#kicking

museeofmoon:

OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD

IT’S SO CLOSE, REMAINING CALM I’M REMAINING CALM I AM CAL–

my take on the evil leapers is this: tina should have just let al out of his kennel (the imaging chamber) and they should have set him loose on their facility like a rabid dog off his leash. he kicks everyone’s ass in an epic sequence. journey is playing in the background. there’s blood everywhere. sparks are flying in slow motion as he spin-kicks their computer programming counterpart who looks suspiciously like dennis wolfberg, but without a mustache. 

Part 2

“And none of that is even remotely true.” Reaction Junkie said this moments after whispering the final, devastating lines of the story into my ear. I sat there, letting the sadness sink in. Then I turned towards him and buried my head in his chest. I hadn’t cried while he was telling me the story, but now the tears started. I was getting into my head, thinking about how it would feel if he actually did that, imagining those emotions. He’d come incredibly close to some of my real fears and insecurities. In fact, he’d hit upon them. Being unwanted, unimportant, replaceable, second best. Having someone I care about pull away from me. Being left alone, with no social support network. Those are some of my biggest fears, the things that would destroy me most readily.

When I stopped crying enough to talk, I looked up at Reaction Junkie and said, “You’re so fucked up.” We both smiled and started talking about what he’d just done to me. I told him how close it was to my real anxieties and how it reminded me of things that had happened to me in the past. I wasn’t mad at him, exactly, but as we talked, I decided to take my upset feelings and use them against him. I put on what I’m sure was a half angry, half pouty face, and said, “Give me your shirt.” Without hesitating, he removed it and gave it to me. I put it on and then licked his face, which he hates. I was grinning now, and when he wiped off where I’d licked him, I told him not to. He told me I’d better cuff him if I was going to do that. I did so, and then held his hands down while I licked him. He struggled a bit, and managed to wipe his face on me. I grabbed his hair in response, and held his head still while I licked his face.

Eventually, I let him get up, and he wandered off, still cuffed. I went over to Mort and told her about what Reaction Junkie had done. She and I talked for a little while, and then parted ways. I figured I should go uncuff Reaction Junkie. When I found him, however, he was already out. I was entirely unsurprised. I joined in the conversation he was having. I mentioned to him that in addition to giving me the emotional bruises with his story, he should touch up the physical bruises he’d given me previously. I was, once again, literally asking for it. And I got it.

Reaction Junkie handcuffed me, brought me to the ground, and started hitting me. He focused his attention on my left thigh, where he’d beat me the day before. He hit me with his open hand, then his fist. He threw in a few elbows for good measure. I was on the floor, half curled up. Because of the cuffs, I couldn’t even do anything with my hands to help me endure the blows. “Please stop,” I whimpered. That had the expected effect of not causing him to stop. I tried to take more, but I was about at my limit. “Yellow!” He didn’t change what he was doing in the slightest. Then, quietly, “Red.” Reaction Junkie still didn’t stop.

No matter how many times he responds that way to my safewords, I’m always surprised, and I always have a moment of panic. That turns into uncertainty and fear, which combine with feeling pleased and excited to create a delicious rush. This time was no different. I didn’t want to say it too loudly, since people are supposed to stop at “red” in most playspaces. I told this to Reaction Junkie later and he laughed and said, “You could be shouting ‘RED!’ and no one would do a thing about it.” Because I’m his. I’m his property. And he can do whatever he wants to me.

Reaction Junkie did uncuff me, but afterwards, he just went back to hitting me again. I pushed away from him at one point, scooting back. Anderson Cooper came up behind me and I sat against him. At first, I used him to help me deal with the pain by squeezing his legs. Then, when I tried to to push back even more, he blocked me. I couldn’t get away as Reaction Junkie slammed his elbows into me. It hurt so much, so deeply. I just couldn’t take it anymore. In the moment between two impacts, I practically pounced on Reaction Junkie, hugging him tightly. The pain stopped, and the tears that I’d started crying during the beating started to slow.

I finally turned to Anderson Cooper and gave him a dirty look. He just grinned at me, having enjoyed his role in my distress. I kicked at him weakly, which he immediately reported to Reaction Junkie. Reaction Junkie said he’d help. Of course, he didn’t help me. As I lay on my side on the ground, he placed his heel on my bruised and sensitive outer left thigh. The pressure was bad enough, but then he kicked down, his heel slamming into my flesh. The pain went through me like a shock, and I curled up around Reaction Junkie’s feet. I stayed there, sobbing and shaking, until I was finally able to stand up.

Reaction Junkie hugged me and put his mouth next to my ear, “You’re mine. Body, mind, and soul.” He continued speaking low into my ear, reinforcing his ownership and reminding me that I belong to him forever. These words contradicted the awful story he’d told me earlier in the night. They turned me on, made my cunt clench. I shivered in response, and Anderson Cooper noticed my reaction. He told me, “I don’t know what he said to you, but I imagine it was fucked up and something only [Reaction Junkie] could think of.” I smiled and told him what Reaction Junkie had said to me earlier, about making me dependent on him and then withdrawing from me. Anderson Cooper looked over at Reaction Junkie and said, “That’s so fucked up…I kinda want to tie him down and pull out each of his chest hairs one by one.” Anderson Cooper is such a sweet guy.

The rest of the night was great as well. Reaction Junkie got on the pole and danced for a group of us, which resulted in laughter and clapping and glee from everyone. I got on the bed with Anderson Cooper and a group of friends and acquaintances. We all cuddled and talked, and people pressed on my bruises. After the party was over, a group of us went to IHOP and sat at a big table of fifteen plus people. It felt like a big family dinner. I was surrounded by fun and friends and affection.

The party went from social anxiety to minor jealousy to fun conversation to emotional anguish to physical pain, and all the way to feeling like I was part of something, a community. Like I fit. It was a wonderful night.

Continued from here

CW: Dehydration, refusal of care, questionable Caretaker, kicking, bruises, restraints

“Whumpee? I brought you something to drink.”

“Go to hell.” Whumpee spat, kicking at Caretaker before they even got close.

“Whumpee, let me help you. You need to drink something. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’d rather die. Go fuck yourself.”

Careful to stay out of Whumpee’s reach, Caretaker set the cup on the nightstand. “Aren’t you thirsty?”

Whumpee didn’t answer.

With a sigh, Caretaker braced themself and sat on the edge of the bed again. As they had expected, Whumpee continued kicking them.

Caretaker simply sat quietly, enduring. Again, Whumpee kept at it for about two hours before they finally stopped. Caretaker was sore.

“Whumpee, may I please change your bandages?”

“Go away!”

“Will you at least take a drink before I leave?”

“No!” Whumpee kicked Caretaker one more time.

Caretaker gave a curt nod. “Fine. But I’ll be back later to try again until your answer is yes to one of those requests.” And Caretaker left again.

—

“Whumpee?” Caretaker returned an hour later. “May I change your bandages?”

“Damn you, no!”

“Will you take a drink?”

“I said, no!”

Caretaker sat on the bed once more, biting the inside of their cheek as Whumpee kicked at their already bruised body. “I want to help you— I’m going to help you. I don’t care how many times you kick me, I’m not giving up on you.”

“Why won’t you just leave?? I don’t want your help! I don’t trust you!” Whumpee kicked Caretaker in the head.

Caretaker saw stars. “I know you don’t trust me, but I can’t just let you go. You’re going to get an infection!”

“I don’t care— just stay away from me.”

Caretaker closed their eyes and sat in silence until Whumpee stopped kicking them. Maybe it was all in their head, but they felt like it was a shorter period this time. They allowed the silence to hang in the air for a long moment before speaking.

“May I change your bandages?”

“No.”

“Will you take a drink?”

“You’rereallynot going to leave me alone until I say yes to something, are you?”

“Nope.”

Whumpee was silent.

Well, it wasn’t a no.

When Caretaker held the cup to Whumpee’s lips, they drank, glaring at Caretaker the whole time. Despite Whumpee’s glare, they drank the whole glass of water.

“Thank you.” Caretaker said softly before leaving the room.

Fromthis promptby@the-three-whumpeteers

CW: Blood, light mouth whump, frustrated/questionable Caretaker, kicking, restraints, sedation

Caretaker winced, recoiling as they felt their lip split and blood run down their chin. “Why would you do that?” They asked, growing slowly frustrated with Whumpee.

“You bastard! You fucking bastard— you can’t keep me here!” Whumpee thrashed, pulling hard at the cuffs encircling their wrists.

Caretaker wiped the blood off their face with the back of their sleeve. They had been forced to restrain Whumpee and even sedate them at times for the last several days. Whumpee was exceptionally violent and remarkably strong for their size.

“Whumpee, if you kick me again, I’m going to have to sedate you. Please stop it.”

“Might as well do it now, bitch. I’m not just gonna be complacent.”

“Dammit, I’m not trying to hurt you! You need to be rebandaged!”

“Yeah,right. You’re fucking sick! I’m not some doll for you to play with!” Whumpee kicked again, narrowly missing Caretaker.

“I don’t see you as a doll! Whumpee, if you don’t let me take care of your injuries, you’re going to get an infection.”

“Fine by me.” Whumpee spat.

Caretaker grit their teeth. “Damn it all— I don’t want to sedate you! Why won’t you just calm down??”

“Calm down? Calm down?? How about you spend two months locked up by Whumper with them dictating every area of your life! Then we’ll see if you want to ‘calm down’!” Whumpee tugged at the handcuffs and a thin stream of blood trickled down their arm.

This approach wasn’t working.

Closing their eyes, Caretaker took a slow, deliberate breath. “Okay. Okay, fine, I see your point. Allow me to start over.”

“You gonna let me go?”

“I can’t take the cuffs off until either your injuries are healed or you trust me enough to stay.”

“Then it’s not really starting over, is it? You can’t expect to get trust when you don’t giveany.”

Caretaker walked closer to Whumpee and sat on the bed beside them, trying to keep the pain off their face as they were met with a barrage of kicks.

“I want to help you, Whumpee. I know— ouch— I know you don’t trust me. I understand why. Even if you don’t want to trust me, though, you don’t have a choice. I'm— ack— I’m literally the only person you have right now. I can’t make you trust me, but I can hope that you’ll at least let me take care of you.”

Whumpee didn’t answer, only continued to pummel Caretaker with kicks.

Minutes passed. The minutes turned into hours. Whumpee was slowing down. After only a couple hours, they had stopped kicking Caretaker completely.

“Go away.” They rasped.

Caretaker glanced at Whumpee to see they were crying. “Can I please change your bandages?”

“No.”

Caretaker gave a slight nod and exited the room.