when it swung down from the force of the door snapping shut.

Leaving him stuck down here with Kane, and no way to get out.

He pushed on the door again, more insistently. But this door was made to contain someone far stronger than him, silver or no silver. He felt his throat tighten. It suddenly felt hard to breathe. Like when he’d said something that made Kane angry and he picked him up by his neck and-

“Jim? Is something wrong?” Kane asked. Jim spun around to see the vampire’s face painted with confusion.

“Yeah,” Jim squeaked, his back pressed against the door’s silver lining. “Yeah, I uh, I can’t get the door open.”

Kane closed his book, setting it down softly on the desk. His brows creased in concern. “Oh. Um, you mean... at all?”

Jim nodded, eyes wide with steadily growing fear.

This was bad. Kane liked his routine. He liked his half-half balance of spending the day with Jim and the night to himself in his nice, comfortable basement. Getting blood in the mornings and helping with chores. He liked his life.

But an essential part of his new life over the past four months had been that Jim deigned him fit to be treated well. Jim was kind and caring, but sometimes, it was apparent that being around Kane was too much for him. And at those times, Jim would excuse himself, or send Kane back down to the basement, where he was happy to be. Whatever he had to do to help Jim feel safe. To minimize the damage he’d caused.

Jim couldn’t excuse himself now. Not for lack of trying: he turned back around and continued fussing with the door, pushing and pounding and trying the handle. He let out a sob as the door held fast. “Kane?” he called, his voice pitched with fear.

Kane didn’t dare move from his seat. Not without permission, not while Jim was so scared. “Yes?”

“Can you try? To open the door?” Jim asked.

Kane had never tried to open it himself. For one, he had no desire to escape. For another...

His heart sank. “But... it’s silver.” It was hardly a protest. His voice came out small.

Jim said he wouldn’t be hurt anymore. No more burning. No more silver.

“No, I didn’t mean, like, touch it,” Jim clarified nervously. “You could use the blanket, maybe?”

“Oh.” Kane started to calm down. Of course. “Yes, I can try. If- you’re sure it’s okay?” Fringe nightmare scenarios of him busting down the door and being punished for escaping ran through his mind, as little sense as they make.

“Yeah, go for it.” Jim descended the stairs and stepped out of the way, hugging the wall. Kane didn’t miss the way Jim seemed to shrink back away from him.

He grabbed his blanket and ascended the stairs to approach the door, looking back nervously to Jim before ramming into it full-force, using his blanket as a shield. The entire room seemed to vibrate with the force of it.

The door didn’t budge.

Kane looked back again, and Jim looked much more scared this time, to his despair. Jim backed himself up into the far corner, shivering.

He drew his blanket around himself. “I’m sorry. I- I can’t break it. It’s silver. I was just doing what you said to, please don’t- please.”

“No, it’s uh, it’s all good,” Jim said shakily, arms clutched protectively to his chest the way he always used to do back at Kane’s house. “I mean, you. Not- this situation.”

It was starting to sink in. They were trapped in here together. Jim was trapped down here with him. And...

Kane was strong now. He didn’t need to worry so much that Jim would hurt him, and his tentative trust in Jim had grown enough by now that he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t anyway.

But it was apparent that Jim was really scared. Jim had never hurt him, but Kane had hurt Jim. Over and over and over for years. It was different here because Jim was the one in charge now, he could always get away if he needed to, but now... he couldn’t.

Kane sat down on the steps, hoping to make himself less intimidating. “It’s okay. It’s just like upstairs except... continued, right? I can put the cuffs back on, if you want.”

Jim hesitated, thinking it over. “No, it’s okay,” he decided, his voice squeaky with fear. Kane supposed that made sense: the restraints were to keep him from running, and they were pretty useless when he was locked in the basement anyway. Jim took a deep breath. “Liz’ll realize something’s up when I don’t pick up the phone. It might just... take a bit. Like a few days, maybe.”

“Okay. Um, I know this has to be scary for you. I’m a little scared too?” Kane’s always scared. “But you always make me feel better when I’m scared, and I know that- that I probably can’t do that so well, but I’m not going to hurt you, Jim. Ever.” He tried to emulate the kind of thing Jim always said to him when he was extra scared.

Jim nodded slowly. “Y-yeah. Thanks.” His face reddened a bit, clearly embarrassed for needed to be comforted.

“Usually after you leave upstairs, I spend a couple hours reading and listening to music. Then I wash my face and brush my teeth and go to bed,” Kane recites. “Would you like to, um, do that too? I have- I mean, you know what books I have, obviously.”

“I think I’m just gonna sit in the corner for a bit and try to cool off,” Jim said quietly. His hands were shaking a bit as he slid down the wall in the corner of the room.

It might not have even been him, Kane realized. Maybe it was just the feeling of being trapped again. Kane never had a break in between- he’d just gone from being imprisoned by the hunters to being imprisoned somewhere infinitely better. He’s locked down in the basement every night. But Jim’s been free this whole time.

“I’m sure Liz will realize something’s wrong soon,” Kane assures him. “And it’s not like- you’re still in your own house, right? You’re home.”

That seemed to get through to Jim a bit. Kane could see his shoulders relax slightly with the thought. “Yeah. That’s true, I guess.”

“I’m just going to go to my- to the desk. Let me know if I can, um, get you anything,” Kane said awkwardly. It was his space, but it was Jim’s house to begin with. His home in Jim’s basement.

Hours passed, the evening surprisingly normal despite the tension in the air. Jim stayed firmly in the corner. Kane could see his hands anxiously worrying at his sleeves through the corner of his eye. It reminded him of back then, in the later years after Jim got quiet. He held back a wince of guilt at the thought.

When bedtime rolled around, he took one of his blankets from the bed. “You should take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Oh, uh, that’s okay. It’s your bed. You don’t gotta do that,” Jim said. “I can take the floor.”

“I’m used to it,” Kane assured him. “You’re the one who’s scared this time. You should take the bed... um, if that’s okay.”

Jim hesitated before nodding. “If you’re sure. At least take the pillow.”

Kane took it, suppressing the Yes, sir that he always instinctively wanted to say after an order. “I hope you sleep well.”

“Yeah, you too,” Jim said as he lied down in Kane’s bed, facing the wall.

Kane dragged the rug to the other side of the basement, giving Jim the space he was clearly desperate for, and set up his little sleeping arrangement on the floor. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the bed, but he would still describe it as comfortable after years on his cell’s cold, hard floor. And it was certainly more comfortable than knowing Jim was sleeping on the floor instead.

It was hard to fall asleep with Jim in the room, he soon realized. He’d grown so used to startling awake when he heard a hunter approaching down in his cell that the smell of a human so close was keeping him awake.

Well, it wasn’t like he had plans tomorrow. No rush to sleep, Kane supposed. Jim might even appreciate some alone time if he were to wake first tomorrow.

After a bit, Jim’s sleeping form began stirring with obvious distress, whimpering a bit. He was having a nightmare, that much was clear.

Kane bit his lip anxiously, a drop of blood welling where his fang met skin. What should he do? Letting him stew in the nightmare didn’t feel right. He was probably the one tormenting Jim in his dreams.

“Jim?” he called softly.

He didn’t wake up. Kane hesitantly stood, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and took a few steps closer. “Jim?”

Nothing. Jim whined pitifully in his sleep, and now only half a room away, Kane could see a tear running down his face in the dark.

My fault.

It was possible that Jim could be having a normal nightmare unrelated to him, but he seriously doubted it.

Kane approached further, kneeling beside the bed. Better that Jim doesn’t wake to his tormenter looming over him. He gently laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder, the same way Jim would do when trying to comfort him, and shook lightly. “Jim, you’re having a nightmare.”

Jim woke in the dark, The bright-red eyes in his dream fading into the exact same in reality, no more than two feet from his face.

He jerked back immediately, pressing himself back against the wall. His good arm went up to protect himself- never to fight back, that only made things worse, just to be in the way so Kane didn’t hit tender stomach or easily-cracked ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, cowering against the wall, murky with sleep. The dream was fading, the details melting away, but he knew Kane was angry with him. “I’m s-sorry, Master. I’ll be better. I’ll behave. Just gimme another chance.”

Kane didn’t look angry. He looked... horrified, honestly, which was confusing. He shuffled backward without standing.

“Jim,” Kane’s voice came out gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not- I’m not your master anymore. It was just a dream. I know it’s terrifying, I get them too, but it’s not real. I’m not... like that anymore. I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you.”

Jim blinked the sleep away, starting to come to his senses. Kane was letting him off the hook this time. No, wait, what was going on?

“You’re home,” Kane reminded him. “You’re not at my house anymore. We just got accidentally locked in the basement. You had a nightmare.” His face took on a tinge of fear. “I- I’m sorry for touching you. I just thought it would be best to wake you since you seemed distressed, and I know if it was me I’d want- I shouldn’t have, I’m so sorry. You can, um, you can punish me if you like.” He bowed his head down, shivering.

Right. Kane. This was who Kane was now.

Jim smoothed his hair back, the curls bouncing back into place as he did, starting to calm down. “No punishing. ‘M gonna go back to sleep. Thanks for waking me.”

Kane sighed with relief. Jim was glad they’d gotten to this point: it’d have taken ages to calm him down if something like this happened just a few months ago. “Okay. Good night, Jim.”

“G’night.”

...

His next dream was back at Kane’s, again, his mind unable to drop the subject. Unlike the last dream, this one wasn’t violent. Kane wasn’t mad this time. It was a normal, peaceful night.

Kane fed from him, and they lounged in Jim’s quarters for some reason, his dream discarding the fact that Kane wouldn’t do that. There was no hurting or threatening, and though Kane was his usual pompous, aggravating self, it was okay.

Jim hated those dreams the most.

He woke with a grumble, reminded once again all how content he’d been at times to be Kane’s property. How he’d gotten stuck in that rut. Learned helplessness.

Kane was already awake, sitting quietly at his desk. Jim felt a pang of guilt for stealing his bed, but, well, the guy offered. It was weird, to feel like a guest in his own basement. Like it was someone else’s home and not his.

Kane’s home.

Jim pushed the thought aside immediately. Semantic bullshit, his brain making connections where there weren’t any. It wasn’t the same.

“Morning.” He stretched and sat up in bed, at least a little less freaked out than last night.

Oh God. Last night. It was a little fuzzy, but he remembered freaking out. He remembered calling Kane Master. His face grew hot with shame.

Kane looked over. He shrank back a little, obviously a bit scared. “Good morning, Jim. Are you feeling any better? I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. S’okay. You were just trying to help. You don’t gotta worry.” This was better, being the one to reassure Kane. He didn’t want to need to be taken care of, especially by him.

Kane relaxed a little. “Okay. Yes, I just, I just wanted to help. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“Can I ask you kind of a weird question?” Jim blurted out.

“Yes?”

He twiddled his fingers. “You ever get these dreams, like... you’re back at, like, your cell or whatever, but nothing bad’s happening? And you’re kind of just chilling there.”

Kane nodded. “A lot, actually. You... also get those?”

“Yeah.” Jim didn’t know where he was going with this. It just kind of felt nice to know it wasn’t just him, that he wasn’t broken for having dreams where he’s content with his captivity. Kane went through literal torture and he gets the same thing.

They were still stuck down here for the time being. All the games were upstairs, since Jim didn’t hang out in the basement, but luckily, it turned out Kane had brought a deck of cards down for solitaire a couple months ago. He’d almost forgotten Kane asking for permission for that.

While they were in the middle of their third game of gin rummy, Jim started to feel hungry. He’d missed dinner last night, and it looked like he wouldn’t be getting any breakfast today either. He had water from the half-bathroom’s sink, but there was no food down here for him.

There was food down here for Kane.

His hand stalled as he went to draw a card, frozen. There was no blood draw kit, not even a small knife like he’d used before he got the kit, and no bowl to collect it in even if there was. And besides, he’d get dizzy after if he couldn’t eat, and that meant that the only way for Kane to have his breakfast was to-

“Jim?” Kane asked, taking on that timid, concerned tone again, like he couldn’t decide if he was in trouble or not. “Is- is something wrong?”

“Uh, no.” He quickly drew his card. “Just- you know. Spaced out.”

“Oh.” Kane seemed to accept the lie at face value, taking his turn.

Kane could tell something was wrong, but he didn’t want to push it. It was probably just that they were trapped, but Jim seemed off.

It finally clicked when Jim’s stomach growled a few hours after they stopped playing, a soft sound that his acute hearing nonetheless picked up despite being on the other side of the room. Of course. He himself was a bit peckish, not that he’d ever think of bringing it up to Jim, but he’d had much worse.

But Jim was human. He’d missed three meals by now, dinner last night and breakfast and lunch today. Humans needed to eat so often, that was the equivalent of three days without blood for a vampire.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, worried. “I- I’m sorry there’s no food for you down here. You must be hungry.” It wasn’t fair. If anyone deserved to never ever have to go hungry, it was Jim.

Jim dropped the pencil, the sound of it clattering to the paper he was drawing on ringing out. He looked up with fear in his eyes, scooting back in the chair. “I’m okay,” he said quietly, trembling a little.

That wasn’t the reaction Kane had been expecting. Jim would get scared of him sometimes, but usually when he’d done something to-

“I know you’re hungry too. Please don’t.” Jim’s hand went to his neck, where his turtleneck covered twin impressions of Kane’s own fangs, holding it protectively. “I just- Kane, man, I can’t. Liz’ll realize I’m not answering the phone and come to let us out in a day or two, and I’ll give you blood then, okay? Please.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Oh- no, no, I wouldn’t.” Kane paused the CD player, sitting up with his knees to his chest on the bed. Did Jim think he was going to attack? A flash of panic surged through him. “I wouldn’t attack you, I mean- I wouldn’t ever again, I swear! I wasn’t going to, please believe me! Jim, you, you know I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t. I promise.”

His panicked insistences seemed to calm Jim down somewhat. He removed his hand from his neck, though it still hovered close-by. “You mean it?” he asked, his voice small.

“Yes. I will not touch you,” Kane promised confidently. “It’s okay. You’re- you’re safe.” It felt backwards, his heart still thudding with his own panic, given how many times Jim had repeatedly assured him of the same. But Jim was the one who really needed to hear it.

Jim let out a long, shaky breath. “Okay. Thanks.” He was clearly still on-edge, but starting to relax.

“But- you never answered, are you alright? You’ve missed too many meals,” Kane brought back up.

“I’ll be fine.” Jim wiped his eyes, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Remember that little hunger strike I tried back at your place?”

Vaguely. Kane hadn’t thought about that in a long time. A smaller rebellion, overshadowed by Jim’s ill-conceived attempt to run him through with a knife a few weeks prior. “Um, yes, I think so. That was- the first year, I believe? You were alright after that.”

“You waved a chocolate bar in front of my face and I caved immediately. I was nineteen.” Jim gave a soft chuckle. “I was terrified at the time, but looking back on it now, it’s a little funny when you think about it like that. Oh man.”

Nineteen. So young. Kane had known he was, he looked it, but hadn’t learned just how much until Jim told him on the eve of his twentieth birthday. He was a mere teenager when Kane stole him away from his life. How could he have been so horrible?

He nodded along to Jim’s observation, throat thick with guilt.

They did what they could to pass the day, hunger gnawing at the both of them. Kane was sure that whatever he was feeling, Jim must have been feeling it at least three times worse, maybe more since he was unused to it.

He wished he could alleviate it, somehow, like Jim had done for him. That he could offer Jim his own blood to alleviate his pain. But he was the vampire, and Jim was the human. There was nothing he could do but fetch him a cup of water.

It had been three days.

Jim didn’t get out of bed today. He’d gone hungry before, on many occasions. Skipping meals as a kid trying to make sure Liz had enough food on her plate when things were tight. That little hunger strike. The two days he ran from Kane, he didn’t eat until he woke up in the hospital, but he was much more worried about water, then. At least he had that, now.

Three was pushing his limit in terms of comfort. He knew he’d survive it fine, Liz would catch on before he got anywhere close to dangerous, but it was turning out to be a stay-in-bed day.

Kane had taken to doting on him, oddly enough. Brought him refills whenever his water got low. Kept asking him if he was okay. It was... kind of sweet, honestly. His fear slowly lessened the more time they spent down here. If Kane were going to attack him, he probably would have by now.

It only made him feel more guilty for not feeding him. He knew Kane was hungry, too. He’d regretted starving him that first month because he couldn’t work up the courage so much, and now he was doing it again. Kane said it was fine, but Jim was pretty sure Kane would say anything was fine.

He took a deep breath. He’d been agonizing over this since yesterday, and he knew he had to do it.

“Kane?”

Kane was by his side in an instant. “Yes? Do you need anything? Are you feeling okay?”

Jim pulled down his sleeve and held his arm out shakily. “You can feed, if you want.”

He was going to panic. He knew it. There was no way he could feel fangs sinking into his skin and not panic. But he could hold it inside and let Kane feed. He was trained for it, after all.

“Oh.” Kane’s eyes flickered from Jim’s face to his wrist. After a long, long pause, he continued. “No thank you.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What?”

Kane slowly reached for Jim’s sleeve and pulled it back up. “I can wait.”

Jim pulled his arm back to his chest, relief flooding through him. “Oh. Um, if you’re sure.”

Kane gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t let his fangs show. “I’m sure.”

...

It was hours later when Kane perked up. “Phone’s ringing!” he proclaimed excitedly, hearing its soft tone from upstairs.

“Is it?” Jim listened carefully. “I don’t hear anything.”

“It definitely is. It has to be Liz, right?” Kane asked.

“I’ve made damn sure reporters can’t get my number anymore,” he grumbled. “Yeah, gotta be her. Shouldn’t be long now.”

Kane kept informing him each time the phone rang, the spaces in between getting shorter and shorter. Finally, Kane informed him the front door was opening. Both of them ran to the wall by the stairs, to pound against it for Liz to let them out.

Liz watched in astonishment as Jim leaped out of the basement and wrapped his arms around her. “Finally! Am I glad to see you!”

“Jim? What are you doing down here? What happened?” Liz gave him a quick hug before pulling back to check him for injuries.

Kane backed up until he was all the way down the stairs. Liz had never hurt him, but this was an unusual situation. Best not to be in the huntress’s space.

“Door’s fucked. Been locked down here for three days.” Jim walked past her. “If you’ll excuse me, I have got to get something to eat.”

“Shit! Are you serious?” Liz opened and closed the door experimentally as Jim raced past her to the kitchen, Kane watching apprehensively.

Liz looked down at him and sighed. “Guessin’ you haven’t had a lot to eat either?”

He shook his head.

She held the door open. “C’mon. Let’s get you some blood.”

“I think, um, I don’t mean to contradict you or anything,” Kane said nervously, “But I don’t think Jim is-”

“Yeah, Jim’s not bleeding for you today. I’ve got it covered. C’mon.” Liz motioned for him to follow.

Kane’s heart felt warm as he followed her upstairs. “Thank you.”

K&J extra content posted between #47 and #48:

Kane & Jim drabble: Spilled Blood

Crossovers K&J x MMSS and Kane & Raiza continue to update!

not K&J related but i also posted a one-shot, Tomcat Disposables

starting a new thing where i add the taglist in a reblog because i think having it in the main post is breaking my links on desktop somehow, so hang tight for that in a few minutes!

#kane and jim #whump #my writing #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #vampire whumpee #vampire whump #recovery whump #comfort #nightmares #starvation #whump writing

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gotta-whump-them-all · 1 year

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Whumper Needs 'Punishment' Ideas

Here are some torture ideas for your whumpers <3

If your whumper smokes let's have them light their cigarette out on whumpee

Whumper forcing whumpee to hurt themself

Also we can have whumper act like they're going to hurt whumpee, but they're only doing it to scare them

Whumper forcing whumpee to face a fear. Whether it be the dark, spiders, etc it's up to you and whumper

Whumpee who has sensory issues and is forced to wear something that is extremely uncomfortable on their skin

Good ol' spanking

A ruler to the wrist until whumpee physically can'r stop his hands from shaking out of pain

Leave whumpee in silence and locked for hours to days on end. No food no nothing, they don't deserve it

No food, water, or sleep for a misbehaving whumpee. Whumper will even punish whumpee if they ask for them

Whumper removing one of whumpee's senses. Sight, touch, hearing, etc anything works really

Treat them like a dog. Maybe whumper thinks that whumpee is acting like a dog, so they should be treated as such

Simple things even like time out. Have whumper place whumper in the corner for a certain amount of minutes

Simple, writing lines. Whumper will make whumpee write 100 lines of words of "I will not......" and if they mess up a word, redo that line

going to bed without dinner is always a good one

If whumper has a whumpee who mouths off, give whumpee the silent treatment. Whumpee chooses to be ignored, or stop

On the other hand take away whumpee's speaking privileges. They can't speak unless it's a whole hearted genuine apology

Completely ignoring whumpee is good too

And if whumper is feeling up to it, have whumpee sit in a corner for some amount of minutes and then ask if they'll apologize now

Here's a semi-oddo one, have whumpee eat stuff like hot pepers until their mouth is burning and then not give them milk

And to end this list off we have just simply washing whumpee's mouth out with soup

(give me any more ideas if you have some)

#whump #whump scenario #writing prompt #whump drabble #whumpblr #whump tropes #whump prompt #whumpee #whump community #whump writing #whumpee and whumper #whump ideas #whumper and whumpee #whumper prompt #whumper

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writinggremlin · 6 months

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Whumper lets Whumpee eat whatever they want, whenever they want. Whumper even lets them have however much they want.

Except, as expected, there's a catch...

Whenever Whumpee decides to eat, they are forced to see disgusting imagery of some sort, and are forced to keep watching for the entire time they're eating. Look away or try to avoid it, and they lose food privileges for a bit, if not get beat and punished too.

How does Whumper go about this? Do they have some sort of telepathic power that allows them to force the imagery to run wild in Whumpee's mind? Does Whumper secure Whumpee to a chair, head locked in place, forcing them to watch timelapses of food decaying on a tv?

Is it something more domestic? Cuddling on the couch during Whumpee's dinner, and watching gory movies?

Or... y'know what? Why not go full out and make it the real deal?

Whumpee opens the fridge for the first time and finds that all of the food is mouldy, decaying, and spoiled. Or maybe they find a more... grotesque and bloody scene in there, with a very unpleasant smell to match.

Eventually Whumpee starts to associate food with the disgusting imagery. They start losing their appetite as soon as they enter the kitchen, or a plate is set in front of them. Maybe even feeling a little nauseous in the process.

And the effects last long after Whumpee's free from Whumper's control. They struggle to finish one small, simple meal, let alone three of them. Even their favorite food is almost completely inedible now.

Just... Whumpee who now has to relearn how to enjoy food. Y'know?

#brought to you by my real life experiences! :D #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump idea #whump ideas #whump scenario #whumpee #whumper #whumpblr #whump #food whump #starvation whump

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mj-iza-writer · 6 months

Text

Triggers: pet whump, naked Whumpee, whipping, dehumanization.

Whumpee shivered on the concrete floor of their cell.

They could hear footsteps coming down the hall leading to them. Every step made their heart sink.

They almost cried when they heard the keys greet the lock of their door.

"Get in position", the order came.

Whumpee scrambled to their knees and raised their hands up and behind their head. Their naked form now exposed to Whumper

"Doing well? I see some bruising from yesterday, that makes me happy", Whumper examined their work.

"Yes ma-master", Whumpee chattered their teeth while they spoke.

"Aww are you cold?", Whumper frowned, it seemed like they may have cared, maybe a little.

Whumpee looked at Whumper with a pleadful expression, hoping in this one second to have some mercy. Whumpee slightly nodded their head.

"Okay, let's see what we can do about that", Whumper smiled comfortingly, "go ahead and lay down on your stomach."

Whumpee complied, not wanting to ruin their chance of warmth.

Whumper turned to face a guard, if only Whumpee had seen the mocking grin Whumper made.

A sickening sound filled the room. Before Whumpee could react a sharp slice whipped across their back.

Whumpee cried out as they tried to crawl away.

Whumper only followed and continued slicing their whip at Whumpee's backside. By the time Whumper was finished Whumpee's back and butt were covered in red stipes.

Whumper felt the markings and grinned, "there, nice and warm. Isn't that better?"

Whumpee winced but nodded quickly. They didn't want to chance another beating.

"Good, I'm so glad", Whumper mocked, "I wasn't sure what I was going to do to you today, so I'm glad it all worked out."

Whumper mocked Whumpee on their way out of the room, making the guard laugh.

Whumpee collapsed to the floor, they shook as they curled in on themself. They cried loudly as their beaten skin stretched out.

Later that same day Whumpee weakly watched as the door opened again, they tried to keep their shivering to a minimum.

"Oh good, you're already in position", Whumper grinned, "are you cold still?"

"N-no master I-I'm okay", Whumpee shook, "I've learned my lesson master."

"Oh, what a shame" Whumper reached outside of the room and grabbed a blanket.

They held it up and watched Whumpee's shoulders drop, "I was actually going to let you have a blanket, but if you're alright, I guess I'll change my mind on that."

Whumper watched as tears formed in Whumpee's eyes.

Whumpee shook, "please", Whumpee whispered pleadingly as they held out their hands, hoping their pitiful pleas wouldn't be ignored, "please", they squeaked.

"Didn't you just say you were fine. You're not lying are you", Whumper couldn't hide their smile, "liars get punished."

"Have mercy on me master", Whumpee fell to the floor, "please have mercy."

"Disgraceful", Whumper sounded disgusted, "you are a disgrace. Why should I have mercy on you? You're just a useless prisoner."

Whumpee sobbed as they forced themself to crawl to Whumper's feet and kiss their shoes, "I know, I'm sorry", they begged.

"I will allow you to have the blanket on one condition", Whumper knelt down and gripped Whumpee's chin.

Whumpee allowed their head to be lifted to look Whumper eye to eye.

"Anything ma-master, please", Whumpee side glanced the blanket.

"So desperate", Whumper harshly squeezed Whumpee's cheeks.

"Mmm", Whumpee winced.

"I want a pet, I think you will do nicely", Whumper tilted Whumpee's head up to look them over, a pleased expression crossed their face.

"A-a pet?", Whumpee questioned.

"Yes, you will be trained of course, but you will receive better treatment, better food. You can come upstairs into the house once you're well trained and obedient", Whumper released their chin.

Whumpee's head bobbed down.

"I'll even give you a few rewards as you complete your training task", Whumper looked around, "your cell could become quite comfortable if you try hard enough."

Whumpee looked down.

"You don't have to decide today, but I will expect an answer by tomorrow", Whumper stood, "I'll let you have the blanket tonight. Maybe you can have a glimpse of the good life."

"Will I still get hurt?", Whumpee whispered, "and can I have clothes... please."

"It depends on your obedience, I won't cause pain if I don't have to", Whumper smiled, "my pets are taken care of quite well as long as you do as you're told."

"As for the clothes we can figure out something, although I prefer my pet naked. We can compromise a little", Whumper walked to the door, "I'll be back to see you for your answer in the morning."

Whumpee hurried to wrap the blanket around themself, their shivering slowly went away. It almost felt like a bit of heat was being pushed into the cell.

"They said that I might get treated better if I go along with it", Whumpee thought out loud, "I've had enough of this down here, but is it worth becoming a pet."

Whumpee felt their eyes get heavy. They realized this was the first bit of comfort they'd received in a while.

"I-I didn't get attacked either", Whumpee tried their best to stay awake.

Whumper watched from a camera. A smile cut across their face.

"I've finally broken them down", Whumper spoke to a guard, "I may get my pet sooner than I thought."

"They went to sleep", the guard zoomed in, "should I wake them up."

"No, I want them to see some good treatment now. I want them to see how good they could have it", Whumper sighed, "let's give them some better food for dinner as well."

"Dinner", a guard slammed the door open, "Master asked that you get something special, if you like this, just imagine what food you'll get as a pet", they promptly left after setting the dish down.

Whumper watched Whumpee cautiously crawl to the food and curiously pick at it.

Whumpee took a small bite, their eyes lit up as they took another bite.

Actual food.... Whumpee couldn't believe it.

Whumper watched happily, "I'll be getting a pet soon", they sang.

The next morning Whumpee waited for the door to open. They quietly got into their position.

Whumper walked in and eyed the empty food dish.

"I see you enjoyed your dinner last night", Whumper smiled, "is there something you'd like to say to me."

"Y-yes sir", Whumpee smiled, "thankyou for the food."

"You're welcome, and what else?", Whumper listened impatiently.

"I though a lot of what you said, at first I was going to say no", Whumpee froze when they saw Whumper shift, "I'm sorry, I accept, please have mercy", Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut waiting to be hit.

They jumped when Whumper's hand patted their cheek.

Whumpee felt something wrap around their neck and tighten. Two metal objects poked into their throat.

"Just so we're clear", Whumper chuckled, and Whumpee heard something click.

Whumpee fell to the ground as electricity coursed down their spine.

When it stopped they weakly looked up at Whumper. They panted, trying to catch their breath.

Whumper leaned against the wall, "just so we're clear, if you do not act as you are supposed to you'll get zapped. That collar will teach you to mind your manners."

Whumpee shook as they continued to feel the after shocks.

"Am I clear?", Whumper grinned.

Whumpee whimpered as they watched Whumper's finger hover the button.

"Y-yes mas-master", Whumpee fell to the floor and held onto Whumper's feet, "pl-please don't shock me again."

"Good", Whumper turned to leave, "follow me, we'll go on a tour of the house. When you are properly trained you'll be able to stay up there with me."

Whumpee didn't budge.

Whumper turned, "why aren't you coming?"

"I'm s-sorry, I wasn't sure if you wanted me to crawl or walk Master", Whumpee looked down.

"That is a good question", Whumper thought to themself, "crawl."

I'm sorry it's taken forever to post stories. I've been busy with work, and family. Plus, I'm trying to finally move out of my parents home so I can hopefully be in a safer situation. I hope you enjoyed the story. -MJ

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

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topguncortez · 10 months

Text

WELCOME TO G’S WHUMPTOBER 2023 CHALLENGE:)

➢It’s that time of year again!!! This year I am taking part in @/ailesswhumptober and I can’t be more excited!

MY RULES:

One topic/day will be assigned to one character for that day (i.e Jake gets Day 1, Rooster Day 2, Floydsin Day 3). I will not be doing more than one character a day.

ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS. As these topics all fall under the WHUMP category, there will be heavy content written and shared. Fics will be tagged accordingly, but no minors are permitted to interact. If I find you are a minor interacting, you will be blocked immediately.

During this time I will not be posting any other fics/blurbs/one-shots or taking requests, primarily because I’ll be writing a lot and posting a lot and I don’t need that added stress.

HOW TO REQUEST:

As I said before, one character will be used a day. Therefore, whatever day and character come in first will be assigned.

Example: “Jake, Day 27 pls!”

-Jake will be used as the main character on Day 27.

Example: Rooster Day 18!

Iceman day 18!

-Rooster will be used as the main character on Day 18 because the request came in first.

You can request what prompt you would like

My normal requesting rules still stand: if you are a blank blog, a minor, a character I don’t write for, or exceed the two-three sentence limit, your request will not be fulfilled

I will update the calendar/character list on SUNDAYS, so you know what days are left.

ALL REQUESTS MUST BE DONE BY: FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 22nd (exceptions maybe made if days aren’t all filled)

THE WHUMPTOBER CALENDAR: (the days are in bold)

1 | PICK YOUR POISON

Drugging | Sick | Poisoned

2 | SLEEP WHEN YOU’RE DEAD

Overworked | Insomnia | Exhaustion

3 | LET YOUR SENSES GUIDE YOU

Sensory Deprivation | Overstimulation | Isolation

4 | THE SECRETS THAT YOU KEEP

Hiding an injury | betrayal | lying

5 | HELD AGAINST YOUR WILL

Hostage | Kidnapping | Held at Gunpoint

6 | OUT OF YOUR MIND

Conditioning | Mind Control | Forced to Hurt Someone Else

7 | NOT DEAD TILL YOU’RE WARM N DEAD

Flatline | Restrained | CPR

8 | A BRAIN ON FIRE

Panice Attacks | Dissociation | Seizure

9 | DEAD ON YOUR FEET

Scar Reveal | Interrogation | Presumed Dead

10 | A GIFT TO REMEMBER

Branding | Scarring | Collar

11 | FLOAT LIKE A FEATHER

Fainting | Paralyzed | Adrenaline

12 | LEFT A SCAR ON MY HEART

Self Harm | Sacrifice | Character Death

13 | A FORCE OF NATURE, AN ACT OF GOD

Earthquake | Flood | Crushed

14 | 9-1-1, WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY?

Bleeding through the bandage | Field Medicine | No Anesthesia

15 | WHO’S THE NEW KID?

Experimentation | Muzzle | Transformation

16 | ONE HALF OF A WHOLE PERSON

Amputation | Chronic Pain | Hospital

17 | INTO THE FIRE

Hypothermia | Heat Stroke | “You Look a Little Pale?”

18 | TAKING A SICK DAY

Fever | Vomiting | Warm Soup

19 | I’LL NEVER PUSH YOU AROUND

Taken for Granted | Left Behind | “Why Wasn’t I Enough?”

20 | THE BEAUTY FELL FOR THE BEAST

Dehumanization | Stockholm Syndrome | Master & Servant

21 | WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU

Blood loss | Shock | Near Death Experience

22 | PAIN MAKES YOU STRONGER

Whipping | punishment | stress position

23 | DON’T TRY TO BE THE HERO

Begging | “Take Me Instead” | Forced to Watch

24 | RUNNING UP THAT HILL TO MAKE A DEAL WITH GOD

Failed Escape | Hunted Down | Too Exhausted to Keep Running

25 | BAD DREAMS, BAD DREAMS, HERE TO STAY

Nightmares | Flashback | “Why Didn’t You Save Me?”

26 | THE LAZARUS EFFECT

Magical Exhaustion or Injury | Curse | Came Back Wrong

27 | NEVER LET GO

Forgotten | Locked Away | Immortal

28 | OUT OF BREATH AND OUT OF TIME

Whumpee hair pulling | Oxygen Deprivation | Sweating

29 | ONE TICKET TO HELL

“The Easy Way or The Hard Way? | Bargaining | Forced to Choose

30 | YOU’RE MINE, ALWAYS WILL BE MINE

Possession | Mind Games | Coma

31 | A light at the end of the tunnel

PTSD | Headaches | Crying

MY CHARACTER LIST:

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw Henry ‘Wolfman’ Ruth Beau ‘Cyclone’ Simpson Rhett Abbott

MY PAIRING LIST:

Jake & Shy!Wifey Dragon & Rooster Coyote & Val Phoenix & Cerberus Bob & Bea Hangman & Athena

Fill out the Form to be Tagged:)

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letitbehurt · 1 year

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Thinking about Whumpee suffering with nightmares during and after captivity.

During captivity,

Maybe Whumper watches them struggle in their sleep

Maybe they tease Whumpee for waking up in a cold sweat

Maybe they mock or praise Whumpee for punishing themself

Maybe they tell Whumpee they’re flattered Whumpee thinks of them even in their sleep

Maybe Whumper forces Whumpee to tell them all about their nightmares to relive their terror and humiliation

Maybe they want to know every detail so they can recreate it themself.

After captivity,

Maybe Whumpee locks themself away from Caretaker to avoid being a spectacle

Maybe they have a breakdown when they think about Caretaker finding out

Maybe Caretaker does find out

Maybe they get angry at Caretaker’s pity, because it sounds too much like Whumper’s mockery

Maybe they expect Caretaker to be just like Whumper was

Maybe Whumpee’s nightmares begin to feature Caretaker in Whumper’s place

#just…the potential #and that’s just the emotional symptoms #pry open the can of physical symptoms if you like #sleep paralysis #insomnia #a chronic relentless fatigue #pretty much every physical toll that comes with as little sleep as possible #so much potential in nightmares #nightmares #whump

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whump-and-other-misfortunes · 5 months

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Whumpuary 2024 Day 5

5. (Jan 09-10) Can't move / "Stay. Please" / Kidnapped

cw inexperienced whumper, past trauma/abuse, conditioned whumpee, whumper kidnapped whumpee from someone who treated them worse, slightly suggestive, intimate whumper, referenced drugging

“W-wait!” Whumpee called from where they sat on the concrete floor. “You're going to leave me down here?”

Whumper stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned back around to face them. “I'm pretty sure the basement is where you’re supposed to keep people you’ve kidnapped,” they replied with a frown.

Whumpee wrapped their arms around themself, shivering. Their head was still fuzzy from the drugs that were wearing off, but they were with it enough to know they did not want to be locked in the basement. “I-I don’t know. But it’s cold down here! And dark…I’m scared of the dark…”

“Um, I can bring you a blanket,” Whumper suggested, “and a lamp, maybe?”

Whumpee started to panic when their captor began ascending the stairs. “N-no, stop! Stay, please,” they begged. They didn’t know who Whumper was or what they wanted, but nothing could have been worse than being left alone, in the dark. Not after what they had been through before…

It was difficult to make out their expression with the only light coming from the doorway behind them, but Whumper stared at them with what appeared to be shock. “You’re not very good at this. Being a kidnapping victim, I mean. You’re supposed to be scared of me.”

Whumpee sniffled, willing their tears not to fall. “I know, I’m sorry. I'll do whatever you want, just…can you take me upstairs? Please?”

Whumper began walking toward them with a sigh. “I guess so,” they said hesitantly. “But I’ll have to tie you up, or something. So you don’t escape.”

“Okay.” Whumpee nodded eagerly and took the hand that was offered to them, letting Whumper pull them to their feet. “I promise I’ll be good. You won’t have to hit me or—or punish me, or lock me down here or anything, I swear.”

“What?”

Whumpee angrily brushed away the tears that had begun spilling from their eyes as memories resurfaced. “I’m sorry, you can tell me to shut up if I talk too much. I promise I know how to be good.”

An amused smile tugged at Whumper’s lips. “Do you, now?”

Fear coursed through Whumpee at the thought that their captor might not believe them. “Yes! I’ll do anything you say.”

“You’d let me tie you to my bedpost and sleep beside me,” Whumper asked, “if it meant not spending the night alone in the dark?”

Whumpee looked up at them pleadingly, vision blurred by tears. “Yes,” they whispered. “I’ll sleep in your bed. And…I’ll do anything else you want me to.”

“Look at that,” Whumper said, carding a hand through Whumpee’s hair. “I didn’t even have to do the hard work of breaking you in.”

#whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno5 #kidnapping #stay. please #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #captive whumpee #intimate whumper #suggestive #kidnapping whump #implied drugging #inexperienced whumper #conditioned whumpee #snippet

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pigeonwhumps · 1 year

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Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch @whumplr-reader (and @squishablesunbeam iirc you wanted to be tagged if people used object designation? Idk if you still do but anyway)

During delivery to its owner, O69 is intercepted.

2.4k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, object whump, self-dehumanisation, locked in a box, conditioned whumpee, scared whumpee, talk of discrimination against Romantics, bad caretaker, bad safehouse (with implications that it could be even worse), implied non-con, wishing for punishment, non-verbal whumpee

O69's body thrums with anticipation as it speeds down the road in its box. It's being taken to its new owner.

This is the most important day in a pet's life.

It wonders what its new owner will be like. It has been trained extensively, and it will be good for whoever it is, but it has no idea what they're like. Short hair, long hair? Kind, cruel? Where will they keep their new toy? It has no idea.

It will find out soon enough.

The van stops suddenly and O69's thrown into the wall of its box. It's not supposed to move at all so it doesn't, not reaching out to cushion itself before its head slams into the wood. It grunts.

It's not supposed to make a noise. It hopes it gets punished.

The doors to the van are thrown open. O69 wonders if it's its turn to be delivered.

Patience, O69. Objects don't get impatient, do they?

No. No, another box is removed. It's disappointed at first but then it realises that multiple boxes are being removed, multiple pairs of feet in the van. What's going on?

Its box is lifted and set down somewhere else, urgent voices surrounding it. It doesn't know what they're saying and it doesn't need to.

Someone shouts, "Go go go!", there's lots of commotion, and then O69's careening down the road, heart in its throat. It can hear screaming.

It isn't long. It isn't long, it knows it, but feels like forever.

It's not the first to be dropped off this time, either, but it feels different when it is. More careful. Like it's breakable.

That's not true. Sex toys aren't breakable. Or if they are it doesn't matter. They can always be replaced.

It can always be replaced.

There's murmuring from outside, and then a noise, a bit like hammering but different. And then daylight. Lots of daylight. The kind it hasn't seen for as long as it can remember.

More light of any sort than it's had since it was packed.

There's a face staring down at it. It tries to look appealing – it doesn't know who this is, but it thinks that regardless of that they're more likely to keep it if it's appealing.

The woman above him makes a strangled sound.

"Oh, god, you're a Romantic, aren't you? At least partly. They won't like that. Shall we get you out of there?"

And without waiting for a response that O69 isn't allowed to give, she reaches in, grabs it just below the elbows, and lifts it out.

O69 screams. Screams like its existence depends on it, like a burglar alarm, someone will come and get their property back, put it back safe, but nobody does, nobody comes.

Nobody wants it enough to come.

It's left in this woman's grip, the shocked look on her face boding nothing good, oh what if this is its owner? It didn't think so, it thought it was stolen, but maybe... maybe this is why pets don't think.

"Hey, hey, it's not as bad as all that. Let's get you sat down, then we can go over a few things." She sets it down on the carpet.

It's too soft. The lights are too much and the noise is too much and it has no idea what the expectations are and it all hurts. It wants to bury its head in its knees and jam its hands over its ears and scream until this all goes away but it can't, it's not allowed, it knows this without actually knowing, so it does the next best thing.

It tries to climb back into its box.

"Whoa, whoa, no. You don't need to go back in there, you're free."

But it's dark and familiar and safe in there and for the first time ever it ignores an order, crawling towards it, starting to climb over the lip of the box.

She wrenches it out, setting it down further away, and lifts the box. "I said, no." She's harsh this time and O69 cowers away from her tone, words like acid. "You don't need to– look, I'll be back in a minute."

And she walks out with its box. Its only safety, and she just takes it away, like it's nothing, like she doesn't care, like... like... what's O69 supposed to do now? How can it be stored, how can it be safe now? What does it mean that its storage is being taken? Retraining? Replacement? Refurbishment? It whimpers at the thought.

It needs somewhere to go. Maybe if it just stays out of the way it'll be forgotten about, allowed to stay. A dusty toy on a shelf, not played with but not thrown away, either.

It scans the room. There. A nook, tiny, in the corner, and it moves without an order, heart in its throat, desperate, crawling into it, scrunching up tight to fit. It's nearly as tight as the cage it was trained to stay still in, and it has to go really small, but that's okay. It knows how to do that. Out of sight, out of mind.

The woman comes back into the room and frowns. "Are you in here? Oh, you're... okay. Let me grab your papers and you can stay there until you're ready to come out."

She peels the plastic packet carefully off his t-shirt and moves away. It wonders how long it'll be allowed to stay here for.

Minutes, it thinks at first. Minutes which turn into hours, which eventually turn into days.

It keeps its eyes shut, body tiny, it knows how to keep still and it will. At least its training is useful for something, even here.

It isn't aware of everything, but it's aware of enough.

It hears voices, low and angry, an argument that it hopes it doesn't take the brunt of. There's worry somewhere. Someone says something frustrated that it determinedly doesn't listen to. Even though it shouldn't, it resists attempts to remove it.

Out of sight, out of mind, it's safe.

And then, a day or two (or maybe three or four) later, there's desperation and pleading. One side of a conversation, not a pleasant one, but they're not talking to it so it doesn't listen, hoping it won't be hurt for this.

It is still due a punishment though, for noises and moving and a hundred other things by now.

O69 doesn't know how long it is until there's hushed voices in the hall, and soft footsteps on the carpet. A thing that sounds like its box is brought in, set down.

"Are you sure about this Alix?" says the first voice.

"Yes," says a new voice, cutting through the air like a knife.

There's a sigh like disappointed wind, and then a set of footsteps disappears out of the door.

"Hello. I'm Alix. You must be O69, right?"

O69 looks up. The woman opposite it doesn't quite look like a knife. But then, not all knives are sharp, and not all dig in smoothly, immediately. Her voice is softer now.

Maybe she's a blunt knife, which takes a lot of force to hurt someone with. It wonders how much it would take for her to hurt it.

"Pleased to meet you. I've come to bring you somewhere safer, if you're okay with that. You can go back in your box. I know they don't like that here, but it's okay, really. If it's safer for you, that's allowed. May I call you O?" O69 doesn't know how to respond, it wasn't taught how to give an opinion. Objects don't do that. "I'm going to take that as a yes. At least one of my housemates will probably find it very uncomfortable at the least to call you 69. Pronouns. He? She? They? It?" It blinks at the last option, not deliberately choosing but just... relaxing, slightly, maybe. Hopefully not. "Okay, it/its it is. Let me bring your box closer and you can climb back in, yeah? I promise you, I have no problem with you going back in there."

Alix is true to her word, bringing its box over and then backing away. O69 unfurls itself, cramped and barely able to move from the stiffness, and crawls over to its box, climbing up and over the top. It curls up inside.

It's safe again. It's safe. It's darker and softer and safer.

"There we are. Here's a blanket in case you need one, and you can eat when we get to my house. I didn't bring any food because I didn't know if you get carsick. I'll take your lid with me, obviously, but I'm leaving it off for now, if you're okay with that. So you can see out if you like. Ready to go?"

Alix peers over the top of its box and it blinks, unsure of what's going on. All it knows is that it's being moved again and hopefully that place will be better than this one. Even though she's still not its owner, he's still not going where he should be, and what's going on?

"Great. Let's get out of here."

It's carried for a bit before the voice from days ago says hesitantly, "Alix? About this... um, thank you. I know you don't have much space."

"We have a spare room at the moment. And even if we didn't, we'd make do. Don't thank me, just... look, find someone better than Christians Against Pets to teach you this stuff, okay? You've got a good heart, good instincts. You just need to learn how to use them."

"They didn't want to help O69 at all," she sniffles.

"Yeah. They do that with Romantics. WRU allows them to exist as a rehabilitation group, think about why they'd choose them, specifically, as cover. What WRU can do, knowing where they are, where they can find a supply of unwanted and probably undefended Romantics. Find somewhere else to train, and I hope I see you again soon."

"You too. O69? I'm sorry."

O69 doesn't know what to say to that, even if it could speak.

Alix lifts its box higher in her arms and carries it outside.

"I'm going to set you down in the car now. Passenger seat. The roof's down, hopefully you can feel a breeze in there."

Alix sets it down and starts up the engine. It can see white fluffy clouds and blue skies above, the tops of green and brown trees flitting past. A flock of gangly birds honk as they pass overhead.

"Canada geese," she explains. Then she sighs, and says, "There's one of my housemates. We'll pick them up, you can meet them." Then she raises her voice and, in a knife-edge tone that makes O flinch despite itself, yells, "Bug!"

There's a moment of silence, before an indignant, "You nearly made me drop the shopping!"

"Come on, get in. Come and meet your newest housemate."

Someone flops into the back seat. "Gonna be a bit cold with the top down, isn't it?"

"You picked the car," Alix says long-sufferingly.

"I was trying to see if you'd actually buy it."

There's a pause, then Alix says quietly, "I'll always take your advice, Bug. You know that."

There's the sound of someone clearing their throat. The new voice is rougher now, like grating sand. "Who am I meeting then? Why are they in a box still?" asks Bug warily, tightly. Like a coiled-up spring.

"Bug, this is O, it/its. O, Adalia, they/them, sometimes known as Bug. Mostly by me. And O's in the box because it wants to stay there."

"Oh. Okay. Hi O. Romantic?"

O feels like it can hear Alix grimace. "Not just Romantic. Here." Papers are tossed and flicked through.

"Fuck," says Adalia. "Those monsters. I'm glad we have you now, O. You'll be safe with us. I'll make sure of it."

The way Adalia says it makes O seem certain they will. But it doesn't know what their version of safety is.

"O, when it comes to your box, you'll need to leave it fairly soon to have a wash, and so we can cover any possibly-unsafe parts of the inside. You can keep it in sight at all times though, and that's the only time I'll ask it of you. You won't have to leave it again, not until you want to, and I mean you, not me. I won't remove it from your sight, and I won't pull you from it, not even to wash."

"You'll start to smell if you don't wash though."

Alix sighs. "Bug."

No. No. She promised.

"You okay in there, O?" asks Adalia. O doesn't respond. It can't. "O, breathe. I bet you're struggling with that. It's okay. I used to be a pet, don't know if you can tell. Alix is good at this. She keeps her word. And if she doesn't, I'll punch her."

O takes a deep, slow breath. It thought it could hear something in their voice.

"Eat this."

A hand reaches in, not Alix's, this one is brown, and gives O an... an apple? O gets an apple? They bite down on it, closing their eyes blissfully (oh it's so sweet, and juicy, it's so good), almost missing the grinning face above.

"Hi. I'm Adalia. Or Bug. I'm not picky. It's nice to meet you. I'd like to be your friend."

And O thinks, so long as it can stay safe in here for as long as it likes, that it would like to be their friend too.

It doesn't know what a friend is, not exactly. But the word feels warm, and it would like that warmth.

"I have a present for you. Here."

They place something soft gently into its other hand. It looks at it closely. It's a small toy bear, looking resplendent in a tiny rainbow sweater.

It's lovely. O's eyes water. Must be the weather. Though it doesn't know why that would be, or why it would think the weather could affect it like that.

O squeezes the teddy and lets go, squeezes and lets go, squeezes and lets go. Again and again and again, over and over it does so, thinking and thinking about the warmth that being Adalia's friend might bring.

#bug and company #o69 oc #alix oc #bug oc #whumpee and caretaker #whumpee turned caretaker #bad caretaker #conditioned whumpee #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #boxie #wru #pet whump #object whump #non verbal whumpee

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whumpsday · 2 years

Text

Kane & Jim #38: Heat Wave Part 1

Masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker, heat whump, accidental whump, begging, recovery from past starvation / weight talk

retconned jim’s truck into a car because i realized i needed him to have a trunk for this chapter. edited the 5 mentions of a truck in chapter 1 to reflect this. in return for this sacrifice, i will give liz a truck if it ever comes up.

thank you @lost-in-labradorite-halls for giving me the idea for this chapter!

Kane hummed along with the CD player, his new favorite thing. He’d been expecting a record player when he’d asked Jim for a way to play music, but apparently that wasn’t current anymore. He’d not made much of an effort to keep up with new technologies even before his capture, and Jim said that this device had become popular during his time locked away, anyway.

Jim was out of the house, which meant he was locked in the basement. Jim always seemed apologetic about it, but Kane didn’t mind it one bit. The basement was safe. Jim’s whole house was safe, but especially the basement. Free of windows that could let in wretched sunlight, a securely locked door, his nice comfortable bed that he could hide under or wrap himself up in blankets and lie on.

The only problem was that it was starting to get very, very hot.

It was making Kane nervous. It hadn’t been so when Jim left, but now it was so hot that he even took off his jacket, ceasing his peaceful humming. He refused to change out his long sleeves for short, though. Especially when the heat was an ever-present reminder of the sun looming outside.

At first it was just uncomfortable, but as the minutes turned to an hour turned to two, it became unbearable. Sweat drenched him, though he still did not change out his clothing for more revealing options.

A thought occurred to Kane as he cooked: was he being punished?

Maybe he’d done something wrong, displeased his savior somehow. His heart crushed at the thought. He thought he’d been good. He’d been trying so hard to be good, not that Jim made it difficult, here.

Maybe it was a punishment for before. That made more sense. He’d always expected the other shoe to drop eventually, for Jim to finally take his revenge. Maybe Jim just wanted him healthy again before he started. A fresh slate. If so, Jim was true to his merciful nature: being baked in the sweltering heat was better than being burned alive in the sun.

Hot tears welled up in Kane’s eyes despite the lenient nature of his punishment. After three months of peace, of mercy, of finally being able to exist comfortably, he dreaded going back to punishment.

But of course, he’d never deserved Jim’s kindness. He knew that, but it still hurt. Jim was all he had in the world, the only person who he thought might care about him. But this was always how it was supposed to be. He had to pay for what he’d done.

Kane whimpered as he grew hotter still, splayed out on the floor. He felt lethargic, like he’d be unable to remove his clothing even if he tried.

It’s still better than burning. Be grateful.

God damn, this heat wave was awful. Jim’s car’s air conditioning struggled against it as he made the drive back out to his secluded home. He'd already booked an appointment with the AC repair guy, but he was backed up with appointments and wouldn’t be able to come for a few days, and that was the soonest he’d been able to find. But even if his AC at home wasn’t as cool as it normally should be, at least it was something.

It was so hot, he’d even gone outside with his neck exposed. He never did that, ever. Hadn’t in years. But, well... he knew Kane wasn’t out here.

But when he parked and entered his house, he found that it was just as hot inside as it was outside.

“Fuck.” Jim checked the thermostat, but it wasn’t functional. He banged on it a few times, turned it off an on again. Nothing.

He’d have to go stay with Liz until it could be fixed, at least while the heat wave was on. It was unbearable. He was already massively uncomfortable, and he’d only been in the house for two seconds.

Oh, shit. Kane.

Jim raced to the basement instantly, unlocking the door to find Kane laid out on the floor, looking miserable. He’d hoped that the basement being underground would at least make it a little cooler than upstairs, but it was just as unbearable down here. Depending on when the AC went out, Kane could’ve been stuck in this for hours.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to be good.” Kane rasped, looking at him with pleading eyes. Jim couldn’t tell whether the wetness on his face was sweat or tears. “Thank you for the lenient punishment. I know I deserve worse. Thank you.”

“Shit, Kane, no.” Jim raced down to Kane’s side. “This was an accident, it’s not a punishment, okay? AC gave up on us. I just got home.”

Kane’s head lolled weakly to the side, facing Jim. “Not, not a punishment?” he questioned.

“No, man. I don’t do that, right? If there’s a problem, we’d talk about it. Here, c’mon, lemme help you up.” Jim helped him to his feet and started him toward the basement’s half-bathroom.

Kane’s eyes sparkled with hope as he leaned into Jim. “Thank you, thank you, I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine.” Jim leaned him against the sink and turned it on cold. At least that was working. As soon as the water cooled, Jim splashed it lightly onto Kane’s face, watching the vampire’s eyes flutter shut with relief. He splashed his own face too, for good measure. “That better?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.” Kane enthused, already sounding like he had a little more energy in him.

“Alright, good. The AC repair guy’s not coming for a few more days, but we can’t stay here, not in the middle of this heat wave. Shit, that’s just my luck. Can’t exactly take you to a hotel. Liz’ll probably let us stay with her for a few days.” There was a time when he would’ve been nervous about letting Kane near Liz, but it had become apparent that Kane was pretty much harmless. Besides, Liz was a hunter.

Kane apparently reached the same conclusion, his eyes going wide with fear.

“What?” he squeaked. He couldn’t have heard Jim right. He couldn’t be saying they were going to stay in a hunter’s home. Leaving his basement, leaving Jim’s house, his only safe haven in years, for who knows what.

“Hey, you’ve met Liz a few times. She’s never hurt you, right? It’ll be fine.” Jim’s voice kept that same gentle, soothing tone, but only confirmed his fears.

Kane shook his head profusely. “I can’t, I can’t, please, Jim, I don’t want to go, please.”

“Hey. It’s okay. I’m gonna be there with you, remember? You’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt you. I know it’s not... the best situation, but it’s kind of our only option right now. I promise, it’s gonna be fine.” Jim took Kane’s hand and guided it to the sink. “Splash some more cool water on yourself and relax. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Kane obediently dipped his hands into the stream and doused himself in more of the nice, cold water. It felt amazing, but did little to quell the anxiety clawing away at him. His hands shook. “You, you won’t leave me there?”

“I won’t. I know it’s scary, I know Liz isn’t exactly the most... approachable person. Listen, the most likely thing that’s gonna happen is you’ll stay in a room the whole time while we wait it out. An air-conditioned room. Liz, uh... probably isn’t gonna give you free roam of the house.” Jim rubbed his back comfortingly. “No one’s gonna hurt’cha.”

He knew he didn’t have a choice. If Jim wanted him to go, he had to go. And staying in a cool room sounded so nice right now. And Jim was being nice. He nodded, a lump in his throat stopping any words from coming out.

“Alright, how about I grab you a bag and you can pack up whatever you wanna take? A few days’ worth of clothes, your CD player, whatever else you want. Sound good?” Jim asked encouragingly.

“Okay...” Kane said, his voice barely above a whisper. He’d get to take his things. That was something. He wouldn’t be left with nothing, like back in the cell.

Jim gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Be right back.”

Kane got to work gathering what he’d like to take. A week’s worth of his favorite clothes, long pants and long sleeves that would shield him from the sun if he was forced into the light, all folded neatly and stacked in a pile. He debated taking the jacket, but decided against it, not wanting something so precious to leave the safety of Jim’s home.

Jim came down with a luggage bag shortly after. “Let me know if you need more space, I’ve got more bags.”

“Thank you.” He took the bag gratefully, and began filling it. It would likely be enough space.

“I called Liz, she's letting us stay. You’re gonna have to be a little more restrained while we’re there, both sets of cuffs on 24/7, since Liz doesn’t have a vampire-proofed room. I know it sucks, but it’s just for a few days, and it’s sure better than staying here in this heat wave.” Jim said apologetically.

“I don’t mind the restraints.” Kane assured him. “The, just the padded ones, right?” he added nervously.

“Of course. Don’t even have ones that aren’t. I wouldn’t burn you. Nothing’s gonna hurt at all.” Jim’s words did help him calm down a little.

He nodded as he finished packing his things, coiling the wire of the CD player and tucking the machine between two stacks of clothing. “All done.”

“Great. I can take that and my bag out to the car, and then we can work on bundling you up for transport.” Jim said.

That stopped Kane in his tracks. His head snapped up to Jim, looking him straight in the eyes with sudden terror. “We’re n-not... waiting for night?”

Jim sighed sadly. “Let’s sit, okay? Try to calm down. I promised you that you wouldn’t get hurt and I meant it.” He sat on Kane’s bed, patting the space next to him as invitation.

Kane shakily made his way to the bed and sat next to him as indicated. Despite the oppressive heat, he felt like ice was flowing through his veins.

“Kane, I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. I know how scared you are of the sun, but we can’t just wait around here for the next five hours for it to set. You might not be able to get heat stroke, but I can. We gotta go. We don’t have to rush it, you can take some time to psych yourself up for it, but we can’t wait for sunset.” Jim spoke slowly and carefully, like he’d been practicing what to tell him. “I’ll make double sure that every inch of you’s covered up before we take a single step outside. You’re not gonna get burned, and you’ll feel a lot better once we get there. Okay?”

“M-maybe I could just... stay behind? Please, Jim?” he suggested. “You can just lock the door, and, and I’ll stay here in the basement the whole time. I’ll be good, I promise.” Fresh tears pooled in his eyes. “Please. You said no more sun.”

“I’m not gonna leave you locked up all alone with no food while you bake alive for days.” Jim’s voice was gentle, but Kane hated the words. He would take what Jim was describing over the sun any day. “Listen to me. It’s going to be okay. Let’s... think about it a little. What’s the worst case scenario here?”

“Sun.” Kane said immediately, shuddering at the thought.

“Alright. So let’s say, hypothetically, I bundle you up real thorough with blankets like I’m planning. You give the go-ahead that you’re all covered up. You’re also wearing your regular clothes underneath. Somehow, a bit of sunlight gets through and burns you when we walk outside. I pull you back in right away and we fix it so you’re really all covered. It hurts, but it’s a probably one-inch burn that heals by the next day, ‘cause you’re healthy and fed. That sound about right?” Jim asked.

Kane thought about it, trying to think of any flaws in the scenario Jim laid out. He was right, it was different now. He was fed. Burns wouldn’t take weeks and weeks to heal from anymore.

“Wh-what if it slips off in the middle? While you’re driving?” He could picture it. The blanket slips while Jim’s driving, and he’s too busy with that to fix it, so he burns and burns and burns the whole way to Liz’s house.

“As soon as you let me know, I’d pull over right away and fix it. You won’t be stuck.” Jim assured him. “You’re not in this alone anymore.”

“Could I go in the trunk? If, if that’s okay?” Kane asked tentatively. No windows in the trunk. No risk.

“Totally.” Jim agreed. “If you wanna ride in the trunk, if that would make you feel safer, you absolutely can.”

Kane was still terrified. He was about to go out in the sun.

But Jim would be there, this time.

Jim lightly clapped his hands together. “Sounds like we’ve got a plan in motion. Anything else you wanna add to it?”

“What happens when we get there?” Kane asked.

“I’ll open the trunk, double check to make sure you’re all covered, and take you inside. The blinds’ll be closed. I’ll unwrap you, and then we can both enjoy the wonders of air conditioning again. No burning.” Jim patted him on the shoulder. “You okay?”

Kane nodded. He couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this. But... Jim wanted it. He had to. And he did make it sound a little less terrifying.

“I’m gonna take everything out to the car. I’ll leave it running so the AC gets it cool, but it’s probably still gonna be hot as fuck in the trunk, especially with you all bundled up. It’s about a half-hour ride and then you’re clear.”

“Okay.” Kane agreed.

Jim left with the luggage and returned holding two large, thick quilts, some duct tape, and two sets of cuffs. “I was only gonna use one quilt, especially ‘cause you’re gonna be real toasty with the heat already, but I can put a second one on if you want me to. Up to you.”

“Both, please.” Kane decided. It would be wildly uncomfortable, but it was a million times better than the chance of even a second of being burned by sunlight.

“Okie dokie. Hold out your hands?” Jim locked the restraints into place, first his wrists, than his ankles. They weren’t too tight, resting comfortably against his joints. Jim then laid one of the quilts out on the floor. “Go ahead and lie down in the middle, alright?”

Kane fought the instinctive urge to say Yes, sir as he did as directed.

Jim could see the fear written all over Kane’s face. Poor guy. He wished there was a better way to do this.

He would make damn sure to keep the promise of not letting him get hurt.

“I’m gonna cover you with this one first, roll you over, and do a second layer with the second one so it opens on the other side. That way, even if one were to somehow fail, it’d just open to more blanket. I’ll use the tape to keep everything in place.” he explained. “We won’t take a single step outside until you give the go-ahead.”

Kane nodded shakily. “Okay.”

“It’s gonna be a lot better when we get there. Just remember: once we set out, only thirty minutes to air conditioning.” Jim said as he folded the quilt over Kane’s body, making sure to cover every inch of him. “Doing okay so far?”

“Yes.” came a muffled voice from inside the quilt.

“Great, gonna do the first layer of tape.” Jim began winding duct tape around Kane’s bundled form, lifting Kane up with his hands where he needed to. By the time he was done, it was apparent that adding a second quilt would be complete overkill. “Are you sure you want the second quilt? You look pretty protected like this, and it’s gonna be hell sitting in that the whole drive.”

“Yes, please!” Kane’s words were tinged with panic.

“Alright, your call.” Jim agreed with a shrug. He laid out the second quilt, tumbled Kane over to lay on it, and began wrapping him in that, too. Jim did not envy his position: he was already unbearably hot in just a t-shirt and shorts, he couldn’t imagine what Kane felt like under two blankets. But hey, his choice. “Still good?”

“Mm-hm.” Kane’s voice was even more muffled now, barely audible under the thick layers of protection.

“Good. Lemme get that locked in.” He wound tape around and around, making sure it wouldn’t slip in transit. “That feel secure?”

Kane’s bundled-up form nodded with another “Mm-hm.”

“Okay, gonna pick you up now. I’ll let you know when we’re about to get to the door. I won’t take you out until you’re ready, alright?”

Jim scooped Kane up into his arms. He wasn’t very strong, but Kane was light, even with the blankets. He’d only been eating again for two months, and had been slow with gaining his weight back. Every day, he looked a little less skinny, but it was still gonna take a while for him to get himself up to a healthy weight.

He climbed up the stairs, making his way to the front door. He couldn’t wait to get into the coolness of his car.

God, it was gonna be awful for Kane in the trunk.

“You still sure you wanna go in the trunk? There’s not a bit of you showing, and it’ll be a lot cooler up in the front with me.”

Kane nodded frantically. “Mm!”

“Okay. However you wanna do it.” Jim stopped in front of the door. “We’re at the door. You let me know when to step out. If anything hurts, say something and I’ll bring you right back inside.”

Kane was silent in his arms for a long moment. A minute turned to two as Jim stood there, sweating. Even with Kane’s unhealthily light weight, Jim’s arms started to shake as he held the bundle of him in the oppressive heat.

Finally, he heard a soft, scared noise come from beneath the blankets.

“Alright. You’re gonna be fine. Opening the door.” Jim struggled to open his front door while holding a man in his arms, taking a slow, tentative step outside.

The bundle in his arms was rigid. Jim could feel just how tense Kane was as the sunlight shone on his blanket cocoon.

“Anything hurt?” he asked.

Kane shook his head no.

“Great. You’re doing great, Kane. It’s alright, I’ve gotcha. Not gonna let anything bad happen to you.” He carried Kane’s trembling form over to the car, opened the trunk, and gently laid him inside. He curled in on himself instantly, then uncurled. Probably already hot enough as it is.

“You all set for me to get the ball rolling on this?” Jim asked.

Kane made a soft whining sound, nodding.

“Alright. Shout if you need anything, loud, so I can hear you. I’ll get you out of there soon as possible.”

With a last look at the blanket burrito of a vampire, Jim shut the trunk. The car was blissfully cool compared to outside as he got in, guilt panging him that Kane was stuck in the hot trunk.

But, well, he’d offered. Kane wanted to be in there. With a final muttered curse at the AC for breaking at a time like this, he made way to take Kane to the house he grew up in.

extra content posted in between #37 and #38!

canon drabbles:

Bites Him

Sunburn (referenced in this chapter!)

au stuff:

Sun-day by @whumpshaped for the SPK crossover

Kane forgets Jim’s name

and have a plug for Magnanimous Moonrise & Savage Sunset, an amazing vampire whump series by @not-a-space-alien that takes place in the (slightly altered lore) same universe as Kane & Jim! it’s been updating with crazy frequency, put out 8 chapters (4 in 2 parts each) in the time between this and my last chapter. highly recommend. heed content warnings.

taglist:

@annablogsposts

@badluck990

@ceph-the-writing-spook

@cicatrix-energy

@crying-wings

@crystalquartzwhump

@cupcakes-and-pain

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@darlingwhump

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@down-in-the-whumps

@elrysdoesstuff

@emcscared-whumps

@extemporary-whump

@extrabitterbrain

@harri-00

@iamtheshriekingguineapig

@icyheart-and-friends

@inpainandsuffering

@interdimensional-chaos

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@lactose-intolerant-egg

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@littlespacecastle

@little-whumpee

@lost-in-labradorite-halls

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@morning-star-whump

@msjessmahler

@myhusbandsasemni

@mylifeisonthebookshelf

@neverthelass

@nicolepascaline

@nine-tailed-whump

@no-terms-and-conditions-apply

@not-a-space-alien

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@quietly-by-myself

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@redwhump

@scp-1296

@secretwhumplair

@the-whumperfly-effect

@the-whumpers-grimm

@thecyrulik

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@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@t0rture-me

@whump-blog-reblogs

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#kane and jim #whump #my writing #vampire whumpee #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #heat whump #accidental whump #begging #recovery whump #vampire whump #whump writing

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toyybox · 3 months

Text

Spiderwebs #28: Lovesick

Masterlist

content: immortal whumpee, captivity, starvation, force to eat

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

If Heather ever bothered to ask, Jackie would have told her that the boredom was the worst part. That was not to say the loneliness or the hunger were bearable. Still, if he wasn't bored, then he wouldn't have been as lonely. Or would isolation drive away all his happiness? Could anything occupy his attention in the heavy silence? If he wasn’t lonely, he wouldn’t have been bored. Or maybe he’d still get sick of his life confined in that one room, that one tiny box. If he wasn't hungry, starving to the point of restlessness, he could have slept his life away. But he would have to wake up eventually, and it was always awful to be torn away from his dreams again.

Locked down there, his dreams only served to taunt him. He dreamt of all the things he wanted. Going back home, going back to his apartment. Food. So much food, whole feasts of it. Mountains of bread, valleys of fruit, every dessert his subconscious could think of. He dreamt of everything and everyone he missed. His neighbours. His coworkers. His sisters, though he couldn’t quite remember their faces. Heather, the only person he’d spoken to for weeks on end. The sunshine, the grass, the summer sky and the clear treble of birdsongs. He had nightmares, sometimes, but he was used to them.

It was... it would be redundant to tell her how it felt. He would have done anything to get Heather back. It became increasingly clear to Jackie that Heather was the only person who had ever cared about him. She hadn't been the nicest, but she really did care about his happiness. Hadn’t she said so when they first met? She bought him a bed and new clothes and even a book, brought him food and painkillers when he needed it. He missed all her tics, all her charms, the freckles near her eyes, the pitch of her voice. Just to hear another voice, just to see another person. Desperation made all things sweet.

He thought he would never get out. The basement would be his tomb. The locked door, his god, his only companion. He would often sit near the door, on the stairs, just to feel closer to other people. Velveteen rabbits and broken dolls, they knew what a horror it was to be alone. There was only time, and there was only memory. But how long would that last? He was already starting to forget Heather’s face, already losing the sound of her voice. She appeared as a dark figure in his dreams, standing, never speaking, never moving. A shadow at his shoulder. A marble statue. A paper cutout, a silhouette.

If Heather ever asked him what isolation was like, he would not be able to answer. It wasn't loneliness, melancholy and gentle, all those fragile things that kept people lonely, but not alone. He was alone. Alone, completely alone, stranded in negative space. There was nothing else, nobody else.

He was terrified of it, of the empty walls, like children were afraid of the dark. It was a savage thing to feel, something feral and inconsolable. Infants couldn’t survive without human contact. Babies born of neglect lost their ability to speak, to walk, then ceased to function at all. Monkeys clung to wire mothers and cloth effigies. What was it about other people? Other living things? What made them so special? These were just abstract punishments and physical barriers. Maybe he was better off without anyone to hurt him, but that wasn’t much of a comfort. Logic and sensibility could rot, for all he cared. He ached for skin and the pressure of touch, hungered for it. Sometimes, he thought he’d prefer being cut open. At least the pain would be felt quickly, then. Things would return to normal, once he healed. At least he wouldn’t be alone.

But his punishment was over now. Heather had decided, on another abstract whim, to let him out. When Jackie woke up, he didn’t know where he was. But he wasn’t in the basement. That, in and of itself, was an immense consolation.

There was a heavy weight on him. There was… a blanket on him. Not his own blanket, but a new one, something knitted and gray. In his chest, where the scalpel had gouged his heart, there was a steady ache of pain.

He tried to open his eyes, but the light was too bright to see through. It sent a sharp force reeling through his head. He became aware of his body, lying down on something soft but rigid-backed. Jackie tried to sit up, but he couldn’t move if the room went up in flames. He became aware of a hand on his head, soothing him back down.

“Shh,” came the voice, though he hadn’t said anything. “Don’t move.”

He didn’t want to stay still. He didn’t want to sleep. In isolation, he fully resigned himself to dreaming his life away, but now he was out. He was free from that locked door. There were better things to do. Sunnier prospects to dwell on. He had received his fair share of silence already, his pound of flesh. The quiet filled him like concrete. He was fully sick of it. That was too much to say, though. It was easier to lie back down.

Nausea came over him, steady as the tides—waves, ebbing and flowing, against the back of his throat and behind his eyes, threatening to make him retch and heave. It was a bit like being carsick, he thought. Where was he? This felt too much like a childhood memory, waking up in those muffled and unfamiliar places. But he wasn’t alone, which was all that mattered. The pressure of skin, the weight of another body. The only answers he needed.

“Can you hear me?”

He would have spoken, but his lips would not move. He instead gave her a small nod.

“Wake up.” She shook his shoulder. “Open your eyes, Jackie.”

He tried, but the light shone in his eyes, so he had to screw and squint against it. He blinked a few times, trying to make out the shapes of things around him.

“Hello,” said Heather. Her features were still blurry, indistinct. “How are you feeling?”

It was crucial that he replied. He opened his mouth… the words failed him, now. How was he feeling? Maybe God knew, but Jackie sure didn’t. Such things sunk to the bottom of his thoughts like rocks in water.

“Feeling better?”

He nodded again, or made an attempt to.

“Good. You look awful, you know. You must be starving. I brought you food.”

A bowl of something hot. Porridge. Thick porridge, nearly the consistency of cake. So hot that it was steaming, white wisps curling above it. In front of the sofa, on the coffee table. He was on a sofa, Jackie realized, in her living room.

She pushed the table towards him. He'd been so hungry, locked down there. Eventually, he started eating pages out of Oliver Twist, though they never silenced his pangs. A mortal could only starve for a few months—how long had he been alone? Long enough that his body had gotten the message, and stopped asking for food at all.

And there lay the problem. He had no appetite. His hunger faded near the end. He barely thought of eating anymore. But what did that matter? Food was a point of contention between them, and he had no desire to incur her wrath again. Better to just swallow and get along with her and keep safe—better to roll over and keep quiet, just to win her affection.

With an uneasy hand, he took the spoon. It had been so long that he almost didn't know how to. The position of the metal felt unfamiliar in his palm. Heather watched him carefully. Would he be graded on this? Oh, ha ha. But this was indeed a test, to see how far his compliance went.

The porridge was hot enough to sear his tongue. He tried to swallow, which triggered a fit of gagging.

"What’s wrong?"

She sounded so sweet and patient, which he knew was a bad sign. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

Comments on Winston Churchill came to mind, but he said nothing back. He tried to swallow again—it was like trying to eat glass, or metal, because his body was adamant about not letting anything in. His gagging was accompanied by spurts of painful, hoarse coughing.

And there lay an even worse problem, another layer to the nesting doll of his terrible, terrible life. He physically could not eat. His biology, his perfect system of flesh and blood, had forgotten how. Not so perfect, then. Enough to keep him alive, but incapable of much else. It was hopeless to try.

"Jackie."

It was a warning. He knew that, of course he knew. He looked up at her helplessly.

"Eat."

His voice was cracked, small. "I can't."

"Yes, you can."

He tried to swallow, once more. Tears pricked the edges of his eyes and the tips of his lashes. Revulsion shuddered through his body, and he was afraid of throwing up. That would be bad. If he was in trouble now, he'd be in the maw of hell then.

"Are you going to refuse to eat again?"

He shook his head, trying to keep his stare down at the spoon. "I'm trying."

"You’re not trying hard enough."

There was no way out of this, then. The trap had already snapped shut. This was the consequence of his pride, the consequence of his anger. Why had he ever hoped for escape? Where had that gotten him? Behind the locked door of the basement, left alone to rot and starve and pray for death. This was Heather’s retaliation, the price for hurting her. An eye for an eye.

"I told you to eat."

He didn't do anything at all. Better to stay still and get it over with. It would be over soon, if he just kept his eyes down and let her do what she wanted. It would all be over soon. He would be okay.

"That was an order."

He winced. But he didn’t do anything, because what could he do?

“Are you hungry, Jackie?”

He shook his head.

She took the bowl from the table, held it above him like a battle-axe, like a sword, like a guillotine glinting in the harsh sunlight. The curtains were drawn, and the room was dim, but she looked so bright then.

"It’s okay,” she said. “But I can't let this go to waste, can I?"

She slammed the bowl down. It smashed into his shoulder, sending pain cracking white-hot down his arm. The scalding porridge splattered, pouring over his clothes and his thin limbs, leeching onto him. He gasped.

It seared like liquid metal, like a branding iron on his lap and chest, pressing a deep and hazy burn into his skin. He tried to pull away, but Heather pinned his shoulders down. The cold fervour of spite lay heavy in her fixed, unflinching gaze. She didn't hesitate. He could only stare back into her eyes and cry.

So this was his penance, the cost of biting the hand that fed. He could not turn away, and he could not hide. He could not fight, not anymore. He could not make her stop. He was like a child again, pathetic and helpless and small. He couldn’t speak. He was stuck, paralyzed. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t move, but he felt it all in such excruciating detail, taking it all in like a prophet’s hallowed words.

“What did you expect?" she said.

He continued to sob, tearing his gaze away and curling into himself as tight as he could. His entire body hurt, not just the burns and the cuts, but a permeating ache throughout his flesh. Everything hurt.

Her hand lifted away. "Calm down. It's only porridge. You'll be fine."

Jackie barely heard her. Another sob racked him—he coughed, too, which made the pain flare up again.

Her hand came to his face. He flinched, tried to bury himself in fabric, but he couldn't avoid her touch. She tried to tilt his face towards her, but he held on and continued to cry harder. His shoulders shuddered, shook, and his chest went tight.

She let out a small noise of irritation. "Stop moving. You're getting your tears all over my sofa. And—" He heard the sound of shifting fabric as she gestured to the sofa. "You've gotten porridge all over it. Do you know how hard it is to clean porridge?"

He did not reply, only wept. She didn't say anything else.

The seconds crawled on in silence, otherwise.

It seemed like she'd gotten what she wanted, or she was bored, because after a while Jackie realized that Heather was gone. She had left, and he was alone again.

This set him into more of a panic than the burn ever could. "Heather?" He forced his hoarse voice to call out for her. "Heather? Come back. Please."

There was no response. Jackie hugged a pillow, which was conveniently placed near his chest, and tried not to cry too loudly. He would have found this whole affair embarrassing, once upon a time, but he was too tired to care.

Faintly, he could hear the clock ticking on the mantle. The steady repetition comforted him.

A minute or so passed. At some point, he could hear footsteps echo down the hall. After they stopped, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder. He whimpered.

"Jesus." She exhaled. "You're a grown man. Don't—just, shut up for a minute. Stop that."

He could not, in fact, stop that. He could not help the waterworks any more than he could help feeling pain. It was instinct, as impulsive as breathing. It was simply a reaction of his body, simply a biological response. It would be the end of him.

Heather pushed him over, so he was lying on his back and propped up by a sofa arm. He let her do this, because he didn't want her to leave again. From somewhere, she conjured up a tissue and dabbed at his face.

"Honestly, this is ridiculous." She dabbed at the corner of his eyes, wiped his cheeks. She was oddly gentle in going about it. "If I wanted to baby people around, I’d become a nurse. This is—this is preposterous. Shut up." He stopped his whimpering at once, and she continued talking, still cleaning him up. “You have such a low pain tolerance. I’ve seen little girls who cry less than you. Are you a man or a wet blanket? Hm? I asked you a question.”

She stopped her dabbing for a moment. Jackie stared at her with panic in his heart and a blank mind. What was he supposed to say? He’d barely been listening. All this crying had exhausted him.

“Never mind. God, you’re useless.” She conjured yet another tissue and began scraping off the porridge. “I would have just cut you open, if I knew you were going to be like this. Stop whining.” He swallowed his sobs again. She paused for a second before speaking. “I’m not cutting you open. I’m tired of hearing you mewl all day. That’s what you are. A sopping wet kitten. Like a baby cat. All… damp and stuff. Oh my God, what am I even doing?”

She stopped cleaning to stare wearily at the rest of the house, a distracted frown in the corners of her mouth. The tissue hung limply from her hand. Jackie took this moment to roll back onto his side, hiding his face under the blanket again.

“No. Get back up, I still have to feed you.” Reluctantly, he let her push the blanket off. “Sit up straight. You’ll choke if you lay down.”

He did as she asked. From the coffee table, she retrieved a bowl of soup. It was a vibrant red, probably made from tomatoes, purely liquid with nothing inside. It was not steaming and looked easier to eat than the porridge, but Jackie wasn’t taking any chances. He backed up, deeper into the sofa, and shook his head.

Either Heather didn’t see this, or she ignored it outright. In her other hand, there was a spoon. She settled onto the couch and positioned the bowl near him.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered.

He shook his head again. He wondered if it was possible to dissolve into the sofa.

Heather had no patience for all this dallying about. She grabbed his jaw, almost hard enough to bruise. “Open. It.”

He didn’t have such a strong will. Not anymore. He opened his mouth.

She let go, then took a spoonful of soup and placed it in there. “Close it.”

He did as she instructed.

“Don’t just sit there. Have you forgotten how to eat? Swallow!”

Quickly, he swallowed the soup. It went down okay, though he still didn’t want to have a meal. Yes, it was tomato. There was a slight aftertaste of basil. Below that, the metal taste of the spoon. The temperature was a comfortable lukewarm, not cold enough to be disgusting but not hot enough to burn.

There was a slightly amused look on Heather’s face. Still mostly irritated, though. “Don’t bite down on the spoon. I need it back, you know.”

He opened his mouth again. This was a very degrading experience, even in his exhaustion, but at least she wasn’t hitting him. At least he wasn’t alone… oh, what he’d do for a little bit of company. He wanted her to keep talking. Just to hear another voice.

“Good.” She gave him another spoonful. He swallowed. Another spoonful. He swallowed that, too. This went on for a few minutes. Eventually, all that was left in the bowl was a thin layer of splatter-red, just the scarlet dregs.

She set the spoon into the bowl, and the bowl onto the coffee table. Jackie never wanted to eat again. He felt awful. Even though the bowl was small, he was way too full. The taste of tomato lingered like radiation, thick and unwelcome. He wiped his mouth against his sleeve.

“There you go. Don’t you feel better now?”

He nodded.

She regarded him distantly. They had not simply sat together and talked in so long. He missed her, truly and utterly, even if he only missed the kind side of her. But when she was kind, she wasn't hard to like, somehow able to hold his stuttering heart still. That’s what he thought, at least. That’s what he remembered. Was the basement ever so cheerful, or just better in comparison? His memories were a blur.

“Do you still love me?” she asked abruptly.

“Yes.”

“We barely even know each other. You’re just saying that to please me.” Her expression went dark, like a passing shadow. “It’s working. Say it again.”

“I love you, Heather.”

She smiled, a little sadly. “With that look on your face, I almost believe you.”

Maybe she was right, and he didn't really mean it. Attempting to label organic things was never simple, no matter what the biologists said. He would have told her anything if it could get him out of that basement. Of course. That damned basement, that dreaded room, that blasted concrete four-walled hell. Dante would choke if he ever saw it.

He had imagined, many times over, meeting Heather again. It was a good distraction. In the beginning, he wanted to tear into her throat and finish what he’d started, but as his isolation went on, his fantasies mostly consisted of begging for her forgiveness. And there was nothing more compelling than a confession. He would have done anything to leave. Shameful, to give in so easily, but shame was not an unfamiliar sensation. Better to wallow in shame than in agony.

For a moment, Heather tried to say something—but she gave up, and brushed the bangs out of his face instead. He breathed in, breathed out. The tightness in his chest was heavy enough to ache. She was wrong about one thing. He knew her very well. And she knew him. To touch someone’s beating pulse, to nearly kill them—could most lovers say the same? There was nothing as vital as the lungs. There was nothing deeper or more sacred than the heart.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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#whump #whump writing #Spiderwebs toyybox #my writing #immortal whumpee #intimate whumper #La maladie d'Amour😍#anyway Never ask Jackie for relationship advice

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whumppmuhw · 8 months

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Whumptober Day 15: Muzzle, transformation

tw: muzzle, forced servitude, conditioned whumpee, torture mention

... "I fucking hate you! I don't want to work for you anymore! Get off of me, you son of a bitch!" Whumpee yelled out as Whumper tackled him to the ground. Whumpee was kicking and flailing, and Whumper found it hard to hold him still, even for a second, especially one handed. Whumpee tried his best to fight his oppressor, but weeks of tiring labor and malnutrition on Whumpee's end gave Whumper the upper hand. Whumper used one hand to hold Whumpee's head to the ground, and with the other he put on the muzzle he had someone make for Whumpee. He used that hand to keep the muzzle on and keep Whumpee's head down, then picked up the other to reach into his pocket and pull out a small key. Whumper locked the muzzle around Whumpee's head, and the fight was over. Once Whumpee heard the click of the lock, he knew he was beat. His voice was his best weapon, and now he couldn't even open his mouth fully. He was a turtle laying on its shell with no one to tip him over; utterly defeated. Whumper sat up, panting. Once he caught his breath, he spoke. "That oughta keep you silent." Whumper stood up and dusted off his clothes. "Servants don't need to talk anyway. Maybe now you'll stop being so damn defiant." Whumpee was sick of doing Whumper's labor and playing his games. He would do anything to get out of this place, but there were no windows to tell him where he was and Whumper would always lock doors when they weren't being used; escape was not an option. Whumpee sat up, slouching, mood dampened by the newest development. He could breathe just fine, but without his snappy insults and clever comebacks, his fire was bottled up. All of his rage, all of his hurt, was now trapped with no outlet and Whumpee felt awful. ... (Two months later) Whumpee's fire was dying out. Two months with the muzzle, which only came off for a quick meal or drink of water. Now, Whumpee rarely used and could barely recognize his own voice; he only ever spoke in whispers, used to not speaking at all. The only voice Whumpee ever consistently heard now was Whumper's, and he was starting to hate it. The only exceptions being Whumpee's occasional whispers and Whumper's guests - Whumpee locked away in some other room forbidden to make noise as he strove to hear anything of the world outside Whumper's place - before the muzzle was back on or the short visits were over. Whumpee, now more restricted in his freedom of expression than ever, couldn't really resist Whumper's orders, so he had given in. Sure, escape sounded nice, but it wasn't going to happen; just a fantasy. Whumpee had grown used to the physical demands of the work, and Whumper had been a bit less harsh with Whumpee's newfound silent obedience. Whumper was loving it. He no longer had to put up with Whumpee's fiery words, and once that was gone, the rest of Whumpee followed. It had been a rather quick transformation from loud and defiant to silent and submissive, and the only thing Whumper loved more than a functional servant was seeing Whumpee defeated, day after day. Even when Whumpee had his muzzle off, he wouldn't say anything out of line. Whumper had made lots of progress with his conditioning and Whumpee didn't feel like trying to defy Whumper anymore. While punishments were few nowadays, Whumper still enjoyed torture, and while it felt like hell, Whumpee didn't struggle like he used to and had gotten use to the routine. Soon, this was Whumpee's life, his rebellious self as distant as him from the false hope as freedom. Whumpee had given up, a shell of who he used to be.

#mine #ailesswhumptober2023 #whumptober #whump #muzzle #transformation #muzzle tw #forced servitude tw #conditioned whumpee #torture mention tw

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sunshiline-writes · 7 months

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A Rose Amidst Thorns #8: New Day, New Mistakes, New Everything

Oh man it's been a while. Sorry!! Had a bit of a rough go at it. This is actually a comfort chapter!!! omg! lmfao. * Solomon helps Henrietta find more about the night she escaped and encourages her to talk to Miguel. __ CW: lady whumpee, POC whump, mentions of old wounds, panic attacks, death mention, uh I think that's it actually let me know if I missed anything. Previous | Masterlist | Next

There was solace in the work that Henrietta was ordered to do. It kept her busy and she found some comfort in the repetitive motions. The scrubbing of the clothes, floors, and dishes was something that she allowed herself to get lost in. It wasn’t necessarily hard work but it did consume most of her time. This is why she hadn’t been to see Miguel in a week and a half, or at least this is what she told herself. She was simply too busy with the chores she had been handed to see him. Too busy trying to keep Xavier from punishing her further.

She had even taken to polishing the saddles, cleaning the bridles, and cleaning Xavier’s tools. She had wiped the blood from the hammer. When she did she imagined slamming the head against Xaviers temple and watching his head cave in. Her mother had often said that her imagination was as vivid and wild as she was. However, she always lacked the ability to make her imagination turn into a reality. She had once dreamed of giving music classes to children. Teaching them how to play the violin, becoming a respected woman. This dream despite her attempts had yet to be realized. She still hoped though. Hoped that one day, maybe, her dreams would come true.

There was one thing about this week and a half of peace. Xavier had mostly left her alone save for holding her close at night. He’d been gone for most of the week, checking in from time to time. He was busy with other things for now. Henrietta supposed that she should be grateful for the reprieve, but she wasn’t. In fact, the fact that he hadn’t paid much attention to his prisoners made her uneasy. She didn’t know what he was planning but she was sure that there was something brewing. There was something suffocating in the air. Henrietta was effectively trapped by her own fear.

There was always someone watching. Jesse sat on the porch when she did laundry, other men in the house at all times while she did dishes and cleaned. Jesse was also usually in the barn with her as she did her chores there as well. It only made the feeling of being trapped worse. Jesse had been put on babysitting duty it seemed while Solomon forbade any interaction with Miguel. He’d also not been allowed to do any harder work as Solomon had also diagnosed him with a concussion. There was a sense of pride at that. Miguel had hurt Jesse enough to render him useless for a time. Miguel had fought back, which meant there was still a chance. A chance to get Miguel to try and escape again.

She had to talk to him first, if Solomon would allow it. That was also another reason she hadn’t visited Miguel. Solomon had taken to staying by his side for most of the day and when he wasn’t his door was locked. She had run into Jesse trying to pick the lock once as she climbed the stairs to put away the sheets from the beds. The disgusting little man had grinned at her as she stared him down. Eventually, he got tired of her staring and left. Then she could breathe again. She had wanted to tell Solomon but whenever she saw him, her heart caught in her throat. The guilt swallowed her whole.

Your actions.. Your choices have consequences. They affect others.

Henrietta had known that, but it was different when the consequences were right in front of her. She could see the anger in Solomon as he looked at her. She could see Miguel shyly turn away from her. It was like her choices were coming back to eat her alive. “Henrietta? You’re burning the eggs,” came the voice that brought her out of her thoughts. She shook her head and groaned as she scraped the pan. Trying to gauge the damage. She ruined them and she growled as she grabbed the pan and scraped the eggs into a separate bowl. The pigs would eat it. She turned to Solomon who was sitting at the kitchen table, feeling her heart in her throat again.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She found herself searching his voice and expression for anger, for hatred, for anything. Henrietta found nothing and she wasn’t sure if that was something to be relieved about.

“I-” she paused, sighing, “I don’t.. really know.”

Solomon looked her over for a moment. “How about physically? How is your back?”

“Healing. I’m still sore but I’m better,” she answered, cracking another egg and putting it in the skillet. She was not going to burn these ones. “Good. Good,” Solomon sighed.

There was a certain silence again, not the comfortable silence that she was used to. It was a silence that was filled with unanswered questions and unsaid worry. She felt her heart in her chest as she stared at the eggs. Then she picked up the skillet and put the eggs on a plate for Solomon.

“Forgotten already?” he asked, and Henrietta blinked at him for a second. Then finally remembered.

“You don’t eat eggs.”

“No I don’t.” “I’m sorry.”

Solomon smiled gently at her, “you eat.”

Henrietta didn’t have the strength to argue as she sat down, eyes downcast and picking at the eggs that she just made. Slowly she ate the eggs, Solomon watching her, probably making sure she ate. They sat like that, in silence, until she was done.

“You haven’t asked,” Solomon said, breaking the silence again, “about Terrance.”

“He’s dead isn’t he?”

“Yes he died.”

“When I shot him?”

“Yes.”

Her throat threatened to close as she remembered that night three years ago. Holding the gun at Terrance. Terrance and Miguel arguing in sign language and through words. Terrance was trying to stop them, she had just wanted to scare him. But her aim was off. She hit him in the side instead. Henrietta knew that leaving Miguel was selfish. She left him anyway. Miguel had immediately rushed to his side and tried to stop the bleeding. Henrietta’s ears were ringing and before she knew it, she was on the horse and out of the barn. Most of that night was blurry anyway.

“How.. I was hoping he would make it,” she said, feeling far away from herself. Like she wasn’t sitting at the kitchen table, but somewhere else entirely, watching herself have this conversation.

“It..” Solomon started, staring at her. “You sure you want to know?”

“I- Yes.”

“It nicked his liver. His blood was black. There was nothing we could do.. It took him three days to die. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Henrietta said, feeling herself fall further into the floor. Her stomach churning.

“I know Hen. I know,” Solomons voice was gentle, he was leaning toward her. Henrietta felt like her world was spinning. Her heart was pounding and she needed to move. She stood up and swayed, both hands on the table. “Hen?”

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she–

Strong arms wrapped around her and she started to sob. Curling forward and her legs giving out. Solomon held her, both of them sinking to the floor as he held her. “It’s okay, it’s okay.. Shhhhh, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have told you.” Henrietta sobbed harder, curling into Solomon as he rocked her back and forth. They racked through her, screaming as the guilt crushed her. Solomon was her grounding place. He was the one holding her together as she cried. He let her. Smoothing her hair, rocking her in place, whispering in her ear that it was okay.

“I killed him.”

“Yes you did,” Solomon said, voice solemn but firm. He would never deny that blood was on her hands.

“I should have taken Miguel with me.”

Solomon said nothing for a moment, sighing, “Yes. You probably should have. But it’s nothing now. New day, new mistakes, new everything.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“I know Hen. I know.”

She curled herself into him, exhausted and afraid. She was always afraid. What if Xavier heard her? He was supposed to be in town for the day, but what if he caught them like this, and punished them for it? What if he thought they were… Henrietta cut her own thoughts off, sniffling.

“You need to talk to Miguel, you’ll feel better.” “How will that make me feel better?”

Solomon smoothed her hair again, gently wiping away her tears when she looked up at him. She didn’t understand why that would ever make her feel better. From what she remembered, Miguel and Terrance were friends. Solomon had even thought they had fancied each other. But it was all different now, she wasn’t sure how Miguel wasn’t angry with her. If she was in his position she would be bitter. Well, more bitter and angrier than she already was.

“You’ll have to trust me,” he said.

“Solomon, I really don’t want to. Why would he want to speak to me after what I did?”

The man seemed to think for a moment and shifted his hold on Henrietta. He gave her another soft smile. Solomon always seemed to know things that no one else did. He always said the right words. Always knew what to say to make her feel better. To make her feel seen.

“Because Hen, he’s already forgiven you. Earlier than me. Earlier than you’ve forgiven yourself.”

“Why?? How?”

“That’s just who he is, Hen.”

“I’ll talk to him,” she said, wiping her face with her hand and they both used each other to stand. “Later.”

“I would do it now, while Xavier is gone for the day.”

Henrietta grimaced and sighed, wiping her face again. She felt drained, like all her energy had been taken in the unfortunate breakdown she had. Nodding, she let Solomon hand her the key to Miguel’s room. He was right. She should do it now. While she was still allowed to see him. Knowing Xavier, that was probably why he was keeping her busy. The key felt heavy in her palm. But she closed her fist around it and forced herself up the stairs. Leaving Solomon in the kitchen.

The door felt like it was a grand mountain she had to get over. But she put the key through the lock and let herself in.

Miguel was on his side, hands splayed out in front of him. They were wrapped and splinted and his face was contorted in pain. But he was asleep. He would probably need another dose soon. Solomon wanted to wean him off but sometimes without it all Miguel would do was cry. She heard them sometimes. Solomon trying to console him. Miguel just sobbing more. It was awful.

She sat in the chair at his side, smoothing over his hair. Her throat was closing again. More tears threatening to fall. How could she have room for more? Miguel made a noise and his eyes opened blearily and her heart shattered when he smiled at her. Like she had never abandoned him, or killed his friend, or used him for her own selfish gain. He started to move but she shook her head. “Just stay there. I’m only here for a bit. I just wanted to talk to you,” she said, stroking his head. “I needed to say something and I should have said it sooner. But i’m sorry. For everything. For leaving you behind, for..” her voice wavered but she continued, if she didn’t say it now she never would. “For everything. I’m really sorry.”

She pressed her lips against his forehead and gently rubbed his head. Then she pulled away, hand still carding through his hair. His face was peaceful, nodding in acknowledgement. He probably had so much to say. But here he was, without his method of communication. Rendered speechless.

“My words don’t mean anything. I promise though.. I won’t ever leave you behind again okay? I swear it.”

Miguel just smiled again. Taking a deep breath and nuzzling his head against her hand. Melting into the touch. It reminded her of his first days here, when she couldn’t understand his language. How they communicated through facial expressions and body language. It was going to be that way again for a while, but she didn’t mind. As long as he was alive. Where there was life, there was hope, even in a desert like theirs.

“I’ll let you rest,” she said, pulling her hand away and moving to stand. But Miguel whimpered and she frowned at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

Miguel nodded, looking sheepish. Henrietta found herself smiling again. Nodding and sitting back down. She gently carded her hand through his hair again, watching as he settled into the pillow again. “Just until you fall asleep again okay?”

Miguel was already asleep and Henrietta stayed anyway. __

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#whumpblr #whump #whump blog #sunshine writes whump #poc whump #lady whump #deaf whumpee #multiple whumpees #panic attacks #complicated character dynamics #I can't believe I wrote an actual comfort chapter #death mention #fun fact Solomon is vegan

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