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[ghost-whump]

The Rare Bookseller Part 49: Alexander's Task

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tw: mind control, hypnotic induction, branding, possessiveness, drunkenness

September 1925

The walk home from the ballet had been somber, to say the least. Oliver had started off the night so excited, and he knew Alexander had, too, anticipating a lovely night out. But now Oliver was terrified, and his master was simmering in fury in a way that Oliver hadn't seen from him before.

"Not at you, Oliver," he said when pressed. "I'm not angry with you. You followed my instructions; you couldn't have done any better. No, it's my sire I'm furious at."

Oliver nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat. "Is he actually going to drink from me, sir?"

Unsurprisingly, this made Alexander's fury deepen. He took a long time before answering. "My hands are tied. Certain arrangements have to be made."

"What does that mean, sir?"

"...Leave me. I'm in no state to -- we'll discuss it next evening."

And Oliver had no choice but to comply with his master's wishes, as the waves that usually drew him closer to Alexander were now pushing him away. 

Alexander stormed off to his quarters the moment they arrived at home, and Oliver didn't dare follow. Instead, he did his best to comfort himself with a mug of warm milk and a supper of buttered bread. Afterwards, he retired to his own chambers early, curled up in his soft warm bed but unable to rest, flipping listlessly through books, unable to focus on any words and looking only at the illustration plates.

It was as if he could still feel the ancient vampire's unnatural grip on his body. He didn't want that vampire to visit, and despite all of his conditioning, he certainly didn't want him drinking his blood.

His blood was his master's alone -- and that thought certainly was the conditioning, stronger in his mind than any of his own convictions.

It was well past morning when he finally sank into a restless sleep, tossing and turning and waking up halfway from nightmares. By the time he fully awoke, it was already evening again, his room dark and foreboding, reminding him of his fears. Alexander's sire was arriving tomorrow evening. 

He had to talk to his master. He had to know what to do, how to behave, to avoid being harmed. But when Oliver emerged from his room, flickering gas lamp in hand, his master was nowhere to be found. Oliver checked every corner of the library, the music room, the parlor, a dozen disorienting spare rooms filled with more books and storage crates and bits of random furniture. Either Alexander had left the manor or he was still confined to his room. 

Even Oliver's need wasn't enough to overcome his fear of knocking on the door. One of the few rules of the manor was that Alexander's room was off-limits without permission, and the last thing he wanted was for his master to be angry at him when he so desperately needed his protection. All he could really do was wait, and worry, and take a long hot bath in the hopes that it would ease his worries, and inevitably end up worrying in the hot bath.

If only he didn't have to worry about any of this! If only he could simply be Alexander's thrall, spending his days in the library and providing his master with blood. He was meant to be loyal to Alexander, the perfect thrall, wasn't he? When he closed his eyes and imagined, he could almost hear the song calling to him.

His master needed his help, and Oliver wanted so badly to be helpful.

He toweled off from the shower, making sure to apply lotion to his face and neck, just as they'd done in the auction house. Back in his bedroom, he rifled through the wardrobe to look for something suitable, finally settling on a tasteful red frock. After all, if he couldn't solve his master's problems, he could at least try to cheer him up.

Suitably dressed, he had emerged from his bedroom and was gathering up the courage to go knock on Alexander's bedroom door when he heard a commotion in the foyer and rushed to see.

"Ugh, just drag me to the library and leave me to die," said Alexander, precariously wrapped around Miss Lily, who was dragging him into the manor with a long-suffering look on her face.

"I'll take you to the library, but I'm not going to leave you until you've done what you need to do," she said.

"Screw that. Screw all of it. Screw my goddamn sire and his goddamn rules. Sick and tired of him touching my thralls." It was obvious now that his master was drunk, as he grasped onto Miss Lily for dear life. "He was touching Oliver, my Oliver. He's gonna drink from my Oliver. Put his goddamn fangs in my thrall!"

Oliver's heart clenched at the way his master was talking about him. It was strange, to be wanted, to be possessed, but not at all unwelcome. It gave a strange sort of pleasure to Oliver that his master didn't want anyone else to drink from him.

"Welcome home, sir," said Oliver, emerging into the foyer, doing his best to look like a proper thrall. "Is there... um. Is there anything I can help with...?"

"Oh, now, isn't that just precious," Miss Lily cooed, while Alexander looked as though he were about to pass out.

"Look at him, Lily," he said with a tone of pleading. "He's so loyal, so goddamned perfect. I don't want to hurt him. How can I..."

Oliver's eyes widened. "How can you what, sir?"

"Don't you worry about it, dear," Miss Lily cooed at him, and Oliver could feel his mind soften. "Don't you worry about a thing. Why don't you go make yourself comfortable in the library? Your master will be joining you shortly after I give him a little pep talk."

"Yes, sir," he said. The calm he had managed to carve out for himself had evaporated. What was his master going to do? Was he simply referring to allowing his sire to feed on Oliver? He fussed with his dress -- a garment he still wasn't at all used to -- as he settled onto a couch and waited.

Perhaps ten minutes passed before Miss Lily arrived, carrying an old white tin. She was followed by Alexander, who looked forlorn as he sat down next to Oliver on the couch. Oliver could smell the alcohol on him, and his master wobbled slightly as he regarded Oliver.

"Can't you do it?" he said to Miss Lily in a tone that was nearly a whine.

"You know you have to be the one to do it."

"He won't know."

"He will and you know it."

"I helped you with Miriam."

"And I'll help you with Oliver, but you still need to be the one to do it."

"Do what, sirs?" said Oliver with growing fear. "What are you going to do?"

"You trust your master, don't you?" Miss Lily had settled in on the other side of him, and brushed back his hair to speak in his ear. "You want to be a good and obedient thrall for him, don't you, dear?"

"I trust my master," said Oliver automatically, Miss Lily's voice and her choice of words sinking him into a helpless daze. "I want to be obedient..."

His master leaned over and began to hum in his other ear, a song which washed over his mind and soothed away his fears. "You're my loyal and obedient thrall, aren't you? And you trust me." 

"Yes, Master. Completely loyal and obedient."

"You love being obedient," Miss Lily coaxed. "Obedience is pleasure. You wish to serve."

With Miss Lily's voice and Alexander's song hypnotizing him so thoroughly, he almost felt like he was back in the soft leather chair in the auction house, his sleeping mind open and pliable and oh so very obedient. "I wish to serve," he said. "I -- I just want to help you, Master. I want to be your loyal and obedient thrall."

Alexander's hum was pleased, making Oliver feel so relaxed and so good. "And so you are, Oliver. You're just perfect. I couldn't be more delighted with you."

"Thank you, Master," said Oliver, floating in the bliss of praise.

"You're just so... you're too perfect. That's why I can't bear the thought of my sire drinking from you." His master was leaning his head on Oliver's shoulder.

"I understand, sir. My blood should only be for you."

"Only for me, yes, that's right," said Alexander fiercely. "Only for me."

"But you must obey Alexander's sire as well," said Miss Lily in his other ear. A tone of warning, but Oliver wasn't sure it was for him.

"...Yes," said Alexander after a long hesitation. "You must obey him, and allow him to drink your blood, even if... Just for now, Oliver, just for now. You can do that for me, can't you? You can obey him, because you are loyal to me."

"Yes, sir, I can obey."

"Obedience is pleasure," whispered Miss Lily. "You only desire to serve."

"I only desire to serve, sir."

"Lex, you need to --"

"I know," said Alexander, and his song changed subtly. Instead of inducing obedience, Oliver felt his mind being shifted, further entranced, his thoughts becoming foggy and far away. It was like falling asleep with his eyes wide open. "You're safe, Oliver. You're safe with me."

"Safe... Master..." he slurred, his head growing heavy and coming to rest on his master's shoulder. 

Alexander was rubbing his back gently. "I need to do something now. It's important, and unavoidable. You are going to lose awareness as it happens, and when you wake, you will feel no pain."

"What..." He wanted to ask, but his mind was slipping under the waves of his master's song, the song that was now urging him into sleep.

"Shut your eyes, Oliver," said Miss Lily. "Become unaware of everything around you except for our voices. You won't feel a thing."

"Nothing but our voices and a deep, dreamless sleep," said Alexander. "Rest, now, Oliver. You're so obedient, so loyal, so good. You can rest. You can be still, so very still, as you sink into a place where you will feel no pain."

Oliver's vision blurred as his eyes began to close, leaning back against the couch as his master ran his hand through his hair. He was surrounded by song - obey, relax, go to sleep, feel no pain - and everything else was fading away until he was floating, floating in the deepest abyss of the ocean, where there was nothing but darkness and the rush of cool water and his Master's beautiful siren song.

He could obey. He could give himself over to his Master, body, mind, and soul. It was the easiest thing in the world.

Oliver wasn't sure how long he floated there in contented bliss. Time had lost all meaning, all of his senses dulled and drowsy. Finally, as if a hand was reaching down from the surface of the water, his Master spoke once more. "You can wake now, Oliver. You'll feel no pain and no distress as you wake."

His eyes opened, and he was back in the library, still feeling strangely disconnected from his body. His Master looked grim, but surely it wasn't because of him. He was a good thrall, and he had obeyed. 

His shoulders felt cool, and it took him a moment to realize that his dress was gone, neatly folded up and sitting on a nearby table. His chest was bared, and there was a bandage just below his collarbone. His head fogged again, and he felt numb, almost as if he weren't allowed to perceive all of this.

"Don't worry about that, Oliver," said Alexander, grasping his chin and drawing his gaze up. "You were just perfect."

"Thank you, sir." 

Alexander collapsed onto the couch beside him, as though he'd been through some great ordeal. "There, Lily, it's done. Now can you leave me to die a second time?"

Oliver couldn't help but reach out to him. "Sir, if there's anything I can do... any way I can serve you..."

"You've done everything you were supposed to do," said Miss Lily. "And no one's leaving you to die, Lex. You need to sleep it off. Oliver, you can put him to bed, can't you, dear?"

"Put him to bed, sir?"

"Yes, as you do each night, no doubt."

Oliver looked at Miss Lily, alarmed. "I'm -- I'm not allowed in the bedroom without permission, sir --"

Miss Lily raised an eyebrow. "Really, Lex?"

"I don't need a thrall warming my bed. Hot water bottles and steam heat suffice," said Alexander with a groan. "And I didn't want to get attached."

"...And how is that working out for you?"

Alexander groaned again. "My head is killing me, Lil, spare me the lecture."

"You're hopeless, you know that?" said Miss Lily. "Come on, Oliver. I'll hoist him up and you accompany me. Your master needs your help."

"Of course, sir, right away."

Miss Lily picked up Alexander as though it were nothing, carrying him up the stairs and into the bedroom with Oliver following at her heels. She expertly navigated the cluttered floor in the dark, freezing cold room even as Oliver tripped over discarded laundry. She pulled his shoes off and tossed them aside, pushing Alexander onto the bed and draping the messy covers over him, as he curled up like a sleeping child.

"Go on now, Oliver."

"Me, sir? What should I do?"

"Vampires are cold all the time, in case you haven't noticed. He needs to sleep, and your warmth will help him rest."

Oliver's throat tightened with the thought of crawling into his master's bed, and he couldn't tell if it was fear or anticipation. He looked to Alexander for confirmation of what Miss Lily had said. "Sir... you want me to..."

"God damn it, Lily," he swore. "Just for tonight, yes." A low hum emanated from the mound at the center of the bed, one which drew Oliver near. He felt himself stepping forward, climbing onto the bed, and in a flash, he was sucked under the covers and surrounded by the strong arms of a cold vampire. "You're so warm. It's been ages since I've had a thrall in my bed." He yawned into Oliver's ear as his arms tightened.

"I knew that'd help," said Lily smugly. "Well, I'll be taking my leave. Good luck with our sire." She walked out, shutting the door.

Oliver, meanwhile, stared out into the gloom, his heart thumping. The bed was soft and smelled of floral soap and winter winds, and his master was gripping him so tightly it was almost uncomfortable. "Will this help you sleep, sir?"

"Hmph?"

"Um, will this help you sleep, sir?"

His deep voice was groggy, sounding half-asleep already. "'m never warm. Hard to stay awake when it's so warm." He sighed. "You're a good thrall. I hope you know that."

"Thank you, sir," he said, feeling warm himself from the praise.

"Almost the best thrall."

"...Almost, sir?"

"You should go to sleep, too."

"I can try, sir."

His master's voice hummed a sweet lullaby into his ear, and Oliver was immediately hypnotized once more. The fact that his master sounded so drowsy as he sang only made Oliver succumb to its spell faster. He was so tired, so sleepy, and his master was pleased with him too, inviting him to rest...

He was helping his master, finally. It was so nice to be here.

"You're mine, Oliver," said the voice in his ear. "My thrall, my perfect thrall."

"Yours, sir," Oliver agreed as he drifted off.

Prev > Masterlist

Next time, Alexander takes matters into his own hands.

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[ghost-whump]

if you can, and no pressure if not, but i needed to request a little blorbo idea. but i had this idea that whumpee is poisoned by whumper but doesn’t know, as whumper was someone the entire team trusted. caretaker, who is a medic, is checking up on whumpee who presumably just has a fever, only to notice potent delirium and confusion, blown out pupils, excess sweating, tremors, and weakness.

content: sickfic, poisoning, betrayal

It was supposed to be a little check-up. Routine. Give Whumpee some medication, check their fever, all that; but Whumpee was sick as a dog and Caretaker was quickly realising that these symptoms were not just a common cold.

“Whumpee?” They stared into those dilated pupils and knew something was severely wrong. “Whumpee, can you hear me?”

“‘m not feeling good…”

“I can see that. Whumpee, can you focus on me? Look at me.”

Whumpee’s head lolled to the side, their eyes fluttering closed. They were drenched in sweat, shaking, unable to even hold eye contact for more than two seconds. This wasn’t good.

“Whumpee, listen to me. Did you eat anything strange in the past few days? Accepted a drink from strangers? Anything where you could’ve gotten drugged or poisoned?”

“‘m sleepy… ‘m gonna… sleep a bit…”

Caretaker lightly patted them on the cheek to try to keep them awake, barely succeeding. “Whumpee, listen to me. Did you accept any food or drinks from anyone outside of the team?”

Whumpee blinked once, twice, slow as an affectionate cat. “No.”

Caretaker furrowed their brows. But these were symptoms of drug abuse, or poison.

Suddenly, a horrible feeling crept into their body, up their spine and settling in their throat. “Did you accept food or drinks from anyone on the team? Did anyone offer to make you lunch or dinner?”

Whumpee rubbed their face against the pillow. “Huh?”

“Did you accept food or drinks from anyone on the team, Whumpee?”

“I dunno… Can’t remember…”

Caretaker swallowed. “Okay. We’ll take care of whatever’s going on with you, and then… then we’ll figure out this situation. We’ll deal with it later.”

[ghost-whump]

one of my greatest pet peeves in fiction, and it is truly stupid I know, is that no one seems to understand how genuinely hard it is to kill someone via stabbing. stab wounds have a mortality rate of like 5%. especially abdominal stabbing. tv shows and movies show dudes getting stabbed one time in the lower abdomen with a tiny knife and then they fall over. like what did he die of precisely. that man died of Small Knife

[ghost-whump]

Whumper forcing Whumpee to get drunk.

[ghost-whump]

Blue

TW : noncon touch

"Mmm…"

Whumpee blinked their eyes a few times. Their head was pounding hard and the only thing that they could see was the television screen. They were laying on their stomach on the bed, along with Whumper who was hugging them tightly from behind. 

It was suffocating.

Whumper pushed a strand of hair behind Whumpee's ear as they watched the television together. Whumpee couldn't hear a thing though, they could only focus on their breathing.

In…and out…

In…and out…

In…and—

Whumpee gasped softly as Whumper tightened their grasp on them. Their legs were chained together under the blanket. The room was dark, Whumpee could only rely on the light from the television screen to see anything in the room. It was one drowsy night for them.

They got drugged by Whumper and couldn't do anything other than let out a few incoherent mumbles. Their body was too weak to resist any touch coming from their captor. Even when their hair was being tugged slightly for Whumper to braid. 

Whumper looked at their half-lidded gaze and chuckled. They love seeing Whumpee in this state. They looked so cute and vulnerable. Whumper couldn't get enough of Whumpee's soft skin and beautiful hair.

Whumpee yawned tiredly. They wanted to sleep, even just for a moment. They could feel their brain melting under the influence of the drug. But Whumper just wouldn't let them rest, right?

"Aww…sweetie, are you tired?" 

Whumper asked in a condescending tone. They continued stroking Whumpee's hair, a devilish smile forming on their lips. They turned off the televisyen, making the room turn pitch dark now.

Whumpee swallowed hard at the sudden lack of sounds and light. They could only hear the rustling sound coming from Whumper as they adjusted themself to get closer to Whumpee. 

I hate this, Whumpee thought. Get away from me.

They wished they could talk and scream and yell at Whumper for treating them like a rag doll. But the only thing that they could do was watch that monster do whatever they wanted to do to them. 

Whumper started unbuttoning Whumpee's shirt. The action alone made Whumpee murmured in desperate pleas. They struggled and squirmed under them.

"Shh…don't worry. I know you were bored watching the television."

Whumper said as they leaned closer to Whumpee's ear. "That's why I think we should have a little fun tonight."

Whumpee's eyes widened in fear. They struggled even more. "N…no…please…"

"It's okay, Whumpee. I'll make you feel good."

Whumper said as they ripped off Whumpee's shirt, leaving the poor creature started crying and whimpering. Whumper smirked at the sight. 

"You can't run away from me now."

[ghost-whump]

Absolute Obedience

"Whumpee, be my chair."

"Yes, master." Whumpee complied. They kneeled on all fours as Whumper sat on their back. "Is this comfortable, master?"

"Mhm."

…

"Master…?

"Shut your mouth. Chairs aren't supposed to talk."

"Yes, master."

…

"Whumpee, go make me a drink."

"Yes, master." Whumpee slowly made their way to the kitchen. They made an orange juice for Whumper, served them with a slight bow.

"Here, master."

"Good. Now kneel again."

"Yes, master." Whumpee kneeled again. They put on a smile when Whumper poured the orange juice right on their head. Whumper chuckled,

"You like that?"

"Yes, master. I like it."

 "Whumpee, light my cigarette." 

Whumpee nodded, they reached for Whumper's lighter on the table and flicked it on their cigarette. Whumper took a long drag before blowing off the smoke in the air. Whumpee just watched silently as Whumper continued smoking on the couch.

"Whumpee, be my ashtray."

"Yes, master."

Whumpee stuck out their tongue for Whumper, their eyes shut in pain as the burning sensation from the cigarette touched their soft muscle. "Does it feel good, Whumpee?"

Whumpee nodded, jaw hanging loosely. "Yes…master…"

Whumper grinned, they put the cigarette inside Whumpee's mouth as they looked down at them with malicious intent.

"Chew and swallow it."

Whumpee's breath came to a halt. They slowly complied as they chewed the cancer stick around their mouth. They almost spit the content out but Whumper placed a hand over their mouth, preventing them from doing so.

"Now, swallow it."

Whumpee consumed the cigarette down their throat. They coughed out as their eyes started tearing up. Whumper ruffled their hair in a mocking manner.

"That's your meal for today. Do you like it?"

"Y-yes, master…"

"Good…now spew it out."

"...w-what?"

Whumper squeezed Whumpee's cheek, smiling innocently. "Spew it out. Do you think it's a good idea to eat a cigarette, you dumb fool?"

Whumpee swallowed hard. They put two fingers inside their mouth and placed them at the start of their throat. They pressed the spot a little before they started throwing up on the floor. Whumper watched in glee, their chin rested lazily on their knuckles as Whumpee's body twitched and trembled from the sensation.

Whumper laughed loudly. They stood up from the couch and pushed their foot down on Whumpee's head, their face made contact with the vomit. The smell filled up their nostrils, making their stomach felt queasy again.

"Who's your master?"

"Y-you…master…"

"Who do you belong to?"

"You…master…"

Whumper smiled giddly. They grabbed a fistful of Whumpee's hair and yanked it harshly upwards. Their eyes met each other as Whumper breath grazed lightly on Whumpee's skin.

"You are mine." They stated, searching for Whumpee's eyes for any sign of defiance. But they found none. Instead, Whumpee formed a genuine smile.

…

…

…

"I am yours, Master…"

[ghost-whump]

Evil Church AU: The Trinity

IT'S DONE! my latest piece for the Evil Church AU! it's called The Trinity because we have The Father (David), The Son (Logan), and The Holy Spirit (Cassius)...kind of. ;)

thank you for liking and/or reblogging if you do! <3

timelapse - available to Ko-Fi members +$1 coloring page - available to purchase for $3 wip thread - free to view!

my art x my whump x evil church au x ko-fi all ocs in the images above use he/him.

[ghost-whump]

Lawrenceville Baptist

IV: Peter

Prev

CW: questionably dependent adopted sibling relationship, pet/slavery universe mentions

One day in January, Peter stayed home sick from school. Paulo watched from the kitchen as the Sullivan brothers argued quietly in the living room. He busied himself making a pot of coffee.

“I can’t,” Jesse told Peter, already dressed in canvas pants and steel toed work boots for a winter day on the jobsite. “You know I can’t.”

Peter looked wounded. His eyes were bloodshot from what must have been a bad night's sleep, and his hair looked like it had dried and redried from sweat. He was wrapped in a yellow afghan on the Sullivan’s brown sofa like it was a first aid blanket. “Please, Jess?”

Jesse shook his head patiently. “I can’t ditch work when I’m sick. What makes you think it’s okay for me to ditch because you are?”

“You used to,” Peter mumbled, making himself smaller by pulling his knees to his chest. “Whenever I was sick.”

“That was high school. It was different. This is work.”

Paulo thought the change Peter was able to affect was impressive. At church last Sunday he’d been well dressed, engaging, and never even went within twenty feet of his brother. He’d listened intently with eyes of seaglass green to Pastor Patterson’s sermon about deciding to disengage from a life of ease and sin, like the rich man Jesus had told to give all his belongings away if he truly wanted to follow Him.

Paulo sat still and made no facial expression the entire sermon, uncomfortably aware of the congregation’s glances on his profile and back every time sin was mentioned. They all wondered what sort of Sodomesque underworld he’d hailed from, and suspected he was trailing it around with him like spilled perfume. Mrs Sullivan put her hand over his at one point and he flinched in surprise. She didn’t look at him, but patted him once and returned her hand to her lap.

Peter in church and Peter at home were two different boys. Here he campaigned for Jesse’s attention, basked in his affection.

“Do a half-day,” he suggested, looking up through his lashes at Jesse.

“If it’s an emergency,” Jesse said, squatting down to be eye-level with him. “Call my cell and I’ll come home. Is it an emergency right now?”

Peter laid his head against the sofa cushion. “No,” he admitted in a soft voice.

“I know,” Jesse sympathized, putting his hand in Peter’s hair and giving it a gentle tousle. “You know I’ll be home tonight. Text me, okay?”

Knowing he’d lost, Peter nodded in reluctant defeat. “You text me.”

“I will. Paulo will get you something if you need it, right Paulo?”

“Sure. Of course.” He didn’t miss the dirty look Peter gave Jesse. It’s not the same, that look said. I want you to do it.

Jesse left, and Peter got up from the couch, showered and changed, and returned to put a gameshow on TV.

“Hey,” Paulo said awkwardly. “If you need anything, really. I’m happy to help.”

Peter pulled his eyes away from the TV to look up at him. “We’re supposed to be helping you.”

“I just meant I can make you lunch or something.”

“Thanks. But I’m feeling better.”

It was true, he didn’t seem sick like he had before. His eyes were clear and he wasn’t moving gingerly or speaking in the way he had to Jesse. It was almost like he’d never been sick at all, and he was just playing hooky. Did he just want to see if Jesse would call off and take care of him all day?

“Metal health day?” Paulo asked.

Peter sensed his skepticism and gave him a sidelong glance. “Whatever you wanna call it.”

“He really loves you, you know.”

Peter blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah?”

“Are you kidding? You’re obviously the most important thing to him.”

“Not the most,” Peter rolled his eyes. He echoed Paulo’s word choice ironically. “Obviously.”

“What does he do with the money he makes?”

Peter shrugged. “He helps out. Even just two horses are expensive. We used to have way more. Mom did boarding and lessons, when I got here…” He trailed off abruptly. He hadn’t meant to say that. He probably didn’t think Paulo knew about the adoption. “He pays for his car, and insurance. Sometimes…a bill for the house, I guess. Stuff for me. Only if he has extra.”

Paulo raised his eyebrows. “That’s really nice of him.”

“I’m doing the early college program,” Peter informed him like he didn’t owe him this I formation, but since he’d pushed…. “So I’m really busy with AP classes and my college credits. It doesn’t make sense for me to have a job if my GPA would suffer.”

“Where do you want to go to school?”

“Yale,” he replied sarcastically, acting bored with where the topic had gone.

Paulo suspected it was because Peter had no concrete plans of actually leaving to go to a decent college, at the very least an hour or two away. Not with Jesse here. He felt a twinge of disdain for him… his shut-in mom and their 1992 furniture, the farmhouse and barn falling apart around them. You’d stay here and rot for what? he thought. Your adoptive big brother? That self righteous little shack of a church? He knew he was being cruel. It was more than he had.

“Not everyone around here goes off to college,” Peter told him as if sensing his thoughts. “It’s not the end-all-be-all.”

“Like Jesse?”

“Maybe. You don’t know him. He seems one way but he isn’t, really. He’s just quiet unless he’s got something to say. He could’ve gone to practically any school in the country, he just didn’t wanna leave.”

“Leave home? Or leave you?”

Peter exhaled between his teeth at Paulo’s audacity. “Where are you from, anyway? You don’t act like a pet.”

“What’s a pet act like?”

“I don’t know. Not you. Glen says it’s usually prostitution that opens the door for it. Were you turning tricks and someone stole you?”

“That’s not really how it works,” Paulo answered, amused at the phrase ‘turning tricks’. He sat on the floor a few feet from the sofa. “I mean it can happen, but you’d just be kidnapped, you wouldn’t be a real pet. That’s a legal process. It’s like filing for unemployment. There’s paperwork.”

“Can you ever get out of it?”

“If you escape… or are abandoned, and no one claims you… after three years you can file for effective emancipation. Otherwise someone has to free you. And that’s expensive.”

“So someone rich has to love you a lot.”

“And in the right way. Yeah.”

Peter shrugged, as if that made sense. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t shocking news to him. “Hey. What was the worst thing you ever did?” he asked, trying to sound casual but with a child’s greedy curiosity in his eyes. What rare form he was in today.

Paulo thought the wording of the question was off. Did Peter mean the worst thing that happened to him, or the worst thing he’d ever done? The worst in his life or the worst as a pet? Did he just want to know the most depraved, the furthest thing from most people’s minds as they went about their day— something that would shock or transform to hear about?

“I never called my mom,” Paulo said plainly. “Not since the day I left. I could’ve. I could right now, you guys have a landline. I just haven’t.”

Almost imperceptibly, Peter’s curiosity deflated. He twisted his mouth in a downward smile of banal acceptance. “Least you’ve got one,” he said, and turned definitively back to his TV show. Paulo didn’t know if he meant Mrs. Sullivan or his biological mother. He supposed it didn’t matter.

[ghost-whump]

Whumpee chained to a treadmill overnight

[ghost-whump]

CYOA Whump - Part 19

First | Previous

You chose: I'll threaten to tell the captain about his plans if he doesn't include me.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

You tilt your chin up, fixing Rye with a hard stare.

"Ventis..." Onthyes warns behind you.

You feel lightning crackle across your clenched fingers as you try to seem as threatening as possible. "I could always tell Erxik what you are planning," you whisper.

Rye's face darkens. He grabs your jaw, squeezing painfully hard. "And I could always cut out your tongue, freak," he spits.

You can't help but flinch. Over the time you've been here Rye has proven time and time again that he's not afraid of any consequences that might come from hurting you. You still have bruises from the last time he decided he didn't like your face.

Still, he may have hit you a lot but he's never maimed you. He knows better than to damage the captain's favorite tool. "You will not," you challenge.

"Ya think so?" The hand holding you by the collar moves to wrap around your throat, gripping you tight.

You let out a strangled gasp, reaching up to grip his wrists. Your eyes tear up involuntarily. "Stop," you wheeze, your cheeks squished by his hold.

He squeezes harder. Black spots fill your vision.

"That's enough, Ryley."

The hands release you and you collapse to the deck, gasping and coughing. You look up to see Onthyes standing over you and looking all the part of a knight in shining armor as he puts himself between you and Rye.

"Come on," Onthyes mutters, lifting you to your feet. "You tried. Let's go."

Rye lets the two of you walk away, but you can feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull.

This is bad. If he succeeds at mutiny now, he's probably going to treat you even worse than the current captain does. But if you go to Erxik now and Rye finds out, he might kill you. If you do go to Erxik, you can only hope that he kills Ry before anything happens to you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

CYOA whump taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @rainydaywhump @whumperofworlds @hauntedroseart @3-2-whump @fleur-a-whump @whumpsday @whumpisfun @whumper-whimsy @ghost-whump @fabled-whump @violets-whumperflies @whumped-by-glitter @thewhumpening-thesequel @lumpofsand @whumpycries @unicornbeck @gala1981 @a-formless-entity @ryahisbored @mentallyunwellautism @idontreallyexistyet @aethernorwood @starfields08000

[ghost-whump]

If you're still taking these...

For the five sentence thing: trussed.

-- @whumperofworlds

"No, no, please, let me go!" the creature shrieked, flapping their wings uselessly against Whumper and their people's hold.

"Tie it up!" Whumper yelled, and others rushed in with a length of rope. They quickly got it around its arms, legs, and wings, pulling it taut before it could attempt another escape.

"Please, I wasn't causing any trouble!"

Whumper stepped away from the trussed up hybrid, laughing a little. "You certainly weren't; and a well-behaved bird like you will sell for quite a good amount."

[ghost-whump]

Whump scenarios for a coffee shop AU: inspired by this post

Tyrannical whumper boss who forces rookie whumpee barista into more and more illegal and abusive situations (your favorite flavor).

Rich business whumper takes a 'liking' to whumpee and hires them as their private barista-- a job that entails much more than making coffee.

Whumper baristas kidnap particularly annoying whumpee customers, and keep them in the basement of the coffee shop to torment as stress relief.

Feel free to add on!

[ghost-whump]

Whumpee tied up in a small, dark room, as Whumper began to brick the entrance, "The Cask of Amontillado" style.

[ghost-whump]

Teeth are bullshit. What do you mean you’re decaying. Get a fucking grip. You’re a bone now act like it. You don’t see my finger bones decaying from jerking it too much now do you

[ghost-whump]

whunmpee that breaks my heart the most isn’t whumpee that is terrified, but whumpee that is happy — not a feisty kind of happy where they laugh and mock whumper, but an innocent, childlike and naive kind of happy where they don’t know what is about to happen to them. they still think that they are safe, even when they’re held captive by whumper, because they are so pure and innocent that they don’t know there are bad people in this world.

they don’t understand what they did wrong when whumper tortured them. they don’t understand why any of this is happening. they were literally smiling innocently when they were escorted to the room in which they’d be tortured.

this literally fucks me up. I need caretaker to come save them asap :(

[ghost-whump]

Caretaker finds Whumpee hiding from them under the bed

[ghost-whump]

to unalive a mockingbird