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chaotic-orphan · 3 months

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Febuwhump: Day Fourteen

Prompt: blood-stained tiles (febuwhump prompts)

TW: blood, bleeding, knife wound, gunshot wound, fingers in gunshot wound, knife mentioned, gun violence,

*~*~*~*~*

Whumper knew there was someone in his house when he reached his street. He frowned, hand going to the gun concealed under his jacket as he walked down the garden path. There were no signs of obvious entry, but Whumper knew. He could feel the slightly laboured breaths from inside. His frown deepened when he realised that he knew who those breaths belonged to. He took his hand off his gun and went for his keys instead.

He unlocked his door and stepped inside, dropping his bag by the door. He continued into the house, leaving the lights off. His intruder knew he was here, knew exactly that Whumper knew they were there. He left the lights off for more of a dramatic effect.

“I would advise against breaking into the house of someone who can detect you from streets away,” he said, turning to the intruder who sat with their back against Whumper’s oven. That wasn’t what drew his attention though. It was the amount of blood that was on his beautifully charcoal tiled floor. Whumper pulled out a chair and sat down at his table, staring at Whumpee.

“Do you know what’s really inefficient about you?” Whumper asked, reclining back against the chair while Whumpee fumbled in their pockets for something. Their hands came out, stained with the dark red blood, stark against Whumpee’s pallid face. Whumper noticed the white knuckled grip tight on a box of Marlboro as Whumpee pulled one out and dangled it loosely between their lips.

Whumpee kept Whumper’s gaze the entire time with their usual stare that was a melting pot of all Whumpee’s emotions; bored, superior, empty. Whumpee grabbed the lighter from the box, a shitty corner shop one with a skull on the side. The flame gave Whumpee’s face a little life, a little colour. It made their face a little more human, made the contours and the shadows darker but highlighted skin pulled over bone and muscle.

Whumpee didn’t reply as they cupped the lighter, more out of habit to shield it than any real threat of it extinguishing. Maybe to shield it from Whumpee’s own cold stare Whumper mused and laughed a little to himself at the thought.

Whumpee dropped the lighter into the box, then dropped the box onto the blood-stained tile they were currently bleeding all over making the charcoal even darker Or, more accurately, was bleeding all over. Whumper suspected their wounds had healed by now.

“Hey. Did you hear my question?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee replied. They let the smoke cloud their gaze and for a brief moment of reprieve Whumper didn’t have to stare into those soulless, dead eyes. “I heard ya.”

“You musing on the answer? Or are you thinking of answering in the next year?”

Whumpee scoffed. “You’re so needy, Whumper.”

“Yes,” Whumper replied deadpan. “I’m the one bleeding all over your beautiful kitchen right now.”

Whumpee didn’t reply. They just lifted their shirt as if only now remembering that they were injured at all. The wound wasn’t completely closed just yet, in fact… it looked as if it was still bleeding, but it would be another couple minute at least until Whumpee would heal. Whumper frowned at it, Whumpee healed fast – something like warning bells sounded in the back of Whumper’s mind but no… there was no way.

“Relax. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“The smell of your stale cigarette smoke, however, won’t be,” said Whumper with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Whumpee’s left index finger twitched. An emotional outburst on Whumpee’s account.

“I’ll clean up after myself,” said Whumpee, taking a long, slow drag of the cigarette. The house was quiet enough that Whumper could hear the cinders sizzle at the end of the cigarette like a dozen little sighs. An extension of Whumpee’s mood.

“Oh please,” Whumper scoffed, getting up from his chair and stalking over to the light switch and flicking on the light. “You couldn’t clean up after yourself if there was a gun to your leg.”

“Head.”

Whumper blinked. “What?”

Whumpee let smoke out through their nose. “The expression is a gun to your head.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Whumpee. Did I stutter?” Before Whumpee could answer the question, Whumper brandished his gun with a flourish and shot Whumpee through the thigh. Whumpee let out a strangled cry, bending over their leg with a string of curses as Whumper crouched so he was eye level with Whumpee. He placed the muzzle under Whumpee’s chin and tilted their head so he could look into Whumpee’s dead eyes. They glinted like sepulchre in the moonlight, lifeless and temporarily in pain. “To your head, was it?”

“I’m not here to fight.”

“No, you’re just here to bloody my clean floors and irritate me.”

“Whumper, listen—”

Whumper’s hand moved in a flash and a second later a bullet went through Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee’s ears rang like a bomb going off and distantly they were aware that they were screaming, their body curling around the gun on reflex. Whumpee’s hand shot up to grab onto Whumper for support. Letting out a long growling groan through gritted teeth, seething as they sucked in a couple of breaths.

For a while they stayed like that, like statues carved out of stone. Whumpee under Whumper, white knuckled grip on his arm, head against his forearm to take deep steadying breaths and breath through the pain.

After a couple minutes the ringing lessened. Whumper ran a hand through Whumpee’s hair and tilted Whumpee’s head back to look Whumper in the eye.

“I’m listening, Whumpee,” Whumper said with a sweet smile. “I’m still waiting for an answer to my original question.”

“How my power’s insufficient?” Whumpee asked, exasperated. Whumper’s hair tightened in their hair in warning. Whumpee searched their mind for some excuse that would satisfy Whumper. “Probably because it’s only healing and not immunity to pain?”

“Ehh,” Whumper said, mimicking the sound of a buzzer being wrong on a game show. “That’s the reason your power is so fun.”

To emphasis his point Whumper pressed the heel of his shoe into Whumpee’s thigh. Whumpee let out a groaning hum, hitting at Whumper weakly.

Whumper let his foot up and smiled sweetly at Whumpee. “No Whumpee, the reason your power is so inefficient is because of the mess you leave. If you could just not bleed everywhere, everything would be perfect, you know that?”

Whumper crouched again and dug a finger into the bullet hole in Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee let out a mewling cry of protest, but Whumper just kept hurting them. Whumpee grabbed Whumper’s wrist with both hands and for a moment they stopped Whumper’s painful intrusion.

A moment was all they needed.

“He’s back,” Whumpee said quickly, the words coming out in a pained rush. Whumper stiffened. Whumpee let out a stuttering breath as Whumper retracted his hand only to grip Whumpee’s jaw. Whumper stared into those cold eyes and found fear glistening behind them.

“He’s back,” Whumpee repeated. Whumper’s eyes widened slightly.

“What?!” Whumper demanded, his grip tightening on Whumpee’s jaw. “What do you mean he’s back?”

“I got home and he was just in my apartment,” Whumpee whispered, their voice wobbling.

Whumper let go of Whumpee altogether and stood with a short huff of air. “Why didn’t you just run?”

Whumpee looked up at Whumper. “He was waiting behind my fucking door, Whumper… with that vile flesh ripping dagger he loves so much. It wasn’t like I stopped to have tea and a catch up with him!”

Whumper glanced down at Whumpee again. Then crouched and lifted Whumpee’s shirt. The knife wound was still healing. Whumper remembers that blade taking days for Whumpee to recover from.

“You’re not even lying, are you?” Whumper asked, more to himself than to Whumpee.

“Why would I lie about this?” Whumpee asked, their voice taking on a slightly hysterical undertone.

Whumper’s grip tightened on the gun in his hand. Fingers curling ever so slightly more than he had to as Whumper slid the safety back on and tucked the gun into their shoulder holster. Whumpee didn’t speak anymore because they knew Whumper’s mind was whirling, thoughts forming, making leaps and jumps that Whumpee never could. Analysing every word Whumpee just said to get to the real reason he was back.

“Did he follow you?”

“No,” said Whumpee.

“Are you just saying that, or do you know for definite?”

“I don… I don’t know. Shit. Fuck, Whumper… I’m sorry I— I had to run, and I had to warn you and—”

“It’s okay, Whumpee. I doubt he’ll come. He will have known you ran to tell me after you left so there would be no point.”

“He’s going to do it again,” Whumpee whispered, “isn’t he?”

Whumper pinched his lips together and stood. “Honestly Whumpee? I have no fucking idea…”

“What are we going to do?”

Whumper straightened at the question, his easy confidence falling over his limbs like an entire costume rather than just a mask. His shoulders relaxing and his usual smirk on his face as he glanced back to Whumpee.

“Who’s the needy one now?”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” Whumper replied. “Well, for now there’s nothing to do. Any bullets left in you?”

“No,” said Whumpee begrudgingly.

Whumper nodded. “Good. Then once they’re healed you can clean my bathroom and have a shower. I’ll wrap the knife wound for you and then we’ll… I don’t know, order a pizza or something.”

“You’re letting me stay?” Whumpee asked, their breath hitching.

“Of course.”

Whumpee’s entire body flooded with relief at Whumper’s matter of fact tone. They opened their mouth to thank, actually, genuinely thank Whumper when he spoke again.

“After all you’re the only one who can get close enough to kill him.”

Whumpee’s smile turned into a scowl as they wrapped an arm around their stomach and another, they hooked over Whumper’s countertop to hoist themself up. “You could have at least pretended that you were worried for my safety.”

“I’m worried about my bloody tiles, Whumpee, and how best to rid myself of two pests that refuse to leave me alone,” said Whumper, running a hand through his hair. He let out a long sigh.

“I knew today was going to be a bad day,” said Whumper. Whumper walked out the door and into the living room. “I’m going for a shower. You know where the mop is, and don’t – I swear for the love of God, Whumpee, if you bleed anywhere near my couch, I will kill you myself. Understood?”

“You’re such a dick.”

“I mean it,” Whumper said, holding a finger in the air in warning as he disappeared down the hall.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

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so... how about that jameson au though

(Anon is referencing an AU where Nanda turns up alive, I wrote a short piece on the concept here)

CW: Whumpee returned to whumper, captor bonding, dubcon (mostly implied? mostly), grief

Nanda's thumb and finger rub along the back of Jameson's neck, and he closes his eyes, tipping his chin forward to bare the skin more fully to the familiar touch. The leather seat beneath him feels impossibly soft. The car is new, but the scent of it isn't.

"What do they call you now?" Nanda asks, carefully casual, steering into a turn without signaling. His car, sleek and silver and looking somehow incredibly futuristic and oddly sexual, glides along the road. "In this house I found you in?"

Jameson doesn't look up. He can feel his skin prickling, the hair on his arms standing up. At the same time, he's shivery, feels a warmth pulsing through him. "Jameson," He says. His voice is hoarse. It's always hoarse now. For so long...

"Jameson?" Nanda's voice sounds curious, only curious. His fingernail scrapes lightly along Jameson's nape, edging the softest baby hairs there. Jameson's breath catches. "Like the whiskey?"

He swallows. Custard and blood, a voice he thought he'd never taste again. Vanilla and copper, somehow swimming together. It's not a good taste, but it's one his life revolved around once. A taste he loved, sometimes hated, sometimes both in equal measure. "Yeah." He drops to a whisper. "I was kept in a... a house for a while. I could see these bottles... he'd empty the bottles, and line them up. Jamison Whiskey, always. I thought it-... it sounded like a good name."

Nanda pauses. "... you read the bottles?"

Oh, right. Nanda never knew.

Jameson hitches in a breath. They're still slipping through the city like an eel through ocean, winding around neighborhoods as if avoiding beds of green plants waving in the water. The lights are purple in some spots and bright in others. Jameson wonders if Nanda's taking him-

... what used to be home.

"I read the bottles," He whispers. "I could-... I could always read."

Another long pause. Nanda glances behind him, then pulls over - still without using his turn signal, and that sure hasn't changed. The car's tires crunch along the gravel beside the road, then settle into a rumbling smoothness as they move into grass. Nanda cuts the lights, and leaves he and Jameson sitting in total darkness, without even a streetlight to see by. Only the dim hint of moonlight and stars.

"You weren't supposed to be able to read."

"I... I know. But I can."

"You never told me you could." Nanda's palm is heavy and hot on his neck, now. Jameson twists his fingers into his sweatpants to keep his hands from shaking as Nanda's voice drops low, too. "You lied to me."

"I was-... scared to tell you."

"You should have told me anything. Everything. There shouldn't have been anything I didn't know."

"No, I know, but... fuck. What if you had them take it away?" He looks, now. He finds the courage to raise his head, to turn and look Nanda right in his eyes. They're just a gleam in the night. "I needed it. I, I'm alive because I can read. If I couldn't, and you died, I wouldn't have... been able to read, to, to know-"

"You lied." No anger. Just calm certainty. "To me."

"... yes. I lied." He jerks away from Nanda's hand finally, raking a hand back through his hair, hating it again. It used to be thick, and kind of pretty actually. Used to look good. Even this long after escaping Robert, it still grows in unevenly, different lengths. And some places never grew back at all, so he has to grow it out to cover the bald spots up, but then the uneven bits are obvious, and... "I fucking lied, okay?! I had to protect myself. I had to, to keep safe."

"From me?" Nanda's voice is empty of emotion. It's worse than anger could ever be. "You had to protect yourself from me?"

"More than anyone, you fucking asshole!"

He's going to cry again. He forces the heat of the tears back, lets them turn into a twist of acid anger in his chest alongside his racing heart. He doesn't lower his gaze. He looks Nanda right in the face.

He thought he'd never see this face again.

"You-" His voice cracks, and he fights to get it back. Not to go silent now, when he has to say this, the thing he's always held inside. There's never been a grave he could cry at, there's never been a body to bare his heart to. Not since-

"You could have killed me yourself, and I'd have let you do it." The words come out too quickly, they run together and he's breathless at the end of the sentence. He grabs at Nanda's hand with both of his, holding so tightly he can feel Nanda's bones move, can hear the slightest hiss of breath as he winces. "And you might have. Even if all you did was send me back, they'd wipe it all away again. I'd lose too much, I'd lose you, you shit, and I didn't want to lose you. When you died, I thought-"

"I wasn't dead-"

"I didn't fucking know that!" He can't scream anymore, not like he used to. His voice only turns to wind, the rasp of an oncoming storm. Nanda is a rumble of thunder, and Jameson the leaves shivering on branches about to blow down and die. "If they found me, they'd blame me, and they'd send me back, for being defective, for being a fucking reject, for-... they'd take you away. They'd take you away from me, from my head."

He pulls Nanda's hand to him, leans forward, his forehead resting against the warmth of Nanda's palm, those fingers curved slightly over the top of his head. Like a god giving benediction, maybe. Like he could be lifted up or shoved off a cliff with just one motion.

"I couldn't lose you, not because I wasn't right. I couldn't fucking lose you. If you knew I could read, if you sent me back-... if they sent me back after you died-... they'd take you. I couldn't, I couldn't lose you. I couldn't. You're mine, god damn it, you were mine!"

"Pet-"

"I had to keep you mine." He drops his grip on Nanda's hand, but it doesn't move away, and neither does he. "I had to keep you in my head, because-... because if you were gone, and I didn't know you, then why was I ever here?"

He's talking about Nanda, and he isn't. There's some other face beneath it, another voice, another taste. A smile he'd known from his first memories, a loss he couldn't recall because it had been a loss too great to bear losing.

He doesn't let that other face surface. Some part of him knows the name but he holds it deep, deep down. "I'm what I am because I thought it was okay to lose, to forget, but when you were gone, I, I couldn't, I couldn't lose again. I couldn't forget you again. Don't you fucking understand that?"

Nanda stares at him, slightly wide-eyed, an expression Jameson has never seen before in his handsome, angular face. There's so much more silver in his beard now than there used to be. But they both look so much older, so much different, now.

The silence draws out, between them, and Jameson twists. Lightning threatens. There's no rumble of thunder, only the weight of something about to break overhead and if it does, he'll drown.

"Well?" His voice shakes, but he covers it up with rage. He always covers up his fear with anger. It's the only way he's lived this long. It's safe and easy. "Lost your fucking voice now, all of a sudden? Huh? You gonna fucking say something to me, you piece of shit, you were dead and how goddamn dare you come back and take me like nothing ever happened, like I didn't-... like I didn't have to live without you, for so long without, like I-"

He never finishes the sentence.

"Shut up," Nanda snaps. It's a growl, a snarl, and Jameson thrills to the sound of his voice. His hands are there, they shove Jameson to the side and then back. Nanda hits something along the side of his seat and the back drops flat. Jameson gasps as his head bounces back against the headrest, and then Nanda is on top of him again, yanking his shirt up with a ferocity that feels like the cloth burns along his scarred skin as it goes. His wrists are tangled in the cotton and Nanda grunts, irritated, and leaves it there as he works at Jameson's sweatpants, yanking them down off his hips until he's nearly naked, on his back in the passenger seat of a car, on the side of the road.

"Nanda-"

"I said shut the fuck up-"

Nanda's hand claps over his mouth, and his protests are muffled at first. Then they aren't protests at all, as Nanda's lips are hot against his neck, and then his teeth dig and his tongue works against the reddening skin he's just bitten.

Nanda's hand closes around him, between his legs, and Jameson cries out, all but levitating off the seat into scorching touch. He's dizzy, with the way all his blood suddenly shifts to meet that hand. He can barely think. Nanda's strokes are rough and fast, and Jameson rolls into them, again and again. All his thoughts are washed away by the lust that floods him.

Somewhere under that, though...

He's still afraid.

It could end any second.

It could all have been a dream.

This might have been the wrong choice.

Or it wasn't a choice at all.

Nanda yanks his hand back and Jameson whimpers at the loss, whines like an animal in heat, only to have Nanda grab him and roughly turn him over, throwing him back down. They're closed in this car, the space too small for it. His elbow bangs on something, his feet are pressing up against the rough carpet under the dashboard. But that hand is off his mouth, then. He can breathe, and he can make a sound that isn't entirely human as Nanda's mouth is back on his neck, the heat of his chest against Jameson's shoulder blades, the hardness of him pressed just where Jameson wants it, always wanted it

Didn't always want it-

"Nanda... please-... just wait-"

"I don't wait for you," Nanda whispers against his ear, nips at the shell. He can't stop himself from moaning at the feeling, as broken as that sound is now from his ruined throat. "You wait for me, when I say. You don't tell me when."

Jameson's eyes open, then. He's staring into an expanse of stars through the back windshield, and the sky is so goddamn empty between them, isn't it? Between the tiniest points of light, dead suns, and maybe their planets still revolve around them in the darkness.

"... I was learning," He whispers.

Nanda pauses. His breath is deafening against Jameson's ear. "What?"

"... I was learning how to say when."

He's a planet orbiting a dead star.

"Pet-"

"... I loved you."

"Loved?"

He's crying again. Goddamnit, he's crying again, and his shoulders shake with the sobs he can't hold back any longer. Nanda exhales and drops, weight against him, reassuring and real, alive. "I still love you, but I love-... I love-... I loved that I learned to be-... to b-be Jameson, fuck, stop it stop it stop crying, you shit, you fucking, just stop fucking crying!"

"Sssshhhhh. It's okay." Nanda's voice is a rumble, and the world shakes a little, gentle as a shower of rain. But he can't taste the rain here, not so far away from Allyn.

He can't taste the rain, only copper and sweet.

The stars blur into nothing, they're lost to the darkness when he tries to look through the tears. Even if his vision clears, it isn't even the stars he'd be seeing.

"Nanda... there's someone else."

He only sees the memory of what's already been lost.

#nanda #jameson au #jameson bb #whump #recaptured whumpee #sorta #captor bonding #grief #box boy #box boy universe #bbu #intimate whumper #recovering whumpee

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pierceofheart · 10 months

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Thinking about... a zombie Apocalypse type of setting

a wasteland bare of medical equipment, shelter and food and water.

dangerous and full of zombies that would kill you on sight.

No way to heal those who are left behind due to an injury, no way to cure one who is bitten.

Thinking about a group of survivors, not many because there's little to benefit from big parties of people when you don't have the needed equipment or/and food and water to sustain everyone.

Thinking about Whumpee 2 or Caretaker in the group getting sick/injured or possibly bitten and being left for dead.

They understand, but one does not want to continue without the other by their side and they don't give up on each other.

Maybe they were a tight pair of friends, lovers or possibly just trauma bonded with each other enough to be too dependent on each other to leave.

Thinking about... a mad scientist whumper in this setting

where they are desperately trying to make a cure. Maybe trying to redirect someone bitten, or formerly working with the government to make the cure.

Maybe they crashed completely from isolation and developt a god complex of somekind.

Or the Whumper just clung onto the delusion of making a cure for something possibly incurable to the point of loosing their grip on reality.

and now they need a healthy person(whumpee 2) and a already bitten/zombifief person(whumpee 1).

The whumpee 2 was seen as the weaker link of the two, but the perfect match to try and experiment on. So

Whumper very smoothly lying, manipulating and literally gaslighting the two into trusting him. Offering them food, shelter, fresh water and medical supplies from their own "good will".

Caretaker and whumpee 2 both take the bait and fall into the trap. And while Whumpers keeps Caretaker clueless he lures whumpee 2 to trust them enough to get them completely trapped into a cage next to the bitten/zombified whumpee 1 who had been the first or otherwise there before them.

It's too late when the realize what the fuck is going on.

Just thinking of the horrid smell around the base, the scattered papers. Whumpee 2 being roughly shoved into a cell of some kind and seeing the first Whumpee now turned to a zombie.

While being prodded and poked Whumpee 2 learns about true Whumpers intentions. And now they're being used as little test subjects and a prisoner, a bargain for caretaker to stay when they're too stubborn to leave without whumpee 2.

Just some random tinkering. 0.0 also I'm currently sleep deprived so excuse if the thought isn't completely comprehend-able. I do hope it is at some level lol.

~ Pierce out

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whumpster-dumpster · 1 year

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"Once you let your guard down, when you least expect it, I'm outta here...Gone. Poof. You're never going to see me again."

"Well, if that's the case, just know that I'll miss you very much and you'd be welcome back to visit anytime," Caretaker sighs, suppressing a smile. Whumpee is still a little tsundere but it would be more convincing if they weren't saying it in the pajamas and blanket Caretaker gave them and their head in Caretaker's lap.

#whump #whump prompt #writing prompt #tsundere whumpee #bonding #caretaking #trust #cuddling

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dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 1 year

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Eden part fourteen

Masterlist linked in my pinned

TW: emotional whump, Stockholm Syndrome, cannabilism, panic attack, referenced murder, references major character death, referenced organized crime, referenced 9/11, referenced drug use, referenced torture, referenced bigotry (transphobia, racism, homophobia, Islamophobia), pet whumpees, multiple whumpees, creepy/intimate whumper

"Ezra," Christopher said. "It's time to wake up The same goes for you, Jay. I have food. And my siblings are here. So, please behave."

Ezra bolted upright. "Your siblings, sir?"

"Yes. Now both of you get dressed and come to the kitchen."

They quickly did as they were told, and found four strangers sitting at Christopher's kitchen table.

"Hello," a woman said, with a Russian accent far less cleverly masked than Christopher's.

Ezra immediately clocked her as trans, then hated himself for it. He should be better than that.

"You must be Ezra," she said. "And Jay, right?"

"Yes," Ezra said hesitantly. "You're Christopher's sister?"

Christopher walked over to make introductions.

"That's my sister Lucille," he said of the bottle blonde woman who had addressed Ezra. She waved briefly, then went back to filing down a broken nail.

"My brother Michael," he said of a man sporting a rather impressive beard and long braided hair. He didn't so much as look at Ezra.

"My sister Katerina and her wife Jane-Marie," he said of two women sitting next to each other and holding hands. They were both wearing heavily stained overalls and grown out buzz cuts.

"Ezra and Jay," Christopher said, pointing to them in turn. "I'm taking care of them."

Ezra paid close attention for any context clues as to the excuses Christopher had weaved about him and Jay. He couldn't contradict him even slightly, or this would all fall apart to disastrous effect.

"Yeah, taking care of them," Jane-Marie said gruffly. "If that's what you call stalking and kidnapping now adays."

Jane-Marie wrecked all of Ezra's prior assumptions about the situation to bits, leaving him scrambling for how to handle himself.

"You look like a fish with your mouth gaping like that," Lucille said.

Ezra closed his mouth, swallowed, and sat down next to Christopher at the long rectangular table. Jay sat down on Ezra's right, looking unaware of what could possibly be wrong.

He had to be dreaming. There was no way that Christopher's siblings were fine with this.

Well, why not? Nothing heinous had happened. Ezra was perfectly content and happy. Christopher was a savior, not some typical deranged stalker gossiped about on true crime podcasts by insensitive middle aged women.

And besides, Ezra was an only child. What did he know? Siblings always seemed to have a particular brand of loyalty, and one he had always been jealous of.

Going back and forth from the kitchen and dining room, Christopher dished up the borscht for everyone, along with a bowl of sour cream, tall glasses of water, and sliced apricots. A chorus of thank you greeted him.

Ezra wondered if anyone else knew what the meat was.

Katerina began speaking. For a moment, Ezra thought he must be having a sensory overload from stress and the number of people around him, as he was incapable of understanding her words. But after a few moments of straining to comprehend, he realized that she was speaking in Russian.

Ezra ate his stew in silence as Christopher spoke with his siblings, probably explaining the situation...or something. And while Ezra knew that Russian was probably more convenient for Christopher's family, he hated being left out.

He finally zoned back in when Christopher went back to speaking in English.

"Any complaints or suggestions, my dear Ezra?"

"No sir."

Christopher's siblings laughed. Jane-Marie pursed her lips and gripped Katerina's hand tighter.

"Please," Christopher said. "Be casual. We're trying to mourn and make preparations."

"Um, alright." Ezra fought the urge to call Christopher sir again. "I don't have any complaints."

"I'll deal with Colt's criminal connections," Michael interjected. "They'll mostly be glad about Colt Spearing's death. But I'll make sure no one bothers you, Christopher."

"We're treating this like a disappearance, yes?" Lucille asked. "Pretending like he may have gotten picked off by a displeased customer, not put in our stew."

So, they did know. How odd. Ezra couldn't quite comprehend how he felt on the matter.

"Correct," Christopher confirmed. "And we are not deviating from that. We are not filing a missing person case or calling the police. No one will question his disappearance, a great stroke of luck."

Ezra wasn't sure why they had switched to English, now that he didn't need to know any of this. Then again, he was painfully monolingual, despite his grandparents best attempt at teaching him Arabic, so what did he know about bilingual households?

"I still don't see why you ever thought that marrying Colt fucking Spearing was a good idea," Michael said. "I nearly had a heart attack when I found out."

"I did convince him to forgive your rather heavy drug related debt," Christopher pointed out. "It did have benefits, even if I have occasionally ended up in grocery store check out line tabloids."

Ezra's mind reeled in this newly caught information. He had operated under the assumption that Colt was just some asshole, maybe a low time drug dealer at most. Not that he was some kind of well connected crime lord.

How famous was he? Ezra didn't pay attention to tabloids and hardly watched the news, so it made sense that he was in the dark about this. But it did make him feel rather stupid.

Christopher sighed deeply. "You know, despite everything, I miss him horribly. He wasn't a good man, by any definition. But he was good to me, even if all you ever saw was the occasional abuse."

Christopher twisted off his engagement ring and set it on the table.

"So," Katerina asked Jay, "how did you end up one of his victims, dove?"

"I don't remember," Jay whispered. "Drugs, I think. I don't know. It's all so confusing."

Ezra put his arm around Jay and rested his head on their shoulder.

"I don't know the details," Christopher said. "I suppose it doesn't matter now."

"What should we tell our parents?" Lucille asked suddenly, dropping her nail file.

"That he went missing," Christopher answered simply, as she ducked under the table to retrieve it. "We have no idea what happened, but we suspect that he might have been killed. Tragic, but there isn't an explanation."

"Agreed," Michael said. "It's our safest bet."

Christopher stood up and cleared everyone's dishes. He was clearly holding back tears, and Ezra had no idea what to do about it. Maybe they could talk more fully when they were alone together.

"I think that we all need to sleep on this," Christopher said. "I would like to have a memorial. But next week may be a better time. I know that you all hated him, but I didn't."

"It's bad luck to speak ill of the dead," Lucille said. "And even if Colt was scummy, your grief matters more than his life or death."

"Thank you." Christopher brushed a few tears from his eyes. "And thank you all for coming on such short notice."

"Are you kidding me?" Michael asked. "Katerina practically dragged me out of my house by my ear after you called her with the news."

Lucille cuffed the back of his head. "The proper response to that is, you're our brother. Of course we came. We care about you."

Michael laughed. "Yeah, that too...I suppose."

"Why is it," Christopher asked with a small smile, "that every time we are in a room together, we all start acting like children again?"

"My dear brother," Michael said. "You were never a child. I think your first words must have been telling someone to drink more water."

"Having six younger siblings does typically relegate someone to being the third parent. Do you want more to eat?"

"We need to head home," Jane-Marie said. "I have work in the morning."

"Come now," Katerina scolded. "My brother's fiance just died, and you're worried about work. You can't go home without me, we drove together. And I'm not leaving yet."

"I don't like being around your brother," Jane-Marie hissed, almost too softly for Ezra to hear. "He's insane."

"You're so rude!" Ezra exclaimed.

"My dear Ezra," Christopher said. "What has gotten into you?"

"She just called you insane."

Christopher pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses frame. "Compared to her usual snide comments, she's being very polite. Now please, calm yourself."

Ezra crossed his arms, glaring harshly at Jane-Marie. How dare she? Christopher was a savior who no one was worthy of. Ezra was blessed with his presence, no matter what his sister-in-law said.

"See what I'm talking about," Jane-Marie said. "This is insane and I'm tired of pretending it isn't. I already promised not to call the cops, what more do you want from me?"

"How about not freaking out on my brother right after his fiance died?" Katerina asked.

"His fiance who has, excuse me, had a hobby of torturing people in his basement." Katerina gestured to Jay, growing more heated by the moment. "Which we were enabling. The same way we're enabling Christopher kidnapping people and Michael being involved with the Russian Mafia. Yeah, I'm feeling great right about now."

"Family comes first," Katerina snapped.

Christopher opened the door and walked outside, unable to bear listening to their argument any longer.

As soon as Christopher was out of probable hearing range, Ezra exploded. "What the fuck is wrong with all of you?!"

Katerina and Jane-Marie stopped bickering and looked over at him, wearing identical concerned expressions.

"Colt just died," Ezra said, now quiet, but still wrathful. "Christopher accidentally killed him. I am glad that you're all here, but you're making it worse. He's never done anything other than take care of people. And now, the moment he needs a little bit of help himself, it's too much to ask for?"

Jay plugged their ears, with their head down on the table. For once, Ezra didn't bother trying to comfort them. He wanted to stand his ground in this argument.

"That isn't what this is about at all," Jane-Marie said.

"Then what is it about?" Ezra demanded.

"You," she answered softly.

Ezra spluttered indignantly. "Me? You never asked me how I felt. Not even once. You didn't say one word to me. Why the fuck should you care?"

Ezra had kicked his habit of swearing while living with Christopher, who didn't tolerate such vulgarness and, in any case, didn't give Ezra any frustrating reasons to curse.

"Maybe the fact that you were kidnapped," Jane-Marie said. "This isn't right, Ezra."

"I got over that in like less than a week. I'm happy. Actually happy. I spent my entire life under late stage capitalism, with no hope and no future, trying not to kill myself. And now that I'm finally safe from being harassed, hated, hurt, raped, and maybe even murdered in some random racist or transphobic hate crime, you think my new life is so horrible?"

"Oh honey..."

"Don't!" Ezra snapped. His voice broke slightly, hot tears running down his cheeks. "You don't get it. I'm finally worth something, for once in my useless life. Someone loves me and I didn't have to do anything to earn it. I don't have to play the good Christian or Muslim girl, or pretend to be normal, or bend over backward to please him."

Ezra took a shaky voice before continuing, struggling to draw oxygen into his overworked lungs.

"I'm not a trannie, or a mutt, or a dyke or a terrorist- Oh yeah, you try being born as a biracial bastard into a half republican Christian and half traditional Muslim family the year before nine-eleven. It isn't exactly a walk in the fucking park. My mother became a Christian convert just so my father would help raise me. Her parents told her at every opportunity that she was going to hell, and whisked me away to mosques to get a proper Muslim education in faith. My father's side of the family hated my guts. I was the punchline of every joke, especially at family gatherings after the booze started getting passed around."

Ezra stared up at Jane-Marie, panting heavily, and waiting for a response.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Jane-Marie said gently. "You didn't deserve that. But this isn't a healthy situation."

"I don't need your empty sympathy. I could tell you a personal horror story for every month I've been alive. I've only thought about suicide once since I got here a month ago. A personal record that I haven't reached since before I was ten."

"And that's a horrible tragedy. But you aren't being cured, you're just being given more issues that disguise the old ones."

"Get out!" Ezra shouted. "Just get out. You're ruining everything. What are you even doing in my home?"

"Ezra," Jay whimpered. "Please..."

"What is it?" Ezra cooed, completely changing his demeanor and running his fingers through Jay's hair. "Do you need more pain meds?"

Jay shook their head. "You're going to get in trouble."

"With who? I already told you that Colt was dead."

"Her," Jay whispered. They trembled all the more as they glanced up at Jane-Marie, then immediately dropped their gaze to the table cloth.

After a few minutes of thought, Ezra realized why. Despite there being very little true resemblance, Jane-Marie's heavily tattooed body and many facial piercings could easily be reminiscent of Colt. Especially to an unstable mind like Jay's.

"She's just Christopher's sister-in-law," Ezra said soothingly. "She won't hurt us. Do you want me to go get Christopher?"

"No, it's okay." Jay sniffled quietly, burying their face in their hands.

Ezra helped them to their feet. "Come lay down. You'll feel better when you're alone and not so overwhelmed."

He led them down the hallway and shut the bedroom door firmly behind them. They curled up sobbing on the bed, and he sat beside them to provide a familiar, comforting presence.

"It's okay," he whispered soothingly. "No one has hurt me. And they're not going to hurt you either. If anyone tries, I'll wallop them."

Jay sniffled, a shaky laugh breaking through their tears and gasps for air.

While very aware of his being five feet and at most two inches, not to mention out of shape and twenty-three years old, Ezra meant every word.

No one was going to hurt Jay. No way in in the nine rings of hell.

"I'm going to go talk to Christopher. Do you need anything?"

Jay shook their head, muffling their crying in the soft pillow. Ezra kissed the top of their head, pulled the covers over their shaking body.

He walked straight through the living room, passed everyone in the kitchen without a single word, and entered the laundry room.

He paused with his hand hovering over the doorknob, remembering his first and only escape attempt. He fiddled with his left earing, unchanged since the piercing.

Going outside wasn't allowed.

But this wasn't an escape attempt. He wanted to talk to Christopher, who was probably sitting on his porch right in front of the door. It shouldn't be a big deal. And if he had taken a walk, Ezra would just go find him. He wouldn't leave.

Ezra put on his boots. After another tense moment of doubt, staring up at the small painting of the Holy Virgin Mary above the door surounded by unreadable Russian text, Ezra stepped onto the porch.

He found Christopher sitting on a wicker chair, and trying to keep his sobbing quiet.

"I'm sorry sir," Ezra said, sitting down on the chair next to Christopher's. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."

"You didn't." Christopher hastily wiped the tears from his eyes. "This is my fault. I jumped the gun on calling Katerina. I was so distraught. I should have asked her not to wake Jane-Marie."

"She a complete cunt," Ezra blurted out.

Christopher choked down a teary laugh. "Language, my angel."

"I'm sorry sir, but she just doesn't get it."

Ezra stared out into the night cloaked hills. Snow covered pines trees covered the landscape, obscuring any road or town that might lay beyond them.

Peace was such a blessed thing, and this was a different form than Ezra was used to. His usual peace was made out of steaming hot borscht, cuddling under blankets, and a soft voice reading old poetry. This new peace was made out of chilly breezes, wind stirred trees, and the stars shining high above the entire world, too vast to comprehend.

"I like being here," Ezra said softly. "I want to stay with you forever. I'm sorry that I ever tried to escape, or defied you even a little. I'm happier than I ever thought possible."

"I'm glad to hear that. You really are my favorite. I cherish your presence in my life."

"I'm sorry about Colt. I never liked him, and I can't pretend otherwise. But you're heart broken. I want you to be just as happy as I am, more than anything."

"Oh Ezra..." Despite his strongest efforts, Christopher's sobbing renewed itself with vigor.

Ezra stood up and went to Christopher, wrapping him in a tight hug. He was used to the quite the opposite, but didn't mind having to comfort Christopher in the least, still smothered by his lavender perfume.

"I should go back inside," Christopher said, finally regaining his usual complete control over his composure.

"Yes sir."

They walked into another argument.

"You can't just support your brother keeping him hostage like some kind of pet," Jane-Marie snapped, as her siblings-in-law groaned and muttered to themselves. "Honestly, have you even listened to yourselves? Ezra isn't a rehomed stray cat."

"Um, nice to see you too." Ezra crossed his arms. Christopher's hand on his his shoulder felt heavenly in its comforting reassurance.

"Of course he isn't a stray cat," Christopher said, the hint of a lugh in his voice. "The expression of being a pet is largely metaphorical. He is Ezra, my dear...friend."

Really, Ezra had never questioned the term pet all that much. It fit as well as anything, metaphor or no. But friend. Christopher really thought of him as a friend. He fought the urge to laugh giddily, restraining himself to a content smile.

"I didn't mean for the two of you to hear that," Jane-Marie said. "I guess Ezra just told you all about our little spat."

"Not a word," Christopher said. "Ezra?"

"I said that she's a cunt, didn't I?"

Christopher pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ezra groaned. "Fine, I'm sorry. All I mean is that she's...unpleasant to be around. And I want her out of our home. And I wish she weren't your sister's wife. That's all."

Michael and Lucille burst into laughter.

"That's all?" Lucille weezed.

"Just that?" Michael asked.

Christopher sighed. "Where has Jay gotten off to?"

"Jane-Marie really upset them," Ezra said. "I laid them down in our room."

"How did you upset them?" Christopher asked Jane-Marie."

Ezra and I had an argument. They had a panic attack, worrying that I was going to hurt Ezra for it. I really wonder what that's about, Christopher."

"How dare you." Ezra clenched his fists. "You can't just-"

Christopher cleared his throat, and Ezra fell silent. "Jay spent weeks being tortured for the slightest mistep. I have tried my best to prove that no one is going to hurt them, but to very little success."

"They seem unstable," Lucille interjected. "What's wrong with them? Is it mental illness, or just trauma and stress?"

"They spent the last few weeks being tortured by Colt fucking Spearing," Michael said. "Of course they're unstable. It's a wonder they're still alive at all."

"I am going to take care of them," Christopher said firmly. "Before Colt's untimely death, they were seeking out my help with assisted suicide. I don't see that as a possibility now."

Jane-Marie gasped. "You were really just going to kill them?"

"Good man," Michael said proudly. "It would have been the best thing."

"You're all insane," Jane-Marie accused.

"Then why did you marry our sister?" Lucille demanded.

"She's the only normal person in this mad house of a family, aside from your parents."

"That's enough," Katerina growled. "For the Holy Virgin's sake, Jane-Marie Rose Larson-Kotev. Those are my siblings. And if you can't fucking deal with them, what are you doing here? You insisted on coming along."

"I was trying to support you."

"I'm feeling really supported right now." Katerina sighed. "I'm leaving. Goodbye Christopher. I'll come to the memorial, without my wife. I love you and I hope you start feeling better soon."

She hugged Christopher, Ezra stepping away to allow it.

"Thank you," Christopher said. "And I'm not angry with your wife, so don't go hollering at her. She's still family."

"Goodbye," Ezra said, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice.

"Goodbye," Katerina said, breaking away from her brother. "It was very nice to meet you."

She hugged her other siblings, inducing light hearted groans, then pulled her wife out the door.

"So," Ezra said, pulling himself up to sit on the kitchen counter. "What now?"

"Get off the counter," Christopher ordered. Ezra groaned and hopped down.

"I could make space for you all to stay the night here," Christopher said. "Or you could return home. It's almost four in the morning."

"Let's stick around for another half hour or so," Michael suggested. "Then I have an appointment with my coworkers at seven."

"I'm not going to catch a wink tonight," Lucille said. "So, we may as well plan the memorial and talk through some more of your feelings without interruption."

"I'll make sure our other siblings come to town for the memorial," Michael said. "Even if they couldn't show up tonight."

Christopher smiled. "Thank you. I'm going to make some tea, then your plans sound wonderful."

Taglist: @devourerofcheesecake @elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername @boonasaurusrex @suspicious-whumping-egg @heavenly-whumper @melancholy-in-the-morning @snakebites-and-ink @suck-my-clit-loser @i-eat-worlds @scp-1296 @chibichibivale @skittles-the-whumpee

If you want to be added to or removed from the taglist, please ask ♡♡♡

#Whump #Emotional whump #Angst #Eden #Pet whump #Pet whumpee #Multiple whumpees #creepy/intimate whumper #Sibling bonds #Family whump #Stockholm Syndrome whump #Conditioned whumpee #Abraham original: Hot off the press

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whumpndump · 2 years

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Whumpee kept in a small, dark, empty room, in complete isolation. The door is soundproof, and nobody ever visits them. There is one thing in the room, however. When they were first brought there, the chloroform soaked rag that was used to sedate them has been uncaringly dumped in the cell as well, and as nobody ever enters, it was never noticed.

At first whumpee thinks nothing of the rag, thinking only that it still smells vaguely funny.

A few days in, whumpee finds themself occasionally picking up the rag, looking at it, counting the fibers, anything for entertainment.

A week in its become somewhat of a comfort item, something they hold close on cold nights when everything is just too much.

A month in, whumpee finds themself talking to it. Venting their frustrations, bemoaning their despairs, reminiscing the good times, all to this scrap of cloth (that is technically the reason they are in there in the first place). They see it as somewhat of a friend now, and are too far gone to care how strange that is.

Several months in the rag is a comrade in arms, a fellow prisoner in this cell, the only person whumpee has left in this world to rely on. They swear that sometimes, when they talk to it, it talks back. Its the closest thing theyve had to genuine conversation in so long, this piece of cloth is their best friend.

Now I have two ideas for an ending, both taking place about a year or two into isolation, so here they both are:

1. People come to rescue whumpee, maybe their friends from before they were captured. Its a high speed situation, the team rushing in, trying to grab everyone in the facility who was being held prisoner, then rushing out again. Whumpee is screaming and crying in caretaker's arms as they run away.

"NO! PLEASE! YOU FORGOT THEM!! NO, PLEASE, GO BACK!!!"

Whumpee pleads this all the way back to safety, continuing to cry and beg for hours, and the rescue team are confused. They had taken down whumper, and confirmed that everyone held captive was freed. They chalked it up to whumpee being in shock, and tried to calm them down, explaining over and over that everyone was safe now.

Whumpee just kept on crying, knowing that their best and only friend was going to rot in that cell, and nobody but them cared.

2. Whumpee had managed to fall asleep finally. The cold concrete floors made it hard, and they only seemed to sleep 3-ish times a week, but when they slept, they slept deep.

So deep, in fact, that they didnt hear the door opening, or footsteps quickly tiptoeing in, only to leave just as fast.

When they next awoke, they sat up and looked around their cell for their companion.

Who was gone.

Whumpee wanted to scream. Wanted to beat the walls with their fists until blood dripped down. They thought they were already at their lowest point, but the rug had just been pulled out from under them, revealing they had so much further to fall.

Shellshocked and apathetic, whumpee curled up in the corner of the room with tears silently streaming down their face.

"Oh well," they said out-loud to nobody, voice tinged with delirium, eyes hollow and smile strained, "It...it was just a rag..."

#also either whumpee gets food wordlessly shoved through a hatch in the door occasionally to keep them alive #or whumpee is supernatural somehow and doesnt require food or water. maybe theyre immortal even... scary #anyway this is stupid as hell but i was thinking about how humans will bond with just about anything given the chance #whump #whumpblr #whumpdumps #whump scenario #whump prompt #captive whump #isolation whump #if u see any spelling mistakes no you dont ok #sensory deprivation whump

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jordanstrophe · 2 years

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CW: Kidnapping, used as a bargaining chip, some stockholm syndrome

Whumper has no interest in whumpee, their whole motive is dealing as much emotional damage to caretaker as they can.

And what better way to do that then to steal their most beloved thing.

They don’t harm whumpee, they just keep them safe and locked away. But as time goes on, whumper gets restless and starts making frequent trips just to talk to them.

Whumper starts to bond with whumpee, and whumpee bonds back when they get hopeless that caretaker will even come for them.

#whump #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #whump angst #whump prompt #kidnapping whump #kidnapping prompt #whumpee bonding with whumper #whump scenario #stockholm syndrome whump #tw stockholm syndrome #whumper x whumpee #kidnapped for ransom

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 2 months

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where branch and creek WHAT

okay hmmm how to explain this best…

So post TBT Branch and Creek are separately captured as lab experiments by… someone. Idk this part isn’t very fleshed out but anyways they’re lab rats and they get all the fun stuff that comes with that. Creek might be like,, the controlled variable? Whereas Branch gets the bulk of the testing.

Ultimately we end up with a slightly feral Branch who’s not All There and doesn’t particularly remember most of his life or his self. Finally Creek manages to break out and takes Branch with him because guess what! They’ve trauma bonded!

Long story short Branch is more.. animalistic at this point, but as feral as he is, he’s got something of a soft spot for Creek. He’s the only solid thing in his memory besides the scientists, and by comparison Creek is wonderful to him. Sure, Branch doesn’t recall the whole sold-them-out-to-the-Bergens thing, but Creek doesn’t have to mention that.

Anywho Branch ends up as a companion/pet to Creek, but don’t get it twisted, the codependency goes both ways! He might actually care about the little freak! (To clarify tho no this is obviously not an equal dynamic, Creek loves to be in control of something so dangerous)

And also Creek plays to Branch’s abandonment issues beautifully. The collar and chain only makes it so that they’ll never be separated!

#JD finds them in the woods and nearly commits a murder #but don’t worry it’s not that easy #kat answers #anon #trolls #dw trolls #pet whump #dehumanization #experiment whumpee #feral whumpee #trauma bond whump #also shoutout to Zaz who came up w the bulk of this #everyone go follow her #codependent breek

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

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Today is a “tell myself I’m going to write but never actually commit to writing” kinda day

#writer problems #I want whump but the process of creating whump is blech #I still want a new series #something with long term captivity and multiple Whumpee’s #like one and a half Whumpee #Whumper will hate Whumpee 1 #constant torture and shit #and they’ll *tolerate* Whumpee 2 #there’ll be a big rift between the Whumpees but also a trauma kinda bond #Whumpee 2 is a spoiled bitch and 1 resents them for tha #anyway #someone make me write this this is a good idea

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takiki16 · 12 days

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I will wait for dinner to settle BEFORE I watch the keelhauling episode

#black sails #my posts #like…I flatter myself I have a reasonably average genre fan’s tolerance for violence and gore #the rest of the show is fine for me in that respect. nothing testing my tolerance limits #but the keelhaul…really truly made me nauseous the first time around d #it’s not WHUMP. it’s specifically and distinctly to my mind NOT whump. it’s a CHARACTER DEATH #Whump is fine bc the whumpee has a certain amount of either plot armor or external purpose #the emotional undercurrents of the physical damage are what is being communicated to me - the audience #the nobility and sacrifice of the sufferer. their helplessness and submission or whatever else etc etc etc #and even if the whumpee does die the emotional undertone is still there #I usually have a specific empathetic bond with the whumpee that puts a different cast on the violence #I have NO SUCH BOND with Blackbeard so his gruesome end is just that. gruesome.#even his defiance and determination not to give Roger’s anything makes it WORSE rather than better #maybe BECAUSE I don’t like him as a character. there is no intermediary emotional layer #which is of course the point. the point is that Roger’s is committing an act worse than any pirate and he has the backing of the Law #and it’s gruesome and sickening in a way that none of the so called monsters sailing under the black have managed

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 year

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okay Ash but older nanda and Jameson comf? If he'd lived? Pleeease? Just a snippet. A headcanon. A crömb. -theo-

@boxboysandotherwhump I totally forgot you had asked for me to do this AU so so long ago. Found this old ask abandoned in my inbox and you were PROPHETIC.

Continuing the AU, the last chapter (plus a link to the first) is right here.

CW: Intimate whump, some derogatory language, dubcon, some, uh, choking

For a long time, there is only the sound of each of them breathing. Jameson is ragged, rasping at the edge of a sob as he pulls himself back into control, his fingernails digging into the soft leather of the reclined passenger seat. His heart pounds, blood rushing past his ears.

Nanda's breath is nearly silent, far more even. His chest is warm against Jameson's bare back. Even through his expensive fucking shirt, though, Jameson can feel his heart pounding, too.

"What..." Nanda trails off. Jameson has never heard him sound so stunned. Nanda always plans for every angle.

But he didn't plan for this one.

"... what do you mean, someone else?" His mouth moves against Jameson's hair, sending a shiver down his spine. "Are you fucking the woman you live with, pet?"

My name is Jameson. I just told you that.

He bites the words back before they can make it out.

"N-no, not her. Fuck no. No. Absolutely... Absolutely not." He shifts, managing to get his shirt off the rest of the way, stop it from keeping his wrists tangled. It gives him an excuse for how his voice shakes - just from the effort. Only that. "Someone else. Different house. Someone... Someone else."

Nanda is quiet again. He's quiet for far too long. Then, he shifts back inside the tiny space. "Roll over. I want to see your eyes."

Jameson swallows, obeying the easy command with a little curl of warmth. He tips his head back against the headrest, looking up at Nanda, his beard and the line of his jaw beneath the silver and gray. The way the muscles in his arms seem written even more in stone. Nanda eases himself back down, and his weight feels reassuring and terribly final at once.

"Who is it?" His voice is mild. Spoonful of sugar tinted pink, sweetness and salt on Jameson's tongue. He could drown in the taste of Nanda's voice. Used to feel like he did drown, under voice and hands, tied up in ropes and brought to the good kind of screaming.

"... They're called A-Allyn. They, they ran away like I did. Well, not the-... Their owner died, too. They... They understood that I missed you..."

He reaches a hand up, hesitantly, trying to touch Nanda's face. The older man's big hand snaps up to close painfully tight around his wrist, forcing it back down.

"I wasn't dead," Nanda says mildly.

"I already told you, I didn't exactly goddamn know that-"

"No, you were dumb as rocks the one time I could have used the brains we both knew you had." Nanda's voice stays mild, but the insult stings regardless.

"I'm-... not-"

"Oh, you're not? You didn't know how to check a fucking pulse, but you're not dumb, huh? You ran off instead of waiting or calling for help but you still love me, right? Hell, you fuck someone else, but you're not a slut anymore. Isn't that what you're saying?"

Jameson's wrist feels like it creaks as Nanda tightens his grip further and further. The man's other hand drops down to unbutton and unzip his own pants in quick jerky motions. They're down low off his hips in seconds.

Jameson grits his teeth against the pain, refuses to be seduced by it. Or by the way Nanda punctuates the accusations by rolling his hips, the low warmth remaining stoked back into a flame.

God, he feels so hot.

They're both burning.

"If you were d-dead-... Ah! I would have lost you when they took you out of my head, I already s-said that-Jesus that's fucking good-"

His other wrist is grabbed now. He tries to pull it away, but they both know he isn't trying very hard. Nanda's mouth drops to graze against his. To catch him in a kiss, brutal and firm, until he's whimpering and rocking his hips like some mindless fucking idiot, like he used to do.

Nanda chuckles bitterly, pulls back and listens to Jameson's angry hiss at the sudden loss of connection. "If there's someone else, why did you get in my car when I came for you?"

He swallows, closing his eyes. Nanda's burn too much for him to take. Those hips roll against his again and he meets them with his own, arches his back, lets legs shift apart to welcome Nanda between his thighs. He could come from this, if it goes on long enough. "I don't-... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No! Fuck you, no I don't know! You were dead and now you're here and I, I forgot who I am for a second, but I'm-... I'm not that anymore, and I want-... I want to-..." God, he feels it so much, his skin is all raw nerves and sensation. "... I want-"

"You want me."

Nanda had let go of his wrist at some point. He only realizes it when that heavy hot hand closes around his neck.

His breath stutters, gets lost trying to find his lungs. His head spins as the hand tightens, he feels his Adam's apple move against Nanda's palm. "Wait-"

" I spent all these years trying to find you, pet-"

"Jameson," He rasps, barely able to force the word out in a whisper. "Use... Use m'fucking name-"

"Fine. Jameson." God, it sounds so good in Nanda's voice, his own name tastes perfect in his tongue when Nanda is the one to say it. His eyes nearly flutter shut at the simple pleasure. "I have been searching for you-"

"Doing a shit j-job of it, could've used your help a couple y-years ago when I was in some asshole's dog cage-"

"Let. Me. Finish." The grip on his throat tightens even more. There is so little room for him to breathe, chest heaving. He never moves his hands to try and push or fight, though. He knows this tone, the look on Nanda's face. "However you feel about someone else... I looked for you. And I found you. I searched every goddamn corner of California trying to figure out where you fucked off to, and I find you all fucked up for someone else, another pet, huh?"

"I... I loved you... I still-" His voice catches, his throat clicks when he swallows. His eyes are wide, and he sees the anger in Nanda's and wonders why it used to thrill so much more to see it than it does now. "But I-... grieved-... Rebuilt, built n-new... life... I, I fucking deserve to l-live-"

Nanda's lip curls. But he doesn't say anything while Jameson fights for enough air to speak again. They're both still hard, still moving together, and the pleasure mixes with the pain in his throat and the dizzy lack of air, crossing all his wires and leaving him squirming in helpless unwanted arousal beneath Nanda's familiar perfect weight.

"I... deserve s-someone... who l-loves me... back-"

He expects mockery, black spots flashing bright like camera lights around Nanda's face as his vision starts to go, tunneling in on those eyes.

He sees, in the center of the closing tunnel, the whites of Nanda's eyes.

"Please-... If you e-ever... loved m-me-... Please, fuck, please s-say-... it..."

Nanda's thumb pushes against his windpipe as he kisses Jameson. Their mouths open to each other, and Jameson's arms move, finally, only to grip onto Nanda's shoulders. An anchor as he drowns on land, fighting for air.

Then the grip loosens.

Jameson's head pounds as he groans, his throat aches as he gulps air desperately. He'll be marked, bruised. He's been bruised there before. "N, Nanda-"

Nanda's head drops to Jameson's shoulder.

"... Nanda?"

A pause.

"You stupid thing. Why would I have looked so long for you if I didn't?"

#jameson au #nanda #whump #bbu #pet whump #box boy universe #box boy #intimate whumper #recaptured whumpee #dubcon tw #choking tw #dubcon #choking #captor bonding

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flowersarefreetherapy · 9 months

Text

Hold On: I Miss You In the Morning

CW: Reunion, angst, complicated relationship dynamics, negative internal dialogue, mentioned blood

Star groans as he forces himself down the stairs, going slowly so he can text Ezra. He woke up to sixteen texts from him, all asking if everything was alright and if he needed to stay at the apartment and that he loves Star, so whatever he decides, Ezra will accept.

He’s not sure how to respond. A few vague words about them being fine, he just has to work some things out with Daniel first. If Daniel even wants to see him.

Why wouldn’t he? We’re bonded, we belong to each other.

Until you decided to throw him away. He’s the only one who will truly love you.

But Thad and Robin love him. They love him and they know him and that’s different from Daniel, but has kept him alive, which makes it important. Is it the same with Ezra? Can he love more than one person? Is that allowed, to want to hold both of them so tight and never let them go?

The hopelessness from the night fades a little when he reaches the last step. The sunlight streams in through the windows, dust floating slowly through the air. Star sighs and allows himself a moment to breathe. He moves towards the kitchen, freezing as someone coughs.

The mound of blankets on the couch moves.

Star can’t breathe. His heart catches in his throat as the blanket slides down, revealing messy oh-so-familiar brown hair.

“Danny?” The word slips out before can stop himself.

Daniel sits up, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. His hair sticks every which way and Star swallows back the sudden urge to smooth it down. Dried blood covers his left cheek from a wound Star doesn’t remember seeing, and it’s soaked down to his shirt as well, leaving a line of dark copper.

“Star,” Daniel breathes.

Star races across the space that suddenly feels too large and throws his arms around Daniel. His warm body curls around him without hesitation, holding him close as Star curls in his lap.

“I, I, I missed you,” Star whispers, twisting his hands in Daniel’s shirt. If he opens his eyes, this will just be a dream, he just has to keep holding him close. “I missed you.”

He presses a kiss to the underside of Daniel’s jaw. It’ll be just like the old days now, him and his bonded, sitting together with a blanket and nowhere to go, nothing to worry about. Just them. Together. Just the two of them.

“Star,” Daniel whispers, pushing him back. “Please . . .”

“What?” Star presses his hands to Daniel’s chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat under his fingers. “Daniel, what, what do you want from, from me?”

“Not this. Never this.”

Star’s heart shatters. He leans back, eyes burning. It feels like he’s swallowed glass that cuts his chest apart even as he fights to hold it together. Ezra’s beautiful brown eyes flash through his mind, drowning him in guilt.

He’s fighting to keep his head above water and begging Daniel to throw him a lifeline.

“You’re my, my, my bonded,” Star breathes. “My, my bonded. We’re supposed to, to, um, to be together!”

“Star.” Daniel takes his hands and Star swallows back a sob at how perfectly they fit together. “I am so sorry.”

Star nods, rubbing his thumbs over the back of Daniel’s hands. The hands that have killed. Taken several lives. His previous rage at that knowledge splutters and dies. There is no more fuel left to add. At this point, he can move past that as long as he gets his bonded back.

“I am too.”

Daniel presses his forehead against his. Star glances at him, at his brown eyes a few shades lighter than Ezra’s and he wonders if Ezra’s eyes have the same layers to them as Daniel’s do. Ezra’s hands aren’t as smooth as Daniel’s, but they fit just as perfectly in his hands. And Ezra certainly isn’t tall enough to rest his chin on Star’s head, but he can pick him up and would he win in an arm wrestling match with Daniel?

They can’t interact. You know that. Their worlds are not meant to collide.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Star whispers. “I didn’t, I didn’t-never want, wanted this! I miss, missed, um, I missed you. So, so much. I never, never should have yelled. That, that, that was stupid, so stupid.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled either. The fault isn’t only on you. It’s also my fault too.”

“No, no, Daniel, it, it, it-”

“Star, please, I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to have this conversation like this either. There’s, um, there’s a lot we need to work out.”

Star nods, not even angry about the interruption. Daniel is right. After all, he is the stupid Pet who ran off with the first person who offered him a smile. Daniel has been fighting and bleeding and trying to change. He’s not a stupid Romantic. He’s always been way smarter than Star and it’ll help him. He’ll be able to get a job and be a person again. If Star is lucky, Daniel might decide to bring him along.

He won’t, remember? You left your bonded. You left him for Ezra. He hates you now.

Daniel’s hand combs through his hair and Star nearly melts. It’s been months since he’s sat like this with his bonded.

“Daniel?”

“Hmm?”

“Can, can, can–um, I know we, we aren’t . . . can you hold me?”

Daniel’s answer comes in the form of his arms around Star. He curls against Daniel’s chest, ignoring the smell of sweat and blood, and closes his eyes. Tears roll down his face. Daniel’s thumb wipes it away before resting his hand on Star’s back.

That’s all it takes for his last walls to come tumbling down. Star sobs, breath shuddering as he breaks down again. This time, Daniel is there to hold him through it. Star holds him tightly, afraid he will disappear if he lets him go.

Perhaps they can fix this. Perhaps they are not as lost as he fears.

Tagging: @blood-is-compulsory @darkthingshappen @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinggrounds @pigeonwhumps @cepheusgalaxy (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#reunion #negative internal dialogues #unhealthy relationships #angst #bbu #bonded whumpees #bbu universe #star my beloved #daniel the protector #hold on: i still need you #(it’s gonna get better! I promise!)

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quietly-by-myself · 2 years

Text

Fearless - Chapter 1 (Pilot)

Remember that fantasy whump teaser I posted a few days ago?

Have a pilot chapter while I work on Shadow By My Fireplace and the final chapter of Smoke, Salt, and Asbestos. I keep my pilot chapters shorter, so I apologize for the short length. I will definitely write more for each chapter in the future.

CW: fantasy whump, vampire (dhampir) whumpee, human whumpee, fae whumper, guns, character gets shot, war, revenge-driven whumper, disproportionate retribution, multiple whumpees, bonded whumpees, creepy whumper

===

Silver-iron bullets whistled through the air behind Nikolay’s head.

Kaloyan. I have to find Kaloyan.

If his village wanted to be rid of him, Nikolay knew he had no choice. Cold rain pelted his face, thunder storming out the gunshots that came behind him. As Nikolay dodged one of the bullets, his hand touched the ground. Nikolay focused all of his energy into the ground. Beneath him, the ground started to shake.

“He’s already accepted their witchcraft!” one of the villagers shouted behind him.

The ground split open beneath him, trapping the villager with the gun in the ground. In some twisted way, as Nikolay ran for his life, the villager with the gun only had a better angle to shoot at him at.

A bullet quickly lodged itself in the back of Nikolay’s knees. Nikolay fell to the ground with a cry of pain.

“Kaloyan! Help me!”

He was nearly at their meeting place. Maybe, just maybe Kaloyan would be there.

A crash of thunder lit up the sky. Nikolay whimpered as the villagers gained on him. He was bleeding and gods, he was in so much pain.

Blood red eyes met his. Kaloyan.

The ground shook again as green flames erupted from the cracks that formed. Around them.

“It’s the Lord’s bastard son! Everybody, run!”

Kaloyan looked down at Nikolay with a pained look in his eyes. His skin looked more pale than usual against the green fire that blocked the villagers from hurting them any more.

They were running in fear of the dhampir that was now kneeling next to Nikolay.

“They found out, didn’t they?”

Nikolay nodded, trying to sit up despite the bullet lodged in his leg. “I’m sorry, Kaloyan.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Kaloyan looked sadly at Nikolay. “I wish I could heal you.”

“It really hurts.”

“You can’t walk like that,” Kaloyan said decisively. “You saved my life, Nikolay. It’s only fair that I save yours.”

Nikolay looked at Kaloyan, shock painting his face. However, he could do nothing to stop Kaloyan, now that this mind was made up.

“O Time the fatal wrack of mortal things / That draws oblivions curtains over kings.”

As Kaloyan chanted and the villagers ran and screamed, chains grew from the ground and surrounded Nikolay. At first, Nikolay knew not what was happening, but as his wound started to heal and the bullet disappeared, he suddenly understood.

“Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not / Their names without a Record are forgot.”

Suddenly, Nikolay was filled with a surge of power. Once again, the ground shook. The villagers screamed as the house near them came falling down to the ground.

“Their parts, their ports, their pomp’s all laid in th’ dust. / Nor wit, nor gold, nor buildings scape times rust.”

Nikolay stood up, the ground shaking everywhere around them but beneath his feet.

“But he whose name is grav’d in the white stone / Shall last and shine when all of these are gone.”

The chains began to disappear, as did the green fire. Nikolay had never felt so strong as in that moment. Power rushed through every bone in his body.

“Leave!” he bellowed. “Leave us be!”

The few villagers that remained shouted curses at him, but Nikolay was on top of the world with the power surging through him.

He knew what had just happened, though he’d only heard of it in stories.

“Why? Why bond with me Kaloyan? Why make me a mage?”

“There’s no one I’d rather stand by than you, Nikolay.”

Turning his back on his village, Nikolay nodded. “I promise to honor your sacrifice.”

“And I will yours.”

The rain didn’t feel so cold as he walked in the night with his bonded fae, not a bullet to be seen.

—

Nikolay awoke with a start on a cold, hard stone. floor As he looked around frantically, he found that Kaloyan was nowhere to be seen. Chains rattled around his wrists and his neck, wrists, and ankles burned, though he only bore restraints on his wrists, binding them together.

Kaloyan. Kaloyan is in pain.

Who could’ve found us?

Nikolay’s side hurt. Why? What had happened?

The memories flooded back to him. The strange knock on the door. The stranger who claimed to know them. Had he been sent from the forces of the Dragon King? It couldn’t be. Even the Dragon King knew not where he and Kaloyan lived.

The black sclera of the man who walked in the door only served to confuse Nikolay further.

The person who stood before him was Tainted. The Dragon King banished all Tainted. It wasn’t possible that the Tainted was from the Dragon King, was it?

“I see that you don’t remember me, Nikolay.”

Nikolay stayed quiet, giving the man a sidelong glare as he circled him.

“I sure haven’t forgotten you. I remember that day like it was yesterday. You fucking destroyed my village.”

Nikolay felt a sudden, stabbing pain in his side. He noticed no blood from his own side, but felt like he was bleeding.

“What are you doing to Kaloyan, you bastard!”

“What, you mean that dhampir half-blood bastard?” the man asked with a chuckle. “I’ve waited one hundred years to torture you two.”

“Don’t you dare hurt him! You don’t know the hell he’s been through.”

“And what of the hell you two put me through, Nikolay?”

“I don’t even know you,” Nikolay growled. As he thrashed against his restraints, Nikolay noticed that he felt a certain disconnect from his magic.

Another stabbing pain hit him, this time in the knee.

“I know how you mages are. You’re so very close to your fae creatures. You feel their pain and everything. Each time you piss me off, Kaloyan is going to suffer for it. So, I recommend that you start behaving.” He smirked. “My name is Dimitar. One hundred years ago, you and Kaloyan tore down my village at the order of the Dragon King. I’ve come to exact my revenge.”

Nikolay was beyond angry. He needed to escape. He needed his magic. He needed Kaloyan.

“Kaloyan and I tore down many villages in our time with the Dragon King. How do I know what village you were from?”

Dimitar scoffed. “Do you seriously think that saying that makes your sins any less heavy?”

Another stabbing pain, this time in the back of his neck.

Nikolay could feel Kaloyan’s anguish. Kaloyan was crying. Kaloyan was begging. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint why, but the feeling was horrible. He was a mage. The two were supposed to protect each other. They were supposed to live in peace, away from the war they escaped, away from the Dragon King, and away from the people they’d hurt.

“Torture me all you want. Just stop hurting Kaloyan.”

“It doesn’t exactly work like that, does it? You two have been bonded, what, for over one hundred years? You practically live in the same body.”

Dimitar laughed as Nikolay fell to the ground, on his face from a sharp stabbing pain in his hip. Kaloyan could survive many stabbings, many more than Nikolay could. However, the pain from all the stab wounds was agonizing.

“I’ll definitely have fun torturing you both before I kill you.” He smiled. “I think a reunion is in order, no? It’ll be fun.”

Nikolay seemed to have a very different definition of “fun.”

===

Everything bagel tags: @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpsday

#fearless story #vampire whumpee #bonded whumpee #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump fic #intimate whumper #whump community #human whumpee #multiple whumpees #fae whump #fantasy whump #nonhuman whumper #nonhuman whumpee #nonhuman whump

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cepheusgalaxy · 3 months

Text

I had an idea for a story a few hours ago:

(Bbu setting.) Carewhumper is a Pet Owner, who had a stable income and thus could afford one, Whumpee. Onde day, they lose most of their money and are thrown in misery. Almost nowhere to go, no food, no money, just their loyal Pet who is the only thing that they own now, and they can't bring themselves to sell.

The story would be relatively short, with the Owner and Whumpee trying to find food for Owner and Whumpee servicing them loyaly, struggling to survive. In the end, however, Owner doesn't manage to survive and the only one left in Whumpee.

End :D

#the vibes i have for this are a little different than what i usually go for #itd be really really shorter #and their relationship and the two main characters would be the only things with room for exposition and development me thinks #the tone is very different too #but i really really liked this idea #i has the idea because of two things:#i was imagining how much money one would have to have in order to afford a pet in the bbu #and that theyd probably sell them as soon as their budget was to short and they needed more money #but then i remembered a post i saw a while ago #op was talking about “oh if theyre so POOR then why don't they just sell their stuff?”#and they were talking about how poor people deserve nice things. even if its an expensive nice thing #and then i was like: “what IF whumper didnt sell whumpee but kept them with their few belongings #because despiste not having the same money anymore they want nice things“#and then i also remembered a very very weird anime i saw once with a very semisweet ending i suppose?#one if the main characters died and the other (they were supposed to be “bonded forever” although their relationship was pretty doubious)#survived and went back to her previous life. and then i decided to go with this tone #i dont know if ill write it #but i really really like it #so have it!#whump prompts #whump prompt #story ideas #whump ideas #whump scenario #bbu whump #pet whump #pet whumpee #whumper #carewhumper #box boy

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ocean-blue-whump · 1 year

Text

All the Light is Gone

Sunny + Star Masterlist

Thank you so much to @painful-pooch for helping me realize how I wanted to take this story.

Sunny and Star Crew: @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump @whumpfessional @winedark-whump - let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: pet whump, BBU, lady whump, male whump, DEATH, drunk and angry whumper, bonded whumpees, Romantic whumpees, just a whole lot of fear and conditioning, brief mention of self-harming behavior due to stress, mild sexism

***

“No, you stupid bitch, that’s not what I—“ Hunter sighs in frustration, slamming his fist into the doorframe. “Fuck! Don’t you dare hang up on me, I will fire your ass so fast and make sure your little bonuses aren’t enough to get you through the week!”

All of Comet’s senses are going into overdrive at how angry Hunter is, and he keeps one hand on Star’s back, a snarl stuck in his throat. Owner. Angry. Danger. He knows how it works. Mr. Bianchi has something bad happen at work, and he gets mad, and the bonded pair of pretty, breakable Romantics become his outlet. Speaking of…Sunny is kneeling next to Mr. Bianchi, visibly shaking with each time their owner raises his voice.

He shouldn’t be that close, not when Mr. Bianchi is so angry. The Romantics are gorgeous things, and Comet doesn’t understand why they’re starved, especially Star. His heart warms as he looks down at her, despite how tense she is. He loves her, but the bond between her and Sunny…

He loves her and he protects both of them when Mr. Bianchi’s guests get too handsy. That’s all he can do.

Another shout from Mr. Bianchi has all three pets violently flinching. “Are you really that dumb? Do you understand how fucking basic this is? A goddamn baby could do it. My fucking pets could do it! Even the brainless mutt of a Guard Dog.”

It’s not supposed to hurt. But it does, and Comet tries to keep the red off his face, knowing it’ll only enrage the man.

“Maybe you should sell yourself to WRU. I think you’d be better as a Romantic than my employee.” Hunter rolls his eyes. “Don’t trust a woman to do anything that requires the smallest bit of thinking.”

A particularly vicious kick to the doorframe has Sunny whimpering, his blue eyes full of fear, and Comet can tell that Sunny is doing his best not to pull away.

He doesn’t envy that about the Romantics, all the training so they stay in place when a hand wraps around their necks and squeezes.

Comet gets to pull away. Sunny stays still like a good boy, and Star gets beat into the ground for daring to move. He can feel it now, how she wants to run to the boy and save him. He keeps his hand on her back. Don’t move, or he’ll make me hurt you and that hurts me too.

“Oh, don’t tell me that I’m sexist, sweetheart, I got two Romantics and they’re different genders…I mean, yeah, I treat the girl worse cause she’s a fucking bitch! Just like you, sweetheart. Awh, you want to file a complaint against me? Did you forget who you work for? Yeah, you should be fucking scared!” Hunter punches the wall again and recoils in pain. “Fuck! Listen, you dumb bitch…”

Star’s head snaps up and her back straightens, taking a position of attention, and Ray’s heart drops when Mr. Bianchi notices.

His smile is amused at first, but out of nowhere, his face twists with rage and he grabs an empty beer bottle, lobbing it at her head.

There’s no time to prevent it from happening, and all Comet can do is watch. Star yelps as the bottle smashes into the side of her head, glass scattering everywhere. A few shards embed themselves into her face and the rest fall to the floor.

Comet feels a surge in his chest, the need to protect her from Mr. Bianchi, but he’s powerless. If he does anything that he wasn’t ordered to, it’ll only get worse.

Star picks the largest shard out of her face and throws it to the floor, a few drops of blood falling with it. Comet keeps his hand on her. Don’t move. Please, Star, don’t move.

You’re still pretty even with glass in your face and that makes me nervous.

“The dog thought I was talking to her. I’m not done with you, though. You fix your mistake now! I don’t fucking care if you don’t sleep for weeks.”

There’s a brief pause before Hunter gets quiet—a dangerous sort of quiet that sends a chill down Comet’s spine. “Say that again.”

It’s the eye of the storm and Comet knows tonight is only going to get worse.

“You fucked up that badly that we lost a fucking buyer?” Hunter’s hand fists in Sunny’s hair, drawing a whine from the boy.

Both Star and Comet are tense, and he’s ready to grab her and make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.

Hunter gives Sunny a condescending shake while he growls into his phone. “Listen. I’m done with you and your smartass mouth. I’ll give you ten minutes. Pack your shit and start running. Ten minutes before I send someone after you to make sure you don’t fuck anything else up. Got that, bitch?” There’s true venom in his voice as he hisses out, “I’m angry? You’re goddamn right I’m angry! You just cost me thirty thousand dollars!”

His grip tightens on Sunny’s hair and he lifts the boy up, slamming him full force into the wall.

There’s a crunch. There’s a sickening crunch and then silence. Sunny falls to the ground, his body twisted like a puppet. His eyes flutter open only to flutter closed just as quickly.

Comet doesn’t realize what the ear piercing scream is until he feels Star jolt, wanting to race forward.

He holds her back. He holds her back and he knows, something deep inside him knows the boy didn’t make it, isn’t breathing anymore.

Star feels it. She’s curled up and screaming, pushing against Comet with all her might but not going anywhere.

Mr. Bianchi is quiet too, but he keeps the phone to his ear as he bends down and presses two fingers to the inside of his neck. His cold, angry eyes lock onto Comet after a minute of poking and prodding with no response from Sunny.

The boy doesn’t move, his neck bent at a cruel and unnatural angle. All the light has been sucked out of the room and Star is still screaming, clawing at the floor and Comet can feel her grief and anger. Her pain is so great that it clogs up the air and leaves an acidic taste on his tongue.

Mr. Bianchi breathes out, his fingers still pressed against Sunny’s neck. “Comet, get her out of here.”

He can’t move, his eyes are locked onto Sunny’s…body.

“Comet, now!” Mr. Bianchi roars. “Get that stupid dog out of here and make her stop screaming!”

The yelling snaps Comet back to reality, lets the white walls come crashing down and remind him that he needs to follow orders. But more importantly, as he picks up a screaming, shaking Star, he feels a pang deep in his chest. He can’t lose both of them, and Mr. Bianchi seems drunk and angry enough to lash out at Star and kill her too.

He can’t lose both the people he lives for. He was trained to keep both of them in line and with both of them gone, what would he do?

With both of them gone, what would happen to the warmth that blooms inside him when he sees them smile?

Mr. Bianchi is still talking on the phone, still talking about his work, and Comet feels himself get mad. He’s a good dog, he knows he is, but he wants to lunge and rip out Mr. Bianchi’s throat, watch the red drip across the hardwood floor.

Sunny is dead, so he doesn’t. Instead, he does what he can and holds Star close, carrying her up the stairs and being careful not to jar the glass still stuck in her face.

Mr. Bianchi is still talking like he didn’t just kill Sunny, like in a split second he didn’t just rip a bonded pair apart.

Like Star’s heart didn’t rip out of her chest the second Sunny was killed.

She’s an incoherent mess by the time they’re back in the pet room, and it’s scaring Comet. Star isn’t the one who acts like this, she’s not the one who falls apart. He gently sets her on the floor before heading to the bathroom to grab the med kit, her sobs echoing around him.

He sits on the floor and gently brings her head into his lap while he works at removing the glass with tweezers.

“He’s g-g-gone…” Star stammers out, her chest heaving. “Sir killed him…he killed Sunny…killed me too…Comet, it hurts, this can’t be happening…”

All that only confirms Comet’s suspicions. She feels his pain like it’s her own, and with him gone, she’s falling apart. He runs his hand through her hair, and the other finishes pulling glass from her face.

Star shudders, gasping for air. “I’m dying, I can’t…I can’t do this, I need him back!”

Comet doesn’t know what to do. He can’t make it better but he doesn’t like watching her suffer. He pulls her into his lap, pressing her back against his chest. “Do you want to sleep?” he murmurs, arms wrapped around her waist.

She can’t stop crying, a seemingly endless stream of tears falling down her scarred face. “M-make it stop…I see him dying…why would Sir do that? I n-needed Sunny to survive and now he’s gone! I l-loved him…he was the good one, he was always the good one and this is my fault.”

He’s not supposed to talk much, but he hasn’t cared about that rule for a while. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispers into her hair.

Star scratches at her arms, her whole body shaking like Mr. Bianchi had come at her with the taser. “You gotta bring him back, Comet. You need to.”

A sob gets stuck in Comet’s throat and he can’t push it down before the sound escapes. “I can’t, Star, please stop hurting yourself.” He was made for violence and at the end of the day, when all the light is gone, it’s the only thing that makes sense. He puts Star in a chokehold, feeling tears spill down his cheeks. “G-goodnight, Star.”

And then, once she’s limp in his arms and he can finally let go, he whispers, “I loved both of you and I can’t lose you too.”

The last time Comet cried was in the Facility, being beaten with a baton for misbehaving. He’s a good Guard Dog now, and good Guard Dogs don’t cry, but he’s not a good Guard Dog. He failed to protect the bondeds.

Maybe Mr. Bianchi bought him not to protect them, but at some point, that changed. He curls himself over Star’s body, sobbing pathetically. He lives to protect them and he failed.

He loved them both, but their Sunshine is gone.

Sunny has gone and taken all the light with him.

#bbu #box boy universe #bonded whumpees #lady whump #male whump #character death #alcohol tw #pet whump #star #sunny #comet #hunter bianchi #blue's words

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