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[secretwhumplair]

You know Elgar has low self esteem when his thoughts upon finding how the person he rescued is royalty aren’t “how will the royal family reward me the heroic way I comforted and rescued a prince” but rather “how will I be punished for the inappropriate way I comforted and rescued a prince”.

Also my heart does bleed a bit thinking of how the Prince must have felt before Elgar saved him. The anguish of being so close to safety and believing there’s no chance to have it. Aside from the physical pain, that enough would be enough to have most people wanting a comforting hand hold.

What living under a monarchy will do to a mf 😔 He's used to the thought of royals/nobles just doing whatever they want (and oftentimes being unfair, self-important pricks while they're at it). He so far successfully avoided them and had no plans of changing that.

But yeah actually the prince was. So so grateful.

[secretwhumplair]

The Outpost

633 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to It's night and they escape and head for the border)

Content | Multiple whumpees, broken bones, fear, implied/mentioned: starvation, slavery, war themes

Notes | Hooray! They made it! Right.

Why am I struggling so much with titling right now sdkfaskf it's bad enough I have to name all these characters and places

Elgar had underestimated how exhausting it would be, for both of them, to stay on a horse for hours. He hadn’t even managed to get the animal to pick up a trot, but even so, he worried his companion might fall off any minute, their frail body slumped against his.

The first light of dawn was creeping over the horizon, stealing through the forest where they were following a path narrow enough it might have been trodden into the ground by wild animals only. Elgar had no idea whether the wretch knew where they were going. They only reached out to weakly tap his leg when the horse slowed down, even though Elgar himself barely had the strength anymore to encourage it forward. By now it had stopped more than once to nibble at some herbs by the wayside.

But then, the forest suddenly retreated, revealing a large clearing, and at the center of it what was clearly a fortified outpost of the Ochurian military.

Elgar’s heart sank when he saw it. The wretch might find help here—and he was glad, he was—but he? His insides squirmed. A part of him was utterly convinced he had merely exchanged one cruel master for another.

But then, if so, what difference did it really make? At least the wretch would be safe. Wouldn’t they?

When they approached, a guard called out to them in Ochurian. Elgar didn’t understand a word of it, but their rough, hostile tone was enough to make him want to cower—not that he could.

The wretch stopped the horse, or let it stop. Elgar wished they could have gone a little closer, so the soldiers could see the deplorable state they were in and perhaps take pity, or at any rate recognize the wretch as one of their own at least by ancestry.

Elgar could only reply in the Rekkshuran he had picked up during his captivity and hope that a military man so close to the border would understand at least a few words. »We come as refugees. My companion is of your people. They need a medic,« he added without much hope. »Please.«

There was some commotion, then quiet that stretched uncomfortably long. Elgar noticed he could barely feel his feet or hands after travelling through the cold night. The wretch was so immobile they might as well have died right there before him.

Finally, the gate opened. »Come,« someone called in heavily accented Rekkshuran.

Elgar cued the horse forward with all the strength he had left, and they managed to get through the gate, where a number of curious soldiers was awaiting them. Many of them gave him hostile looks, just like he had expected. There was a knot in his throat. He thought of the wretch’s hands closing in the dark of the stable: I’ll protect you. But they couldn’t speak. They could hardly move any more by the looks of it.

Now, though, they managed to raise their head and meet the eyes the unamused man approaching them—the resident big cheese by the way he, and the soldiers around him, acted.

Elgar would never forget the moment that followed: the way the commander’s face changed from stern mistrust to open dismay.

He rushed to the side of the horse. »Your Highness… my Prince.«

Elgar could only stare as the word echoed through his suddenly empty head. Prince prince prince. The poor soul he had seen as equal to his own miserable state, had casually taken by the hand, had sought to soothe with what now seemed like the most condescending phrases… a prince.

A whole new fear bubbled up in his throat like acid.

The wretch—prince—merely fell off the horse, and was caught securely in the arms of the commander.

[secretwhumplair]

The Outpost

633 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to It's night and they escape and head for the border)

Content | Multiple whumpees, broken bones, fear, implied/mentioned: starvation, slavery, war themes

Notes | Hooray! They made it! Right.

Why am I struggling so much with titling right now sdkfaskf it's bad enough I have to name all these characters and places

Elgar had underestimated how exhausting it would be, for both of them, to stay on a horse for hours. He hadn’t even managed to get the animal to pick up a trot, but even so, he worried his companion might fall off any minute, their frail body slumped against his.

The first light of dawn was creeping over the horizon, stealing through the forest where they were following a path narrow enough it might have been trodden into the ground by wild animals only. Elgar had no idea whether the wretch knew where they were going. They only reached out to weakly tap his leg when the horse slowed down, even though Elgar himself barely had the strength anymore to encourage it forward. By now it had stopped more than once to nibble at some herbs by the wayside.

But then, the forest suddenly retreated, revealing a large clearing, and at the center of it what was clearly a fortified outpost of the Ochurian military.

Elgar’s heart sank when he saw it. The wretch might find help here—and he was glad, he was—but he? His insides squirmed. A part of him was utterly convinced he had merely exchanged one cruel master for another.

But then, if so, what difference did it really make? At least the wretch would be safe. Wouldn’t they?

When they approached, a guard called out to them in Ochurian. Elgar didn’t understand a word of it, but their rough, hostile tone was enough to make him want to cower—not that he could.

The wretch stopped the horse, or let it stop. Elgar wished they could have gone a little closer, so the soldiers could see the deplorable state they were in and perhaps take pity, or at any rate recognize the wretch as one of their own at least by ancestry.

Elgar could only reply in the Rekkshuran he had picked up during his captivity and hope that a military man so close to the border would understand at least a few words. »We come as refugees. My companion is of your people. They need a medic,« he added without much hope. »Please.«

There was some commotion, then quiet that stretched uncomfortably long. Elgar noticed he could barely feel his feet or hands after travelling through the cold night. The wretch was so immobile they might as well have died right there before him.

Finally, the gate opened. »Come,« someone called in heavily accented Rekkshuran.

Elgar cued the horse forward with all the strength he had left, and they managed to get through the gate, where a number of curious soldiers was awaiting them. Many of them gave him hostile looks, just like he had expected. There was a knot in his throat. He thought of the wretch’s hands closing in the dark of the stable: I’ll protect you. But they couldn’t speak. They could hardly move any more by the looks of it.

Now, though, they managed to raise their head and meet the eyes the unamused man approaching them—the resident big cheese by the way he, and the soldiers around him, acted.

Elgar would never forget the moment that followed: the way the commander’s face changed from stern mistrust to open dismay.

He rushed to the side of the horse. »Your Highness… my Prince.«

Elgar could only stare as the word echoed through his suddenly empty head. Prince prince prince. The poor soul he had seen as equal to his own miserable state, had casually taken by the hand, had sought to soothe with what now seemed like the most condescending phrases… a prince.

A whole new fear bubbled up in his throat like acid.

The wretch—prince—merely fell off the horse, and was caught securely in the arms of the commander.

[secretwhumplair]

Uhhh so I’ve had this thought bumping around my brains for a while but it doesn’t fit any of my characters so I give it to the wider community instead

Whumper who ties, chains, or holds whumpees hands into a position so they can slip into the space in between

(Works well with creepy/intimate, delusional, even parental whumpees)

Some helpful diagrams

Feel free to trace, use as base, reference, etc.

[secretwhumplair]

The Outpost

633 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to It's night and they escape and head for the border)

Content | Multiple whumpees, broken bones, fear, implied/mentioned: starvation, slavery, war themes

Notes | Hooray! They made it! Right.

Why am I struggling so much with titling right now sdkfaskf it's bad enough I have to name all these characters and places

Elgar had underestimated how exhausting it would be, for both of them, to stay on a horse for hours. He hadn’t even managed to get the animal to pick up a trot, but even so, he worried his companion might fall off any minute, their frail body slumped against his.

The first light of dawn was creeping over the horizon, stealing through the forest where they were following a path narrow enough it might have been trodden into the ground by wild animals only. Elgar had no idea whether the wretch knew where they were going. They only reached out to weakly tap his leg when the horse slowed down, even though Elgar himself barely had the strength anymore to encourage it forward. By now it had stopped more than once to nibble at some herbs by the wayside.

But then, the forest suddenly retreated, revealing a large clearing, and at the center of it what was clearly a fortified outpost of the Ochurian military.

Elgar’s heart sank when he saw it. The wretch might find help here—and he was glad, he was—but he? His insides squirmed. A part of him was utterly convinced he had merely exchanged one cruel master for another.

But then, if so, what difference did it really make? At least the wretch would be safe. Wouldn’t they?

When they approached, a guard called out to them in Ochurian. Elgar didn’t understand a word of it, but their rough, hostile tone was enough to make him want to cower—not that he could.

The wretch stopped the horse, or let it stop. Elgar wished they could have gone a little closer, so the soldiers could see the deplorable state they were in and perhaps take pity, or at any rate recognize the wretch as one of their own at least by ancestry.

Elgar could only reply in the Rekkshuran he had picked up during his captivity and hope that a military man so close to the border would understand at least a few words. »We come as refugees. My companion is of your people. They need a medic,« he added without much hope. »Please.«

There was some commotion, then quiet that stretched uncomfortably long. Elgar noticed he could barely feel his feet or hands after travelling through the cold night. The wretch was so immobile they might as well have died right there before him.

Finally, the gate opened. »Come,« someone called in heavily accented Rekkshuran.

Elgar cued the horse forward with all the strength he had left, and they managed to get through the gate, where a number of curious soldiers was awaiting them. Many of them gave him hostile looks, just like he had expected. There was a knot in his throat. He thought of the wretch’s hands closing in the dark of the stable: I’ll protect you. But they couldn’t speak. They could hardly move any more by the looks of it.

Now, though, they managed to raise their head and meet the eyes the unamused man approaching them—the resident big cheese by the way he, and the soldiers around him, acted.

Elgar would never forget the moment that followed: the way the commander’s face changed from stern mistrust to open dismay.

He rushed to the side of the horse. »Your Highness… my Prince.«

Elgar could only stare as the word echoed through his suddenly empty head. Prince prince prince. The poor soul he had seen as equal to his own miserable state, had casually taken by the hand, had sought to soothe with what now seemed like the most condescending phrases… a prince.

A whole new fear bubbled up in his throat like acid.

The wretch—prince—merely fell off the horse, and was caught securely in the arms of the commander.

[secretwhumplair]

Pretty lucky for Elgar that the person he decides to rescue from slavery and torture happens to be a prince.

The Prince mimed his promise that he’d protect Elgar, but I don’t know if I’m confident he can. Sure he’s a prince, but he’s also mute and emaciated; it’s possible no one will recognize him. He may not be able to use his authority to protect Elgar. If he can’t, and Elgar is hurt, that would be some delicious angst and guilt.

Elgar seems to believe he will be recognized immediately as Teeradian, so that tells me there are ethnically or linguistically identifying features he possesses. If the prince wants to bring him with him instead of sending him on his way once he’s back with his family (and I imagine he will in an effort to repay him) then these features will continue to make Elgar recognizable as an outsider and may make him a subject of discrimination as he interacts with the upper echelon.

I have to wonder, was the prince kidnapped because the countries were at war, or are the countries at war because the prince was kidnapping, or a secret third thing.

Hopefully once the Prince is back with his family, he’ll be eased back into his responsibilities rather than dumped in the deep end.

Omnomnom what good tasty commentary to wake up to 👀 Thank you!

I won't comment on the first point because muses willing that will be revealed pretty soon c: The second one kind of ties in with it, at least at first, though Elgar will eventually have to face public opinion...

As for how the prince ended up there... it is in fact a secret third thing (kind of). Putting it under the cut for those who don't want to look, it's not really secret since it already. happened, I just started writing where I wanted to start writing XD

He was captured because the countries are at war, technically, but specifically he was taken prisoner at a battle, and didn't reveal his identity so his captors didn't actually know who they had.

And the last point... well. Let me say the prince's wishes will not be exactly followed ;)

[secretwhumplair]

It's night and they escape and head for the border idk

1,144 words | The black prince (might come up with a better title yet.)

Content | Multiple whumpees, broken bones, fear, crying, starvation, mute whumpee, implied/mentioned: punishment, non-con, war themes, mouth whump

Notes | Elgar stages a daring escape for his companion in suffering! Surely he cannot be saved and also they'll be fine without him.

Elgar stared at the dark ceiling, the blanket Master had granted him barely separating his bones from the cold, hard floorboards.

He had to be grateful, he knew. Like every night they thought they could get away with it, the poor wretch Master kept alongside him was holding his hand while lying unprotected on the floor under the bed. Master had made Elgar his favourite from the day he got him, and Elgar hated it and hated the gratefulness bubbling up at the stupid little privileges his body earned him more. He had done everything he could get away with to make it clear he wanted nothing less than kick down at the other, and thankfully, the wretch had been open to it.

He didn’t know what their name was; their tongue had been cut out, so they couldn’t tell even if it were safe for them to talk. He hated referring to them by the term their master used so derogatorily, but he had no other.

Tonight, their cold fingers were trembling in his hand. They must be cold, and in horrific pain.

Master’s travels had led them close to the borders of the wretch’s home country, and Master had seen fit to break their legs to prevent any attempt at escape. He had not relieved them of their cleaning duties. Elgar knew they had been trying their best, despite the agony every move must cause them, but it was never enough to avoid further punishment.

Elgar, staring at the ceiling, had already made up his mind. The difficult part was working up the courage to actually act on it.

Master’s breaths were slow and steady. Every moment more he hesitated was a moment wasted.

He squeezed the wretch’s hand. »Hey.« He hoped they could hear him, not daring to raise his voice any further over his breath.

They squeezed back.

»If,« if Master hears any of this, you’ll both be sorry, »if I get you to the stables… on a horse, do you think you can make it home?« Right here was the closest Master’s travelling route would get them. It was now or never.

Elgar didn’t want to think about what Master would do when he woke up and found the wretch gone, with only one possible assisstant to his escape. But they needed to be free of this. They would die.

The wretch didn’t respond for a long moment. Their breathing was laboured, holding in, he knew, cries of pain they would be punished for, even as they just lay there.

Then they squeezed his hand, with all the strength, he thought, they still had. It wasn’t a lot. They were starved even worse than he was, having to live off his leftovers. He had started leaving them as much as he could once he realized, but it was never enough.

»Okay,« he breathed. »Can… can you come out? I can carry you from here.«

He sat up to watch Master’s sleeping form on the bed, cosily wrapped in as many blankets as it took to keep him warm; he had started to snore softly.

When the wretch appeared in the strip of pale moonlight falling through the window, their lips were pressed into a tight line, tears rolling down their face. Their legs, dragging behind them, looked wrong. Elgar hoped they could find a medic soon when they were free, or they would never heal right.

As quietly as he could, he stood up and opened the door, then came back to pick them up.

They pressed their face against his arm, straining not to make a noise as he inevitably jostled them. They were feather-light, even though the hunger and abuse had also sucked his strength. It was nothing to what they had been through, he reminded himself.

He successfully maneuvered them out the door and tiptoed down towards the stables. The stronghold wasn’t heavily guarded on the inside, not when attacks from the outside were such a concern, so close to the border, and that felt like a blessing.

The stables smelled of hay and horses, soft shuffling and breathing revealing more of them than the little shards of moonlight filtering in. After setting the wretch down in the saddling area, Elgar had to feel around for tack and could only hope it wasn’t too ill-matched to whatever horse he could find in the dark.

He managed to lead a friendly horse, a barely-there silhouette, out of its stall and up to the wretch. There was no time for a proper brushing-down, so he just quickly ran his hands over its back before saddling it, and lifting the wretch up. A little whimper escaped them as their legs shifted onto either side of the horse.

They would make it, somehow. They had to. He handed them the reins and swallowed. »Good luck.«

He was about to step away when they caught him, grabbing on to the arm of his threadbare tunic.

They were gesturing for him to join him. His heart sank like lead. »It’s too dangerous,« he whispered. »We’re… our countries are at war. You people would not welcome me.«

The wretch tugged at him, their gestures more urgent, then cupped their hands together as if cradling a small animal. I’ll protect you.

Elgar silently shook his head. They wouldn’t be able to, and he knew it. Even if, by some strike of luck, they could convinced whoever they found first that this Teeradian had saved them and deserved no hostility… others would disagree, sooner rather than later.

They tugged at his arm again. Their eyes were shimmering in the low light.

They could hardly even ride in the state they were in. And truly, how much worse could things get?

You might die, a voice screamed in the back of his head as he clambered on behind them, the horse already walking off when he was still trying to find his seat.

He wrapped an arm around them to give them both a little more stability where they were perched uncomfortably in a saddle made for one. They were holding on to the reins with what appeared like surprising competence as the horse wandered along, across the courtyard.

The gates were closed, of course.

Calling out to the guards seemed wrong when they had been trying to make as little noise as possible, but there was no way around it. »We are to run an errand for our Master.«

The guards didn’t bother asking any questions.

The wretch, breathing through soft sobs, tapped his leg with one hand as they rode through the gates, and he gave the horse a tentative squeeze. He never had known the luxury of a horse, but he had ridden a donkey once or twice, long ago.

The horse eventually started walking faster, heading towards the mountains marking the border.

[secretwhumplair]

Okay I love no warrior still, but your new story sounds cool. Don’t be sorry to pursue it, you’re writing for you first and us as your audience are lucky for whatever you share

Aw thanks for the sweet message!

I seem to have the easiest/best time always writing the same like. 3 days after escape/rescue lol so new story it is :D I hope you'll enjoy it!

[secretwhumplair]

I am unfortunately writing for a new thing

[secretwhumplair]

The Pet

[masterlist] [part two]

The Pet couldn’t get his breathing under control. Heavy, rasping breaths, close to hyperventilating, betraying his location. He didn’t know where he was but he knew he was in for it now. There was no way his blatant disobedience would go unpunished.

He had run away. Actually run away from his…Masters? Surely someone in that room had been his Master, right? The Pet couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything. Not his designated name nor where he was nor who his Master was– which was unfathomably worse. 

Maybe he belonged to all of them…or he had been given away? Or rented out for the night? Was it actually night? He couldn’t tell. 

The room slowly contorted around the Pet, distorting the colors and muffling the sounds as if wading through mud. His limbs didn’t cooperate as well as they should, slipping away on the ever-shifting floor. 

Here in the dark, the Pet felt safe. Soon, he wouldn’t be. When his master inevitably dragged him out and punished him accordingly till he was a sobbing mess on the floor. But for now, that didn’t matter. The Pet found he couldn’t hold that thought for too long anyways. They morphed around him just out of reach. It was dizzying. 

Everything felt wrong, he felt wrong. His mouth was too dry, his hands too wet. The clothes the Pet had found himself wearing were drenched in sweat and sticking uncomfortably to his back. His fingertips were stuffed with cotton. Nothing was touching him quite right. The Pet could feel his heart nearly beating out of his ribcage.

Oh.

A feeling of familiarity washed over the Pet. His Master always did this to him. He thought it was funny to make his Pet do the dishes or clean the house while intoxicated. He’d be swaying, trying to stand and command his limbs to work. And when he messed up and his Master decided his work wasn’t perfect –it never was– he’d punished it accordingly. He’d be punished for breaking a plate or leaving a spec of dust anywhere when he could barely stand upright, not seeing anything because the room was spinning so much. Never mind that it was his Master who had made him like this. It was a game and the Pet never won.

Just like he would lose now, too. When his Master stormed in, enraged at the Pet for messing up this badly, for having run away. 

The door creaked open and the Pet knew he had to do this just right and maybe, maybe his Master would find some scraps of mercy for him. 

The Pet dove forward on his knees, ignoring the dizzying spin of the room. His head bowed to the ground where he belonged, his hands wrought together in front of his face like he was praying.

“Please, Master, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to run away, I swear! Please, forgive me, Master, please, I’m so sorry. I don’t… I don’t know what happened. I’ll–I’ll accept any punishment you deem worthy, Master, but, please, please have mercy!“

He begged and hoped beyond hope that this would satisfy his Master. 

a big thanks to @distinctlywhumpthing for beta-reading this <3

[secretwhumplair]

Weird disgusting idea that won't leave my head: Whumper torments Whumpee by giving them some sort of otherworldly parasite, only for Whumpee to discover that said parasite is sentient and equally unhappy with the situation

[secretwhumplair]

Ambrose and Elliot #30

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: past suicidal ideation 

The bank was crowded, but quiet. Elliot looked nervous, and Ambrose offered him his arm.

Elliot clutched him by the elbow, his head down, and Ambrose hoped Ellie would be able to stay calm.

“First, we’re going to get in line,” he explained, “I’ll take care of my business, and then we’ll get your paperwork from the teller.”

“Paperwork?”

“Mhm. You need to fill out some forms to make a bank account.”

“I- I don’t know how.”

“I’ll help you.”

Ambrose led them to the far teller, which wasn’t the shortest line but was away from most of the crowd.

It wasn’t a long wait, which was good because Elliot seemed jittery.

“Name?”

“Ambrose Ventas.”

The teller left to get the file. She looked at the details, glancing up at him and then back at the page.

“Let me get my manager,” she said with a weak smile. “It looks like there’s some… errors in your account.”

She must be new.

“What happened?” whispered Elliot. “Are we in trouble?”

“No, love,” soothed Ambrose. “I’m just a complicated case, unfortunately.”

The manager came over, the poor teller behind him.

“Mr. Ventas, I am so sorry. Shelly wasn’t aware of your circumstances.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I wasn’t upfront about it.”

Shelly looked relieved, and Ambrose wondered exactly how the manager had explained his condition to her. 

“What can we do for you today?”

Ambrose submitted his deposit, and listened off the transfers to Shelly.

“Oh, and he needs to make a savings account,” Ambrose added, gesturing to Elliot.

Shelly looked up from her book, and Elliot shrank back when her eyes landed on him.

“Of course. Name?”

“Elliot,” he whispered.

“Last name?”

Ambrose could have smacked himself. Why didn’t he think of that? Elliot didn’t have a last name.

“I- I don’t-”

“Ventas,” Ambrose blurted. “Just put down Ventas.”

Shelly’s eyes flicked between them.

“I’m his guardian,” added Ambrose. 

It was a weak excuse, but hopefully it was enough.

Shelly wrote down the name, and passed the paperwork over. “Just fill out the details, and we’ll take care of it,” she said, clearly tired of complications.

“Thank you,” Ambrose smiled.

___________________

Elliot bit his lip, the pen in his hand trembling.

“I don’t know how old I am,” he admitted, “or what year I was born.”

Ambrose was sitting across from him. The chairs at the bank were nice, but Elliot couldn’t really relax. It felt like everyone was staring at him, even though they probably weren’t.

“Just make an estimate,” said Master. “You’re with me; age isn’t going to be looked at.”

Elliot wrote down twenty-two, and did some quick math to put down the year. “What about month and day?”

“Well, spring birthdays are nice. How about May sixth?”

“Okay.”

Elliot filled out his address, and the rest of the details as best he could.

A question dug at the corner of his mind as Ambrose went over the papers for him.

“How come they don’t check age if I’m with you?”

Ambrose lowered the papers and gave him an odd look. His insides squirmed.

“Sorry, sir.” 

“No, it’s…fine.”

Ambrose worked his jaw. “I’ll tell you after we’re done here, okay?”

His tone set Elliot’s nerves alight.

They submitted the paperwork to the bank lady, and Elliot handed over his money. He was sad to see it go, but Master assured him he would be able to take it out if he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” Master Ambrose said as they left the bank. “I forgot to tell you about my condition.”

Elliot stopped short. Alarm shot through him. “Condition? Are… are you dying?” 

Ambrose laughed, low and strange. 

“Quite the opposite,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t. Or at least, I won’t. I’m not sure if someone can kill me or not. I never asked how it worked.”

Baffled, Elliot followed Ambrose to a cafe across the street. “How?”

“It was a gift,” Master said, the corner of his mouth twisting. “From my husband.”

Elliot didn’t understand. 

“A divine gift,” Master continued, and then he understood.

“Your husband,” he said slowly, making sure his words were respectful. “Is- is he-”

“I’m afraid so,” said Ambrose.

He ordered them lunch, and they sat at a table.

Elliot mulled over the new information. Master had never lied to him before. And he looked tired, and wary, and Elliot didn’t doubt he was telling the truth.

“Which one?” he choked out. He hoped for maybe the harvest god, or someone as pleasant. 

Ambrose looked up from his meal.

“The serpent god,” he admitted. Elliot sucked in a breath. He didn’t hear much about the gods, but the serpent god was… fickle.

“And I know what you’re thinking,” he added when he saw Elliot’s face. “He’s not like the stories. He’s caring, passionate, funny. Wonderful. Really wonderful.” 

He sighed, almost wistful, but Elliot knew there was no god living at Little Wood.

Ambrose’s beloved was not here. And hadn’t been for a long time.

“So now you don’t age.”

“Yes. I- I worried it wasn’t fair. I was mortal, and would die one day, and he would be alone. But he said I didn’t have to die, and so here we are.”

Elliot bit his lip. “Did it hurt?”

Ambrose smiled. “Not a bit.”

Master didn’t say more, tucking into his meal, and Elliot followed his example.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about Ambrose’s immortality. It seemed… sad.

The serpent god had abandoned him, and taken away his everlasting peace, and now Ambrose was doomed to be all alone forever.

Wasn’t it cruel? To do that to someone?

Elliot had thought a lot about dying. Dying was the end. To everything, good and bad,  and sometimes his old master made him want to die.

But his life was good now, and he didn’t want to anymore.

Did Master Ambrose ever want to die, now that he wasn’t allowed?

Elliot watched Ambrose’s face, but he didn’t seem sad.

Or was he hiding that, too?

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme @whump-cravings @zeewbee @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @fanastyfinder @roblingoblin285 @whumpzone @snakebites-and-ink @astrokea @magdalena-writes @latenightcupsofcoffee @tobiaslut @whumpsoda @loserwithsyle

[secretwhumplair]

No peaceful sleep for whumpee.

Captive whumpee who isn’t given a place to sleep.

Captive whumpee who is kept bound in an uncomfortable day and night, with no way to lay down.

Captive whumpee who is forced to sleep on a cold, hard floor.

Captive whumpee who is woken up every hour by whumper.

Captive whumpee whose whumper comes in to torment them while they’re sleeping.

Captive whumpee whose whumper blasts noise so they can’t sleep properly.

Captive whumpee who is sprayed with water whenever they fall asleep.

Captive whumpee who is allowed to sleep, but only when they fulfill whumper’s terms.

Captive whumpee who is allowed to sleep but only while whumper is with them or only in whumper’s bed.

Recovering whumpee who can’t sleep without horrible nightmares that wake them up with a racing heart.

Recovering whumpee whose caretaker always sees them whimpering and tossing and turning as they sleep, muttering ‘no’ and ‘please’ in between sharp breaths.

Recovering whumpee who is afraid to go to sleep due to the fear that something will happen to them while they’re not alert.

[secretwhumplair]

kind of wild how much fiction still treats torture as something that objectively works when every study has shown that it does not work at all and is possibly the least effective way to get correct information

[secretwhumplair]

K&J x MMSS 4: Valen & Jim Part 12

Part twelve of the fourth crossover with @whumpsday!

Call me a silverware drawer the way I have all these spoons for writing rn

K&J masterlist

MMSS masterlist

K&J x MMSS crossover masterlist

To be added to the taglist, contact @whumpsday

Warnings: Aftermath of torture

In this chapter:

Valen checks what time it is when they wake up.  Close to morning, and sunrise.   He slips back into bed and plants light kisses up Jim's neck.  "Good morning, sleepy peepy."

Jim jolts almost violently at the feeling of a mouth on his neck, then relaxes when he realizes it's just Valen.

"Shit. Sorry." He's been able to enjoy neck kisses from Valen for the last couple years without issue, but he's been extra jumpy lately with Kane's return. He kisses Valen on the cheek. "Just got a little startled." He's definitely not a sleepy peepy anymore.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."  He runs his fingers through Jim's hair.  "How's your hangover?"

"Bleh. I've had worse, though." He snuggles against Valen. "You're going tonight?"

"Yes, I missed my window to go last night, but we should be fine to wait.  What about you, are you still going to the shops?"

"Yeah, I am." Jim's stomach turns at the thought of being left alone with Kane again, even with their positions reversed. His fingers brush over the side of Valen's neck. "Just, just make sure you come back okay. Like always."

"I will.  I'll go straight there and come right back."  He stretches and yawns.  "Kane is locked in the basement if you'd like to check in on him.  Want me to start breakfast for you?"  Valen occasionally tries to cook human food, and he enjoys doing it, and it inevitably comes out tasting very weird each time.  He's not as bad at cooking as he is at driving, but it's close.

Jim likes Valen's weird cooking even when it sucks. It's the thought that counts. He's sometimes better than Liz, though that's not saying much. And besides, interacting with Kane without Valen always there is something he'll have to get used to if they're living together again.

"Yeah, thanks, that'd be great. Surprise me." Jim gives Valen a kiss before getting out of bed to let Kane up.

Valen goes to the kitchen and starts making an omelet.  He cracks a few eggs into the pan, but then can't quite remember what all goes in an omelet.  Try as he might, no matter how many times he watches Jim cook, he just can't remember which ingredients go together.  Cooking seems to require an innate sense of human taste that he just does not have.  He would have thought that just through sheer rote memorization he would have been able to do it, and yet...

He puts in a bell pepper (stem and seeds and all), some cheese, and some bacon in with the eggs.  He's fairly certain about those ones, as well as garlic and black pepper, which seem to go on everything.  He then gets some bread, before remembering the bread just gets heated up and served on the side of eggs, not in them.  He pops two slices in the microwave.  What else?  Pickles and condiments go on sandwiches sometimes, so he throws the pickles in the pan, folds the omelet closed, and then squirts ketchup and mustard on top before putting it on a plate.  He then takes the bread out of the microwave, which is at this point slightly soggy and limp and steaming, and puts it next to the eggs.  There, it has protein, carbohydrates, fiber.  That seems like a good mix.  He puts an orange on the plate as well, then sets it on the kitchen table.  "All right, Jim, you can come eat when you're ready!"

Jim comes up with Kane shuffling behind. Kane's starting to get a little less scared: while he's still having trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that Jim wouldn't want revenge, he hasn't been hurt so far, and Valen seems willing to protect him. Kane also looks a lot better, hardly a sign of injury left on him. He smiles at Valen when he sees him, sitting at the kitchen table. "Good morning."

Jim sits too, examining the omelet. He takes a bite. It's interesting, weird but not that bad. "Thanks, I love it."

Valen beams, clapping his hands.  "Wonderful, I'm so glad.  Kane, you look well this morning.  Have you ever cooked human food before?  It's one of the trickier things I've done.  I would have thought my background in the sciences would aid me, but it appears relatively useless."

"Oh god." Jim comments. He does not think Kane would do very well at it.

"I haven't. You made that? And it's good?" Kane asks. He would like to feed Jim. It feels... appropriate. "Can I learn?"

"Well, I can't speak for Jim, but I can show you how I do it.  Which is probably not exactly correct, but appears close enough."  His eyes flick over to Jim as the human bites into a piece of omelet that has bell pepper stem in it.  "It's probably about as passable as human food as the blood I make is as passable as blood."  He smirks.  "Given the right equipment, I can manufacture substandard yet sufficient meals for either a human or vampire.  I should be featured on some sort of cooking program!"

Jim laughs through his mouthful. "That would be amazing. You're so right." He spits the stem out like an olive pit. "Kane, you could use a cookbook before you start experimenting, if you really wanna learn. Prolly best to get the basics down first."  Jim finishes his omelet and orange happily, and his bread with a little less enthusiasm.

"Alright. Kane, I'm gonna grab you some clothes, a toothbrush, basic stuff. Anything specific you need?" Jim asks.

"No, that's, that's great. Thank you."

"Okay, later." Jim gives Valen a kiss on the cheek before heading out.  Before Jim leaves, Valen pulls him aside and politely tells him that although Kane loathes to ask for anything out of fear, Valen has noticed that he seems to prefer long-sleeves and long pants, to cover his skin up.

Once they’re finally alone, Kane tentatively asks, "You're really... together? With a human?"

Valen smiles at the question, blushing.  "Yes, I am.  Most vampires already consider me a sexual deviant, so I figure, might as well go all in."

"Huh." The concept is still a little odd to Kane, though not as odd as he supposes it should seem. "I suppose there's a little hope for us all, then. If a vampire and a human can fall in love."

Valen smiles so, so wide.  That's such a romantic notion, and Valen didn't even have to say it himself and then be embarrassed about it.  "I suppose so.  Have you ever fallen in love?"

"No, I'm not the romantic type." It's better this way. No one would ever possibly like him back, he'd only experience heartbreak if he were to fall in love with someone. "What's it like?"

Valen's eyes go distant, his expression warm, his mind fuzzy and elsewhere.  "It feels warm.  It's difficult to describe without resorting to meaningless fluffy metaphors, but it feels like someone is finally on your side.  Like you've discovered something rare and precious and all you can think about is how to keep it safe for as long as you can, and how lucky you are that the stars aligned in such a way that you get to enjoy a little corner of life that you've made for a while, in the huge vastness of the cosmos.  It's on your mind all the time, like a worry, but it makes you feel better instead of worse."

"It sounds beautiful. I'm glad you've found that with him. As long as you can." Kane says softly. Valen has to be aware of humans' short lifespans. He's probably thought about it a lot. There is no spending your life together with a human. He's a ticking time bomb to heartbreak. Jim has to be, what, a third of the way through his life? More? He can't help but pity Valen.

Valen nods.  "Yes, for however long it lasts.  I'm quite reminded of how heartbroken I was when my first cat died.  It will surely be painful in the end, but that doesn't make the happiness and love we share while we have it worth less.  I'm sure love is not so rare that Jim is the only person I can experience it with, nor me with him.'

"Yes, I'm sure." Kane decides to change the bleak subject, picking absentmindedly at the padding on his cuffs. "You're going to vampire territory tonight?"  He's glad there will be more blood available, but nervous to be away from Valen's protection.

"Yes, I'm planning on going straight there and back. I'm going to advise Jim to simply keep you in the basement unbothered until I return, as I think that will be safest for all of us."

"Yes, that, that sounds good." Kane can't fuck up if he's just left alone. In his wonderful blanket nest in the nice, sunless basement. His new favorite place on earth.

Valen can just go home, back to vampire territory, anytime he wants. It's strange to be captive in the presence of a free vampire.

Jim comes home with a week's worth of clothes, all long sleeves and pants that Kane can use to cover himself, and a few other basic items. Kane is overwhelmed by the gift, clutching the bag to his chest.

It's so nice here. If Kane could live like this forever, he could be happy, captive or not. He's fed and unhurt. That's all he needs.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I know it's still... undecided, what the two of you would like to do with me. Um, I would do anything to stay here. Anything. Please."

Valen looks unsurely to Jim. "Well," he says hesitantly. "I don't think Jim has plans to send you away or anything.  We're not going to let you go, on account of the risk, no matter how small....and we're certainly not going to give you back to those dreadful hunters. I'd count myself lucky if none of us ever saw them again."

Kane is immensely relieved by Valen's words. He looks to Jim for confirmation.

"Yeah. You're staying. And no matter what, never going back there."

Kane puts his face in his hands. "Thank you. I don't know how I could ever repay you."

"Just keep bein' nice is all." Jim says.

"What they did to you was wrong," Valen says firmly. "To be clear. It would have been wrong no matter who you were. Under no circumstances would it be right to leave you there, knowing what they were doing to you. Even if you weren't 'nice.' It's nice of you to want to 'repay' us, but it's just basic decency. Same as how I had to save Jim, when he was out alone and vulnerable."

"Exactly. Even if you started being a shithead again, we wouldn't send you back there." Jim agrees.

Kane doesn't really get it. He did deserve it, didn't he? They're just kind enough to save him anyway.

"Yes. Decency." he agrees.  Maybe he'll understand one day.

***

@barebarb

@cc1010foxy

@emcscared-whumps

@gt-daboss

@hurtpluscomfort

@jakersdaboss

@lolrpop

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@pigeonwhumps

@secretwhumplair

@some-thrilling-heroics

@starfields08000

@t0rture-me

@thecyrulik

@thejinglingcourtjester

@vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff

@whuarri

@whump-cravings

@whump-my-heart-away

@whumpycries

@wolfeyedwitch

@whump-addict

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

[secretwhumplair]

This probably isn't enough for an actual drabble, but I'm currently thinking about the idea of both Kane AND Jim waking up in the past at the same time. Just Kane running downstairs to fee Jim like he did in the AU piece you wrote, and finding Jim who is an absolute MESS cuz he thought he was back in Hell 🥺 cue Kane trying to calm him down like "no its ok Jim, its me! Well... the nice me? You're safe."

throwing this in the vault to drabble at some point

[secretwhumplair]

Can I request whump with a complete language barrier, in either a freshly captured whumpee who doesn't really understand what's going on yet, or a caretaker-new-master situation? 🙏

content: language barrier, whumper turned caretaker, restraints, multiple whumpers, multiple caretakers, knives

Whumpee listened to the people around them with a blank expression, not even trying to understand anymore. Whatever language they were speaking, Whumpee had no hopes of deciphering the meaning of it. It was entirely foreign, and they were pretty sure they wouldn't be able to recreate half the sounds in it.

Someone placed a boot on their back and shoved them forward, and they obediently stood. At least that much was universal.

The person in front of them said something and motioned for them to hold their hands out. Whumpee did so without a fuss; defiance wasn't worth another cracked rib.

The stranger produced a knife from their backpack, and Whumpee's heartbeat quickened. Surely, they didn't mean to hurt them more? They would be useless cut up. Right? They instinctively tried to take a step back, but they were stopped by the guy who shoved them forward just a few moments earlier.

"No, no, no, wait—" They tried to pull their hands back, but the guy in front of them grabbed them by the ropes that held their wrists together, pulling them back and towards the knife. "Wait! Please, I'm not even resisting!"

They received no comfort from their captor, merely an order that was barked in such a hostile manner that there was no way it meant anything good. Tears were gathering in Whumpee's eyes as they watched the blade be slipped under the rope, and... and cut it.

Were they... being freed?

"What's going on?" they asked stupidly, as though there was any way for them to understand each other. The stranger still answered, but of course, Whumpee didn't catch a single word of it.

Still... They were free to move around now. Maybe... Maybe they weren't enemies?