secretwhumplair

[secretwhumplair]

“I’m gonna get you out of this, okay? I know it’s hard to trust me, we’ve never met before, but I’m going to get you out. I need you to stay calm, and I’ll do everything to help you. I’ll get you to somewhere safe, okay?”

“…Y-you promise?”

“Of course, I promise.”

[secretwhumplair]

Travel

1,765 words | Aster and the midnight emperor

Content | Pet whump, royal whump, monster whumper, humiliation, collar & leash, nudity, whipping, injury mistreatment, bruises, threats, implied past and future non-con

Notes | The emperor yanks Aster's chain. It makes him sad.

I have this other piece planned that I've been moving up and down the timeline mostly so that all the whumpy parts and all the comforty parts don't cluster together. It's not that linear and I feel just mentioning the relatively okay times happening inbetween in passing doesn't really cut it! But well, episode-wise this is the order it's shaking out in.

Taglist | @maracujatangerine @scoundrelwithboba @mushiboble @lolrpop @whumpsday @whumpyreader @anonintrovert

One of the perks of sleeping in the Emperor’s bed was that, instead of hitting or kicking him where he lay on the floor, they woke Aster by pulling his pretty curls; his hair was down to his shoulders now. Even when they were in a mood to yank, it was preferable, and most days it barely hurt at all.

Today was one of the gentle days, or so Aster thought.

»We’re travelling,« the Emperor announced, letting go of him as soon as he turned to look at them, and stretched. Another of the perks — it was a sight to behold, limbs and limbs unfurling and expanding in all directions until they reached the limit of the Emperor's shifting abilities, then collapsing in on themself into their regular day-wear, the tall human with the claws and the mysterious owl mask. So close to them, Aster had ascertained that their hair wasn’t actually hair — rather, thin strands of whatever substance they were made from draped down their back. And of course, they didn’t bother with the nonessential parts that no one would see under their clothes — no nipples, belly button, genitals.

There was a beauty to it. Or maybe it was just the thrill of seeing them the way no one else was allowed to.

It had become Aster’s job to assist them getting dressed. He was glad to do it, mostly. He liked being close to them a little too much, but the shame of it was tempered by the fact no one else knew — and the Emperor for their part knew far worse.

»We’re travelling? Your Grace?« Both their movements were practiced by now, easily sliding the precious garments over their limbs together. He didn’t know how he felt about leaving his parents’ palace. He’d grown up here, but…

He couldn’t really find a way to finish the thought. Some part of him wasn’t too keen on staying, that was all.

He wasn’t really keen on travelling, either, though; not today. As he moved, he was reminded how rough the evening had been. They liked to do that, sometimes, push him to his limits, push him past, make him cry.

It didn’t happen too often, but today, he was sore.

They caught him by the wrists when they were done, then cupped his face and ran a clawed thumb across his cheek, the clawtip ghosting across his skin. There was a wicked smile on their face.

»I’ve made special arrangements for you.« They let go of him, unleashing him from the bed. »You won’t like them. But I think they’ll be mildly amusing to me.«

He certainly didn’t like that.

After breakfast, a habitually humiliating affair in front of the court, he was led by a servant out to the stables. The air was getting cooler.

He was handed off to a stablehand. He didn’t like the man’s dirty grin, either. Didn’t like the way he looked him up and down, his eyes catching with a pleased glint on his collar. Didn’t enjoy the way he yanked on his leash as soon as he was handed it — something the Emperor themself usually refrained from — digging the spikes into his neck. The servant who had brought him glanced back at that, but clearly decided they didn’t want to be involved, and disappeared.

You won’t like them.

»About time you were reminded you of your new place, by the looks of it,« the stablehand sneered. »Feeling good, are you? Feeling like you’re something again?«

Aster shook his head, which was clearly the desired answer. Or, well, the desired truth. It was true, too. At no point could he forget where he had landed, with the collar around his neck and the contemptuous eyes on his exposed self. He wasn’t even sure what the stablehand was getting at, except maybe he was no longer starving and covered in bruises…

He swallowed.

The stablehand snorted, and grabbed him, and bent him over a bale of hay.

No. He didn’t want to be hit again-

As usual, he didn’t get a choice. He didn’t bother trying to identify what he was being hit with — there had to be so many suitable implements around the stables, some even purpose-designed for hitting.

Whatever it was, it hurt. A few blows in, he was crying. The stablehand focused on his ass, trailing down his thighs, a small enough area that soon, there were spots hit twice, thrice, again.

He wanted to beg for mercy. In the very beginning, he had tried to resist the temptation out of some misguided belief he’d be able to cling on to his pride, but that notion had long since collapsed.

The fact remained that it was entirely pointless.

So his wails and cries remained wordless. He wasn’t sure whether maybe the stablehand wanted to hear him beg, but then it was just as likely he’d be punished for it; the man was, it appeared, following the Emperor’s orders, after all.

It was over before he could decide. In fact he felt he’d lost all ability to decide anything. He just hung over the bale, sobbing.

Something softer hit him, still too much for his tormented ass to bear; he cried out.

»Put that on.«

It was a simple tunic. Better than nothing, though he was so out of the habit of wearing any clothes at all it felt foreign and irritating on his skin. Nothing to the pain of-

»Hands.« His wrists were tied together with a rough length of rope.

»And get on this.«

There was a donkey, saddled and indifferent.

He had assumed he would have to walk. Getting to rest in a cart and maybe assuming a position that eased up on his ass didn’t seem likely after what the Emperor had said, but this was worse than what he had expected.

The stablehand smirked at his whimper when he sat down in the saddle, and led the donkey outside.

»You’re s’pposed to travel with the other animals,« he grinned, and tied Aster’s donkey in the front of the string of horses waiting in the yard. »Don’t try anything stupid.«

It wasn’t like there was much of anything he could do, his hands tied in front of him. The donkey didn’t even have a bridle; it was tied to a cart, and the whole string of animals was led into their place in the caravan.

Every step the donkey took was its own torture, his ass rocked from one fresh bruise to the next. It would be hours of this. He had neither the strength nor a reason not to cry.

The black horse first in line after him was pushy, coming up almost next to him.

It had striking silver eyes.

Once he had noticed them, the rest was obvious. The roached mane, the surface smoother than any fur could be — he couldn’t see its tail but he already knew what it would look like.

A desperate laugh bubbled up between sobs. Did they really enjoy his suffering so much that it was worth pretending to be a dumb horse, tied and led?

But the answer to that was obvious too.

The day was endless. Even when the caravan paused he wasn’t allowed down from the donkey. He knew, because a stablehand — thankfully, a different one — arrived to feed the Emperor rolled oats with dried fruit, and eyed him sharply as if waiting for a misstep. Aster wondered whether they knew they were feeding their Emperor, or just thought their horse was very spoiled.

Aster himself wasn’t offered food, but it didn’t seem to matter that much when the pain in his ass bored into him until it was radiating into every fibre of his being.

They arrived at a town by nightfall. Aster, the once-prince who loved to ride to hunts, barely managed to stay on his donkey, and he was in too much pain to even particularly feel the shame of that. He was exhausted. Hungry. Cold, despite the minimal protection the tunic offered.

He had been worse. He knew he had been worse.

But not in a while.

Dinner was hosted at the town hall, with the usual grandeur. Aster crouched at the Emperor’s feet, too agonized to particularly appreciate the food he was being offered from the hand of his tormentor, but knowing full well it would be unwise to turn down.

In the Emperor’s sleeping chambers, he curled up on the bed. It lacked the ornate frame of the royal bed at home, so he wasn’t properly leashed to it, but he didn’t delude himself to think this meant he had any chance at escape.

The Emperor rustled about behind him. Usually, he’d watch them. Right about know was when they stretched from the static form they’d have assumed all day before polite society. But it didn’t appeal to him as much today.

»You didn’t have to do that.« He shouldn’t have said it, yet he was glad he had, even as a thrill of fear ran through him.

»I don’t have to do anything.« They sounded perfectly self-satisfied, untouchable to his grief.

»No, I know. Your Grace.« He almost said sorry. As if his pointing out their cruelty was worse than the cruelty itself.

»Aw, poor little pet. Did you forget you’re here for my entertainment?«

Aster swallowed down tears. Forget? No. Not for a moment. He had almost started thinking the Emperor, perhaps despite themself charmed by his admiration for them, was not tormenting him on purpose, at least not too much. That they would treat him with some affection. Just like one would spare for an actual pet.

Even that thought was sickening. It hadn’t even occurred to him before to see the Emperor’s behaviour in this light. A part of him — a silly, naive corner of his mind — had really believed they might start to like him.

»I don’t want to be your entertainment,« he muttered.

»No? Do you want to go back to building roads and entertaining the court for me instead?«

They might as well have dumped him in ice water. »No, your Grace,« he choked out through freezing airways. »I’m sorry, your Grace.« He rolled over, presenting his ass — it would hurt worse than usual, the Emperor working against the bruises aggravated all day, but it was better than-

»Aw, you have bruised up very prettily.« They nudged his hip, rolling him back on his side. Facing them, now. He wanted to close his eyes, didn’t want to look at them, but he didn’t dare.

»That’ll do for today, pet.«

[secretwhumplair]

Whumper melts down royal Whumpee’s crown and has it forged into shackles/a collar for them to wear.

[secretwhumplair]

betrayed is the best thing for a whumpee to feel at punishment tbh. its just so irrational and so good - "im good for you and you know im trying to be good for you so why are you punishing me for nothing more than a mistake :(" because they're so short sighted so focused on immediate consequences that they don't realise that punishment isn't about punishment it's about power

[secretwhumplair]

Wolf

My Writing Masterpost

Juno Collection Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: dehumanization, implied abuse

The other man called Master sire, and Juno was pretty sure that meant Master was important. 

The tent looked important too; big and colorful, and sturdy enough for a map and other things he couldn’t read to be pinned to the walls.

There were also people. He could hear lots of voices through the fabric of the tent, voices and dinks of metal and thuds of wood.

If he were good, Juno would get to add all of them to his own voice. 

He must be good. 

Or everything would go away, and he’d only have the dust again.

The sound of steel and leather shifted his attention back to Master. He was holding a sword, shiny and deadly. 

“Tell the men to pack. We head for home in the morning.”

“As you say, sire.” 

Juno looked away as the other man left.

Home? Where was home?

The hood of the cloak was torn back, startling him. But the hand that cupped his cheek was warm, and gentle, and he couldn’t help but nuzzle into Master’s touch.

“I bet,” Master said, “you can do a lot more than just copy.”

What did he mean?

It didn’t really matter. Juno would do his best, and hope it was enough.

“Show me your teeth,” Master commanded, his thumb at the corner of Juno’s lips.

Juno kept his tongue as flat as possible as he opened up. Master peered into his mouth, running a finger over his teeth and gums.

It felt odd, invasive, and Juno tried not to move or gag for fear of displeasing his new owner.

It was only a few moments before Master withdrew, but the strange dry feeling lingered when he was allowed to close his mouth.

Juno blinked when he was released, licking over his teeth with his tongue to try and make the uncomfortableness go away.

“Are you hungry?”

Had he earned a reward?

He looked up. Master’s face wasn’t irritated, but he didn’t look particularly happy either. Maybe it was just hard to tell when Juno wasn’t used to other faces yet.

Juno nodded anyway. He was hungry, almost always, and hopefully Master was offering food despite Juno not deserving a treat.

“Come on, then.”

Juno followed Master out of the tent, the soft rug turning to dirt beneath his feet.

It was slightly warm and a little wet, the dirt. Juno decided he liked it less than wooden floors and rugs, but it was nice to walk on something different.

It was nice to walk at all, especially outside.

The sky was blue and clear. There was a warm breeze, and Juno could smell bread and animals and flowers and-

“In here.” Juno startled, narrowly avoiding bumping into Master.

He ducked his head, face flushing as they stepped into another tent. He’d have to pay more attention if he wanted to keep being allowed out of a cage.

Inside, the new tent was full of food.

Baskets of apples, trays of bread, garlic and onions hanging from strings, smoked meat packed in a barrel.

Juno’s mouth watered, and he kept close to his Master to avoid touching things he wasn’t supposed to.

Master, on the other hand, had picked up a plate and started wandering through the abundance. A bit of cheese, a roll, some jerky, a small bunch of grapes.

Juno’s eyes grew wider as Master’s plate grew fuller. He trailed behind, hoping he’d be thought of.

Was it meant to tease?

Master turned to him, mouth open to say something, and Juno dropped to his knees before he needed to be ordered.

He folded his hands in his lap, waiting.

Master’s brow furrowed, and Juno’s heart pounded.

Had he done it wrong, somehow?

Master didn’t move.

“Food?” he asked nervously. He kept his eyes trained on Master’s face, trying not to look at the plate and seem greedy.

___________________

“Food?” the mimic asked.

Juno’s eyes were wide, darting between the plate and Niko’s face.

Stellos had guessed based on his fox-like back teeth that Juno was an omnivore like a human, but he hadn’t guessed him to beg for his meals like the domestic dogs of the north.

But if this was how the creature ate, then he’d deal with it. Either Juno would become accustomed to eating like a person, or Nikolai would get used to feeding him by hand. 

As long as Juno ate. He was so thin, after all.

Niko set the plate on a table, and tore some bread off the roll.

“Here,” he offered, and Juno ate from his fingers. They shared the whole platter that way- the mimic eating from his palm and Stellos taking a bite after.

The siren couldn’t talk aside from a mere handful of words; less than a dozen. That could be an issue, when his vocabulary didn’t cover ‘I’m hungry’.

He watched Juno finish the last mouthful of cheese.

“If you’re hungry,” he said, and Juno’s eyes snapped to attention. “Then you need only ask, and I’ll make sure you get something, alright?”

The mimic cocked his head, as if processing.

“Food?” Juno said.

Nikolai didn’t know if the voice Juno was using was in fact his own- original- or just another copied thing.

Were mimics born with a natural voice?

“Yes, like that. Are you still hungry?” 

Juno shook his head. 

Nikolai picked up an apple and slipped it into his pocket, just in case. Until he could do more research, he would have to guess the size of Juno’s appetite.

The siren stood slowly, glancing over as if waiting to be reprimanded for it.

“You must be tired,” he said. “Let’s go back to my tent.”

He had more important things to do at the moment than test more of the creature’s quirks.

___________________

As the siren dozed off on a pile of cushions, Stellos declared the scouting trip a success. 

The lowlands of Alba Horataea were fertile, and the country was distracted and tired from conquering Gywnheld to the northeast. The southern wolves would be the last thing on their minds.

He studied the map pinned to the tent wall.

Never make a threat you can’t fulfill.

Emperor Nikolai Stellos would be ready to make his demands in eight months, at most. Plenty of time to gather the Volkenian troops, just in case they needed to march north.

They didn’t need the land, not just yet, but it was Niko’s duty to ensure the future of his nation’s pups. Populations needed feeding. Families needed homes. 

The clay and granite mountains were unfit for wheat, and it would be a tragedy to cut down the forested cradle of the world.

Alba Horataea would bend the knee and pay tribute, or perish.

taglist: @haro-whumps @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @tianablackwell @starsick1979 @batfacedliar-yetagain @bloodinkandashes @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @twigsofmanyfaces @paperprinxe

[secretwhumplair]

"you got me a present?" whumper asks, gasping softly.

henchman nods and smiles, "picked it out this morning, as soon as i saw it, i knew you'd like it"

whumper bends down and tilts their head at whumpee, who's tied up on the floor with tears spilling out of their eyes.

"i love it"

[secretwhumplair]

Open Wound

“I’ve always, always tolerated you. Even when you were being difficult and stubborn and just—”

Caretaker took a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the table with barely restrained anger. Whumpee had been refusing to eat again, saying it made them feel sick.

But Caretaker had had enough. Taking care of Whumpee felt like a chore now. It wasn’t like Caretaker to judge people so quickly, but Whumpee didn’t even make an effort to get better.

They refused to eat, always wanted attention, and got triggered at every little thing.

“You’re sick of me.”

Whumpee stated this quietly, pulling their knees up to their chest. Their expression was one of acceptance. “I knew it. This would happen. I should’ve stayed with Whumper.”

At that, Caretaker glared at them. “There you go again, comparing me to Whumper. He, who would rather see you getting worse instead of better. He loves it—even enjoys it. Is that what you want?”

Whumpee mumbled something under their breath, fidgeting with their fingers.

Caretaker narrowed their eyes. “What was that? Speak up, Whumpee.”

“At least he treated me better.”

…

“I dare you to repeat—”

“He. Treated. Me. Better.”

~

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @jennyyy007 @theforeverdyingperson @valravnthefrenchie @risk606 @heyyitsworld @failgiao @electrons2006 @possumhoe

[secretwhumplair]

Destroyer (Vol.II) - Dialogue

(Content: angst, past abuse, conditioned whumpee, living weapon whumpee, royal whump, whumper turned whumpee, addiction mention, smoking, self hatred, guilt)

nodiving: hey its me

nodiving: lorelai gave me your # i hope thats okay

nodiving: um i feel kind of bad about what happened honestly i shouldnt have spit in your face like that

nodiving: i appreciate you trying to apologize if you were actually trying to do that

nodiving: i just didnt really process what was happening at the time and i was scared im sorry

exiterratum: its cool 

exiterratum: i dont blame you 

nodiving: i didnt mean it though

exiterratum: you would have been right to

nodiving: but i didnt

nodiving: it wasnt what i mean to say

nodiving: can i see you again maybe

nodiving: i know i fucked up the last two times but i think i am ready now i will do better

exiterratum: yes 100%

exiterratum: delta you do not need to apologize for that at all you didnt do anything wrong

nodiving: im sorry

~

“Sorry,” Delta muttered again. It came whenever the silence drew on too long. 

He was perched up on the table. His jacket hung loosely over him and the sleeves were bunched up by the wrists to free his hands up. It was too large on him; it had to have been someone else’s first.

It made him look so fucking vulnerable. Harmless. The powers had receded to somewhere further within, shut up within the shell so as not to make the wiring burn out in each room he entered. Could he have done that the whole time? Paris doubted it, actually. He sensed it was taking some effort to keep it all locked away. It’d taken him effort, after all. Not that it worked. Not that it mattered.

A single braid laid over his shoulder. Clawed fingers worked in and out of it, making and unmaking the plait like an unfinished shroud. Delta’s gaze kept flickering up to meet his each time it neared completion. 

You didn’t let him cut his hair. You didn’t even let him tie it back before. You would hit him when he touched it without permission. You remember that, right?

Arrogant fucking control freak.

He definitely couldn’t give him permission now. It was far too late for that, and it’d send the wrong message. He doubted Delta actually wanted that in the first place. The braid itself was deliberate, if tentative. Or maybe it wasn’t, and maybe everything isn’t about you all the time.

Just being around him was painful. It had to be worse for Delta, though.

He was staring at him again. The lights behind his eyes were bright — a sign he was healthy, at least. In spite of the circumstances, Delta looked a lot better. Paris had barely realized just how exhausted and sick Delta must have been when he’d had him. He had forgotten what it looked like when he wasn’t.

There was so much distance between them. This was for the best, but it only amplified the sense that there was something unbridgeable between them — a distance that would never be closed. No great surprise.

He should probably say something. He started to, but Delta got there first.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

His voice was quiet and reluctant, even with such an inoffensive statement. It was a wonder that Delta was able to speak to him at all, given just how many times he’d been hurt for it in the past. How many times Paris had hurt him for it. He didn’t deserve the tolerance. He certainly didn’t deserve the regard.

It came, regardless.

“I thought you were dead,” Delta admitted. “And before that, I thought you were in danger. I mean, I knew you were. I saw. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Paris watched him lose his nerve in real time. He wasn’t able to reassure him before Delta answered for himself.

“I’m glad you seem to be doing better. From what I’ve heard.”

His eyes were fucking enormous. It was hard to read either fear or blank apathy into them. Just alertness, if anything. Watchfulness was a state all on its own.

“…Thank you,” Paris said, uneasy. He hadn’t expected it. 

It felt like a trap. It was hard for him to believe that Delta would not want to see him in as much pain as possible, as Paris often imagined would be his will, and as Paris often felt compelled to enact. But, he reminded himself, that was within Delta’s ability now. There was a lot he could do, and little anyone else could do to stop him. And still, he’d let Paris go. What point would there be in deception? It had to be real. But why?

“Um. Why?” Paris asked. “Why would you want that, I mean?”

I didn’t want it for you, clearly.

Delta blinked, a movement that momentarily darkened the room. He started to shrug, then flinched, abandoning the movement. Disrespectful.

“You’re allowed to be mad at me,” Paris volunteered. It was the first time he’d offered Delta permission unbidden in years. It seemed important. “Like, I get it. You don’t have to pretend you’re not.”

He got another blank stare in return.

~

Who said I’m not?

Of course he thought that. Paris thought that when you were angry, you had to scream and hit people to show it. Because he never learned the lessons that even the youngest students had to get a good grasp on: You have to control yourself. Anger is not for you.

Delta was mostly just scared. That shouldn’t have been allowed either, and yet all the training seemed to depend on it. 

“Is that what you want, Your Highness?” Delta asked instead. 

Paris looked a lot like a cornered animal these days. It meant something that he was still trying, despite his fear. Then again, hadn’t he always sort of looked like that? Hadn’t he always kept trying, even long after it was clear he should stop? A heat half like fondness burned in Delta’s chest.

“You don’t have to call me that. And I just want you to be honest,” Paris insisted, unconvincingly. “Fuck. I know, historically, I have not always been the safest to do that around. But you came for a reason, right? I mean. Actually, I don’t know why you came.”

The instinct to hide hit Delta abruptly. It was a scary thing to have that attention focused on him. The implicit question, and the thought that he might actually have to answer it, intimidated him. Ignoring it wasn’t allowed. Neither was lying. The commands and desires got mixed up in his head, and Delta was so unsure of what was actually being asked of him.

“You wanted to see me,” he managed.

It was, of course, a bit of a cop-out. But there was some truth to it. Paris had wanted to see him, and Delta had been shuttered off to it, and now he wished he hadn’t been. 

The reason as to why he wished for that remained hidden in the sand, undisturbed. Paris didn’t look thrilled with the answer. Though his dissatisfaction did not carry the same threat, Delta couldn’t help but to tense. And beneath that, there was an unexpected anger.

Now you want me to be honest? You’re upset because I can’t talk around you? Whose fault is that?

Useless thoughts.

“I wanted to apologize. Which was probably a mistake, ‘cause it was a fucked up thing to spring on you without warning. Like you said, you didn’t really process it. So. Uh. I don’t even know if you wanted to hear it.”

Paris tapped his fingers against the counter again. He looked so uncomfortable, and was so pointedly not looking at Delta as he said it.

In truth, Delta didn’t know whether he wanted to hear it or not. He had never given it any serious thought before. It always seemed like such an impossibility. Why pine for what he’d never have? Really, why? And why did he do it so often? What purpose did it serve, besides making him very, very sad?

“Also, I thought you were fucking dead,” Paris interrupted.

“That was the point,” Delta said before he could stop himself. He flinched, feeling his heart rate accelerate. Said too much. Paris didn’t even know what happened, and Delta had almost given it away. And to make matters worse, he’d had an attitude about it.

Paris just looked sad, though. 

~

“I’m really sorry.”

Paris had thought the act of apologizing would be agonizing. It had been at times. But the thought itself came naturally, and often. It became a reflex, the neural pathway reinforced time and time again. It had taken root years ago. There was no thought behind offering it now. Just habit, said with the same rawness he’d offered to Lorelai, then to Jay. He meant it, even with no one around to hear.

He remembered how bad things had been towards the end. (Well, he remembered parts of it…) It had ended on a particularly bad note. Paris had a curiosity towards what had happened to Delta since then. But to think about that, he’d have to think about all that had lead up to it. Though he thought about it all the time, now it seemed like too much to look at head-on. 

Delta was blushing. It occurred to Paris that it was probably a lot for him to look at head-on, too. 

Paris swallowed. He asked, “What do you need me to do?”

“I never asked you for anything,” Delta replied. There was no sharpness to his voice. Still, it was getting to feel like an argument, which was what Paris didn’t want.

“…Sir.” Delta added belatedly.

It made him feel worse, which might have been the point. Paris smacked the table with both hands before sitting up from it.

“I gotta go,” he announced, leaving no room for argument. Not that he expected any. Probably doing both of them a fucking favor.

It wasn’t anger, really. Just the clear sense that he would not be able to keep his composure much longer. He knew the signs now, at least.

Paris took too long out on the balcony. This was CTRL’s territory again, so he didn’t worry so much about being shot on sight. He sat back on the shitty plastic lawn chair, observing the stars above and the wilderness below. He cupped his hands around the flame of his lighter to light the tip of his third cigarette. He didn’t usually chain smoke. He just wanted to calm the fuck down.

Claws tapped lightly at the glass sliding door. Almost forty minutes had gone by without his realizing it. Fuck.

“Can I come out, Your Highness?” Delta asked quietly. Polite. Paris supposed he’d had a lot of practice.

Delta carefully lowered himself into the other chair out on the balcony. Paris felt some minor shock at the fact he was using furniture, then immediate reproach. He shivered.

“Can I borrow a cigarette?” Delta asked. 

Paris obliged. That was at least one thing he could do for him. He moved to pass him the lighter as well, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Delta formed a small tesla coil in between his middle and index finger, sparking it on his own. The electricity crackled gently, and then the night was blissfully silent.

“Is it true you got sober?” Delta asked in low tones. 

“Hm?” Paris had pulled one leg up into the seat of the chair, hand resting against the ankle as he’d slumped down into it. He thought he’d misheard. “Oh. Yeah.”

It was one of the only objective marks of progress he counted over the last years. In recent weeks, it had been a very near thing. No one would let him go off alone anywhere. It left him aggravated and grateful.

Delta had to have heard it through Lorelai, a thought which made him deeply anxious. Paris knew they talked about him. It was inevitable. It was smart. But it still triggered self-consciousness in him, along with old paranoias. Of course he was being watched. Of course people were talking about him. For a few precious years, these things had not been true anymore. But he’d gone and fucked that up too.

“Congratulations. I’m really happy for you,” Delta said.

Paris’s vision flickered. He watched Delta through the corner of his eye, scanning for any hint of sarcasm. That would have been fucked up. Then again, Delta probably had his own reasons to desire that. Then again, he wouldn’t need to desire anything of Paris if he just kept his distance instead.

Happy for you.

“Stop being nice to me.”

It was an order.

“Delta, I was terrible to you. Quit taking the fucking high road about it. Can you just, like, be angry with me? You’re allowed to, you know I can’t do anything about it now. I know you hate me. Stop being nice about it.”

~

Paris was shaking like he was going through withdrawal, though he’d finished his last cigarette only seconds ago. It was the same shakiness that seemed to follow him everywhere.

Delta stood dumbfounded, slowly absorbing the new command he’d been given. He slowed his own breathing, manually and intentionally. He didn’t want that unsteadiness bleeding into him. That was a lot to ask, though.

“…You think I hate you?” 

Delta hadn’t thought about it. When he thought back to that period of his life, the most distinct sensation he could remember was pain. Loneliness was soon after. Moral injury after that. When he thought about Paris for too long, Delta’s chest started to hurt like he’d swallowed hot coals.

The memory of having pushed himself too hard and the burning that followed came to him then. Phantom arcs of lightning traced his skin and insides until they weren’t phantasmal at all, anymore. The night got a little more glowy, and Paris looked a little more afraid, and Delta realized he’d been sparking for real. He shut it down.

“Don’t you?” Paris asked. His tone was nearly pleading. Like he needed it to be true.

Delta shook his head slowly. “I never hated you.”

How could he even think that? How much had Delta bled for him? What else could he possibly have done to prove it?

“I have only ever wanted things to be easy for you,” Delta spoke. It was firm, spoken with more conviction than he’d had all night.

Of course Paris had assumed. He’d never fucking bothered to ask.

~

Oh.

It was even worse than he thought.

Was there a way for Paris to leave, again? That’d been nice, the first time. Paris could still remember the way blood had dripped down his ankles as he’d made the trek through Absalom. Who wanted to run away again? Who wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, and that the past would never catch up?

“I’m…really sorry, Delta.”

What else could he even say?

Delta, of course, looked no less distraught. Emotion was a difficult thing to read on him. Like before, most of what he expressed could only be described as indifference, occasionally discomforted. It was leaning heavily towards discomforted now.

“Um. I wasn’t really in my right mind for a lot of that. Not to make excuses for it. Just, objectively, I know I wasn’t perceiving things right. I’m sorry you had to be a casualty of that. It wasn’t your fault, or anything you did. None of it was. I don’t know why I was so fucking petty.”

Paris’s fist clenched. His thoughts had been clouded by a belief in blame and sabotage. An overwhelming volume of fear. He remembered in the abstract why he’d done what he’d done. But he couldn’t imagine doing it again. He didn’t think he could get that angry again if he wanted to.

He softened, turning to look at Delta again. 

“You get that, right? It wasn’t your fault.”

~

Delta took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a second. It didn’t matter so much if he couldn’t see. He had a mile long radius mapped out in his mind. He felt all of it.

“Thank you for saying so,” he said lightly.

Disappointing Paris had fallen pretty far down on his list of concerns. It was something he hadn’t cared about since that birthday, when it became abundantly clear that he’d failed. But the vestige of it was still there. Still, there was the compulsion to please him. 

It hurt still to know there was nothing he ever could have done. No right way to be, according to him. The game was unwinnable. 

Could he still win?

Delta opened his eyes again.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @sacredwrath

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump @fuckclimatechange

@jumpywhumpywriter @sir-fenris @the-monarch-whumperfly @doumidas-whumps @toyybox @c0zy-drag0n @half-duck @secretwhumplair @boyleftoutintherain @inhurtandincomfort @whumpawaydarling

[secretwhumplair]

Lux in Tenebris - Whumptober prompts 19-20

Lux in Tenebris - Whumptober 2021 arc - (stabbing) - @badthingshappenbingo​​

Red X for posted, white X for requested! Send in your requests! If you don’t see a prompt here that you already requested, please send it again!

~

Lux in Tenebris masterlist here

bound/gagged   |   taunting/pushed   |   I’ve got red in my ledger/touch-starved   |   helplessness/pneumothorax   |   tears/oops, I did it again   |   drowning/begging     |   that’s gonna leave a mark/beaten   |   delirium/aftermath   |   hemorrhage/screaming   |   stabbing/lost and found   |   pursuit/threats   |   blood-matted hair/demon   |   escape/you will go down with this ship   |   collapse/panic   |   self-sacrifice/major character death   |   disaster zone

Content warning: demon whumpee, recaptured whumpee, multiple whumpers, knife, begging, manhandling, collared whumpee, poisoned, thoughts of death (to escape torture), burns, religious abuse, death threats, emeto, broken bones, language whump, demon possession, stabbing, painful healing, intimate whumper, self-loathing, please heed all the warnings since I ran out of tags

~

“P-please,” Dee begged, his throat bobbing with panic. The tip of the knife brushed his skin and instantly cut, sharper than any razor. “P-please, angels… mercy, please, show me mercy, please…”

Dominic laughed as he straddled Dee’s hips and drew the tip of his knife across Dee’s throat, light as a feather, above and below the collar in gentle stripes. Dee gasped and sobbed as his skin tingled under the blade. His hands were crushed beneath him, the iron cuffs cutting deep into his wrists. He swallowed, again and again, doing his best to hold still as the angel’s blood still burned him from the inside out.

Keep reading

[secretwhumplair]

Is there going to be a continuation of No Warrior??

Not a continuation per se, but there's a few gaps that I'd still like to fill out. Someday. And I won't exclude the possibility of a drabble here or there if/when I miss the guys ldshflj

But no, the story as such ends where it currently ends!

Edit to add: The reason it doesn't have the "completed" label like Monster of Lindborough on the masterlist is. On account of the holes. It isn't complete to me yet. I've considered labeling it "finished" or something instead, given it does have a fin, but that's probably just confusing to everyone else asfdjk.

[secretwhumplair]

"I held out under torture once and you saw where it got me. Do you really think I'd do so again?"

[secretwhumplair]

dehumanization tropes i love

-not allowed on furniture. remain standing or kneel on the floor, no sitting

-not allowed to make eye contact 

-being silenced immediately every time they try to speak 

-casual manhandling, being dragged alone because they’re not trusted to move by themselves 

-casual, nonconsensual touch. randomly pulling them closer, absently playing with hair, manually adjusting their posture

-giving orders without explanation 

-giving orders they know are arbitrary, just to exercise power

-talking about them like they aren’t even in the room 

-authorizing other people to monitor and control them

-being kept in restraints 24/7, with movement restricted even further in their downtime 

-degrading their natural behaviors and reflexes. stare is creepy, smile is ugly, flinching is disrespectful, etc…

-putting down their hobbies/interests

-ascribing ill intent to all their actions and assuming the worst from them

[secretwhumplair]

An old story I’ve been thinking about and decided to rewrite…

cw: institutionalized slavery, whumpee with amnesia, pet whump, abused whumpee, shock collar, depressed whumpee

———

Pet stole a scratch at the reddened flesh around his ragged, tattered collar.

Unlike the rest - the little bell above the door licking their ears with excitement and hope of the visitor being interested in a purchase - Pet shrugged off the ingrained call of hope. That instance no longer lingered in him, flame flickered out time and time again as owners refurbished, retrained, or returned.

The shuffles of pets lining the maze of cramped, soiled cages washed the room, each getting into perfect position with their best puppy dog faces, the idea of even being given a mere glance filling their chests with blossoming warmth. Pet stole a glimpse of their kneels and their hanging heads.

The price of giving up on being bought, on trying, would be paid. He would undoubtedly receive some sort of punishment later on - once the buyer had left empty handed like they always did - for his willing disobedience. Maybe, in his twisted and naughty mind, that meant he could feel something other than a sickly nothingness.

Pet stayed in his position, one he rarely left, curled into a ball and sucking in any warmth he could gain from that his body had to offer to the always starkly chill concrete. His dingy cage held nothing but himself and his metal food bowl, one that would probably remain empty for the foreseeable future.

Breathing a hearty release of melted misery, he allowed his eyelids to cradle him back to darkness.

Not to sleep though, not as the front desk man’s words became clearer and clearer as he guided the owner into the last remaining hallway.

“-are all eager to please and be moulded as you see fit, of course.”

Two sets of feet shuffled into hearing distance, that of the pound employee and the buyer.

Pet was still eager to please - he thought so at least. That was so deeply beat into his unconscious, rightfully so, that he couldn’t imagine a day where he wouldn’t be. Even when being purposely bad, Pet couldn’t help the screams of his mind berating him for being so stupid. He couldn’t help the ache of his heart or the tremble of his lip at the thought of disobeying, even as he did it. He never had so much as a want to be bad, just a knowing discipline was all he deserved. Biting his lip hard, Pet shuffled his face between his arms and knees.

“This group is on the much cheaper side, most with irreparable damages. Some have had several owners and aren’t high on our list of demand.”

It was almost as if he had just stabbed Pet right through the chest. As if the employee was talking about him specifically.

A sob clawed at his curling throat as the steps got closer and closer, causing the idiot animal he was to quiver in both fear and anguish. He was so fucking stupid. Thinking he couldn’t hold hope any longer was just a dream, and as they grew near he couldn’t help but wish, if only for a second, that they would give Pet just one last chance. Pet held his breath, hoping to either hold back his insolent whimpers or to even just suffocate himself to death.

“Hello.”

A shiver roll down his back, freezing him rigid in place.

“No name?”

“Most of them don’t have one. They’re just numbers in the system, anyway.”

Were they-

“Can I see your face, please?”

Pet swallowed, gasping for stale air to fill his lungs. Head splitting in two, a spinning sense of sickness infected his brain in seconds.

Were they asking him?

Pet craned his neck, slow and steady, eyes guarded by overgrown, unkempt hair with an arm shielding the lower half of his face.

They couldn’t have been talking to him. He was just another braindead dog, a naughty one as well. Nothing special in the slightest.

But as his dark, dead gaze landed on those filled with life, fenced by rotting wire and accessorized by long, fluttering lashes, with a shallow gasp he ducked swiftly back beneath his knees.

The employee chuckled, weak and irritated. “Please, don’t pay him much mind. That one’s…,” he trailed off, sheepishly, “an odd duck, to say the least.”

The woman, probably blinking coarsely behind her fake eyelashes, asked curiously, “How so?”

He sighed deeply. “His records say he’s had about three different owners. Each one sent him through some different training, and he’s been through more than one refurbishment.” The employee knocked at his cage, shaking the fencing and sending the pet flinching.

“Oh.”

“I’d say they knocked a couple marbles out of place when they did it. He’s got a pretty shit memory. Easily confused, too.” He clicked his pen a few times, tapping it against the clipboard Pet had never seen him without. “He’s a guard dog, even, and those aren’t nearly as popular once they’ve been through an owner or two.”

Laughing a little bit, awkwardly, her fingers curled over the gaps in the fence. “I take it he, uh, doesn’t like to listen?”

Whining, grating and dumb, Pet allowed the noise to grip his throat and tumble out. Quickly and without thought he scrambled to his knees, especially clumsy as he knocked his forehead with accidentally extra force to the floor below him. Pain flashed across his head, and he whimpered involuntarily. He hoped maybe he could still please her, to display that he wasn’t all bad. He could still listen, even if he couldn’t exactly remember what she’d even originally asked of him. He didn’t mean to be all bad.

The buyer audibly jumped back as he did so, and in return he flinched with force - as if she could wack him through the door. She gasped before asking, “Are you okay?”

Pet heaved a ragged breath, snapping his lips tightly shut. Disregarding the quick puzzlement that was to come as she asked him the strange question he’d never been asked because why would anyone care if he was okay, neither was it a direct order to speak.

With a careless kick to the cage, the employee dutifully chastised him. “Answer her.”

How in the world would he answer such a question? “A- a- anything you, you want. Master.” Pet squeaked out, voice dry and cracking from infrequent use.

Listening intently for the inevitable point in which she would finally realize he was a lost cause, a mutt incapable of being fixed, he only heard a swallow of saliva between the seconds of her pause.

“Please, can I see your face?” She ordered once again, just as oddly kind and honeyed as the first time. Mind swimming with such sweet tones he had rarely ever had the privilege of hearing, Pet somehow managed to do as told.

Keeping his vision plastered to the cracks of concrete, pupils hidden by his lashes, he picked his face up from the ground to meet hers. A mere moment of excitement and wonder was all it took for him to forget the most basic of rules, stupidly stealing a look at her eyes, brown and beautiful and wet.

Gaze brimming with tears, she blinked them away rapidly, a smile glistening with slightly tinted teeth gracing her cheeks. With words as level and even as he’d ever heard, she spoke. “I think, um, I’ll take him.”

…

Was it all a trick?

Surely they wouldn’t have unlocked his cage, clipping him to a leash for the first time in forever, taking the woman aside to fill paperwork and leaving him to be prepped for purchase if it really was all just to break his spirit further.

Buzzing with a stomach burning mixture of both anxiousness and anticipation, he knelt below the worker as they checked off what he thought to be a list of duties to be done before he could be officially bought. The first of those had been a shower, where Pet knelt in the corner of the room beside a drain and obediently waited for the employee to wash him with a col spraying hose.

After being sufficiently dried, Pet was to change into something other than worn, tattered shorts all of the pets wore in the pound.

“Strip.” She told him, and he did so without a second thought.

Supplying him with an almost to tight tee and patterned pajama pants, he took them carefully and with awe, gently rubbing his fingers to the tender feel of cotton to his skin. They weren’t new, taken from the bins of dropped off second hand clothes the pets never got to wear until they left, but there wasn’t a chance on Earth he wouldn’t be eternally grateful for the gift. He was simply surprised the smallest of touches from his fingers didn’t leave the fabric visibly dirtied.

She’d even given him a new collar, this one metal pronged and dark grey with even a pretty pink bow taped to it. Pet wouldn’t have refused it if he could, joyous to have been given a collar other than the one that kept his skin crackling and coarse.

Chained to the middle of the room by his new leash, he knelt silent yet ecstatic. Vision swinging from corner to corner around him, Pet studied every inch of the completely white room.

In her white uniform the employee hunched over a white desk, gritting her teeth as she filled out what felt like an hours worth of paperwork. He inspected her too, her golden curls that washed down her spine and her starkly black baton clipped to her belt.

There was one window in the room that gave him a glance into the one beside them, the one that his new owner had been taken to to officially buy him. Chewing on his lip absentmindedly, he thought it might be nice if she could check and see how good he was being made up for her, how excited he was to be given another chance to prove himself and to serve her every whim-

Screeching with shock and affliction, his throat rang out as the collar lit up without warning, flashing him in a bundle of sparks.

“Head down.” The worker chastised, crisp and clean without care. Coughing, Pet nodded profusely, snapping himself back to tile.

Pet, sipping in a thick heave of air, released it right back to steady himself.

This time he only listened as she got up from her desk, sifting the papers together into a folder before reaching for his leash. “Be good. You come back one more time and you’re on schedule for euthanasia.” As if it meant nothing, she simply motioned for him to follow as she opened the door with a simple click.

Euthanasia.

As dumb as he was, Pet knew exactly what that meant. One more return and he was dead.

Without much time to dwell on his possible fate of death, crawling behind the worker he found his owner’s flats coming into view. To his dismay, his heart was skipping with what he found to be undeniable fear.

“If anything goes awry don’t feel any resistance to drop him right back off. It happens a good deal with these ones, and there’s no reason to be ashamed if you can’t handle him.”

Holding his breath, he only stopped once his master replied, ruffling his hair. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Maybe he was safe.

The front desk man shrugged, chuckling. “Alright, you do you.”

Without a sound Pet trailed as fast as he could crawling behind his master, practically light headed as the ring of the front door bell was cut off by the door slinking shut behind him.

While the prospect of being bought once more filled him to the brim with unimaginable bliss, his stomach stirred with the bile of horror. How in the world was he to live up to this new owner’s expectations? What if he was so braindead he couldn’t be trained anymore? What if her only goal was to buy a pet solely to be a punching bag? So many different scenarios closed in on him, coursing through his bones and rattling them to his core.

Pet winced as he bumped right into Master’s leg, so caught in his own head he failed to notice her stop behind a car. Plopping to his knees, he rushed to apologize. “I, I, I, I’m sorry-,”

“Oh God.” She spit, a lump catching sourly in his chest. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

Hanging his head, Pet’s lip quivered as he went to speak, to beg, before slipping them shut. He hadn’t been given any guidance to what would please her more, pleading or silence. He was stuck. He’d already upset her, and they were just out the door. Maybe she would return him right then and there, already deciding he wasn’t fit for service, only death.

He’d already decided what would happen before she’d made a move, and was no less than dumbfounded as arms wrapped over his shoulders. Not with intentions of malice he realized as she ducked her face into the nape of his neck, beads of tears soaking into his flesh.

“I love you, I love you I love you-,” she whimpered, soft and small and scary. “I never thought I’d find you.”

———

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[secretwhumplair]

If you accept requests right now, do you have any war-related whump ideas?

*Dark laughter*

Oh yes I do.

War-related whump

Content: male whumpee, war, beating, POW, guns, emotional whump

Battle wounds are treated with distinct compassion and respect. But wounds received in captivity, or dealt as "punishment", even by the enemy, not so much.

Surrounded by the enemy after the battle, soldier refusing to be taken prisoner. Fighting hard, taking several enemies down, only to get beaten down, chest hitting the sod. Over. And over. Each time they're slower and weaker getting up.

Holding their injuries and grimacing as they're surrounded by the enemy, gritting their teeth because they know where this is headed

Guy with his hands up high walking forward into the enemy's barracks, rifle poking into his shoulder blades from behind, hyperventilating, lowering his head as they get up with exclamations and surround him.

"it's a [degrading term for captive's side]!" "More than that. He's the Tank. You know, the guy we've been trying to get this whole time?" Jabs the gun into his back painfully.

On his knees, hands on his head as captors circle the "Tank", jeering and beating him with the butts of their rifles. He tucks in with a flinch, grimaces and raises his arms again. He knows he'll be shot if he does anything else.

New prisoner staggering, shoved into the holding cell to see faces lighting up in a mixture of despair and hope at seeing their hero in here with them

Leader whump. Dragged in front of the bars where the other prisoners can see, to be whipped with a belt. "This is what happens when you act like him."

A supposed "victor". Standing on the battlefield, chest heaving, watching the enemy retreat. And all they can see is the wailing heaps of their friends, dying, for what now seems like a distant, unecessary, unimportant victory, in the face of this.

Friends celebrating after a win, smiling over mugs of beer while they pretend they don't miss the three other friendly faces their group once had.

Here are some other war-related prompts I made too--not sure if this is helpful but hope so!

Hunters soldiers assassins

Book about POW leader whump

Beatings prompts

POW whumpees

Soldier/POW

Medieval war style whump

[secretwhumplair]

Whump prompt XXV

Whumpee gets water by the spoonful.

Perhaps they have to choose what they're willing to trade. One hit for every spoonful? One minute in a stress position? One hour without food, or sleep?

Or perhaps they haven't had anything to drink in a day or more. Now they're done up pretty, at a nicely laid table, the bowl of water and the little spoon in front of them, and they have to "eat" it with impeccable manners.

[secretwhumplair]

Destroyer (Vol.II) - Write Up

damn

(Content: PTSD, power imbalance, self hatred, attempted self harm, past abuse, conditioned whumpee, rocky recovery, implied child abuse, comfort, parental caretaker, crying, begging)

“I’m quitting.”

Levon held his head in his hands, elbows propped upon the cluttered desk. He’d been in that pose often, lately. Delta sat across from him, ramrod straight, unblinking.

“You’re quitting,” Levon repeated back at a deadpan.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re fired. You were getting fired anyway.”

“I figured as much.”

“Why?” It was as tired as Delta had ever heard him. “Why do you have to go against me on this, as if I ask something unreasonable? I gave you an opportunity to do as you pleased. You didn’t take it. You endangered yourself and everyone else instead. I gave you a warning. You did it again.”

“You should have beat me. It’s the only way to get anything through my fucking head.”

“Do you hear yourself, child?”

Delta shook his head lightly. He could hear himself fine, but the shame threatened to creep in again, and he had to do something to clear it. All his defenses now went towards warding it off. Blood rushed to his face from the effort. 

“Why are you quitting?” Levon asked. 

“There are things I want to do that I can’t let anyone else be responsible for. There are things I need to do that can’t be your problem anymore.”

“Well, you are my problem.” Levon’s eyes narrowed. A thin, sharp line marked the top of his gaze. “It’s a protective custody agreement. That was the deal you were given.”

Delta inhaled deeply through the nose as he lowered his gaze to the woven carpet. After a few quiet moments, he raised his arms up in front of him, both wrists offered freely. His eyes lifted again to meet Levon’s, and he knew not what he wanted.

Levon didn’t move. Even from a short distance, Delta could sense a dire impatience brewing within him. Each of them refused to be first to look away.

Levon’s nails tapped rhythmically against the wood of the table. 

“Down,” he said, softly. Delta dropped his wrists in dejection, slumping back in the seat.

Exhausted washed over him in waves, yet for nights on end now he could not sleep.

“What does it mean that I’m fired?” Delta mumbled. He didn’t mean to. He just found it difficult to speak right then. He had to force himself to go on. “…Means you won’t take responsibility for me anymore, right? That’s what we both want.”

A slight tremor ran through him, which then multiplied. As he moved to run his hand back through his hair, Delta found he could barely hold it steady.

“Am I under arrest?” he asked. “Would you come after me?”

These had been real questions in his mind in all the hours leading up to this. But as Delta spoke them aloud, he found they were now mostly rhetorical. There was a challenge in them that he hadn’t intended, and for that alone he should have been beaten black and blue. For the whole thing, he really should have been killed.

“Are you going to kill me?” Delta asked Levon. The same thought he’d had when they had first met, when he was already falling to his knees and begging forgiveness. The same impulse rose inside of him now. It took everything in him to fight it.

“I love you, Delta.”

“That wasn’t the question,” he spat back.

There was no excuse for the way he was speaking. There was no excuse. Delta was pure evil. He’d been born that way. It was the only way he knew how to repay kindness. That was why the means of control had been so rigid. It was he had to be kept in line. He destroyed everything he touched. Some people just had to find out the hard way.

Levon was looking at him so sadly. He made no move to do anything. He would not hurt him, Delta realized. Even now.

And it was ending.

Like clouds grown heavy with water, Delta brimmed over. The tears that had been threatening to spill all along had now built up past what he could contain. The grief was too big for words. Every loss of his life surged up at once. The shaking grew uncontrollable as he tried frantically to contain his own downpour. It wasn’t working. It wasn’t working at all.

“Baby, c’mere.” Levon extended one hand. 

For the first time in a while, Delta obeyed him. He fell fully into the embrace. It was comfort he didn’t deserve, and shouldn’t have accepted. But it was all he could do. He felt so weak, in body and in spirit. Everything was breaking apart.

The darkness was welcome. The fabric of Levon’s shirt smelled vaguely botanical. Like lavender, in a way that Delta was involuntarily calmed by. He couldn’t fully stifle his own sobs, but they were slowing. Levon’s hand smoothed back his hair, cradling his head. He might’ve been shushing him. Delta couldn’t really hear over the sound of his own blood in his ears.

It took a while for things to become coherent again. Delta didn’t want to let go, and didn’t.

“You don’t have to go,” Levon said lightly. God, he’d changed his mind already. A few tears was all it took. He really was such a pushover. “We can talk about it. I’m not kicking you out.”

Delta took an unsteady breath, shaking his head for No. He did have to go. It was ending, now.

Levon must have known this too, because he didn’t argue.

~

Packing was absolute torture. It felt funny to use that turn of phrase in light of all he’d experienced, but it hardly felt like an exaggeration. His synapses lit up with real pain as he went through each item.

Most everything he had, he’d been given. When all was said and done, Galatea had taken tremendously good care of him. And how did he repay it? 

By scaring them and by hurting them, all the time.

Kitty had cried when she heard the news. He hadn’t expected that. Delta had hardly ever seen it before. For years, she had been unshakable. He guessed he had never quite believed when she told him how scared she had been in the beginning. The fear she’d felt when he went days without reply. Back when he was still a weapon, and she was still a mystery on the other side of the screen. He knew she cared about him. He hadn’t realized it was to the point of being painful. Maybe he should have. His own love felt swollen, sometimes.

“I won’t be far,” he promised. All he had. “It won’t be forever, Kitty. I’ll write every day.”

It’ll be like before.

It was easier with Apollo, at least. Apollo was a warm body, and he was needed in real places. Delta rarely saw him in person nowadays anyway. Still, he made time for this. He hadn’t cried when he’d been told. But he hadn’t been happy, either.

“With her?” He’d raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the half-emptied armoire.

“You don’t like Kali?” Delta asked, voice deadened. Because if he didn’t, he didn’t want to hear it.

“I like Kali just fine, but she’s not someone I would call in a crisis.”

“I’m not in crisis,” Delta lied.

Apollo shrugged. “My house is always open to you, if you change your mind. If you need anything.”

Kitty said: “I can come with you.“

“Need the space,” Delta said. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I need to leave.”

~

Do you even remember what you did to me? Delta asked Paris, but only in his head.

Delta remembered. He’d made valiant efforts to forget. He’d had success with that. Galatea had worked him like a dog, kept him so busy that he hardly had time to think. Delta liked it that way. It felt nice to be useful. Why did that feel nice? Why was it all he dared to want?

In his earliest memories, there was the bright and cold fluorescence of a laboratory. Soon after, the electric shocks. Inflicted or accidental? It hardly mattered now. He’d been seizing, either way.

He got punished for waking in terror. He got punished for crying. He got punished for speaking. He killed without thinking while his soul rotted inside of him.

In the present, Delta recoiled from a hit that didn’t come. He apologized to the empty air. He was venomous and ungrateful. He was an object. Had he forgotten so easily? No. He swore, he remembered what it was like.

Midnight again, and the final night. Delta padded out silent into the hallway, down the stairs. The light was still on behind the only door he cared about. He knew it would be. He knocked, just to be polite. When he was let in, he knelt down beside her, head bowed low to the ground in submission.

“I’m sorry,” Delta breathed. “I’m not grateful enough. I never am. I’m sorry.”

He could barely speak, but he needed to. He had to.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I don’t say it enough. Thank you for being kind to me. Thank you for not hurting me. Thank you for treating me like a person. I’m sorry for ever taking it for granted. I love you.”

Kitty made a soft sound of distress at the back of her throat, which eventually turned into the soft drawl of his name. 

“Deltaaaaaaa.” The tone was almost complaining, almost a reprimand. But it was so choked with affection that he could read nothing else into it. 

Kitty slid onto the ground beside him, ruining the effect he was going for, the gratitude he meant to convey. She pulled him into a hug, and he melted into it, whatever composure he had evaporated. Like mist. Like water.

“Don’t say thank you for that,” she muttered. “It should have always been that way.”

“But it wasn’t,” he cried. Didn’t she get that? Didn’t she know what it meant to him?

Kitty purred, cuddling closer against him.

“You’re good,” Mumbled still, sleepy. “You’re good. You’re grateful enough. You’re good enough. You don’t have to earn it. It’s yours.”

“Love you,” he repeated.

“I love you too.” 

She kept the vigil, always.

~

Delta was on his knees in the shower. It wasn’t really out of submission this time, internalized or externalized. It was plain exhaustion. In mind and in body and in spirit. There was no part of him that had not been abused. He’d had quite the hand in it himself. He’d made things painful. 

Delta tried to imagine what might happen if he’d caused the same commotion back in Empire. Realistically, he’d never get that far. They were always so good about nipping that behavior in the bud. But if he’d managed anyway, he’d have likely gotten his tongue cut out for the tone he’d taken. He’d have gotten the chain attached back to the wall, and his hands cuffed behind his back until they’d decided he’d earned them again, however long that might be. Bed taken away. Back whipped to shreds, probably.

Another wave of exhaustion hit him, and he swooned a little beneath the spray of water. He had to stop fucking thinking about it.

Kali was waiting for him on the roof. 

Delta was dressed in soft clothing, uncoordinated, the kind people wore. He did what he could to disrupt any sense of ceremony. But that was an uphill battle.

“Delta,” Levon said with grave seriousness, just before he was getting ready to leave. “If you get into danger, call me. You have my cell.”

He was still fired. He was, in a sense, banished. But it was a formality. None of the love was gone. Nothing had been severed. It didn’t work like that, he was almost sure of that now. Love was not something you could easily revoke. There had to be more to life than reward and punishment. 

“Thank you,” Delta said to him, but he meant to say it to all of them. Anyone who had ever helped. A blush overtook him again, and it was hard to express just how much he meant it. The gratitude was as overpowering as the guilt had been. Humbling. It still hurt enough to kill.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @sacredwrath

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump @fuckclimatechange

@jumpywhumpywriter @sir-fenris @the-monarch-whumperfly @doumidas-whumps @toyybox @c0zy-drag0n @half-duck @secretwhumplair @boyleftoutintherain @inhurtandincomfort @whumpawaydarling

[secretwhumplair]

let’s talk abt multiple whumpers:

—the whumpee being held down by them while one forces them into restraints/a muzzle

—being taunted by not one but several ppl during torture. having their head yanked back by their hair, or being slapped and mocked, especially if they’re crying or screaming

—each whumper having different torture methods and whumpee having one that they despise most vs. one they find to be the best out of all of them

—good cop bad cop

—the whumpee being restrained by multiple whumpers while one tortures them

—whumpee being treated as an attraction/entertainment at a party or some kind of event that’s full of whumpers. being beaten and taunted and treated like an animal in a cage, especially if they’re drugged so they can’t fight back

just. multiple whumpers.