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#fear of punishment
whump-place · 2 months
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A prompt for you!!
Whumpee after being rescued is scared to death of Caretaker, they just sit on their bed all day, believing they're locked like Whumper always left them locked in their room (though they're not). Caretaker sits with them and caresses their hair saying they care about Whumpee and are never gonna hurt them, but Whumpee is still scared because that's exactly what Whumper used to say after their torture sessions!
Poor Whumpee doesn't know how to act, they're so afraid </3
First of all, thank you so much! You are the first one to actually send me a prompt I hope you like it 😭
ontent: Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new Whumper, self isolation, fear of punishment, past torture.
"Whumpee?" Someone was knocking at the door, Caretaker spoke, she sounded worried. "Are you there?"
What kind of question was that? Of course they were there, where else would they be? They wouldn't ever dream of escaping, they swear, they were good! They had to let Caretaker know that!
"Yes, ma'am. I'm here, this is where you left me, i didn't move, I promise." That was half true, Caretaker had left them on the bed, blankets covering their body, she had told them to rest and sleep and so they did. But in the morning they made the bed and sat on the edge, they didn't want to be punished for slacking.
"Oh, um. That's good? I guess." A small pause and then Caretaker spoke again. "Can I come in?"
Whumpee shoke their head. They don't want Caretaker near them, they just want to be left alone. But of course they didn't say that out loud, that would be suicidal.
"You can do as you please, ma'am." They answered instead. Their eyes were already tearing up, Whumper never visited them unless it was punishment day, and that hurts so much, please, they'll be good! They can be good, please!
The door slowly opened, Caretaker was right in front of them, holding a glass and an apple.
"Oh." That was all Caretaker said, her eyes wandering around the room, Whumpee made sure that it was spotless, was something wrong? "You...? Nevermind."
Caretaker set the glass and the apple on the nightstand, carefully taking a step back.
"Whumpee... can I speak to you for a second?"
"You can do as you please, ma'am" but please, don't hurt me. Not yet, please.
Caretaker frowned a bit, and Whumpee was sure that they already messed up, but instead of a beating, Caretaker said:
"Thank you"
Whumpee hadn't expected her to actually sit next to them, usually Whumper would 'talk' throwing things at Whumpee, yelling, sometimes they even kicked them, Whumper doesn't sit next to them, never.
"You see, Whumpee. I... Ahg. What am I doing?"
Caretaker didn't say another word, Whumpee realized that she wasn't good at showing her feelings through words, but through actions.
Her hand slowly caresses their hair, not saying a word.
"I know you are scared, but I promise that I will never hurt you. I... I don't really know what could I say to make you feel better, I'm sorry"
Those were really kind words, Whumpee must admit. But there was still something that made him shiver; Whumper used to do the same. Exactly the same.
Kind words, kind touch. Whumper liked to see their pet at his feet or with their head on their lap, begging for a gentle touch just before being...
Whumpee shut their eyes, leaning on the touch, they were so damn afraid.
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whumpshaped · 5 months
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No magic, but does Beck have any self defense instincts? I know he probably wouldn't consciously react on them, but.... Would he ever do something like bite Helle if they spooked him suddenly?
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of course! beck is a vampire after all! a predator! big scary!
masterlist bingo card
tw vampire whumper, vampire whumpee, conditioned whumpee, fear of punishment, manipulation, mind games
Life in the mansion was quite cosy and peaceful, for the most part. Aside from the general levels of anxiety and the sometimes debilitating loneliness and isolation, Beck had nothing to complain about. He could almost completely forget about being a runt, with the steady supply of blood Helle was allowing him.
Never completely, though, of course. Because Helle reminded him. And they reminded him often.
Because of how sheltered he was, Beck really had little idea of how his vampire instincts worked. He never really got a proper feel for how strong he actually was, because Helle was stronger, and they were all he could compare himself to — safe to say, he wasn't prepared to see the coffee table snap in half after he'd banged on it out of frustration. He spent the entire evening apologising to Helle for ruining the furniture.
He didn't really use his speed either, unless he was running away from a human who accidentally spooked him. After having woken up to a group of hunters breaking into the mansion, he was extra jumpy, and he didn't hesitate to flee from any situation that made him feel even mildly threatened. Being able to catch his phone ten times out of ten was a nice bonus, he supposed.
'Fighting' and 'self-defence' never even crossed his mind. Once again, the only person he regularly interacted with was Helle, a vampire far stronger than he was. There was no reason to fight them, and no chance of defending himself. He was magicless, too, and from what he'd gathered, that meant he was absolutely useless in a violent setting; so that was exactly how he lived his life.
Until one night, Helle decided to sneak up on him.
He hardly remembered the exact sequence of events. He'd heard a noise, someone touched him– it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he'd sank his fangs right into Helle's hand, and he was still holding that hand in his mouth, and his jaw was completely locked up from the shock and anxiety.
Helle blinked at him a couple times. "So..." They gently tugged on their hand. "Any chance of me getting my hand back?"
Beck let out a soft whine, and finally released his hold. "I'm so sorry," he said immediately after. "I– I got scared– I'm sorry, I don't know why that was my first thought– and then I just, I just couldn't open my mouth, I got too anxious, it's a thing that happens when I'm anxious–"
As Helle slowly lifted their hand he quieted down, mortified to see the two puncture wounds he'd caused. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Helle was going to muzzle him, they were going to pull his fangs out with pliers, they were going to wire his mouth shut.
"Do you think this is appropriate behaviour?" they asked, and Beck tried to make himself a little smaller.
"N-no, Master. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–"
"Did I ask for excuses?"
He was trembling now, shaking his head frantically. "No, Master."
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry please at least let me say I'm sorry–
"Dogs who bite get put down," they said softly, cocking their head to the side. "Are you going to bite again?"
"No!" he cried desperately, tears welling up in his eyes. "No, Master, please, I'm sorry–"
Helle burst out laughing, making him stop his pathetic grovelling for a second. Was that... good? Was he entertaining enough not to be put down?
They licked the blood off their hand, still smiling. "Fret not, dear, you are always such a good boy for me. I am merely teasing." They stepped away and Beck let out a relieved sigh, only for Helle to swiftly remind him that being on edge was a constant in their home. "But do keep in mind that I bite back, yes?"
~
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cupcakes-and-pain · 23 days
Text
Charles & Ollie: Past
Hey guys. Um. It’s been a while since I’ve written. Sorry. Anyway! I really love this piece. It’s also much longer than most chapters I write, I’m pretty sure. Almost 2.8k words. So that’s fun.
Enjoy!
CW: pet whump, slave whump, refusing to use someone’s name, insults, perceived abandonment (technically not real), fear of punishment, self hatred, unreliable narrator, drug trafficking, drugging mention, police, starvation, escape/running away, homelessness, fear of death
Masterlist
— — —
It had been a normal day.
Wake up, make breakfast for Master, kneel quietly, and hope that he did well. Hope that he wouldn't have to spend the next few days tied up, bleeding, and starving in the basement. It was always his fault for being so stupid and deserving to be punished, but he could hope. Not want, of course, that'd never be allowed. But he could secretly wish and dream for a time when Master was forgiving.
Luckily, Master didn't find anything wrong with his pet's behavior that morning, so he set out. But not before giving his slave a strong kick to the ribs to keep him in his place. Pet preferred the kicks, the other choice for a daily reminder was a slap. Pet hated the hand marks. They made his already hideous face look even more ugly.
Pet set about his chores, washing the dishes and wiping the counter. He caught his blurred reflection in the polished granite. His collar was tight around his neck, the little tag hanging from it jingling.
He touched it gently, longing to hear his Master say the name written on it, just once. He knew that he needed the reminders because he was so stupid and useless. He'd forget his place if he wasn't called names all day. "Slave. Pet. Stupid. Ugly. Mutt. Useless. Fleabag. Bitch. Dog." On and on, all the cruelest things Master and his friends could think of, perfectly suiting for the crushed and bleeding thing that so often laid at their feet.
But Pet longed to hear his name, his real name, so badly. It had been so long, he knew it was bad, he knew he was selfish and worthless and dumb. But... no one would know, right? If he said it, just this once? Such a tiny word, only two syllables.
"Ol-"
The door flung open, and Pet jumped back, arms above his head. It was like the ground crumbled beneath his feet, and his stomach dropped. He fell to the floor, curled up, trying desperately to protect his most vital organs from attack. Had Master been waiting for this? He knew that his slave would mess up, didn't he? And he was just waiting to beat the living daylights out of the useless, worthless, disgusting piece of flesh that he owned.
"Hey, no, stupid dog. Come here." Master hauled him up off his feet and dragged him towards the basement. Pet whimpered but was in awe that Master was able to hold his fury in until they got to the basement. Usually, he'd just beat Pet wherever he was and make him clean up the blood from the floor and carpeting later.
"M-master, please, I-"
"Shush. You know what, hide! I'll be back in a few days. Some guys might come through, maybe a cop or two. Listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a dog." Master grabbed Pet's face roughly, fingernails digging into his cheeks. He was forcing Pet to look into his eyes, something that was rarely allowed. But it must be okay this time if Master was the one causing it.
"You have to understand.” Master said, “Do. Not. Come. Out. For. Anyone. However you need to do it, just get it through your thick skull. Don't stop hiding until I come back and say it's okay to leave, okay?" Master half-heartedly threw him to the floor, his slave more confused than he had ever been or probably ever would be. With one last disapproving glare, Master left.
Pet never saw him again.
- - -
It was true, he soon learned, that many people would be coming through the house. Pet feared he would feel lonely and bored while waiting, but there was a lot to keep his thoughts occupied and off of... other things.
First, cops searched the entire building. Pet heard them and dashed to a tiny closet in the basement, wedging a piece of wood in the handle on his side of the door. The police tried and failed to get in and even discussed cutting it open with an ax. Pet trembled, sweat dripping off his forehead while he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating.
Eventually, though, one of them protested, not wanting to do more work when they already had evidence. And so they left, making the house silent and (somewhat) stress-free once more.
Other people came and went too, talking and cursing. Most of them Pet recognized as the voices of Master's friends. He knew better than to listen to people's conversations, but they all kept mentioning drugs and pills, the type that had once been used on Pet. He remembered the experience, although things were still a little fuzzy.
It made his head hurt for days afterward, but at the moment, everything had felt so nice and peaceful for a few minutes before the blackout. When he woke up, he was covered in bruises and cuts, but it had still taken a few minutes for the relaxation to wear off and the pain to settle in.
Master had gotten very upset that his friends wasted the pills on a pet, after "everything he went through to get them." Despite already being beaten just an hour ago, Pet was punished severely for taking the pills. He had wanted to protest that the men had made him, but he knew better. The men were superior to him. They couldn't be faulted for it. So the blame must lie with Pet. It must. Master was never wrong.
In the present day, after many days of hunger and freezing nights down in the basement, Pet felt like he couldn't go on like this. No one had visited in a while. He knew what he was thinking about was bad. He knew that if Master found out what he was about to do, he'd be furious. He made it absolutely clear that his pet was not to leave the basement.
And yet, Pet finds himself sneaking up to the kitchen. He filled two bags with dog food and then, with some careful consideration, took three apples. Master never liked fruit but would still buy it; Pet was never quite sure of the reasoning behind that. And Pet had already been so bad, a few apples that would've rotted away even if Master had been there was nothing.
Pet then made his way to the living room and took several blankets and pillows. Then, noticing the mail had been delivered, he also took the newest copy of Pet Paper. Most of the articles either were boring or scared him, but they usually had fun pictures and a few games.
Carrying all of his loot and feeling surprisingly okay for a disobedient mutt who may have been abandoned, Pet made a little camp for himself in the basement. He decided to put the pillows and blankets in the closet where he had previously hidden from cops. The tiny space felt almost like his cage upstairs and he knew now that it was suitable for hiding.
Then he sat on the floor, grabbed a handful of dog food to munch on, and started reading.
Several more days passed before Pet started to get incredibly worried. He had heard the garbage truck pass by this morning. That was the second time since he had last seen Master. More than two weeks had gone by and still, no sign of where he had gone. What was previously just another anxious thought had transformed itself into a legitimate concern. Had Pet been abandoned?
Of course, it didn't make any sense. Why would Master leave everything just to get away from his pet?
But he couldn't deny that something was wrong. Even Master's friends had stopped visiting too. He didn't get it. Of course, he was so stupid, he could never understand why humans do the things they do. But he just couldn't think of any other explanation. So Master must've abandoned him.
Pet waited another week before finally deciding to leave. The dog food was running out, even after he had made several more disobedient trips upstairs. And if Pet had been thrown away, shouldn't he get out of his Master's house? Maybe Master was waiting until he left to come back to the house. Pet was probably being bad for staying there for so long. He was so selfish, not wanting to leave the comfort of the building for the scary outside world.
But he had to now. At least there would be food outside. And also cruel people, the cold, sickness, and probably death. But a bad pet like him deserved all of that, surely. He was such a rotten animal.
Pet's first steps outside were cautious and weak. He nearly stumbled from the sheer shock of it all.
He had done it. Ollie had done it. He couldn't believe this... this... this whole new world.
but it wasn't new, not really. It wasn't new at all. He just hadn't been here in a very long time, if ever.
He felt like he had stepped into a fantasy world after only hearing of it in fairytales. The outside world, the land beyond the kitchen window, was never allowed to him before. It might as well be something that only existed in legend.
- - -
Ollie sat huddled under the bridge, violently shivering. He hadn't eaten in two, maybe three days? He didn't know.
He was cold, wet, tired, and starving. He deserved all of it for leaving his Master's house. He should've accepted his fate and died there.
He was horrible.
- - -
Earlier in the day, Ollie had run away from some police. It was only because he was so small and capable of hiding that he got away. His muscles were very weak as of late, so he could've been easily caught. He'll have to be more careful next time.
But now, because of all the distance he had worked hard to put between him and the officers, Ollie had found himself in an entirely new area.
It was late at night, so restaurants had probably thrown out their leftovers already. If only he could find a place and dumpster dive for spare food.
As he wandered, he spied yet another cop. He was so frightened that he ran into the first available hiding place he saw: a bright, bustling building. He hadn't been thinking. He was so stupid. He dashed in and joined the crowds, trying to hide himself in the large group.
When someone first noticed him, in his dirty, smelly, roughed-up state with no shoes, she shrieked and backed up so fast she bumped into a man, who fell on a waiter, who spilled two glasses of wine they had been carrying.
Soon enough, everyone was in a great commotion, trying to get away from Ollie and call security.
The pet began to cry, overwhelmed and tired and hungry and not at all wanting to deal with this. He was sorry, he was, and he would do whatever they wanted to make up for it. Just please don't hand him over to the police. Please. He didn't know what they'd do to him, and he wasn't eager to find out.
The guards approached Ollie and he fled, going deeper into the crowd, until he tripped over his own feet and fell. He curled up and lay trembling on the floor, sobbing and so terrified.
He heard a bunch of people shuffle and he looked up to see the crowd part as a man walked through, headed straight for Ollie. This man didn't look like a security guard but rather was dressed in an expensive suit and had a stern, irritated expression.
When the man saw Ollie, however, his expression changed a bit. Ollie didn't know how to describe it, having never been looked at with such a visage. But it seemed less upset than the previous one, so that might be a plus? Maybe? Maybe this man won't kick Ollie as hard as he could, or won't insult him while throwing him out.
The man looked around.
"Whose pet is this?"
Of course, no one stepped forward. The man looked back at Ollie and asked if his owner was here. He shook his head.
"Are you lost?'
"Um, yeah... I-... I was abandoned, sir."
"Oh. I am very sorry to hear that. So you need a place to stay, then?"
Another nod. The man bent slightly and extended a hand. Ollie flinched away, bracing for a slap, but none came. He looked back and the hand was still there, just resting in the air. Ollie hesitated, but the man nodded encouragingly, and so Ollie took his hand and got helped up.
He whimpered as pressure was put on his ankle, then froze. He was bad.
His ankle must've been injured when he tripped, which was his fault, he shouldn't have run. And now he had the audacity to whimper?? He was so, so bad. This man would realize what a pathetic mutt he was and hurt him for it.
Glancing up fearfully, he saw that the man was indeed frowning. Ollie shrank back, hand slipping out of the man's grasp. He started shaking even harder.
"Oh dear, easy, it's alright," the man soothed. "I didn't mean to further injure your ankle by forcing you to stand. I will call a doctor for you immediately."
Did he think Ollie was upset because his ankle hurt? But.. why? Sure, the pain was intense now that he was trying to stand, but it was nothing compared to what he's been through.
"There's no need to be so concerned, sir. I'm alright. I can take it and more. I can take whatever you want me to."
The man frowned again and Ollie nearly cried.
"No, no, don't be ridiculous. I have no reason to harm you. You've done nothing wrong, dear. I don't want you to be unnecessarily hurt."
The man hesitated, then spoke again.
"That's not how I want one of my workers to be treated."
...
...what?
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I do not wish for you to be harmed, regardless of your status, but especially if you agree to work for me. You don't have a home or... employer, do you?"
"No, sir, I don't have either of those. But really, you don't have to, I'll only be a bother and a burden-"
"Nonsense. I have heard of how they train you guys. I'm sure you are wonderful. And besides, I am forgiving, I promise."
Ollie couldn't help but notice some of the crowd looked doubtful at that, which was very concerning. But at the same time, the man did not possess the same cruel glint in his eyes, the expression of deceit, the glee in waiting until the perfect moment to strike.
Of course, the man could just be better at hiding those things, or Ollie was dumber than he thought.
But what other choice did he have?
This person was offering him a lifeline, a chance at a new home and a new life. Ollie would die if he continued to be homeless. Maybe not right away, but he'd eventually catch an illness or upset someone or get caught, and then it'd be all over.
He didn't want to die.
"Okay. Of course, sir, I'd be happy to be your slave."
The man just nodded tight, and the pet was certain that he had already messed up.
But still, the man didn't do anything to him. Instead, he addressed the crowd.
"Apologies for the interruption," He announced, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "I have urgent business to attend to with my worker, so I must leave. Enjoy the showing, it will continue until 10:30 PM as planned. My accountant will be handling any further purchases. Good night."
Then, looking back at his new slave again, Master spoke much softer.
"What is your name, dear?"
Oh god. Oh no. He knew what he was supposed to say, he knew he had to be good. He should tell the man that he can call him anything, even horrible insults, and the slave would readily accept it. He had to show his new owner that he could be good. But the man had asked. Please. The pet wanted to be allowed his name, his real name.
"Ollie, sir. My name is Ollie."
The man nodded, not seeming angry at the slave's terrible presumption that he could demand a free person use a particular name for him.
"I am Charles Durand, please to meet you, Ollie. Come with me. I'll help you to a couch to rest until the doctor arrives."
Given no other option, Ollie followed him, allowed to dangerously lean on his arm as he hobbled along.
Hopefully, this man wouldn't be too cruel to him.
— — —
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i-eat-worlds · 3 months
Text
Stab O’clock
Phoenix gets stabbed, whump ensues.
Thanks to @snaillamp and @whumpy-daydreams for helping with the medical stuff in this! Aaron and Phoenix belong to @pigeonwhumps
cw: medical whump, dubcon medical care, past medical abuse, graphic depiction of medical procedures (tube thoracostomy), needles, blood, implied current abuse, fear of punishment, wound fingering, immortal whumpee, wishing for death, past death, comfort believe it or not
“Firebird!”
Phoenix rolled away from the voice calling their name, trying to drag themselves deeper into the alleyway. If they were discovered like this, it wouldn’t end well. You couldn’t fight if you could barely breathe.
“Firebird!”
A black, blue, and orange uniformed hero rounded the corner, and Phoenix shrunk back further. Absurdly, they wished they could bleed out and die quicker, so they could heal. Being found like this was sure to end badly. Injured heroes were useless heroes, and useless heroes got punished. The hero called out for them again, moving towards the alley way.
They held their breath, hoping the hero would walk by and ignore them.
They didn’t.
Instead, the hero turned into the alley, dropping to their knees in front of them. He mumbled something into his coms before he looked at them. “Hey Firebird, I’m Exhale, I’m a medic.” He gestured to the patch on his left arm. “I’m here to help you, yeah?”
Medics? Who had sent medics out for them? That was a gross waste of resources. Phoenix shook their head. “ ‘m immortal.”
Talking was hard. Every word stole precious, precious air that was getting harder to take in by the second.
Exhale nodded. “Good to know, thanks for telling me.” He quickly located the wound on their chest and started quickly cutting the fabric away.
“No, ‘m immortal.” Phoenix whispered, pushing his hands away. “You don’ need to do that.”
“Not how that works. Let me help.” Exhale pressed a clear, sticky bandage over their chest. It was clear he wasn’t planning on arguing.
His hands wrapped around them, checking their backside for another wound. “ ‘m sorry,” they wheezed.
“It’s alright.” His hands pulled away. “I need you to lay down. I’ll help, yeah?” Phoenix let him gently set them down on the ground. This moved them out of the shadows, casting streetlight over their upper body.
Their chest still felt heavy and tight, even though the weird bandages he’d put on helped a little bit. It did nothing for the pain, every movement of their rib cage extending the burning ache. In the distance, they could hear sirens. Stupidly, Phoenix wondered if the sirens were for them.
That was silly, though. Why would they need an ambulance? It wasn’t like they were going to die.
“I’m gonna need to decompress your chest,” he said. He was holding something in his gloved hand, but Phoenix couldn’t really see what it was. “It’ll probably hurt, but it’ll also make it easier to breathe.”
They whimpered as Exhale pressed his fingers next to their sternum, only a few inches away from the wound, then slid them across their chest. In the corner of their vision, they saw light glint of of a very long needle.
They didn’t have time to really process what it was until after it was driven through their chest.
Shocked, they gasped, breathing hitching and head popping off the ground. Exhale didn’t seem so surprised, pressing his hand onto their shoulder to keep them from moving too much. “You’re alright, you’re going great.”
It certainly didn’t feel like that.
“The ambulance is on its way, they’re a few minutes out.” For some reason, he was still gently squeezing their shoulder. It wasn’t that they minded, it was just odd.
It was easy to tell that the ambulance was coming, sirens screaming through the night. Phoenix closed their eyes to try and get away from bright flashing lights as it parked. It was so easy to keep them like that.
“Phoenix, can you open your eyes for me?” He shook their shoulder a bit, but when they didn’t respond, he switched to grinding his knuckles into their sternum.
Their eyes popped open, and they raised the arm on their uninjured side to try and push his hand away. “I need you to try and stay awake, for me, yeah?”
The ambulance ride passed in a blur. So much was going on. While Exhale was starting an IV, another paramedic was attaching them to a monitor. An oxygen mask was looped over their face and then they were covered by a blanket. They felt a strange coolth running up their arm, and they realized that they’d been given painkillers.
It was too much, really. All the care and attention would've been better spent on someone who wouldn’t live anyway. The thought of having to pay for this made them nauseous. Hopefully Kai will believe that they tried to say no, because Abbie wouldn’t care.
Phoenix heard the arrival alarm go off as they were rolled into HAL’s medbay. Aaron, along with a cache of other nurses met them by the door. They clumped around the stretcher, and Exhale started rattling off a long list of words and numbers that they didn’t understand at Aaron.
“ ‘m sorry,” they mumbled to them, but he was too busy talking to hear them. “I promise ‘m sorry, sir.”
Nobody responded. Of course they didn’t. They were being annoying, and they needed to shut up.
“Three, two, one, lift!” Somebody called, and they were hoisted off the stretcher and set back down on the table. The movement caused pain to flare in their chest, and they groaned loudly. The assault of hands returned as they were attached to the medbay’s monitor, nurses swarming around them.
“You with me, Phoenix?” Aaron was standing at their head. His face looked weird upside down.
They nodded, feeling the tears starting to build. “Yes, sir.”
“Good, good.” Aaron’s eyes flickered up, watching as their blood pressure cycled. “We’re gonna take an x-ray, okay. Just lie still for us.”
Someone pulled an x-ray machine over the bed, and Aaron backed away. There was an awkward moment of quiet as the machine hummed and wirred, and then everyone briey stared at the radiograph that Phoenix could neither see nor interpret. Aaron rattled o a list of stuff he needed done, and the room descended back into organized chaos.
“I’m gonna need to place a chest tube. You’ve got blood in your chest, so we're going to put a tube in and drain it out so you can breathe better,” he explained as he rubbed cleaning gel on his hands.
Phoenix swallowed nervously, giving up on holding back tears. They could feel the pain of the scalpel slicing through their chest, of cold metal pushing their ribs apart, of hands digging around inside them as they died and resurrected and died again.
“You’re lucky someone is willing to help you at all. You know you don’t deserve it.”
A nurse pulled the blanket all the way to their belly button, revealing the myriad scars that covered their body. Burns, several GSWs, an old wound from a spear, and the long, thick, almost keloid scar from the thoracotomy.
“If you stopped fucking moving I wouldn’t need to paralyze you. It’s not like you need to breathe.”
Their attention was drawn by Aaron’s voice. “Phoenix, I need you to keep breathing for me. In and out, in and out.” He looped a mask around his face, then plunged his arms into the sleeves of a waiting gown. While he spoke, the nurse wiped the skin around their chest and up their arm with a stinky orange solution.
“Please, ‘m sorry, sir,” they gasped. The monitors screeched as their heart rate spiked. “I promise, sir, ‘m sorry for getting hurt.”
Aaron’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not mad at you for getting hurt, Phoenix. I’ll never be.” Cold flared in their arms, but they were too scared to recognize it as pain medication. Latex snapped as he donned a pair of sterile gloves.
The squelching of viscera echoed in their brain.
“If you don’t stop screaming I’m going to cut it. I can literally see your aorta. Don’t test me.”
He started to unfold a drape on their chest, looking up at a nurse on the other side of the table. “Can you get Joseph in here? They need more support than I can provide while I’m doing this.”
Phoenix whimpered, tears rolling down freely down their cheeks. They’d known that Aaron’s kindness wouldn’t last forever, that it was too good to be true, but it still hurt. And Joseph as well? Was he going to hold them down while Aaron cut them open? Or would they just slit their throat and be done with it?
“I told you I wasn’t fucking around. You could’ve prevented this if you would’ve just kept still.”
“I‘m sorry, please, I promise, I’m sorry, sir.” They tried again, desperately. “I didn’t mean to get hurt. I know I don’t deserve it, sir. I know. I promise, sir, I know.”
They gasped for air, hand clawing at the tide of the table.
“Can someone gag them please? I don’t want to hear them breathing like that. It’s annoying.”
Joseph appeared in the entryway to the room, quickly crossing on the side away from Aaron. He was wearing his full INSUPA uniform, med patches and all, same second in command stripes as the person in the alley had. Was Joseph Exhale?
It didn’t really matter now. He was going to hurt them anyway.
“Can someone hold them down? They move too much when they resurrect.”
“Hey Phoenix, can you look at me?” He was smiling at them, but he still looked terrifying.
They tore their eyes from the needle in Aaron’s hand to look at him. “That’s good. Eyes on me, eyes on me.”
“Don’t look at me like that. You know it's your own fault.”
Joseph kept talking to them, voice low and calm. “Is it okay if I hold your hand?” They nodded, knowing their answer didn’t really matter anyway.
“We’re gonna take care of you. I know it’s scary.” His hands were calloused and hard, and he gently started to massage the top of their hand with his thumb.
Why hadn’t he killed them yet? What was he waiting for?
“Stop crying. It’s distracting me.”
Aaron touched their chest. Fear exploded in their gut, along with boiling waves of nausea. Even though they knew they’d come back, they didn’t want to die.
“Aaron’s starting the local now.” Joseph said, squeezing their hand a little.
“I don’t care that it hurts. Just keep still.”
The needle punctured their skin, and they did their best to not wiggle away. There was an acidic burn in their chest as the medication took hold.
“I know it burns, but it’s nearly over,” Aaron said, grabbing another syringe. “That’s the first round of local anesthetic in, you’re doing great.”
Joseph smiled at them again, and Phoenix wondered what the point of the medication was. Weren’t anesthetics supposed to make things hurt less? That couldn’t be right.
They were supposed to be dying.
“Pain meds? That would be wasted on you. I don’t think it’d even work.”
Aaron swamped out the syringe for a scalpel, and their eyes went wide with fear. This was how he was going to kill them then.
“Eyes on me, remember?” Joseph’s voice was commanding, and their eyes snapped back to his face.
“I’m sorry sir,” they said, voice filled with fear.
“I didn’t know you were too stupid to follow even simple instructions. Stop. Squirming.”
They prepared themselves for the pain of being sliced open, waiting for the agony to spread along their ribs.
“Tell me if it starts to hurt,” Aaron said. There was a strange pressure on the side of their chest, and the metallic smell of blood filled the air.
It was strange, but it didn’t hurt. It was supposed to hurt.
“It’ll go faster if you don’t cause problems.”
There was an uncomfortable tugging and pulling sensation, and then Aaron’s finger slid inside their chest. They suppressed the urge to cringe away.
“They need more local.” Joseph said, his tone switching from soft to business when he talked to Aaron.
“ ‘m okay,” they insisted. They didn’t need any more superfluous medication wasted on them. It already wasn’t as bad as they’d thought it’d be.
“I wouldn’t have had to do this if you’d just behaved.”
Joseph kept holding their hand as Aaron reached for another syringe. “You’re doing great, keep it up,” he assured them.
The burning sensation returned, and then they were being spread open again. A rush of blood splattered onto the floor, splashing on Aaron’s gown.
“What, are you afraid of a little blood?
He stuck his finger into their chest again, rotating it around inside them. “Any pain, Phoenix?”
“No, sir.” They were crying more now than before.
He snatched the tube off the tray. “Give them another point-two of Eropental.”
“If you complain that it hurts one more time, I’m going to just leave the rest of the shrapnel inside.”
Joseph let go of their hand to administer the medication, and for some reason, Phoenix didn’t like it.
Meanwhile, Aaron was deep in concentration. He carefully threaded the hard, plastic tube into their chest, then quickly connected them up to the strange looking drainage machine and opened up the clamp. “Tube’s in.”
It was quickly filled with blood. “Now all we gotta suture it in place. You’re nearly done, Phoenix.
“It’s kinda useless to stitch them, since they'll heal up anyway.”
This, at least, they were familiar with. Aaron had stitched them up way more times than was justied for any one person.
Joseph was back to holding their hand now. If they’d made it this far, the punishment would probably come later. “You did great, Phoenix.”
They didn’t believe him, but they weren’t going to argue.
“Just catch up after you heal. We don’t have the time to carry you back. You have to pull your own weight.”
Aaron dosed the wound liberally with another round of anesthetic before he covered it with several layers of gauze and tape.
The blood was practically flowing out of them, out of the tube and into the pump. “We’re gonna get you scanned next,” he said as he tore off his blood flecked gown and gloves. “Hopefully your healing is doing a good job of patching it up.”
Joseph squeezed their shoulder. “We gotcha.”
For a brief moment, Phoenix let themselves entertain the thought that they weren’t going to be killed at all. If Aaron was expecting them to heal, then maybe they’d be okay. But the anxiety settled in there chest again.
Now they had to do was survive what Abbie would dole out to them.
Aaron and Joseph had let them off easy.
Abbie wouldn’t.
Taglist: @/pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump
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pigeonwhumps · 4 months
Text
Aftermath
Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist
Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @whumpinggrounds
Direct sequel to A Late Night Discovery by @i-eat-worlds, a crossover with their series Alex and Friends in which Joseph, their medic, finds Phoenix injured.
In this sequel, Aaron discovers more worrying things, and tries to take care of them.
2.7k
CWs: immortal whumpee, hero whump, abuse, mentioned child abuse, medical whump (past and current), painful wound care, being kicked out, team whump, fear of punishment, whumpee believing they're undeserving, low self-esteem, exhaustion, starvation, outcast whumpee
"You said you'd come to me if you were injured."
Phoenix cringes away from Aaron's disappointment. "I'm sorry, sir. I thought that, um, I could deal with it myself. It's not even bad."
"Hey. I'm not mad. But you've got a decent-sized gash on your side and you were going to attempt to treat it yourself. I suspect not too well either. Let me decide how bad your injuries are in future, alright?"
Phoenix nods. "What, um, what happens now? Am I free to go? It's really not that bad. It'll heal. I've had worse and, um, not gone to medbay."
"I don't want you heading back to your flat yet, not when there's a very real chance your teammates will make your injury worse. I estimate you'll be mostly healed by the end of my shift, and then you can go. Is that alright?"
Phoenix nods. It's unnecessary, but then so is a lot of what Aaron does for them. And Joseph too, apparently.
It's weird. They don't understand why Joseph's helping, he barely even knows them. But it makes them feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
"Thank you." Aaron squeezes their shoulder. "I'd better get back to work now. Please don't leave before I get back."
After Aaron's left, Phoenix curls up on the bed. The main problem with him visiting them when he's not busy is going to be fooling him into thinking they have somewhere to go. That won't be the case for months, if ever.
They spend most of the hours that Aaron's gone trying to think of an excuse to get them off their back so they can return to their hiding place in the corner of the supply cupboard. But it's... well. They have no idea what to say that would be convincing.
But if they don't... they've fucked up. They know they have. Indigo and Segun kicked them out, and they must've had a reason for it, even if they weren't exactly clear with Phoenix (and even if it is only temporarily). And now Aaron will be angry about it, and they don't think they can stand that.
They're starting to feel rather hungry. Maybe they can have a snack after Aaron discharges them. That's sort of the same way as their flat.
Well. It can be.
They could just leave now. They're tempted. But they promised Aaron they'd stay, and they can't break a promise. That would be worse.
Aaron returns several hours later, clean bandage in hand. He smiles tightly as he enters the treatment area.
"Okay Phoenix. I'm going to check your injury and then rebandage it. It might hurt a bit. Is that okay?"
"Yes, sir."
Aaron winces as they bend down beside them. "No need for all the sirs." Gently, oh so gently, they unwind the bandage around Phoenix's waist. Honestly, it's too gently, they don't deserve it. They don't understand why Aaron is being so, so gentle.
"It doesn't look too bad, it's starting to close. I'm going to touch it quickly to check for infection." Aaron's as good as his word, touching for a few seconds at most. "It doesn't feel hot, that's good. I think you're safe. Let me just rebandage it. Hold onto the bed if you need to."
Phoenix doesn't think they'll need to at first, it's not like it's that bad, they're hurt all the time without professional medical care, but the bandage pressing down hurts and they end up with the pillow in a white-knuckled grip.
Maybe it hurts more if they're professionals.
He's so gentle, but it still hurts. But then, the pain is only what they deserve, after all.
"There you go, kid. It should be finished healing sometime tomorrow. Are you in pain?"
Phoenix swallows. The honest answer is yes, but they deserve it. Aaron will try to give them painkillers if they say yes, and they don't need them. Those can go to other heroes who need them, who deserve them, because they certainly don't.
"I, um, don't need painkillers. I'm okay, really. Other, um, heroes deserve them more."
"That wasn't what I asked. But it still answers my question." He heads across the room and pops a couple of painkillers, handing them to Phoenix with a glass of water. "I want to make it absolutely clear, Phoenix. You deserve painkillers just as much as anyone else here, and anyone telling you otherwise is just manipulating you. We have plenty of medicine, we're not running short, and even if we were, that doesn't mean you wouldn't deserve them. Alright?"
Phoenix nods. They don't believe them, but they don't want to know what'll happen if they disagree.
Aaron nods. "Alright. Alright." He strokes their hair gently and they close their eyes involuntarily. They're so tired. Sleeping in a storage cupboard isn't exactly conducive to good rest.
"You're free to go now, if you like. There's no rush, but so long as you come back in the morning for a check-up I'll discharge you."
"Yes please." Phoenix hops off the table, overbalancing slightly and catching themself on Aaron's arm. It doesn't matter. If they leave now, alone, before Aaron has a chance to change their mind, maybe they can get to their cupboard without them finding out.
"Woah. Are you sure you're okay to go back on your own? You don't need me to walk you?"
Phoenix nods. "I'm fine. Thank you."
And they take the packet of painkillers that Aaron presses into their hand and walk out of the treatment area.
_
Aaron frowns after Phoenix as they exit the treatment area. They don't look well. The bags under their eyes are even more pronounced than normal, and that's saying something. And they look scared. They're stumbling into things, like they're going to collapse.
Aaron doesn't trust that they'll make it back to their flat alone.
He shouldn't, it's probably breaking their trust in some way, but he follows. And that... that isn't the direction of their flat.
He's not going to say anything. Not even going to approach, just keep an eye. But then Phoenix stumbles, and staggers, and trips into the wall, starting to slide down.
And Aaron runs. Fuck, no. They're not letting Phoenix hurt themself more.
They put an arm around their waist, lifting them upright. They'd rather carry them but they were so adamant about not wanting to be accompanied earlier, the least they can do is attempt to accommodate their wishes.
"Hey, hey. Easy. You're okay."
Phoenix shakes their head frantically. "No, no, please, I'm sorry. Just let me go, please, I didn't, um, mean to be an inconvenience, I'm sorry, don't, um, don't hurt me, don't punish me, I know I deserve it but please."
"Woah. Easy Phoenix. I'm not going to hurt you. Aside from anything else, it'd be a waste of my efforts in healing you, hmm? Come on, take a deep breath. That's it. I'll walk you back to your flat, yeah? Are you okay to do that?"
Phoenix sniffs. "I– I– I can't– I'm not allowed– please just– I don't–"
Their voice cracks and they break off, bursting into hoarse, racking sobs.
"Please."
They flinch as Aaron touches their shoulder, and he squeezes it once before letting go.
"What can't you do, Phoenix?"
"I can't– I'm not 'llowed– Indigo 'n' Segun kicked me out. 'Cos 'm useless and only Abbie's apprentice and they don't need to waste resources on me. Please, don't be angry, I'm sorry."
Aaron swallows down the instinctual rush of hot fury at that statement. "I would never be angry about that. Not at you, at any rate. It's not your fault they're unwilling to fulfill anything more than the exact wording of their contractual obligations. Hmm? Where are you staying at the moment?"
Phoenix eyes him warily, like they don't believe a word of it, and he tries not to feel hurt. This isn't about him.
"Storage– storage cupboard," they whisper. Aaron shakes their head.
"That won't do, especially now you're injured. Want to come stay with me instead?"
"I, um, don't deserve that."
Aaron raises an eyebrow. "You can't heal in a space as small as the cupboards you must be using."
"Can. Have. Lemme go."
"Let me take care of you."
"Don't need that. Can't pay you back for it. I'll mess up. Don't wanna... please."
"You don't need to pay. I'm just trying to help my friend. You. I mean, you can do some chores if you really want to, but it's not compulsory."
"Flatmates? Don't wanna make people angry."
"I don't have any. Medics have studio flats. Which you know, you've visited before. Let me help you. Please. I'll worry for ages if I don't."
"Shouldn't. 'm not worth it."
"Hey. I decide who's worth worrying about."
And he doesn't know why. Maybe it's the emotional side in him. Maybe it's the way they get so tearful, so disbelieving, whenever anyone's kind. How could anybody not want to comfort them?
"Can I give you a hug?"
Phoenix nods, looking startled. Aaron puts their arms around them properly, carefully, one wrapped fairly tightly around their shoulder. And Phoenix...
Phoenix crumbles. Leaning against their chest, head pressed against them, sobbing their heart out as they grip his scrubs like their life depends on it.
Maybe it does. Aaron wouldn't put anything past their team.
"Hey. Shh, you're okay, it's okay, you're safe. I won't let anyone hurt you. Just let it out, that's it, there you go, kid."
A nurse turns the corner into the corridor, immediately retracing her steps when she sees them. Aaron's grateful. Phoenix needs their privacy, even if it's hard to get here.
"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." They murmur it like a desperate litany, a prayer, and in response Aaron hugs them tighter.
"Let me help you. Please."
Phoenix looks up, confusion creasing their face. "You're, um, not going to give up, are you?"
"No. I'm not leaving you in a supply cupboard. Or anywhere else that you won't be taken care of. I'm off shift now, so I can do that."
"O-okay then, I guess. Where, um, where are you taking me?"
"To my flat. If that's okay. Can you walk?"
Phoenix nods and clears their throat, putting one foot down properly on the ground, preparing to stand.
And promptly starts to slide back down.
"And that's a no. Arms around my neck, there you go. When did you last eat a proper meal, kid? You're getting towards skin and bones."
"I, um, I had some biscuits yesterday. They were good biscuits! I had nowhere to get proper food from anyway!" they add defensively. Aaron tucks a lock of hair behind their ear, stifling a sigh.
"Cafeteria?"
Phoenix blinks up at them. "We have one of those?"
"Well, yes. Did no-one give you a tour?"
"Abbie said I didn't need one. That everything I could need was in the flat, and if I thought I needed anything else either I wasn't looking hard enough or I didn't need it. And it hurt when I asked for unnecessary things." Phoenix tucks their head in the crook of their neck. "'m sorry."
"Nothing to apologise for." Aaron doesn't know why they're surprised by anything Abbie and her team do anymore. Not giving Phoenix a chance to meet other heroes is the perfect way to keep them isolated and abuse them with no fuss or suspicion. And yet. "Once you're healed, fed and rested, I'm giving you a tour. You live here, you should see everything. Alright?"
Phoenix nods, already half-asleep. They must be exhausted.
"Good."
Aaron lifts them more steadily into his arms. "Where are your belongings? So I can fetch them after we've got you settled down."
"You, um, you don't have to do that. I'm fine."
"I know I don't. But I'm going to."
"Supply cupboard 14," they murmur.
"Thank you. You're not fine, though."
Phoenix makes a noise of disagreement and grips Aaron tighter as they pass a doorway. Aaron rubs their back, and it's not far before they reach his room. It's a struggle to unlock his door, and to be honest Phoenix's confused attempts at helping only make it worse, but eventually he makes it through, placing them on the bed. He gets some pyjamas out of the basket and folds them next to them.
"You don't have to change, but if you want to, there's some clothes here. I know you, you won't get any out yourself. Use the bathroom if you want too. I'll be back soon, okay?"
"Okay."
Aaron gives them a tight smile and heads back out to the medical corridors, trying to compose themself as they go. The worst part of all this is Phoenix's complete obliviousness to anything being wrong. And why would they think it was? Their whole life they've been abused, why would they think its continuation wasn't normal?
But they shouldn't, and he hates it.
They don't have many belongings, just a small rucksack which presumably isn't everything (and worrying bloody smudges on some of the shelving that he tries his best to ignore), and Aaron slings it onto their back, avoiding the no-doubt-curious doctors and nurses. Best fetch a snack while they're out too. A sandwich or cereal bar will do.
He pushes the door to his room open as silently as possible and heaves a quiet sigh. Phoenix, predictably, is on the floor, curled around their stomach. They haven't changed, or washed, or done anything except move somewhere very uncomfortable.
"Why?"
Phoenix flinches. "I, um, I don't want to make your flat dirty. I can use a bucket, I don't mind, really."
"Well I do. This was going to wait until your birthday, but I guess..." Aaron rummages around in a drawer and pulls out a folded green rough-ish fabric, with something like ears at the top. "Happy early birthday."
Phoenix frowns at it, visibly confused, and unfolds it like it's the most precious thing they've ever received.
"Is this... is it, um, is it a Yoda bath robe?" they ask quietly, astonished.
"Baby Yoda I think, technically."
"Grogu," corrects Phoenix absently, and Aaron feels a little relief that at least they feel relaxed enough to do that. "I've always wanted... thank you."
"That's okay. I bet you'll look adorable in it." He ruffles Phoenix's hair, and they pout. "Now. You have a wash, I'll help with the bandages, and then I've brought you something to eat. I know you're exhausted, but you'll pass out from hunger if you're not careful. And you're not sleeping on the floor."
"Can I, um, sleep on the sofa?"
"No," says Aaron flatly. "You're taking the bed."
"But, um, but I'll make your flat dirty. I'm not too bad, I can sleep on the sofa. Let me, um, sleep on the sofa."
"Not with those injuries, and that exhaustion."
"But, but once, um, I'm healed, I, um, I can?" they ask hopefully.
"Yep," lies Aaron. It's always polite to let the guest sleep on the bed, after all, especially when they've spent their life being abused by those who should be helping them. "But take the bed tonight."
"Where will you sleep though?"
Aaron shrugs. "The sofa. Or I can share the bed, it is massive after all. And you'd better sleep as much as you need to."
"Oh."
Phoenix doesn't seem to know what to say to that, as Aaron helps them to the bathroom. He's already planning. When they wake up, they'll take them on a tour. Most of the medical staff know Phoenix. Have guessed some of what's happening. They won't mind swapping a shift with him.
Some will, but they'll just have to deal. Aaron is going to take Phoenix on a tour as soon as they feel up to it, whatever anyone else thinks.
That ends up being two days later, after they've slept for close to 24 hours straight, and then rested reluctantly for another day. Aaron only just resists shaking them to ensure they're still alive.
They will be, though. They always are.
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kim-poce · 1 year
Text
Deaf Whumpee 2
First | Next
Masterlist
CW: deaf whumpee, pet whump, caretaker new master, reformed criminal caretaker, fear of punishment.
=-=
They arrived at the house, it didn’t look around, the grayish tiles on the floor was all it was allowed to see, Owner was taking out some things from the trunk, maybe toys if they were kind, maybe punishment tools if they weren't. If they are just a normal owner it was most likely both.
It knows it decided to be bad but… New Owner was just SO BIG, and it couldn’t bring itself to disobey, which doesn’t mean it gave up on this plan, it can obey and still fail at every given task. Owner will know just how useless it is and give it back, unless…
Unless there will be no tasks, unless it’ll become just a disposable punch bag, unless for the rest of its life it will be beaten and beaten again without earning any punishment.
It felt tears streaming down from its eyes. It was bad, if Owner sees they will think it didn’t want to be brought —it didn’t— they will think it is scared and ungrateful —it is—. They need to stop crying, they need to, they have to, they truly should be quiet.
Owner’s shoes came into view. Were they angry? it couldn’t know, it couldn’t look up. They crouched down, and it did what it should know better but not do; it closed its eyes.
It can only use two ways to communicate, either seeing or feeling it on their skin. Closing its eyes meant that if Owner wanted to pass on an order they would need to touch it, maybe force it through pain, it was a bad decision not to look, and yet… yet its eyes just didn’t open anyway.
It felt a light tug on its leash, and it shakinly changed from kneeling to all fours. It was still crying, it was still refusing to see anything, but at least it managed to crawl along while its owner pulled the leash. Owner wasn’t hurting it yet, it was weird, it was so much easier to hurt it than pulling it painlessly.
It crawled until the floor changed from cold title to… something soft, like a pet bed, maybe it was truly a pet bed because its Owner stopped and uncliped the leash, it was probably an unspoken order to stay there. It told itself that it was just fine, it is used to being locked in a small space all the time, it won’t leave that little space it swears it won’t.
Still, it was too scared to be good, so it lay down even when no one said it could, and curled up into a ball, it was being so ill behaved, it was going to be punished so harshly as soon as its owner decided.
It waited there, its eyes were still closed so it couldn’t know if Owner was there or not. Maybe they were there right this moment, uncoiling a whip, or taking off their belt or just getting ready to hurt it. Pain could come at any second now and it still didn’t look, it only froze there and waited.
It waited for a long time, it waited for anything, it waited and waited and, after a long time, it very slowly opened its eyes and saw… nothing, it was alone inside a small room, there was a glass of water and a folded blanket on its reach (both too clean to be its), there was a small note on a yellow post, which it didn’t waste time trying to decipher, it was not like it knew letters.
It knew better than to touch things that weren’t its, Owner probably left the water and the blanket there to test it. It wasn’t its first rodeo, it was far from a naive fresh pet and such tricks don’t work anymore.
It was allowed to stay on the pet bed, and that’s it, that’s all it can do. It was exhausted, it, of course, wasn’t allowed to sleep, and even if it was it was too anxious to actually manage to, so it just curled up again, pretending it was still in the too small cage back in the shelter, and pretending it wasn’t terrified at what would happen now.
=-=
@extemporary-username @cupcakes-and-pain
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wolfeyedwitch · 1 year
Note
“ are you going to kill me? ”  Pariah Prisoner Bailey?
Pariah Prisoner, Part 6
Also for @amonthofwhump's Winter Whumperland day 8: revenge whump.
Have some complicated Emotions and Feelings.
CW: medical setting (including mention of IVs), Bailey's crappy headspace. I think that's it, though that list seems suspiciously short... If I missed anything, please let me know!
Masterlist
---
Luke looked up from his tablet and glared at the figure on the bed. Of all the people on the team, why was he the one tasked with watching the villain who nearly killed him?
Stupid question. He knew why. Maeve was sleeping off the efforts of keeping Poppet alive. Zera was banned from anything until they’d had a meal and a minimum of 4 hours of sleep, given the dissociation and freak-out session they’d had in the medbay earlier. Iris was combing through the data on how they’d been intercepted and captured in the first place, and Elijah was tackling the small mountain of paperwork the shitshow had generated. 
Luke, on the other hand, didn’t have anything pressing. The only injuries he’d gotten in their escape were some minor scrapes and cuts, nothing serious enough for Maeve to bother with, and he’d had his adrenaline crash nap already. So really, he wasn’t the best option so much as the only option.
That didn’t mean he had to like it.
It didn’t make sense, was what bothered him the most. He’d had this mental image of who had attacked him. They were cold, impassive, ruthless. A sadist of the worst sort. They had no problem torturing him to the brink of death and leaving him to topple over that edge. 
And then it turns out his attacker was Poppet. A villain with no prior history (that they knew of, he reminded himself) of violent actions. Who he now had interacted with, and he didn’t know what to think anymore.
Save your sympathy for someone worthy of it, they’d said. They hadn’t played on Zera’s soft heart or Elijah’s stubborn insistence on seeing the potential in everyone. 
I’ll tell you everything I did so you can repeat it. They hadn’t denied that they’d hurt Luke. They even seemed genuine when they said they were sorry. 
You were right about me. I’m just Slipknot’s little toy, their stupid attack dog. He didn’t remember those words, meaning he must have said them during whatever encounter led to…
To an otherwise sane, empathetic-seeming kid beating him nearly to death.
He couldn’t make that sequence of events make sense. He was still missing something, and it nagged at him like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. 
The only source for that missing information was Poppet themself. Meaning Luke would just have to wait.
---
The wait ended up being shorter than he expected. It was only a few hours into Luke’s guard duty bedside vigil that Poppet woke.
The signs were subtle at first. Their breathing, which had been regular and deep, hitched and stuttered. Their brows furrowed like they were in pain. Luke got up to double-check the IV drip.
Which meant that he had front-row seats to see Poppet open their eyes. 
They looked like a startled horse, their eyes wide enough to show a ring of white all the way around the iris. Their gaze darted around the room before finally landing on the IV in their arm. Poppet’s breath caught in their throat before coming out as a quiet whimper. They reached for the IV.
“Hey, don’t,” Luke said sharply. 
Poppet jumped. Apparently his presence hadn’t been important enough to register in their look around the room. 
“Whe—” they croaked out before their voice gave up on them.
“Hero HQ, medbay,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Our medic went to the trouble of patching you up, so don’t even think about undoing her work. The IV stays in.”
He saw Poppet’s throat work as they swallowed, then nodded. “It worked?” they asked.
Luke snorted and raised an eyebrow. “Your plan? More or less. We got out, despite the issues there at the end.”
Poppet closed their eyes. Their face smoothed out as they took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Good. That’s- that’s good.”
Luke didn’t bother replying. He let the silence stretch out between them as he studied the villain. He was torn. Part of him, the bitter part that couldn’t see past what had happened to him, said this was an act. This was fake, a way to get someone into the Hero HQ as a spy. Poppet was just a convincing actor, and would stab all of them in the back the first chance they got.
The more rational part of him, the part that could admit he was hasty in attacking Poppet back in Slipknot’s cell, said that that was ridiculous. A dislocated shoulder might be one thing to convince the heroes, but that batshit escape plan that somehow worked? Getting stabbed? Those were something else entirely. 
Poppet’s eyes flew open again, looking at Luke in a panic. “Are you okay? The others? Foxfire and Tempest?”
This villain had no damn right to look so earnest about their concern for his teammates! 
“They’re fine,” Luke bit out, harsher than he really meant. Poppet flinched at his tone, and he sighed. Softer, he added, “Foxfire wore themself out carrying you back here. They’re resting. Tempest is doing paperwork for all this shit. No one besides you got anything more than scrapes and bruises in the escape.”
“Good,” Poppet said, finally breaking that too-intense eye contact. “That’s… I’m glad.”
They closed their eyes, face scrunching like they were in pain. Luke checked their IV again. Everything was fine. 
Their next words were so quiet, he wouldn’t have heard them if he were any further away. “Are you going to kill me?”
Luke actually made himself dizzy with how fast his head snapped around to look at Poppet. “What.”
“I won’t fight you,” the villain said, voice barely audible. Their eyes were open now, but they wouldn’t look at him. They stared resolutely at the ceiling like they were trying to hold back tears. “Or I’ll try not to, anyway. I… I can’t guarantee I won’t use my telekinesis on instinct. But I’ll—”
“Stop,” Luke said.
Poppet’s mouth closed with an audible click. They squeezed their eyes shut.
Luke ran a hand over his face. What the fuck. What the actual, entire fuck. 
Okay. He gets it, okay? He fucked up. He attacked them back in the cell, and said some things that weren’t exactly all rainbows and sunshine. But that was the heat of the moment, alright? He has a temper, and this whole… thing, is kind of a big trigger for it. 
It was one thing to make threats (and… throw punches… yeah, he fucked up, he’s aware) in the heat of the moment. It’s an entirely different thing to talk about it so calmly and matter-of-fact. 
“I’m not,” he started, then broke off with a groan of frustration. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t this be a simple situation with a simple bad guy that he could simply rage at?
Because life is rarely simple, came a mental voice that sounded suspiciously like Elijah, the even-tempered asshole.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said.
He expected Poppet to be relieved. Instead, they looked more upset after hearing that. They opened tear-filled eyes and stared back up at the ceiling, still refusing to look at him.
“Right,” said Poppet. Their voice was thick with emotion. “I still owe you that list.” A tear escaped and rolled down their face.
List? What list? When had they… mentioned… 
I’ll tell you everything I did so you can repeat it.
Oh.
Fuck.
---
Dun dun dun!!!
Taglist:
@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff, @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway @whumpcreations, @wicked-whump @heart4brains, @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps @whumpycries
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deluxewhump · 2 years
Note
Could we pleaaaaase see a parallel fic bit of Maxim finding out that bloodbag Carlo hasn’t been using the hot water/generally utilizing resources to take care of himself?
-❤️🎂
CW: misunderstandings, bathing in cold water, vampire whumper/caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, drug use mention, pet whump
This feels to me like a parallel to the original, though I did not go back and look at the old one because I didn’t want it to influence me.
-
Carlo slipped into Maxim’s study shortly after midnight. Maxim was on the phone with a prospective client, a Manhattan based art dealer that had finally gotten the memo to stop trying to reach him on the phone before sundown.
Maxim touched the back of his pet’s neck, welcoming his presence as he always did. He was surprised at just how cold his wet hair was, the chill on his skin.
“Why are you cold?” he asked, covering the reviewer.
Carlo looked at him for a moment as if he’d been caught stealing. If Maxim didn’t know better, he would think Carlo had not heard or understood the question. But it was usually a case of indecision, where each answer he might give seemed the wrong one. The poor thing always suspected a trick from him.
“Sir?” he breathed, growing paler in the face.
This felt more pressing to him than yet another conversation with Boris in Manhattan. He interrupted him, said he would call back, and hung up.
“Am I wrong?” he asked his pet. “You’re always so warm. Like a heater and not a boy.”
Carlo didn’t flinch when Maxim reached out a hand. Not like before, when they were brand new to each other. He was tense though, and Maxim could feel his unease with the line of questioning.
Are you sick?” he asked, feeling the boy's forehead. “You should feel hotter when you’re sick, not cooler.”
“I had a bath.” Carlo said. “With the… the things you bought. The things that were delivered. I just thought… it was with the food and I know you don’t eat food, so I thought it was all for me.”
“It was. But why would a bath make you cold?”
Carlo gave him that searching look that was trying so hard for the right answer, looking for a clue from him. He opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure.
“I’m being genuine, sweetheart,” Maxim said. “I’m not asking you things to trick you. Are these clothes not warm enough?”
“The water,” Carlo said carefully, like it was so obvious he wasn’t sure if he should even say it. “The water was cold.”
Maxim frowned. “Again? I had them out here last week and they said it was fixed. That water heater I’ve got’s not even five years old…”
“I didn’t— I didn’t try it,” Carlo stammered, as if to deflect blame from the man who had fixed the water heater.
“…What?”
“I didn’t— you said something after I first got here about a water heater, I was listening. But I didn’t… you didn’t say I should use the hot water.”
“Why else would I have it fixed? Hot or cold running water makes no difference to me.”
Carlo crossed his arms over his stomach protectively. The sweater he wore was well made— heather gray and soft. Maxim was slowly discovering the things he wanted in a mortal bloodbag. He wanted him well dressed, with bright eyes and color in his face and no trace of fear of him. Part of him knew it was to spite his maker, the one who had made sure this beautiful mortal was so terrified of them in the first place.
“You didn’t say anything more about it so I didnt touch it,” Carlo said quietly. “I follow instructions. I don’t touch what isn’t mine.”
Oh, Maxim thought with a small, familiar twinge of disgust. Those words were Erik’s, alright. Spoken from this boy’s mouth after no doubt being drilled into him with causal beatings and worse.
He took the boy’s face in his hands—feeling that skittish human heartbeat under his thumbs on either side, the chilled dampness on the ends of his dark hair. “As long as you are mine and I keep you here, anything in this house is yours. I owe you that, at the very least.”
Carlo warmed to his touch, as he always seemed to so long as it was non threatening, affectionate and gentle. He leaned the weight of his head down through his chin into Maxim’s hands.
“You want me to use it,” he said, somewhere between question and statement.
Maxim couldn’t help but pet him while he had him like this, running his thumbs over the mortal's cheeks in a soothing up and down. “Yes. I’m going to draw you another bath right now to make sure it’s hot. And I want you to warm yourself up in it before you come back out here. How long have you been bathing in freezing cold water? It’s the middle of winter. Do you think I’d want that, for my only pet?”
“I…”
“Rhetorical. I don’t. I want you comfortable here. Do you understand that?”
Carlo didn’t answer. “Are you going to drink from me?” he asked instead.
He was pleased with such a direct question. It was charming, on this one. Yes, little mortal mine.
“I’d like to.”
“May I….” the boy trailed off coyly, looking at Maxim with a nervous, hopeful sort of hunger.
Maxim laughed under his breath. It was Valium he wanted, the same as it was blood Maxim wanted. “You may. Go run your new bath. I’ll bring you one.”
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Text
Whatever I Decide
@themerrywhumpofmay Day 7: “Relax” Comfort | Branded | Trembling 
Micah leaves his room for the first time. 
Part 1 | Masterlist
Cw: it as a pronoun, vampire whumper/dubious caretaker, human whumpee, fear of punishment, references to scars and forced eating, allusions to past whump (asphyxiation, whips)
Diego was hungry. 
It wasn’t too bad yet, though he knew it would only grow the longer he waited. Faria had invited him out to feed at one of the local BOT bars—blood-on-tap, some new generational fad that sounded a little too hipster for Diego’s tastes. Whether he wanted to spend the evening drinking mildly stale blood or not (“Ethically sourced,” Jonah, Faria’s partner, would laugh), and was leaning much further toward not anyway, Diego couldn’t leave the house unattended yet. 
While he had no idea what exactly he was going to do with the pet he didn’t ask for but was given by the state regardless, he didn’t want to see the poor thing hurt itself or, Crowley forbid, find a way to escape and only get itself killed in the end. The paperwork would be a nightmare.
A knock on his door reminded Diego of the second reason he couldn’t go out tonight and instead had to favor one of his blood packs from the fridge. 
“Mr. Silva?” The representative from the pet center stood at his door, package in hand. She handed it over along with a slip for him to sign off on before nodding in thanks and retreating back to her car. Diego didn’t bother to close the door but simply sighed and unwrapped the package where he stood in the entryway. 
So. The moment of truth.
The bubble wrap crinkled when he pulled out the item. He quickly glossed over the chain, looking for any identification. 
Annnnnd there it was. 
“—Chow?”
Diego frowned. The collar he held was stained a dark red, soft yet firm leather with a little pendant hanging from the center in the shape of a bone. It was on this pendant that the word “Chow” lay, engraved silver that must have cost his sister a pretty peso for. It looked more like something one would put around a dog’s neck, but then again, Diego knew his share of friends and colleagues who treated their pets just the same.
Diego was tempted to call Faria. In the past couple of weeks, she’d become his sort of confidant when trying to figure out how to handle the strange creature. Until today, Diego had no name to call it by, and not for lack of trying. The human refused to tell him its name, and if it reacted any other way than the usual blanching and curling in on itself when Diego asked, Diego would have had half a mind to punish it for being so stubborn. 
But…Chow? What a stupid name for a pet. Gabi may have had refined tasted in other outlets of her life, but apparently that did not extend to naming her things.  
“Perfect,” Diego muttered. When the state representative called to say they’d salvaged a few more of Gabi’s belongings in the remains of her car, one item that looked to be nothing other than a pet’s collar, Diego had been almost excited. He would take any information on the pet, seeing as his sister left nearly squat for him to figure out when it came to maintaining the human she’d had for the past however many years. 
Even the human’s documentation was nowhere to be found. If he were stupid, Diego would have pried more into it. All human pets are supposed to come with a standard buyer’s contract, blood type, name and age if applicable, etc. The representative’s suggested Gabi had probably just misplaced the documents when alive. It was a polite out for the much more likely reality that Gabi had purchased the human illegally. 
As closest kin, Diego immediately earned possession of Gabi’s belongings. Which, of course, included the human. 
Even in death, his sister was making Diego’s life complicated. 
*
Micah had been studying the skin of his wrists when the door to the enclosure swung open. He didn’t hear the sound of a key, but before he could wonder if it had been unlocked all along, his new owner walked in, a familiar object hanging from his left hand. 
Micah froze.
“You’re awake,” his owner said in lieu of greeting. His eyes followed Micah’s to the object in his hand. “Oh. You recognize this, don’t you?” 
Micah looked between the collar—his collar, the red one that Miss Silva would put on him for their public outings. Sometimes, most times, she’d tighten it until he could barely breathe and he had to lay his head on her knee when he thought he’d pass out—to Mr. Diego’s face. Was he angry? Jealous, knowing the collar was a reminder that Micah used to belong to someone else? How did he get ahold of it? 
Mr. Diego approached until his legs hit the side of the bed. He dangled the collar in front of Micah’s face, who could only watch as the collar’s silver bone with the damning inscription swung back and forth like a ticking clock. 
“Chow.” Mr. Diego slowly drew out the word. “Is that your name? The one you refuse to tell me?”
Mr. Diego didn’t sound mad, but his words were enough to send Micah’s heart racing. Ever since Micah had been forced to disobey and eat what Mr. Diego gave him, Micah was waiting to be punished. Miss Silva favored the whip and her nails, but the unknowing of what Micah’s new owner would do was worse. 
And the other day, Micah had been so sure Mr. Diego was going to—to feed from him. Micah had awoken at some unknown time, wrists sore and bleeding from the old ties his owner had been using. When Mr. Diego had taken Micah’s wrists and brought them to his mouth, so, so close to those fangs that haunted Micah’s worst fears, his new owner had simply licked the wounds until the cuts and scratches healed. 
Micah knew, rationally, how vampire saliva and venom could work. And while Micah had been a good dog with Miss Silva, who never drank from him or drained him dry like the other bad animals she’d have shipped in, she also never licked Micah’s wounds closed. A punishment was a punishment, after all.
If Micah was being punished for eating, or for the few times he’d spoken, he had no idea when that would be. But now, maybe he was catching on. Mr. Diego had found his old collar. Surely he was going to put it on Micah, perhaps see how tight it could go until the dark swallowed Micah once again. 
(Six notches. That’s how many Micah could take.)
(Micah knew that as much as Miss Silva had.)
“You’d think I put you in a freezer with how pale you are,” Mr. Diego murmured. He set the collar down on the bed’s side table. Micah tried not to look surprised. “I need to ask you some questions. If you’re not going to speak, I need you to at least nod or shake your head. Can you do that for me?”
It was a trick question. It had to be. Pets were too stupid to communicate with their owners. But if Mr. Diego was asking him to…surely the punishment for following an impossible order would be lighter than disobeying?
Slowly, and feeling like he might throw if he had anything of substance in his stomach, Micah moved his head up, then down. 
“Oh, good boy,” Mr. Diego’s eyes lit up. Micah started. “Just like that. I’m going to free your hands, and then we’re going to go in the main room and talk. Or, I’ll talk. Nod for me again if you understand.”
Main room? Micah was leaving his enclosure? Distantly, he felt himself nod for his owner, but the uncertainty threatened to drown everything out. 
Calm down, he told himself. You deserve any punishment he decides. 
“I should’ve tried asking this way the first time.” Mr. Diego unlatched the new leash that had come in for Micah. Micah much preferred these over the old ties, which had cut into his skin every time he moved wrong in his sleep. These new ones were much softer, and had enough give for Micah to move his arms where he liked rather than be strung out like a doll. 
Once Micah’s hands were free, Mr. Diego picked up the collar again. As much as Micah tried, he couldn’t hide his sharp inhale quick enough to not draw Mr. Diego’s attention. 
“Let me guess,” his owner mused, waving the red leather. “You don’t like this, do you?”
Another trick question. It didn’t matter what Micah liked. If his owner wanted to collar him, then Micah should be honored to be so cared for. Now that Miss Silva was—not here—Micah was Mr. Diego’s to do with as he pleased. Micah’s wants and likes had nothing to do with it. 
“What did I say?” Mr. Diego tsked. With his free hand, he ran his thumb over Micah’s lips, drawing down to his chin. Maneuvering Micah’s head himself, he moved Micah’s head side to side, then up and down in a faux nod. “Nod for me, or shake your head. I do not enjoy repeating myself.”
Micah waited a beat before realizing what his owner intended. Pressing his lips tight together so not to accidentally make a sound, Micah slowly shook his head and waited to be slapped for his insolence. 
But nothing came. Micah hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until he felt the pad of Mr. Diego’s finger tapping at the side of his temples in a silent command. 
“Why,” his owner said quietly, “are you so afraid of me?” 
Micah blinked. And then, because he had no idea what else to do, he nodded. 
Mr. Diego scoffed but he didn’t say anything more. Nor did he fasten the collar around Micah’s neck, or slap him for taking so many liberties, or tell Micah to get into position. Instead, he looped the collar around his wrist and, before Micah could think to react, picked Micah up in his arms. 
* To say the human tensed would be putting it mildly. The pet—Chow? Such a stupid name—went from soft skin to solid stone in Diego’s hold the second he had the human wrapped in it. A very frightened, shaking stone, that is. 
“Shhh, you’re okay,” Diego soothed. He placed one hand on the small of its back and rubbed gently as he made his way out of the human’s quarters and back into the main area of the ranch house. What surprised him the most wasn’t necessarily how small it was, because he could easily tell that just by looking. It was how light it was, even for a human.  
Not for the first time, Diego worried about the pet’s eating habits. 
He set the human on the couch beside him, and for a moment the pet stayed wrapped around him before it realized it was being put down. “There you are. Just get comfortable. I’ll say this now, because I’ve been told I need to be as clear as possible with you: you’re not in trouble—uh, Chow.” Despite the assurance, the human still made a face before quickly hiding the expression. Diego latched on to the information. Diego was slowly but surely learning what set off the human, so he wasn’t too surprised at how it tensed when Diego’s shoulder brushed its as he sat down. But it did finally nod, and Diego did not miss how its eyes quickly flit around the lit room, taking in the new space. 
Probably, Diego realized, it was the first time it had seen a fully lit room since Gabi’s old house. He never bothered turning on the lamp in the human’s space. 
“First order of business then. I want a name to call you by. Do you want me to call you Chow? Is that your name?”
The human wouldn’t meet his eyes. The silence stretched. Just when Diego was about to give up and move to the next question, mentally making a note to start a tally count for infractions, the human surprised him. 
“My name is-is whatever you dec-decide, Sir.”
There it was again. His pet could talk. But despite this seeming accomplishment, it immediately shrank into itself after speaking, shoulders bowed as if to fend from attack. 
Diego wasn’t stupid. The signs were all there since the moment he received the pet. The scars on its legs when they had to change its clothes. The two wounds on its back Faria had to stitch up. The way it cowered like a kicked dog, how it looked ill upon speaking, why it never ate by its own choice. 
He remembered his friend’s words when they’d last spoken over the phone. Fair. Diego had quickly cut her off, not wanting to hear slander about Gabi no matter how hard of feelings they left off on before her death. 
But looking at the broken, very much malnourished form of this pet, blue veins more visible than its sunken eyes, Diego had to swallow back a surprising rush of sympathy for the human. Diego had never been cruel for the sake of being such. He was a reasonable man, who approached the world as logically as he knew how. Logic told him humans were below them, to be used as nourishment or, at times, as pets for the very cherished. Logic told him humans were weak, unnaturally short and thin boned, common for prey animals. 
What logic did not tell Diego, however, was the depth to which this human must have been treated to be so damn afraid all the time. It looked like the wind could put up a better fight than this pet. Even the humans in their colonies did not act this way before their superiors. Obedient, yes. Deferential, yes. But…but this? Abject terror and utterly irrational behavior…
For a species that was so determined to hide from harm and stay alive, it made no logical sense to deny food and willingly resist speaking when, by all accounts, it would be easier for both of them to not do so. 
“I like it when you speak,” Diego told it. “Will you tell me why you always stop yourself?”
That was obviously not the right thing to say. Its wrist wounds from the other night were all healed, but it scratched at the invisible marks as if they still bothered him. Its upper teeth bit so hard into its lower lips Diego almost expected to smell blood soon.
Diego was much too old to react like a child who’d turn feral at their first taste of human blood. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle his reactions around a bleeding human—he very much well could. It was just, well. Even in its current state, the human was admittedly adorable. And who could resist tasting a sweet face like that when it was just so ready to take?
The human did not seem to share Diego’s happy thoughts. It was pale and looking a bit green as if it’d been at sea too long. What wiry muscles it still had were coiled so hard Diego wondered if it was in pain by that alone. 
“Relax, sweetheart.” Acting more on instinct than anything, Diego pulled the pet into his arms again, doing whatever he could to soothe it. Again, it tensed. Again, it froze, waiting for something. 
And then, after almost a minute of Diego waiting a patiently as he could (Faria would never let him live it down if she saw), Diego smelled the tell-tale signs of salt before he felt the drops hit his chest.
“You cry so sweetly,” Diego sighed, not unkindly, and completely unsure if that was a proper thing to tell a pet. He remembered Faria’s advice over the phone: treat it like a child. Speak gently to it. Tell it explicitly what it's allowed and not allowed to do. “But you’re allowed to make noise, little one. You’re allowed to speak, if you wish. I would like you to speak, if that means anything.”
Diego took inventory of the human while he had it so close. It’d been over two weeks since he got the poor thing, but he hadn’t truly studied it since those first two days when the pet had been drugged out of its mind for transportation. It’s hair was a bit matted, what once was probably curly dark locks tangled and grown out beyond what was healthy. He’d probably have to cut it, and most definitely wash it at the very least. To be honest, Diego had been avoiding the issue of bathing and had settled on wiping it down with soap every few days while it tried not to struggle. If the pet freaked out about food, what would it do if Diego tried to strip it? 
“I’m…I’m s-sorry.”
The little hiccup of noise from where the pet had its face curled into Diego’s chest immediately drew Diego from his thoughts. He didn’t dare move, not wanting to give the pet any more reason to startle. Not for the first time Diego wished he were Faria, who could comfort any human with the slightest word. He just wanted a name, damn it. 
But despite his own impatience, he couldn’t be annoyed for long. Diego wasn’t sure what it said about the human who, despite its obvious terror of him, had burrowed itself so sweetly into Diego’s arms as if Diego could protect it from the very thing it feared. 
“Why are you apologizing?” Diego asked. 
“‘Dogs aren’t suh-supposed to talk, sir.” Its voice was muffled where it spoke into Diego’s chest, one hand clenched tight into Diego’s button down. He was definitely going to have to dry clean it. 
Diego focused on the matter at hand. “If I wanted you sorry, I’d let you know. Whatever rules Ga—whatever rules you were once told do not apply here.” Diego wasn’t sure how much the pet knew about its new state. Did it know that Gabi was his sister? Most likely not. Diego had avoided communicating too much with pet despite having two weeks to bring it up to speed. 
In Diego’s defense, he had been terribly busy sorting out the funeral situation and deciding on Gabi’s belongings, whether to donate, keep, or trash the ridiculous hoard of material items she’d collected over the past seventy years. On top of that, Diego had to move his office work remotely while he figured out what he would do with the pet. Keep it? Sell it? Get a few weeks worth of his own fresh blood before ridding himself of the whole ordeal? The human’s food that it barely even ate was expensive, after all. 
“Here, you are allowed to speak. In fact, that is a rule. You will speak when I ask you a question,” Diego settled on telling the human. “Understood?”
Diego could practically feel the human’s hesitation, as if sensing a trick. “...Yes, sir?” it finally breathed. It was more a question than an assurance, but Diego would let it slide for now. 
He finally wondered aloud the thought that had been creeping up. “Was food another rule? Is that why you refuse to eat?”
No answer now, at least not aloud. What was that, a second infraction? Third? Diego mentally noted it for later, before hearing a small sniffle and then the quietest, Yes, sir, he’d ever heard.
Huh. Diego thought about the last time he’d seen his sister, what, ten years ago? What had she been thinking, getting a pet and hardly allowing it to eat? It was common knowlege that prey creatures had to rely on food much more often than their superiors. Where Diego could go days, maybe a week if he really pushed himself, without feeding, humans needed to at least once a day, two or three for maximum energy.
Besides. How did Gabi feed off a pet who looked this deprived of...of everything? Surely she didn’t keep it just to have it around.
“You are allowed to eat here. And speak. I need you healthy and honest, little one. How else am I going to get any use out of you?” Diego rubbed the pet’s shoulders as another wave of silent tears overcame it. Good hell, Diego wanted to sigh. 
“Your old owner’s rules mean nothing here, alright? It’s like you said: 
“It’s whatever I decide.”
*
Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @thecyrulik @deluxewhump @melancholy-in-the-morning @pumpkin-spice-whump @cicatrix-energy @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings
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i-am-plotting · 2 years
Text
Hound
#Snippet 5 - Explain
=-=
“Come here,” the voice ordered, and Caleb must have taken too long because the woman who dragged him there kicked the air out of his lungs. He forced his body to move away from his attacker, crawling closer to the other woman without looking up, he knows better than to make things worse.
“I’ll give you ten seconds to explain yourself,” Ma’am Ellow said coldly.
Okay, if I explain this right maybe she will let me-
“Nine,” Ellow started.
Shit shit, it already started? it did! “I-”
“Eight.”
“Wait, I’m trying to-”
“Seven.”
Caleb just spoke, there was no time to think. “I was at home and, and there was this guy and-”
“Six.”
“Fuck! I think he got a debt or something, I’m not-”
“Five.”
“Please let me explain, give some time to think-”
“Four.”
“Shit. Someone came for him, but they didn’t know how he looks like so-”
“Three.”
“So they started shooting everyone, I swear they were killing everyone I had to-”
“Two.”
“I was going to die if I didn’t run so I did it; I ran and was too tired so I slept-”
“One. Time up.”
“I’m sorry,” Caleb said, feeling his throat closing.
=-=
I love a scared Caleb <3
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atellex · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
Scared little angel
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whump-place · 2 months
Text
When Whumpee isn't being whumped by the real leader/boss, but by someone else that works for the lider.
Whumpee has to behave, it doesn't matter that Whumper isn't the one in charge, because Whumper might tell their boss and punish Whumpee.
After all, who would believe Whumpee if they reported the abuse?
The only thing Whumpee can do is obey, because if Whumper is this bad, how much worse could their boss be?
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whumpshaped · 5 months
Note
it’s been rotating in my head so much, could you write a continuation of the whumpee reacting negatively to comfort?
(https://www.tumblr.com/whumpshaped/733269013900181504/idk-if-youre-still-looking-for-classic-tropes-but)
prev
tw none rly, past trauma and fear of punishment ?
They all apologised over the course of the following week. Every single one of Caretaker's friends. They didn't make it a huge show either: they said sorry, promised it wouldn't happen again, then moved on with their day before Whumpee could've flipped out. And it didn't happen again.
Whumpee was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely, their outburst would have consequences, right? All those apologies couldn't have been real and sincere.
What would it be? Would they start hitting them because of their aversion to kind touches? Or would they hold them down and touch them all over, gently caressing skin that still bore the invisible marks of Whumper's calloused fingers?
Nothing happened. They even refrained from making too affectionate comments, no more 'we love you's and 'we care about you's. Whumpee told themself this was much better; they didn't need fake reassurances. But sometimes... sometimes their treacherous mind longed for it. They wnated to matter, after all, wanted to be loved, it was just that they wanted it to be earnest.
A month had passed, and no one treated them with any less kindness than before. Verbal and physical manifestations of affection turned into being offered a warm meal, or letting them pick movies for the night. No one ever snatched the food away, nor did they ever make fun of their picks. If the paranoia levels had been too high that day and they refused, no one chastised them.
They stood in front of Caretaker's door, knowing well that this talk was long-overdue. Knocking seemed like the most difficult task in the world, right up there with not running away once they'd done so. Caretaker opened the door within seconds.
"What's up?" they asked with a smile. "It's pretty late."
"I know."
Whumpee apparently looked nervous enough to wipe the smile off their friend's face, because they frowned, all the carefree joy gone from their voice as they asked, "Is everything okay?"
They took a deep breath, telling themself these were just words, and no words were more difficult to say than others. Not in theory. "I wanted to apologise. For the, uh... for the way I spoke to you during that argument we had. About the hugs and stuff. And accusing you of being a liar. Clearly, you... didn't lie."
Surprise crossed Caretaker's face for just a moment before their smile returned. "Oh! Well, apology accepted."
Was that... it? "Um..." Caretaker made no move to hug it out, which Whumpee appreciated immensely. But still... No. No, maybe some words were too difficult to say. "Thanks. Good night."
"Good night, Whumpee. Thank you for trusting me."
As Whumpee was walking back to their room, they thought about how they would ever be able to ask to be told nice things again. To be told they were cared for.
Loved.
~
general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou
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cupcakes-and-pain · 2 years
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Presents
Woohoo double update! Don’t get used to it tho lol sorry
Masterlist
CW: vampire caretaker, multiple whumpees, institutionalized slavery, caretaker new master, selective mutism, fear of punishment, panic attack, Roy being big of heart but dumb of ass,
———
The ride back was unsettling, but at least Master allowed them to sit in the seats. It was senseless kindness, one that they will have to repay, but at least it was comfortable. Dew hated punishment, but at least she could curl up on a cushy seat in a beautiful car beforehand.
The first thing Dew noticed when they arrived was that Master’s house was tiny for a vampire. She originally was astonished that he had such a huge building all to himself until he mentioned a landlady. Drop elbowed her in the ribs, wanting to ask a question. She tried to subtly shake her head “no” but he just. Would not listen. Typical.
“So, master, you have a landlady? What is that?”
“Oh! Yeah, you’ve probably only ever lived in mansions. Well, my place might be a little bit of a downgrade, but it’s still pretty big. It’s the penthouse suite and the biggest space of this entire apartment complex. It takes up most of the top floor.”
Master showed them around, but Dew started to worry. It didn’t even take up the last floor completely. Master would be able to hear them constantly and know what they messed and or spoke out of turn. They were totally exposed.
A quick glance at Drop told her that he knew it too. This house was much smaller than any other vampire, but perhaps Master knew that. He realized that his super hearing had limits and chose a house according. So sneaky. So cruel. Dew’s breathing began to pick up again, but she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn’t start freaking out, not right now! Not with so much at stake.
“So this is the kitchen, but it’s hardly been used. Oh, um, can you guys make food for yourselves?”
Dew nodded, and he moved on.
“Here’s your room. I hope only one bed is alright. Your bathroom is just down the hall. Any questions?”
“Yes Master. Firstly, may we enter the library? Also, where would you like to be fed? I noticed there is no dining room.”
“You can go pretty much anywhere in here. I’m not too big on rules. The only place that’s restricted is my room, I guess. And there was a dining room. It is what is now my library that I showed you. Heh, um, yeah.” Master seemed agitated. Plus, he had dodged her second question. Dew shuffled her feet nervously.
“I don’t know how to tell you, but I’m not hungry right now. Really, I’m not! There was a lot of, uh, stuff at the party. So you can just, like, chill I guess. Hang out. I’m going to be in my room. Call me if you need me.”
And then he was gone, briskly walking away. Just like that. Like he hadn’t left to terrified blood bags in his wake.
Dew took a deep breath, keeping the constant fear away, and lead Drop to the library. She had seen lose paper and pens in there.
They sat on the plush carpet. Drop looked around, but Dew was focused on writing down a note. She’d been caught with a note only once before, but vampires often underestimated how quickly a human could chew and swallow something. They’d be safe to communicate like this.
She handed Drop the note and he read,
This house is small, so he’ll hear us talking. You already know that though. If he comes to check what we’re writing, I’ll eat the paper. Nod to show you read it.
He nodded and she wrote on the back.
We present ourselves first thing tomorrow morning. Be sweet looking. Don’t grimace or snarl. Don’t go into any room other than ours, the bathroom, and the library but only when I tell you.
Drop rolled his eyes and did an eating motion.
We don’t know if we can go in the kitchen.
Drop glared at her. She glared right back. They had known each other long enough, it felt like an entire conversation was going on through their angry looks.
Drop: how are we supposed to eat, then?
Dew: how should I know? Just don’t go there until we’re sure.
Drop: why show us a kitchen if we can’t use it!
Dew: shut up!
Drop: you shut up!
Dew: fine.
Drop: fine.
Dew huffed and started to stand. Drop swatted at her legs playfully and she returned it by hitting his leg with her shoe. They couldn’t be mad at each other for long and both humans started to giggle.
*Creak*
They whipped around. Master had left his room and was coming there way. Dew ate the paper so fast that she honestly surprised herself.
“Hey, sorry, but I just remembered a few things. Sorry to interrupt.”
They almost forgot to bow when he came in. Dew felt the constant terror clawing at her throat, threatening to make her sob.
“You did not interrupt. We are yours, we are here to serve. It is our fault for being distracted. Punish us as you see fit.”
Again, Master seemed tense one moment and fine the next. Dew’s metaphorically knuckles were white with how desperately and tightly she held to her calm exterior, which threatened to slip right out of her grasp.
“It’s really alright. I don’t- you aren’t getting punished. I just wanted to clarify a few things.”
There was a pause, and Dew hesitantly nodded, not knowing what else to do.
“Um, can he talk?” Master asked, gesturing to Drop. “Like, physically talk.”
And just like that, everything came crashing down, including her knees as she fell into a mix of a bow and the fetal position.
“Please, d-don’t punish him! Don’t! He’s done- done nothing wrong. H-he’s good. He d-doesn’t, um, doesn’t talk. H-he could, but please don’t- don’t make him! He’ll be good! We’ll be good. L-let me me t-t-talk f-for him…” She tired to continue, but her sobs got in the way. Instead, she focused on catching her breath and not flinging herself over Drop to shield him.
Even though she couldn’t see him from her curled up position, she heard Drop holding back tears, dry sobs escaping every now and then. She looked up at her owner, the cruel man who may have purposefully owned a small house to keep slaves constantly feeling scared. She expected more of his signature, creative evilness and cunning. She expected hate and anger.
But instead, his eyes shone with tears, like a triplet to their twin despair. A thick strand of purple hair had fallen in Master’s face and he didn’t bother to push it away. He was uncomfortable and tense, just like she had thought she’d seen before. He looked about half as utterly miserable as Dew felt.
“Hey, i-it’s alright. It’s okay. You’re alright. You’re safe. No one is in trouble.” He gave her a moment to collect herself and wipe her tears before crouching down to their level while maintaining a fair distance between them.
“No one is going to be hurt or punished. Neither of you, I swear. I just was wondering if there was an injury that I should know about. But it’s okay if he can’t or won’t talk, even if he could physically. I don’t mind. I swear. You’re good.” And then Master turned to Drop and slowly reached out a hand. The latter flinched away, but Master rested his palm gently on his slave’s knee.
“And you’re okay, Drop. If you ever want to talk again, that’s fine. I don’t mind either way. If you never talk, it’s all good. I swear. You are both good.”
And he stood, took a deep breath, and left. It was always the same. As Dew helped her friend up and they scurried away, she mulled this over. Perhaps their master enjoyed causing panic and confusion and then leaving. It was strange how completely upset he looked, but maybe it was an act. That’d be okay. They had dealt with worse in and outside of the farm. If this Master enjoyed playing with his food, that was fine. At least they had each other.
Drop hopped into bed and held his arms open. It wasn’t every day that they slept cuddled up and consoling each other all night long. But if they ever needed comfort, it was on the first day of a new, strange master. As Dew curled up in Drop’s arms, she thought about everything. They could face this new Master and any other. As long as they had each other, they would be okay in the end.
———
Tag list: @kim-poce @badluck990 @whumpy-writings @imagination1reality0 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @wolfeyedwitch @thecyrulik @nicolepascaline @whumpsday @whumpcreations
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i-eat-worlds · 4 months
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Whumpcember Day 9 (Alt. 8, Tears)
@whumpcember
Phoenix and Aaron belong to @pigeonwhumps
cw: graphic depictions of injuries, medical procedures, blood, ongoing abuse, medical neglect, caretaking, fear of punishment, hospital setting
Phoenix was a mess.
Aaron had warned him about it before he went in, as well as apologizing for not being able to help more. Apparently, they’d been injured along with Abbie during a mission. Abbie’s injuries, however, were more severe. He’d have to heal her, which means he couldn’t take care of them. Halving a stranger treat them wouldn’t make things better.
Oh, and they’d put Phoenix in the room directly next to hers. That wasn’t helping either.
Joseph hadn’t been exactly expecting good things when he entered the room, but it was still much worse than he’d anticipated.
Phoenix wasn’t even on the exam table. Instead they were curled up in the far corner of the room, knees protecting their belly and arms raised to cover their head. Their camouflage was shorting out, covering their skin with bright flashes of color and odd shapes. Broken sobs occasionally escaped from the pile of limbs, but they were immediately cut off. The poor kid was trying to keep as quiet as possible. And the cherry on top? The blood from the injury on their thigh, which soaked their uniform and was smeared on the floor from them dragging themselves to the corner.
He grabbed a pair of gloves from the wall and started pulling them on while he crouched down in front of them. “Hey, Phoenix, I’m Joseph, I’m here to help you, alright?”
They didn’t seem to register the words at all. “Please, please, I’m sorry,” they blabbered. “Don’t tell Abbie, please, don’t let her know, I’m sorry, I promise, sir. Please.”
“I won’t tell her,” he said, keeping his tone relaxed. “I just wanna help you.”
“If she…If she sees me like this, she’ll…she’ll-” Their words were cut off by several panicked gasps. “Please…’m sorry.” They broke down into hiccuping sobs.
“I believe that you’re sorry, and I’m not going to…punish…you.” God, that felt wrong to say. “Aaron asked me to come help you. He’s worried about the injury on your leg.”
More fear filled their face at the mention of their injury. “I’m sorry, please, sir. I know it’s an inconvenience. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I can handle it on my own,” they sniffled, eyes brimming with tears. “Please. I know my place. I won’t waste. I won't. Please.”
Joseph kept silent for a second, trying to formulate a response. Their wound was still bleeding, and pretty badly at that. He needed to get them somewhere better than the floor. “I know it’s scary, but can you trust me, just for a little bit? I’m not going to hurt you.”
They waited for a second, then nodded tearfully, breaths still shaky. “Yes, sir.”
“Alright, I’m gonna have to touch you for this. Is that okay?”
Phoenix nodded again, lowering their arms. “Yes, sir,” they repeated.
“I know you can’t really stand right now, so I’m going to help get over to the exam table. That cool?” He smiled, placing a hand on their knee.
“Yes, sir.” They started to unfurl a little bit.
“So, first, I’m gonna put my arms around you, and then lift you up. You can use your good leg to help. It’s completely okay if you need to lean on me for support while I help you onto the exam table.”
He started to extend his arms towards them, moving slowly so that they wouldn’t get scared. Carefully, he snaked them behind Phoenix’s body and under their arms. “Can you put your arms on my shoulders?” They complied, far too quickly for comfort. “I’m gonna lift now. Just as a warning, it might hurt.”
It was worryingly easy to hoist them off the ground. Just as he expected, they immediately collapsed into his chest, leg unable to support their own weight. “‘m sorry,” they whimpered.
“You’re alright,” he comforted, using his arms to support them. “I’m going to get you up on the table now.” He lowered his arms so he could lift them onto the table.
Phoenix sniffled when he set them down, legs dangling. “Can you lay down for me?” Joseph asked. “You’re doing great.”
Even though they still looked absolutely terrified, they did look a little less uncomfortable now that they were laying down. “Thank…Thank you, sir,”
“You’re welcome.” The process of moving them had left blood smears all over his scrubs, and there were several spots on his arms as well. “I’m gonna look at your wound now, okay?”
This sent them spiraling again. “You…you don’t need to do that. It’ll heal. I don’t wanna be a waste. If she…if she found out-” their eyes wandered over to the wall that separated the room. She was right next door, and they knew it. “-it’d be bad. I’ll heal, sir. I promise I’ll heal.”
Joseph took a moment to collect himself. Who even does this to a person? “It’s not a waste to treat you, Phoenix. You deserve medical care just as much as any other hero, but I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.”
They looked at him with disbelieving eyes. “Please don't tell her.”
“I won’t kid, I promise.” He started to unfold his trauma shears. “I do need to look at it though. I’ll do my best to be quick.”
“Yes, sir,” they said, arms wrapped protectively around their core.
While he maneuvered the scissors, he did his best to keep them out of Phoenix’s sight. Their uniform was unnervingly easy to cut away. They hadn’t switched to the stab resistant fabric set. He’d need to talk to Aaron to make that change for this one’s replacement. With the amount of injuries they seemed to sustain, the switch should've been made ages ago.
The already torn fabric came away easily, revealing the wounds’s jagged, blood caked edges, along with a plethora of scars. There were burns as well as cuts, and some of them were handprint shaped. His stomach turned. Several of the scars were faded and old. They would’ve had to have happened when Phoenix was young. Who the fuck does this to anyone, much less a kid?
“That has to hurt,” he said as he examined the wound. They were already healing, the wound bed a healthy healing color. “I’ll get you hooked up to some pain meds and then I’ll clean it and bandage it, okay?” He quickly gathered the supplies needed for cannulation.
If he was being honest, he would’ve preferred to have another person in here, but Phoenix was barely tolerating his presence and he doubted they would be able to handle a second person. “Can I have your arm?”
Hesitantly, they moved it from its position around their belly and rested it at on the table. “I’m gonna put a line in. It’ll hurt a little bit, but it’ll be quick.”
The procedure went easily, and after he’d wrapped bandages around it to secure it, he prepared a syringe to push some pain control. “I’m gonna give you something to help with the pain.”
Phoenix started shaking their head again. “You don’t need to do that, sir. I don’t wanna waste. You can save them for heroes that need them. I'll..I’ll be okay.”
“It’s not a waste. We have plenty of meds, and we’re nowhere near close to running out. I don’t want you to be in pain when I treat you.” They tried to wrap their arm back over their body, wincing when the end of the cannula caught in their elbow. “O…okay,” Their face was tired, and it looked like they’d lost the energy to disagree with him.
Just as Joseph was about to push the meds, an outraged shriek came from the room over. “How dare you! Don’t you know who I am?” It was Abbie.
Phoenix immediately froze, numbly pushing the syringe away from their arm pulling their legs in close, balling up on the exam table. “‘m sorry,” they mumbled, only half present. “I wasn’t, I wasn’t gonna take them.” They hiccuped, tears rolling down their cheeks again. “I know…I know my place. I promise. Please. I’m sorry.”
“You’re okay, Phoenix. Abbie isn't here. She’s not going to hurt you.” Internally, Joseph cursued. That was it. They need to go somewhere else if Phoenix was ever going to calm down enough. “Phoenix, can you look at me?”
Their eyes flicked up, still wet from crying. “Yes, sir?”
“Would you feel better if we went somewhere else? I can ask Tori, the charge nurse about it.” Joseph didn’t care if he ended up doing this in a little tiny consulting room, as long as it was away from Abbie.
“You..you don’t need to do that.” They still looked absolutely terried. “I’m sorry for making a scene, sir.”
Joseph pushed his anger down. “It wouldn’t be too hard, and I don’t mind at all. I want to make sure you feel safe so that I can help, yeah? I want to help.”
“I’m sorry,” they said, slowly unfurling themselves. “Can I stay, please? It hurts to move.”
“Alright,” Joseph nodded. There were some battles that he wouldn’t fight unless he had to, and this was one of them. He’d bring it up again if they started panicking again. “I’m gonna go ahead and give you the pain meds so I can start working on your leg, yeah?”
They nodded their consent, and he pushed the drugs. “Tell me if it starts to hurt again.”
After he tossed the syringe, he was finally able to turn his attention back to their injury. They whimpered and wined as he lightly touched the wound. It wasn’t warm, and it didn't look inflamed, which was a good sign. “I’m gonna ush it out real quick, and then I’ll put a bandage over it to keep it clean.” He turned away to grab several things from one of the drawers.
Phoenix’s expression was a mixture of fear and confusion, but they nodded anyway. “If…um...can..I…can I ask why you’re…doing this?” They were barely even whispering, volume practically nonexistent.
Joseph looked up, surprised the Phoenix had dared to ask. “Because I don’t like seeing others in pain,” he answered truthfully.
“Oh…umm..thank you,” they said softly.
He smiled at them. “Always, kid, always.”
Taglist: @/pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump
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tomatoart · 11 months
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to stay the same sad, sorry mother
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