For day 15, the @whumpmasinjuly prompt is “Stop!”
CW: Adult child of whumper and whumpee, emotional manipulation, Savvie is a manipulative piece of shit as always, references to trauma, panic
Her voice over the line is slightly flattened. It doesn’t have the sharp edges that come so effortlessly in person. Izzy still feels a chill wash down her spine, though, from the very first hello.
“Mom?” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. Her eyes go rapidly towards the open door to her old bedroom. She’s over for the weekend for Jamie’s birthday, and they’re meant to be getting ready to go out for dinner somewhere, his pick. She’d come in here to find the pair of shoes she wanted when her phone rang and... normally she’d never answer a call if she didn’t know the number and expect it, but...
Something had made her pick this one up.
“Of course it’s me, Bella.” There’s laughter around the edges of her mother’s voice, and that only makes the flip of Izzy’s stomach feel worse. Her heart starts to pound in a very, very old need to run with nowhere to go.
“How-... how did you get a phone? Aren’t you in prison?”
Oh God, what if she’s escaped-
Izzy hears the whimper escape her own mouth before the panic has even fully begun to take her over. Her knees buckle and she drops to seated on the bed, the mattress giving beneath her weight. If she’d been anywhere else in the room she’d have simply collapsed on the floor.
What if she’s out of prison? What if she’s coming back for them all? What if she’s right outside the fucking house? What if she’s-
She mouths the word Dad, but no sound comes out, nothing but a high whistle of air from a rapidly closing throat. She can hear her fathers and brother talking in the living room, chatting over what place they’ll go to, what movie Jamie wants to see tonight after. Bright and cheerful.
If she’s out, it’s over.
Izzy should warn them but she can’t remember how to breathe.
“Oh, you silly girl.” The laughter shifts to mockery. She speaks to Izzy like she might to a particularly dull-witted hamster. “You got your brains from your father’s side of the family, clearly. Of course I’m in prison, and how do you get anything in prison, baby girl? With money.”
All the air trapped in Izzy’s throat rushes out of her all at once, head spinning with dizziness.
She’s not out. She’s not here. She’s still in the States, she’s still hours and hours of plane rides away, locked up behind doors and thick walls and only allowed outside an hour a day, she’s not coming for them, she’s not-
“Then wh-... why did you call me? How did you kn-know my number? How-” Izzy’s mind is spinning. The room feels distant from her, disconnected. Like she’s here and not-here, like part of her is eighteen years old about to celebrate her brother’s sixteenth birthday but the rest of her is still a little girl who has never seen a place that isn’t her mother’s house or Isaac’s.
“I haven’t gotten a letter from you,” Savvie says, the pout audible, her mother’s patented perfect childish sadness at not getting her way. It doesn’t sit well on a woman who must be edging in on fifty years old or more. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
No you didn’t. You don’t care about me.
Somehow she can’t quite make the words come out. What she says instead is, “But, Mom, how-... how did you get my number-”
“Where are you right now?” Her mother interrupts her with breezy carelessness, changing the subject, dancing around Izzy verbally in a way that the girl has never been prepared for. She didn’t spend years as an adult learning how to handle it like her father did.
She could call him in here. He’d do something - phone his lawyer back in the states, the one who still sends them little souvenirs from all the places they’ve visited and handles everything with Savvie on Jax’s behalf without him needing to travel. The lawyer that sued the company that published Savvie’s book on the case and won, got the profits from sales put into a trust for Izzy and Jamie instead. The lawyer that treats Jax like family. Her father would be on the phone with them in a second and get Savvie’s stupid contraband cell phone taken away, he’d help, he’d take over and hang up on her.
Izzy can’t.
“I’m at-... home,” She whispers. “Mom, you’re not supposed to call me. Us. Contact us at all. You can’t do this.”
“Well, I am doing it, so that ship has already sailed, Bella. I just wanted to hear my daughter’s voice. What’s so wrong about a woman wanting to speak to her little girl?”
I’m not your little girl.
Her mouth still won’t shape the things she wants to say. Under the panic, though, anger begins to burn hot, wearing away at the fear. Her pounding heart is so loud she can’t really hear her family in the living room any longer. Someone says her name out there. She doesn’t answer.
“You don’t want to speak to me. You want to talk to Dad.”
“You know I’m not allowed to speak with your father.”
“You’re not allowed to speak with me, either.” Why is she doing this? Why does she keep acting like one day her words will sink in to her mother’s skull and change something?
“Hm. Fair. How is your father, anyway? Is he-” Savvie’s voice catches, an unusual note of sincerity. Or maybe that’s an act, too. “Is he doing well?”
“I’m not going to talk about Dad to you.”
“Bella, please, I’m just asking-”
“Mom. You can’t. You need to hang up now.”
“Isabella Nicole Marcoset, how dare you speak to me that way?”
“Gallagher-”
“Absolutely not. I will not recognize your father’s attempt to erase me from your existence. I am the entire reason you exist, not that you’ve ever shown me much gratitude. Still, that’s not why I called. I wanted to ask - your brother’s birthday is coming up next month, right?”
Izzy swallows, and her throat clicks. Someone says her name in the living room again. Then she hears footsteps in the hall. “Tomorrow,” She says, lips barely moving. “His birthday is tomorrow.”
“Oh.” There’s an embarrassed silence. Or probably not - Izzy is fairly certain her mother is incapable of being ashamed of herself for anything she’s ever done. “Well. I suppose my present for him will arrive a little late then, won’t it?”
“Mom. No. Don’t send stuff. You have to stop doing that. The card for me was bad enough, but you can’t do this to him, too.”
“Why should I-”
“Stop! Mom, just stop! Stop trying to talk to us, stop trying to send things! You don’t even know our birthdays and you’re in fucking prison! Just stop! Stop pretending to give a shit because of your fucking, your stupid bonkers image of yourself in your head as being a good mom, you’re a rubbish one, you’re awful! Just, just, just l-leave me the fuck alone!”
There’s another pause, and this time it’s frosty. Offended and angry.
Izzy’s stomach twists in anxious knots again, as though even now, across an ocean, her mother can somehow punish her.
The line goes dead.
Izzy drops the phone on her bed and rakes a hand back through the long side of her hair, furiously closing her eyes until they hurt to keep the tears from falling. Her teeth grind together, all her anger turned inward, hands closing into fists against it to force it back down.
“Iz?”
She exhales, shaky, and looks up to see Jamie at the door. At sixteen he’s inches taller than her and much heavier, too. He’s got the Marcoset genes more than she does - bulky and big like most of Savvie’s male relatives, but Jamie’s not like any of them at al - he’s gentle in every way there is.
This is his birthday night, and he just wants to go to dinner and see a movie. That’s all he wants. Just a night with his family.
And Savvie has tried, once again, to ruin it.
“Hey, Jamie.” She does her best to keep her voice level. Her palms ache from her nails digging into them. But if she relaxes, she’s afraid she’ll cry.
“You okay? You sounded, um, upset, so I just-”
“I’m just fine. Just, um, my... my ex called, that’s all.” She feels like shit for lying, but the twist of disgust in his face shows that he believes her. She shrugs and pushes herself to her feet, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans just in case her palms are bleeding again. “Are Kie and Dad ready to go?”
“Just about. Oh, hey, your phone’s still on the bed.”
She glances back at it, and feels her heart skip a beat. Then she looks back at her brother.
He doesn’t deserve to have his night affected in the least by having a shitty mother eight hours away.
She gives him a slight, faded smile and moves to join him in the hall. “Let’s just leave it. I’m tired of being tied to that thing all the time anyway. What movie are we going to see tonight, did you three decide?”
No one has to know.
And if Jax doesn’t find out, Savvie can’t hold it over him, either.
That's the thing, though - the bad guys don't need one. Besides, this is really just an excuse to get a hold of someone who they failed to deal with properly before.
Alekoran struggled to push himself away from Banévar as he pinned him against the wall. He hissed angrily at him, trying to get out from the corner of his cell where he was trapped. Tears threatened to appear from behind his eyes as Banévar closed the distance between them. He screamed as a hand gripped around his chin.
“Be quiet, little scout,” Banévar’s voice fell between a growl and a purr. “You don’t want to make this harder than it has to be, do you?”
“No, get off of me!” Alekoran wailed trying to push against Banévar’s chest with his hands. His strength was practically nonexistent, no match against the towering figure that trapped him in this dread. Banévar’s other hand gripped his waist and pulled him closer. At this point, he prayed he would sink into the wall.
“Shush now,” Banévar said as his breath beat against Alekoran’s nostrils, “If you’re good, I’ll promise to be gentle. But I’m getting tired of all this pathetic nonsense, understand?”
The hand on his waist slide up underneath his shirt across still-healing scars on his stomach and chest. Alekoran groaned fearfully, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Stop it, stop! I don’t want this, please, stop it! No, stop…”
“Well, you don’t get much of a say in what you want, do you?” Banévar hooked his thumb into Alekoran’s mouth and forced his jaw open. Alekoran’s eyes widened with fear, unable to form any words of protest as Banévar leaned closer.
“No one here is gonna care what you want. And do you know why? Because no one here cares if I fuck a Rebel brat for some fun.”
Banévar pulled his thumb away in perfect timing for his lips to crash against Alekoran’s. It was suffocating, stopping and air from getting into Alekoran’s lungs as he shook against the wall. He strained against the bruising pressure, trying to think of some way he could get Banévar off and get away from him. But no thoughts came as Banévar’s fingers reached for the seam of his pants and pulled them off his hips. He sobbed against Banévar’s lips in a growing hopelessness, his body becoming still with time.
Hey, look who did the prompt the day it was assigned!
@whumpmasinjuly
CW: captivity, gaslighting/manipulation, humiliation, slight dehumanization, whump of a minor (he is 17/nonsexual), forced stripping, partial nudity, torture/being whipped with a belt, manhandling
Timeline: When Killian first moved in with Luther after here, he's not a dog yet.
Rule #1: Always be grateful for the home and new life Mr. Concord has provided for you.
Rule #2: Always address Luther Concord as “Sir” or “Mr. Concord.”
Rule #3: Obey every order Mr. Concord gives you.
Rule #4: Always wear the choker, never, under any circumstances, take it off.
Rule #5: It is necessary for Mr. Concord to be aware of all your hygienic needs. This includes and is not limited to; relieving yourself, bathing, or brushing your teeth.
Rule #6: Be in the presence with either Mr. Concord himself or his staff at all times with the exception of the bedroom and bathroom.
Rule #7: Any form of deviance from these rules shall be met with necessary and justified punishment in order to help you understand them better.
Rule #8: Always be aware that despite the area you live in, you are not entitled to anything without Mr. Concord’s explicit permission.
Follow these rules exactly, and you will grow to love your new life with Mr. Concord.
It took Killian five times to read the entire list, still dumbfounded after reading it through. He looked back up at Luther, who was acting like he didn't just hand him bullshit rules.
“You’re...joking, right? This is just some sort of weird initiation prank?” Killian half-laughed, half-asked.
Luther was anything but joking. “No, I’m serious Killian. These are the rules you must follow.”
Killian stared at him in shock. “Did you even read these? I-I need to ask you to go to the bathroom? That’s humiliating! Or what about wearing this damn choker all the time? I thought it was a fucking gag gift!”
“I did read them. I wrote them, and I expect you to follow them. I’m just trying to help you settle in.”
Killian scoffed. “I may have never lived in a mansion before but I think we have different perspectives of 'settling in.' I mean this is straight up creepy, Luther! Look at Rule #7; 'Any form of deviance from these rules shall be met with necessary and justified punishment in order to help you understand them better,'" he laughed again, this time partially out of fear. “You’re going to punish me? Seriously? I don’t care about settling in, I will not live by these bullshit, psychopathic-”
“Stop.” Luther commanded.
Killian obeyed and froze. He saw a look in the man’s eyes that he hasn’t seen since that night in the alley, right when Luther was about to kill him.
“Shirt off. Now.”
Killian slowly shook his head, inching back towards the door. “N-no, no, I-I don’t wanna live here anymore. Y-You can’t-”
“Ryker! Dave! Get in here!”
Killian jumped back from the door once it opened not a moment after, with two of the many guards that live in the mansion coming in.
“Hold him down and get his shirt off,” Luther ordered, almost emotionless.
“W-what? No, no, no, get off!” He struggled more once tights grips were on his arms and he felt his shirt being pulled up. “Luther, please! Stop it!”
“You need to learn, Killian,” Luther stated as he began taking his belt off. “You signed up for this, and you’re going to live by my rules.”
The guards threw him down on the floor and before Killian could even get up, a harsh pain flared in his back. Then another. Then five more. Then ten.
By the end of it, the poor boy was sobbing, back feeling as if it were on literal fire. Luther could’ve scoffed, he only gave the brat twenty lashes, and those weren’t even done with half his strength. He leaned down, and grabbed the sobbing boy’s face with his hand.
“Are you going to behave?”
Killian shut his eyes and sobbed, a small part of him still trying to defy his new life. He flinched when Luther raised the belt above his head. “O-okay, okay, okay, I-I’ll listen, alright. I’ll follow the rules, just, please, don’t hurt me anymore.”
Luther ruffled his hair. “Good boy,” he stood up. “Ryker, take him to the bathroom and wash him up. His new clothes will be in here shortly.”
Ryker leaned down and grabbed the boy, ignoring his pained cries. As they were heading out of the bedroom door, Luther heard mumbling from Killian.
“What was that, Kill?”
The poor boy looked at him with teary eyes and trembling lips, and a red blush covering his face from all of the humiliation he had just experienced. “I wanna go home.”
Luther smiled and ruffled his hair once more, “You are home, darling. You're going to stay with me forever.”
Who is the character pleading with? A whumper, about to inflict more pain on them? A caretaker, providing medical treatment that's as agonizing as it is necessary? Whumpee might not even know who they're asking to stop--they just feel the need, deep down, to say the word. Or maybe it's being said to your whumpee--by anyone, for any reason.
Write, draw, create—and don’t forget to tag us @whumpmasinjuly and #whumpmasinjuly when you do!
More Cassius and a new companion he met upon the way.
CW’s: casual murder, magic use, burns, minor whump of a minor, mild manipulation
———
“Why don’t we take this outside?” The man growled. Cassius shifted uncomfortably and glanced around. People in the tavern were looking at them, and a public bar fight was sure to draw attention. He’d only knocked his drink over, not anyone else’s drink, but it spilled onto this man’s lamb chop, and he was pissed, even though Cassius already said he’d pay for a new one. Cassius didn’t think the beating he’d receive was worth the transgression, but next to him, a chair scraped back. Darcy had already made his decision.
“Come on, then,” Darcy challenged. Cassius wanted to smack his traveling companion in the face. Of course Darcy would decide it was fine for Cassius to take a beating. Cassuys got up himself and followed the man and three of his lackeys outside.
They stood in the alley next to the tavern for a beat, all wondering who would move first. Then, two of the strangers grabbed hold of Darcy, who glared at them, but deferred to Cassius for the first move. A third stranger shoved Cassius back into the alley wall, and the original angry man punched Cas in the stomach.
Cas keeled over. “I said I’m sorry, sir!” He received a punch to the face. Cassius stumbled a few feet to the side before managing to straighten up again. The man came at him again, and he held his arms up to try and block the blow.
The man yelled in pain, and Cassius peered around his arms just in time to see the green magic disappating from where it hit the back of his head.
“Hey!” The woman holding Darcy’s right arm’s eyes went wide as she put the pieces together. Darcy blasted the man on his left with magic and then ducked and twisted out of the woman’s grip.
The one who shoved Cassius came at him with a fist, but Cassius side-stepped and reached for his arm. A half-second before he made contact, he flexed his fingers, and his hand grew hot like embers. He grabbed their forearm, and they screamed as their skin burned. Cassius hit them in the chest with a fire blast, and they fell to the ground.
It only took a moment to take out the man whose lamb chop he’d ruined, too. After a matter of seconds, Darcy and Cassius stood over a collection of bodies. Cassius rounded on Darcy. “What the hell?!”
“What? I stopped you from getting beat up,” Darcy shrugged.
“I’d rather get beat up and heal, then kill four people!” Cassius hissed.
“No one will miss them,” Darcy figured.
“Uh, what about the entire tavern that saw them leave with us?!”
“So we’ll switch towns. No one knows how we killed them.” Darcy seemed so casual about this— so relaxed that they just ended four lives. Cassius hated that Darcy was the only magic user he’d ever met. If they were all like this, no wonder it was outlawed and punishable by death. At least Cassius didn’t choose to have his powers.
A small scuffle caught their attention— a kid at the end of the alley, watching them. She locked eyes with Cassius… and then she took off.
“Shit,” Cassius mumbled, and Darcy sprinted after her. Cassius ran too, and it was only a few turns and jumped fences before they managed to catch up with the girl. She was 12 or 13 probably, with dirty blonde hair that might’ve just been pure blonde with actual dirt in it. As Darcy held her against the wall, she looked terrified.
“What did you see?!” Darcy demanded.
“I won't tell anyone, I swear!” She squeaked. Darcy scowled.
“So you do know,” Darcy concluded. He pulled one hand back and spread his palm. Cassius’s eyes widened, and he lunged forward.
“Stop!” He hit Darcy’s hand, and the magic went astray, burning into the wall.
“What?!” Darcy snapped.
“You’re gonna kill her?” Cassius cried.
“She saw us.” Darcy said.
“And?! She’s a kid, Darcy!”
“And what if she tells the town guards on us? Do you want to be able to show your face in this duchy?”
“So just scare her or something! Let her go!” Cassius insisted. He tried to lighten his voice, but he did a terrible job hiding the stress. “You won’t tell anyone, right little lady?”
“No. No, I promise!” She nodded quickly and then turned to Darcy with pleading eyes. Cassius grabbed Darcy’s wrists and hauled him back. The girl stood frozen.
“Go,” Cassius ordered. “Not a word to anyone.” She nodded again and ran away before they could change their minds.
“She’s gonna tell on us,” Darcy growled. Cassius let go of him.
“Maybe she won’t.”
“You’re going to get us caught.”
“Maybe we should be caught,” Cassius snapped.
“Put your self-loathing in check,” Darcy hissed. “We’re fine.”
“I hate you,” Cassius snapped. Darcy stiffened.
“Oh, you do?!” Darcy demanded. “Then leave.” Cassius glared at the dirty cobblestone. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Darcy shook his head. “Go ahead and leave. See how long it takes before you accidentally kill someone. See if you can find someone else to teach you to control those dumb fire powers of yours. I’ll make sure to watch your burning at the pyre.”
“We don’t have to be this wild,” Cassius protested.
“You run with me, you play by my rules. Now come on. Let’s get out of this dump.” Darcy turned and started toward where they’d stashed their horses. Cassius trailed after him.
