#wij24day3

Whumpmas in July: Day Three

"___ deserved it."

TW: Blood, knife, torture, victim blaming, burning

"You were bad," Whumper said, as they wiped the blood off their knife. "You disobeyed my rules. You understand that, don't you?"

Whumpee shivered from their place on the table. "I-I understand," they whispered, tears blurring their vision.

"Do you? Or are you just saying that to get me to stop?"

They choked on a sob. Of course they were saying it to get them to stop. They hadn't done anything wrong, they were only trying to get away, to escape this place of rules and punishment.

Whumper sighed. "Well, I suppose that's that question answered. What do you think we should try next? I've got a pyrography pen I've been meaning to break in..."

"No, no please-" they couldn't take any more, they couldn't, it had been hours since Whumper started carving into their skin, they couldn't do this-

"You deserve this, Whumpee. I'm not punishing you for no reason. You disobeyed, and now you deserve to be punished."

Whumpee nodded frantically, eyes following whumper as they walked to a shelf and grabbed a tool, a pen with a plug for an outlet. They bent down and plugged it in and oh god it wasn't done-

"Say it, Whumpee. Tell me what you deserve."

They sucked in a breath, and the air felt heavy in their lungs. "I-I deserv-ved it. I deserve t-to be punish-shed."

Whumper smiled, picking up the pen and positioning it just above Whumpee's thigh. Close enough that they could feel the heat radiating off it.

so, uh, i love when whumpees think they deserve to suffer and it's even more fun when whumpers think so too! 😈😈😈🥺🥺🥺 here's a silly little snippet of Morja suffering at the hands of Jorah "Self Righteous is my Middle Name" Cuthbert 😩

written for the @whumpmasinjuly prompt - day 3: "____ deserved it" - because it's glorious and delicious and fitting for my blorbos 💖

title insp. by this hanif abdurraqib quote - “in defense of lightening, there is always a darkness asking to be split open.”

~

Annoyingly, the asset is limping. 

This is a prompt fill for Day 3 of Whumpmas in July, @whumpmasinjuly-archive.

Set in parallel to the beginning of my BBU series Pet Safety, refers to the first two chapters.

Renee is just being a very creepy person.

Content / warnings: BBU, voyeuristic whumper pov, creepy/sadistic whumper, mention of (group) noncon, filmed whump, forced to watch, demeaning language, this is pretty rough in general. Also short pregnancy mention but that is in no way part of the whump, and not related to whumpee.

Renee has never told Cory, that she's paid WRU's refurb unit double to be sent the tapes of their pets' processing. He wouldn't understand, she wagered. Her husband had always had a soft spot for his plaything.

So she patiently waits until he is at work, before she puts on a record of Haydn's "The Creation" and then curls up on the couch to watch the tapes for a third time, just as the first soloist starts to sing.

They're vile, these videos, but it's that particular, thrilling flavor of vile, that makes the hair on her arms stand up and her heart flutter.

@whumpmasinjuly-archive 2024, Day 3.

“___ Deserved it”

Whumpmas in July day three! (I know its the fourth - oops)

CW: Bad Caretaker, violence/gore, murder, force feeding(mention), cussing, abuse, mentions of murder and kidnapping, loss of parent, major character death(s), mental breakdown, torture

3. "______ deserved it"

Caretaker sat on the couch, his head in his hands. He could still hear sobbing coming from the other room, and as much as he tried to tune it out, it wasn’t long before he started getting irritated.

It had only been two days of being in this wretched house. At this point, maybe crying was a good reaction, but Caretaker wouldn't know. All he knew was that it was getting on his nerves, and nothing he did would get her to stop. Not after Whumpee had locked herself in her room. That was almost an hour ago.

But sitting on the couch moping wouldn’t help either of them, would it?

Caretaker stood, pushing on their knees for support, and shuffled over to the fireplace. It was all dusty, covered in old pictures that didn’t belong to him. He traced his fingers over frames of families he didn’t know, all the way down to the last. A small kid, giving the camera a crooked smile. Three teeth were missing, from what the camera could see. A school picture from… 7 years ago. Whumpee would have been 9 years old.

He placed the picture face down and went to the kitchen.

There was half a sandwich in the fridge that Whumpee hadn’t eaten. Caretaker had tried forcing them, but it only earned a fit from Whumpee. So Caretaker ate one half. A compromise. It didn't work.

“They need to eat,” he muttered to himself, grabbing the sandwich and a bottle of water. Taking a deep breath, he made his way down the hall, rapping his knuckles on the cheap wood twice. “Whumpee. Open the door.”

There was no halt in the crying. In fact, it only seemed to get worse. Caretaker knocked on the door. “Whumpee, now. You’re going to get sick, dammit.” When there was still no answer, Caretaker hit the door. “Whumpee, open the door!”

It was a mix of worry and anger. Who was Whumper to dump the kid on him? Caretaker had never dealt with kids before, making it well into his 50’s without having children or grandchildren or nieces or nephews. That wasn’t an accident.

“Leave me alone, Caretaker!” The voice was muffled by both the door and probably the kids' own hands.

Caretaker practically growled. “You need to get the hell over this fit! You need to eat! You need water! You need to- to-” He sighed, trying to open the door. It didn’t budge, to no one's surprise. “Whumpee, c’mon. Give me a damn break, I’m just tryin’ to help you. I- I’ve got a sandwich and some water for you, at least take ‘em.”

He waited a while for an answer, and Whumpees crying slowly subsided to aggressive sniffling. The door unlocked and cracked open to show Whumpee’s red, puffy face.

“Hey,” Caretaker sighed, relieved that the kid at least stopped crying. He tried to give a soft smile, but it didn't feel right on his face. “You don’t have to eat it,” since you nearly hit me last time. “But you do need to drink the water. All of it. You’ve been crying for almost an hour.”

Whumpee stared at the sandwich a second too long before glaring at Caretaker and took only the water, slamming the door shut in  his face. He opened his mouth to yell again, but clamped his mouth shut the next second. “I’ll see you in the morning, Whumpee.” He knew his voice sounded strained, angry, tired. He was all of those things. He didn’t know how to deal with this. He didn't have a niece three days ago.

But right now all he could do was sleep, so that’s what he did. The bedroom felt odd, as it had the last two nights. It wasn’t his room, it was Whumpers, and her room was strange. It was mostly bare, but the books and tapes that remained were… creepy. There were no pictures or posters, only those of Whumpee, and none were happy. Caretaker had placed them all face down since then, and now it only looked more grim.

“Couch it is, then.” 

He had to pass Whumpees room again. They were still crying, though much quieter now. They were also muttering something. It stopped as Caretaker walked by. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” he called, waiting only a second before continuing his trip to the sofa. While it wouldn’t be the most comfortable, it wasn’t something he was unused to. 20 years of pushing his luck earned him many nights in the living room.

The couch was softer than Caretaker’s old one, at least. He’d noticed that on the first day, along with how well-kept the rest of the place was, other than the dust issue. It wasn’t too firm, as if it was just bought. It also wasn't too worn, as if it had been used for years. If he had to be dragged away to take care of some far-relative he's never heard of, he was glad it was in a nice house, even if a bit eerie. Then again, Caretaker was used to his worn furniture and messy piles of paper over the tables that only got reorganized once a month or when his wife complained. He didn’t think he’d miss how annoying she was, but… the little things. 

Plopping on his back, he let his mind wander. He didn’t even know he had another sibling, or a niece for that matter. He hadn’t seen his mother since he was a young child. Finding out she’d left him for another life, to have another child to replace him. Well, that turned out well, didn’t it? His mother was dead, and her daughter was taken away, thrown in prison. Caretaker had been an only child… what would life have been like, had he a little sister to look after? He smiles at the thought, but it's quickly overridden. Right, his little sister was a maniac and serial murderer. But he can't help but think that maybe she would have turned out differently, if she had him.

Oh, who was he kidding. He was a shitty person.

He groaned and pulled the blanket over his head, listening to the ticking of a clock he hadn’t realized was there. Had there really been a clock in the living room for the past two days? It had all been really sudden. Like, 'Hey, you have a niece you need to come look after since your half-sister has been arrested for serial murder and multiple counts of kidnapping! Otherwise, this poor child will be sent to the orphanage, and probably fall into a life of crime like her terrible mother!' If it wasn’t for his need for a place to stay and his aching curiosity, that’s where she would be right now.

He woke up without remembering even falling asleep, the blanket was on the floor, and the pillow was somehow on his stomach. He groaned and rubbed his face as he sat up. When he opened his eyes again, he finds himself face-to-face with Whumpee.

“Holy- were you just watching me sleep?” He pushes her back, a bit more aggressively than he meant to. “That’s creepy, kid! You’re 16, why are you acting so-”

The knife was brought down on his leg before he can finish the thought, and he screams as it rips into his jeans, then into his skin, then into muscle. She left it in before backing up and staring at the hilt, the only part that wasn't embedded into his thigh.

“Whumpee! What the hell is wrong with you!” He hovers his shaking hands above the knife, not wanting to yank it out, but not wanting to leave the wretched thing in, either. He reaches for his phone, but he can’t find it. He’d left it in the bedroom last night. “Shit! That fucking hurts! What the fuck, Whumpee?”

She continues to stare, her gaze slowly rising to meet his own, noting how his face scrunches in fear, how his eyes begin to fill with tears . “You deserved it.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘I deserved it’? You stabbed me!” There wasn’t much blood, but the sight of a blade sticking out from his leg was terrifying enough. It was dizzying.

Her face scrunches up even more, twisting into a mask of anger. “You hit me the first day you got here! You’ve been yelling at me, you tried to shove a sandwich down my throat yesterday! You came here, and you made it so clear you didn’t care about me! You’ve hurt me more in two days than my mom ever did!” 

She was right, he had hit her. He’d forgotten about it, but she was acting… crazy, that first day. Yelling at police, yelling at him, yelling at CPS, throwing things. Then they left, and she started complaining and yelling over dinner. He’d had enough, and slapped her across the face for being ungrateful and for throwing a fit all day. Anything to get her to shut up.

Now that he was thinking about it, he did feel bad. Not that he could say that now - the situation was a tad bit too sensitive for sudden apologies to sound genuine. He stared at her for a second before speaking again. “Yeah, okay. I deserved it.”

The girl blinks in surprise, the tears that were forming falling down her face. She wipes them away immediately. “Yes. Yes you did.”

Caretaker leaned his head against the sofa, clenching his teeth. “This hurts like a bitch, though. Call an ambulance, won’t you, Whumpee?” He can’t see her face, but the silence tells him all he needs to know. He sits back up with a groan, trying to look at her through a swirling lens. “Whumpee, please.”

The girl is staring at the blade again, the skin around her eyes reddening. “They all deserved it…”

“What..? Whumpee, who are you talking about?” His mind drifted to the girl's mother… his sister, half-sister, to the murders and kidnappings. “Nobody deserves that, Whumpee. Don’t say that. Your mother did terrible things, you realize that, right?”

She shook her head, staring at his leg, never blinking. “She didn’t! E-everything she- everything she did was- was for the best! It was for- for good!”

Caretakers' brows furrowed together, and he started to stand, wincing at the pain in his leg. “You’d better stop this, Whumpee. You know that’s not true.” In all truth, he didn’t know for sure if she knew. He’d only known about this kid for a few weeks, at most, and met her two days ago.

She shook her head and pushed him back so he stumbled back onto the couch. “She made them better. And if she couldn’t make them better, they didn’t deserve to live.” She says it with such finality to it. She believes this, he realizes. His chest tightens and he looks around. “Don’t try to leave! Don’t look so scared as if you’re the victim here! You wanted this, right? Or was it just convenient for you, huh? To take advantage of a child’s situation to get a house? My house! And the first thing you do, on the worst night of my life, is hit me?!” She shook her head and laughed, a dry, humorless breath. “You’re my uncle, you should care! Right? Shouldn’t you care about me?”

“You’re messed up, kid,” he mutters, but she hears him. She starts crying again. What a wretched sound. “Get the phone, Whumpee.” His voice is more stern now, his gaze only focused on her. “You don’t have to get in trouble for this, I won’t tell them that you stabbed me, alright? But I need to go to the hospital.”

“I don’t want to!” She grabs her head, pulling at her hair. “I want my mom back!” Whumpee turns around, and Caretaker finally sees it, the lines that mark her back and arms. She’d been wearing sweatshirts before, but the tank top showed them off too well.

He stood up again, this time slowly with his palms out. “Whumpee, please calm down. Sit down, drink some water, okay?” His wound could wait- it would have to, if she didn’t let him get help. “Did your mother… uh… try to make you better?” He tried to rephrase the words punishment or beating, maybe torture even, to what this deranged girl seemed to believe. 

The girl whipped around to face him again, reaching for her back, eyes blazing. “That’s none of your business old man! But- but even if she did… even if…” Whumpee’s eyes unfocused. “I… she needed to… fix me… I deserved it…”

Caretaker watched her carefully, trying to gauge her emotions, her reactions. “You didn’t deserve that. Did she make you think you did? That you needed fixing?” 

The girl nods, but does nothing else, her gaze fixed somewhere else, a place Caretaker would probably never see. “Whumpee, we need to call the police. Please. For both of us, alright?” 

Her breathing picks up almost immediately, and her hands unwrap from her body as she fully turns to face him. She reached out quickly for the knife before Caretaker could even think to move to grab her, pulling it out of his leg with a sickening squelch, blood spurting out of his leg as he looked down in horror, feeling his throat close itself against his will. “Wh-whumpee- whu- h-holy shit-”

Whatever she hit, it was something important, because he was bleeding out fast, and the dizziness came soon after. “I don’t need fixing, Caretaker! You do! Mom already fixed me, she already did! I have the proof!” 

Caretaker fell down, luckily landing back on the couch, though it felt like he went right through it. His mind was reeling, and his head was spinning. “W-we don’t have ta… call tha… hah..” He couldn’t breath, clutching his chest as he tried to gasp, but doing so only made the world spin even more. It took him a moment to clutch his leg, hard, trying to stop the bleeding. “Won’t tell… need-” He groaned, opening his eyes just long enough to see the blood leaking through his red-stained fingers. His eyes fluttered up to the girl, who was standing over him with the knife. “Whumpee…”

Her resolve grows, her stance becoming more square, stronger. Less of the sobbing, shaking, angry mess she had been. Now she was calm. “It’s what Mom would want, Caretaker. She never wanted siblings.”

And the knife was raised high above her head, the blade swinging down moments later. It was less than a second, but even after it made contact with his chest, he could still only see it falling, over and over again. Caretaker could feel blood filling his lungs as he fell to his side, and could feel the stickiness of the blood-covered fabric beneath him. Through his darkening vision and ringing ears, he could only barely make out the girl's final words to him.

“Sorry, Uncle.” She raises the knife again, slick with his own blood, and turns it towards her own heart.

“We deserve this.”

Taglist:

@alwaysalilhigh@nicolepascaline@whumped-inc@littlespacecastle@hollowgast1@edkore@ramadiiiisme@writereleaserepeat@when-no-wings-do-broomsticks@robinwrites@aswallowimprisoned@whumblrwork@cepheusgalaxy@tedrakitty @delicateprincepaper@alwaysalilhigh@0eggdealer@subval01@ifthisislifeidontlikeit

His partner’s brains splattered the wall like an abstract painting, his head missing from the eyes up.

“I hope that shows you I mean business,” said the man with the gun in his hand. “Now tell me who hired you to steal from me, or you’ll be next.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” The man rolled his eyes. “But thanks—he deserved it. His stupidity got us caught. Besides, he’s always been too loyal for his own good.”

He smiled. “I, however, don’t have that problem. I’ll work for whoever gives me the best deal. So let’s talk business.”

Fandom: Hockey RPF

Ship: pre-Matthew Tkachuk/Leon Draisaitl

Length/Rating: ~1K, Teen

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Character Development, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Matthew Tkachuk, Self-Worth Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Denial of Feelings

Summary:

Leon wrestles with the aftermath of Tkachuk's and Kassian's fight.

First fic ever written for hockey RPF (and it's fun)! This fic was written for @whumpmasinjuly's Day 3 prompt: "______ deserved it".

Day 3: "____ deserved it."

It's time to hurt your favorite canon characters or OC's! Is it "I deserved it", "You deserved it", or even "They deserved it"? Stick a character's name in the blank and see where the conversation goes! It's time to enter a world of hurt, but does everyone agree on who deserved it?