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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 month

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A Kindness

CW: Runaway whumpee, referenced hunger/malnourishment

Timeline: After Jameson escaped from Robert but before he found a safehouse

For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 3: A Long Cold Night

It’s fucking freezing out here. Jameson thought California wasn’t supposed to get cold like this, but just his goddamn luck, it definitely does.

He’s curled up against the heavy concrete beneath the overpass, using it to block the worst of the wind. There are a scattering of tents around him, others who have figured out some slim form of shelter. There’s a couple fires going, too, but Jameson doesn’t want anything to do with the people circled around them, sharing stories and in-jokes. They’ve been out here for long enough to know each other. To trust each other, more or less.

Like everywhere else he goes, Jameson doesn’t fit.

He sure as fuck doesn't trust.

When he finds other runaway pets, they think he’s frightening. The twisted scar near his mouth catches the firelight too well. He's too brash, too angry, someone who might be violent.

When he tries to stick around non-pets, they read him like a book and treat him like shit on the bottom of their shoes. Or try to sneak up on him when he sleeps and get a hand down his pants, assuming that he won’t fight back, because everyone knows Box Boys will lie back and take it, right?

Well, Jameson isn’t like other pets.

He isn't just any Box Boy.

Nanda taught him how to survive, no matter what it cost. Nanda taught him-

Goddamn fucking dead Nanda.

If he wasn't so fucking dead none of this would be happening.

Jameson closes his eyes against a hot rush of tears he refuses to allow out, not now. Not when he knows he's being watched, considered for whether he might have a few dollars that could be stolen or if he could be held down and made to accept their touch. He won't be.

The ones who try learn that real fast not to try again, once they have busted lips and black eyes and, in one case, a set of balls so bruised and twisted that the asshole who tried to make Jameson kneel for him is definitely sterile now.

Cold nights make his legs ache, the final loving legacy of the braces he’d worn for too long that never let him stand all the way up. Two goddamn assholes had put those on him, and he'll never be free of the pain. Jameson ignores it, grinds his teeth until his jaw hurts worse than his legs ever could. He can ignore it just fine until the weather gets cold.

Mostly.

There’s a scraping off to his left, footsteps crunching on gravel and shards of broken glass. Jameson’s knife is in his hand as easily as he breathes and he’s already got it brandished when he turns, putting a sneer on his face, leaning into the ugliness of the scar that twists one side of his mouth more than the other. “Listen, motherfucker, try to stick your dick anywhere near me and I’ll fucking cut it off-... shit.”

His voice dies as he takes her in.

She’s small, almost dainty looking. He reads her for what she is in a heartbeat, the grace in every movement carefully trained until it was no longer a conscious choice, the soft skin that had spent a long time moisturized and cared for at odds with the hackjob and clumsy box-dye red she’d done to her hair to try and make herself less recognizable. She’s drowning in a man’s overcoat at least four sizes too big and so long it’s dragging the ground, heavy boots that she has to be wearing at least three pairs of socks to fit into. She’s wearing leather driving gloves too big for her hands.

Her eyes are wide and frightened.

But she's not frightened of him.

She reads him right back, and they recognize each other before a single real word is said. She manages a slight, trembling smile. Jameson feels the snarl fade off his own face. They might have trained together, not that he remembers much of training.

“... can I sit with you tonight?” She asks, voice low, glancing nervously over her shoulder and then back to him. “Please? You’re, you were one too, right?”

Jameson’s jaw works.

He should tell her to fuck off, this is his spot, leave him alone. That he’s not nice, he’s no one anyone can trust. He’s been owned three times and twice they made him live on his hands and knees, once he starved, once he watched people die over and over again until he sees their faces every time he sleeps.

He didn't deserve to be the one who lived after it all, but he's the one who would do anything not to die, so here they are. Here they fucking are.

Instead of rejecting her need for even one small kindness, he replies instead, "Yeah, whatever. Go ahead. Don't try to talk to me about it, though."

He closes the knife, letting it slide back into his pocket as she makes her way to him, dropping down to sit beside him, curling her knees to her chest and pulling a hood up over her head. Jameson feels… settled, at the gentle unassuming touch, her weight barely noticeable when she leans slowly until her head rests on his shoulder. She smells kind of gross, but he probably does, too. Who knows when either of them last showered?

“Sorry,” She whispers as she slides her gloved hand into his, twining their fingers together.

“Uh-... what-... what the fuck are you doing-”

“There’s a guy who won’t stop following me around.” She keeps her voice low, turning and lifting her chin so she’s almost kissing Jameson’s cheek right over his scar as she speaks. “I told him you were my boyfriend. Can you-... just pretend to be, for a while? We’re good at pretending we’re in relationships, you can do it, right? I knew when I saw you that you’d been like me.”

Jameson fights the twist of pain.

Pretending we’re in relationships.

That’s as close as he’s ever going to get, and even that was ripped away from him. Jameson never even got to tell him-

He shuts that thought down.

He doesn’t think about Nanda anymore. He doesn’t think about anyone unless it’s to hate them - that’s easier.

All he does is nod, giving a smile - fake but to anyone else it looks warmly genuine. He can make any expression an owner wants on command, still - the scars and bald patches where hair used to be, rubbed away by the muzzle day after day, make it a little scarier. But it never looks like a lie.

“I got you,” He murmurs back, and kisses her forehead like they’ve known each other for forever.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a man lurking, skulking around, one eye on the girl all the time, watching Jameson slide an arm around her waist with barely concealed jealousy. Jameson shoots him a serene smile, pulling the girl tightly against him.

It’s going to be a long, cold night, and he’s not going to sleep at all.

The girl dozes off almost immediately, finally feeling safe enough to sleep, and that… that helps. A little bit.

It's a kindness.

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @yet-another-heathen @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#amow tropeathon2024 #day 3 #a long cold night #escaped whumpee #runaway whumpee #jameson bb #scars #scarred whumpee #bbu #box boy #box boy universe

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whump-or-whatever · 1 year

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Whumpee believing that it's their job as the most scarred one to shoulder the burden for the team

Yessss Anon. An absolutely amazing trope. (I’m thinking scarred both emotionally and/or physically)

I love that ‘I’m already a lost cause, why corrupt anyone else’ thought process. I also love when the team is like, ‘no, we’re not gonna let you do this’ and the whumpee simultaneously is like ‘I’m doing it anyway cause it’s my duty’ and ‘why tf do you guys care?’

That absolute inability to understand why others would see value in them or want to protect them gets me every time. The self-sacrifice as instinct, where there’s absolutely no other line of action in whumpee’s mind. They know what they have to do and they do it without hesitation or second thought.

And the team just has to watch as whumpee takes on more and more of the consequences until they become little more than a dumping ground for trauma and pain.

But the whole time whumpee just plows through, pretending like everything is fine, they can handle it. Better them than the others, right?

I might have taken this farther than you intended Anon, but it really is a beautiful scenario.

#whump #prompts from asks #thanks for the ask!#team whump #self sacrifice whump #scarred whumpee #whump idea #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump tropes #whump community #whump prompts #whumpblr #whumpee

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urlocalwhumper · 6 months

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caretaker hummed quietly to herself as she strolled down the halls of the pet shelter. she was surrounded by options, but to be entirely honest, none were just quite catching her eye.

she already had a pet at home, just the sweetest little puppygirl, but she knew her beloved pup got lonely when she was at work all day. so, she'd decided that she'd get her a companion, another nice animalperson for her to play and snuggle with.

but first, she'd have to actually pick one. which was where her dilemma laid.

at least, that was, until she turned the corner.

curled up in a kennel at the near end of the next hall, was a big doggirl. if she were to stand on two legs, she'd probably be significantly taller than caretaker.

but instead of putting that size to use in any way, she was curled up in the corner of her kennel, looking like she was trying to make herself as small as possible. and caretaker could pretty easily guess why.

the most striking thing about her, beyond her size, was the way her body was absolutely littered with scars. from the thick, ropey scars of whip lashes across her back, to the horrible rough burn scar taking up almost half of her face, revealing a shallow, empty indent where her left eye should have been.

this poor pup had clearly been through hell, and caretaker's heart ached for her.

caretaker knelt beside the kennel, hooking her fingers into the chain-link fencing.

"hi, girl." she said softly. the doggirl looked up, her single eye staring warily at her.

"oh, are you interested in whumpee?"

caretaker almost jumped out of her skin, whipping around to see a slightly apologetic looking shelter employee standing behind her.

"i'm sorry! i didn't mean to scare you." they said. "i just got a little excited. it's not often anyone shows any interest in whumpee."

"is that her name?" caretaker asked, turning back towards the doggirl, who seemed to have perked up a little at the sight of the employee.

"yup!" they replied. "she's the sweetest, i promise. but because she's so big, and has all these scars..." the employee sighed. "not many people want to take her home."

"what... what happened? if that's alright to ask."

the employee's face hardened. "her old owner was a right piece of shit. liked hurting her for fun." they shook their head. "the burn is from when they shoved her face into their fireplace. it was so bad the vet ended up needing to remove her eye because of the extent of the damage."

caretaker was horrified, her grip on the fence unconsciously tightening. "just... because?"

the employee nodded. "just because." they crossed their arms. "that's how we ended up with her, actually. the vet reported heavy suspicions of pet abuse, and we took her in once she was healthy enough to not need constant medical attention."

the doggirl had started to inch closer to the fence as the employee spoke, shoulders hunched and head bowed, but peering up at caretaker with a hopeful look in her eye.

"oh- here, let me..." the employee unhooked a ring of keys from their belt, fumbling with it for a moment before finding the right key and unlocking the gate to whumpee's kennel.

they swung the gate open, and whumpee froze, shrinking back as her ears flattened against her head.

"oh, it's okay baby." caretaker said in as soothing of a tone as she could muster. "i'm not going to hurt you."

she slowly moved closer to whumpee, until she was close enough to touch her. at this close proximity, she could see that whumpee was trembling, poor thing, and she braced herself to be hit as soon as caretaker raised her hand.

but instead, caretaker rested her hand on top of whumpee's head, gently massaging her scalp with her fingertips.

"see, it's okay." caretaker said, going in to scratch behind whumpee's ear with her other hand.

whumpee leaned into her touch, single eye staring at her in awe. caretaker caught the motion of her tail starting to wag out of the corner of her eye and smiled.

whumpee tentatively stepped forward, and when caretaker continued lavishing her with affection, she kept getting closer and closer until she was curled up in caretaker's lap, the constant tension and anxiety she carried starting to melt away as the feeling of finally being safe washed over her.

"aw, you're just a big puppy, aren't you?" caretaker cooed, one hand continuing to scratch behind her ears while the other moved down to rub her belly. "such a good girl, you just needed some lovin', right?"

whumpee made a low noise, almost a bark, but not quite. caretaker seemed delighted.

"so," the employee piped up, "think you'll be taking her home?"

caretaker smiled up at them. "how could i not?"

#whump #pet whump #nonhuman whumpee #female whumpee #female caretaker #institutionalized pet whump #past abuse #scarred whumpee #mine #this is just an expansion on that institutionalized pet whump prompt i wrote lol #who says i can't fill my own prompts

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whumpshots · 2 years

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Whumptober #23

Trope of the day: “Hold them down”

Whumper looks at the kid on the table, still not out of it, still struggling against his henchmen. It’s fascinating how much they fight, how much they his and spit. He quite likes their defiance, but that won’t stop him from showing them who has the upper hand and the last word.

His fingers wander softly over the exposed skin on his torso, revealing so many interesting scars – each telling a different story. The goosebumps he causes make him grin a bit, it’s nice to see how much control he has over that body. It’s now his to experiment with because none of those scars are his. Yet.

“Now tell me, how much pain can you take before you pass out? You’ve put up quite the fight until now,” whumper purrs right next to whumpee’s ear and sees him struggle against the hands still holding him tightly. He has become weaker, but not weak enough.

“Fuck off,” the kid hisses and whumper can’t help but chuckle and raise his eyebrows a bit. They really are a worthy little fighter, but that kind of defiance is his to break. As whumpee tries to free himself again, whumper looks at his henchmen.

“Hold them down. I will see how much they can take,” he orders and the others nod, holding the kid down, even more brutally than before which makes them grunt for a second. The struggle – the fight doesn’t stop. But whumper only smiles at that. “You’ll love this,” he says and turns around to get the knife.

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the-three-whumpeteers · 22 days

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The whumpee may had been rescued, but they had scars that would never fade. The marks from shackles that were far too tight were still on their wrists, and whip marks covered their back with little mercy- the whumper had made sure the whumpee never truly forgot them.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #whumper #past whump #scars

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blackrosesandwhump · 1 month

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Whump Prompts 130: Lab Whump Aesthetic

CW: lab whump (obviously), blood, self-harm, psychological/emotional whump, magic whump

The lab rat uniform: loose, drab, hanging on whumpee's frame like it doesn't feel comfortable there

Bloodstained, soiled clothing, the result of experimentation

Whumpee left naked in their cell as their uniform is washed

Whumpee arriving at the lab facility as a new subject and realizing that whumper will be experimenting on them, not with tools and drugs, but with dark magic

Inhuman whumpees losing whatever shreds of humanity they might have had as time and experiments continue and they're treated more and more like animals

Or, conversely, inhuman whumpees that become more human and exhibit more human emotions as they're mistreated

Whumpee forgetting their own name because they're only referred to by a subject number

Disorientation from drugs/experiment aftermath

Whumpee's sleep, the only time they're alone, being disrupted by nightmares about what's been done to them

Or, a whumpee who's never left alone, always watched, always under observation of some kind

Whumpee's skin slowly turning into a scarred, chaotic mess from cuts/syringes/injections, etc.

Whumpee seeing their own distress and pain mirrored in the glimpsed faces of other lab rats in the facility

Whumpee learning to see themself as nothing but a test subject

Bandages, sterile gauze, sterile lights, sterile everything

Whumpee being overwhelmed when they catch a glimpse of life outside the lab when visitors arrive

Waking up after an experiment, seeing bloodied instruments and wondering groggily what terrible thing whumper could have done to them now

Learning to damage their own body to foil whumper's plans

Whumpee becoming desensitized to whumper's drugs and needing higher and higher doses for them to work

No longer recognizing their own body after recovering from whumper's last experiment

Whumper leading lab rat whumpee to a mirror, after intentionally keeping them away, and letting them see how pathetic they've become

Or, whumpee looking in a mirror and realizing that whumper has turned them into a monster

Whumpee deciding that it's too late for them and they might as well embrace what they've become

Feel free to reblog and add on!

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oddsconvert · 9 months

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Mute Whumpee having been forced into silence until they hear a certain “permission” code word.

Caretaker thinking that Whumpee is just mute from trauma now, and after about a week into their rescue they accidentally let that word slip and next thing they know, Whumpee is sobbing and apologizing and pleading-

Caretaker always liked the peace and quiet.

The sound of his own footsteps down an empty hallway, the creak of the floorboards beneath him, the soft whirring of the air conditioning unit in the corner. He liked the way the silence seemed to wrap around him like a blanket, shielding him from the outside world. He liked the way he could hear himself think, hear his own thoughts crystal clear when it was nice and quiet. When there were no distractions. When Caretaker could just be, without worrying about anything or anyone else.

Solitude is a blessing. Caretaker wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the whole wide world.

Caretaker used to like the peace and quiet…at least, before Whumpee fell into his lap.

The silence is now deafening, ear-piercing. The birds have stopped singing, the only sound is the wind rustling through the crunchy leaves scattered on the ground outside. The air is still and heavy, and the only movement is slow, steady drip of rainwater from the trees.

It is a silence that is full of fear and anticipation, and it is a silence that is waiting for something to happen. The quiet sounds like failure and disappointment. Another day blurs past in the blink of an eye - another day where he’s no closer to Whumpee speaking. Caretaker doesn’t even know the name of the man he rescued from the pits of hell, nor does he know his story. He doesn’t know the sound of Whumpee’s voice. If he has a family and friends, searching day and night to bring him home.

Whumpee is a mystery to Caretaker. And Caretaker is a mystery to Whumpee.

Caretaker peeks through the crack in the door, checking on Whumpee as he sleeps…on the floor. Whumpee lies huddled on the cold, hard ground, ignoring the perfectly made bed in the corner of the room. Like he’s not allowed to sleep in it. He writhes and flinches in his sleep, kicking his legs and whimpering like a dreaming dog. Whumpee is in there, somewhere, even if Caretaker can’t reach him just yet. He has tried everything he can think of, lost countless nights of sleep tossing and turning, and thought of every way to pull himself out of the darkness in his head, but nothing seems to work.

Whumpee suddenly awoke with a start, screaming and covered in cold-sweat, his eyes darting in horror around the room. Dark circles hang beneath his eyes, every inch of him vibrates in terror. When he spots Caretaker lingering in the doorway, he flinches and chokes on a sob.

“Hey, hey! Shhh, you’re okay!” Caretaker bursts through the doorway, rushing over to Whumpee’s side, “You were having another nightmare-”

Caretaker rubs Whumpee’s back as he heaves for air, “Would you like me to stay?”

Whumpee smiles, but it does not reach his teary eyes. His muscles tense like a spring about to bounce, and still he nods his head in agreement. Or submission.

Somewhere, somehow - Whumpee must understand and realise that this is safety. Caretaker is safety. His wounds and gashes are scabbing and closing, dark bruises fading into his pale skin. His belly warm and full. The dog collar strapped tight to his throat when Caretaker found him - long gone. Caretaker burned it.

“I’m so sorry. I wish I knew how to help -” Caretaker holds Whumpee's face, cupping his cheek.

There’s that damn silence again. Whumpee sniffles and wipes at his nose, refusing to even look at Caretaker now. He has all the answers, just not the words to reveal them. So close yet so far.

“I want you to know I will never hurt you, Whumpee. I just want to help… I just…I just want you to heal-”

Whumpee’s eyes go wide with horror, and he freezes like a statue. Caretaker can hear their heart racing in both their chests. Before Caretaker could stop him, Whumpee is kneeling at Caretaker’s feet, wrapping his arms around his legs, clinging like a baby koala and bursting into tears.

“Th-Thank you! Oh, thank you s-sir - thank god!” Whumpee wails, his voice deep, hoarse and scratchy. Caretaker can hardly believe his ears. It feels like a fever dream. Whumpee just spoke. What just happened?! What changed?!

“Whu-Whumpee?!” Caretaker gasps.

“I’m so sorry sir!!! I waited - and waited and…and I tried! I tried so hard to be good. I thought you’d never say it- I thought you'd never release me-”

"Release-"

"Heel. You - You told me to heel-" Whumpee slumps back onto the heels of his feet, sitting by Whumper's heels, his hands folded limp in front of his chest - begging. "My release word. I-I did good? I didn't speak, sir!!!"

"No…" Caretaker falters, "No, you didn't."

---

Drabble taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumpsday @sparrowsage @whumperfully @wolves-and-winters @canislycaon24 @happy-little-sadist @darkthingshappen

#SORRY THIS IS BAD #AND THIS ASK IS FROM LAST YEAR #BUT INSPO STRUCK #whump #whump writing #answered asks #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #captivity #caretaker #pet whumpee #recovery whump #mute whumpee #scar mention #whump drabble #whump prompt

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whumpy-arts-and-crafts · 9 months

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Vincey pissed off the wrong supervillain or hero again

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whump-blog · 9 months

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Prompt 47

Ever since Villain's capture, he's been passed around between different hero teams. Some wanted to interrogate him, others take revenge, and a few just treated him like a servant.

Now, Villain finds himself with a new group of heroes, but they don't seem interested in him at all. He just sits in his assigned room, waiting for a hero to come in and either punish him for his crimes or find some use for him.

But as days go by without anything bad happening, Villain decides to take matters into his own hands. He steps out of his room and starts doing chores like cleaning, cooking, and whatever else he can to keep the heroes happy. Maybe if he proves useful, they'll take pity on him and let him stay a bit longer before passing him to the next team.

The heroes are surprised and concerned by Villain's behavior. He's constantly trying to please them and working hard for no apparent reason. Upon investigating, the team discovers the scars that cover Villain's body, revealing the abuses been going through.

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #hero and villain #hero team #hero #villain whump #villain #villain whumpee #group of heroes #team #abuse #revenge #servant #scars #whump prompt #prompt 47

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 5 months

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your new bank robber boyfriend kidnapper btw. if you even care.

#whump #my art #whump community #whump scenario #whumper #whump ideas #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #masked whumper #yandere #male yandere #implied whump #guns #yeah of course he's gotta be scarred up he HAS to be it is the LAW..........#i want him big n strong...#whumpee insert

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ashintheairlikesnow · 11 months

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How is Beringer 🥺

You can find work involving Beringer, the daycare-worker pet who ran away thanks to a handler who decided to stop being a handler, in this masterlist.

Beringer finds himself staring out the window at the endless span of white outside as the dirty water drains out of the sink, towel forgotten in his hands.

Snow covers the houses in the little town in a heavy blanket, obscures any suggestion that there had ever been a road that ran through it. A fence cuts across the plain white, where the pasture is. The horses are huddled warm in the barn, though, and the only thing visible in the pasture is the tiny house at the far end, almost cradled by the woods that rise just behind it.

Marc's in that little house, freezing slowly to death while his daughter at least is napping warm and dry and Beringer sits here like a lump, not allowed to see him alone.

We have to be sure, was all Brock had said by way of explanation. Hurried quick kisses before witnesses, having to tear Marc's own daughter from his arms after the far too short visits, holding Mallie while she wailed for her daddy in utter misery, not understanding. That's all he gets, for now.

Beringer understands.

They want to see if Beringer felt forced to offer himself to a handler who offered him kindness, if he's someone who knelt for a man with a badge and a shock baton, if any of this is him or just what WRU wanted. If it's real or if it was conditioned into him.

He gets it.

He doesn't like it, but he gets it.

He feels awful about it, too.

If he hadn't roped Marc into his plan...

No. He needed a way out, and Handler Sonders was that way. He needed someone who showed interest, who could be convinced that Beringer is a real live man who should get to choose where he goes. Marc Sonders fell for it, that's all. He fell for Beringer's half-smiles and soft flirting. That's it, that's all it was.

Marc Sonders was a man too easy to con.

But now Beringer can't bring himself to leave the mark behind. He's too aware of the way it feels to have Marc kiss his knuckles, like a knight in the television shows he watches with a lady. He remembers too well how Marc's lips are warm and dry, and that he isn't the best kisser but he makes up for it in how badly he wants to.

Beringer probably seems the same to him.

"Hey-yo, Earth to new guy," A voice sing-songs from behind him, and he realizes someone is knocking against the doorframe. He turns away, drying his hands off quickly, feeling himself flush. There's a woman there, with hair a thousand tiny braids that run shockingly far down her back, held together by a cord tied loosely at her nape. She has an oversized sweater that slips off one rounded shoulder, long as a dress over leggings. "You're him, right?"

He blinks, trying to jolt himself back to reality. "Uh. Yeah, I'm... one of them."

"Rye says you worked in the daycare at Facility One," She says, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the little drip pot. Everything is community property here. Nobody owns one coffee pot, everyone owns it. He just watches her add creamer from the fridge, French Vanilla flavor, enough to turn it from nearly black to a tan lighter than the color of her skin. That idea of drinking coffee that sweet makes his stomach flip and he winces.

"I did."

"I thought you guys were supposed to be perfect." She gives him a look like a challenge, leaning back against the counter. She's pretty, but there's a hard look to her, too. He realizes all at once that the colors in her braids aren't dyed hair, but colored thread, or yarn of some kind, woven through all the way from top to bottom. "Like, loyal to a fault. Supposedly you're trained so you can't ever leave. Don't even want to, can't even think about it."

"We are." He shrugs, lifting one shoulder more than the other. His eyes find their way back to the little shack at the edge of the pasture, just barely visible after the blizzard finally ended. He can see Rye, now, wearing snowshoes as he makes his way there weighed down with a heavy backpack. Beringer had sent fresh hot coffee, new bread baked by a woman who seems to do nothing else in a house two doors down. Salted butter.

I keep asking them to let him come into town, He'd said to Rye, before he came in here to wash the dishes. Please tell him. Tell him I keep asking for them to let him come here to me.

Rye had promised, sworn up and down, and Beringer had to trust him, because nobody trusted Ber or Marc at all. They were a runaway handler and a runaway daycare worker, two people who are supposed to be WRU's most perfect creations. Still...

Nobody's perfect, right?

Beringer runs fingertips over the back of one hand, where ancient scars still twist across like fading ropes. The reason he couldn't be made into something to serve. Pretty face, a handler once said, but get his shirt off and it's a goddamn ruin under there.

The burns cover sixty percent of your body...

"Then why are you here?" Her eyebrows raise. He jolts back into the present. There's no hostility in her, he thinks. Just a curiosity that seems even riskier than resentment would have been.

"Because I was..." He hesitates. Then he just shakes his head. "Because I was tired of having to watch my babies leave me."

"What? Your what?"

"Every four years they took them from me to go to real school. Every four years. I met them as infants, some of them brand new. I saw them roll over for the first time, watched them learn how to smile. We helped them take their first steps and then swore up and down that their parents were the ones who saw it first. Taught them alphabets and numbers and I taught them some Spanish, too, I know it for some reason. They had to be taught not to call me Dada. I loved each and every one of them, we're good at that, that's why we get picked for it. But we have to let them go. And when they leave, they get told we never mattered to them at all. They get taught to leave us behind."

"And... you can't leave them behind."

"Had to. No choice."

She blinks. Her voice - her whole face - softens now, with real compassion. "That was... really rough, huh?"

"Agony, thanks for bringing it up. Really love that feeling."

She doesn't look pissed at his snappy reply. Instead, she laughs. "Oh, man. You remind me of a friend of mine from the city. He was all bristles and thorns like you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Probably saved my life a couple times that way. I tried to save his, when I ran. Tried to take him with me." She looks down, her smile wavering a little. "He stayed. I hope he's okay."

"I hope so, too. Was he one of us?"

"Yeah. He went through a lot more shit than most of us do, though. I think. He never talked about it, but I don't think you learn to be as paranoid as he was without there being a good reason. What's your name? I'm Juliet."

"Beringer. Or, well. They called me that, but... I like it."

"That's funny, too. My... friend I told you about called me Juliet, so I called him Romeo. Are you going to Canada? That's my plan. I heard you shouldn't try Montreal unless you speak really really good French, but supposedly Toronto and Vancouver are safe for us."

"That was the plan, yeah." Beringer hums. Rye has vanished, having made it to the little shack where Marc Sonders sits. Beringer wonders if Marc likes the coffee. If he likes the bread.

If his mouth would taste like coffee.

Does Marc still think it was worth it to bring him here? Maybe he's realized now that Beringer just needed access to a car and a fool who could drive and who wouldn't realize it was all a big lie to get here.

Is it still a lie if it... isn't a lie any longer?

"It was the plan? What's the plan now?"

"I'm waiting for them to let my-... my friend out. He's in the house out there." He gestures towards the pasture.

"Your friend is the handler?" Her lip curls, half a snarl that fades away as soon as she realizes she's doing it. He can tell she was a Romantic - she has that way of standing, with an unconscious grace. One hip slightly tipped, begging you to notice the way waist curves into hips. If she flirts, he thinks, she'll put a hand out, run it down his chest. She'll bite her lower lip, tilt her chin down slightly to make her eyes seem bigger as she looks up at him.

They all do it.

Just like the Domestics all have the same distant smile and way of disappearing into the walls as they walk past, like they're shadows who clean when your back is turned and not people. The way the Platonics always look excited and wait to be given attention, affection, some sign that things are okay, that they're being the right kind of friend or surrogate son or whatever they've been bought for.

Everyone has their false expression, everyone gives away their body in one way or another and pretends they're happy to do it.

He likes the look on her face now much better. It's mingled suspicion and disgust, as her eyes move to the window over his shoulder. It's an honest look. She makes it because that's how she actually feels, not just because she has to do whatever it takes to survive.

They all do whatever it takes to survive.

Just like Marc got a job to pay for a child and a wife and then kept the job when the wife vanished and he had to figure it out on his own. The way needing the job made it easier to sell his body to hurt other people, because then he went home at the end of the day. Just like Beringer went into his little back room with the beds and watched TV and wondered what it was like to be the people in those shows, who could just open a door and go for a drive. For a coffee. Just to smell the air.

"He quit," Beringer says with a shrug. "Or. Um. I think he's legally dead or missing now. There was a fire-" His hands tremble at the memory of the heat, mixed up with a deeper memory of the skin on his back firing every nerve as he reached, desperately, for a hand that no longer reached back for him-

"He quit," he repeats, cutting it off before his headache can start. He isn't going to entertain the memories, he wiped them for a reason. He feels better without them anyway. "For me."

"Oh." Juliet blinks. Then, her eyes widen. "Oh. Are you fucking him?"

Romantics. Always the one assumption. Beringer holds back a sigh. "You're the fifth person since we got here to ask me that."

"Well? I mean, are you?"

"No." His voice is flat. "I'm not."

He wants to.

She doesn't need to know that.

"Did he ask you to?"

"No. Hey, what happens in my pants is kind of my business, okay? I just needed a way to get to Canada, and he wanted to get his daughter away from the system. He didn't want to do this anymore, and I didn't either. That's it. Simple as that."

"Nothing is that simple." She sets her empty mug down in the sink. Beringer's jaw tightens when she doesn't bother to rinse it out, just leaves it dirtied there. "Nobody does shit for free, Beringer. Nobody helps just to be nice. Nobody does a good thing without getting paid for it. Nobody's good. Everybody just does what it takes, and fuck whoever stands in the way."

She walks away, and Beringer manages to wait long enough for her to leave before he turns and washes the mug out, so aggressively he's afraid he'll break the handle from how tightly he grips it.

He has no idea how to tell her that he never had anything to lose, not really. It's Marc, not him, who has had to give up everything just to get him here. It's Marc who lost his entire life.

Beringer is the one who convinced him to throw it away. He tells himself it had to be done, though. He had to get out of there. He had to stop watching them take his children from him, year after year after year. He had to... He had to trick someone, and Marc was close and easy.

It doesn't make Beringer the bad guy here.

He just did what he had to do to get beyond surviving.

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @arlinthesnep @endless-whump @doveotions @emdeighamae @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up @orchidscript

#whump #beringer #marc sonders #juliet #a little town called hope #the little town of hope #bbu #box boy #box boy universe #runaway whumpee #referenced dubcon #scars tw #scarred whumpee

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