Personal Whump Blog !! Gray !! Any Prns, Writer , I love answering asks please I'm so lonely!! Spaceboy !! They/He/She, Artist!!
Spaceboys excited for me to torturer Kane!
Kane is a fancy little guy for those who don't know! Idk how to write a synopsis bc like he has a bunch of different arcs.
World lore stuff bc I forgot to mention it lmao:
The world consists of a single continent shared between the many countries. The northwest belongs to the demons, the southwest is for the angles, and the rest was taken by the humans. The angles and demons are revolted by the humans actions and wish to eliminate them. Funny, the humans could say the same thing. War breaks out however the humans are having a hard time keeping it together. They keep breaking out wars with each other as well. The country Juno invades is Torth, a completely landlocked country. They're doing okay for themselves, but not something really worthy of taking over. Sure there's a lot of people, but I mean... that's it. So everyone is left to wonder why? Why is Juno attacking Torth?
Content:
everything I can think of but this really big spoiler
royal whump, death, intimate whumper, angel whump, demon whump, living weapon, family death, war, noncon drugging, occasional minor whump, recovery whump
Road to home:
#1 Kane
#2 Pline
#3 Missing
Cars
Family
Back to normal:
Welcome Home
Art
Halloween costumes
Other things
Lw Basil not canon
Whumptober 2024
McDonald's Canon
monsters
bite me canon
half bad not even about Kane lol
uh ow canon
Removed lol
attacker prob canon
Monster under the bed canon
bruises canon
I don't remember what this was I think it was canon
Cw: Medical torture, blood letting, restraints, 14 year old whumpee, parental whumper
Synopsis: A look into Asa's weekly drainings and the effect that they have on him. (I.e. Asa is strapped to a table and drained of blood. But he won't die. So it's fine. Right?)
-
Asa pulls at his restraints with quiet persistence, cursing softly under his breath as precious seconds slip away from him.
He's bound at every joint. His wrists, biceps, neck, even his forehead, are secured to the cold dull metal exam table beneath him. It's a position he should be quite familiar with by now, the feeling of complete and utter exposure, the bite of leather scraping against his skin, the scent of antiseptic and latex gloves filling his nostrils. He should be used to it, and yet… Asa keeps struggling.
Back turned and facing the counter, his father whistles absentmindedly, preparing the blood collection bag that Asa will be required to fill. Asa can't see without being able to turn his head, but he can hear the rustling which tells him he only has about a minute before his father is ready to drain him once again. Anxiety looms in the pit of Asa's stomach, as he pulls even harder at his wrists.
Just one hand loose. That's all he needs. Just one-
“Can I ask you something, son?”
Asa flinches when he realizes that Adam is standing over him now, IV applicator in hand. His eyes trail down to Asa's wrists. In his desperation, Asa hadn't noticed the straps wearing his skin raw, allowing golden blood to drip down onto the table and floor below. Adam peers at the mess with a frown. Clearly, he doesn't appreciate the “waste” of Asa's blood.
Asa swallows his fear and attempts to summon a smirk.
“I don't know, can you?”
Adam gives him a flat look.
“Genuinely, what is the point of all this struggling?” Adam asks, “I mean, we do this every week and it always goes the same for you.”
“Shut up-” Asa scoffs, but Adam cuts him off with a raised hand.
“No, I'm serious, Asa. What's the plan here? Let's say you somehow get free of these restraints. What's step two? Are you going to fight me off? Break through the locked door? Escape the penthouse?” Adam raises his voice as he goes on, exasperated and baffled, “Are you going to fend for yourself on the streets, all while avoiding everyone I'll have hunting you down?”
His father is all but yelling at him at this point. A moment passes, Adam seemingly realizing that he's gotten too worked up. He takes a breath, then plops down beside Asa in his rolling chair.
“No. I don't buy it. You're too smart to think any of that would work out. So tell me… why do you keep fighting?”
Because I'm scared.
It's the truth that Asa cannot admit, not to himself or to his father, that he struggles not out of conscious effort, but out of fear. It's an automatic response, the desperation of an animal ready to gnaw its own leg off to escape, unaware that it will bleed out long before it tastes freedom. Asa fights and spits and strains against his restraints because he has no choice. To stop struggling would be to accept what his life has become, a death that is never-ending.
But Asa doesn't say any of that. Instead he spits out some crap about justice, and Adam rolls his eyes as always. If his father picks up on the lie, he doesn't call him out for it. Instead, Adam picks up where he left off, tying a rubber tourniquet around Asa's left bicep. Asa, too, returns to his previous squirming, until his eyes meet the IV needle quickly approaching the undefended crook of his elbow.
“Wait, please-”
Adam pierces Asa’s vein without hesitation and with a swiftness earned from months of practice. Asa flinches at the sting. After all this time, he's still not become at all comfortable with needles. Not that his father ever takes that into consideration. All he can do is try to breathe, try to keep his mind from dwelling on the intrusion in his arm.
Adam works fast, removing the tourniquet and attaching Asa's IV to a collection bag. Immediately, golden blood flows through the tube like honey, not that Asa can bring himself to look. The sight of his own blood leaving his body only stands to make him nauseous.
Once he's ensured that the mechanism is complete, Adam steps toward the door.
“I'll be back in an hour. Don't cause any trouble.” He leaves without waiting for a goodbye.
Suddenly Asa is alone, yet he feels eyes burning into him regardless.
-
He writhes just a bit more before exhaustion wins out. Once the draining begins, even Asa can admit that the daily battle is lost. All can do now is close his eyes and imagine all the ways he would kill his father if he got the chance.
First he'd shoot him in the head. Quick and easy, but satisfying, and certainly only the beginning. Asa can imagine the thud that Adam's body would make upon contact with the ground. Then, after his father inevitably came back, the real fun would begin. Laying there, strapped to a table and quickly losing blood, Asa smiles gleefully, his mental eye full of drownings, stabbings, and death by steam rollers.
It's the only thing that soothes Asa these days, which should probably be worrying.
His imagination can only take him so far though, before the cold embrace of reality demands his attention. About 5 minutes into the draining, his fingers and toes go tingling and numb. At 10 minutes, he can't feel them anymore. At 15 minutes, all four of his limbs are cold enough to be distracting. At 20 minutes, they're cold enough to hurt.
Asa is always darkly fascinated by how quickly his body starts to react to the blood loss. Of course, this fascination is always overshadowed by the growing sense of panic. He knows, because Adam told him, that the panic he feels is nothing more than an automatic nervous system response, just his heart pumping faster to keep blood circulating throughout his body. And yet knowing that does absolutely nothing to change how he feels in the moment.
By 30 minutes, Asa is starting to breathe faster. His heart and mind are racing, increasingly frantic. His lungs are taking in air faster than he can use it, and yet he still feels as though he's suffocating.
That would be the lack of oxygenated blood flowing to your brain, Adam's voice tells him in his mind, not that it matters. It's at this point that Asa finally spares a glance to the bag he's meant to be filling. It's just barely halfway full.
A desperate groan escapes his throat. He shouldn't be surprised. It's always like this. This is normal. This isn't normal. He's fine. I’m dying. His father has explained the mechanism a million times. Father.
He isn't dying.
I'm dying.
He isn't dying.
I'm dying! I'm dying! I'M DYING!
Asa doesn't realize he's crying until a hot tear falls down the side of his temple.
“A-Adam!” Asa cries out between gasping breaths. “P-Please! It's- you're taking too much- I can't- I can't do this!”
His voice, weak and small, reverberates around the lab. There is no response. The door remains closed.
“Adam! Please!” Asa tries again. He's lost feeling in both his arms at this point. His vision is beginning to blur. Finally, with his last coherent breath, Asa screams.
“DAD!”
He loses consciousness after that. His last thoughts are of his father. He thinks he knows why he always leaves the room.
So he doesn't have to hear Asa beg.
-
Asa wakes up as he always does, tucked into his bed, feeling as though he's been hit by a truck. For a brief, horrific moment, his entire body is wracked with a burning tingling sensation, marking the fact that his limbs are coming back online. All Asa can do is ride this out, trying to remain as still as possible.
When the moment passes and the sensation stops, Asa feels slightly more alive, though his limbs still feel like they're 500 lbs each. Since he is conscious, he knows that his body must have regenerated enough blood to support his brain. That of course doesn't necessarily mean he has full use of his body just yet. It will be at least a few more hours until he's able to sit up, another few before he's able to stand.
To his right, on his night stand, is a juice box and a chocolate chip cookie, both of which he is fully unable to grab.
Asa sighs and closes his eyes. He made it through another week. That alone is something to be proud of. Every day that he survives is another chance for escape. And when that chance comes, Asa will be ready.
For now, all he's ready to do is sleep.
He'll try to kill Adam in the morning.
-
Next part
Masterlist
Thank you for reading! This one was short and sweet but I feel like it gives a good snapshot of what Asa goes through regularly. If you liked it, please let me know! And if you want to be a part of the tag list, just ask!
Tag list: @chaotic-orphan @micechomper @toyybox @otter-chaos-violence @whump-till-ya-jump @rainypeanutduck
"You could say I know them more intimately than you by now. After all..." Whumper grabbed Whumpee's face and forced them to look at Caretaker. "Have you ever seen their face twisted like this? Seen them all desperate? Fear in their eyes? Begging with their whole being? Or a rage that twists their features into something that you would never recognise? Hm?"
Caretaker didn't take the bait. He remained eerily calm, ignoring that deep fear that he had, admittedly, never seen before in those eyes.
"Well, what about you?" he returned the question. "Have you ever seen them look at you with utter devotion? Have you seen their face light up when you enter the room? How their eyes sparkle when you make them laugh? Seen that longing? That love?"
His eyes snapped up to Whumper, whose grin remained on his face, but his eyes had hardened. "After all..."
I kinda wish I could show like Kane's family doctor on the phone with the hospital bc that man has like no people skills (but some how ended up as besties with the king)
like Dr. Highler straight cursed everyone at that hospital out because he doesn't trust anyone there. Like as soon as Kane got home he undid everything they did and did it himself (besides any stitches bc he didn't want to cause anymore pain for Kane and they looked okay)
and all the while the hospital people are trying to politely explain that Kane hit his head and was unconscious for a long time and that they really should keep him and Highler is having none of it.
Royal Whumpee just got rescued, and now the castle staff have to adjust to the fact that their regent who would once complain if their mattress was the teeniest bit out of shape just fell asleep on the floor as if it's normal, and couldn't quite hide the surprise on their face the first time they were given a full meal again.
give your whumpee a very specific ick! I personally will cry (internally) is my nails get caught on anything. But like if whumpee has an issue with textures or smells or very specific actions, then it's so much easier to exploit and gives whumper another advantage over them.
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.
Can we talk about a whumper who kidnaps whumpee after stalking them for months because they are madly in love with them in an unhealthy/abusive and obsessive way.
Whumpee is an emotionally intelligent individual who tries to reason his way out of the situation because they want to survive this and make it back to their lover who is looking for them.
Whumper also has violent outbursts and critically harms whumpee each time leaving them in a crumpled heap where they are barely holding onto consciousness and then treat them with such passion and care hours later and ask why they made them do it. When they realize that they are not making any improvements whumper would then try to do everything to break whumpees spirits, beat them, deprive them of food and water let them sit in their filth and drug them to keep them complacent.
In the end though, whumpee still claims that he can not come to love them because his husband is the only person who he could ever love and who could ever love him.
This enrages whumper and he drags a beaten whumpee to their husbands house and holds them in their living room until the caretaker returns home.
Once in the living room they see whumper holding a barely stable whumpee up against them with their hands clasped around whumpee’s trembling hands that are being forced to hold a gun that is pointed directly at their lover.
“I’m sorry.” The whumpee would choke out pass a pained cry before closing his eyes.
“Please do not fault yourself, beloved. I understand.”
And then the scene cuts out with a bang and a shrill shriek.
Everyone!!! Please! Punch your whumpee's in the diaphragm! It's a lot more sensitive and if you hit it in the right spot you'll knock the wind out of them!
whumpees who lose all their vocabulary except swearing when they're being tortured. cursing under their breaths when they feel a particularly painful injury, snarling insults at whumper, or just screaming whatever expletive comes to mind as they're worked over.
bonus points if whumper continuously has to punish whumpee for their "foul language".
Injured whumpee captured by a tribe of like ewok-esque forest creatures. They keep Whumpee in a locked hut and continuously rub strange herb paste onto their wounds and wrap their limbs with leaves.
Whumpee is terrified, convinced they're being seasoned for cooking.
Then Whumpee's wounds heal. The "strange herb paste" was healing salve. The leaf wraps were bandages. The forest creatures are vegetarians.
“I know, Whumpee. I know it’s really hard. But we need you to talk about it, okay? We need you to say what Whumper did to you. It’s the only way they’ll face justice.“
tw: scars/burns, words carved into skin, slight mention of a dead sibling
His mom's golden skin lined with silver jewelry. Ebony hair curling at the edges and hugging her shoulders.
His dad's stark white skin covered by his most casual clothes, a plain suit and tie. Watery eyes with lines all around. Wrinkles gained from years of frowns and smiles.
Adelia Williams and Carson of Torth.
It had been two years. It took two years for his parents to feel like strangers. Their hair was grayer than before. His mother had much more wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, while his fathers were more around his forehead. His mother's eyes were all watery and sad, and his father's frown was more prominent than ever.
Kane was frozen to the sidewalk. How was he to greet them? He assumed they had changed in the last few years. He definitely had. With his boney features and sickly looking skin. Could they recognize even him?
It was his mother that made the first move. Losing her poise and manners she rushed for her baby. She held him in her arms, a silent promise to never let him go. Kane's father entered the moment, hugging his son and his wife tightly. And that's when Kane lost it. He sobbed and wept into his family's arms. So fucking grateful to see them again, to feel their loving embraces once more.
~~~
Kane blanked out for a while. He knew he didn't pass out. But he randomly found himself in his bed. His warm, soft bed. A bed that didn't reek of poison and desperation.
The family doctor came in at some point. He talked but none of it reached the kid's ears. Kane came back to reality while he was inspecting the prinxe's head. Kane flinched at the feeling of gloved fingers moving his hair.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Are you back with me?" Dr. Highler asked as he unwrapped the bloodied bandage around Kane's forehead.
"I think so? This all just feels like a dream," he stared at his hands, tracing the bones protruding outwards, wincing as the doctor disinfected the wound on his head.
"You're not the only one. The queen is still waiting outside. She asked me to pinch her before I came in." The doctor touched the top of the boy's hair. "You're going to need to trim this soon," Dr. Highler applied a bandaid Kane's forehead. "You have wounds on your back, right? Can I take off your shirt?"
Kane nodded. The doctor helped Kane get the shirt around the cast without jostling the healing bones. He leaned forwards for the doctor to be able to unwrap the bandages.
Kane could feel the tension in the old man. The way that he hesitated was so unlike him.
"Does it look that bad?" Kane added some dry humor to his tone.
"Kane…" his voice wavered.
The ever looming pit in his stomach grew. It must be bad if Dr. Highler wasn't joking around.
"I'll… be back in a second. Hang tight, okay?" The doctor stood and exited.
The doctor was gone for a while, but he brought people along with him. Police-looking people.
"Context for you," the doctor announced to Kane, "there was a debate on wether your injuries should be 'collected as evidence,' but considering the car crash and your personal privacy, the idea was shut down, but, Kane, the marks on your back are clearly not from the crash. They won't take pictures without your permission and if they do it'll be treated as evidence and won't be shared with anyone outside of the police."
Kane stared at his hands avoiding looking at the others, shirtless with some of his worst wounds exposed. "It's evidence. It's fine." He pulled his legs up to cover his chest and looked at the two police women. "Do what you need to do,"
The women looked to the doctor for approval before approaching Kane. The pair stared at Kane's back for an awfully long time before he heard the click of whatever camera they brought with them. Multiple clicks from slightly different positions, echoing in his ears. The woman with long, braided hair approached Kane's front.
"Hello, my prinxe," Kane inwardly cringed. "My name Elise Bluks and this is my partner Sandra Goldmen. I would like to ask a few questions if that is okay with you,"
Kane nodded.
"Is there any other current injuries that you know are from the kidnapper?" Everyone in the room knew kidnapper was not the right word, but saying torturer was too forthright.
Kane gestured to the bandages wrapped around his left forearm, done by the hospital, not Dr. Highler. The doctor untangled it, showing a singular word carved into the boy's skin.
mine
The wound still healing but it was scabbed over with the skin all red around it. Goldmen brought her camera to the wound and claimed picture of it as well. Kane didn't want to look at their faces. He didn't want to know what they thought of the messages his captor left him with.
Kane pulled his left leg out of the blankets and Dr. Highler undid the bandages around his calf. Revealing the same word carved into the back of his leg.
mine
The thought of it scarring made the prinxe sick.
Kane caught a glimpse of the doctor's face, the unusual amount of emotion in his eyes made his stomach twist.
The camera stole pictures of this wound too.
"Is there anywhere else?" Bluks' voice was surprisingly level.
Kane grasped the edge of the bandages around his neck, not having the emotional ability to stand someone touching his neck. He slowly revealed the burns circling his neck. The marks that cage his throat. Memories that will not fade no matter how hard the boy tried. The click of the camera sounding like when his captor first put the collar on.
"Is that all?"
Kane nodded. "Some of the bruises I have are probably from him too, but I don't know which ones,"
"What are the other bruises from?"
"I tripped and fell in the woods. Someone jumped me at a McDonald's. Nothing too big."
The police women shared a glance before thanking Kane for his time and leaving. The doctor approached to finish his job. Neither of them talked, and Kane was barely aware of what was happening. He spaced out as the doctor touched his back, his arm, his leg. He woke up again when he felt the slightest jolt to his neck.
The boy screamed, the noise scaring the both of them. He clutched the air around his neck, not even touching it himself. "Please," he gasped, "please don't." He didn't even notice how he scrambled across the bed, far away from the threat.
The doctor held his hands up, trying to let his patient calm down. "Kane, it's just me. You know me. I'm not going to hurt you."
Kane let his breathing even out and forced himself to crawl back to the other edge of the bed. "Sorry…" a slight, almost feverish blush appeared on his face. "But I don't think I can handle anyone touching there right now,"
Dr. Highler held up a tube of some kind of cream. "Then you need to do it. Your family will have my head if you get an infection."
He applied it like he was told, it was okay if it was just him. He gently wrapped the new bandages around his neck like he was told, he tried not to strangle himself, that wouldn't be good.
"It's late— if they would have let you out of that damn hospital sooner—" he mumbled, "I told someone to get you food, so that should come soon. But, your mother's waiting outside if you want to see her, but if you need to rest I can shoo her away."
"No, you can let her in." Kane self consciously covered his legs with the blanket. Was it too embarrassing to say he missed his mom?
The doctor nodded and packed up his things, all under the watch of Kane. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he couldn't look away. His eyes traced the path to the door just before Dr. Highler crossed it. He stared at the door just before it opened. The doctor stepped through and spoke something out of earshot for Kane.
A figure slipped past and ran for Kane, who was followed by a whole army.
ok but part of the appeal of defiant whumpees is in just how long it would take to break them. its like a whump version of slowburn but at the end instead of an "I love you" you get "please, no more"
-whumpee having to practice all day-whumper making whumpee practice till they get it right flawlessly, even if it takes days without rest.
-whumpee being on forced strict diet that's completely controlled by whumper
-whumper writing all the lyrics for whumpee's songs or making whumpee write them
-outside of practice whumpee being taken care of to make sure they remain performance ready constantly
-whumpee trying to cause a scene on stage to get help but finding out nobody will help, but how will whumper react.
-whumper not wanting whumpee to strain their voice by screaming or talking or anything so they use magical seal to make whumpee temporarily unable to make a single sound
-even more controlling scenario, whenever whumpee has to sing they're unable to sing or say anything they're not supposed to
