Gut Punch Reading This. Familiar

Gut punch reading this. Familiar

Whumpees who don’t get a Caretaker, who have to keep themselves together because no one else will.

Whumpees who become Caretakers, who are everyone’s friend but no one’s priority.

Whumpees who consider returning to Whumper, who crave familiarity enough to sacrifice safety.

Whumpees who are painfully aware no one would notice if they went missing.

Whumpees who lay awake, wondering whether surviving was worth it.

Lonely Whumpees.

FUCK, this would be my NIGHTMARE scenario. Jesus

CW: Intimate whumper, failed rescue, asking for death, gun, death threats, hostage situation

"Let them go." Caretaker snarled, aiming the gun.

"Ah, ah, ah." Whumper drew Whumpee close, using them as a human shield. "Don't shoot or you might just hit my little friend here."

Whumpee squirmed feebly in Whumper's hold. A quiet whimper escaped their lips.

Whumper snaked an arm around around Whumpee's waist, resting a hand on their stomach as the other hand curled around their throat. "They're mine now, so why don't you just back off a little, hm?"

Caretaker kept their aim steady. "You know we're ramping up the rescue efforts. You can't hold onto them forever. Why not just let them go now and we can talk about cutting you a deal?"

"No can do, officer. You see, I know that I'm not the most important target here. You may want me arrested, but you want them alive more. I think I can keep you guys off my back for at least another year. Maybe more."

Whumpee let out a weak sob, locking eyes with Caretaker. "Please... please just end it here— please, I'd rather die than— mmph!"

Whumper closed their hand over Whumpee's mouth, shutting them up. "Oh my dear, they're a police officer. They aren't allowed to put you out of your misery."

"Come on, Whumper, let's think about this rationally. You let them go today, we can make arguments about your cooperation and maybe get you a plea deal. If you keep them any longer people are going to start gunning for the death penalty once your caught."

"That's fine by me." Whumper shrugged. "I'll be a murderer by then, too, so I guess I'll kind of deserve it."

Caretaker's face paled a shade. "So you mean to say you'd rather kill them and die than let them go and have a chance at freedom in the future?"

"For me, a world where I no longer have Whumpee is not a world I want to live in." Whumper pulled a gun, pointing it at Caretaker.

Whumpee, who was still restrained with an arm around their waist, was trying to wriggle out of Whumper's hold, making it hard for them to hold the gun steady.

"Keep still or I'll put another bullet in your shoulder." Whumper hissed, causing Whumpee to still almost instantly. "There we go, that's much better, darling." They turned their attention back to Caretaker. "As for you, unless you have some hidden ace up your sleeve, you're going to have your team back off and let me leave for now."

Whumpee shook their head violently. "No— please no— don't let them take me— please, please just kill me!"

Caretaker hesitated. "Whumpee, you have to stay strong, okay? We're going to get you out, it's just going to take a little more time."

Whumper turned the gun to Whumpee's head. "If anyone tries to stop us, I'll kill them." Them, turning their attention briefly to Whumpee, "You know what I'll do to you if you don't cooperate."

Tears streaming down their face, Whumpee nodded.

Caretaker let out a frustrated sigh and pulled their walkie-talkie. "All units stand down. I repeat, all units stand down. Target is holding the hostage at gunpoint, over."

Whumper grinned, backing Whumpee away, slowly.

Thinking about whumpees who are normally defiant.

Who spit at and throw insults at whumper.

Who occasionally slip their restraints and make a break for it, only to be caught and thrown back into a cell.

Who fight and kick, sometimes managing a blow at whumper.

Who bare their teeth in disgust every time whumper is near.

But then they’re given a drug, or sleep deprived, or made to be disoriented in some other way.

They blink up at whumper, a spark of recognition followed by as much of a glare as they can put on.

They weakly push away, barely able to lift their arms.

Just- tired and disoriented expressions, laced with defiance.

All the anger and frustration in the world, and they can’t stand up, can barely get to their knees.

Aww. Now do this with whumper. Better yet, take your most hated whumper, put two pieces of bread on either side of their head, and put them into a vice until they can't think enough to reply that they're an idiot sandwich

Caretaker, putting two pieces of bread on both sides of Whumpee's head: What are you?!

Whumpee, resigned: An idiot sandwich...

Caretaker, sighing: Try again.

Whumpee: A sandwich who deserved better, a sandwich who deserved to be loved and cared for, a sandwich who is a human being and not a killing machine.

Caretaker, smiling: Much better.

I want whumper to start bragging to caretaker about what they put whumpee through. I want them to tell the tales with a smile on their face and watch grinning as caretaker's expression changes more with each one.

But see, I don't want caretaker to become disgusted, or call whumper a sadistic monster, or start thinking "poor whumpee" just yet. I want caretaker to look up slowly, and make unbreakable eye contact with whumper as they half whisper, "I'm going to fucking kill you."

And whumper shivers.

Damn

"It didn’t have to be this way."

Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch @juneofdoom Day 2

cw: violence, beating, living weapon whumpee, implied captivity, see above

“You dumb, stupid girl,” Handler said, razor-sharp with disdain. This one always had a nasty look on his face, and he wasn’t particularly fond of her. Probably because mouthing off to him and his dumb lackeys had become muscle memory by now. “You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?”

She crossed her arms. It didn’t matter how many people were watching her— Handler and another handler, some of their lackeys and some of their minutemen, and Asset. The bodyguard that had been assigned to her. They always had this whole entourage with them, and these days she preferred it when it was just her and Asset. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? Beat me, drug me, do whatever the fuck else you do to control the rest of them?” She laughed in his face. ”Try me. I know it’s all empty threats.”

Asset gave her a hardened look. One of warning. It was hard to think about how he was included in them— how he already had years and years of being beaten, drugged, so conditioned into place. Into being one of their best.

She probably shouldn’t have ignored that look.

“I don’t need to make empty threats,” Handler assured her, so dry and unconcerned that it made her want to turn into a spitfire, spewing flame and vitriol, a maelstrom too violent to contain even with all these fucking men around. “That’s what you don’t understand. Control is an easy thing.” He pulled out one of those fucking batons, so sleek and easy to extend. It slipped right into place. “Asset.”

She steeled her shoulders as Asset stepped forward. Her heart pounded and pounded anyways, a betrayal to her big stupid ego and all the false confidence that got her into this. What was Handler going to do, really? Force her own bodyguard to beat the shit out of her? Yeah, right.

“I don't need to touch you to make you suffer,” Handler continued. “You’ve already made it too easy for me.”

Asset gave a preemptive grimace. He saw it coming way before she did.

The baton cracked off of Asset’s face in one violent swing. Handler struck again and Asset stumbled back, shielding an arm across his head, but it didn’t matter. The baton struck him across the ribs next, and then his back, and then his face again. Again, and again.

She cried out. “No! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Asset desperately tried to stay on his feet, but then it was an onslaught. Three, four more batons extended, and suddenly all those damn minutemen were going at it. Strike after strike, each one more merciless than the next, metal cracking against muscle and bone until there were welts and blood.

It didn’t matter if Asset fought back, briefly, overwhelmed by violent instinct and blocking with a forearm, grappling a baton, swinging— only for one hard hit to land right up between his shoulders and send him crashing to the ground.

“Stop!” She screamed. It didn’t matter if she rushed forward, blind with desperation, caught in arms too strong even as she fought and kicked. “Get off him! This has nothing to do with him!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Handler agreed, standing back as his entourage took over the beating. “This is about you. This is your punishment. A reminder about actions and consequences.”

Asset grunted and cursed, trying in vain to shield himself curled up on the ground until a hard kick to the ribs had him sprawling onto his back. The batons landed again and again. At some point he stopped even defending himself, going slack all at once.

She kicked and flailed and screamed again. “Asset!”

“You’re just as simple as the rest. Forming attachments that make you weak,” Handler said, and he sounded so damn pleased. This was certainly playing out nicely for him. “Even worse for you to form attachments with things that don’t even belong to you.”

One of the men grabbed Asset by the collar and jostled him hard. Like he needed to wake up before the beating could continue. Asset’s eyes fluttered, dazed and already so swollen, a hand weakly grasping at the man’s as he sputtered out blood and saliva and a breathy broken, ”Fff-f’cker…”

The man yanked him right into his fist. Droplets of blood scattered once, then twice. He had to stop to shake Asset around again, and a horrible sound left him as he came to— like a groan and a whimper all twisted up in one broken jagged breath, like the next one would be too hard to come. His gaze wasn’t even tracking anymore, hazy and half-lidded, hands fumbling and slipping aside.

Another strike. And another.

“Stop,” she begged, everything blurred between tears. ”Asset.”

They had forced her onto her knees now, forced her to sit there and watch. Like some waking nightmare. Handler leaned in close and spoke gently. “It didn’t have to be this way, but I want you to remember this moment. This is what control feels like.”

Asset couldn’t even be roused. The man gave him a good shake and he just lolled, all deadweight, his head hanging back. The man let go and he hit the tile in one ugly heap. Blood smeared all over his face, blood slipping from his lips. So limp and lifeless.

“Powerlessness, cruel and swift. Doesn’t it seem effective?”

She sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.