Dreams of Kivutar

Yes!

Forced to Watch

Content: post beating, caged, branding, interrogation, gagging, hostage situation, held at gunpoint, captivity, forced to kneel, stripped, whipping, crying, torture, survivor's guilt

A coming home to B curled into the corner of the couch, covered in fresh bruises. They fall to their knees beside their friend. "What happened to you?!"

A locked in a cage as B is dragged out, kicking and thrashing, pinned down and branded. "Feel like talking now, A?"

A screaming so much as stoic B is tortured that they are gagged. Tears running over their mouth into their mouth, forced open around the gag, drooling. Choking down their own cries. Now they can't even try to comfort B with their words.

A's eyes widen as they recognize B, who's being held at gunpoint. "Kneel." A slowly gets down on their knees, hands up in the air. Before they can speak, the next command comes. "Put these on. Behind your back." A set of handcuffs slides across the ground, bumping in their knees. "You have 10 seconds, or B dies."

A pretending not to care as B is tied to a post. Stripped. The torturer picks up a whip. Hoping desperately that whumper changes their mind and decides to whip A instead, since they clearly don't care about B enough to even spare them a glance. Tears flow as they lower their head at B's first scream.

Standing on the other side of the room where B is being tortured, biting their lips, hugging themselves, shaking violently as the screams echo out of the room at their back.

They toss a newspaper on the floor next to the shitty madrass Whumpee has spent the last few months curled up on every night.

No. Whumpee's hands shake violently as they grab the newspaper, staring at the article Whumper left open for them. No, no, no, no.

They haven't made the news. Their death has.

"No, this isn't- I'm not-"

They look up at Whumper. The tears they've tried so hard to never let out in Whumper's presence burning in their eyes.

"Did you do this?"

For a moment, Whumper just stares at them. The amusement is gone from their face. In its place is the blank look they carry too often. It never fails to send shivers down Whumpee's spine. What comes next is always worse.

"Oh, Whumpee," they say, almost as if they feel bad for them. "I didn't have to. Nobody's looking anymore."

Whumpee presses a hand to their mouth, but it barely suppresses the sob that tears from their throat. Nobody's looking. Nobody's coming. They have given up. Whumpee has been declared dead. They have been abandoned.

The glee is back in Whumper's eyes as they crouch in front of Whumpee. They brush the tears from Whumpee's face, and Whumpee tries not to flinch.

Whumpees who were terrified the first time they were kidnapped vs it happening so many times that they can predict everything like a soap opera.

They go from: "Please don't punch me D:"

To: "Oh really? You're gonna break my nose? Come on, I haven't been able to smell for years, what are you gonna do? Make me self conscious enough to give you the information? Think bigger mY GOD" as they're slowly wriggling free from the bindings.

Handler's eyes focus between the bars of the cage, taking in the cuffs, the muzzle, the defiant posture. LW stares back, blank faced, save for the lightest spark of hate in their eyes.

man up

the fuck you're yelling for it's literally just a hunting knife

you're actually getting off on this?

stop fucking crying bitch

And then there's whumpee, and whumpee reacts so beautifully that whumper doesn't want to put an end to that.

So they keep whumpee. And every day they try to make whumpee believe that these are their last moments, to see that reaction again.

Maybe it was the realization that they were never going to see that random coworker that complimented their shirt (now ripped and covered in blood). Realizing yes, they’d probably never see anyone they knew, close or not, ever again.

Maybe it was coming across the gum wrapper left in their pocket, realizing they missed so badly something so small. They’d used to keep a pack of gum on them always. The tiniest things stung the worst.

Maybe it was realizing they’d probably missed some important milestone. They couldn’t be sure how many days had passed but they’re pretty sure they’d missed Christmas. Someone’s birthday. A wedding. A funeral.

Sure, they were hurt. Horrifically, even. There's no denying the scars. But the things they describe? There's just no way someone could do such horrific things to a person, and there's no way a person could walk away from that. There must be embellishments, hyperbole, some misremembering.

Pull at their hair. Even better if they are bruised up and standing up hurts. "ah, wait, no, ah!" as you pull them up and drag them along without mercy. To ease the pain at their scalp they have to push themselves to comply and feel the pain in their legs/back/chest/wherever.

Grab their upper arm, hard enough to bruise, and roughly guide them wherever you want them to go.

When whumpee is hiding under a bed or laying on the ground, grab them by their ankles and pull them away. They will desperately try to grasp at anything with their hands, but it's no use.

History whump. Tie their hands together and tie the end of the rope to the back of your cart. Comfortably ride your horse as whumpee is forced to walk along in the sun. Don't give them water. Let them almost collapse from exhaustion. If they fall and trip the cart will pull them along and their wrists will be bleeding.

Wrestle them down, tie their hands behind their back, blindfold them, and force them to walk with you, tripping and disoriented. Maybe you can let them fall on their face a time or two.

Forcefully carry them with you between two people. Let them struggle and fight, but it's no use. They are not strong enough.

Threaten them with a gun. Make them come "willingly". Make sure they know that if they don't do what you tell them, they are dead. Whumpee complies with slow and careful movements, not wanting to, but also knowing they have no choice.

Throw them tied up in the back of your truck. They try so hard not to hyperventilate, but the claustrophobia is making them panic. Every turn and bump is throwing them around. It is dark and hot. They try to follow the road, but quickly become completely disoriented.

Put a shock collar around them and zap them if they don't do what you say.

"It wasn't your fault (it was theirs)"

"You didn't deserve that"

"You did the best you could"