#whumpe

Small snippet from the fic 'Price,' which is a dark fic that deals with captivity and slavery and the difficulty of recovery.

-XOXOX-

Stranded on an island with whumper, forced to work together for survival -But both are constantly expecting the other to stab them in the back. 

Stranded with a caretaker where whumpee gets injured from the wreck. Caretaker has only scarce resources to patch them up.

It’s easy to fall sick when all you have is salty sea water and fruit of questionable origins. The day is blazing, and the night is a frozen wasteland. When whumpee falls ill with a fever, all caretaker can do is try and keep their temperature level. 

Bonus points: Whumpee falls ill with whumper, and they’re forced to take care of them. If they die, they both surely will.  

The Whumpers' Soirée

Prompt/Event details from @the-whumpers-soiree

No warnings for this chapter, Part 2 is where the spicy stuff happens 

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Serge observed the crowd before him and wondered if any of this fellow blue bracelet wearers knew the price of admission. He himself wasn't entirely certain but he knew one thing, it sure as hell wasn't free as advertised. Free drinks, free hor d'oeuvres, a chance to network with San Francisco's wealthy and successful, please he wasn't born yesterday. It didn't escape his notice that those given a blue glow stick bracelet at the door (automatically it seemed without questions or explanation) were the young, attractive, and those not in possession of a tailored suit.

  He adjusted his own slightly, didn't quite fit him in the shoulders, a little too tight and snagged every time he reached out for one of those delicious little mini-mini-minced pie things. He really had no idea what was in any of them but damn did they taste good. Serge had found himself a not as well lit corner to observe in before deciding what, if any kind, of moves he wanted to make. The gold and blue lighting scheme made everyone in the room look slightly unearthly in an alluring way. Mostly blue banded people were crowed around the bar chatting amiably and glancing around. Surely he wasn't the only one to pick up on the differences between the two different colors of bracelets. Although no explanation was given. Perhaps, he laughed to himself, this was all some sociology experiment from UC Berkeley.

  May people regardless of bracelet color gathered by the large ornate window. It was a half circle done in the art deco style the rest of the building boasted. You could see the whole city from up here, all glittering lights and ant like people crawling around bellow. Serge had no desire to push his way through to get a closer look, he'd guess many of his blue bracelet companions weren't native San Franciscans or they'd know this very fancy lounge was open to the public when events such as this weren't being held.

  Movement caught his eye. Although everyone was moving to some extent these where the first people he'd seen heading towards the door rather than coming in. A red braceletted woman in an equally red floor length cocktail gown lead a smaller college age man out the door. Serges thought's jumped to the many many many unoccupied penthouses and suites bellow them. And this particular hotel's infamy for soundproofing. Well he himself was no stranger to these particular arrangements although never having done so he'd come prepared to sell his body for a wealthy backer to his startup. At this point without a success tonight the company would go under in a few weeks, maybe less. And he and his 'business partners' dreams of their little indie game making it big time would be squashed. Of course if Asher had any idea what he was about to do to insure that didn't happen he'd forbid it. That's why Serge had snatched up the invitation for himself instead. Asher was brand new to all this, straight out of college from middle of nowhere Idaho, but he was the best damn programer Serge had ever met. Completely unable to handle any social, business, or economical aspects of their company but that's where Serge came in.

  The price set in his mind he stepped forward and began his hunt.

The first group he got pulled into had three blues crowed around one red man who stared them all down with a calculating gaze. More college students, looking for grants to fund their research which would change the world. Some doing so in such a clumsy manner Serge had to excruciate himself from the group before he burst out laughing. Yeah those idiots had no idea what they were getting into.

  Next he got pulled aside by a red woman asking about his career goals. She was delighted to hear about his little start up but when he mentioned growing up in San Fransisco she suddenly noticed a friend across the room and swiftly left.  

Closer to the large window now he allowed himself to be pulled into a conversation by two red men. On the older side to be sure but still quite handsome. They wanted to know his thoughts on 'small, intimate' theater production they had attended and were trying to settle an argument over what style it was aspiring towards. Serge called upon any knowledge he may had gained via osmosis from his theater-kid-dropout-former-roomate.

  "But see if they were going for absurisum why even try to have a coherent plot?"

"It's a ploy." The taller man nudged his partner and rolled his eyes affectionally. "And you fell for it hook line and sinker, you old fool."

"Oh if I'm and old fool what does that make you?"

"Now settle another question for us young lad, who do you think is older?"

Yeah this conversation wasn't going anywhere. He quickly made his own excuses. While he was prepared for some things, double timed by a couple of theater gays was not on that list.

  Then his eyes caught a man across the room lounging in one of the ostentatious armchairs. He was unoccupied at the moment but surveyed the crowd with sharp eyes. Old money, but maybe not as wealthy as he'd once been. Suit not quite up to the news fashions but definitely worth more than all of Serge's savings put together. Stalky but handsome, slicked back brown hair, broad shoulders, and just a hint of a tattoo peaking out from his coat sleeves. Dangerous, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. But who ever said this evening had to be just about business and not pleasure?

  In what he hopped was a smooth move he took the seat next to Mr.-Old-Money-Handsome started with his prepared opening line.

  "Wow, when I saw this building my first time in San Fransisco I never thought I'd get the chance to be way up here." He'd decided to impersonate Asher's 'young fresh face innocent' personally as well as stealing his invitation to this event. The man fixed his gaze on Serge. "I had to shoulder my way through the crowd just to get a glimpse at the view."

"I never saw you by the window."

"Oh, have you been watching me?" Serge leaned forward laying the flirting on a bit thick.

Whumpee sat in a wooden chair, he had recently been released from his period of seclusion caused by the escape attempt weeks ago.

Slow footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, calmly approaching the table next to Whumpee’s seat.

This time, his sire had not restricted him in any way, he was freer than ever. And somehow I preferred the brief sense of freedom that good behavior brings.

Whumper carried with him a bucket, a jug, and refined silver scissors. All objects had a classic, almost royal appearance. They were carefully polished and glistened in tune with the faint light of a distant candle that illuminated the environment.

He meticulously placed the smaller objects on the table and arranged them according to their size. After that, he smiled, heading towards the Whumpee

His gloved hands landed on Whumpee's stiffened hair, bringing one of the strands into his hand and running his index finger over the strand, caressing it softly.

Whumpee flintched at his touch and Whumper began to speak in a sarcastic tone

"You are always so attentive, aren't you?"

"Ruining my precious treasure" - He switched to a dark tone

" But don't worry darling, we'll fix that" 

Whumper reached for the silver bucket and took the pitcher inside it, filling it with water. He spilled the contents of the container over Whumpee's head. A strong shiver ran through their bodies at the sudden contact with the icy surface of the liquid, closing their mouth and trying not to breathe, preventing the water from entering.

Whumper then poured a handful of shampoo into his hands, rubbing it in and then massaging Whumpee's hair gently, making small circles in the hair regions until it was utterly foamed. Then he rinsed Whumpee's long curls again, emptying the bucket and finishing the wash.

After a few hours. their hair had dried and it was time for a shave. If Whumpee showed the slightest bit of happiness at that moment, he would be lying; His hair was the only thing his master valued about him, the reason he kept him in chains, and why he always ran after it no matter how many times he tried to escape.

Such tenderness and care were only shown at this particular moment, in which he would rip out his memories of his past life again and again. Whumper had forced them to recount in detail how Whumpee's mother took care of their hair, only for him to do the same and then rip it out of them, reminding them that they were just a property, a pet, that should please his master

“It is torture' - They thought

They would cry if their tears could still come out, but they had to be strong and hold on once more, show obedience to regain his trust and then try to escape again. This was the plan, exactly as the first time

“Time to start!”

Whumper's excited tone snapped Whumpee out of his trance, responding with a weak nod.

The sound of scissors cutting filled the room as Whumper hummed softly. When he was done, he gathered the tufts of hair into a mound that lay in the sink. Immediately, he took a glass jar from the middle shelf and carefully placed them inside, closing it and placing it in its proper place.

Whumpee stared at the three shelves filled with jars similar to the one Whumpee had just put away.

“ Three . . . six . . . ten . . .” - Before they knew, there were so many more than they could count on the fingers of one hand

Whumpee's eyes filled with tears, but they had to be strong, they couldn't cry, not again.

The intense night breeze reached the Whumpee's body, shivering uncontrollably as the wind penetrated their skin, and like the force of a thousand needles, penetrated deeper, reaching their bones and increasing the freezing sensation.

Whumpee could barely feel the grass beneath him, his limbs were stiffened and numb from the ropes that held them together, preventing them from moving

Their breathing, intense and brittle, was hampered by a wire collar; the unsanded ends penetrated their skin, creating deep wounds in their neck, which would worsen if they made even the slightest movement.

There were countless times Whumpee had tried to escape that place. 

They ran through the dark forest, whose tall trees prevented the moonlight from passing through.