“It’s definitely not out of the question,” Whumper purred, stroking his knife. “But I don’t think we’ll even need to go that far. It’s just… you have a naturally loud voice. It carries. And I’m not even speaking about volume. What you say carries. It inspires. It carries a message. It carries far, to all the other cells we have here. And right now, I want you to broadcast the message of defeat.”
He crouched down in front of him, pricked the knife straight up into the underside of the man’s chin. But Leader didn’t look up, even when drops of blood flowed down his throat, the stream slowly splitting over his Adam’s apple.
“Look at me,” Whumper growled. “Before I pin your tongue to the roof of your mouth.”
Leader closed his eyes for a second, in patience, resignation, Whumper wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, by the way something moved under his eyelids, was that Leader rolled his eyes at him. But before he could say anything about it, those eyes snapped open and instantly found his. Whumper looked him straight in the eye. There was nothing there; no fear of what was about to come, nothing that remotely resembled anything close to defeat. He didn’t even wince when Whumper slowly turned the tip of the knife.
“I think you’ve got the wrong man for that,” Leader merely said, leaving it up to Whumper whether he meant he couldn’t—or wouldn’t.
Whumper took a long, sharp inhale through his nose and didn’t immediately exhale. Then he pried his knife free.
“Very well,” he said in a lethal tone. He stood, let the knife drop from his hand, resisting the urge to flick it away and reveal his frustration. “There was never much choice in this matter. But have it your way.”
Without another word, he busied himself with Leader’s bonds, clipping something to his handcuffs before freeing them from the bolt to the floor. He walked across the cell, hoisted a chain, and pulled Leader to his feet.
Leader went along, knowing he couldn’t break free from the iron pulling him up, not wasting his energy. When he was stretched out, hands tied above his head, Whumper stopped.
And he picked up the whip.
The first lash forced out a sharp hiss of pain. It slashed through Leader’s white undershirt and red immediately soaked through.
A steady rhythm of lashes, leather against skin, snapped through the air. It alerted the troops to what was happening, without a doubt. But Leader kept his pain bottled safe within.
The barrage kept going. Skin split open violently, the leather carving deeper with each hit. Blood stuck his shirt to his skin, sweat soaked the shirt until it turned to a see-through flimsy barrier across his back. Leader took every hit almost patiently. But he knew very well he couldn’t keep from screaming for long.
Grunts turned to small cries when the pain became too much. He was on the brink of losing control over his voice. And finally that voice boomed free. But not in the way Whumper wanted.
“Men!” Leader roared, letting the pent up pain explode in the single word. His voice didn’t even crack. It echoed against the walls of the cell. Carried the length of the dreary corridor. And could clearly be heard by both foe and friend. “What is defeat?!”
Whumper, his arm drawn back for another hit, stopped in his tracks in surprise.
Almost immediately, a raucous roar came in reply from outside.
“Temporary!” The men shouted back as one. A loud cacophony of shouts and cheers rose up. They rattled against the bars of their cells with whatever they could find, shook the doors in their hinges.
Whumper lashed him again with all his might in frustration. But the noise drowned out Leader’s following, genuine scream.
“This. Is. Not. Temporary!” Whumper shouted, each word emphasized by another lash.
Mere angry welts weeping blood turned to vicious open wounds as Whumper kept going harder. Leader’s shirt was nothing but shreds by now. Muscles trembled underneath, in pain, in exertion trying to keep himself up. But even despite all that—
He let out a chuckle.
In a rage, Whumper flew forward. He threw his whip down, circled around Leader, and grabbed his chin, roughly yanking his head up.
“What is so funny?” he hissed.
“You didn’t let me finish… earlier,” Leader panted through a wicked grin. “I was going to say… If you think me screaming… will break their spirit…” A small scoff broke through. “You’re mistaken.”
The uproar outside kept surging, expanding, escalating now that Whumper’s men tried to calm it down. Shouts of “Shut up!” were unheard. Even a warning gunshot only led to boisterous cheers.
“All you did…” Leader continued. “Is make them more angry.”
Every time I see this I go “oh, neat pony” and scroll past while my brain chugs through the caption like the slowest computer on earth and I have to scroll back up to it
was reading drive and GOD dennis is that one friend everyone needs.
i love that dennis is so compassionate and silent in his own way when it comes to jay talking out his own unprocessed trauma
i really wanna see more of such instances, just a 'lore drop' for dennis and how it works between them, pls give us more when u have the time 🙏
now im thinking, jay repeated twice that 'it was horrible', how did he look to dennis at that point of time? like im picturing jay just pretty distant, maybe even half dissociating through it
sometimes my heart really breaks for jay ngl, super strong mentally
Jay is pretty distant when he tells these things, yeah. He doesn't make eye contact, he just looked down at his coffe, drawn into his memories of the event. Have some more lore drop :))
-
"What's this?"
Dennis waved a hand in front of Jay's abdomen, pointing at something as they both spread out their laptops in the small conference room.
Jay glanced down, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, looking for a stain or— His heart skipped a beat.
Two little pinpricks blinked in his shirt, the white of his undershirt underneath stark against the dark blue, like two stars in the night sky.
Oh shit. Shit! He'd just tossed that shirt onto his laundry pile after Zayne had jabbed those holes into it, jabbed burns onto his body. His skin tingled underneath, still red and sensitive and, luckily, hidden. With the aftermath of the cattle prod incident, he'd completely forgot about the barely noticeable pricks.
"Nothing," he bleated out, too fast, effectively betraying himself with the single word. Why couldn't he just play it cool with a 'huh...' and leave it at that?!
Dennis glanced up, his hands planted on the table leaning over his laptop, waiting for it to boot. He looked again at the two tiny holes in Jay's shirt, and Jay could see him put two and two together. Suspicion clear to see on his face, he looked Jay in the eyes a beat longer than was comfortable. But then his gaze dropped, his attention back on his laptop and he just said, "Okay". He pulled out a chair, sat down, and didn't say any more.
Jay hesitated. He could interpret this as Dennis realising he had unintentionally breached a topic he hadn't meant to, now wanting to back out, unwilling to pry. But Dennis, unlike Jay, didn't seem uncomfortable and the silence between them was tense. Which Jay, of course, fully interpreted as a silent way to call him out on his lying bullshit... He sighed and pulled up a chair as well.
"Zayne sometimes had his experimental moods," he said, casually, typing in his password on his own laptop.
He waited for some sort of 'I literally didn't ask, man', but that break didn't come.
Dennis glanced at the pinpricks again. "Like with the noose?"
"Like wi— yeah."
"I'm guessing it didn't involve acupuncture?"
Jay gave a wry smile, not really sure if he wanted Zayne to pick up acupuncture... "Actually these are burn holes."
Dennis’ brow furrowed in confusion.
“From…” Jay stopped again, wondering which explanation would flare up Dennis the least; taser or electric shock. He didn’t even consider the words ‘cattle prod’. “They’re from a taser…” he settled on, eyes on his laptop.
He heard Dennis take a deep, sharp inhale. A curse under his breath. Then a longer, calmer exhale.
“I’m sorry.”
Jay looked up, flustered, finding Dennis’ eyes already on him. “Don’t—”
“I’m sorry you had to… experience that.”
The soft words completely caught him off guard. He swallowed hard and looked away again, feeling tears prickle behind his eyes.
“Yeah… me too.” He wanted to reassure his friend, words like ‘it wasn’t that bad’ immediately bubbling up in his brain. But memories of the event, of both electrical events, forced its way up as well, reminding him cruelly of the truth: it was bad. “I thought I could handle it… just a ‘bam, you’re out’. Y’know, like in the movies. But that didn’t happen… it just burned.”
He mixed the two electric events together. The taser had felt wildly different from the prod, more paralysing, while the cattle prod were 'just' quick little zaps. While he felt more calm sharing these things now that Den already had a basic understanding of what happened to him, he didn't want to go into too much detail.
Unlike Jay, Dennis didn’t hide behind his laptop; he listened, to more than just Jay’s stuttered words, he paid attention. And while it was… uncomfortable, to constantly feel his gaze – not yet meet his gaze – Jay also felt grateful having him so attentive. Having him care. Too deeply, really… It was a double-edged blade. For both of them. Telling this stuff hurt. Hearing this stuff hurt. Both unable to protect the other like they wanted. But hiding it… eventually just made things worse.
Dennis nodded, leaving a silence for Jay in case he wanted to tell more. He didn’t of course. Then he pulled up the protected files they had on Emery and Zayne and said: “Let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Jay smiled, having no clue what was going to be waiting for him that evening. “Yeah… let’s.”
ever since i was a little girl i knew i wanted to be bleeding out in the back of a helicopter while a medic with kind eyes and his full weight on my gunshot wound screams over the engine noise that I'm going to be okay
content: immortal whumpee, medical whump, major character death, asphyxiation whump, frostbite whump, gore
It was so lonely. It had been for quite a while.
Whumpee used to be a social person, despite the… challenges they’d faced due to their… particular quirk. It wasn’t a simple bad habit they could’ve eliminated. See, it was a thing that was inherent to them. They were… immortal.
At first, they didn’t know. When they stopped aging, it wasn’t that noticeable. It was only when their friend group was beginning to step into their forties that it became painfully obvious that they were the same twenty year old from decades ago. They bounced when the discrepancy was starting to raise alarms.
Their next friend group, they tried to fit in again. They knew they would have to leave them eventually, but it was so nice while it lasted. They wanted to make it count. On the side, they were experimenting with their own immortality like one does with any attribute they have. They tried to see how far they could push it without permanent consequences.
The real test came around the time communication underwent a revolution. It was their fifth friend group, and the secret was found out by one of them. They immediately posted about it on their socials, and Whumpee soon realised that bouncing around the same area only brought more attention to them. They had to leave countries, cross borders. Anything to get away.
They learned new languages. Integrated into new cultures. Their fame always caught up with them.
Soon, it wasn’t them pushing their own boundaries anymore. They’d never forget the day the police kicked down the door of their motel room and brought them in for questioning. Before long, they were smuggled off into a government facility. Their new ‘friend group’ were a bunch of scientist in pristine, white lab coats, running tests on them and seeing where the limits of this ‘immortality’ were.
What they found out was that there were no limits. Whumpee was indestructible. They always survived, they always came back, and they always regenerated.
The lab was where they met Caretaker. Thinking of them still made them teary-eyed, despite the fact they could barely remember anything about them. Not their face, not their voice; only the memories and emotions. Caretaker was an idealist, a new scientist introduced to the lab. They were the only one that saw them as somewhat human. A person, even. They were the one who helped them escape.
The following years were not peaceful, but they were the best Whumpee had ever had, not counting the years of blissful ignorance before their curse kicked in. Caretaker was gentle with them, washing them of dirt and grime after they’d made their escape. They really wished they could remember their face. They really wished they had some sort of tangible memory. But everything had been destroyed.
Caretaker brought them ice cream and boba tea. They crocheted them a blanket to keep them warm, and they bought shirts with silly custom words on the front. Whumpee could never leave their cellar for fear of being discovered, nor could they talk in anything but hushed tones, but it was nice. It was intimate. Cosy.
Then Caretaker grew old and frail. Their visits went from daily to every two days, then three, then weekly. They could barely traverse the steep steps that led down into the cellar, and towards the end, Whumpee offered to walk upstairs instead.
“They’ll catch you if you make the faintest noise,” Caretaker would say then. “You must stay down here, for your own good. You understand that, right? I’m not saying this to be antagonistic.”
“But you can barely walk, and I’m so lonely down here,” they would plead more than once. “You need to be taken care of, too. I could do that. I could take care of you.”
“No, Whumpee. I’m sorry. I just want to protect you, you know that. Let me.”
So Whumpee stayed in the cellar. The visits grew even rarer. Some days, Whumpee wondered if Caretaker even remembered that they were down there.
One day, the visits stopped entirely.
It took the stench of rotting flesh to reach the cellar for Whumpee to muster up the courage to go upstairs. They found nothing but a decomposing corpse in Caretaker’s bed. It was the first time they ever stuck around long enough to see what awaited mortal humans at the end of their lifespan, and as jarring as it had been at the time, now they couldn’t remember that either. They’d called the hearse and left, trying to evade the government on their own.
Years passed. Decades passed. Centuries. Millenia. Whumpee saw humanity rise and fall. They couldn’t exactly pinpoint the time the last human died, but when they hadn’t seen one in decades, they kind of assumed they were all gone. The brightly shining sun exploded and turned into a red giant before collapsing in on itself and becoming a white dwarf. It had been cold ever since. Cold and dark.
Whumpee curled up a little tighter, trying to stop the chattering of their teeth. They hadn’t breathed oxygen in billions of years. Their body was used to a constant state of asphyxiation now.
Would there ever be a new civilization? Something akin to humans? And if there would, would they treat them all the same? Or even worse? Or would there be a new Caretaker?
They were kind of glad there was little to no light. What they could see of their body had turned pitch black from constant frostbite. Some days their fingers fell off, some days a whole leg got detached. They didn’t want to see any of that happen.
So they went back to waiting. Waiting for another billion years for someone, anyone to spot them in a dark corner of the universe; waiting for another crocheted blanket and some boba tea.
wrote this little companion piece / sequel, which will be featured alongside zi's piece in Cosmic Consequences!
-
A far-away galaxy with a warm little white dwarf and a good few gas giants orbiting it. Meloeep almost couldn’t believe it when she finally saw it, ages of solitary travel finally paying off. She still had to check the planets for viability, but they seemed like they could be rich in hydrogen sulfide or ammonia or maybe even both. They would feed quite a large population for generations upon generations.
She got out her map, pinning it to her ship’s dashboard as she started hastily sketching a rough concept of the system, something to excite the people back home as the ship started to distantly orbit its central star.
It was pure luck that Meloeep managed to see it as she ducked her head up for a better view, especially given how much everything glowed around the first star she’d been up close with in so very long. If it hadn’t drifted so close to the ship, she surely wouldn’t have seen it at all.
There was something floating out there, no bigger than herself, with a little speck of heat coming off it. And she had no idea what it was.
She put the map away, drawing closer to the unknown thing, trying to get a good look. It was hard, the star messing with her thermal reading, but it was clear this wasn’t some stellar debris.
This was something alive. Floating out there in the reaches of space.
Alarm bells went off in her head. She knew life out here had to look different, but the idea of something surviving out here was unthinkable. Something was really, truly wrong.
Dread crept through her as she suited up, making sure her tether was secure as she floated out the airlock.
Up-close, it was even clearer. She could make out appendages. Whatever this creature was, it didn’t move, though its core still held that faint heat signature.
Nothing else did, its appendages completely devoid of warmth. Meloeep shivered in sympathy at the thought. Against her better judgment, she grabbed it right then and there, taking it back to the ship. No disease could survive out here, surely.
Though she set the creature down gently, it clinked against the ship floor, hard as a rock, frozen solid. That had to be the first priority. She couldn’t be sure if it even needed food or water or air, and if it did, it would be a long shot to assume it ate hydro-sulf or ammonia or breathed oxygen. But the damage from the cold was plain to see. That, she could fix.
Meloeep twisted her helmet off. “It’s alright,” she soothed, though obviously the strange alien couldn’t understand her. Who knew if it was even capable of hearing, even unfrozen? She tried anyway. “I’m going to take care of you. Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine, poor thing.”
In reach of the star now, thankfully, she no longer had to conserve energy. She took her heated blanket and draped it over the creature, wrapping it around until the whole thing was bundled up. Maybe if she waited, it would hatch like an incubated egg, able to move or cry out. Something.
“Does that feel nice?” She pet it through the blanket–might as well bask in the warmth too, not let any of it go to waste. “You’re safe now. How did you get out there, floating through empty space all alone? My little egg. I know you’ve got some potential in there.”
There was some sort of rhythm coming from its core. It had been faint and slow at first, but was picking up a bit in both speed and volume. If Meloeep pressed against its membrane, she could even feel it a bit, going ba-dump, ba-dump. Maybe that was how this creature communicated.
She tapped it back, softly, not sure what would hurt it, especially in such a damaged state. Tap-tap, tap-tap, mirroring its rhythm. “There you go, already getting better. Not many could survive what you have. I wonder what else you can do.”
The membrane beneath Meloeep’s hand expanded as her friend drew in her first gasp in eons.
“If I had time travel I’d kill Hitler” “If I had time travel I’d stop my favourite politician getting assassinated” you’re all thinking way too small. If I had time travel I’d stop Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin from dying on the moon due to Soviet sabotage, kicking off the Great Nuclear War and devastating half of the planet.
This is such a classic trainwreck post that has the vibes of a 2014 screenshot posted to Pinterest and then the last addition is just last Tuesday I can’t even
i think the hottest look you can give someone after they commit acts of unspeakable violence is approval. like don't get me wrong if there's lust there too that's great, but staring at someone with gore dripping down their chin and coating their hands to the wrists with undisguised appraisal and admiration. maybe giving them a little nod as if to say 'well done'. THAT'S what says "yeah we're gonna fuck nasty later".
"It's okay," the handler says. "You can come closer."
They've strapped the monster down, under lock and key. Muzzled and trapped, it can barely move a single claw. All day, guests come into the cellar and the handler shows them there's nothing to be afraid of, tells them where to put their curious hands.
The handler has gotten so complacent, so sure of their buckles and knots, that they don't even notice that the monster isn't growling as much today. They don't ascribe meaning to the slow, seething taps of the monster's tail against the concrete floor. They don't recognize the focus of its gaze as it follows them toward the door as they lock up for the night.
When was the last time they checked their precious buckles and knots? Didn't they recognize patience and calculation when they saw it?
They don't understand how badly they've fucked up until they turn back toward their captive just in time to see the last strand of leather on the muzzle snap.
When you're unable to solve an IT problem at work, there really is nothing quite like having it escalated all the way up the ladder. With every step, there is a degree of smugness about how real my problem is, and that yes, I was right to have trouble with this.
You can get a minor version of this if one IT person solves it but they spend a bunch of time repeating things you’ve already tried and when they eventually solve it it’s by doing something you wanted to try but didn’t have the requisite permissions to do
Was in a situation where neither I, nor my boss knew what was causing the problem, so we ended up calling one of the head engineers, and ive never experienced anything quite as validating as the moment where said head engineer, after spending several minutes just staring at the problem, quietly said "what the fuck"
It took me a solid thirty seconds to realize that Phragmites was probably the genus name of the plants in the picture and not, like, an ancient Greek warrior waiting in the marshes to attack.
