fortunately-cool-penguin

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

whumpees who lose all their vocabulary except swearing when they're being tortured. cursing under their breaths when they feel a particularly painful injury, snarling insults at whumper, or just screaming whatever expletive comes to mind as they're worked over.

bonus points if whumper continuously has to punish whumpee for their "foul language".

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

whumper making fun of whumpee if they moan during an assault. even if it's just strain or pain, whumper has to make it dirty and point it out.

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

Whumpee: Me (just a guy).

Whumper: This client of mine who keep on adding and changing things near deadline.

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

"Stop struggling, and it won't hurt. You want to feel good, right?"

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

Slap your whumpees until they flinch when you raise your hand

This has lasting effects on them

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

need caretakers who react like this after seeing whumpee show a hint of not being okay:

(whumpee is deliberately hiding their problems from caretaker, as not to bother them)

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

Been thinking about older whumpee who had power and authority succumbed into just a sobbing mess.

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

such a good boy~ were going to have a great time together❤️

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

currently thinking about "i don't want to" being met with "what you want doesn't matter."

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

Why paint my nails purple when my fingers can just lose circulation and turn them purple for me? DIY for the win

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

The rules

Crossed out - Continued from ch.14 - Prologue

-

It seemed like his troubles had doubled.

When Lucas entered Nero’s office that evening to once again refuse to sign his paper and undergo the consequences for that decision, there were two pieces of paper waiting for him on Nero’s desk instead of just the one.

“More things to sign, sir?” he asked. Something to delay the court proceedings? His approval for euthanasia? If he had to decline twice, would that mean twice the pain? But when he approached the desk, he noticed it was something else.

It was a list. A long list with the rules of conduct for this prison. Going all the way down, forty-three in total.

“Seeing as you have difficulty abiding by the rules, I figured it would be a good idea to… make you learn about them in more detail.”

Understandable, given his recent public outbursts… but unexpected. Nero didn’t seem to mind spending time beating the rules into him. Also, the list didn’t go into quite as much detail as he’d thought. He didn’t see anything about ‘breathing wrong’ or ‘looking in the warden’s general direction with unkind thoughts in mind’.

His eyes roamed over the list of rules. ‘Prisoners will respect the staff and follow their orders.’ He couldn’t help a soft snort at that. What he missed was some sort of unnerving ‘… or else’ at the end of each rule. There was only a vague line at the top, ‘failure to abide by these rules can lead to disciplinary actions, ranging from minor discipline to severe punishment depending on the infraction’. Whatever that meant probably depended on the mood of the benevolent prison warden. Lucas was pretty sure custom things like a loss of privileges was too soft for Nero (did they even have privileges?). As for severe punishment… he was already quite familiar, he found, and wasn’t keen to find out more.

“Thank you, sir,” he said sweetly. “I will read them thoroughly and take it to heart.”

“Yes. You will.”

As Lucas folded the paper and wanted to put it in his pocket, something tapped against his hand, stopping him. He looked up, from Nero, to whatever he was holdi—

A cane.

Nero rested the tip in the palm of his hand, lightly moving it up and down. “You will read them, here. Each and every one of them. And we’ll reinforce these rules with a lash for each. So you can indeed take them to heart.”

Disbelief quickly made way to annoyance and a pang of fear. Yeah. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. He glanced at the long rod Nero was holding. At least it would be better than that baton… right?

“Take off your shirt,” Nero rumbled and strode past him to stand behind him, lightly twisting the cane in his hands.

Failure to abide by these rules, echoed in his mind. What could he do but obey? He clenched his jaw and started to unbutton his shirt.

He made sure to neatly fold his button-up and t-shirt over a chair. Nero wouldn’t take kindly to discarded clothes onto his floor. The man twirled his finger in a circle and Lucas turned around, presenting his bare back. He placed the paper on Nero’s desk and rested his palms on either side of it.

He tensed his shoulder blades, pushing them together, and let out a sigh, hoping to relax his muscles and exhale his fear to steady his voice.

“Rule number one,” he started. “Prisoners will adhere to the designated times for roll-call and night curfew.”

 A sharp impact crossed over his lower back. A harsh twack snapped through the air, followed by a surprised yelp of pain. Lucas winced hard. The stripe over his back stung, skin tingling white hot sparks, straining as the line already started to swell. It was tolerable. For now.

“Two, prisone—OW!”

A lash of the cane cut him off.

“Rule number two,” Nero corrected.

“Rule number two,” he echoed with clenched teeth. “Prisoners will adhere to the designated times for meals.”

The next lash snapped right over an old bruise. He shot forward, hissed out his pain, and leaned heavily forward on Nero’s desk, fingers curling against the wood. “Rule number three…” he grit out.

He continued on, through all 43 rules, all 43 lashes. After about thirty he thought he should be able to get through this alright. Yes, it hurt, and yes after about ten he couldn’t bite back his grunts of pain anymore. Each lash was worse than the last. But the hits weren’t hard enough to split skin nor to leave deep bruises. For a one-time thing, he would take this over a beating with the baton.

The next day, his back was somewhat red and sore but he was able to stand up straight (though sudden movements did make him wince). And he thought he’d be fine. Until he was a greeted with a —

“Take off your shirt.”

Lucas’ face fell. The folded up paper with the rules lay, once again, next to the untouched letter of representation.

“Wait,” he stammered. “Wait, I get it. I know the rules now,” he tried.

“Is that so? Then what is rule number twenty-three?”

“Er...”

Oh, come on. He had to remember them all, individually? What, a global understanding, a slight grip on what was expected of him here was not enough? Well, maybe if he didn’t stir up shit it would be…

Nero pointed the cane at his desk. Lucas closed his eyes. Then took off his shirt, and took his position at the desk. And he read the rules again. It was even worse than yesterday. The rod lashed over barely healed skin, over raised welts, over the small of his back that still radiated heat from yesterday’s lashes. The pain increased with each rule, gradually getting worse and worse.

Nero made him repeat the process the next day and at the end of their session, Lucas finally found some wisdom.

“Can I—” He bit back a curse as he put on his t-shirt again, the skin over his back straining under the lashes as he put his arms up. “Can I take the paper with me? To learn?” And while he expected Nero to refuse, saying he could only learn right here under the right circumstances in the right learning environment, Nero actually nodded and added with vigor: “I encourage that.”

He spent the last minutes before lights out with the paper on his pillow. Sleeping on his back was not recommended, so he lay on his stomach, reading as much as he could, lips moving as he recited the rules in order. At the sound of the buzzer and when the lights clicked out, he put the paper under his pillow, and recalled the rules again, best he could, until he fell asleep.

It wasn’t enough. The next day he’d forgotten most of the, in his opinion, filler rules after rule ten. The welts on his back swelled up more aggressively. And the evening after that, he forgot about rule thirty-three and, in true college bullshitter fashion, made something up: “Rule number 33, prisoners will not speak out against the fascist regime that keeps them—WHOA!”. He threw his hands up and the cane lashed against his arms. Nero followed up, threw him against the desk and shoved his head so hard into its surface that the paper stuck to his forehead. It stung with a pinch of irony. And when his shirt (and the paper) was removed, Nero hit harder than before.

At morning roll call he kept his jaw firmly clenched, because if he were to speak out of turn and Nero would smash him against the wall, his nerve ends would light up like a christmas tree. And not in a fun way.

During work he passed the monotony by reciting the rules in his head. His requests to his workmates to give him a random number weren’t readily fulfilled (“Give me a number!” “Ninety-nine.” “No, under forty-three…” Cue annoyed sighs), so he found other ways to test himself. Six stacks of shirts, rule number six, ‘prisoners will obey instructions issued by the guards and prison personnel’. Almost half past four, rule number 27—

And so when he returned that evening and Nero asked for rule number sixteen, he was pretty sure he could keep his shirt on.

“Rule number sixteen, phone calls and visits are a privilege.” A privilege no one here enjoyed…

Nero actually seemed impressed, though he merely gave a curt solemn nod. “And number seven?”

“Rule number seven, the warden’s orders supersede those of the guards and the written rules, and must be obeyed at all times.”

“Good.”

 And Lucas found himself unclench when Nero removed the list of rules. Only to tense up again a few seconds later when his letter of representation was pulled to the middle of the desk.

“Then sign this.”

Lucas took a deep shuddering breath. The welts across his back tugged against skin in warning. Rule number seven echoed in his mind. He shook his head.

Nero nodded again. And without a word removed the baton from his belt.

-

Tag list: @gala1981 @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @andithewhumper @tippytappytyping @suspicious-whumping-egg @cherrychupachup @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @withdrawingramen @light-me-on-pyre @treasureguardingdragon @notactuallyluska @fortunately-cool-penguin @b0amagination @a-watcher-watching

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

Crossed out

Did I ever mention the meaning behind the title Crossed Out? I was looking for prison slang and this seemed fitting.

Crossed out: When a person is taken from a good area or job for something they say they didn't do, or for something that they feel was out of their control. An unfair removal.

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

whumpee developing a chronic ilness after being rescued and feeling so out of place and angry and confused because their body didn't do that before

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

*picks up blorbo*

Shh, it's okay, precious, no one can hurt you.

*proceeds to torture them*

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

"I kept telling myself to hang on. Just wait a few more hours...maybe a few days. I told myself that you were on your way. But you weren't." whumpee spits at carewhumper.

carewhumper pours rubbing alcohol on whumpee's open wounds, "you got yourself into that situation. you got yourself out."

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

contextless whump dialogue:

“Don’t you fucking touch me."

“Hey you. Do you remember how you got here?”

“Mmm… now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Sorry. About the pain.”

“Hold him down.”

“Are you really that scared? Or do you like this?”

“Let’s see how much you can handle.”

“I think he woke up.”

“Are you… recording this?”

“Give him another vial.”

“Don’t pass out.” “We’re just getting started.”

“Do you despise me?”

“Do what you want.”

“Shut the fuck up. Get in the tub. The least you can do is wash the blood off.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to think about it.”

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Good. At least I'll bleed out."

“You’re not holdin’ out on me, are ya?”

“Let’s find your friend. I want an audience.”

“Aw. Poor Whumpee.” “Did that hurt?”

“Done.” "Stop it. This is nothing to cry over.”

“What, are you mad or something?”

“Your actions have consequences, Caretaker.”

"That’s a nice look. Should I keep watching you struggle?"

“Leave me alone.” “You sick freak.”

(more whump)

[fortunately-cool-penguin]

What gets me about Eldwin's SW trauma is that it was always something he was threatened with, since he was young. It was very much, "this is what will happen to you without us" and the thing is they're not entirely wrong, if Eldwin wasn't bought by Clyde he most likely would have been sold into sexual slavery, that is definitely what they were going to market him for, and he already had a potential buyer taking an interest!!! It wasn't until his magic was discovered that Lady Dovemore realised she could get more for him from the Black Syndicate.

Then a few months after being acquired by the syndicate, he tried to escape. Clyde let him think he'd escaped, whilst actually arranging for people to rough him up and show him what the world was like for Warlocks. That's when he got his hand injury, and he was also SA'd in some way - it didn't go all the way, wasn't even meant to, but they were certainly threatening it, being creepy, and one of them may have been intent on going further than the others. And then oh, Clyde arrives just in time and punishes those who damaged his property. He's far from kind, but feigns some level of sympathy, telling Eldwin that this is why you're better off with me and I can protect you if you let me.

This is when Eldwin becomes more compliant. At least, he stops trying to run away. Because he knows that without the protection of the Black Syndicate, he's not safe. He'll never be safe. This is when he is truly loyal to Clyde, because he knows he cannot go elsewhere, and he appreciates Clyde for saving him from a worse fate twice! (Because he was aware that he would be sold into sexual slavery)

It was a lingering threat, though. "If you don't prove yourself useful, we'll find another purpose for you. I'm getting my money's worth one way or another" and "It would be easy to find someone to buy you, you know." It was one thing that kept in line, because that was the only thing he hadn't suffered.

As I said before, it wasn't necessarily intentional on the Syndicates part. Like, they didn't actively decide to put him into sex work like this. But people kept taking an interest, and they thought well, why not? He's not able to do field work as much anyway, he should pick up the slack. It was a long series of manipulation and straight up gaslighting, taking advantage of his memory problems. It starts out as "just one time." then "Just once more." "You agreed to it, don't you remember?" "It was your idea, you can't go back now."

By the time he realised what was happening, well... it was too late. He thought well, it's already happened so much, it might as fucking well happen again. Just another tool in his arsenal, that's all. He doesn't care anymore. He doesn't. Really, it's not a big deal. Once upon a time, maybe. But not anymore.