Hi I’m Finch, I was formerly using a different account but after a long hiatus figured it was time for a fresh start due to feeling stressed and overwhelmed and not posting for a while.
I tend to write whump prompts, although want to start creating my own stories more regularly
I’ll be trying to post more regularly but due to my mental health issues I may not be posting that often, also obligatory English isn’t my first language so if y’all see any mistakes in my writing feel free to correct me and I’ll try to improve in the future.
Feel free to send me prompts, asks and comments, I’ll gladly respond to whatever
(This blog will likely NSFW elements, please read the tags.)
Im 19 and use any pronouns, I read a variety of whump but my current fave is bbu or hurt/comfort stuff. (Sorry I struggle at writing intros)
Links to master lists will be listed below but that’s it for now.
Okay hi guys I’m back after a hiatus due to spending some time in a psych ward, I’ll be posting some prompts but I’m trying to figure out a writing schedule. Posts should be more consistent over the next few weeks albeit a bit shorter
Whumper gives them the same mundane options each day but each option just leads to pain.
Say in the morning Whumpee is given the choice between cereal and starving, but if Whumpee choices cereal they have to ‘earn’ it through pain.
Each option just giving Whumpee the illusion of autonomy when in reality Whumper is just playing games with them.
Maybe after Whumpee is rescued they struggle to make decisions and end up overly reliant on Caretaker, because they don’t understand that their choices shouldn’t lead to more pain.
i'm writing a really whumpy concept about a whumpee who has been in captivity since early youth.
even though he's grown, he still has the mind and soul of a little boy because he was never taught how to grow up, and in fact, his youthful energy was encouraged.
but he knows so much pain, more pain and suffering than any child or adult ought to know.
but the most devastating part about this whumpee is that he has no idea what it means to be a person without suffering. caretaker tells him to please...just be a kid. just act normal. don't scurry to do the chores immediately, don't act like a machine, don't try everything possible to please or pleasure caretaker. just exist.
but whumpee does not know how. he remembers the games he watched kids play through his window outside, while he was all alone and nursing wounds.
he tries his best to recreate them. but there are chunks missing.
he plays hopscotch, but all he does is hop on the ground, not knowing that one must draw squares and numbers on the ground to play hopscotch properly.
he plays ring around the rosy, but he's all by himself. so he does not even make a circle. he just skips around and chants the song.
and caretaker is watching this, and trying to convince whumpee that he's doing a great job, that he's doing good, so that whumpee will not be so afraid of failing his mission of being "normal".
but it's just so heartbreaking to watch a boy who doesn't understand childhood, and has only ever seen it from afar.
Ugh I love how the Streetkid Chris AU shows his parallels and differences to Kauri so well.
I wonder if Jake may be expecting Chris to be a little more like Kauri, and how that preconception alongside Chris being a little older and having his pill dependency vs seeing the "statue boy" in the rain will change things. Jake is very nonjudgmental so I think he'd quickly adjust to taking him how he comes, but this is a much more guarded Chris than he's used to. Plus Antoni is clearly worried about him being in the home.
Also, from Anon: please forgive me for storming into your asks so soon after you've posted already. but i am sobbing please write a continuation for streetkid chris (if you want to)
Streetkid Chris AU: One | Two | Three | Four
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CW: Brief references to dubcon, heavily internalized ableism, conditioned fear response, panic attack, meltdown with stimming that causes injury, head banging
The pills kick back in about halfway through Baldur fumbling through helping Kauri to create a bed from a pullout couch. He's had some water and a handful of crackers, in the kitchen. Kauri had pulled him into the living room and moved around the space like it was his own, pulling sheets out of a closet door Baldur hadn't even noticed yet, along with pillows that he dropped unceremoniously onto the floor before he told Baldur how to take off the couch cushions and then pull the folded-up mattress on its metal frame out. Like watching paper, he thought, that you've made snowflakes out of when you open it up.
The twinge of pain he feels when the thought comes to him makes him wince. He keeps smelling something in the oven that makes his mouth water for a familiar taste he can't remember. It's locked tight back behind the white lights in his mind, and Baldur tells his thoughts to swerve away as fast as they can, to make the pain stop threatening to take over.
He's lucky.
The pills are working.
His mind is moving slow, but it's listening to him at least. It's like syrup pouring out of a bottle onto a stack of pancakes, so slow your hand is shaking with impatience, waiting for the promised sweetness that doesn't come. He feels clouded over, wading through fog, but it's a comfortable way to be. It's being good, to be like this.
Like mornings spent lying in Sir's bed, staring upwards at the ceiling or maybe beyond it, without thinking anything at all.
It's easier, this way.
Safer.
"So, there you go," Kauri says, standing back with his hands on his hips. The couch has become a cozy bed, with a half-dozen pillows and four blankets piled up high. Baldur could sleep there for days, and as long as the pills kept coming, he wouldn't even notice he wasn't moving. "Will that work? We'll have to share, though, is that okay?"
Baldur swallows. "I-I don't, um-" No. No no no. Statue boy, he reminds himself. Good boys are statue boys. Silence is better than stammering, stillness is better than what I do. His fingers twitch, just once, and then the fog of the pills smothers his fears and presses them down. The prickling energy that bursts out of him when he's sober is safely held back. He pictures his racing mind running out of air, limbs slowing, lungs expanding just once more and then no longer. "I don't mind. I... don't like to sleep alone."
"Yeah." Kauri's face briefly goes strange, like it's been emptied-out of feeling. "Me neither. Never have. Alone is-"
"-bad," Baldur finishes, in a whisper. "No one wants you."
"Right. Yeah. They taught you that, too, huh?"
"No one wants you... then you're not real," Baldur says. He can feel his handler's hand heavy on the back of his neck, like a ghost breathing against his ear.
"... Shit. I guess even the worst shit was just part of the program, huh?" Kauri stares down at the couch-bed for one long moment of heavy silence, then he inhales sharply and laughs, empty and hollow. "We're just fucking dolls in the toy store for rich idiots to pull the legs off of, aren't we? All the same, come in the same boxes-... never mind. I'm having a weird day." He shakes himself like a dog shaking off water. "Just ignore me being weird, it happens sometimes."
"Yeah," Baldur murmurs. "Me, too. Happens... to me, too." Baldur hears an echo of someone screaming in his mind - maybe himself - but the stab of pain doesn't come. He manages to smother the memory before it can come together enough to hurt him.
Kauri takes a deep breath. "Okay, so. Weirdness steadfastly ignored, we'll just settle in and then when dinner is ready-"
The front door opens, and Baldur spins on his heels, hands slipping behind his back. Position One is thoughtless, effortless, instinctive. He always met Sir in Position One or Position Two, depending on the day. Kauri, though, doesn't slip into any position - he just smiles, wide blue eyes sparkling with a warmth Baldur has never seen in him before.
The man who walks inside isn't that much older than Baldur, but he's huge. Tall, and heavily muscled, built like the handlers who could pick Baldur up like a child and force him back against the wall or onto a table no matter how he kicked or fought, until he learned not to fight any longer. He has close-cropped ashy blond hair trending towards light brown, pale skin, and his own face lights up as soon as he sees Kauri, returning the sunshine looks they give each other.
It hurts.
Baldur's never had anyone look at him like that.
"Hey, Kauri," The man says, in a deep voice that sounds like the warm summer nights when Baldur sleeps out in the park and doesn't get cold at all. Then he looks over to Baldur, still standing in careful position, and some of the warmth fades. "Woah. Who's this?"
"Friend of mine," Kauri says, and he grabs Baldur by one arm and pulls him closer, careless of how he stumbles. Once they get close enough, Baldur can smell the tall man's cologne. It's a good smell, kind of woodsy. Not at all like Sir's, which would feel like it stuck inside of Baldur until it was all he could smell. "This is Chris."
"Hey, Chris," Jake says. His smile is back in place, but it's more polite. He holds out a hand, and after a delay, Baldur realizes he's supposed to shake and sticks his hand out. "I'm Jake Stanton."
Baldur catches the way his eyes drop, seeing the barcode on the inside of Baldur's left wrist. Nothing in his expression changes at all, but something of the fizzing tension in the air does. Baldur swallows around a tightness in his throat.
Those eyes are back on him-
Oh. Jake's eyes are blue, too. Like Kauri's but not like his at all.
"WRU, Facility 001, Designation Romantic 223499," Baldur says automatically, to the unspoken question he thinks he sees there.
"You don't have to do that here," Kauri says in a rush, putting a hand on Baldur's back. "It's not like that."
"It's... always like that," Baldur says. He thinks he sees interest in Jake's face, curiosity, and maybe that's who he'll have to give his body to, to earn dinner and the couch bed to sleep on. He can do that. As long as he keeps his mind untethered from his body, he can move his hips and arch his back and make all the sounds and drift inside of himself until it's over.
"Not here," Jake says, voice deep and gentle. He won't be so bad, Baldur thinks. He'll be slow about it, not like the ones who don't care if it hurts. He won't have to lie as hard to make it believable that he enjoys it. "You don't do that here." He turns back to Kauri, and it feels like light moves behind a cloud when his eyes are off of Baldur. "Where's Nat?"
"Up in her room," Kauri says, shrugging. "And Antoni-"
"Is here," The feline-eyed man says from the bottom of the stairs. Baldur blinks, then jumps - a half-second delayed. He hadn't even heard him come down, even though the stairs are creaky in such old houses. "I can talk to you about something?" Those dark eyes briefly rest on Baldur.
There's no warmth in them.
"Huh? What's up?"
Antoni pauses. "In my room, please, Jasha."
Baldur's heart chills. Even through the pleasant fog of pills, he can hear the coldness there. And he knows it's about him, he knows it. He's done something wrong, wrong enough to be talked about. Like handlers outside his door, talking about what he did wrong and what they'll do to make him sorry. He chokes on the fear of it - consequences hurt so much. He must have been caught swaying, or touching, or making sounds that are against his rules.
"... sure, Ant. Just a sec." Jake frowns. He leaves his sneakers on a mat by the door and follows Antoni up - the stairs creak when he walks up them. They're already talking in low voices that don't quite travel.
He hears Antoni's voice, a soft, Not sure it is a good idea for him to be here.
He did something wrong.
Suddenly, Baldur can barely breathe. His vision is blurs of color, shadow and light. His fingers twitch again, and this time they don't stop. His head is full of a crashing noise that even the pills can't hold back.
He's in trouble. He did something wrong. He's in trouble, and they'll come back down and ask, Do you know what you did, darlin'? And he'll have to guess, and he always guesses wrong.
The games are always rigged for him to lose.
You don't learn any other way, sweetheart.
His breath gets halfway down his throat and stops there. It's stuck, and he wishes he was so drunk he blacked out, or so high he slept for the next few days, until whatever he's done wrong blows over and they forget to punish him, or maybe just punish him but he doesn't remember it.
His heart beats so loud inside of him, blood rushing in his ears. His eyes go to the wall, and he can quiet the chaos inside him if he can get to it, but his feet are stuck right here to the floor. He can't. He can't, it's against his rules, he has to be good, be a statue boy, be silent be still but being still hurts so fucking much when he's scared-
Kauri isn't looking at him. He watches the two men go, thick eyebrows a little furrowed. "I wonder what that's about. Antoni can be so weird, sometimes, I swear-" He breaks off and turns, looking at Baldur. He must see something there. He must see the terror in wide green eyes, the white showing all around, in the way his fingers are shaking, how he can't quite stop bouncing on the balls of his feet with the need to get to a place he can curl up and hide, or hit his head on the wall, until the chaos quiets and he can think again.
The pills are supposed to stop this.
They don't.
"Chris?"
He flinches violently backwards when he realizes Kauri is right in front of him, has somehow moved without him seeing. Those long-fingered hands are warm, palms on either side of his face. Those big blue eyes are looking right at his, reflecting him there in Kauri's pupils. When he flinches, Kauri pulls away, and Baldur misses the warmth of touch the way he used to miss darkness when he lived always under white lights.
"Hey." Kauri's voice is soft, slow and gentle. "Hey. Chris, what's wrong? Talk to me?"
There aren't words. He can feel them, there are words, but they're trapped behind teeth on top of tongue. They shift, dipping beneath the surface before he can get his mouth around them. He can't use any of them at all. His hands move, shaking, to twist and pull at the hem of his shirt, but-
No-
Have to be still-
He can't.
He can't be still. He can't be the statue boy, the fear is too strong. And if he can't be still, he'll be in even worse trouble. It's a cycle, a loop of warm ocean water sucked up into the hurricane. It's ash blocking out the sun, killing all the dinosaurs. He remembers the dinosaurs. He remembers the asteroid hit the earth, and the planet was swept by fire burning everything that survived the strike. He remembers that his mind moves like objects in space, impossibly fast and dangerous, because it isn't allowed.
"Chris?" Kauri's swimming in and out of his awareness. He knows there are hands on him, leading him to the couch bed. He feels, distantly, the softness of pillows as his back rests against them. He knows as if staring from the top of a mountain that Kauri is speaking to him in a voice like the clouds rolling in far below.
He can hear other voices, too, but they don't make it through the haze of panic. It's derailed everything. The pills aren't helping, they're making it worse. He can sense the comforting warm blanket of being high just out of reach, and instead it's all terror, overwhelming, flooding the plain.
He knows his mouth is moving.
He can hear himself, tinny and small and from a distance too far to cover, saying, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't be mad, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to I didn't mean to I'm sorry, please don't be mad over and over again. He tries to be still. He hits his head on Kauri's shoulder and that strikes new terror, so he hits his head harder, then he bites - he buries teeth into skin that he only belatedly realizes isn't his when Kauri makes a sound of pain.
It's a cycle.
He's circling, he's a hurricane, his mind is dangerous and his body is wrong and it has to be stopped.
He can't stop.
He wails, half a scream that he tries to catch and pull back. The sound dips and drops, it becomes a low, wordless moan, over and over and over again. It rises from the person inside of him who used to exist before he signed his life away and they wrote a new him onto the body of the old one.
He used to be someone else.
He used to be someone better.
He used to make noises like this, before they made him stop. Before they made sure he knew that rocking - he's rocking, he feels himself sway forward and back, his fingers twisting and pulling at fabric, moving and moving to calm the rising chaos and violence inside of him - would lead to pain and fear. Before they taught him to take every pill he was given until his body was quiet and still and good for them, for the handlers for Sir for anyone who wants to fuck him or put a hand on his head and make him choke.
The thick clay shell they made him build up around himself, though, has gone brittle.
It shatters.
He rocks and rocks. He hears the sounds he is making like they belong to someone else. He feels tears, hot and burning as they track down his cheeks, cooling rapidly to drip onto his shirt, onto Kauri's shirt and neck when his face buries itself there. His sounds vibrate against Kauri's scarred collarbone. His fingers are gripped into Kauri's shirt now, holding so tight the threadbare fabric rips and his fingertips brush the heat of skin beneath. There are other voices besides Kauri's, but he doesn't listen to them, he can't listen to them or the fear will rise again.
Kauri is talking to him.
His chin is on Baldur's head, and he's talking, murmuring, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I've got you, I've got you, honey, it's okay," over and over and over again. One hand is on the back of his neck, a gentle weight that starts him falling back down to earth.
He rocks with Baldur.
The hurricane starts to wear itself out, spinning and spinning but the wind dies down. He's falling out of the eye onto the ground. The noise inside his head is agony but it's agony he can hear over and around. He doesn't know how long it's been. The rocking is gentle, endless and soothing, and Kauri's other hand rubs up and down his back like-
His mother-
Someone he can't remember used to do when he did this, a long time ago.
There are other voices, but Baldur can't hear them or he'll be a hurricane again. He keeps his thoughts on Kauri, on the rock of their bodies together, on the weight and warmth of someone holding on to him until he can come back down to earth.
The eruption stops, the flow of rivers bright orange and red and white with heat cooling to dark, solid, safe.
His bones stop burning, his head stops pounding with the noise inside of it.
Kauri is still rocking.
"I've got you," His low voice whispers, too deep for his delicate shape and size. "I've got you, Chris. Let it out, you're okay, I've got you. I've got you."
He struggles to remember how to make the feeling inside him into words, manages to whisper, " Don't-... don't go-"
"I won't," Kauri promises. His arms are tight and strong around Baldur's shaking, skinny body. "I won't. I'm right here. I'm right here."
"What the hell-" Jake's voice interrupts. "What the hell happened?"
"Why... why is he-" That's Antoni, who wanted to talk, who was talking to Jake about him. His voice is shaking, though, his accent thick and heavy. "Why he is yelling so loud-... you can make it stop? The-... screaming-"
Baldur stiffens.
Stop.
Silent.
Still.
Be good.
Good boys are statue boys, good boys-
The thought breaks apart when he hears Kauri's voice crack loud like a whip against the tile floor. "Probably because the two of you decided to go goddamn gossip. Get the fuck out of this room before I take a cast iron to your faces, you assholes."
"Shit." That's Jake, he thinks. Baldur hides against Kauri's neck until he can't possibly see their faces. The anger, the hate, how they'll be planning his punishment.
But then... footsteps.
They leave.
They go.
Because Kauri told them to.
"Let it out," Kauri murmurs, once they're alone again. "Let it out. Whatever you gotta do, you do it. I'm staying right here."
Baldur tightens his grip on Kauri's torn shirt and starts, finally, to cry. The last of the hurricane falls as tears when the wind dies, draining the terror from him to soak into Kauri's shirt.
"I, I bit you," He whispers, when the words are there. When throat and teeth and tongue work together, finally, to form them. "I'm sorry. I... I, I bit you-"
"No worries," Kauri says, right against his ear. "Didn't even draw blood. Trust me, you're not the first guy to bite - probably not even the tenth - and you won't be the last. But, just between us... I think you're probably my favorite."
Baldur starts to cry again.
This time, it's not a hurricane at all. It's summer showers, welcome warm rain soaking into a thirsty dried-out earth. He cries until he's emptied-out of the fear, until all that's left is hollow like cracked clay warming in the sun.
Another bit of a teaser to a whump series im working on:
Older Whumpee who knows they can’t keep up with Younger Whumpee.
They’ve been with Whumper for years, their body is scarred and mutilated. Whilst Younger Whumpee, they’re scar free, they’re energetic, they don’t ache every time they move. They’re not burdened by the same trauma Older Whumpee is. In comparison, Older Whumpee feels like disposable trash.
Older Whumpee ignoring the problems Younger Whumpee has because Younger Whumper’s problems are mental and emotional not physical.
Older Whumpee creating an emotion barrier between themself and Younger Whumpee because their problems aren’t the same.
Older Whumpee who can no longer earn their Master’s affection watching in envy as Younger Whumpee gets treated the exact same way they did when they were new, when Whumper first bought them.
Younger Whumpee who watches the torture Older Whumpee goes through on a daily basis and is emotionally scarred by it but secretly relieved that it’s not them going through that.
Right current idea for the characters I’m writing:
Older Whumpee who’s been through Whumper’s abuse for years. Whumper getting a new Whumpee who’s much younger.
Older Whumpee who’s so conditioned they try to teach Younger Whumpee how to keep Whumper happy, teaches Younger Whumpee how to placate Whumper. Older Whumpee who takes punishments for Younger Whumpee because then at least they’ll have some purpose.
Older Whumpee teaching Younger Whumpee how to sneak food, how to prevent infections with the minimal supplies they get. Older Whumpee becoming so protective of Younger Whumpee that they refuse to leave their side.
Older Whumpee panicking thinking they’re getting replaced, that Whumper doesn’t need them anymore. That all the abuse they went through was senseless, that they didn’t actually need to suffer because they were just a toy for Whumper to hurt.
Older Whumpee who’s been with Whumper for so long that when they get cast out, they don’t know how to cope with the outside world. Realising just how much of their life was wasted whilst going through Whumper’s abuse.
Older Whumpee who thinks they’re too old to get better.
Currently working on the first few chapters of a whump series, once it’s completed chapters will hopefully by once every three days or so (if I can stay on my meds long enough to keep up a consistent writing schedule)
They are! They’ve recovered, they’ve moved on. They’re better. Sure, they cry themselves to sleep in a different man’s bed every night but they’re happy. Sure, whumpee destroys every relationship they’re in because they feel like they don’t deserve it but they’re happy!
Sure Whumpees lies to their therapist during every appointment, but that’s normal, that’s fine, they’re fine!
Whumpee finally breaking down completely realising that they’re destroying themself unable to move on from Whumper’s abuse because they’ve taught themself to lie for so long.
Whumpee who just doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know why Whumper tortures them. Doesn’t know why people give them odd looks after their torture. Whumpee who has been isolated from the outside world by Whumper for so long, they can’t understand the people around them or the technological developments.
Whumpees who don’t have the support they need to recover. Whumpees who have self destructive coping mechanisms. Whumpees who avoid spiralling by acting the very same way they did for Whumper. Whumpees who think that they are hopeless and are too afraid to reach out.
Whumpee who just doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know why Whumper tortures them. Doesn’t know why people give them odd looks after their torture. Whumpee who has been isolated from the outside world by Whumper for so long, they can’t understand the people around them or the technological developments.
Sick whumpee working through their pain, having a killer migraine that makes all they want to do is go back to bed with the lights off but instead just taking some paracetamol and going back to work ignoring how badly their body is aching
