#denied food as punishment whump | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pigeonwhumps · 2 years

Text

Beaten

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch

Phoenix finally transfers. But things aren't as simple as just walking out of there...

5.2k

CWs: immortal whumpee, abuse, beating, mentions of being (possibly unintentionally) denied food, broken bones, concussion, plushie whump, belongings whump (for want of a better term), choking

Phoenix packs the tube of capsaicin cream and the box of scrawled reminders into the bottom of their rucksack carefully, then pauses.

They’re transferring to Kai’s team tomorrow, so they need to pack. And they should pack some of the food from the large box under their bed. It’s unlikely they’ll need it, Kai never lets them miss meals if he can help it, but if something happens... if his team does something and he’s not there and doesn’t know... if it gets too much to leave their room... just in case, they should have something.

They rummage around in the bottom of their wardrobe until they find a fairly small plastic box and set about filling it with cereal bars and packets of crisps, a small bottle of ginger beer stuffed down the side. There. That should do until they have more space.

At least, if Kai or Aaron find it, they won’t get angry. But they pack it at the bottom of their rucksack anyway.

Then they stand up, glancing at the door nervously. They really need the toilet now, they’ve been in here for as long as they can, hoping, praying, that they could hold on, that they wouldn’t have to see their teammates before they leave in the morning, but they can’t wait any longer. Maybe they won’t bump into anyone.

It’s not like Abbie can’t come in here whenever she chooses, anyway. If she wants to punish them before they leave, she can. And besides, she wouldn’t want to do anything to them that Kai’s team would see.

Right?

Right.

They’ll be fine. It’s less than 24 hours before they leave, anything Abbie can do to them now Kai would see, and people who don’t already know would see how they’re trained. And Abbie, for some reason, doesn’t like that.

They head to the nearest toilet as fast as they can without running. Okay. Okay. Now to finish, and make it back.

That turns out be more of a problem.

They’re halfway back down the corridor, nearly there, nearly there, when they fall, barely catching themself before they fall on their face.

They try to rise, but they can’t, feeling a boot pressing into the small of their back. It’s a large, solid, leather boot, heavy too.

“Indigo?” they croak as soon as they get their breath back, then add hurriedly, “sir?”

“Yes. It’s me. And Segun.” Phoenix shivers at the malice in her voice. “I want you to listen to me very carefully. You’re not going to tell anyone how you were trained. That’s our secret, and ours alone. And if anyone finds out in some way that’s not through you, you’re not to act all pitiful about it. Because you deserved it, you understand? That was the best way to train you, and it worked.” She presses her boot further into their back. “Do you understand?”

“Yes– yes, sir,” chokes out Phoenix. They know it was for their own good, why are they being beaten up over it?

Segun scoffs. “You’re pathetic. I don’t understand why the agency even took on someone so feeble and worthless in the first place. I think we need to make the lesson stick.”

There’s a sound of agreement and Phoenix is kicked over onto their back. They try to curl up but Segun presses the tip of his trainer under their chin, forcing it back up.

“No. Don’t. Don’t do that, how are we supposed to give you a lesson if you’re hiding?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Hmm.”

There’s time for Phoenix to take a breath and then it starts. Phoenix can feel kicks, and fists maybe too they’re not sure, hitting their chest and arms and legs. They bite their lip and close their eyes against the pained whimpers threatening to emerge. It hurts so much and they don’t even understand what they’ve done wrong this time. There are other ways to remind them not to tell.

The kicks stop for a moment, enough for them to take in a painful, shallow breath, and then a boot comes down hard on their face. They feel a sharp agony in their nose and something warm and wet trickles down their face. Their eyes water, and they can’t stop a pitiful cry of pain, especially when the foot comes down again, on their forehead this time, hard enough to smash their head into the thin carpet. They see stars, eyes streaming now.

There’s laughter and possibly a burst of light (although that could just be their head) and then finally, finally, the footsteps fade away. After a while they’re left with only the pounding in their ears, and the aches and agony everywhere.

As soon as the throbbing in their head’s died down slightly they force themself to stand, holding the wall for balance. They scrub their eyes angrily to get rid of the tears and pull down their sleeves, brushing off the worst of the dirt carefully. Their camouflage will cover the bruises forming on their skin.

They touch the back of their head gingerly. It’s not bleeding. Good.

Kai’s not here but Aaron should be, in the medbay, and Phoenix pushes themself through the corridors, taking the long way round to avoid the possibility of bumping into Segun or Indigo again. Or Abbie, but they don’t think she’s around. They can’t stay in this flat any longer, they know that much. At least... not until they desperately need to pack. They can take a break at least.

When they reach the medbay they lean against the wall, ignoring the pain, looking around for Aaron. It’s not very busy in this section today, most of the nurses are standing around chatting or organising things. Must not be any missions coming back.

“Phoenix?” Phoenix jumps and looks round, wincing as their head pounds at the sudden movement. “I was going to ask if you’re just here for a social call but clearly not. Come and sit down.” They stumble over to the bed and Aaron draws the curtains. “Let me fetch you some painkillers. I’ll be right back.” He starts to walk away but Phoenix grabs their wrist weakly before they can stop themself.

“Don’t go... please.”

“You’re in pain. And don’t tell me that’s not a bootprint on your hoodie.”

“I know but... ’s only bruises... I just need someone. Please.” Their voice breaks on the last word and Aaron sits down, pulling them into a careful hug.

“Okay. Okay, Phoenix, I’m not going anywhere.”

Every sob, every shudder that racks Phoenix’s body hurts, but they can’t stop it. It’s only one more night, they thought they were safe for one night, but they weren’t and it’s too much. It’s not like they would ever tell anyone anyway.

Eventually they calm down enough to pull away, swiping at their eyes and hiccuping. “I– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Were you busy?”

“Not at all. Just doing some organising while I’ve got the time. But you’re more important than that.” Their mouth twitches. “Want to show me what happened?”

Phoenix nods and pulls off their hoodie, and then their t-shirt too, because that’s where the worst bruises will be. That’s where it hurts the most, aside from their nose of course, they can still feel Indigo’s boot pressing into their back. Then they close their eyes against Aaron’s reaction and let their camouflage go in an icy rush.

“Oh, Phoenix.” There’s no pity in Aaron’s voice and they look up at a soft touch to their back. Their eyes are a mix of concerned and angry – not at them, though, they’ve learned that by now. “They’ve really done a number on you, huh?” Phoenix nods. “Right. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re gonna stay here tonight. I’ll fetch you some painkillers and something to clean yourself up with, and then collect your stuff, so you don’t have to go back to your team’s quarters. That okay? You be alright for a few minutes on your own? You’re safe here.”

“If– if you’re going,” asks Phoenix tentatively, feeling like a small child and hating it, “will you call Kai? Please? I don’t– I don’t want to be alone for long.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” He squeezes their hand. “I’ll do all that now and be back as soon as I can.” Phoenix nods and Aaron leaves.

Leaves them alone.

They grasp the metal bars of the headboard tightly, taking deep breaths, jumping at every sound. It’s fine, it’s fine, Indigo and Segun can’t get to them here, the staff won’t let them near, it’s fine.

They can’t stop imagining it though. The nurses won’t notice and Indigo and Segun will get them and hurt them again and–

Phoenix yelps as footsteps approach and the curtains open, ducking and bringing their hands up to shield their head.

“Hey, hey, easy. It’s just me. I brought your painkillers.” Phoenix peers up to see Kai, who takes one look at their tear-stained, bloody face and bruised body and pulls them into a careful hug.

“What the hell did those bastards do to you this time?”

Aaron’s fuming as he makes his way up to Phoenix’s team’s quarters.

They jumped them. They fucking jumped them. Phoenix hasn’t said as much, but between the jumpiness and not wanting to be left alone and the goddamn bootprint-shaped bruise on the small of their back it’s obvious.

All those bruises, all over Phoenix’s body. Aaron doesn’t understand why they’d do it, not the day before Phoenix is due to leave. One last bit of fun?

Shaking his head, they push open the door to Phoenix’s room. It’s a mess. And not a Phoenix-mess, he’d recognise that anywhere after the amount they’ve made at his place, this is someone else’s. They pick their way carefully through the scattered belongings, some of them dirty and torn, until they reach the wardrobe and pulls out a partially-packed black camping rucksack. At least that’s not damaged. The photo album of Phoenix and their sister is thankfully perfectly safe as well, and Aaron tucks it securely into the bottom of the rucksack, above whatever’s already there. They pull out all the clothes remaining in the wardrobe and stuff them into the bag, then turn to survey the rest of the room.

There’s no point trying to save the fairy lights, which have been ripped down and crushed. He picks up the books he thinks he can save, most of which have missing pages or covers, but some are torn completely. There’s no saving them.

Then they change their mind and pack those in anyway. Maybe Phoenix can fix them. Or they might want them anyway, even if they can’t.

He strips the bed and covers, piling the colourful bedspread that was a gift from Kai into the bag as well as the massive weighted blanket. The polaroids of the three of them they slip into a secure pocket.

Then they turn to the last remaining item, arm and foot torn off, eye missing, stuffing pooling onto the mattress underneath. Mr Frosty.

The only thing Phoenix has from when they were little, already repaired several times in his long life.

It’s Aaron’s turn to repair him this time.

He picks up the large plushie snowman and packs him away carefully, then gathers as much stuffing and loose plushie fabric as he can find, tucking it into another pocket.

That’s everything then. There’s a few pieces of clothing that would be impossible to repair, and the fairy lights of course, but other than that... Phoenix’s life, packed into one not-quite-full rucksack. He shoulders it and turns to leave.

Abbie’s standing in the doorway, arms folded, a smirk on her face.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Such a temper, and I haven’t even done anything.”

“You and your team jumped Phoenix and trashed their room. That’s not nothing.”

She shrugs. “I meant to you. As for that bitch, they shouldn’t have betrayed us.”

“Betrayed you? Betrayed you? You abused them for over five years. Don’t blame them for taking the first exit they could find.”

“That was training. Not abuse. We’re the best performing team in the League, thanks to that. In fact, I’m surprised management let you take our best asset.”

Aaron narrows his eyes, clenches his fists. “Phoenix isn’t an asset, they’re a goddamned person. And you’re very full of yourself. The only reason you lot have the best performance is because on every single mission you send Phoenix to die so the rest of you barely get hurt. You take on far more missions than anyone else because you don’t give Phoenix any recovery time. The three of you are complete and utter bastards. Now get the hell out of my way and let me go back to my friend.”

“Didn’t know they were capable of making any. But then I suppose they’re probably a sucker for anyone who looks at them twice. Pathetic.”

Aaron feels a surge of anger and lashes out, slamming Abbie into the wall. “I said get out of my way.”

“I could report that, you know,” rasps Abbie, massaging her throat. Aaron shrugs.

“You could. But then I’d tell them to look at the last five years of security footage. Phoenix was sixteen when they started here. Only sixteen. So I’d back off, and pray that they never report you. Unless you want child abuse charges brought against you. Understand?” Abbie nods once and they stride off, back towards the medical bay.

Kai holds Phoenix as tightly as he dares. He’s not sure what happened, but he can guess who did it. Aaron had had a face like thunder as he’d handed over the painkillers, and Phoenix’s natural skin colour is barely peeking out under the bruises and blood. They’re shaking in Kai’s arms, and not just from the tears soaking his t-shirt.

“You’re safe now, Phoenix. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Eventually Phoenix pulls away slightly, wiping their eyes. Their voice is horribly stuffy. “I– I’m fine. Were you busy?”

“Nah. Just tidying up ready for you to arrive tomorrow, but the rest of the team can manage that without me.”

“Oh. You don’t have to clean up especially for me.”

“I know. But we want to.” He hands Phoenix some paracetamol and a glass of water. “Here. Want me to clean you up a bit?” They nod, wincing, and he picks up a cloth, wiping their face gently. “I think your nose is broken.”

“Guessed that,” says Phoenix thickly. “Hurts.”

“I know, I’m sorry. So sorry.” He brushes their fringe out of the way to wipe their forehead. “How are your fringe and forehead so dirty?”

“Indigo’s boots are dirty.”

Kai feels a surge of fury, hand tightening on the cloth. “She kicked you in the head?”

Phoenix flinches. “Stamped on it.”

“Do you have concussion? Is anything broken?”

“Yeah, but it won’t last long. And I think my rib’s cracked, but you can’t bind that anyway, so.”

“I’ll just have to be gentle with you then.”

“You already are.” And Phoenix’s eyes say plainly that they still don’t understand why. It breaks Kai’s heart to see.

“Course I am.” He runs the cloth through their fringe, wiping a few strands at a time. “What happened?”

“I was in the corridor and they, um, they jumped me. Segun and Indigo. I don’t know where Abbie was. They said they were giving me a reminder not to tell anyone else.” They frown. “Which means you’re not just weirdly nice. It must be wrong, if everyone would disagree with it.”

“Starting to get it now?” asks Kai gently. He doesn’t have high hopes though. They bounce between their treatment being wrong and Kai and Aaron being weird every few days. He thinks he’ll know when they finally realise for good.

“Mmm.”

The curtain rustles and Phoenix jumps, raising an arm to shield their head.

“Easy, Phoenix,” soothes Kai, running a hand down their other arm, “it’s just Aaron.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve brought your things. Or what I could salvage, at least.”

“What you could salvage? What happened?”

“Why do you have a needle and thread? Phoenix doesn’t need stitches.”

“It’s not for them, it’s for Mr Frosty.” He sits down on a chair and sets the large rucksack at his feet. “And as for what happened... Phoenix, someone trashed your room. I managed to save most of it, but the fairy lights and a few of your clothes are beyond repair. And possibly some books, I brought them all anyway in case you can fix them but I don’t know.”

“Guess we know where Abbie was then.”

“And Mr Frosty?” asks Phoenix urgently, ignoring Kai. “What happened to him?”

Aaron sighs. "He’s a bit torn up. I’ll fix him, don’t worry too much, but…” He pulls the biggest part of Mr Frosty out of Phoenix’s bag and hands it to them. They stifle a sob and clutch the plushie tightly.

“Mr Frosty…”

“I’ll fix him, it’s okay. Might be a bit messy but he’ll be whole again. Alright?”

Phoenix nods, wiping their eyes. “Can I– can I see the rest of my things?”

“Of course. Be careful though, some of it’s pretty fragile now.” Before Aaron can lift the rucksack onto the bed Phoenix hands them Mr Frosty and slides down onto the floor with a wince, undoing the straps stiffly. They peer inside.

“Oh.” Phoenix pulls out half of a dirt-spotted book. “Are they all like this?”

“No. No, some are intact. Some are worse though. I picked up as many pages as I could find, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to fix them?”

“There’s got to be tutorials online somewhere,” murmurs Phoenix, “I can try. Thank you.”

Aaron smiles weakly. “It wasn’t a problem. Really. If it helps, your photo album hasn’t been touched. Nor have the polaroids of the three of us. Here.” He kneels down beside Phoenix and takes the photos out of their pocket, handing them over. Phoenix looks through them, smiling through their tears.

“They really didn’t touch them.”

“No. And most of your clothes need a wash but they’ll be fine as well. Your suit’s clean. It’ll be okay, Phoenix.”

Phoenix nods. “I– I know. I know.” But their eyes say that they really don’t, not right now.

“I can get these in the wash now, if you like,” offers Kai, “that way they’ll be ready for you when you come to mine in the morning.”

Phoenix shakes their head. “I don’t want them to be somewhere I can’t see them. I mean– if it was just you, but it’s not just you, and I know they’re your team but I don’t know them, and it’s just– I can’t.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind,” reassures Kai. “C’mere and have another hug.”

Phoenix packs away the photos carefully before scrambling stiffly onto the bed and into Kai’s arms, a small, soft weight in them.

“I’ll give you some privacy to finish washing up and fetch some clean clothes, alright?” asks Aaron. Phoenix nods, and Aaron strokes their hair once before leaving, pulling the blue curtain tightly closed again behind them. Phoenix melts at the touch.

“You really do like that, don’t you?” Kai murmurs. They nod into his damp t-shirt. “Want me to help you finish cleaning up?”

Not too long later, Phoenix is clean, dressed and asleep in an old hoodie and pyjama trousers of Aaron’s. The clothes dwarf them, and they look tiny, the blanket hanging partially off them because they can’t manage it all right now, holding onto Kai tightly as they snuffle. Aaron sits on the edge of the bed on their other side, concentrating mostly on the needle piercing Mr Frosty’s fur repeatedly, glancing at Phoenix worriedly every so often.

“I’m going to kill them,” says Kai, running a hand through Phoenix’s hair. “I’ll bloody well kill them.”

“No you won’t. Phoenix needs you.”

“Later, then. Once they’re safe.” He pauses as Phoenix snuggles closer. “How did we not realise they’d do something like this? It was their last chance, we should’ve known.”

Aaron shakes his head. “We always miss it. Every damn time, we miss it. But we won’t help them by drowning ourselves in regret.”

Kai quirks his mouth slightly. “Sounds familiar.”

“It should. You’re the one who told me it.”

“Mm.” It’s true. Kai was the one to say it first, months ago. It came from his mentor originally, although where she got it from he has no idea. “Didn’t expect you to remember it.”

“It’s memorable.” Aaron curses as the thread drops out of the needle and rethreads it carefully. “Did Phoenix tell you? I’m keeping their weekly check-ups for the foreseeable future.”

“They said. I’m glad, but I’m still not convinced you won’t burn out, taking on another team.”

“Your medic’s retiring, you need one. And it’s the only way I can keep Phoenix under my care without letting on that something’s wrong. I really need to keep an eye on them.”

“My team won’t–” he starts, indignant.

“I trust you, Kai. I trust your team. But I don’t trust Phoenix with themself.” Kai looks at them quizzically and they sigh. “Right now, they still believe that the pain their team put them through helped them learn ‘properly’. And if they believe they need to keep learning that way... well. I don’t want anything to happen.”

Kai swallows, fear rising. “You’re saying they might... hurt themself?”

“It’s a possibility. I want to keep an eye on them.”

“That’s a good idea. Don’t burn yourself out though.”

“Sophia won’t let me.”

“Good.”

Aaron squints at Mr Frosty as he sews on an eye, then he sets down the needle and holds the snowman out at arm’s length.

“Hmm. He’s a bit lopsided. Do you think Phoenix will mind?”

“Nah, they’ll just be pleased you fixed him.”

Aaron leans over and squishes Mr Frosty in between Phoenix and Kai, and Phoenix tightens their grip, pulling the snowman towards them as they sleep.

“At least tomorrow, they’ll be out of here.”

Phoenix wakes in the morning feeling stiff and surprisingly rested. They’re slightly boxed in by warmth and they open their eyes, confused.

Oh. That must be why they slept so well. They’re tucked into Kai’s side, Aaron lying on the other, an arm around their shoulders. Both their friends are asleep. And they’re lying on something. They sit up carefully, wriggling out of Kai’s hold, and pull whatever it is out from underneath them.

It’s Mr Frosty.

He has thick black lines of stitching down him and his eye is a little wonky, but he’s back in one piece and Phoenix hugs him tightly.

“Is he okay?” asks a groggy voice. Aaron’s woken up, and Phoenix beams at him.

“He’s perfect! Thank you.”

“You sure? He’s a bit wonky. And the stitching’s really prominent, but black’s the only colour we have.”

“He’s a frankensnowman,” murmurs Phoenix. “Thank you.”

From Phoenix’s other side, Kai yawns. “Oh. You’ve found Mr Frosty then?” They nod. “Good. Told you they’d be happy with him, Aaron.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Right. I’m going to head downstairs, make sure the team’s ready for your arrival, if that’s okay?”

Phoenix nods. It’s weird. They’ve never had anyone actually prepare for their arrival in a nice way before (at least, they hope it’s nice).

“Alright. Do you want me to come back and show you the way?”

“I– um, I think I’ll be okay. Thank you.” They need to make a good impression and turning up clinging to Kai like a lost child won’t do that.

“Noted. I’ll see you soon then.” He gives Phoenix a quick hug and then exits the medbay.

“You sure you know the way?” asks Aaron.

“I might need you to remind me.”

“Now or...”

“Before I leave would be best, I think.”

“Right. Will do. Can I give you a hug?”

Phoenix nods and Aaron wraps an arm around their shoulders. Their friend doesn’t hug much, but Phoenix loves it when they do.

The blue curtains open and Phoenix jumps, raising their arms instinctively.

“It’s just me,” says Sophia brightly, and they lower their arms, heart racing. Still not over yesterday then. “I heard you were awake. When was the last time you ate, you must be starving?”

“Dunno,” they murmur. Now she mentions it, they do feel hungry. They’ve been hungrier, though, so the ache doesn’t register much. “You don’t usually deliver food.”

“I’m off shift now. So, jam on toast and a couple of jaffa cakes.” She grins and waits for them to sit up properly before depositing the tray in their lap. “Enjoy. I think we have a pair of your trousers around here somewhere still, let me go find them.” She hurries off, and Phoenix nibbles on their toast.

Aaron pinches a jaffa cake and takes a bite.

“Hey!”

“Should’ve eaten it first if you didn’t want me to get it,” retorts Aaron teasingly.

“You’re eating it wrong! If you’re going to steal my food, at least eat it properly! You have to eat the chocolate first, and then the dry cake bit, and then the orange jam. Like this.” And they demonstrate. “See? You don’t just eat all the parts together!”

Aaron’s watching them with a fond smile.

“What?”

“There you are. I haven’t heard you ramble properly since the church.”

Phoenix frowns. “But– that was a month ago. Have I really not...”

They trail off as they realise why they haven’t been themself, even less than normal, and Aaron answers, “No. I can guess why, but I’m glad you’re back.”

“So’m I.”

“So, how are you feeling?”

“My nose hurts, and my ribs. But I’m mostly just stiff. I’ll be okay. The bones are definitely healing.”

“Your nose certainly is, I can hear that. Painkillers?”

“Please.”

Aaron hands over a couple of pills and Phoenix swallows them. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Want me to help you put your cream on your back?”

Phoenix nods. “It’s, um, in the bottom of my bag. I wasn’t going to bother this morning, I just wanted to get out of there, but if you’re going to help then–”

Aaron climbs off the bed and unpacks the rucksack carefully, pulling out a tube of cream before re-packing the rest. Phoenix flushes. He’ll have seen the box of food, they know it, and they’re not sure why they’re embarrassed but they are.

They turn away quickly to hide the redness and shrug off their hoodie and t-shirt.

“I won’t take long. Hold the blanket over your chest if you’re cold.”

Phoenix nods. They know that, but sometimes it’s good to be reminded.

It’s a good thing they have the blanket, too, because halfway through Aaron spreading the cold, soothing cream over the worst of the scars on their back and upper arms (they can do the rest relatively easily themself), Sophia appears with a pair of tracksuit bottoms. Phoenix squeaks and holds the blanket tight to themself as she pops in and out, carefully not looking at them.

It’s not long before they’re dressed and re-packed, Mr Frosty sitting carefully in the top of their rucksack. They swallow and with a thought, envelope themself in camouflage, covering up the still quite nasty-looking bruises.

It’s time to go.

When they push aside the curtains around the bed, rucksack over their shoulders and hoodie sleeves tugged down nervously over their hands, both Aaron and Sophia are waiting for them. Sophia gives them a box of homemade biscuits and pulls them into a quick hug.

“Housewarming present. Sort of. For you and your new team.”

“Thank you.”

“Except they’re not allowed to eat them if they’re mean to you,” adds Aaron, clasping them gently on the shoulder when Sophia lets go. “And I’m serious about that.”

“I won’t let them. I promise.”

“Good. Now. Go out of the medbay that way, straight to the end of the corridor, two floors down, and it’s the flat with the very glittery sign.” Phoenix looks at him quizzically. “The team did some babysitting once. There was glitter all over the tower for weeks.”

Phoenix can’t help a smile. Glitter gets everywhere. “Got it.”

“I’ll see you for your check-up on Friday then.”

And something heavy loosens inside Phoenix. Not everything’s going to change. If something happens with Kai’s team, Aaron will be here.

They didn’t even realise the weight was there until it was gone.

“Yep. I’ll see you soon.”

Phoenix grips the straps of their rucksack tightly as they head towards Kai’s flat. It’ll be okay. It’s Kai, it’ll be okay. They slow down subconsciously as they descend the last flight of stairs, heart pounding. Maybe… maybe it would’ve been a good idea to ask Kai to come back. Then they wouldn’t be able to dawdle.

They force themself to take the last few steps until they’re stood in front of the door (they think distantly that the cardboard door number really is glittery). Nearly there now. All they have to do is knock.

As it turns out, that’s harder than it should be, and they pace until someone walks past, looking at them curiously. They can’t wait any longer.

Phoenix knocks.

There’s a clamour of noise from inside and they wipe their sweaty palm on their trousers. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine.

The door opens and Kai’s standing there. He pulls them into a hug immediately.

“Phoenix! You’re here!”

“You sound surprised,” murmurs Phoenix thickly. Kai doesn’t just sound surprised – he sounds delighted, and they can’t understand it.

“I thought you might take longer. Is that Aaron and Sophia’s baking?”

“Yep. And Aaron says your team aren’t allowed any if they’re mean.” They flush and Kai hugs them tighter.

“Well, of course not. Come and meet the rest of the team.”

Phoenix follows Kai down the hallway and into the living room, where the rest of the team are waiting, broad grins on their faces. Santhiya’s wearing a colourful striped party hat, and there’s a shiny banner hanging from the ceiling reading WELCOME PHOENIX.

“Well?” asks Lian impatiently. “Do you like it?”

“Where, um, did you find one saying Phoenix?” is all they can think of to say, stunned by the effort.

“Morfydd ordered it specially.”

Morfydd shrugs and says softly, with a lilting Welsh accent, “You’re new. You should have a banner. I hope it’s not too much.”

“I tried to make you a cake too,” adds Santhiya, almost bouncing with excitement, “although it didn’t go too well.”

Lian snorts. “Understatement of the year. You almost set the oven on fire, Santh. It took us a whole day to clear the smell and I’m sure the smoke’s still clinging to my clothes.”

“Hey! I tried, alright? It was a lemon cake, Kai said they liked lemon cakes. You do like them, right, Phoenix?” But Phoenix’s throat is too choked up to speak, and she frowns in concern. “Phoenix, are you okay?”

And Phoenix–

Phoenix bursts into tears.

33 notes · View notes

broodwolf221 · 23 days

Text

THE MERRY WHUMP OF MAY

7th — Fallen; “Forget about them"; piano; edge of town ao3: The Evanuris and the Wolf in Their Midst

cws: slavery; whipping

3855 words

These celebrations made his skin crawl. The hall was beautifully decorated, resplendent with a style that would never be done again, each festival necessitating an entirely new theme, wasteful even with aesthetics. There was food enough to feed half of Arlathan, yet much of it would be left to rot; the wine flowed freely, of more interest to the attendees than the food, yet it, too, would be wasted. Half-finished glasses were frequently set down, taken away by the meek shapes of slaves winding through their midst. The Evanuris and other highly ranked attendees were dressed in exquisite, detailed outfits which, like the rest, would be rendered irrelevant by the morrow.

He was expected to participate, just as the chosen of the other Evanuris were expected to participate; still enslaved, but beholden only to one and with a higher position within society. All his peers were dressed as he was, in rich materials that were unpatterned, something to highlight rather than overshadow those they served. His own robes were a beautiful blue, where different lighting displayed them in all shades of the night sky, from the pale blue that followed dusk to near-black.

There were performers as well, among them an organist; he was hard-pressed to not react to the sharp tones and the memories they provoked, long periods of standing guard while a slave worked the bellows and Mythal played. He hated the sound of it. And she wasn’t a skilled player, although none would ever dare say as much—but she knew and kept her playing private, only he and the other slave privy to it. Another might feel flattered or pleased to be invited into a private performance of the All-Mother, to be able to witness her learning. Despite his respect for her, he could not see those instances as anything other than a small trial, the voice of the organ unpleasantly intense, especially so close.

It was also a reminder that she used slaves for her own ends without hesitation. She was not as brutal as Elgar'nan, did not punish slaves as readily as he and Andruil did, but she did not tolerate disobedience either. If a slave denied her or failed in their duty, they would be punished exactly as expected. She adhered to the standards. Neither excess brutality nor mercy.

Such were his considerations while he idled against the far wall, trying to stay out of the way. Many of the Evanuris enjoyed toying with him, a subtle way to spite Mythal; Andruil was the worst offender, but more than once Elgar'nan had taken a frustration with Mythal out on him instead. Such was disturbingly common amongst them, and the chosen all bore the displaced anger stoically, having no other choice. Still, Solas would not intentionally put himself in harm's way.

But it seemed he could not avoid it tonight, either. Dirthamen’s chosen approached him, her tight, polite smile perhaps mirroring his own. “He wishes to speak to you. Meet him outside.” Her voice was flat and without inflection, but he knew her, knew the fury she unleashed in battle, knew her unwavering loyalty. She was dressed in deep purple, her robes layered in such a way that strips of flesh along her waist were revealed, and he wondered whether he was not alone in warming the bed of his Evanuris. He nodded and moved to meet Dirthamen, curious.

He had always been more reserved, seemingly content to focus on his studies. Oh, he spent slaves just as readily as any of the others, but was perhaps closer to his mother than his father in that respect. Yet Mythal was unique among the Evanuris: she saw them as people. She did not thank them, but she would smile or nod her gratitude. She knew their names, and he had heard her praise their work. Small things, but so unusual compared to how the others interacted with the slaves.

Some of the family liked to make the slaves fear and suffer. Closer to the way a predator might toy with its prey, delighting in the pain they caused. Others barely seemed to see them at all, as if they were tools to be used until they were spent. Dirthamen appeared to be the latter, although he'd not had opportunity to see his conduct directly.

He may not be given to his father's volatility, but it still would not be wise to keep him waiting. So he made his way free of the festivities with a subtle haste, seeing Dirthamen even as he closed the doors behind himself. He was dressed just as magnificently as the other Evanuris, his shoulder-length hair pushed back from his face and worked through with fine silver and gold filaments that culminated in a thin crown. He briefly met Solas' eyes before walking away, and he moved fast to fall in step behind him.

They walked in silence, the noise of the festival fading; and when the Evanuris stopped, he made sure to keep a respectful distance. “Slaves have gone missing,” he said in his soft way, not looking at Solas—something he deeply appreciated, uncertain whether his surprise had shown.

Then Dirthamen turned to face him and he suspected what would come next. “It's you, isn't it?”

“I do not know what my lord is asking,” he deflected, earning a tight, sharp smile.

“Fear not. I have no interest in reporting your… misconduct. However, I do not want this disruption to continue. You have misplaced your sympathy and your loyalty, Solas.”

“I did not know that slaves had gone missing—” He was stopped mid-sentence by Dirthamen slapping him, his calm facade never cracking. Solas, meanwhile, had to force his hands to relax, his fingers to uncurl from fists. He took a deep breath before straightening and meeting his eyes once more, his cheek stinging.

“Do not play with me. I need no confession from you, but I will not tolerate your lies.”

“Some few missing slaves have done little to disrupt Arlathan,” he pointed out carefully, Dirthamen smiling his approval. It appeared that he would be allowed to disagree, so long as he did not lie.

“It is true that this ball is as extravagant as any. But there is a balance to all things. We cannot risk an uprising, not now.”

“Not with the Evanuris on the brink of war?” The other man's eyes widened slightly and Solas felt a visceral thrill at the show of surprise. Afterwards, Dirthamen appeared to be studying him. And eventually he nodded, more to himself than to Solas.

“Yes. Come. There are ears everywhere.” Solas nodded and followed, once again a few paces behind. But as Dirthamen continued to speak he drew closer, not wanting the other man to raise his voice. “We are on the brink of war. There are uncertain forces at work—and some certain ones that will undoubtedly become threats in time. Preemptive action is the only way to assure our continued survival.”

“At great cost,” he observed coldly, a little surprised when Dirthamen simply nodded.

“Great indeed.” They were heading into the forested outskirts of the city, the organ music fading into a soft background noise. At this distance, he could almost enjoy it. As they passed the great oaks that marked the edge of the forest, Dirthamen turned to him. “What would you have us do?” His eyes flashed with some strong emotion, there and gone again so fast Solas could not place it. Could not even be certain it existed, that it was anything save a trick of the light.

“The Evanuris are destroying Arlathan as surely as any conqueror. You do not seek to preserve Elvhenan, only yourselves.” Dirthamen seemed unsurprised by his bold declaration, and Solas had to wonder at the other man. What was he like, under the guise of disinterest, of detachment?

“And what use would a city of slaves have, were they freed?” The question was soft, seemingly earnest, but Solas felt on edge. Suddenly it felt like more than just his life was at stake here. “How could they defend themselves? There are forces out there that would grind Arlathan under heel, given half the chance. The Elvhen would have no recourse. What use is their freedom if they will all be wiped out?”

“There are alternatives,” he spat out, surprising himself with his vehemence—but once again, not surprising Dirthamen.

“Name them.” Were it a challenge, Solas might have bristled. Instead, it was presented as an opportunity—which put him on edge in a different way. For so long he had been moving in small ways, building up the means and courage needed to take his final plunge… for this to be dangled before him now that he had finally begun, it felt cruel. Yet it would be foolhardy to turn down the opportunity just because he feared what it meant.

“The Evanuris could be guardians rather than overseers,” he said softly, searching Dirthamen’s face for reaction, but he wore his impassivity well. “Free the slaves, let them become whole citizens. There was a time when the Evanuris were heroes rather than rulers, when the population was not enslaved to one or all. You could push for a return to that time.”

“When does one of our kind die?” The sudden question took Solas by surprise and he frowned, which made Dirthamen smile. “The durgen’lan, they live and die in a fraction of one of our lives. Generations rise and fall like the tides. But for us? When does it stop? How many would have to surrender to uthenera to keep the new-born housed and fed? How long until we had outgrown our empire and needed to expand? How long before peace and equality became in-fighting? Until the freed tried to impose rules? Some would want their elders to live, to continue to pass down knowledge—others would want them to sleep, that the youth could grow in peace and have their own reign. What of them?”

“We could limit childbirth—or determine an age of passage. Many do not wish to live forever. If they knew to expect surrender to uthenera at a certain point…”

“And what point would that be? What age is the right time to ask someone to die? Would none push against it? Would they be hunted down and slaughtered if they do not surrender?” Solas was shaking his head, frustrated.

“What use is this? This invention of problems to forestall any action, any change, any bettering of their condition? Yes, there will be challenges—but are challenges not better than slavery? How can you advocate for this?”

“Think,” Dirthamen hissed, a hint of frustration slipping into his voice. It was a surprise. “Think, Solas. Who would be the first to be asked to die? My father is eldest of all. Would the ‘heroes’ of Arlathan be permitted to live while their people died? My family does not want to be killed. I do not want to be killed. We will never be agreed on this matter, and we would fight. Battles of word and wit would become physical ones, in time. Physical would become magical. Think of the destruction we would wreak.”

There was a logic to this, and it infuriated him. Dirthamen was right—the Evanuris would be expected to surrender. And they would not. And if they fought, if they tried to destroy each other to save themselves, the fallout would destroy Arlathan, perhaps all of Elvhenan. But he could not sit back and accept that it must be this way. He would not.

“Would that the Evanuris dedicated themselves to restoration as they do to self-preservation, we would not be having this conversation now.” He did not bother to disguise his contempt, surprised when Dirthamen laughed. It sounded genuinely pleased rather than contemptuous.

“You fascinate me. It is a surprise that your bold tongue has not gotten you killed. But,” here he turned serious, meeting Solas’ eyes, “you should not push your luck. Forget about them. They will remain enslaved, whatever your feelings. The ones you have freed will be found and killed.” Dirthamen's expression softened slightly. “I would not see you killed as well. Give up.”

“Why do you care about me?” It was as blunt as it was foolish, but it did not seem to throw the other man off. Instead he looked contemplative, staring out into the forest.

“Falon’Din and I, we were born first. You know this, of course. It was a period of… hope, you might say.” He still stared off into the forest. “My father and mother were inseparable, our people were flourishing, and it seemed that nothing would disrupt the peace we enjoyed. Our siblings were born, and each one of them shone with the power of our bloodline. Our childhood was marvelous. As we grew, things changed. Slowly. Subtly. But inexorably. Pageantry became formalized; spontaneous celebration of plenty transformed into recurring festivals. The changes were not bad, but they spelled out a new direction for us.” Solas was listening intently, hanging on every word. Dirthamen was a natural storyteller, it seemed, but it was more than that—this was the first time he had heard of the Evanuris’ beginning in such detail. He dared not miss a thing.

“Elvhen had always followed my mother and father,” he continued, “but now they built a city around them. Our family was the center, the touchstone, but we did not command. We led by example, and the people followed of their own will.” He paused for so long that Solas began to think he was done speaking, but eventually he sighed. “Time changes people. You are young yet. You do not know. It all happened so slowly that we did not notice, but one day I woke and realized I was frightened of my father. And I knew that my brother felt the same. Our mother. My siblings. And Mythal was changed as well—where before she had been so warm, now she was distant, imperious. Once inseparable, they were now rarely seen together.” He blinked, looking back to Solas, and he saw in golden eyes the weight of countless years. Dirthamen still looked youthful, but he was ancient, had lived through centuries.

“My brother tried to become our father,” he said slowly, his distaste evident. “To fulfill the role he thought Elgar’nan expected. Andruil tried to make him proud with her might and her skill, things he had once commended her for. But he did not care any longer. No matter how well they performed, he was unmoved. Sylaise became withdrawn and strange, until she eventually found some measure of peace with June and their seclusion. And June himself, and Ghilan’nain, neither belonged. They would never fit, and came too late, never saw what had been lost.”

“Your family fell apart,” Solas said carefully, “but how did that lead to… this?” He gestured back to Arlathan, and a small, wry smile curled Dirthamen’s lips.

“Time, again. The Elvhen had children. Their children had children. Soon the city was an empire, but the people were hungry. Oh, they could hunt, they could farm, but we did not have enough land for them all. My father—” the single word dripped with a startling contempt, “decided that the only answer was to claim more territory. So he gathered an army and marched. Destroyed countless towns and villages, supposedly to give our people shelter.”

“‘Supposedly’?” Solas pressed.

“It was never for them.” Dirthamen sounded distant now, lost in memory. “My father has a terrible rage. The battlefield was the one place he could quench it, at least for a time. When he returned he was a changed man; charming, sociable, warm. We all tried to ignore the blood on his hands. What else could we do? Our people had land, and the grim deeds were done.”

“It did not last.” Dirthamen’s smile did not reach his eyes as he nodded.

“No, it did not. Would that it had. Instead, our people continued to grow. And instead of changing anything, father just… went to war. Again and again. Our population of artisans and philosophers slowly became a population of soldiers. We became known for conquest. Our banner was a bloody one, and it sent fear through those who bore witness to it. Things changed. The time of hope and peace was dead.”

“When did they become slaves?” The question seemed to startle Dirthamen—apparently recounting all this had taken him into some sort of reverie. Solas cursed himself for interrupting.

“Father told soldiers what to do on the battlefield, and they did it. Eventually he told Elvhen what to do in Arlathan… and some did it. Because Elgar’nan asked it of them. But some did not. Those who did not were punished. Those who continued to refuse were killed. Eventually all knew they could not deny his requests. In time, it became clear that they could deny none of our requests.” The answer was more satisfying than Solas had hoped for, but he suspected there was far more to the story. But Dirthamen was alert now, staring him down, and he knew the time for questions had passed. And yet…

“You never said why you cared about me. About my life.”

“I did not,” Dirthamen confirmed, still meeting his eyes. He seemed to be considering, then eventually smiled. “You have my guile and my brother’s determination. And not many could deceive any of our number. You perform ably. In time, you might even be inducted into our ranks.” He took a step closer, his stare seeming to pin Solas in place. “But first you must give them up. Forget the slaves. Those you have freed, I will work to allow them to live, to distract from their loss, but you must stop. And perhaps, in time, we can work out a permanent solution. Together.”

“And how many more will die in that time?”

“Many,” Dirthamen admitted. “But fewer than if you force our hand. The full might of the Evanuris against you… none foolish enough to follow your banner would live, and ruins would proclaim your mass grave.”

“I thank you for your insight,” he said icily, “and for your offer. However, I have no intention of committing myself to your purposes. I am no one’s tool.”

“Ah, but you are,” Dirthamen said softly. “Did you not hear me, before? Those who refused were punished.” Solas felt his stomach drop as Dirthamen looked beyond him and nodded. “It is better than death. But know, Solas, that death is what awaits you on this path. Heed this warning, for it will be your last.”

He felt strong hands encircle his arms and spun around, ready to fight, but—

They were slaves. He felt Dirthamen’s hand against his shoulder. “Would you fight those you seek to free? You will have to kill them to escape unscathed. It is your choice, Solas.” And with that he walked back towards Arlathan, towards the festival, towards the organ music that Solas could still hear.

Two slaves stared at him, a man and a woman, both strong. The man would not meet his eyes, while the woman did, letting him witness her regret. He swallowed. “I suspect you have been told what to do.” She nodded curtly. “And your handiwork will undoubtedly be examined…” She nodded once more, as did the man. Solas sighed. “Very well. Do as you must, then. I know whose hands bear my blood, and it will not be yours.”

“Come with us,” she said flatly and he followed them away from the party. By the time they stopped he could only hear the faintest strains of the music. “Please, remove your robe.” He did as she asked, the man taking it gently and folding it before setting it carefully on a nearby stump. Solas noticed wrappings nearby as well. And rope. He picked up the latter and approached, pausing until Solas nodded and then tying his hands together in front. The rope bit into his wrists but he bore it silently.

“Can you tell me?” He shook his head and Solas nodded, expecting as much. The man moved away, behind him, and he bowed his head as he waited.

He had his suspicion of what the punishment would be… and he had his confirmation in the split-second crack of the whip before it tore a line of white-hot pain along his back and he cried out, falling forward onto his knees. But they did not relent. They could not relent. By the third line tears were rolling down his face; by the fifth he was sobbing openly, trying to crawl away, but they pursued him. How many would it be?

He lost track. He might have lost consciousness, startling when he was suddenly drenched with ice-cold water. And then the whip sliced through his back again and he screamed, the water making it worse, somehow. “Forty lashes,” came her quiet voice, and he did not understand. He kept tensing, preparing for the next, only for her to repeat the phrase.

Forty lashes.

Wait, did that mean…?

“It’s over?” He gasped, turning to face her.

“Almost,” she said, then squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. He watched as she took a deep breath, forced her eyes open, and slapped him as hard as she could. Startled and reeling from the force of her slap, he could not resist when the man came over and pushed him onto his back, his foot on Solas’ bare chest as he forced the wounds into the rough grass and dirt below them.

He thrashed for a moment before realizing it was useless, allowing himself to go limp and bear it. Distantly he heard the man counting under his breath, and when he lifted his foot away Solas slowly sat up. In a moment they were both tending to him, one drying him while the other carefully cleaned the lashes—its own misery—before tightly binding them. In the end they helped him stand and don his robe again, even securing it for him. “You are expected to rejoin the party,” she told him and he nodded, unsurprised. His absence would not go unremarked. “Drink this,” a small vial was pushed gently into his hands and he downed it in one.

“What is it?” He asked as he handed it back, curious that it did not seem to numb his pain.

“It will help with the blood loss and shock. Nothing more.” Ah. Of course. The punishment was not yet done—he would be expected to suffer the pain the rest of the night, and to withhold his reaction. This was only to ensure that his body not betray him.

“Take care,” he told them both quietly before making his way back to the city, each step sending a spasm of pain across his lacerated back. The festivities would go on for the entire night, and even after he would be expected to stand guard outside Mythal's chambers until she dismissed him.

Well planned.

But it would not break him.

#broodwrites #these are starting to take a while lmao #mwm2024

0 notes

zenithpng · 1 month

Note

could you maybe write a Zuko whump fic where Sokka(or any of the Gaang) has to watch and are all helpless to stop the assailant? Or the denied food as punishment. Anything with a whumpy Zuko in it : ) - btw I love your fics!

thank you so so much for this request, but i'm no longer in the avatar fandom and have not written for the show in a long while (except for like,, one azula fic). now, i mainly write for Voltron. i'll definitely keep this in the back of my head and may write a (probably short) piece but unfortunately it's just not super likely.

again though, thank you for your kind words!! i hope you have a brilliant day and if you have any Voltron: LD prompts send them my way at @rizavii, my voltron blog!

#jet's talking again #anons

0 notes

stoic-whumpee · 2 years

Note

May i ask for a whumpee taken advantage of because of their ability to see the future?

- Whumpee is locked up by a powerful person (like a king, a noble, the government, etc.) and is forced to tell the future for a profit.

- Their power is exploited to the point of exhaustion, and they always have a headache as a result. The more time passes, the more they have to work and the worse the pain get.

- If they refuse to tell a fortune, they are punished severely and is left without food or water for days. Whumpee is kept in a luxury place, but they have to "earn" their keep, even though they were forced into living there. Whumpee would gladly give up all the glamour and richness if they can be with their actual family again.

- Whumpee who has to give up a bit of their own life force every time they tell the future, but their captors either do not know or do not care. They will forget who they are bit by bit until they completely lose themself. Their only comfort is when it happens, their power will also disappear, and they will be free.

- Whumpee cannot control what their visions tell them. If they have an unfinished vision, their keepers push them to show more of their vision even though Whumpee cannot do it. They are then punished for not following orders.

- Whumpee is punished because they have an unlucky vision.

As always, let me know if you want to see more :)

#whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #superpower whump #supernatural whump #fantasy whump #captivity #slavery implied #torture #punishment #denied food as punishment #exhaustion #r prompts

84 notes · View notes

livingforthewhump · 3 years

Text

@chartreusephoenix requested ‘Denied Food as Punishment’

Blue for requested; red for posted

First Previous Next

—

Caroline tried to avoid looking at Hugo. It was almost funny, thinking how quickly their situations had been reversed. It wasn’t long ago that he was avoiding meeting her gaze.

“Caroline,” Hugo said, the strain in his voice telling her that he was pulling against his restraints. “That’s your name, right?”

She clenched her jaw around the gag shoved in her mouth and nodded. The floor was gray. The image of his eyes flashed in her mind, wide with concern and so close to her—before she threw him into a brick wall. Caroline closed her eyes.

Hugo sighed. “It’s going to get uncomfortable in here if you won’t even look at me. Here, we can compromise. You don’t have to talk to me if you’ll stop avoiding my eyes.”

She rolled her eyes in his general direction, and he fought back a smile.

“Sorry. That was insensitive of me.”

Caroline’s stomach growled. She grimaced, jealous at its ability to express itself. Suddenly, avoiding Hugo’s stare seemed more agonizing than meeting it. She looked at him and cringed back.

Paladin hadn’t bandaged him after… what happened, and the rips in his bloodstained clothes showed gaping wounds attempting to stitch themselves back together.

“Don’t feel guilty,” Hugo said, reading the look on her face. “It wasn’t your fault. It was better than the alternative, and I’m glad you did it.”

She wondered if he felt guilty for taking the ribbon off his throat. If she didn’t have a gag on she might have asked.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Paladin walked in. They both tensed, but all he was carrying was a plate of food, which he set in front of Hugo.

“What about hers?” Hugo asked. Caroline felt like she already knew the answer, deep in her very empty gut.

Paladin raised an eyebrow, smirking. “What about hers? She stopped before I told her to, and now she is learning her lesson. Isn’t that right, doll?”

Caroline would have glared had her eyes not already been teary and afraid. She whimpered through the gag.

Paladin paced towards her.

“Get away from her,” Hugo snarled.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back so she was looking at him. “I’m just teaching you to be good, doll. You want to be good for me, right?”

Tears fell onto her cheeks as she nodded, just barely. Paladin smiled and wiped them away with his thumbs.

“Good girl. How does another day without food sound? Any objections?”

Hugo tugged at his restraints. “Don’t you dare-“

Ignoring him, Paladin traced a finger down her gag. “I’m glad you’re so agreeable today, doll. I may have to do this more often.”

He planted that twinge of fear in her heart, waiting for it to take root, the fruits of his labor shining bright in her eyes, and then he left.

—

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @lonesome--hunter @whole-and-apart-and-between @written-to-death @ill-eat-you-if-you-cross-me @villain-enthusiast @hurting-fictional-people @kixngiggles @lave-whump @whumpfessional @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @1phoenixfeather @chartreusephoenix @kemonoinuzuka @sunflower1000 @1becky1 @multifandoms-multishipper @susanshinning @shadowylemon @onestopheroxvillain @cherryblossomskye @freefallingup13

50 notes · View notes

redstainedsocks · 3 years

Text

Human Again

For @amonthofwhump’s March Madness for the whump trope: choking

Here’s my whumpee Zach having a very bad wake up call. I know the previous four Zach pieces have been post-escape but, and hear me out here, he was just in need of some whumping. So have some out of context, out of order, pain. (Read more high up the piece for vaguely referenced thoughts of noncon)

Warnings: Forced nudity, implied torture, implied past noncon, choking, noncon kissing, shotgunning cigarette smoke, smoking, cigarette burns, manhandling, antagonistic language, blindfolds, captive whumpee, nausea mention, food mention, prisoner denied food

Zach woke up naked. He woke up stiff and sore, and though he knew he was on the thin mattress that was granted as his bed—he could smell the musty stink of it—he had no idea how or when he got there.

The two things combined were enough to turn his stomach, and bile crawled up his throat. There were fuzzy memories, blurred indistinct ones of beatings and being bent over a table… but was that the last thing that had happened? Or was there more? Was that even yesterday, or two days ago? It all mixed up together, and he couldn’t work out what had happened when, or which thing it was that had made him lose consciousness. Was it drugs again? An electric shock? Or just the accumulation of pain and fatigue and he’d passed out naturally?

He only knew he must have been out a while to have been brought back to his cell. Not knowing if anything more had happened while he was unawares he shivered and curled up, wishing for a blanket to cover himself with. As he moved he felt the protest in his bruised ribs and moaned as he clutched his side.

“Ah, he lives,” came a smarmy, grunt of a voice.

Great, Mack, of all people, was here.

Zach opened his eyes to better defend himself against whatever Mack had in mind and found something still blocked his sight. He groped for his face, arm numb from his own dead weight crushing it.

“Leave that,” Mack said. “Don’t you fucking dare touch it, that’s your first rule of the day.”

Zach swallowed, groaned again and pushed himself to sit up, hyper aware of every inch of skin on display. He smelled Mack’s cigarettes before he heard the man move, felt the stale smoke waft over his face and another roil of nausea that it brought with it. He lifted a hand to rub his nose and coughed onto the back of his hand to try and rid the smell and the almost-taste of it from his body.

Mack’s hand—probably, unless someone else was here too—caught his wrist and squeezed painfully. “You deaf today or some shit, I said don’t touch your fucking face.” Mack twisted his hand until the skin pinched beneath his grip, and the joint protested. Zach hissed in pain and lurched into action to try and grapple his hand free, digging nails into the back of Mack’s hand.

Mack held on for a few more long moments before he shoved Zach, freeing his wrist, and he scooted further away from where he thought Mack was crouching.

“Actually you said not to touch the blindfold,” he replied tersely. “Try thinking before you speak it might help you get your point across.”

Mack grabbed the back of his neck, fingers curling into the ends of his hair and yanked his head back. Zach hadn’t known to brace for it and the jerk sent a wave of pain that ricocheted down his neck and jarred something in his aching hip. “Far too mouthy you little shit. If it were up to me I’d sew that mouth of yours shut.”

“But then how would we have these little chats I know you love so much?”

Another puff of smoke rolled over his face and he wrinkled his nose, stomach churning. He needed food, water... he needed proper rest, not just to pass out after some torment or other and wake up bruised and sore. Resigned to not getting enough of any of those things he focused on the slight sense of satisfaction of irritating Mack instead.

He heard the hiss of the cigarette being dragged on and hoped it was nearly gone. It was fruitless hoping when fingers gripped his jaw until his lips puckered, the heat of the cigarette sizzling far too close to his skin, held in the fingers that gripped him. Then Mack’s lips were on his and he sucked in a breath of surprise only to inhale a mouthful of smoke.

He sucked it down, drawing it into his lungs in surprise, hoping and hoping for clean air to come on the back of it. Mack’s lips were a seal over his own that breathed the filthy, cloying stuff from his own mouth—expelled it forcefully right to the back of Zach’s throat.

Zach’s lungs grew tight and full and he needed to exhale but Mack’s mouth was still smacked over his own and his tongue was in Zach’s mouth too, invading and claiming and bitterly acrid. Zach grew dizzy, swayed forward as his lungs tried to force the shotgunned smoke back out, he coughed and wheezed and batted at Mack weakly. Over the sound of his own hacking coughs he heard Mack’s laughter. Why was it always funny to these pricks? Why did they have to delight in making him suffer or making him ill?

The weight of it all was enough to drive him flat back onto the mattress, gasping for breath, aware he wasn’t going to catch a break here. Not even given a moment to try and process and remember the previous day’s horrors before the current day’s began.

“Your mouth has other uses too, I guess. Wouldn’t want to miss out on those,” Mack’s shoe nudged him.

He was about to respond when Mack’s heavy weight descended on top of him, driving more air from his lungs. The hand was back and it caressed his jaw as he grew tight as a bow string, muscles locked like he could fight this, change whatever was about to happen by being ready. Mack’s calloused hand slipped lower and closed around his throat... and squeezed.

It trapped the air in his lungs, stopped the coughing in its tracks and he arched up, kicking his legs looking for the pressure to lessen. Mack held him on the knife edge of breathlessness until he went limp, allowed him a precious few wheezing breaths and then closed his hand again while he blew another round of smoke into Zach’s gasping mouth.

Zach squirmed as his chest failed to expand and his lungs didn’t fill, the black behind the blindfold going haywire with flashes of light and colour and then fading to grey. There wasn’t room for breathing or thinking, he was only animal—desperate, hungry and directionless with the fear that came hot on the heels of being pinned down and choked out.

He clawed and kicked, begged with soundless words as he tried to make the shapes and couldn’t find enough air to give them voice.

Mack pressed tighter one more time and then released. Just as Zach thought it was over a burning, blinding pain sparked to life on his shoulder. He writhed, still sputtering inhaled smoke while a scream—half surprise as well as pain—was forced out of his throat. He smelled his singed flesh as well as the ashes of a cigarette on his shoulder. With a heavy hand he blindly flicked the hot ash from his skin, feeling it smear on his fingers with intense heat. He knew the scent would linger on his hands for a while, like some sick sort of reminder of the mornings activities.

“I’d miss that scream too, oooh man, you’re like a little girl sometimes. Can’t handle a little ciggy?”

Zach grit his teeth while tears swelled hotly behind his eyes and he only hoped to keep them at bay. He felt sluggish, no idea if it was from whatever knocked him out, or the lack of breath in his body, or just the general exhaustion and constant suffering. He almost began to laugh, and caught it before it turned into a pitiful whine. Drawing more attention to himself for being strange wouldn’t help him now.

“Think fast,” Mack said and a thud of something heavy landed on his chest with a slosh and a thud. “Drink up. Boss wants you in the training rooms today.”

Grateful for the fresh bottle of water, and hating that he was, Zach fumbled to screw the cap loose. The water soothed his abused throat, settled his stomach a little. Made him feel, briefly, more human.

Mack pulled him off the mattress and to his feet and shoved a pair of loose trousers into his hands, holding him steady with a thumb pressed firmly on the spot Zach had just been burned. Zach steeled himself and ignored the sharp pain. He stepped one foot and then the other into the trouser legs, leaning on Mack for balance while he couldn’t see.

“Now you’ve got your modesty let’s fuckin’ get on with it, step to it Griffin, time to go see what else you’re good for today.”

With tired, heavy feet Zach followed where Mack steered him. Whatever dregs of human decency he was given were always taken away sooner or later. He wondered if today would be a day he remembered, or if it would fade and be lost to some indescribable pain like the day before. He shuddered, unsettled by the idea that maybe it was kinder if he forgot; if the memory was choked out of him into oblivion so he could sleep deeply and soundlessly. If all the days bled into one, would he really be living them? Or could he float through them like the moments he drifted, lacking in oxygen, somewhere between consciousness and sleep.

He hated that that seemed appealing and wrapped a tentative hand around the bruises forming on his throat and pressed down, just because he could, just to feel the pain because he chose to for once; just to remind himself he was still very much alive, awake, and human, and that was worth fighting for.

51 notes · View notes

whumpinparis · 3 years

Text

Denied Food as Punishment BTHB

Elliot | Alistair

Content: Isolation, Denied Food, Hunger, Intimate Whumper, Creepy Whumper, Cursing. Approx. 1200 Words.

My OCs || @badthingshappenbingo

Alistair chastising him wasn’t new. Criticising every move Elliot made. That wasn’t new — Elliot had grown all too accustomed to that by now. He knew perfectly well that nothing he ever did would please Alistair and had long since given up trying. Lennox kept Alistair happy with his spineless submission, so Elliot had no pressure to step up.

But all of this? For a single mistake? Not even a mistake — Elliot stood by every fucking choice he’d made.

A one night stand while Alistair was away. Taking Brooke to some underground event. It was the sort of shit she liked, Elliot had thought at the time. He’d stayed behind because fuck leaving the apartment. It would be more of a vacation for Alistair to be gone, just for a couple of nights.

That was when things had fallen apart. Langdon and Chase had gone with Alistair —Eve had since moved out. It had left Lennox and Elliot lacking supervision, which Zahlia had been so generous as to offer.

One thing had led to another and —.

Elliot had woken up beside her the next morning.

He felt not even an ounce of regret.

Alistair had seen things progressing, but that one night stand was what tipped the boat. Sunk any chance Elliot had of — well — forgiveness from Alistair.

Threats and yelling had descended into shoves. Into Elliot being as good as discarded.

Elliot had yelled through the bathroom door as it slammed, pounding on it as the outside lock turned. He swore after Alistair until his throat dried out — until his voice was too hoarse for him to continue. Alistair had heard barely any of it.

For the first few minutes following his screaming, he tended to a cut above his eyebrow. Then, he waited. Alistair could never fucking stick with anything. He would leave Elliot in here for several hours at most.

Sunset that night came early — Elliot just slumped against the counter and waited. More than anything he was pissed. Alistair didn’t want him, so why the fuck did it matter what he did — or didn’t do — with Zahlia?

Sunrise brought a new hope. Elliot waited — hours on end — for Alistair to come to his damn senses, but that didn’t happen. Throughout the day, he yelled and crashed against the door, doing everything in his limited power to shove his own irritability onto everyone else.

All he truly managed was to work himself to exhaustion laced with bruised knuckles and a raw throat. He cursed at himself, pacing in the bathroom until the warmth of sunset brushed the windows again.

Alistair had to be fucking kidding.

Elliot slept as well as he could that night, using the nearby radiator and towel for some extra warmth. And god, did that feel pathetic of him. Not once in his time with Alistair had he hit a point his low. It had sure as hell felt like it at the time — but this? This hurt. The cold and hunger pains made his head spin.

Days merged together. Or, at least, he thought they did.

He couldn’t quite be sure.

Not of anything.

However many days it had been, the silence was unnerving. Looking out of the window only brought so much comfort. As did hot showers.

Steam filling the room was as close to normal as he could get.

— — —

The bathroom door opened and Elliot scrambled to his feet, instantly laying eyes on Alistair. He held a plate, containing food.

A sandwich.

But it was food.

“Alistair — I —”

Elliot was cut off with a single glance from Alistair.

“You should eat something, sweetheart.”

He flicked his wrist and tipped the sandwich onto the floor. Elliot watched it fall, and Alistair slammed the door.

The moment the door clicked shut and Elliot was certain that Alistair was gone, he dropped to the tiles, on his knees. Not once did he think that he would ever be grateful for anything Alistair did.

Let alone something this fucking pathetic.

— — —

Sunsets and sunrises revolved around Elliot as he struggled. Desperately holding on to anything he could. He talked to himself, trying his best to hold onto every strain of sanity he could.

The way he lost track of time kicked up a certain nausea in his throat. Coupled with the way vague movements from outside the bathroom persisted almost constantly.

“Can you stay? Just for a minute?” Elliot asked, when Alistair appeared in the bathroom door once again. Like clockwork.

“You want me to stay?” Alistair scoffed. “You must be desperate.”

“No — I’m not. I’m not desperate.”

“Considering you’ve been eating off of the floor for a week, I’d suggest that you are.”

“A week?”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Alistair trailed off with mock sympathy. “Are you losing it already?”

He clicked his tongue and put the plate on the floor this time.

“No — I’m not,” Elliot repeated. “How’s Lennox? How is he? And Chase? Doing okay?”

“Better than you.”

Once again, the door closed.

Elliot stumbled back against the sink, gasping for breath through his panic.

The door was closed.

Locked again.

White knuckles gripped the edge of the sink as he cried, quivering uncontrollably as he attempted to stop. Fingernails against the ceramic as he sobbed, hardly managing to breathe.

Through the tears, he managed to eat what Alistair had brought. Forcing it down his throat. He had to eat.

In all this time, Alistair hadn’t won yet. Elliot wasn’t going to let him.

— — —

The more days passed, the longer Alistair stayed. Reluctantly making conversation and bringing Elliot small favours. Clean clothes. A blanket. A hot drink.

Each was so minor — a taunt of what Elliot could have if he had conceded just a little easier. But still, he saw no way out. No way to earn Alistair’s forgiveness.

It was the first conversation Elliot had in weeks. The first real conversation. Alistair was sharing about an exhibit he was planning to see. London. A two week trip. To Elliot, it almost sounded nice.

And then he’d started to leave. Struck with panic, Elliot lunged forward and grabbed Alistair’s wrist. He jerked his hand away in horror, but it wasn’t something Alistair would ever miss.

“Hm? You want something?”

“I — no.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Don’t go? Please? Tell me more?” Elliot tried to swallow his shame at his request.

“About?”

“London? The exhibit? Your projects? Anything — please?” he looked down at the floor, unable to believe how easily he had broken. “Please?”

“So, you admit that I win?”

“I — I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s what you meant. I can tell these things, sweetheart.”

Elliot nodded his head once, and that seemed to be everything Alistair had wanted from him.

“You’ll do anything to get back to normal, won’t you?”

Another nod.

“I promise — anything — anything you want.”

Alistair hummed and trailed his forefinger along Elliot’s jawline, tilting his head upwards by just a few degrees.

“Then come to London with me.”

#whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpee #my ocs #bad things happen bingo #bthb #angst #denied food as punishment #cursing cw #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #isolation cw #elliot #alistair

16 notes · View notes

slippedtheknot · 6 months

Text

Whumpmas Day "Three"

Wish + Denied Food as Punishment + Gilded Cage

Whumpee sniffed as he pulled his knees up to his chest, wishing for the smallest crumb. His stomach ached, and Whumper had all of the cupboards locked away. But...his stomach hurt so badly. If only he had something...anything.

"Whumpee," Whumper kicked the door as he was walking past, "I need you to make dinner now. Like, now now."

"Okay, sir." Whumpee said softly; grabbing ahold of the wall to pull himself up. Whumpee entered the hall, only to be remembered how bare his room was compared to the rest of the house.

He walked down to the kitchen; finding that Whumper had already set out ingredients. Whumpee's eyes landed on the small box of locally grown raspberries and his stomach let out a loud grumble. Whumper wouldn't notice if Whumpee had one, right?

He stuck his hand in, and searched for the smallest one. Whumpee pulled it out; holding it delicately in his palm.

"Hey!" A spatula came down hard on his hand. "What do you think you're doing?! I don't seem to remember giving you permission to eat?"

#whumpee #whump things #whump community #whump blog #whump writing #whump stuff #whump prompt #whumper #whumpmas2023 #whumpmas day three #whumpmas wish #denied food as punishment whump #gilded cage whump #my ocs #merry whumpmas

26 notes · View notes

garbagewhump · 4 years

Text

Hunger

Tw: Food, cannibalism, drugs

So we’ve probably all felt a little peckish. Most of us have skipped a meal or two. Some of us have skipped entire days. So most of us know what it’s like when you’re hungry, stomach hollow and aching, no longer growling because there isn’t anything left in there to digest. When your head feels too light for your body and every movement is leaden and twice as hard as it should be. When you don’t dare move too fast because your vision fizzles and fades and darkens.

Just, there’s a whole lot of whump potential in hunger, in food, and not just physically.

When all you have in your pantry are condiments. When you genuinely wonder if warm, watered down ketchup will taste anything like tomato soup.

When someone else is in charge of your access to food. When they set feeding times. When they force you to earn your meal but keep moving the goal posts. When you’re reduced to begging or vile acts to plead your case.

When the only food available contains an allergen or a substance you absolutely will not ingest. Peanuts, dairy, soy, egg. The common allergens. But also meat and animal products for a vegan or vegetarian who cannot countenance killing or harming an animal to obtain these products. But also human flesh, dirt, or other contaminants.

When the food and drink is laced with drugs, and you know it, and you have to decide whether your hunger is worth the risk of being drugged.

When you’re not feeding just yourself but someone else. When you have to sit there and watch them eat the food that you so desperately want. Or when you have to eat it in front of them knowing the other person is just as hungry.

Feel free to add.

#tw food #tw drugs #tw cannibalism #tw hunger #starvation whump #denied food as punishment #self sacrifice #whump ideas

59 notes · View notes

pigeonwhumps · 2 years

Note

🪦🤡🧠For Rowan because I’m a bad person lol

Thanks for the ask! Both child and adult Rowan again bc there's no specified whumper.

Child Rowan (shortly before they're rescued, about aged 10/11)

CWs: minor whumpee, past death, talk of death and burial, humiliation, conditioning

🪦 If something went wrong, how would you want the Leaches to lay you to rest?

"I'd like a grave," says Rowan quietly, "the last man to die here didn't get one." They pause, thinking. "I guess... maybe Cian and his family could bury me. I don't believe they're as nice as Cian says, they can't be, but maybe they won't deny me that. Maybe I'll get a... a headstone, I think they're called? Then people will know I existed beyond this basement."

Then Rowan snaps their mouth shut, shuffling onto their knees. They've spoken too much, they know it, and they'll be punished for it.

They won't speak again until Cian arrives the next evening. Cian flips the wall off when he realises it was the voice that caused this, before setting about helping them talk again.

🤡 Do the Leaches pull tricks on you? What's the meanest they've done?

"Mrs Leach doesn't. Mr Leach... when his friends are round and he's drunk... if they egg him on enough." He pauses to listen to the second half of the question. "The meanest? Erm... he– he pretended he was going to let me have proper food once, got me to promise to eat it all, and then fed me dog food instead." They flush red, looking down at their dirty feet folded below them. "That was humiliating. All his friends were there and they all laughed and... yeah."

Cian hands them Teddy silently and they exchange a look with him as they clutch it tightly to their chest. That's certainly not the whole story, and Rowan isn't entirely sure if it was the worst trick, if they're honest. There have been a lot of mean tricks, and not all by the Leaches.

🧠 Have the Leaches used conditioning/brainwashing on you? If so, how much?

Rowan cocks his head to one side, frowning. "I'm not sure what that word means."

Cian, however, nods vigorously from behind them.

Adult Rowan (while being held captive by The Osprey, along with Cian)

CWs: discussion of immortality, lab whump, human experimentation, threatening to hurt someone else

🪦 If something went wrong, how would you want The Osprey to lay you to rest?

"So my last answers weren't enough then," says Rowan quietly.

"I don't think I can die. That's... kind of the point of the experiments on me. Not the ones on Cian though." Rowan bites their lip. "I'm sure I can't die. I'd be dead by now if I could. And I'm not leaving Cian anyway."

Cian narrows his eyes at the loudspeaker, holding his sibling tight to him. "Do you know something we don't?"

🤡 Does The Osprey pull tricks on you? What's the meanest she's done?

"She doesn't pull many tricks. She's more... serious. And cruel. But the worst was when she promised to let Cian go if I surrendered. And then she didn't." They pause, frowning. "Actually, I'm not sure she even promised that. But... she must have, mustn't she?"

"Look on the bright side," interrupts Cian, as Rowan starts to spiral, "at least you have me for company now."

Rowan snaps their head round to look at him. "How is you being captured a bright side? I don't want you hurt!"

"Yeah, but you're not alone. And someone will rescue us. Mum and Dad are good at this sort of thing. And Chikodi won't give up on us. We just have to be patient."

"Says you," Rowan mutters, but they're slightly appeased. It's just hard to keep their spirits up all the time.

🧠 Has The Osprey used conditioning/brainwashing on you? If so, how much?

"No," says Rowan, glancing sideways at Cian. "No, the threat of Cian being hurt is more than enough."

They look at the loudspeaker quickly. "We won't be hurt for answering your questions, right? Right?"

#answered asks #cian and row #cian sinclair #rowan sinclair #whumpee and caretaker #whumpee and whumper #immortal whumpee #mutual caretaking

4 notes · View notes

whumpwillow · 2 years

Text

another list of whump tropes i like

(from tvtropes.com)

Corporal Punishment: Inflicting physical pain as punishment for one's misbehavior.

Denied Food as Punishment: Denying food as punishment.

Electric Torture: Torture done by zapping or electrifying the victim — bloodless, but effective.

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown: Someone overpowers another with little effort and in a very painful, bloody manner.

Playing with Syringes: Unethical and possibly incredibly painful experimentation with the goal of creating something.

Stock Punishment: A device that holds someone immobile so that others can assault them with foodstuffs.

Tar and Feathers: Either as a comedic prank or a serious form of punishment, someone is covered in hot tar and feathers for humiliation.

A Taste of the Lash: Someone is flogged with a whip or cane.

Water Torture: Such as simulated drowning, ie "waterboarding".

What a Drag: Torture/attack/punishment by dragging someone across the ground.

Achey Scars: Scars that continue to hurt in the long term.

Condemned Contestant: A prisoner(s), instead of going to prison or being executed, are instead forced to do some kind of contest as punishment.

Enslaved Elves: A once-powerful race is forced into slavery.

Forced into Evil: Someone is forced to commit villainous acts against their will.

Forced Prize Fight: People are forced into some kind of brawl/fight with a prize.

Gladiator Games: Someone (usually a slave, though sometimes a volunteer) must fight in spectated battles against other combatants for entertainment.

Human Pet: Treating people like domesticated animals is even more dehumanizing than regular slavery.

Incapable of Disobeying: A character is enslaved in such a way that they cannot disobey their master no matter how much they may want to.

Lost Him in a Card Game: Gambling for people.

Slave Brand: A mark on a person to show that they're a slave.

Slave Collar: A collar worn by a slave to show that they are such.

Drowning My Sorrows: Deals with sorrow by getting drunk.

Desperately Craves Affection: when characters who have been deprived of affection for so long that they desperately crave it or have an excessive desire to be loved.

Wake-Up Call: A character gets put through some event that forces them to grow or otherwise get their act together.

Wounded Hero, Weaker Helper: A character is injured and must be healed by a weaker or more inexperienced character.

Now, Let Me Carry You: A situation where a character who is known for supporting and helping another is suddenly in need of support, only for the person they supported to come through for them.

Once Done, Never Forgotten: A character has done something in the past that no one will forget — or let them forget.

And I Must Scream: When a character is forever stuck somewhere, probably unable to talk, move, or even die.

Sleep Deprivation Punishment: Not allowing a person to sleep.

To the Pain: Telling a future victim exactly what is going to happen to them in slow, painful detail.

Exalted Torturer: When the person doing the torture is also the hero.

Loves the Sound of Screaming: Someone finds joy in the loud, loud misery of others.

Locked in the Dungeon: Someone is locked in a dungeon to be tortured or punished.

Defeat Means Menial Labor: A defeated villain is punished with menial labor, often in their (no longer) own place.

Televised Torture: The torture is being broadcast, either for the villain's personal entertainment or for public consumption.

Bandage Wince: when the action is over and wounds must be treated, the person will wince the instant a bandage or cotton swab soaked in antiseptic touches their skin.

Identity Breakdown: A character has a mental break because of issues and revelations regarding who or what they are

Plagued by Nightmares: A character has consistent nightmares, hinting at deeper issues.

Woobie Species: A whole species full of beings that have suffered a lot in a world out to get them.

I Should Have Been Better: A character thinks they weren't good enough, even if they did their best.

Look on My Works, Ye Mighty, and Despair!: The ruined or destroyed remnants of a once-great civilization.

My Greatest Failure: The one failure or mistake that haunts a character throughout their life.

I Did What I Had to Do: Sometimes a decent person has to do something bad because it is the only way to prevent something worse from happening.

Be All My Sins Remembered: refers to the state of mind in a hero, Anti-Hero, or villain, in which they reflect on how they are not worthy of the adulation, acclaim, or status they have received on account of how they had to do terrible things to get to where they are or to accomplish their goals

Heroic Self-Deprecation: It doesn't matter how many lives they've saved, worlds they've rescued, or bad guys they've defeated—their self-esteem remains in negative figures and they’re still incapable of believing that they're anything more than useless

Inferiority Superiority Complex: a character who seems to think the world of themselves actually doesn't; their high-and-mighty attitude hides crippling insecurity. They're often eager, even desperate, to prove themselves, and they won't take it well if their attempt fails.

Villainous BSoD: The Big Bad gets a conscience and becomes overwhelmed by sadness and guilt at all the terrible things they've done.

Repression Never Ends Well: A character hides their sadness until they lose control and let it loose messily.

It's All My Fault: Sadness leads a character to believe they are to blame for a tragedy.

Lonely at the Top: A character gets everything they want, but loses everything and everyone they loved in the process.

My God, What Have I Done?: Character realizes that they've done something wrong and they feel sad and remorseful for it.

Past Experience Nightmare: Negative feelings from a past experience such as sadness and grief cause a character to have nightmares.

#i feel like i've posted this exact same thing before but my memory is so shit that i don't remember #long post #whump #whump trope #whump tropes i love #whump tropes #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump list #tvtropes prompt series #whump idea #whump inspiration #whump ideas #whump scenarios #whump scenario

470 notes · View notes

whumpurr · 3 years

Text

Adrien and Sawdust part 5

masterlist

cw: descriptions of an emaciated body, disordered eating, pet whump, it as a pronoun, dehumanization, conditioned whumpee

Adrien swore he’d never moved so fast in his life. The second he saw Sawdust’s bony body tip over, he was running up the stairs to meet him. The instant he got to the second floor, he was dropping to his knees with a heavy thud, and properly touching Sawdust for the first time. He carefully lifted his face, seeing Sawdust’s eyes still open- though hardly.

The pet looked to be in worse condition than he was when Adrien had first gotten him. His skin was even paler, stretched thinner across rigid bones, his face was more sunken, the only color on it being the thick scratched scar across his nose bridge, and the deep rings under his eyes. He felt chilled. Adrien maneuvered his body like it was nothing, putting Sawdust’s head and torso to rest elevated on top of his folded legs.

“What’s wrong, Sawdust?” Adrien muttered just loud enough for the pet to hear. He was at a loss, he thought that everything was okay.

“‘M sorry, Master,” Sawdust whimpered, turning his head so he could look away from Adrien. “Need food, please, I’m- I’m sorry.” His voice was hardly a wheeze, but at least he seemed strong enough to move, so Adrien wouldn’t need to rush him to the hospital right that second. Sawdust’s words only came out in rough little squeaks and hiccups, tears gathering in his eyes. He looked terrified. “Food for- for dogs, please. If- if Master w- uh- Master may do whatever he wants but- pet- but- need-”

“Shit, okay, will you be okay if I leave you here to go get it? It’s just in the kitchen, I’ll be right over there.” Adrien was horrified and disgusted with himself as he looked down at Sawdust’s hollow figure. The tattered, oversized t-shirt he had come with was draped across his body, and with his head in Adrien’s lap and chest upturned, Adrien could see the thin fabric catch on the ridges of Sawdust’s ribs, pooling in the dip of his stomach, raised up by the ranges of his hip bones. Adrien handled him like glass, moving him off of his lap before standing and running down to the kitchen, nearly slamming his foot into the corner of his counter with his speed and recklessness.

He’d never been more grateful that he bought the dog food. He grabbed it out of the plastic grocery bag it still sat in on the counter and sliced the top of the bag with a knife, filling a bowl with it and- resigned to the situation- he poured some water into a bowl to go with it. He carried the two bowls up to Sawdust, putting them on the floor and pushing them towards the skeletal figure of his pet.

It looked like it took Sawdust considerable effort to roll himself from his back onto his elbows and knees, but he managed it and immediately dove into eating the chow out of the bowl without so much as a second thought. Adrien couldn’t help but feel like he shouldn’t be watching this. Like it was some sort of invasion to see Sawdust wolfing down his food in such a manner, but Adrien felt like if he took his eyes off him for a second, something terrible would happen.

Sawdust had never been more scared than when he saw Master racing up the stairs. He continued to break records of fear when he confessed, begging Master to give him something he could eat. He knew that if Master wanted to, he could deny him that, too. Sawdust was never more aware of that fact than when he asked for something to eat, but Master was merciful today. He brought him some chow.

Sawdust didn’t pause to think about whether or not the food could be poisoned, or if it would make him sick or kill him. Going that way, or not eating, it would have been death either way. Regardless of that, if Master saw fit for such things, as much as it made Sawdust want to cry, he would simply have to accept it. So he ate. He ate until the bowl was empty and he felt nearly sick, and he even drank after that.

Master would make him pay for this at some point, he was sure, but for now he could focus on his full stomach. He pulled back from the water bowl gasping, liquid dripping from his lips and chin. With his hunger sated, all he could think about was how tired he was. He didn’t care that Master was right there, and that he’d certainly hurt Sawdust soon. The dumb mutt couldn’t find the energy in him to do much about it as he laid down on the floor, curling up to sleep.

“S-Sorry, Master, pet is- is tired. Sleepy.” Sawdust murmured. “Please forgive it.”

“That’s okay, that’s okay baby.” Master was quiet. It made Sawdust confused, the way Master’s voice broke with his words. But the pet didn’t have the energy to think on it for very long, just nodding against the floor and letting his eyes shut.

Adrien was not going to let Sawdust sleep on the floor of the corridor. The second Sawdust was asleep, he took the pet’s dog ears off and undid the tail, setting those aside before he scooped him up in his arms and pushed Sawdust’s bedroom door open with his back, stepping in.

The room smelled of rot and spoil. Adrien muttered an expletive under his breath as looked around. Everything was as undisturbed as it had been when he first gave Sawdust the room, save for one corner that had some puddles of water sitting on the floor. He sat Sawdust down on the bed, pinching his nose. There was no way the pet smelled this bad when he got him.

He got to work looking for the source of the scent, thinking that an animal had found its way into the room or ceiling and died, but that was far from what he found. It took a few minutes of checking behind the wardrobes and dressers before looking under the bed, lifting the bedskirt only to be buffeted by the foul odour. Hidden underneath the bed was a pile of food scraps, composed of everything he’d been feeding Sawdust. Every piece of food that was missing from Sawdust’s plates was underneath his bed.

Adrien was never someone who was grossed out by things easily, but the sheer smell of the food was nothing short of disgusting. Regardless, he still had to get the room to a condition where Sawdust would actually be able to sleep in it, so with the help of a dust pan to use like a shovel, he dumped the remnants of the food into a garbage bag and tied it shut. He was at a loss for how the pet could have been tolerating this the whole time. He went through the room with a bit of air freshener, trying to solve the problem before he pushed a mop around under the bed.

With the room in a far better condition, he glanced over to Sawdust. The pet was still sleeping soundly, in near the exact same position that Adrien had left him in. Adrien took the edge of the blanket, folding one side over Sawdust’s frail body in hopes that it’d keep him warmer. Sawdust wasn’t disturbed at all when Adrien put the blanket over him, and he continued to sleep as Adrien started working to make the room more comfortable for the pet.

Once he got to see the room, it didn’t take him long at all to put together that Sawdust hadn’t been sleeping on the bed, and that he was sleeping in the corner that all the water was splashed around. Adrien mopped that up and swung by his linen closet, bringing every extra blanket and pillow he had and tossing them into the corner before arranging them in the most nest-like formation he could.

He wasn’t about to leave the pet unattended, not after an occurrence like that. Adrien grabbed his laptop and sat down in the seat in the other corner of the room, remembering just how uncomfortable the guest room’s furniture was, and why it was in this room and not being used in the living room. Disregarding that, he opened his laptop and kept himself busy.

When Sawdust opened his eyes the room was dim and he immediately froze up. The only source of light was warm and coming from one of the corners. Reluctantly, Sawdust sat up, body stiff. Master was sitting in the chair at the corner with a tall lamp on next to him. He looked like he was asleep, but the second Sawdust sat up, Master was awake again.

The very next thing Sawdust realized- not that he had the capacity to care much about it considering he was surely about to be punished within an inch of his life- was the new smell in the room. The old smell wasn’t good, but this new one was giving him a pounding headache. It was far too strong, but that was the least of his worries as he found himself a deer in headlights under his Master’s stare.

“Hey, Sawdust,” Master shifted a little. His voice was low and rough. “Damn, what time’s it?” He squinted at his phone in the dim light. Sawdust clenched his jaw shut, trying to stop any fear from showing on his face, but from Master’s wide eyes, he obviously wasn’t doing that good a job.

“Sorry, Master,” Sawdust whimpered, trembling under the covers. “I- didn’t- it- it-” His eyes darted all over the room and Master got up, walking over to him and sitting at the bottom of the bed.

“You weren’t eating the food?” Master asked, tilting his head. His long hair fell over his shoulder. Sawdust wasn’t ever good at figuring out what somebody really meant with their words, but Master’s tone was steady. He didn’t sound angry, and that made it worse. The punishment would be worse. Sawdust waited for the screaming to start, but all that stretching out through the room was a deafening silence.

“I just want to know why, Sawdust. I didn’t know you weren’t eating.” Master asked. Sawdust reached up to fiddle with his hair, only to realize another thing that was amiss. His ears were gone. His whole body stung with that realization, and he glanced around the room, not seeing them. His tail was also missing and he couldn’t spot them anywhere. Still, Master asked a question and he had to answer.

“Can only eat dog- dog food. Dogs eat dog food.” Sawdust said, flinching and getting ready for when the blows would come.

“Dog-” Master started before sighing. “Okay.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I found that paper with the rules on it. I don’t want to do this and I didn’t think I’d have to, but I have some rules for you, too.”

Adrien didn’t miss the way Sawdust perked up at the mention of rules. It made him sick, but he had to press on now that he said it.

“Three meals a day, with me, downstairs.” Adrien tried his best to sound firm in what he was saying, attempting to walk the line between stern and intimidating. “I’ll come get you when it’s time to eat.”

“Is that all, Master?” Sawdust responded. That sounded rehearsed to hell and back, but more confident and solid than anything else Adrien had heard him say before.

“This room’s yours, treat it as such.” Adrien gestured with an outstretched arm, “The bed’s yours, I put some stuff in the corner if you’d rather stay there.”

“Is that all, Master?” Again. Adrien knew there was probably more he should tell Sawdust, but he was blanking.

“For now, yes. If I think of more things I’ll tell you.” The bed shifted with the movement of Adrien standing up. “Try to get some sleep, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned off the lamp, gathered his laptop, and left, shutting the door behind him as softly as he could.

The second he stepped into his bedroom, he sat down on his bed and ran his fingers through his hair, that familiar, heated upset rising through his body. Sawdust was someone he took into his care and he let him get to such a state. Adrien was disgusted, and thoroughly disappointed with himself. He was in over his head, and he didn’t know what to do.

Night passed slowly for the both of them.

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

#pet whump #whumpblr #whump blog #whump writing #whump #whump ocs #whump recovery #whumpee #caretaker #whump community #adrien and sawdust

153 notes · View notes

maracujatangerine · 3 years

Text

51. A smile in the mirror

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe

The warm water was cascading down the pet’s naked body, rinsing away soap and shampoo. It had locked the door, as per Miss Lydia’s instructions. It always felt wrong to turn the lock. Even though it did what Miss Lydia had told it to, it meant denying its owner access both to the room and to the pet’s body.

Still, being alone meant that there was no longer any need to hide the long shivers that run through its entire body, making its teeth chatter despite the hot shower. Coriander felt bone-tired, fragile. Tears pricked the pet’s eyes and it let itself cry, relying on the water to rinse away any evidence of its weakness.

It had been afraid, and… and it had acted in such an unpetlike manner.

It had thought for itself, it had taken initiative and it had told others what to do. All these things that pets shouldn’t be doing, that it had spent years unlearning, and all that it took to break its hard-learned discipline was the eerie feeling that someone was worse off than the pet itself. There was no way around it. It was a bad pet and it deserved punishment. Fresh tears arose in its eyes. It was such a worthless pet. It would have to be a particularly severe punishment, to fit the crime.

But…. But Miss Lydia had been proud. It could still feel the warmth of her embrace and her praise.

Cory could feel its heart swell in its chest, remembering it. True, she did often praise it, Lydia was as generous with kind words as with kind touches and good food. But this time the pet had done something very difficult, and its mistress had known it.

She didn’t know how difficult.

Finishing the shower, the pet dried itself on a fluffy, mint-coloured towel and got dressed, bringing the collar for its mistress to close around its neck. Looking at itself in the mirror, it put on a carefully crafted smile for its owner. It was being a bad pet, but Miss Lydia didn’t have to know.

Tag list: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

#pet whump #pet whumpee #pet-whump #conditioned whumpee #box boy #box boy multiverse #box boy whump #bbu #box boy universe #caretaker #recovery whump #rescue whump #lydia and coriander #original writing

123 notes · View notes

kim-poce · 3 years

Text

Alex and Neo 7 - Medical Stuff

My boys are back, Neo is scared as always and Alex has no idea of what he is doing as always.

Part 1 | Previous | Next

Masterlist

CW: medical whump, bruises, mention of broken bones (a healing rib), mention of cuts, mention of whip, drugs (just for pain, hard is to convenience Neo), fear of non-con, mention of blood, (someone please tell Alex to mind his words)

=-=

Neo stared at the bathroom door, from where Master could enter anytime, “Wait here, I’ll go get the medical stuff”, he had said before leaving. The adrenaline that Neo’s felt before was enough for him to try to run away if he had seen an opening, but now that wasn’t even passing through his head.

He turned to the mirror behind him, looking at his skinny figure, his arms were black and blue, he had several open cuts, some shallow others deeper, he had a broken rib still healing, his back was covered with Xs from whipping, it hadn’t been long since master Alex got him, he realized, not even enough to the open wound heal. Of course, Neo’s deeds made them even worse.

Neo tried to be optimistic, he tried to think about Alex as someone who truly, as he said himself, won’t hurt him, but that thought didn’t make sense, there is no reason an assassin like master Alex would keep someone out of charity, he remembered the first morning when an employee served them food, she didn’t even blink like she was used to her employer keeping a wounded plaything around.

Neo tried to think why he was there, maybe master doesn’t want to hit him yet? maybe Neo is there just for when he truly gets angry so he can have his dog to vent his anger on, that would mean he hadn’t got too angry for the last few days.

He remembered the bloody boots, how there was always blood on them? always. Maybe he already had the ‘punching bag slaves’ somewhere else, and Neo was a lapdog or sex slave, while the former made Neo feel humiliated the last was completely terrifying.

And what about those rules? Do not hurt yourself, sleep in the bedroom and there will be people around, what was that supposed to mean? Neo felt that every time he talked to master Alex he became more confused.

He hugged himself when he heard the bedroom door opening and closing, he was still standing, he hadn’t be allowed nor ordered to sit, master knocked on the door as always, Neo came to the conclusion that this was a warning so Neo could have time to kneel, so he did so.

“Hey, boy”, Master said with a somewhat uncomfortable voice, “Get up, will you?”

Neo did, looking at the white tiles on the floor, thinking about the garden he can see by the hallway’s window or anything else, anywhere else where he wasn’t powerless and half-naked.

“Sit here”, Master pointed to the toilet, “Let’s get started but first…”- He took a pill from its recipient, “Take this.”

Neo closed his mouth tightly, he didn’t want to disobey even more but not that, old master would use drugs sometimes, two kinds of drugs, aphrodisiac or drugs that made Neo pliable and weak, both of them don’t let him be himself, just a malleable sex doll.

“P-p-please…”, Neo tried, but please what? he couldn’t promise he will behave or that he will not fight back, because he will, even when he tried to just get things over with, or just lessen the punishment, he can’t, his body fight on its own, again all rationality, “p-please…”

“Easy, Neo”, Master said in a soft voice that didn’t fit him at all, “It’s for pain.”

Right. Like master would really give such thing to a slave that just attacked him, but the master is so strong, he could force that whole bottle down Neo’s throat if he felt like that, there is no use for a slave try to deny taking drugs, Neo knows, he knows that master can simply starve him for a week or two and he will happily shallow any drugs in the food. Or even denying water for a few days, it was all too easy for them.

“Please…”, Neo tried again, backing aways without even realizing, his eyes glued to the pills, he felt his heart racing again.

“Neo, look at me”, Master said waving the pills in front of his own face so Neo’s face was drawn to it.

Master opened his mouth and swallowed the two pills at once, opening his mouth widely so Neo could see he wasn’t pretending, Neo was surprised, maybe they are not that drugs, part of him thought, a small part where hope still resided, Maybe they are aphrodisiacs, the other part of he thought.

Neo slowly took another two pills, master could force me to take anyway, he tried to convince himself, it’s better just obey.

“You don’t need to force yourself, tho”, Master said, Neo stopped his hand halfway, “As I said they are for pain, it’s better with you to take them but you can choose.”

Choose? Neo was conflicted, the tinny hope still in him was telling him to believe that words.

“Although if I see that your wound are or will be infected you’ll have to take the antibiotics”, Master added.

“I-I’ll take them”, Neo decided, if he hesitated even more he wouldn’t be able to force himself to take them. He felt the two pills going down smoothly with the water, he breathed slowly hoping master wasn’t playing a mean trick.

“Now let me see your arm”, master ordered in a strange tone, as if he was asking. “You made quite a mess here, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry”

“There is no need, only don’t do that again, please”, Master said taking some cotton out of the kit and drop some orange liquid almost red, “It’ll sting a little, please bear with it”, Neo realized that master had said the same thing in the first night.

The medicine did sting, Neo wondered if people really used that or if that painful liquid were to be used in slaves only, Neo hissed when the cotton touched a deeper cut, and regretted making it wider. After master was done with that arm she patched it up with bandages.

“This really stings, right?”, master asked, “I have always used that, since a child I mean, is pretty efficient but it does hurt”, He took another cotton to start again at the other arm, “I’ll buy another one so we don’t need to use that in the future.”

Neo flinched, in the future.

One of the certainties in Alex’s life is that he will get hurt, he is in dangerous situations too often for that not to be the case, so using in the future was a thing he said out of habit, and he didn’t even realize that.

For Neo on the other hand was the confirmation that he will be hurt in the future, hurt enough so master has to give him treatment, his stomach dropped, and his throat went dry as if he hadn’t had water in two days.

They stayed in an awkward silence almost the whole time, except when Alex was cleaning the wound on Neo’s back and he couldn’t help but groan and Alex would say something like “It’ll be okay”, “You are doing great”, “Just a little more”.

“I know you have wounds on your legs, too”, Master said, Neo gulped at the thought of having to take his pants off too, “But don’t worry, you can take care of that by yourself, I mean, you wouldn’t want me to take care of them, right?”

Neo didn’t respond, but he agreed.

“I’ll let you here so you can do that”, Master said, “You can come out when you are done.”

He put the ‘medical stuff’ over the sink, the kit that was way beyond the ‘first aid kit’, ready to patch up even more serious wounds, Neo tried to thinking why master would have one of those but since he only had scary thoughts he tried to focus on something else.

“We’ll be changing your bandages once a day, after your bath”, Master said.

He was once again left alone, as always, he thought, master always came out of nowhere and confused him just to go away right after, he had never spared kind words unless Neo was in pain or too anxious, and he only touched him to patch the wounds.

Neo was so scared, but he was also feeling something aching inside his chest, he was lonely, even if he could put that in words.

=-=

If you want to be tagged or untagged pls tell me, if you want to comment or reblog pls do so.

@cupcakes-and-pain, @octopus-reactivated, @whump-blog, @darklyria, @equinix

#whump #pet whump #brusies #feared noncon #mention of whipping #drugs tw #I'll learn to tag someday #drugs #whump fic #male whumpee #implied past noncon #caretaker new whumper #caretaker new master #Alex and Neo #my writing

70 notes · View notes