#and they intimately know whumper's limits

[whumpshaped]

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, psychological whump, intimate whumper, forced comfort

"Whatever is the matter with you?"

Beck shrugged a little. He still barely even looked at Helle, let alone engaged in their banter. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

They gently took him by the chin, turning his head towards them so they'd be able to look him in the eye. They didn't seem concerned, just confused and annoyed. "Is it me? Am I the problem? Are my insults and mockery getting less... gutting?"

Beck thought he might be able to sense some semblance of care behind the joking tone, but he was too exhausted to pay too much attention. "No, that's definitely not it," he said honestly. "They're... they're definitely pretty gutting. I mean, if, if we're being honest here– they make me wanna cry half the time."

The vampire let go of him and leaned back, still fixing him with a suspicious look. "Okay. So... whatever is it, then? You barely react. Our of the two of us, you seem more dead."

"I'm tired, Helle," he admitted, and averted his eyes again. "I'm sorry. That's– I think that's just it. I'm so tired of being... afraid, and hurt, and angry. I just can't do it tonight. I bet that's very frustrating, since that seems like the only reason you even keep me around in this way instead of enthralling me and whisking me away to your mansion or whatever, but I just... I can't. I can't do it every night. I'm tired."

The silence that stretched between them wasn't a necessarily uncomfortable one. It was almost peaceful, contemplative. Beck used it to simply zone out and stare at the TV in front of him — despite the fact that it wasn't even turned on, and he was just looking at his reflection. Only his. And Helle? Helle used it to think about whatever the hell vampires thought about, when they weren't thinking about blood and torture. Maybe they were thinking about blood and torture. There was no way to know.

"I do keep you around for those tasty little emotions," they said eventually. "It is quite fun to see you react to whatever I am doing. But I think..." They grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer, positioning him so that he was laid across the sofa with his head in their lap. "I do not have to pull from the negative ones all the time. Especially if they are a limited resource."

Beck would've lied if he said the situation didn't scare him. He felt numb, yes, but he wasn't dead. Or emotionless. His muscles still tensed up at having to navigate unfamiliar territory, and his breathing and pulse quickened. But he couldn't react in the way Helle wanted. He didn't have the energy to protest and beg.

They began gently petting his hair, like one might do with a cat. It felt... nice. It wasn't comforting, but it was objectively pleasant, and... Helle was right. It was different, and different made him feel.

"I could make the distinction differently," they murmured. "I could simply make your days bad and worse, have your brain switching between dread and more dread."

Oh, it was a foolish question, the one on the tip of his tongue; but it was a justified one. Should he risk it? Or should he keep quiet and enjoy the break?

He was never going to learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Why don't you?" he asked quietly.

The vampire scratched his scalp with sharp nails, and Beck once again felt like he was nothing but a pet. But it was so good. It felt so nice. He couldn't help but turn his head a little, lean into the touch, and even though he managed to stifle the pleased hum that threatened to breach his aura of indifference, the way he arched his back to be able to push against Helle's hand probably told them everything they wanted to know.

They smiled sweetly. "It is an odd thing, really. Sometimes I look at your adorable little face and I want nothing more than to ruin it with tears and bruises. And sometimes... sometimes I come here with that exact intent, and yet you manage to say or do something... and I just change my mind out of nowhere. Sometimes I want to see you like this."

"Like a dog."

"Like a happy dog. Relaxed, content, lazily wagging his little tail — wagging it specifically because I scratched him behind the ears." Beck felt his face heating up at the comparison, even though it was the same one he'd made a moment ago. It was different, coming from Helle. "But it does make me wonder... How would you react if I were to take it all away?"

Beck tensed again, waiting for them to do just that. For their fingers to tighten in his hair, for the claws to draw blood. For Helle's gentle expression to turn cold and cruel. He found himself desperately hoping it was merely a hypothetical.

"There it is," they whispered. "That fear. That uncertainty. That pleading look I treasure oh so much." They continued petting him, satisfied with how he was unable to relax at all now. "A little hope and kindness goes a long way, I suppose."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump

[demondamage]

MediwhumpMay Day 7 - First night in the Hospital

I am once again not feeling comics, so have a drawing and writing instead.

CW Restraints, intimate-ish whumper

General art tag list: @whump-queen@whumpsday@whumpinthepot@kixngiggles

@mediwhumpmay

"I hope you understand the necessity of these." Kotarou sighed gesturing to the extensive restraint system holding Aziphem into place. "With time hopefully we can replace them with... less invasive measures.

As unmoving as those black eyes were, Aziphem's third eye betrayed him, following every move Kotarou made as he pulled up a rolling chair and clip board. That would be dangerous in the wild, but Kotarou had caged enough demons to know their limits.

"You might not remember me, they had your body temp pretty low last time I saw you. I don't think you were conscious." He tried a comforting smile. "I go by Kotorou, and I've been here for... well close to 12 hundred years by now if my math is right. So, you're in well experienced hands. You could consider me.. a doctor of sorts."

Unwavering silence responded, that single vertical eye affixed to him. A little unnerved, Kotarou flipped through the pages on his clipboard.

"It uh, seems last you heard you were going to be executed. Go in to freeze and never wake up. So, this must be a little bit of a... shock. But you might be worth so much more to us, and as such I was able to indefinitely stall the execution. As long as you are... scientifically useful you will be allowed to remain alive. Of course... I do have higher hopes than just that. The unique circumstances surrounding your turning make you a prime candidate for rehabilitation. You could be a first for history."

Pulling his chair a hint closer, the angel reached out to brush a strand of hair from the demon's face. "You could be human again. Or at least close enough to live a somewhat normal life. Isn't that exciting?"

Finally reacting, the demon snarled and jerked forwards, yet failed to faze the angel. Cornered animals may be unpredictable, but the length of chain never wavered. He smoothed the hair to the side, feeling the grease lingering on his fingers.

"You need a shower. And a change of attitude." He chuckled, standing up. "If you think that these outbursts will change my mind, you don't know what's coming little demon. But don't worry, I won't give up on you so easily."

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Experimentation Begins (Magician's Bait, Part 2)

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 2: Starvation / Thirst / "Please…"

Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

<- previous part | next part ->

TW: tied up, starvation, thirst, headache, creepily intimate whumper

Context: Damian has been trapped for a few days now, probably. His captor hasn't given anything to eat or drink. But he thinks he's figured out who she's after.

-----

How long has it been?

Time was immeasurable in Damian’s prison of darkness. The only indication that he was still alive at all was his heart beating in his chest, the aching in his wrists and ankles, and the steady gnawing of hunger.

His captor rarely visited. When she did, it was only to undo his bonds for short bursts at a time so he could walk around the cell and relieve himself. The room he’d been imprisoned in was small, only a couple paces across. The walls and floor were cool, rough stone, acting like sandpaper whenever he ran his fingers over them.

But she hadn’t fed him.

Was this one of those “tests” she’d mentioned?

Starving him was a cruel form of torture.

The lack of water, however, would probably kill him first. 

Currently, Damian was back in the chair, the rough ropes continuously wearing away at the skin of his wrists as he tried to find a comfortable position to sleep. The muscles in his shoulders burned from the strain, and his neck and upper back were no better. The cut on the back of his head from the fall on his first day was slowly healing, and it was probably responsible for the dull ache in his head.

The Stalker wanted him alive, didn’t she?

That’s what she said, at least.

Damian ran his tongue over his cracked lips. It was surprisingly dry in the cell, considering he’d been abducted during the peak of the humid season. Or maybe it was another symptom of thirst. That was more likely.

He sighed heavily through his nose, anxiously curling and uncurling his fingers. Being bound in one spot for so long was strange. He’d never considered himself restless, but he'd never been forced to stay still in such a brutal way. 

Despite the headache, Damian had been doing a lot of thinking.

And he was pretty sure he’d figured out who the Stalker was after.

The resident magician in the Torrent Territories wasn’t a private woman. Her name was Caiya Ebony, and she was well-known for flashy performances and daring escapades. It was an open secret that the king paid her well to limit her excursions to Torrent and occasionally around Zariya.

It made perfect sense. Stalkers were once magicians, after all. Magicians who chased after the promise of power at the cost of the lives of those who were once their colleagues. They’d been named such because of the way they tended to track their targets, like a hunter stalking prey. Once a Stalker caught her target, she would consume the magician’s power… somehow… and become stronger.

And unlike magicians, Stalkers didn’t need to draw the runes to cast spells. They only needed to speak. Damian didn’t know how it worked, and it really didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was bait. Bait for Caiya.

His father would have sent his best soldiers and detectives on the case, but when it became clear the abduction was supernatural, he would turn to his magician. And that was what the Stalker wanted. And after that? Damian couldn’t guess. Certainly not a Draigo. The entire species had vanished almost overnight.

Whatever she wanted, Damian was smart enough to realize that he didn’t want her to get it. And if that meant he had to die here? Then so be it. Roland could have the throne.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the cell door opened. “Hello?” he whispered, the words scraping against his dry throat.

No response, only the gentle stirring of the air around him, disturbed by the open door and the Stalker’s movement. The only noise in the cell was her breathing.

“How long do you plan to starve me?” Damian demanded, voice raspy. He’d given up on screaming for help when it became glaringly obvious no one was around to hear him.

His captor still hadn’t closed the cell door. Instead, she moved from one side of the cell to the other. Despite the magical blindness, Damian’s eyes followed where he estimated her path to be, judging from the movement of the air and the sound of her footsteps and breathing.

“Please…” he murmured, “at least give me some water.”

The spell was jarring, the runes spoken with harsh tones. Damian flinched, expecting pain. 

Nothing happened.

Without warning, something touched his head. “There,” the Stalker said softly, running her fingers through his hair, “was that so hard?”

He tensed, waiting for her to tug and yank him back until she let him fall.

“You know,” she continued, “for an heir, you’re not a polite guest.”

“I’m not your guest,” he hissed.

The Stalker’s hand paused mid-stroke. Damian gritted his teeth in anticipation. Knowing what was about to happen still didn’t prepare him enough for when her fingers curled, the nails digging into his scalp. “Call it what you like,” she snarled, “guest, prisoner, whatever. It doesn’t change your situation. It doesn’t change how helpless I’ve made you.”

Damian wanted to respond, to shoot back a cutting remark. But it wouldn’t make matters better. And she was right. 

He was helpless.

And he hated the feeling more than anything.

As quickly as she’d appeared, the Stalker withdrew, slamming the cell door closed with such force the floor shook. Damian listened to her retreating footsteps as he fought to control his racing heart, the fear curling in his stomach like a parasite.

She was long gone when he realized he was no longer thirsty.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 2 Overworked, insomnia, exhaustion

TW/CW: Stress positions, faux gentleness, forced to beg, intimate/creepy whumper, cracking defiance, isolation, sleep deprivation Words: 2'423

Adam rubs his hands over his face. He was getting frustrated with Lyra. Sure she got scared, but she didn’t budge. Not even an inch. “So much energy should be illegal.”, he groaned to himself. And then he had an idea.

---

“Good morning, Thýma!”, Adam said cheerfully as he entered the pool area.

Lyra who was awoken by his goddamn loud glee, pushed herself up into a sitting position. Then she stopped short as her brain realised the nickname. That’s not good. That nickname means pain. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.” She says and yawns.

“I had some stuff I had to take care of.”, he grins.

“Plans to make because you were at your limit?”, Lyra asks innocently but with a shit eating grin.

Adam just chuckled darkly. He went to the edge of the pool, once there he brought his hands fourth, holding long heavy metal chains.

Lyra stared at the chains in his hands, she couldn’t do anything about whatever he was doing right now she decided. So she simply laid back down, head to the side to keep an eye on him. Couldn’t harm to get a few minutes more rest.

Adam chuckled when he saw her lay back down. His plan was looking good. He stood at the edge of the pool and aimed. It took him a few attempts but eventually he got the hook over one of the ceiling bars and down to the pool.

Lyra had watched him and as soon as the hooked chain came down into the basin her face hardened. That’s gonna suck. Adam now jumped into the pool and Lyra was sure he made a point to land extra loudly. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.

“Hey, Thyma, do you want to help me build this together?", Adam suddenly asked.

She rolled her eyes before she grumbled an answer: “I don’t know who you’re talking about but I’m the only other person here, so I’ll answer. Is that an order or a question?”

 “A question.”, Adam sighed. “But if you don’t have enough strength don’t exhaust yourself.”

Lyra hissed. “I never said that.” With those word she got up and walked over to him. Mentally she detached herself from the situation and tried her best to switch to ‘special-interest-mode’. Once there she yanked the end of the chain more down to her.

Adam grinned. He loved how gullible she often was. He handed her a piece of rope and together with her help they knotted it around the hook. Lyra stepped back as Adam inspected the knots and pulled experimentally on them. When he was sure it wouldn’t give he turned around to Lyra. Lyra who was inspecting him closely. He smirked.

“A stress position. Really?”

“Mmh, that’s part of the process, yes.”, Adam hummed.

“Oh? Do enlighten me, what’s the rest of the process?”

“And ruin the surprise? No, no, no. That’s no fun.”, Adam replied. Then his demeaner changed, the glee left his face and his voice dropped as he spoke again: “Now come here.”

“Don’t feel like it.”, Lyra shot back in a pressed voice.

“Well to your luck it doesn’t matter what you want. Not in here. Here it only matters what I want. So come here before I force you and you go through even more pain.”

Lyra laughed out loud at that. “Do you still not get it?! I will never. never make it easy for you!” Adam let go of the leftover rope and charged towards her. She made a jump back and pulled her arms up. Simultaneously for protection and attack. Two primal instincts clashing. She managed to hold him off for a few minutes, landing one or two good punches and scratches but eventually Adam got a hold of her. Blood was slowly dripping from a scratch on her temple. He dragged her to the hooked chain and started tying her wrists above her head.

Lyra didn’t fight back anymore. She still had fire in her but right now that wouldn’t help. She’d rather save it.

When she was safely typed up Adam climbed out of the basin and went to the railing he fixed the chain on.

Lyra still a bit dazzled from a few punches to her head tried to think straight as she was suddenly yanked up. For one terrifying second her feet lost touch with the floor and her shoulders roared up in pain. Then she could blessedly feel the tiny tiles of the pool floor again. Standing on her tiptoes, with her arms stretched and pulled upwards by the chain she gritted her teeth, gaze finally locking onto Adam standing up on the edge of the pool. He was smirking down at her, of course he was, he always is, bastard!

“You will stay here for a while, and if you’ve had enough, you just let me know. I have this-pulls out a tiny walkie-taky-shaped thing out of a bag-baby phone so you can always contact me if you feel like it. I will also regularly check in with you, to make it easier for you. Don’t worry.”

“Do you even hear yourself!?”, Lyra asked enraged. Trying to ignore the blood still dripping down her face.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Ugh…Well I hope you have time then. I won’t budge.”

“Yeah sure.”, Adam replied sarcastically. Then he turned around and left the swim hall.”

“Oh by the way Adam!”, Lyra called after him.

He stopped in his tracks, but only turned back his head. His captives’ face was dead serious. “Yeah?”

“Fuck you.”, she stated.

Adam just glared grimly and left.

---

Lyra was starting to hear the air shift. At least that’s what she believed by now. She had long given up on counting the ticks of the clock. Especially since Adam had checked in one or twice only to completely disorient her on how much time had passed. Lyra exhaled forcefully and unclenched her jaw. With that gone the pain in her whole body seemed to intensify by a thousand. Just ignore it, come on, as always, you have a high pain tolerance. Can’t give him the satisfaction.

At that thought she heard a crackling from that damn baby-phone. She turned her head towards it, rolling her eyes. “Speak of the devil.”

“Aww, were you thinking about me?”, Adam’s gleeful voice sounded through the device.

“Only about how I’m gonna kill you.”

“You seem kinda tense, you wanna lay down and take a short break or something?”

Lyra just hissed at him and looked away.

“Alright, have it your way, Ballerina.” And with that the crackling died, leaving Lyra alone with the pain she so sought to ignore.

For the next few minutes-hours-who knows she tried to remember every little thing about every topic she ever enjoyed learning. But the cramps were making it harder and harder to focus. So often her train of thought got derailed and she had to bite her teeth together and hold out the new wave of pain until she got back control.

---

After she couldn’t think of any more lore to that one cartoon she saw a long while ago her mind blanked. There was no more distraction material left. And to Lyra’s horror a chocked sound between a whimper and a groan escaped from deep in her throat. Her head, that had long fallen down, the blood long dried, snapped up, her eyes locking on to the baby-phone.

“Oh yes. I heard that”, Adam’s triumphant voice answered the panic flaring up in her.

“You didn’t hear shit!”, Lyra yelled back but it again sounded chocked. She only heard Adam chuckle as a response and the crackling died again.

After a few moments the curtain was moved to the side, gently, and Adam appeared. He sat down at the edge of the pool and then swung himself into the basin.

Lyra watched him approach, there wasn’t much more she could do. Once he was close to her she mustered up enough salvia to spit on the tiles right before her ex-friend.

Adam raised his eyebrows, looked like he wanted to comment something but then apparently decided against it. Instead he raised his arm and gently cupped the girl’s cheek. When she spasmed away he put his second hand on the other side of her face. Careful not to open the wound again, not now anyway. “Come on, you must be in horrid pain.”, he said gently, “If you come down now you won’t suffer from that bad of an afterpain. And we can relax a bit. What would you say to Ramen and Harry Potter? You can even choose which one.”

Lyra’s face was first filled with a burning fire of hatred and pride, later there was a scent of grief mixed into it.

“Unfortunately I have to decline. Asshole.”, she spit out. Even if less fire-y than before.

“Okay”, Adam moved his left hand to stroke her hair as he talked, “just know, if you change your mind you can always let me know.”

Lyra scoffed, held her head up high, even if the muscles were trembling and grinned at him. “Get it silly boy, this won’t work.”

“Oh Lyra…It already is.” And with that he gave her a little swing that drew an involuntary wince and left.

---

Lyra had been repeating her own rules over and over. Back and forth and left to right. She couldn’t fail. Not again. But her brain got slower and slower until at some point she started falling asleep. And eventually her consciousness slipped away completely. Her dreams only brough slight relief though as they were filled with running, falling, lights and shadow figures. Right when she thought she escaped the shadow figures she got awoken by sharp pain exploding in her body. A scream ripped from her throat with eyes flying open. Looking directly at Adam’s sadistic joy.

He removed the taser from her torso and her body fell down again. She hadn’t even noticed that it convulsed but now her arms were in even more pain from the harsh movements. With effort she held back tears as she looked at Adam.

“That. Was beautiful Darling!”

Lyra just stared at him, for a moment taken off guard by the absolute twisted joy painted into her opposite’s mimic.

Adam’s drank in her heavy breathing for another second then he in a matter of seconds calmed down and shifted his expression to one more gentle and caring. “It’s not sleepy time yet, dear”

Lyra bit back her rage at him, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing it. And since she couldn’t muster up any other reaction that rage she simply ignored him.

Adams sighed, stepped back, and started walking back. When he turned around he mumbled, just about audible for Lyra: “You’re gonna harm yourself more than me.”

---

This had gone on forever. She was hanging here, when she fell asleep he was quick to come and taser her awake again. Her stomach was empty and hurting, her throat had been forcefully given the bare minimum of hydration by Adam. The silence screaming in her ears and exhaustion settling deep in her. She was so exhausted. Every time she made a mistake, every time she even if only slightly gave into Adam’s charade she made a point to double her game the next time. But she was getting fucking tired. Even now she was nearly asleep again, even if she was scared of getting shocked again. But she just didn’t have the strength. Her head jerked up with the new shock but this one was over as soon as it started. Her body dropped and fire erupted in her numbed arms. By now they felt like they were internally bleeding.

Adam helped her lift her head and looked at her.

Since he wasn’t saying anything Lyra took the word: “How…How long…?”

“How long what, Lyra?”, Adam asked gently.

“How…long have I…b-been here?”

“Nine days.”

Nine days. Nine. That’s enough, right? I made my point, right? Nine days is pretty good. I can still do better next time. I just need a break. It’s not giving up, right? I’m not…breaking. “Let me down…Please…”

Adam’s muscles were working overtime to hide how overjoyed he was. “I would love to. But you need to ask me the right way.”

A tiny whimper escaped Lyra’s throat and her gaze drifted off. When she looked back at Adam it was with pleading eyes. As that did nothing, she took a shuddering breath and spoke again: “Please…Please Adam. Let me down, I can’t anymore. Please…”

Adam stroked her sweaty hair. “One more thing, then I will let you down and make you feel better. Just one more thing, come on.”, he nudged her.

A single tear rolled over Lyra’s cheek as she whispered: “Let me down, please, I’m begging you.”

Adam wiped away the tear on her cheek, pulled out a knife and cut her arms free of the rope. She surely would have crumbled together on the floor if he hadn’t put his arm around her waist. “Careful now, careful.” He warned her.

-Lyra knew she hated this, and him but she was so tired. So just for now…-

“Otherwise it’ll hurt too much. Carefully he lowered her to the ground until she was sitting. Then he very slowly helped her lower her arms and held her as she silently cried and shook in pain.

When her fingers finally touched the ground again and the pain was back to normal she was ready to just pass out.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, Lyra.”, Adam intervened, “Let’s first get you somewhere more comfortable. Then you can get some sleep, and afterwards let’s get some soup and a movie, hm.”

Lyra only managed a nod but still, against her will, her eyes fell closed and she didn’t have the strength to keep them open anymore.

Adam sighed, then wiggled his arms under Lyra’s arms and legs and picked her up. With her in his arms he climbed out of the basin and walked behind the curtain of the boy’s changing rooms and showers. There he makes some space on the mattresses he has spread out on the floor and lays Lyra on them. Then he threw the blanket over her and turned off the lights. He left the room to make soup and to in peace feel his triumph.

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @ailesswhumptober

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump No. 19

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Izzy and I’ll be your host today. 

On this segment, we will be rumbling around with the one and only @justplainwhump!

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump! Why don’t we start off with an introduction to let folks know a little bit about you? Perhaps something not whump related from the start?

Sure! Hi everyone, I’m Sara, in my thirties and from Germany. I love long rides on the train, otters and playing with words. 

Trains and otters are positively spiffy! What does whump mean to you?

Characters challenged by traumatic events out of their control. A chance to explore the bare essence of a character under duress. Finding out what stays, when everything is breaking apart.

How did you find the whump community? What made you want to join?

I’ve started as a writer with some original stories, and realized some of the things I wanted to put into my main character Alicia’s backstory were darker than the content I would post to my writing blog. I went to look if other writers on tumblr had gone down that road, and I found a story by whump-tr0pes that hit all the right buttons and vibes. It blew my mind to find out that there in fact was a space and a community for this sort of content.

I hit some bumps after that, having to acknowledge that however welcoming the whump community is, the gender of the protagonist mattered a lot more than I expected, and as a writer of female protagonists I felt estranged for a while. 

Luckily, however, with time I found more and more like-minded and super supportive writers and friends, and I’m proud to be a member of this community.

Would you say your view on whump changed since you joined? 

I’ve always been an OC whump writer, and still like to focus on female protagonists. Something unexpected I’ve come to love however is the collaborative, dystopian universe of the BBU. I am not an enjoyer of pet whump or highly conditioned protagonists, so at first I wrote this setting off as “not for me”. But while these elements are surely something present in some BBU stories, there is so much more behind it - stories on capitalism, on rebellion, on ethics, on what makes us human in the very core. And due to the collaborative sandbox concept of it, it’s perfect to connect to other writers, be it in roleplays, shared stories or just extended worldbuilding discussions. 

That’s actually an interesting perspective to see that in! Now, you gotta know this question was going to come up during this interview, so let’s have at it: You got any favourite whump tropes?

Too many. If I have to choose one, I guess it’s intimate whumpers. 

A whumper, knowing their whumpee, getting into their private space, testing out their limits and breaking through them. A thumb on whumpee’s cheek, gently wiping away a tear after suffering torture from those same hands. An off-handed comment about a secret nobody should know. A hand wrapped around whumpee’s neck, tender now, but a lingering threat.

Oh my, I can feel the whumperflies already from here!!! Would you care to honor us with a favourite piece you've written?

My favorite longer story is “Mark and Gemma Get A Pet” (Mark and Gemma get a pet), a short novella set in the BBU about a “normal” middle-class couple being gifted second hand human pet Ira, and the wild downward spiral this sets in motion. It’s written from all three POVs, and focuses on the mundane evil of the BBU. What I love about it, the depiction of how easily the narrow line between a perfectly normal life and becoming the villain of the story can be crossed. Especially Gemma has been a fascinating character to explore and I got the feedback that I’m not the only one enjoying her character arc. 

As a short story, there’s “Match”. Another BBU story about a villain thinking he’s just a dude, until the circumstances make him realize he isn’t - but he could’ve been. I am very proud of the setup of this story, the pacing, and the absolutely devastating gut punch in the end. It’s just a very neat and round thing; and if one is vaguely familiar with the BBU it perfectly works as a stand alone. 

What's your writing style like on average?

I write when inspiration strikes. And even then, I’m a very slow writer, and tend to be so glad when the words are finally out that I post them right away. 

I’d like to get to a more regular schedule or to writing longer pieces with some planning in advance, but my life doesn’t allow for it. So my followers need to live with random streaks of creation in between seasons of drought. 

Toolwise, I do write everything on my phone. It’s horrible for my eyes, and given the weird autocorrect of my phone keyboard, it’s also horrible for my sanity. But it’s also just so practical… 

Hey, you know what they say about inspiration. You gotta write when the spoons are there and when the mind is going brrrrr. Is there an easy thing for you to write?

I enjoy giving my characters a voice, both in narration and in dialogue, and often these are the elements of my writing that just flow.

I *would* probably struggle with description - but I just don’t write a lot of it and leave that to the readers, and as of yet nobody complained.

When I really struggle with writing, it’s usually because I’m too fast and I myself don’t know what it is I’m going for; and a signal that I’ll need to figure that out. Sometimes I *do* figure it out. Sometimes I just pause that project. Writing is what I do for fun, and if stops being fun, I stop to write.

I can absolutely respect your struggles as it’s not always so plain and simple to know where a story is headed, let alone not getting stressed at times. Is there anything you're working on at the moment? 

I’m hosting an event at my sideblog, bbu-on-the-side, to bring together the BBU whump community! It’s going to start next week and has a mixture of prompts, most community based, and I hope to bring together many lovely and inspiring creators! If you’re a BBU writer, roleplayer, or plain enthusiast, I’d be glad to see you there: 

Ooooh, that sounds like a wonderful event and I do hope that those interested in those tropes/genre join in with you! Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today?

Knock knock. Who’s there? UUuuuuuh. Kn… knuckles? [Seriously if you want to smile, watch Kung Fury, it’s a 31-minute short film, for free on youtube, and it’s absolutely hilarious. I’m a simple girl. And I melt for barbarian ladies on giant wolves fighting laser-raptors.]

Knock knock jokes are the pinnacle of comedy, and I already got the movie queued up to watch. Is there anything you can impart on us in terms of advice?

Writing is a craft, and you get better by practise. 

That’s kind of a bland advice, I know, but it works for me. Just write. And you’ll find out what works and what doesn’t. And if it’s hard for yourself alone, get someone you trust, and talk it through with them. 

But never forget - your story belongs to you, and you’re the one to tell it! Writing the story you want to tell will always end up being way way better than the one you think somebody else wants to hear.

Well said and I concur. This is now the time to give a shout out to those you hold dear and close!

Honestly, there’s too many. I have many recommendations on my blog and always forget someone and then feel horrible about it. Just one - @whumping-newbie, my first whump friend who I had the honor to meet several times in real life in the past years and whose support and encouragement are invaluable!

Anything you'd like to add?

Happy Whumping everyone, and: be excellent to each other.

Well thank you so much for taking the time to get interviewed with us, @justplainwhump! 

*As a quick discretionary note: @justplainwhump is an 18+ blog only, so minors please do not interact with their works or with their blog please.*

And there you have it, folks! Another segment of Let’s Talk Whump may have ended, but we have more to show next time and it’s coming to a hellsite near you! Have a Whump-tastic day/night!

[catchildren]

Hello one and all, you can call me Cat I suppose, and I'm a longtime lurker & hobbyist writer finally trying to dip my toe into the whump scene <3

This is a sideblog, so expect follows from @unethicalyuri. Both this blog and my main are 18+, and do run the risk of posting "Dead Dove" / darkfic adjacent content, as well as sexually explicit content, so if that's a hard limit, please don't follow!

I tend to favor:

Psychological whump >>> Physical whump

NSFW Whump !!

Parental whumpers & intimate or carewhumpers, anything with a lot of faux affection towards whumpee ~~

Manipulative whumpees! Whumpees who know how to play the game and charm or cheat their way into better conditions

Whumpees w/ stigmatized mental illnesses - Low empathy whumpees, cluster B whumpees, whumpees who become "worse" because of their trauma... I need more "bad victims" now!!

And some of my no-go tropes tend to be:

Box Boy Universe or any other normalized pet whump or captivity whump centric settings - I may dabble in the base tropes themselves, but don't care for settings where its considered "normal"

Romantic Whumpee/Caretaker scenarios

With that said, I hope I can post some writing here and hopefully connect with the community better! Don't be afraid to drop anything in my inbox, whether it be whump scenarios or simply just chatting

[whirl-whump]

Technological Whump (Whoopsy)

[A/N: this is technically part of a bigger story idea, but it does not want to get written. For the sake of my own sanity, I'll focus on smaller snippets for now, and just consider this a standalone drabble. Hence why the characters dont have names on purpose.]

CWs: electrocution, shock collar, seizure-like symptoms, accidental whump, pet/master whump (and the dehumanization inherent in that trope), panic, brief loss of consciousness, CPR mention, caretaker-whumper hybrid

---------

In the kitchen, Whumpee stood with his hand clasped behind his back, while his new owner fiddled with his bracelet-like remote. With every clumsy poke, he could accidentally tap a button that would make his shock collar go off, and he didn’t even seem to care. He just grumbled: “Christ, could they have made this screen any tinier!” He turned to Whumpee, holding out his wrist. “You know how this works?”   

Oh, and how. Whumpee knew the functions intimately. Did his new owner need another demonstration?   

“I...do.” he answered, carefully.   

“Great,” his owner said. “How the hell do I add a new location?”   

Whumpee hesitated. He wasn’t even allowed to touch the thing, and now he was supposed to run his owner through setting it up? Maybe he liked the idea of him putting the leech on his own collar, and that’s why he asked. Maybe this was a loyalty test.  But if it wasn’t, then maybe... Maybe he could-  

Whumper laughed, and snapped him out of his dilemma.   

“Wait, wait,” he said, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be asking you this, should I? You could make it shock me for all I know.”   

Whumpee tensed, as though his owner could have seen his hidden thoughts.   

“I didn’t,” he protested. “I was just... surprised with the responsibility.”   

His new owner waved it off, his eyes again glued to the tiny interface. “Yeah, yeah, just forget it. I’ll figure this out myself.”   

It seemed his disobedient thoughts hadn’t been noticed, so Whumpee stayed quiet. With every tap on the remote, he tensed, waiting for something to go off. Whumper mumbled to himself.  

“Hm-hmm, use location... Yes, okay... Now where...” he scrolled down. “Ah, set limit. Perfect.” he tapped it with a proud expression. Whumpee suddenly got cold. 

“Wait, master, I think you’ve-”   

His words were cut off by the sharp shock in his neck, and he yelped. Whumper looked up. “Wrong button?”   

He had no idea what he’d done. That had just been the warning shot. And if the settings were still at the level that his previous owner put them on... Whumpee knew what would happen soon, and there was no time to explain. He turned on his heels and ran.   

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going!” Whumper called after him. Whumpee would accept the punishment later. He refused to be hurt, solely because his new owner was an idiot who didn’t understand what “limit” meant!

He stumbled down the stairs as fast as his trembling muscles would carry him. Skidding over the marble floor, he reached the elevator and slammed on the button.   

“Pet!”   

“I’ll be right back, master, I promise!” he cried back, nauseous with fear. He had to get on the street, soon, or else-  

His collar started beeping. Oh god, no..! Whumpee slammed on the metal doors, as though that could teleport him outside on time.   

He counted the beeps. Ten, nine, eight..   

He gave up and lay down on the floor. He saw his chest go up and down frantically. Should he put a sock in his mouth so he didn’t bite his tongue? Or would that make it worse?   

Five, four..  

The elevator dinged. It was too late. Whumpee closed his eyes.   

Three, two, one. A loud double beep. And it started.   

--------

Whumper ran down the stairs. If he lost his pet an hour after getting him, he’d be in so much trouble! Shit, shit, shit!   

He entered the hall and found an odd sight. The elevator door was open, but Whumpee was laying before it, on his back. He was breathing heavily and clenching his fists.   

Whumper had exactly two seconds to be confused before a pair of loud beeps came from Whumpee’s collar.   

Suddenly, he screamed like a banshee and started writhing. Was he having a seizure?!  

Whumper ran over and tried to grab his shoulder. A sharp shock traveled up his arm, and reflectively he jerked away. The entire right side of his torso tingled, and he understood: Whumpee was a live wire.   

Fuck. This felt like it was his fault.   

He tried to turn the stupid bracelet on again, but it wouldn’t read his fingerprint. Incorrect, try again. Try again. Whumper wiped the panic sweat on his hand and tried again. Then, it unlocked- but asked for two factor identification.   

Whumper could clearly see in his mind where he left his phone. On the kitchen table, all the way upstairs. He didn’t have time for that!   

Whumpee wasn’t screaming anymore, his jaw locked up and eyes rolling back. He was making choked noises that sounded terrifying. A trickle of blood left the corner of his mouth.  

Whumper’s heart pounded.   

“Hang in there, I'll fix it!” he yelled, hoping Whumpee could hear it. He ran to the maintenance closet next to the elevator. He wasn’t much of an electrician or handy man, but he knew one thing that would work. Destroying the remote sounded like it might work.

The rubber strap was easily handled with some snipping-type thing, the first sharp thing he saw. A hammer took care of the rest. He put all his fear in the slam, and the remote shattered in one go.   

Whumpee went limp. “Are you okay?” Whumper called. No response.   

Carefully, he walked over and briefly touched his shoulder. No shock. That was good.   

Jesus, his arm still hurt, and he’d only felt the current for half a second.   

A terrifying thought entered his head, and he gripped Whumpee’s wrist. A pulse. Whumper let out a relieved breath.   

He tapped Whumpee’s cheek. “Come on buddy, wake up now. It’s over.” His eyelids twitched, but no response. He was breathing and his heart was beating, so no CPR was needed, probably.... Didn’t people in movies use smelling salts for stuff like this? But Whumper only had normal salt, and that didn’t have much smell at all. Whumper scratched his head and thought of what to do.   

----------  

Whumpee was dragged from unconsciousness by a sharp sting in his nose. Dazed, he tried to move his face away from the sting, but it didn’t leave. What, where was he..?   

A sneeze racked his brain, making his headache worse. He groaned hoarsly. Slowly, his senses came back online, and he heard his new owner:   

“Ah, there you are! I knew pepper would work.”   

Whumpee’s vision swam. He couldn’t move, and his tongue was heavy in his mouth. He’d bitten it , and he tried his best to swallow the thick blood.   

He knew he had to explain: he hadn't tried to run away, he just had to get out of the range of the location that was set as a limit. But he couldn’t piece together the words, let alone summon the energy to speak.   

Whumper said something, but he forgot to pay attention. Then his head was lifted up, and a pillow put under his head.   

He tried to scramble together his braincells to thank him. It came out as a stuttering mess, and Whumper hushed him.   

Now that was an order he could follow, and he sank into the comfort.  

Whumper said something. Then another. Then his tone turned urgent.   

“Pet? Can you hear me?”   

Whumpee snapped to attention best he could. “Hm-hm?”   

“Are you experiencing..” his owner squinted at his phone and read aloud. “respiratory failure? Or uh.. cardiac impairment?”   

Whumpee blinked. He barely knew up from down, let alone what those words meant. “Dunno, master,” he slurred.   

“Hm. Probably best we take a quick stop at the EC regardless... Can you go to normal hospitals, or do I need to-” His ringtone interrupted his sentence, and he startled.   

“Shit. Okay, okay, do you feel like you’re dying right now?”  

Whumpee just felt tired. He wanted to close his eyes and let his twitching sore muscles rest. He knew the terror when he felt like he was dying. This wasn’t that. With effort, he shook his head.   

“Great, fantastic! Keep that up. Give a yell if you get worse, but I really need to take this.”  

Whumpee’s head felt filled with cotton. Distantly, he wondered if he would get punished. But that could happen after he’d rested his eyes. He closed them, as Whumper took the call with a nervous expression. 

[whumpshaped]

prev masterlist

tw intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, lashing out, conditioning, captivity, forced domesticity

Sion didn't know what Aaron liked to eat. They never bothered to ask. They saw what things went missing one by one from the fridge, occasionally they even ate together and they could see what he preferred. That was all the background knowledge they had as they tried to assemble a nice sandwich for him.

He was having one of his worse days. There were better ones, there were worse ones... this one was definitely one where he just wanted to be alone without anyone even looking in his direction. That meant not leaving the bedroom. Not eating. Sion hated when he did that, and they were going to put a stop to it with a nice gesture.

In exchange for that gesture, Aaron was going to cheer up a little and talk to them about what was wrong. They were going to solve it together. They were going to communicate without throwing things and having to resort to knocking anyone out.

Sion put the second piece of bread on top of the finished meal, empty eyes fixed on the plate and the promise of a better day. If Aaron wasn't going to honour the gesture– no, that was silly. Of course he was going to honour it. That was how life worked, wasn't it? Nice gestures yielded nice results. Simple.

They grabbed the plate and put it on a tray along with a glass of juice. They walked up the stairs to find the bedroom door closed, and they balanced the food in one hand as they gently pushed it open.

"Don't," Aaron said immediately, sounding more scared than angry. "Don't. Please. Just let me be."

"It's okay." They put on their best soothing act, which wasn't very difficult to do when he was being so adorable. "I brought you some food. You need to eat."

"Did you drug it?" he asked bitterly. "Again?"

"It's just a sandwich. You can take it apart and look inside if that's what you want."

"And the drink?"

Sion sighed. "I guess you can't take that apart." They placed the tray on the nightstand, then sat on the bed and patted the space next to them. "You need to stop sitting on the floor in the corner."

Aaron shrugged. "I like it here. Way better than being on the bed. With you."

Sometimes, putting on their best soothing act was difficult even with Aaron around. Increasingly, they were beginning to suspect that his attitude wasn't going to change without some serious work on their part. Or the muzzle.

"I would like you to eat so you can feel better. I know you're having a hard time today."

Aaron looked... offended? "Today? Today? You think I'm only having a hard time some days? And you think you can solve it with a fucking sandwich?" He stood up, clearly ready to defend himself; which at least meant he knew he was pissing them off. That was a start.

"You could at least try eating–"

"Go fuck yourself. Bring your stupid sandwich with you."

Sion stood up without thinking, grabbing Aaron and spinning him around, slamming him against the wall with his arm wrenched behind his back. It was quick, it was efficient, but it was also maybe rougher than it needed to be. He let out a pitiful yelp at the impact, and several more when they started pushing his arm to its limits.

"Do you think you're the only one having bad days? Do you think I never have a fucking bad day? Do you think you can just continue speaking to me like I'm a piece of trash and never face any consequences? Well, today you can't, because I'm having a bad fucking day."

"Get off me–"

Sion pulled him away from the wall a little, only to slam him back against it with more force. "But I decided I'd pour all my effort into caring for you regardless. I made you food, I made you a drink, I was trying my best to make sure you would at least have a good day. Because I hate to see you fucking sad. Meanwhile you spend all your days lounging around and making me feel like shit. Do you have any idea what it feels like to get rejected like that over and over and over again?"

Aaron sniffled, clearly shaken and scared by the sudden outburst. He didn't react, and that only made them angrier. He was supposed to react. He was supposed to see the error of his ways, and he was supposed to change. So they pushed his arm further up.

"Stop!" he cried out. "Stop, please, stop– I'm sorry!"

Sion let go instantly, like hitting a clicker so the dog would know exactly when the behaviour was correct. They let him back into his little corner again, cradling his injured arm and staring at them like they were about to kill him. For all he knew, they could've been.

They couldn't lie, though. The sight of his red, tear-soaked face made their day just a little better.

"I brought you a sandwich," they said gently, offering him a chance to start over. He looked confused at first, but he was smart enough to catch on before they lost their patience.

"Thanks," he choked out.

"You wanna try it?"

Aaron nodded, but he took another minute to peel himself away from the wall and slowly approach the bed and the tray of food. His eyes kept darting back and forth between them and his meal, and Sion gave him an encouraging smile.

"Can I see what's in it? I, I'm allergic to some things–"

"Go on."

He nodded gratefully, quickly picking apart the sandwich and throwing the tomatoes to the side of the plate.

"You're allergic to tomatoes?"

Aaron flinched at the question. "I... no. I just don't– I don't like them. I'm sure the rest of it is very tasty, and I appreciate the effort you put into it." He offered them a forced and very nervous little smile. "I'm sure it'll nake my day a lot better."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @hidden-dreamland

[star-captain]

Hero is a leader of a revolution or some other growing organization, the face and the heart, in the top tier founding group of the org. They have people head over heels all over for them- especially when they're as charismatic as they are.

So it comes as a surprise to both when they're constantly drifting back towards an unassuming, infantry soldier, whumpee. They're not a high ranking member, not a special agent or anything. Just a soldier, just a body for the cause.

Such a high ranking leader and just a soldier probably shouldn't have ever met, but time and time again they meet- often when Whumpee puts themself between Hero and the danger. Their interactions are limited, but a tug on Hero's heartstrings is felt, even if they ignore it to focus on the revolution.

Until both Hero and Whumpee get captured by Whumper. Initially, Whumper had their eyes set on extracting info, torturing Hero, but when they wimp out yet dont talk, and Whumpee is willingly volunteering themself in Hero's stead, their focus shifts onto Whumpee.

Its Whumpee's courage, putting themself in danger despite the promise of pain, all to protect Hero, that makes Hero acknowledge they've fallen for Whumpee. To them, they're someone special, and seeing them put themselves in harms way hurts.

Especially because Whumper is particularly cruel and violent. Burns and broken bones are a normal part of the torture and interrogation, all made for Hero to watch from their cell, but Whumper has an intimate knowledge of pain, and uses it artfully. Cutting veins and tendons to get the most pain, the most blood without killing their victim, strangling or drowning to the precipice of death, then leaving Whumpee to struggle for air and consciousness. And yet Whumpee takes on the pain, knowing it keeps Hero safe.

Until one day, Whumper is angered and takes their anger out on Whumpee- a cruelty unlike anything before, all that Hero is made to watch. Blood splatters against the bars/plexiglass of the cell, flecks of the warm blood smattering their face. Even when the screaming stops, a sign the torture is done for the day, Whumper keeps berating the unconscious soldier, until Hero cries out, begging for them to stop.

Whether their pleas worked or Whumper realizes killing Whumpee would be a waste, they capitulate and toss Whumpee's limp form into the same cell as Hero. Gathering them up in their arms, Hero can only provide comfort to Whumpee. They aren't a healer, a soldier, a strategist. They're the heart, the charisma of the revolution, the energy and will to keep fighting. At least they can provide Whumpee that- they've done so much to protect Hero, they should've done more.

Hero cradles Whumpee in their arms, staunching the bleeding and quietly singing to soothe both themselves and Whumpee. When Whumpee comes to, Hero can't help but ask why Whumpee takes all the brunt of the pain for them.

What Whumpee answers is shattering. They're nothing special, just cannon fodder and another gun and body for the revolution. They aren't a high rank, or special in anyway. Hero, however, is someone special. In Whumpee's mind, they'd rather die so Hero and everything they stand for can live on.

But to Hero, Whumpee is someone special. Someone special to them, and that's all that matters.

Days turn to weeks or even months, Whumpee refusing to let Hero take the pain, even when they themselves are hardly able to. In turn, Hero tries their best to comfort them, afraid to tell Whumpee that they'd fallen for them.

Then, in a lucky break, the two manage to escape. It doesn’t take long for Whumper to notice they're missing, discovering the two taking an escape route/vehicle. Hero turns around to help Whumpee down, only to discover Whumpee protecting them one more time- by closing off the route/vehicle from the other side, so Whumper can't get to Hero. A sad smile is the last thing Hero sees before Whumpee is recaptured by Whumper.

They never even got to tell them they love them.

They return to base with a Hero's welcome, healers worrying over their few wounds. Their peers tried looking for them, but after so long presumed them dead and set up a memorial. When Hero sees said memorial, they can't help but ask- what of Whumpee? Did they get a memorial covered in flowers, messages of loss surrounding them?

None of their peers even knew who Whumpee was. It was unfair to Hero, especially knowing all Whumpee sacrificed for them to be here. They could be dead by now.

So Hero does the only thing they can think to do.

Be the hero Whumpee deserves, and bring them home to a welcome they deserve.

[quietly-by-myself]

Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 7

Masterlist

This story blew up! Thank you so much everyone for the support! I'm glad to see everyone enjoy this story as much as I do.

CW: slavery whump, silent whumpee, conditioned whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper (past), mention of caning, nightmares, panic attack, flashback, whumpee thinks caretaker is the new whumper, PTSD, whumpee thinks they screwed up, self-pinching, frustrated caretaker, brief brief nonsexual nudity mention

===

Something about having a bed to go to was almost unbelievable. Sacha had spent so long, naked on the cold, cement floor of a dark, dank basement that to have someone tuck him in and wish him sweet dreams felt surreal. 

The covers to his new bed were freshly washed and warm. The smell and feel of them, the soft, plush fabric of the duvet brought tears to his eyes. He felt unworthy, yet so comfortable. He felt guilty, but couldn’t bring himself to move, not yet.

Once Cyril had himself gone to bed, Sacha allowed his eyes to wander back to the fireplace. He didn’t expect to dislike being away from it so much. 

He told me to stay in this bed. I can’t disobey.

Another thought occurred to Sacha.

What if this is a test? What if he’s trying to see if I know my place? Test my limits?

Every bone in his body ached, as though the fatigue of the years past had tied him down to that bed. Even though his bones ached, his muscles were relaxed. Was this what it was like to rest?

Sacha knew that fear was the normal state of affairs for a slave, but he enjoyed allowing himself to relax a bit. However, enjoyment was an emotion for someone worth much more than he was. He quickly summoned that fear by pinching the scars on his wrists.

It hit him like a tidal wave. His chest tightened. Suddenly, he was back with Master. Master was towering in front of him, willow cane in hand. Tears were running down his face. He was going to be punished. He was going to be punished. He was going to hurt and pay for the kindness he’d been shown.

Sacha got up from his bed, leaving all the blankets behind. The scars on his wrists burned horribly like fire scorching his skin, through his nerves, and into his mind.

This has to be a test. He wants to know if I know my place. 

It broke Sacha’s heart to not be able to sleep in that beautiful bed. However, he was determined to prove to his new Master that he was well trained, that he didn’t need to be trained again or sent back to Master.

He moved to his spot by the fireplace, dutifully tending to the flames. Comfort washed after Sacha as he sat by the hearth, watching those flames dance. He had control over the fire. The fire would not hurt him, so long as he didn’t tempt it. It was entirely different from human beings - unpredictable, awful creatures that could hurt him at any moment.

Sacha fell asleep that night, deep into the evening hours, listening to the crackling of the fresh wood in the hearth.

—

Cyril woke with a start and immediately turned his head to his alarm clock. 2:13.

Fuck.

His heart was beating out of his chest. When he looked at his hand, it was trembling. 

Cyril forced himself to take a few deep breaths. It was just a nightmare. It couldn’t hurt him.  No matter how real it felt, it couldn’t do anything to him. Some part of him couldn’t believe that the nightmare was, in fact, just a nightmare, but he told himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. 

He eventually decided to go to the kitchen and make himself a warm glass of hot cocoa. Cyril hadn’t made a glass for himself after a nightmare in what felt like a long time.

However, when he left his room, he remembered exactly why that was. Shadow was asleep beside the fireplace, not a single blanket or pillow in sight. 

I thought that I made him a bed?

Cyril looked at the wall where he’d positioned Shadow’s bed. It was certainly still there.

Why is he sleeping on the floor?

What Cyril would have paid to know what was going through Shadow’s head. 

If only he could talk. It would make things so much easier.

Cyril was no mind reader. Even if he was halfway decent at reading people and figuring out their intentions, he couldn’t look into the deepest parts of a person like that.

Even if he could, would he?

Wouldn’t that be horribly violating Shadow’s privacy?

Cyril had never thought about mind reading like that. However, the thought of somebody reading into his thoughts and memories was deeply disturbing.

Cyril forced himself to focus on the task at hand. 

I’ll talk to him in the morning.

There wasn't any sense in waking Shadow up to discuss something that would probably end up deeply upsetting to the both of them. 

Cyril glanced once more to the kitchen. He didn’t feel like making hot cocoa anymore, so he headed back to his bedroom. Sleep found him almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

—

Shadow awoke before him, like he usually did. Cyril decided to make them both breakfast before he brought up how he’d found Shadow sleeping.

Breakfast was a simple one - applesauce, oatmeal, milk, and maple syrup. Shadow seemed to enjoy it well enough.

“Shadow.”

Cyril’s heart broke when Shadow gave him a fearful look. Granted, he should have been used to seeing fear in those light hazel eyes. It seemed to be one of the only two emotions that Shadow knew well. 

Cyril steadied himself before he found the courage to bring the subject up. “I found you sleeping on the floor last night.” He had to think over his words so that they wouldn’t sound like an admonishment. “I’m not upset with you, I promise. Just, I made you a bed because I wanted you to sleep somewhere nice. I didn’t want you to sleep on the floor.”

Shadow looked like a kicked puppy. Something in that fear told Cyril that Shadow didn’t really know what he did wrong.

It was hard to convince him to sleep on the couch. Plus, when he’d first brought Shadow home, he’d refused to rest in bed.

“Shadow, you’re allowed to sleep in that bed. It’s yours. It’s not mine.” 

Cyril didn’t know how to convince Shadow that no ill would befall him from sleeping in the bed. In fact, he was a little exasperated. 

“I worked hard to make it. Please, use it. I… I don’t like going into town. Just please use it, okay?”

Shadow made no indication either way, except for the tears that were brimming in his eyes. Cyril felt awful. 

Dammit. I made him cry.

What was he supposed to do? He was the reason that Shadow was crying. Shadow probably didn’t want his comfort.

Thus, Cyril decided it was probably for the best if he just left. It felt so horrible and cruel to leave Shadow alone, but he was beginning to realize that Shadow was something of a solitary creature. He probably would prefer to be alone for a little while to calm down before Cyril tried talking to him again.

He took a deep breath and rounded up his gardening materials. He’d think better once he was out in his garden, anyway.

—

I failed.

The thought permeated everything as Sacha found his place by the fireplace. He’d failed the test that Cyril had set up for him.

Sobs formed in his chest. How was he supposed to pass all these little tests, when everything was so different from the way it had been with Master?

Sacha curled up in a ball and cried into his knees for a long time.

So long, in fact, that Cyril returned home in the meantime. 

Sacha looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, wanting to throw himself on his knees and beg for the punishment he deserved.

“Hey, Shadow. I’m sorry. I was too harsh with you earlier.”

Something inside Sacha curled up. No. Don’t apologize to me.

Am I really that pathetic?

God, I’m awful.

I’m horrible. 

I’m going to be sent back.

I don’t deserve his kindness.

“Listen, I’ve realized something.”

Sacha looked up at him intently, tears rolling down his face. Cyril paused for a moment and grabbed a blanket off the bed. Gently, he wrapped Sacha in it and pulled him into a hug.

“You feel better over here.”

It was true. The fireplace was precious to Sacha. Not only was it his only job, it was also his only protection.

“I want you to be happy here.”

It couldn’t be possible.

“So, I’m going to move your bed by the fireplace, okay? That way, you know it’s for you and you can feel safe over here.”

Sacha didn’t know what to say. 

Why is he being so kind to me?

Nothing made sense anymore. At least with Master, before he was Cyril’s, he knew what he needed to do. Be silent and please Master well. With Cyril, he was expected to be happy. How in the world could he ever be happy again? What was happiness if life was so awful?

Cyril let him go from his hug and held true to his word. Without Sacha’s help, he moved the couch to where the bed was and moved the bed to where the couch was. 

Tears - relieved, confused ones this time - rolled down his face as Cyril took a deep breath, before pulling him back into a hug. He didn’t force Sacha away from his safe spot on the floor as he hugged him, sitting there by the fire with him.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I’m still figuring this all out, Shadow. I’m sorry that I can’t always get it right. We’ll get through this. You’re here to heal. I promise that I will never hurt you, okay? I promise I would never do anything like that.”

Sacha found himself wanting to thank Cyril. The thought was odd. He genuinely wanted to thank Cyril for giving him so much consideration. He didn’t want to thank Cyril for not hurting him. No, he wanted to thank him for the bed, the food, and the gentle care.

It felt almost like life before, as though the bed were a present and the food was a home cooked meal.

Sacha quickly put the thought out of his head.

He refused.

He couldn’t hope for anything.

However, as he warmed in Cyril’s big arms, he began to wonder what exactly healing might feel like. Could that urge to thank Cyril for kindness be that?

Sacha didn’t know.

===

Tags (always open!): @whumpsday, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @pigeonwhumps, @darkthingshappen, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @darlingwhump, @maracujatangerine

[whump-me-all-night-long]

Whumptober Day 13

No. 13 Can't Make an Omelette Without Breaking a Few Legs

Fracture | Dislocation | “Are you here to break me out?”

CW: hero whumpee, villain whumper, intimate whumper, noncon surgery, threats, future implied permanent injury? not quite sure how to tag this one but I feel like

it does get kinda dark, so if you're unsure at all, feel free to DM me and I can give you a quick synopsis

The hero must've passed out at some point because the next time they rose to awareness, they were laying on their bed, chain back around their ankle, hands carefully bandaged.

The pain hit them like a bulldozer, and they whimpered, curling their hands close to their chest.

Turning their head, they spies a glass of water, condensation still rolling down the sides, with a couple pills laying next to it on the nightstand.

A handwritten note informed the hero that the pills were painkillers that would also speed up their healing, and that the villain would be back to see them soon.

A slip of doubt glimmered in the hero’s mind, but even their breath sent waves of pain up their arms, so they wasted no extra time carefully scooping up the pills and swallowing them dry.

They attempted to lift the glass, but the pain made them nearly tip it over, so they slumped back down in bed, falling back asleep to the chalky aftertaste of the pills.

—

The hero didn't know how long it had been when they next became aware of the world around them.

All they knew was that their hands were unbandaged, only small, pale circles remaining of the torture. Fractured memories about medicine and the villain and crying in pain swelled to the surface, but they shook them off.

A hand carded through their hair, immediately causing them to tense up and crack their eyes open. The villain sat above them, smiling down softly.

“How are you feeling, my love?” they asked quietly.

“F-fine,” the hero replied, voice raspy and unsure.

The villain made a noncommittal hum in response, their hand still lightly dragging through the hero’s curls.

After a few minutes of silence, in which the hero had found themself drifting back off to sleep, the villain spoke again.

“Now, my darling, I've been doing some thinking.” The hero stiffened, immediately on guard. “And I really don't want to have to keep hurting you. But I also know that you won't ever willingly follow my directions. Not now, at least.”

“What, what are you saying?” the hero asked.

The villain’s hand never wavered. “I'm saying that I need to find a way to make sure you can't go disobeying me all the time without having to repeatedly injure you.”

Feeling a sinking in their stomach, the hero shook their head. “No, no, I'll behave.”

The villain chuckled sadly. “No, you won't. Not until I make you.”

They rose, and it was then that the hero noticed that they were no longer in their cell.

Instead, they were in what seemed to be a medical room, laying on the table that had enough cushioning to it so as to not be uncomfortable. However, the hero was also firmly restrained to the table, the only movement allowed to them being their head and even that was limited.

The villain reappeared in their line of sight, and the hero’s heart froze at what they held in their hand.

A wickedly curved, shining scalpel taunted them as the villain drew closer.

“Please!” the hero sobbed, any trace of dignity gone. “You don't have to do this! Please, I'm begging you, don't do this!”

The villain traced the hero’s cheekbone with a thumb, shushing them softly. “Darling, I don't want to gag you, but I will if you keep up this incessant chatter.”

The villain moved down towards the hero’s feet, and all they could do was sob brokenly and curl their fingers into tight fists.

There was the cold pressure of a disinfectant wipe dragged over the backs of their ankles.

“Please,” the hero moaned softly, squeezing their eyes shut and turning their head as far away as they could.

“Now, now,” the villain chided. “Compared to what I could do, this is next to nothing. It's a relatively simple procedure, and it shouldn't last too long or cause too much pain. However, I am not using any anesthetic because I do want this to be a teaching moment for you.

“Did you know that the Achilles tendon, when left to heal improperly, can cripple a person for life? Especially if it's both legs. Especially if it's made to heal improperly.” At that, the hero started to cough at how hard they were sobbing, and the villain rubbed soothing circles on their calf. When they had quieted, they continued. “Again, this procedure shouldn't take more than a few moments and, after the first couple weeks, there should be next to no pain.” A pause, then the villain’s tinkling laugh. “Well, except for whenever you try to walk, of course.”

At that moment, reality seemed to distort around the hero. They could still hear and feel everything going on around them, but it was as if they were underwater, or an especially thick layer of clothing cocooned them.

At the first steady, precise incision, the hero screamed, back arching against the table. Compared to all the pain they've felt before, it was not nearly the worst but, knowing what lay in store for them after this seemed to amplify the pain extraordinarily.

All throughout it, the villain made soft, calming remarks, as if that could do anything for the hero. Instead, after that first cut, they lay with their head tilted towards the wall next to them, staring at it with unblinking eyes, still and silent except for the occasional tear slipping out.

At some point, the hero felt the villain move back up to their head, stroking their hair softly and giving them a gentle notice that the “procedure” as they called it, was a success.

The hero only slowly blinked, another tear sliding down their temple and onto the plastic-y cushion beneath them.

They didn't move for what felt like hours, until the villain was back at their head, holding a glass of water in one hand, and those familiar pills in the other.

The hero opened their mouth before the villain even had the chance to say anything, gulping the pills down with the water and embracing the dark confort of unconsciousness.

---

Taglist: @badluck990 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-vagabond-nun @shywhumpauthor @panic-and-chaos @freefallingup13

[auroragehenna]

AI-less Whumptober

Day 12 Self harm, Sacrifice, Character death

TW/CW: Fights, punches, mockery, intimate whumper, chin tilt, low paintolerance whumpee, scared whumpee, implied kidnapping Word count: 872

The young hero approached him carefully. Almost in awe. He disliked it. It’s just his power. Aside from that he was just like them. Just now he was on his way to eat the shitty food from the agency’s cafeteria.

“Superhero! There’s a message from ‘control’ for you!”

“From Control?”, he asked. Looks like there would be no lunch today.

“Yeah. Sounded pretty urgent.”, hero panted out.

Okay so it wasn’t an internal conflict. Definitely no lunch. “Got it. Thanks Kai.”

The boy looked confused, as if he was genuinely surprised he knew his name.

Superhero stood there for a few more awkward moments and then turned around and walked towards control. By now he knew the labyrinth-like halls of the agency by heart. Five minutes later he knocked on the slick metal door.

The two wings of the door pulled back into the walls and Superhero entered. “What is it this time? Amenesias?”

“No. Not Amenesias, we haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Him.”, Superhero corrected.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway somebody else. A new villain. And as long as we don’t know more…-”

“-It’s better if I go check it out, just to be safe.”, Superhero finished their sentence.

“Just so nobody gets hurt.” They smiled.

“Sure.”, Superhero said. Ignoring the rumbling of his stomach. “Let me just get my stuff.”

Half an hour later Superhero was in full gear and had nearly caught up to Villain. They were committing some low-level crimes in the inner city but Superhero was not going to underestimate them because of it. There! They turned around a corner and saw them. A hooded figure was casually walking down the street and cutting things in half. Cars, Benches, hydrants. Superhero couldn’t see how they were doing that just yet but it didn’t matter. They’d be fine. So they sneaked up closer. Only go get hit in the side by a wave of asphalt. He flew into the next building and to the ground. Superhero took a run-up with his legs and pushed himself up with his arms. “Terra.”, what a pleasant surprise.”, they called out.

A malicious laugh was all they heard in response.

"Come out here so I can finish this and work on the actual threat.”, he provoked matter-of-factly.

Next a streetlamp hit him from behind. He got thrown forward onto all fours and used the momentum to roll forward into a handstand and push himself up again. Just in time to see Terra lunge at him. He blocked his stone punch with his left arm and buried his right hand in the villain’s hair. Then he let himself fall and pulled Villain down with him. They dropped to the ground and Superhero straddled Villain and pulled out the gas spewer.  A few seconds after they hit the trigger Terra’s body fell limb. Superhero quickly locked their wrists in the power supressing cuffs and then spun around to look for the hooded figure. They were leaning against a sliced car, perfectly calm, watching them.

Superhero stood up and turned around to them. “So what’s your deal, hood-guy?”

“I could ask you the same question. You have some kind of shield?”, hooded asks.

“Just lucky, I guess.”, Superhero replies. And just a moment after his stomach grumbles loudly. He cursed it in his mind.

Hooded cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, definitely, lucky…Tell me do they always use you as cannon-fodder?”

“I’m literally the best choice. To help out if need be and scoop out newcomers. Like you. And since you’re wasting time trying to get into my head you apparently don’t have more to offer than your little slicing.”, Superhero says dryly.

“Hmm, you’re not completely wrong, that is indeed what I’m best at. But I am not limited to only that.”

“Alright. Enough of this.”, Superhero cut in harshly and lunged at the hooded figure.

The figure hurriedly makes a swift flick motion and a scream rips through the air.

Superhero’s scream…

He drops to his knees, hand reaching up to his torse and coming back bloodied. He stares at it, eyes wide in terror. Breath picking up exponentially. Then suddenly two feet enter his vision and a hand sneaks under his chin and tilts it up. Until his wide eyes meet the sinister sparkling eyes of the hooded figure.

“Well, well, well. Looks like you finally found your match little one.”

Tears were welling up in Superhero’s eyes. “It hurts.”

“Aw you really have no idea of pain do you.”, the hooded figure cooed. Superhero whimpered and the sound was heaven to his ears. “Gooosh you’re perfect! Technically I only wanted to scoop out the competition and cause a little trouble. But I think I’m going to change my plans. And you’re coming with me little one. You can call me Supervillain.”

“N-No I-I don’t wanna.”, Superhero whimpered.

Hood-guy lifted his arm and lightly moved his fingers. “Do you want another taste?”

Superhero frantically shook their head.

“Now then. Come on.”

“They’ll-ugh-they’ll search for me!”, Superhero groaned out.

Supervillain only laughed. “I thought you were cleverer than that little one. You remember Amenesias?”

Superhero paled.

“There you go, finally clicked. Now get up and come here before I make you!”

This idea came to me randomly and it blew up on discord. So I wrote it

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, ( @eatyourdamnpears, @diamond-flavored-n whump, @sodacreampuff, @suspicious-whumping-egg, ), @ailesswhumptober

[darkthingshappen]

Three Days: Chapter 6

This is a collab with @quietly-by-myself for @the-whumpers-soiree. It features Faolan from their Mercury and Time series (link here) and my original whumper, Finlay Iver.

This story will contain elements of explicit noncon, references to past violent events, including noncon, torture, among other adult/dark themes. Reader discretion is advised. It's much darker than what I normally post. Minors DNI.

TAGS: @oddsconvert

CW: aftermath of noncon, restraints, references to noncon from previous chapter, past noncon, PTSD, panic attack, pet whump, intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, aftercare, gaslighting, dubcon bathing

Finlay rolled off of Faolan.  He’d spent the entire day testing his new boy’s limits and culminating in what he’d wanted to do the first time he saw him with Atticus at that boring party, he’d been tentative and jumpy, barely peeking out from behind Atticus the whole evening.  God, he’d wanted to take him right then and there.  He slumped back onto the bed catching his breath.  

That was amazing.  He was pretty sure Faolan had enjoyed himself too.  He turned to look at him, where he lay still tied to his bed.  

“Faolan?  Sweet boy?  I told you it would be amazing.  You felt so good.”  He wiped the sweaty hair from his forehead and kissed him softly.  “Open your eyes, Faolan.  I want to see your pretty face.  Open up.”  He tapped Faolan’s face gently, but there was no reaction.  And he didn’t obey.  

Faolan’s eyes were squeezed shut from the unadulterated fear running throughout his body. His mind had long since retreated far, far away from reality, into that place outside his body where only his soul could reach. It felt like he was watching himself there, on the bed, tied down. It was a familiar scene from this perch; he’d seen it hundreds of times before.

He couldn’t remember who or where he was. He remembered something about the action of that night, but who it was happening to and where it was happening was all a mystery. He allowed the sadness to crash over him in waves, but found himself too numb to cry. Why was this such a familiar scene? Why was it always like this? He just wanted everything to stop, stop, stop.

The stickiness between his legs let him know that everything was over. However, his body didn’t know that. He simply stayed in that state, paralyzed by the immensity of his own numbness and anguish that he couldn’t even put together words to say anything.

He’d came, just like that night. The one where he’d been beaten bloodily for the first time with a bottle. He’d been forced. He’d pleaded with Finlay with his shaking head. Oh, what he would’ve given to make the awfulness end.

Something about the way William did it was better. He was rough and violent. There wasn’t any question of if he had feelings in the moment other than fear and anguish. Finlay tried to make sure he enjoyed it. He asked if he was enjoying it and ignored when Faolan would tell him that he absolutely did not.

Most of all, he’d been gentle, as if he actually cared about Faolan’s enjoyment. Slow and gentle, almost like the few scant times he’d had consensual sex. 

The numbness only grew more cold as he laid there, watching his violated body and questioning if maybe he'd betrayed his only boyfriend’s memory by possibly enjoying what had happened with Finlay. He’d been moving just the right way and applying just the right amount of force.

Faolan attempted to force the memory out of his mind, but failed as he felt himself shutting down further.

“Faolan!  Open up.  I’m telling you to open your eyes!”  Finally slapped Faolan when gently tapping him wouldn’t work.  

Again, Faolan was blank-faced when Finlay slapped him. It was as though it didn’t even register other than a small flinch.

Finlay wasn’t sure how to rouse him from his daze.  Slapping hadn’t worked… He released him from the straps that held him.  He was in no condition to run at this point.  He put him on the floor and left one ankle chained, just in case.  He went to his bathroom and filled a cup up with water.  Maybe he needed more of a shock.  

He came back to where Faolan was still sitting and threw the cold water in his face.  

When the cold water hit Faolan’s face, he immediately began to come to. His eyes burned from the chlorine in the water as he sputtered and coughed. Panic washed over him when he realized where he was. He felt Finlay’s seed on him as he tried not to immediately panic there and then. He remembered well what William had said: panicking and crying made him look ugly, which just pissed William off.

Slowly, the panic washed back into numbness as he felt himself leaving again, though not as completely as before. He just didn’t feel… there. He felt like some cord was severed between his mind, his body, and the world around him.

“Ah, there you are, Little Faolan.  Ah, ah, ah.  Come back.  Focus on my voice.  Look at me.  Stay here.”  Finlay snapped his fingers in front of Faolan.  “Listen to my voice.  Feel the water on your face.  Smell the woodsmoke from the fire.  Feel the floor underneath you.  Listen to me.  Look in my eyes.  Focus.”

Faolan obeyed with urgency. He focused on Finlay’s voice, the water, the smells around him. However, he couldn’t look Finlay in the eyes. It didn’t take long afterwards for him to start coming back, though still disconnected to a degree. 

He curled up a bit, hugging his knees from where he laid. The adrenaline had numbed down the pain and, he thought, if he could keep it going a little longer, he could soothe himself enough to get Finlay to leave him alone.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.” It was an automatic sort of response that Faolan had been used to giving.

“Oh, you haven’t upset me, little pet.  You were perfect.  Absolutely gorgeous.  But I need you to focus.  Where do you go?”  It was half rhetorical.  He wasn’t even sure that Faolan could answer.  “We need to get you cleaned up.  Do you need some time?  I don’t want you going to sleep in your room like this.  That would be cruel.”  He sat next to Faolan and put his arm around him, pulling him against his chest.  

“I…” Faolan knew how to answer, but he struggled to put the words together. “My perch. I go to my perch.” 

He still seemed spacey as he was talking to Finlay. His voice was somewhat robotic.

“Will you be there, if I take some time?” The prospect of having to spend more time with Finlay terrified him. Somehow, Faolan found himself longing for Finlay to throw him to the side and let him be alone, where he could cry and look ugly freely, without fear of being punished.

He allowed the gentle touch to try to comfort him. He tried to imagine that it was Atticus hugging him tenderly, pulling him back from a flashback, instead of another master hurting him as badly as the first.

“Your perch?  Are you a little bird?  I’d like to help you get cleaned up.  There won’t be any more pain tonight.  But I can see you’re going to need some extra special care at the end of each day.  Will you let me do that for you?”

Perhaps Faolan was a bird in a cage. That perch was his only view of a world outside the limited, tortured present. It was his only relief, where he could rest his clipped wings and painful feet.

“Would you let me go if I said no?” Faolan felt that he had nothing left to lose by asking. At the worst, another mark. At the best, he could be alone. “What are you going to do?”

“I was going to let you choose if you’d prefer a bath or a shower?  I have both here in the ensuite.  I mean, after all, what kind of master would I be if I didn’t make sure all the kinks were worked out and you were all clean before going to bed.”  He tilted Faolan’s face toward his.  “Would it really be so bad to get clean?  To feel hot water on your skin washing the day away?  Especially after a day like today?”

Faolan’s hands were beginning to tremble, even if he seemed too numb to be anxious. “Do you have epsom salts? I-I’d like a bath with them if you have them. If not, I’d like a shower.” Faolan shook his head. “It would be nice. Thank you.” He was sort of quiet for a moment before he thought of another question for Finlay. “Will- Will the lights in my bedroom turn off tonight?”

“Of course, little bird.  Of course the lights will go off.  You’ll be able to sleep.  Is that what you were worried about?  And I do have epsom salts.  Come.  Let’s get you in the bath.”  He stood and gently lifted Faolan and carried him to the bath.  

Faolan’s trembling was more obvious now that Finlay was holding him. He had no signs of fever nor of fear worse than what he’d had before. If anything, he seemed more malleable than the time before the evening they’d spent together.

“Faolan, why are you trembling?” Finlay was careful to keep his tone soft and gentle.  He set him down on the bathroom floor next to the clawfoot tub and then stooped down in front of him.  “I told you I’m not going to hurt you any more tonight.  I’m just trying to help you get cleaned up and relaxed so you can get a good night’s rest.”

“William hit my head against the floor after dropping me. I haven’t stopped trembling since. He put the fear of that moment in me forever.” He cringed back a little at being cornered in by Finlay. “It’s permanent. Atticus took me to a doctor for it. My meds for it are wearing off, is all. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say anything when you begged for your other meds?  I could have had my man pick them up.”

“I can live without them. I can’t live without my stomach meds. They aren’t for comfort.”

“Well now, we can’t have you trembling so much that you can't function.  I’ll have them picked up tomorrow.  Are there any other meds I should know about?  Tell me now.  No more surprises, understand?”

Faolan debated telling him about his neuropathy medicines and decided on telling him. It would make his mood worse if he got off of them too quickly, anyway. “Propranolol. For the tremor. Duloxetine, for my neuropathy. No more surprises.”

“Good.  My little dove.  I’ll have them both picked up.  The neuropathy?  Is that from the burns on your feet?”

Faolan nodded. He didn’t know why he was giving so much information. Perhaps that detachment had lowered his inhibitions. 

“Alright.  Let’s get you cleaned up.”  Finlay stood up and turned on the water.  “Does the neuropathy mean that you need the water hotter or colder, or does it not matter?  I want you to be able to relax.”

“A little colder, please. If it’s too hot, it’s very painful for my feet.”

“Noted.”  Finlay turned the taps on and felt the temperature, turning it slightly cooler than he preferred it.  He then rummaged around under the cabinet until he found the bag of epsom salts.  He poured a heavy amount of them into the water and swirled it around. 

Finlay stood back up and turned Faolan towards the large picture mirror in the room.  He held Faolan close, tilting his head to look up at himself.  

“Look at how perfect you are like this.  Lovely, bruised, broken, flushed from just being fucked until you came.  It’s beautiful.  Exactly what you were meant to be.  What you were meant to look like.”  Finlay’s fingers ghosted over the bruises that crossed his cheek, his arms where the cuffs had dug in, the little bite marks Finlay hadn’t been able to resist leaving across his shoulders, chest and neck, when the boy had gone to his ‘perch’ as Faolan called it.  

Faolan gasped lightly every time Finlay brushed over his bruises. Each touch hurt the freshly damaged skin.

Hearing those words, feeling the possession on his body, having every mark pointed out so proudly brought him right back to where he was before, tied to the bed with Finlay’s hands between his legs. He grew weak as Finlay continued his exploration, knowing that resistance was futile.

He hated the way he looked. He hated his pathetic face. He hated the trail of Finlay’s cum on his leg, maybe even that of his own. His heart was shrinking in his chest as he looked at the bruised, brutalized man before him. Was this really who he was meant to be?

“Ah, ah, ah, little dove.  No flying off to your perch just yet.  You’ll be able to sleep soon enough and you can fly away in your dreams.  For now, stay here with me, while I clean you up.  Remember, when you come here, to these rooms, it’s for your pleasure and release as well as mine.  You’re meant to feel good and to let me help you relax.”  Finally leaned in and pressed his lips against Faolan, coaxing his mouth open once more.  But his kiss was gentle, the barest touch of his tongue to Faolan’s.  “Come, little dove.”

Finlay turned Faolan back towards the bath tub and guided him to get in.  

“Is the temperature okay for you?” He asked.  

Faolan nodded quietly. He was being honest. Though, if the water really was painful, he wouldn’t have said anything to Finlay. He would’ve just borne it, like he had the entire night. He waited quietly to see if he would be washing himself or if Finlay would want to wash him. Like William.

Finlay was learning so much from his new little pet.  He kept his hand on the back of his neck, applying a gentle pressure, just enough to remind him that he was there.  He took the soap and handed it to Faolan.  “You wash off your body and I’ll do your hair.  If you need help let me know.  I’ll keep my hand here, but you can move.  I do want you used to my touch and proximity.  No zoning out.”

“Can you wash my hair first? I-I’m used to doing it that way. Hair first, then body.” Faolan dared to question Finlay. He was very different from William - Master. He actually allowed Faolan to ask questions, as long as they weren’t disrespectful. William had found the very premise of a question disrespectful. It was almost a personal insult to William when Faolan would make a request - it was simply a complaint.

Maybe, I can hide this from Atticus. Maybe I won’t look so bad.

“How about we wash your hair twice?  I’d like to help you relax before bed.  I can do it now if that’s what you’re used to, and then I’ll watch you wash yourself.  You’ve been a bit wobbly, so if you need help I can do that.  Then I’ll wash your hair again?  I like the way you look when you lean into my touch.”

Faolan nodded. “Maybe shampoo first, then the second time, conditioner? My hair frizzes easily.” He was able to give those little suggestions. Those small comments like that offer to help him wash himself were small kindnesses he never got, not even when William tried to take better care of him. The only one who ever did anything like that was Atticus.

Would Atticus even notice something different about me? I don’t want to hurt him. This is all my fault. I don’t want him to think that I enjoyed any of it either. 

This is better. It’ll be easier to hide it all. He’ll be upset with me. He told me not to go to the party.

Finlay laughed a small short laugh.  “You’re getting to be quite high maintenance, aren’t you?”  He enjoyed the little flicker of fear that flitted across Faolan’s eyes for a moment.  “We can do conditioner.  That’s fine.  Now lean your head back.  Enough negotiating.”

Finlay coaxed him to lean back on his arm as he directed the bath sprayer over his hair.  “Relax, little pet.  I’m not going to let you drown.  But this will be much easier if you’re not so tense.  Just float a little.  I have you.”  

He let the water soak into Faolan’s hair before grabbing the shampoo.  He worked it into a lather and massaged it into Faolan’s hair, his scalp.  He took his time, being sure to get all the sweat and grime out of Faolan’s hair from the last day and a half.  He worked at the stress knots that he could feel behind his ears and down the columns of his neck, fingers slick with shampoo, making it easier.  

He sent the water cascading back over Faolan’s hair, still cradling his head on his arm.  

Faolan allowed himself to relax into Finlay’s arm, able to pretend he was Atticus for a few moments. He leaned back into Finlay’s hold, letting his gentle massage bring him back from his perch, even if it was only for a little while. It had been a while since someone had taken so much time and attention to his bathing - he hadn’t needed it from Atticus recently and before, nobody had ever taken so much attention to try to relax him.

Some sort of amazement filled him when he noticed that none of the soap, none of the water came in his eyes. Finlay was being very careful to make him as comfortable as possible. It was strange. Faolan, in a different time when he was more naive and vulnerable, might’ve found himself enjoying it. If he could’ve actually believed that it was a change of heart, perhaps.

“I know I was hard on you earlier today.  And I will be tomorrow too, but our evenings are meant to be gentle.  Think of it as a reward for what I put you through.  I told you I’m not unreasonable.  You’re here because I have an itch that I need to scratch.  But it doesn’t have to be all bad.  I’ll take care of you.  You won’t die from an infection or anything so nasty.  Not while you’re here.”  He kissed Faolan’s forehead and then helped him to sit up.  Keeping his fingers on either Faolan’s shoulder or neck.  

Faolan froze a little at the mention of dying of infection. Does he know? What does he mean “while I’m here?” Atticus, I hope you come quickly. I don’t want to be sold off.

The thought of someone knowing what he’d been through, how his family had died, was somewhat terrifying. Should he accept his fate? Should he accept that his time with Atticus was always going to be temporary? How would Atticus even find him? Atticus, please, I hope you can find me here.

His heart broke into pieces when he thought about being sold. Atticus wouldn’t find him, not for a long time. It would be just like what happened with William. Nobody would be able to find him and eventually, would just come to believe he was dead. Atticus would have a hard time accepting that - he knew - but everyone could eventually come to accept it. 

It was approaching 24 hours, right? 72 hours and a person was gone forever? Would Atticus really give up after three days?

“I’ll do anything.” It was a simple plea. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be. Please, just don’t leave me to die in a brothel. I’ll be perfect for one of your friends. I’ll be perfect for you. I know you’ve probably ensured that Atticus will never find me. I just don’t want to die like my mother.” 

Faolan’s eyes filled with tears. “Please. You- you must know how she died. I don’t want to leave you.”

“You’re mother.  You’ve brought her up a few times.  And always in conjunction with the brothel.  Did she die in a brothel?  Maybe from some horrible STI?  Or was it something else?  Tell me, little bird.”  He turned Faolan’s face toward him.  

“She had kidney disease.” Faolan looked at Finlay, then a bit behind him, trying to piece things together. “Whether it was an STI-related thing, I don’t know. Atticus had me tested when I brought it up and I’m clean of everything.” He gulped a bit. “She lived a miserable life. I was born there. She died after an outbreak of disease in our water. Her kidneys made her dehydrate too quickly.”

“Well, I don’t think that is going to be your fate, little bird.  But you are right, Atticus can’t find you.  He has no idea you’re here.  No one does.  We’re not even in the same state as the party.  So, little Faolan, you’re here for the long haul.  But don’t worry.  Like I said, I’ll take good care of you.  It’ll be hard at first, while we get used to each other.  But I enjoyed myself today.  And tonight.  So I think I’ll keep you around.”  He ruffled Faolan’s wet hair.  “No being sold off.  Just keep being your adorable self.”  He took Faolan’s face in his hands.  “Just don’t go zoning off on me.  It’s no fun.  I need you to try not to do that.”

The subsequent flood of emotions with each word that Finlay added quickly became overwhelming. He forced that part of his brain to shut down. Finlay was being kind right now, but he didn’t know how Finlay would react if he broke down crying again. He needed to focus on pleasing Finlay in whatever way he could.

I’ll never be found. The thought made his heart sink. Finlay was taking mercy on him by allowing him to stay with him. Clearly, something about his reliance on Finlay and pleading had pleased the man. That was a clue to his survival. A very valuable one at that - maybe if he could just continue with that, make it more into a dependency, Finlay would be pleased.

“Ice.” Faolan, now being hit with the tiredness from the day, tried his best to put his words together. “I’d like ice. If I zone out on you, put ice in my hand.” He didn’t know if it was wise to continue what he was saying, but he decided to continue. “I learned that it helps a lot from Atticus.”

“Ice.  Okay.  I can work with that.  What would you do if I were to drop you into a tub of ice water?  Not that I’m planning on it, but if it got bad enough… would that pull you out?”

Faolan nodded, though the idea terrified him. The fear twisted his face at the prospect, though. It would almost certainly cause his neuropathy so much pain that he’d try to jump out immediately, but that was probably what Finlay had in mind anyway.

“I can see that scares you. So put it out of your mind for now.  You work hard to stay focused and I won’t drop you in a vat of ice, deal?”

It was another one of his deals - like the force feeding and the gag. Faolan couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen again, but he had no choice. He knew it was now a rule, not just a deal.

Still, he nodded. “Yes.”

“Easy, little dove.  This is meant to help you relax.  We’re just talking.  I’m just trying to figure out how best to work with you.  Let’s take a break.  You wash yourself.”

[evilwriter-originals]

Whumptober Day 5 - Wrong

Alternate Prompt: Touch Starved

Rated: mature

Warnings: lady whump, intimate whumper, nonconsensual touching

Word Count: 536

Summary: Hakur takes advantage of Anaria being touch starved.

Anaria found herself - for some insane reason - leaning into Hakur’s fleeting caress of her cheek. He noticed, dropped his hand, smiling. His fingers were wet with her tears.

Anaria just stared at him wide-eyed, utterly shocked at what she’d done. She hurriedly wiped her tears away. She could have stopped him from touching her face, right? She could have pulled away, could have bitten him. It wasn’t like she was bound or chained in a cell.

Then again, refusing his touch would only result in that.

“Do you miss the caress of your lover?” Hakur asked, still smiling, seeming terribly amused by this. He’d just been telling Anaria that no one would find her, that no one would come for her even if they did, that she wasn’t loved or cared for. 

And so she’d cried. She hadn’t meant to, hadn’t meant to show weakness, but she had.

“That’s none of your business,” Anaria mumbled. She had never used to mumble. She’d been taught not to as a child. Hakur was bringing it back. She feared speaking with him.

She spun on her heel and tried to walk away. Hakur didn’t like that, wasn’t going to allow that, apparently, because there was a hand in her hair, tugging hard.

She yelped as she was dragged back against his chest. He kept his hold on her hair, laughing. 

“Oh, Anaria, you amuse me so.” 

She wanted to tell him to let go, but couldn’t find the strength in her to do so. The scars on her back twitched, and the still-healing brand burned. Hakur had placed himself firmly between her wings, so she couldn’t use those to get away either.

Anaria gasped as Hakur stroked her cheek with his knuckles. It was a terribly light touch, almost a tickle. That hand brushed over her face, moving down, stroking her under the chin, then her neck above the collar. Her mouth gaped. She wanted to scream, struggle, but instead she just stood there.

This reminded her all too much of Girad’s touch, and she couldn’t stand that. 

“D-don’t,” she got out, voice choked. 

“Oh, I’m not going to,” Hakur said, knowing what Anaria was speaking of. He put his hand on her shoulder, stroking her hair now. Anaria’s tears renewed. “But it is so fun to frighten you.” 

He let go of her, and Anaria stumbled away from him. She fell on her hands and knees on the cold tile, breathing hard, unable to see through her tears.

“If you are so starved of touch, then I will not give it,” Hakur told her. “Not for now, at least.” He giggled. It wasn’t a chuckle or a full-out laugh. It was a giggle. The sound was gleeful. “What fun! I never considered lack of touch to be a torture, myself, but apparently, for you it is.” 

Anaria clambered back to her feet, using her wings to quickly right herself. 

“You don’t deserve anyone’s touch,” she sneered over her shoulder at him.

Before he could punish her for that, she was striding away down the hall, trying to keep herself from running. She’d thought Hakur had done all he could within his limits to disgust her.

She’d been wrong.

[redwhump]

Whumpmas In July Day 1: (Re)Introduce Yourself

i never actually did an intro post, so hello! i'm briar/red, i write whump sometimes. i currently have a scifi whump series (which should get to the actual torture in the next part), and will be posting the first part of a vampire whump series soon, whenever i manage to finish that. i don't post/reblog any explicit nsfw stuff on this blog, i want to keep it sfw.

i'm going to try to complete all the whumpmas in july things, but i'm generally not good at completing events like this (i've failed at lex/ember twice so far), so we'll see.

favorite whump tropes:

character stuff: whumper turned whumpee + whumpee turned caretaker, reluctant caretaker, carewhumpers, vampire/immortal/nonhuman whumpees, defiant/angry whumpees, desparate whumpees who are just doing what they can to make the situation better, "professional" whumpers (who are mostly doing the whump because it accomplishes some other goal. professional isn't quite the right word but i couldn't think of something else), intimate whumpers

story/plot stuff: sleep deprivation, starvation, stress positions, captivity, whumpee having to choose how they'll be hurt, torture, whumpees dealing with the effects of trauma, recovering from trauma, trauma nightmares, gore, non-consensual body modification, mind control/telepathy

random facts:

i'm genderqueer & bi. gender is confusing so i've stopped trying to figure out aomething more specific than nonbinary and genderqueer.

i've been a writer for a while, but there was a several year gap before i started writing for this blog where i didn't really write anything. whump has helped me start to get back into writing, which is really nice, i missed writing.

my love of vampires started through me playing oblivion, finding out there were vampires in the game, and then using my at the time limited english to go to a wiki to figure out how to become a vampire

EDIT: saw the template whumpmasinjuly posted, so i figured i'd do that as well

❤️ Name: briar/red

💛 Gender: genderqueer / wtf is gender anyway /j

💙 Favorite season: where i live now, fall. back in finland, winter or summer.

❤️ Average amount of sleep: uhhhhhh 6.5 hrs maybe.

💛 Dream job: fuck if i know. something stable where i have free time and enough money to easily provide for myself.

💙 Blog established: honestly i don't remember qhen i made this sideblog. i started actually using it in like march 2022.

❤️ Reason for URL: it sounded cool

💛 Fave Whump Tropes: already did above

💙 Projects you’re working on: the Dust series, plus the vampire whump series i mentioned. also possibly a hero/villain thing.

❤️ Favorite color: very dark blue

💛 Anything else you’d like to add: i guess not?

@whumpmasinjuly

[whumpingcrow]

Pt. 29 "The Eye of the Storm"

CW: Tics/tourrettes, drugs/alcohol, PTSD themes, panic attack, trauma response, filmed whump, torture (explicit), emeto (vague), hospital setting (vague), angsty caretaking, blood/gore (explicit), nightmares, discussion of therapy, gun use (EXPLICIT), hostage situation, character death mention, death threats, dissociation mention, discussion of past noncon/dubcon, creepy/intimate whumper (let me know if I missed anything!)

The streetlights diluted with a blurry orange aura and every passing car’s headlights flooding his already unfocused, hazy vision, Tyson did everything he could to keep himself awake on the drive home. His eyes were burning with exhaustion, his muscles were sore and weak from the hectic marathon that was the ER. That night had been particularly demanding, and Tyson found himself feeling more run down than usual as he pushed the speed limit on the winding roads up to the cabin. At some point he’d cranked the music loud, turned on the AC, and rolled down his windows just to keep himself aware enough to make it home. This was the hardest part of the day, he reminded himself, and he would feel better as soon as he was able to rest with Elias for a while. He allowed the smallest amount of resolution to set in when he turned into the driveway of the house, imagined himself walking in and greeting the three dogs that were always happy to see him, walking into the bedroom to find Elias peacefully sleeping, crawling under the covers with him, finally getting some rest. 

The lights were on, though. 

Tyson had subconsciously come up with something close to a system to gauge how Elias might be doing in his absence, and the lights being on was the first indicator that something might be wrong. If he went inside and Elias was cooking, then he was probably alright. Sometimes he woke up early and made breakfast before Tyson was home so that it would be ready for him if he wanted it. If he was awake and doing anything else, it was more likely than not because he was having nightmares. That hadn’t happened in a week or two, but it was always a worry in the back of Tyson’s mind. Despite the horrible gut feeling he had that something was wrong, he tried to reassure himself as he walked up to the front door. Elias had been doing so well lately, he was himself again and he was happier now, and immediately fearing the worst wasn’t fair of Tyson, especially when Elias had put in so much work to get where he was. The sound of the keys in the door set off the dogs, but they came to a gradual stop when Tyson pushed the door open and they realized it was him. 

Elias was on the floor in front of the couch, watching Tyson walk in with panic blown eyes. Tyson’s heart dropped to the hardwood floor underneath his shoes at the look on his face alone. He was still in the clothes he was wearing before Tyson went to work, hadn’t even taken off his shoes. His laptop was open on the coffee table in front of him, Tyson watched him glance nervously at the screen when Elias noticed that he looked at it. The stench of weed was heavy in the air, Elias’s eyes were bloodshot. When one of the dogs ran over to him and tried to lick at his face in excitement, Elias pushed him away feebly. Tyson often made stupid jokes about Elias loving the dogs more than him, so seeing him do something so out of character only made his anxiety swell. 

After a few seconds of heavy, unsure silence, Elias reached forward and shut the laptop, pulling himself to his feet. Tyson watched him sway where he stood with a tight frown on his face. 

“He…Hey, Ty.” He finally grumbled out. He’d been crying, Tyson realized. The wavering raspiness that took over Elias’s throat post-cry was something Tyson had grown to know well, and recognizing that in his voice prompted Tyson to cross the room to try and comfort him. He must’ve moved a little too quickly, Elias stumbled back a step when he was a foot or two away.

“What’s going on, love?” Tyson asked. His own voice was slightly gravely from overuse, he’d had to shout over chaos a few too many times that night. “Did something happen at that party?”

Elias offered a sad, wavering smile, glanced around the room nervously as tears started building up in his eyes. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and covered his eyes entirely. “I um… oh God.” That was all it took to make the dam break, and Elias broke down all over again right then and there. “God, Ty, I messed u…up. I messed up so bad, Tyson, I’m so fu-fucking stupid, oh fuck. Oh God-” He cut himself off with his own weak sobs and his posture caved in on itself. 

With arms timidly outstretched, Tyson approached Elias slowly. “Hey, hey,” he cooed softly, “you’re ok, Elias, come here-” his hands barely brushed against Elias’s shoulders before he was backing away from him again, dropping his own hands from his face to push away the offered solace. 

“Ple-please don’t - fuck you! - please don’t touch me, I’m so sorry, Ty.” He only looked at Tyson for a split second before looking past him and starting to cry harder. Tyson followed his gaze, falling back onto the closed laptop. “I’m so so sorry,” Elias was still saying, over and over again, as Tyson stood frozen in the middle of the living room, staring at the laptop. 

Wordlessly, he turned away from Elias completely and sank down to the couch, reaching for the laptop. When Elias saw him starting to open it, he lunged forward with frantic cries of “no, no, no, no, no, Tyson, don’t! Please don’t, please Tyson!” and such. Tyson ignored him, more concerned with finding out what had made his boyfriend so upset. When he had it open all the way, Elias collapsed to his knees right there in a heap of  wails that he tried to muffle with his hands. He watched, mortified, as Tyson’s face shifted from confusion, to absolute disgust, and then to pure anger. 

The sound of Elias’s agonized screaming carried softly from the laptops speakers, followed by laughter from the person recording. Tyson hadn’t been sent any videos or pictures after August took Elias to France, and Elias hated talking about it so much that Tyson could only imagine the details of what happened by puzzling together what little Elias did say out loud. He hadn’t imagined a dark, blood covered basement, chains around Elias’s wrists barely holding him up, so that he swayed with each blow. He hadn’t pictured August using him as a punching bag and batting practice and even tasing him until he passed out. In his mind, and what he understood from Elias’s avoidant confessions, France was a new level of cruelty on August’s end, but it wasn’t ever painted as this horrendous. Tyson hadn’t ever considered that what Elias was claiming as overboard abuse and rough-handling was actually just sadistic torture, through and through. Why had he downplayed it so much? Did he honestly believe that the mindless violence inflicted on him was nothing more than severe mistreatment? It was a scene that Tyson thought only played out in film, to get information or money out of someone. Only Elias had nothing left to give August, he had been stripped of everything already, and there was no goal or point to the pain. It was very obvious that the only reason it was happening was for the amusement of August, and apparently whoever was having the time of their lives filming. At one point he saw Elias lift his head, which looked to be a huge struggle, to look directly into the camera. Tyson felt his throat close up at the image of Elias soaked in his own blood from head to toe, panting softly, and eyes completely lost, like he wasn’t even in his body anymore, like the pain and blood loss left him completely hollowed out. The person filming said something in French (upon hearing that, Elias doubled over, trembling all over and sobbing, trying to make out enough words in between tics and cries to beg Tyson to stop watching it, and he wanted to, but he just couldn’t rip his eyes away from the screen) and Elias’s broken counterpart responded to whatever he said with a pathetic moan of pain, and then just dropped his chin back toward his chest, seemingly defeated.

Elias jumped when Tyson reached forward and slammed the laptop shut, sitting straight to look at him expectantly, waiting for a reaction with barely restrained sobs shaking his entire frame and lip quivering just a little. Tyson was so tired, he was almost sick from seeing Elias in that much pain, and felt so awful for not knowing that it had been that brutal, he didn’t even think before he snapped, “why the fuck were you watching that?”

Just like every other time Tyson had been too harsh with this fragile person he had to keep watching break over and over, guilt draped heavily over him like a soaking wet downy feather comforter in less time than it took him to blink. It only worsened when Elias snapped his mouth shut and dropped his head down. All at once, his jaw clenched hard and his muscles grew rigid. Tyson could see him jolting just a little with repressed tics and stifled sobs, and he sighed shakily before he got off of the couch and knelt with Elias on the floor. 

“I’m sorry, Eli.” He rasped out. He didn’t bother to try to touch him again, he had freaked him out enough already, and he hadn’t even been home for five minutes. His throat was raw when he tried to swallow back his remorse. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m really tired, I didn’t mean that.” 

Elias shook his head to himself, still somehow shockingly quiet. Tyson couldn’t help the despaired huff he let out; Elias hadn’t shut himself down like this in a long time, not since he’d realized Tyson wasn’t the same as August and wouldn’t do anything if he was loud, if he was himself. That was when they were back in LA, what felt like a lifetime ago, by then. How had he gotten this bad in a matter of hours? And why did Tyson never seem to know how to fix it?

“Do you want honey in your tea?” He finally mumbled. 

The obscurity and odd timing of the question made Elias snap his head up to look at Tyson, a perplexed frown on his face. He scrunched up his nose a few times, started to try to blink the tears out of his vision. At least he was allowing himself to move, even if he seemed like he would try to bolt if Tyson even looked at him wrong. A soft whimper caught in the back of his throat, then he took a short, shuddering breath. “...huh?”

“I’m gonna make us some tea. Chamomile. All I need you to think about right now is whether or not you want honey.” Tyson paused, watched Elias’s face as he tried to process what was being said to him with panic still bubbling in his chest. He wasn’t even thinking about sleep anymore, seeing his boyfriend as the main character of a slasher was just about enough to push the exhaustion to the back burner. Still, though, he found himself biting down on the start of a yawn.

Some level of awareness crept onto Elias’s face, life returning to his body a little at a time. Tyson observed his eyes flick about the room, pausing on some of the paintings, one of the dogs, the laptop again, eventually back to Tyson. He shook his head hard enough to turn his hair into a flurry of faded blue and blond, then a second time, and then again, even more aggressively than the other two, just for good measure. 

“Easy, love.” Tyson whispered, reaching for the coffee table to pull himself upright. He moved like he was at gunpoint, slowly and dramatically harmless. Elias’s eyes were on him the entire time he wasn’t ticcing, glancing down at his open palm when he offered a hand to help him stand. “So was that a no, on the honey?” 

It wasn’t one with very much conviction behind it, but Elias allowed a small grin to crack as he reached up and slid his own hand into Tyson’s. “I would lo…love some honey, actually.”

There was some relief in hearing Elias speaking again, not wailing or completely shut up, but Tyson didn’t allow himself to relax quite yet. Sure, he’d calmed down a little for the moment, but what about later, when they had to talk about what had led up to the whole mess in the first place? Or when he inevitably had a nightmare from having to see himself like that? For the moment, though, Tyson set all of those worries aside with his exhaustion and led Elias to the kitchen. 

The residue of Elias’s panic hung in the air as Tyson busied himself filling the kettle with water, he could practically smell it dripping from his partner as he lingered close by watching him. Waiting for it to pass was usually the easiest part, though, because after it was gone it felt suffocatingly important to make it stay away. Tyson was working on not obsessing so much over Elias’s well-being and taking it completely into his own hands, but did anyone seriously expect him to just sit back and observe? Watch Elias try to handle it by himself? After so much time spent in the front row seat to the undoing of someone he loved more than the oxygen in his lungs, and being unable to do anything, it felt necessary to try with everything he had to make it better. However, it was getting progressively more obvious that Tyson actually had no idea exactly what that was supposed to look like, so he ended up just staring at the red hot stovetop under the kettle with his palms itching restlessly. When he dared glancing up at Elias, he was surprised to see his tearful blue eyes focused right on him. He looked like he was watching a horror movie and could sense a jump scare coming at any second, like he was ready to hit the ground running as soon as Tyson’s posture became vaguely threatening. 

“Have you slept yet?” Tyson checked in a whisper. He felt he knew the answer already, but at that point he was trying to find something close to a procedure to follow in his head, and the first logical step he could find was assessing the overall damage. Like he was expecting, Elias shook his head sadly in response. Before he could get himself started on the quick spiral of guilt that always seemed to start up when he was unwell, Tyson nodded at him in understanding. “It’s ok,” he clarified, “I get it. I was just making sure…” 

He trailed off as he took in Elias’s anxious grimace, his mind circling back to the video once again; he could see the scar on Elias’s lower lip that August had given him with a particularly poor mannered closed fist. When he’d gotten it, he choked and sputtered on the blood before spitting some out onto the already maroon stained concrete under him. It wasn’t defiant by nature, it was very obvious that the only goal was to get rid of some of the coppery tasting liquid steadily filling his mouth. And yet, he was slapped around even more when August caught him. The injury had long since healed over, it was just a pinkish white stripe on the outer edge of his bottom lip, but seeing exactly how it came to be made Tyson burn with empathy. 

Elias let out a soft groan, brought his shaking hand up to wipe the rest of the tears away from his eyes. “I uh…I’m sorry, Ty-”

“Unnecessary, baby.��� The reply was simple, sort of dry, but it was enough to get Elias to relax his shoulders another inch or so. That was a trick they’d come up with in therapy, when Tyson had expressed how much it upset him that Elias was apologetic for everything. He was always trying to claim some sort of guilt or blame for things entirely out of his control, and that also transferred into insistence of punishment that Tyson could never fulfill and Elias would wrongly try to execute on his own. So, instead of continuing on the fruitless debate of whether or not Elias had to actually be sorry, they decided that all Tyson had to do was let him know whether or not an apology was needed. Elias’s only part of that deal was that he had to trust that Tyson was being honest, and that was coming easier to him lately. Tyson was relieved that at the very least, that was one part of the grueling recovery process that he’d managed to hold on to after whatever had happened to him the night before. 

Tyson pressed his palms into the hot ceramic mug as he sat at the table across from Elias, watching him passively as he twisted the tag to the tea bag between his fingertips. He’d failed to notice the drying blood around Elias’s nails, evidence of hours of his restless anxiety, resulting in subconscious self punishment. It took everything out of Tyson to tear his eyes away and swallow the back the strangling lump forming in his throat. “So uh…”  He finally choked out, pausing to clear his throat and steady himself as much as he could. “We can talk about…what happened, right now, if you want. Only if you, uh… only if you want to though, ok? I’m not gonna make you, especially if you’re still, I dunno…if you’re-”

“I don’t want to.”

Tyson froze, finally looking back up at Elias, who was staring bleakly into the tea in front of him. He was still twitching every so often, but it wasn’t nearly as aggressive as minutes ago. His shoulders rose and fell more evenly, and Tyson sunk slowly into relief with every unsteady inhale. “...no?” He breathed. 

Elias bit his bottom lip to stop the despaired frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, then waited a few seconds before scoffing. “Nah,” he sighed, “nah, I’ve be-shit- been smoking all fuckin’ night, I’m not -ow, fuck!-...I… I don’t wanna talk about anything.” He brought one of his hands up to wipe at his eyes, then dropped it to the table with a thud. “I kind of just wanna go to bed.”

“Oh.” Tyson muttered, completely unable to hide the shock on his face. Elias still couldn’t rip his eyes away from the tea he hadn’t touched yet, so it didn’t matter anyway. There was a dense few seconds where Tyson couldn’t force his brain to move past how surprised he was that Elias wanted to try and sleep, it was usually impossible to get him to rest when he had been freaked out so badly. “Alright,” he finally resolved himself to say, “alright, let’s go to bed then.” He stood from the chair, tried not to wince at the dull aching in his feet and calves, and waited for Elias to join him. 

“What about the tea?” Elias whispered as he rose and shuffled next to Tyson down the hallway. Suddenly the fatigue in his voice was tangibly obvious to Tyson, when seconds ago all he could hear was the panic, the despair, the remorse. 

“I wasn’t really expecting you to drink it,” Tyson admitted, “I’ll clean it up later.”

Elias flopped onto the mattress as soon as he was close enough, not bothering with his clothes or shoes or even unmaking the bed to get under the blankets. He draped one of his arms over his eyes, Tyson could see the nervous grimace that Elias wore because of the simple idea that he was on a bed, about to sleep, possibly minutes away from a nightmare. 

“Can I help you with your shoes, Eli?” 

Elias stayed still, replying with a weak “mmm-hmm”. When Tyson was kneeling in front of him with his fingers tugging at the laces to his worn down converse, Elias forced himself to sit up so he could watch him. Tyson almost lost it when Elias reached out and took one of his locks in between his shaking fingertips, toying with it mindlessly. After a moment of that, he switched to fiddling with the collar of the maroon scrubs Tyson was still wearing, and then started tracing his fingers over the exposed skin of his neck. Tyson was only able to keep it together long enough to pull Elias’s shoes off, and then he looked up at Elias with his eyes shining with tears. 

“Ty…” Elias mumbled, his voice sort of crestfallen as he took in the absolutely hopeless look on Tyson’s face. “What’s wrong? Don’t cry…”

“Are you ok, now?” Tyson forced out in a mangled whisper. “I mean, can I…is it alright if I touch you now?”

Elias nodded almost instantly, then before he could really process it, Tyson was collapsing forward and dropping his head into Elias’s lap, wrapping his arms around his calves to hold him closer. He was sniffling and clearing his throat to try and cover how much he was crying, as if Elias really cared, as if he himself hadn’t just been a blubbering mess for hours on end. At first, Elias felt clueless in how to comfort him, he hadn’t really been on this side of a breakdown all that often, and he could only watch with guilt ripping into his guts as Tyson allowed himself to react to the disaster he’d walked into. All at once though, he realized that he did know what to do, that Tyson had been showing him since they first met how to soothe someone, how to make them feel at least a little less doomed. So, he carefully reached up and slid his hands over Tyson’s shoulders, rubbing up and down his back slowly, purposefully, and then he leaned over just enough for Tyson to be able to hear his soft voice telling him, “it’s ok now, Ty. Everything’s alright, nothing bad is happening, it’s all ok,” even though he didn’t really know if he believed that himself. It seemed to help though, as Tyson soon came to a slow stop and pulled himself up to his feet again, shuttering through a watery deep breath. Elias watched him, waiting for him to break down further or start up all over again, but he only started to pull his scrubs off, stripping down to his boxers. He stayed silent as he crawled into bed, then still as he grabbed Elias and pulled him into his arms, holding him close against his chest and keeping his grip tight on him. Finally, he pulled away just enough to get a good look at Elias, and he whispered that he loved him, and it was almost enough to make Elias feel a little better, for just a moment. 

—------------------------------------------------

Elias was bleeding alone. 

Usually, August was with him, sometimes Sawyer, very rarely Tyson. After everything started to ease up a little, after Elias started to get better, that all slowly morphed into distant pain, faraway and sort of muted and only enough to jolt him awake, not enough to make him panic or even cry. The entire night, after seeing all the videos and pictures, he had anticipated feeling August there, at least a little, maybe he would hear his voice or sense the ghost of his violent hand, but he wasn’t there. In fact, nothing was there, apart from Elias’s own flesh and blood. That made it worse, the being alone part of it all. No matter how much he tried to deny it or ignore it, he had always felt that being left alone had hurt him more than anything August had ever done, that it was far less painful to be in August’s bed than his basement. It wasn’t that he wholeheartedly thought that was true, when he looked at the big picture he saw how damaging August was to him, and the time he was able to be alone should’ve been a blessing. So, Elias knew that he was stupid for feeling that way, but there was something about having his pain acknowledged that had made it a little more bearable. He could remember times when he was alone, when August didn’t want his sick friends to use him again, or when August decided Elias had done something worthy of isolation, where the same pain that he would be able to swallow for August would push him to the brink of his sanity. Like the time he’d hallucinated, or the countless times he’d been alone for so long there was no way for him to discern if the pain he was feeling was real or not, if he was even alive still to feel it. It only made sense that after so many nights of tolerable, far away pain, Elias would instead have to bleed, all by himself. No one was there to praise him through his pain, or yell at him and make him feel like this pain at least meant something, even if only to the person causing it.

He woke himself up in the middle of a scream, and it probably wasn’t the first, judging by how raw his throat was. His hands were balled up into tight fists around the pillowcase, and he couldn’t stop screaming, and he didn’t know where he was, and he was all alone, and he was bleeding still…right?

Wasn’t he? Once he processed that as a coherent thought, he couldn’t really be sure. He wasn’t really in that much pain, and he couldn’t immediately feel any blood on himself. He did a quick scan of his body to try and find the warm stickiness or the painful drying and peeling of blood somewhere on him, but he was dry and clean, as far as he could tell.

He wasn’t alone, either, someone’s hand was on his back, rubbing steadily up and down his spine, over his ribcage. He wondered why August was being so nice to him when he was being so goddamn loud, the thought made him flinch away from the touch and force himself to sit up. 

“You’re ok, Eli,” Tyson told him, and the familiarity of his voice alone was enough to make Elias sob in relief, “I’m right here, everything’s ok.” 

It was early in the morning, Elias realized, and he wasn’t locked away in the dark basement bleeding himself to sleep. Tyson was next to him, just like every time these days, and they were safe behind their wall of huge trees and thousands of miles from anyone that wanted to hurt them. It took a few seconds for that to actually become a reality, not just a clouded over afterthought. In that time, Elias turned to Tyson and crawled right into his arms, desperate to get rid of the lingering burning loneliness. He couldn’t seem to get close enough, even when he hid his face in the crook of Tyson’s neck and was completely enveloped in his arms, he still tried to bury himself further into the comforting grip Tyson had on him. 

“I don’t wanna see anymore blood,” he heard himself sob out, “please, I-I just…I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep.”

Tyson was quiet for a long time after that, and Elias couldn’t see that he also had tears streaming down his cheeks. He continued to trace patterns into the shaking ribs under his palms, occasionally he ran his fingers through Elias’s hair, but he stayed silent. Finally, he cleared the tears from his throat and gave Elias a gentle squeeze before pulling away from him a few inches. 

“I’m gonna call Angela, ok?” 

Elias could feel himself starting to shake his head, grabbing onto Tyson tighter to try and make him stay in bed with him. He tried to sound convincing when he stammered out “I’m alright, just stay here, just give me a minute-“

“No, Eli. No, you aren’t alright. You…you don’t need to say that.” Tyson sounded near defeated at that point, and it was enough to make Elias sick to his stomach. In his mind, still grimy from the remnants of the bloody nightmare, he read it as disappointment, as disdain that Elias couldn’t do one thing right and just stay healed. 

“Please Ty,” he whispered breathlessly, “I-I just need you, that’s all, I’m ok.” 

Tyson really must’ve been fed up with him at that point, he was suddenly pulling himself out of Elias’s grip and standing up, an indecipherable grimace on his face. Elias grabbed a fistful of the thick comforter and squeezed it hard, until his knuckles were white and he could feel the tautness in his shoulder. 

“I’m not expecting you to be ok. After this morning-“ Tyson cut himself off, glaring out the window behind Elias as he tried to gather his thoughts. One of the dogs was whining down the hall. “After the absolute bullshit that’s been thrown at you your entire life, I am not expecting you to be ok. I’m here regardless, you know that, right?”

It almost felt rhetorical, because of course he was, and he always had been. They hadn’t even been together that long before August came along, and still Tyson was at the hospital and expecting to take Elias right back to his apartment from there as soon as he was called. He had been there when Elias was too depressed to change out of his hoodie for days at a time and he was there when he was comfortable enough to wear a short sleeve shirt for the first time in ages. Elias felt admittedly a little guilty for questioning or challenging that in Tyson at all.

“Yeah…” Elias whimpered, a nervous edge to his voice still. “Yeah, y-you are. You always are. I’m sorry-”

“Just let me call her, alright? I’ll see if she can get you an appointment today and we’ll…we’ll figure everything out from there. Get a game plan going, and all that.” Tyson took a deep breath, then he stepped forward until he was close enough to reach out and drop his hand onto Elias’s head, ruffling his hair gently. He had a frown on his face for a few seconds as he looked Elias over, like he was distantly studying the aftermath of a train crash. Then, before Elias could start trying to destroy himself for the sake of the disappointed stare on him, Tyson smirked to himself and leaned forward, planting a kiss onto the crown of Elias’s head. “Why don’t you go feed those rabid mutts before they tear the house apart?”

The amount of softness in Tyson’s voice was cooling waves over Elias’s skin compared to the panic that had burned him from the inside out in his sleep, and he couldn’t help but sigh wistfully at the relief it brought. Before Tyson could pull away completely, Elias reached up and grabbed blindly at him, until his fingers wrapped around his bicep. “I can’t thank you enough, Tyson. You a-are…you are so perfect and I don’t deserve- ugh fuck- I don’t deserve all you’ve done for me-“ 

Tyson cut him off by pulling him into a deep kiss, hands cupping Elias’s face and pulling him close like he was trying to inhale him. It was much more than Elias prepared for, especially right after waking up, and he swooned completely into it, melting in Tyson’s grip and tightening his grasp on his arm to keep himself as grounded as possible. A sharp bark rang out from just beyond their closed door, and Tyson pulled off of Elias with a soft chuckle. His smile grew when Elias couldn’t even open his eyes for a few seconds, still reeling from the kiss. 

“They don’t sound too happy Eli,” he warned teasingly, “you better give them some kibble before they try to break down the door.”

Elias responded with a breathless laugh, then finally forced himself to stand up, his shaking legs making the sturdy floor seem incompetent in keeping him upright. He could feel Tyson’s eyes on him as he walked past him and out of the room. 

When Tyson found his phone, discarded with his clothes that he had hastily taken off and thrown on the floor, he was shocked at the amount of missed calls he had. Some of them were from late last night, from a few of Elias’s friends from work. Tyson assumed that something had happened at the party and they called Tyson to check in on Elias, and he resolved himself to let Elias know later so he could let them know how he was doing. More jarring, though, were the calls he had missed from Leo, who he hadn’t spoken to since before they left. He probably had no idea where they were, Tyson had made sure to let as few people as possible in on their escape. He had just missed the call, it came through while he was trying to calm Elias down, so he decided that he might as well give him a quick call back, if only to check in. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t the first time that Allen had woken up with a gun in his face. 

Unfortunately, it had been a long time and he was no longer abnormally used to it, and there was a moment where he forgot everything he was taught about staying still until the threat was gone, and he scrambled up against the headboard with panic blown eyes and a plea for his life loaded behind his lips. 

“Careful now,” the gunman said, Allen couldn’t even tell who it was right away, too disoriented from being jolted out of his sleep to a bright room and a gun in his face, “if you move too fast I might get trigger-happy.”

The mattress sank down next to him as the person sat down, the gun crept closer until it was pressed against Allen’s lips, muffling his horrified whimpers. There were tears threatening to fall from the corners of his eyes already, and he looked up toward the ceiling to try and stop their inevitable journey down his face. 

“Open up, sweetheart.” 

The nickname gave it away first, but Allen prayed that it wasn’t who he thought it was as he waited for eyes to adjust to the brightness of the room and focus on the gun owner, on August. He looked even more horrifying than Allen remembered, he was covered in blood, sickly pale, the bags under his eyes only made the crazed look in them seem more intense. The bridge of his nose was swollen, Allen wondered who was stupid enough to hurt him. He wondered if they were still alive to brag about it. 

“What the fuck?!” Leo cried out as he finally woke up, pushing himself to sit up but not moving another inch once he saw the gun pressed to Allen’s stubbornly closed lips. 

“Morning, Leo,” August offered casually, “maybe you can help me out here; Allen used to always open his mouth for me, he didn’t even care what he was sucking on-”

“Get-get the fuck away from him!”

August scoffed at that, shaking his head to himself. “That’s not gonna happen. What is gonna happen is Allen is going to open his fucking mouth or I’m gonna paint your walls with his brains.”

Another warning wasn’t necessary, the imagery was enough to make Allen drop his mouth open and allow in the barrel of the gun with a broken sob. 

“Please don’t hurt him,” Leo begged, “please, what do you want August? I’ll…I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt him-”

“God, would you relax?” August laughed sharply, and Allen flinched and squeezed his eyes shut when the gun shifted against his teeth. “I’m glad you asked, though. I need you to write down an address for me.”

Leo froze for a long time, because how could this whole mess still be happening, and there was no way that all August wanted this time was for Leo to write something for him, and he had a gun of his own for this exact reason but it was all the way in the closet, there was no way for him to get to it, and Allen was trying not to make any sound because the mere sight of August was enough to send him spiraling, and Leo didn’t know how to stop this from happening, and-

“Leo!” August called, snapping the fingers of his free hand in front of his face. “Come on, don’t get all freaked out. Allen needs you.” As he spoke, he pressed the gun further back into Allen’s mouth, until it pushed his head back against the headboard and he was letting out mangled, panicked whimpers. As if August would care, Allen raised his shaking hands up in some sort of surrender. 

“What…what do you need me to do?” He asked, his shaking voice jolting him back into reality. August wanted an address, and he hadn’t bothered Allen in so long because of Elias. Before August even answered, Leo knew what he was about to ask of him. “I don’t know where they are.”

August sighed, turning his attention from Leo back to Allen. A grin slipped onto his face when he saw just how terrified Allen looked, and he started playing with his long hair as if he wasn’t threatening to kill him. “I can’t believe you chose him over me.” He was speaking softer, as if he only wanted Allen to hear, but Leo could sense the performance from miles away; this was meant to upset both of them, not just Allen. He was trying to rile them up. “He’s playing a very dangerous game right now. Using you as a pawn to keep the others safe. I wouldn’t ever do that to you. If you had just stayed where you belonged I would’ve taken care of you, kept you safe-”

“I don’t know where the fuck they are!” Leo insisted, eyes widening as August snapped his glare back toward him. “They…they moved out of their place a few months ago, I think, but we haven’t talked in forever, so I…please. Please stop. I can’t help you.”

“That’s a shame,” August huffed, “Allen was always one of my favorites, I was hoping I didn’t have to kill him-” 

Leo didn’t know if August was bluffing or not when he pulled the hammer back and cocked the gun with a sickening click, but he didn’t want to test him and find out, so he didn’t waste any time crying out, “Wait, wait! Don’t hurt him, please!”

Allen was gasping for air, he looked like he was going to pass out any second, his wide eyes flicking back and forth between August and Leo with quickly escalating panic. Leo reached for his phone on the bedside table, moving slowly so that August wouldn’t get, as he’d said earlier, “trigger-happy.”

“I’ll call Tyson.” He was shocked when his voice came out in a hoarse whisper, his throat felt closed up in fear. “I-I’ll figure out where they are. Just don’t hurt him.”

August smiled at him, all teeth and dangerously false charisma. “Would you look at that, he does have basic problem solving skills, after all. I was starting to have my doubts.” He laughed to himself, then he was focusing back on Allen, leaning close to him and soaking in his reaction. “You really know how to pick ‘em, Al.”

Leo felt sick to his stomach as he listened to the shrill ringing on the other end. He thought about Elias, how terrible he looked when he got back from France, how he was entirely shattered inside and out. He remembered the day he came home from work and Allen was shaken up because he had gone to help Tyson calm Elias down and had to witness the bloody aftermath of his self punishment. Elias had been through hell way too many times for someone so young, and right now Leo was about to send him back to that. But it was that or losing Allen, and if he had to choose…

He was relieved, for a split second, when he got Tyson’s voicemail, but then he realized it meant he had nothing left to offer August, and the dread set in tenfold. “Shit.” He muttered, then looked up to see August watching him closely. “He…he didn’t answer. I can call him again-”

“Don’t be fucking weird. Do you always come off so desperate?” 

“Wh-?”

“He’ll call back. I can wait. I’ve got...ha, nothing but time.” He glanced at Allen, smug with self satisfaction when he saw that his eyes had glazed over slightly. His chest was rising and falling quickly as his body continued to panic, but his brain was faraway. In his head, he was probably looking at a distorted rabbit mask, or maybe he was back in the house hidden in the mountains. “He’s adorable when he checks out like this, huh?” There was no response from Leo, so August pressed on. “Does he ever do this for you? It’s the best, he checks out and doesn’t even know what’s happening to him. You can do whatever you want to him.”

“I don’t scare him, of course he doesn’t do that for me.” There was bitterness in Leo’s voice as he said it, and he almost apologized, worried that his tone might get Allen hurt. But when he dared looking up, August was smiling still, like Leo’s comment didn’t bother him in the slightest. 

“You’re missing out. You don’t know how powerful fear makes you.” There was a wistful look on his face as he said it, then his stare grew wild again as he took a deep breath. “Especially with Allen. He can pretend to be normal with you all he wants, but I know him. He’s a sick fucking masochist, he loves every second of the fear. He’ll probably get off on this whole thing later.”

Leo had to physically restrain himself from lunging at August and the only reason he was fully able to stop himself was the sudden whine from Allen, and both of them turned to see him struggling weakly, suddenly a little more present and itching to get the gun out of his mouth more than before. August was persistent, though, and undeniably cruel, and he forced the gun down further until Allen gagged, until he reached up and grabbed onto his wrist as desperately as he could to try and stop him from pushing it any deeper into his throat. Leo was squeezing his phone so hard he could feel his heartbeat in his palm, and it almost made him miss the soft, rhythmic buzzing of a call coming through. When he noticed it, he turned it over in time to see Tyson’s name flash across the top, and he gasped.

“It’s…It’s…” He was condemning Elias back to hell, like he had any right to make that decision. 

“Fucking answer it you freak!” August barked, making the other two jump harshly. 

“What do I say, what am I supposed to…?” Elias had been killed by August after only twenty two days the first time he got him, and Leo couldn’t imagine how many close calls there were over the 10 months they were in France. Elias’s blood was about to be on Leo’s hands, that was unavoidable, but what if his death was, too? 

“Just be cool. Just be fucking cool and get the damn address. Tell him you’re sending him a god damn bouquet if you have to, I don’t give a shit.” Leo still couldn’t move, so August snarled at him and spoke again. “Answer. The. Fucking. Phone.” Each word was exaggerated with a hard shove to the butt of the gun, he ignored Allen’s anguished sobs and his fingernails digging into the flesh of his forearm. 

Leo had a gnawing feeling all the way down to his bones that doing what August wanted was going to end horribly for Elias, but he just had to stop Allen’s pain. He didn’t have room to care about anything, anyone, more than putting an end to his suffering.

“Hey Tyson.” He answered, realizing only after speaking that his voice was still shaking and watery with barely staved off tears, so he tried to clear his throat a few times before speaking. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, no, you didn’t.” Tyson paused for a moment, and Leo wanted to scream, knowing that he was about to help hurt both of these people he called his friends. “Uh…how are you?” He noticed that Tyson sounded almost as upset and tense as Leo felt, and he hoped it meant that he wouldn’t pick up on Leo’s anxiety. 

“I’m good,” he could see August roll his eyes. He suddenly seemed ten times more agitated than earlier, fidgeting his thumb against the butt of the gun and breathing stifled like it would help him listen to the fake conversation better. “I just um…listen, you guys just disappeared, I’ve been worried about you, is all. I wanted to make sure that you’re in a safe place and…” and not somewhere August is going to find you again. But you obviously succeeded in that because he’s in my bedroom right now trying to figure it out, and I need to know where you’re hiding so I can send him over there and not have to watch Allen die. 

“Yeah, I know we kind of dropped off the face of the planet.” There was some level of amusement to his voice, the ‘laugh through the pain’ type of humor that Tyson sometimes got. “It’s a lot to explain, though, and I’m… kind of busy right now, can I call you later-?”

“No!”

August glared at him, there was very obviously a warning in the look. Be cool, he had told Leo, and shouting into the receiver like someone was being held at gunpoint definitely was not being cool.  

“Leo?”

“Uh…I need your address, that’s why I called.” August was shaking his head in disdain, and Leo felt his chest tighten in panic when he leaned close to Allen and started whispering into his ear. It wasn’t a performance this time, whatever he was saying really was just for Allen to hear, and it had him pale and shivering and wide eyed, but miraculously quiet. 

“My ad…Leo, what’s going on?” 

“I-I got something for you two. A gift.” He could see the smirk on August’s face at Leo’s word choice. How cruel that was, to try and convince them he was sending over a gift just to send the person that occupied all of their nightmares. “It’s been collecting dust here for a while, I want you to have it. So I…I just need your address.”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, and then Leo could hear Elias’s voice in the background. August pulled away from Allen at that, eyes focused entirely on the phone. The look on his face was almost more unsettling than the gun he had in Allen’s mouth still. Then, the line went dead. 

“Huh, he’s smarter than I thought.” August chuckled. Leo was completely frozen, he’d failed to get the address, Allen was going to die right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do about it now. “How long was that call?”

“Uh…two minutes. J-just over two minutes.” 

“Perfect. Definitely wouldn’t have hurt to pretend that you know how to relax, but two minutes is fine. Give me your phone.”

“What…? I thought you needed the address.” Even as he questioned him, Leo held out his phone falteringly toward August. 

“Yeah, but since your charisma only got me so far,” August teased, wrinkling his nose with a patronizing smile, “I can take it from here.”

Allen was a mess of raspy sobs, gasping, and coughing when August pulled the gun out of his mouth. As soon as the threat wasn’t so intimately close, he brought his hands up to cover his eyes, trembling all over and heaving forward with each panicked cry. Leo wasted no time in pulling him into his arms, squeezing him hard to try and counter his panic. August was already in the doorway, and he looked sort of amused as he watched Leo try to comfort his husband, bring him down from his hysteria. 

“Thanks, Leo,” he said offhandedly, “you uh…you have a lovely home. Oh! I almost forgot to tell you…” He stepped a few feet back into the room, a sick smile on his face. “Don’t leave this house, don’t call anyone, don’t talk to anyone, for the next…” he trailed off, mimicking checking a wristwatch that he wasn’t even wearing, “...72 hours. If you do, I’ll have my friends gut you both like fish right on your own front lawn. And they’ll start with Allen, they’ll make you watch.” Allen started to freak out more at that, grabbing fistfuls of Leo’s shirt and sobbing against his shoulder, far gone by this point, any chance of him relaxing soon now long gone. Leo felt shell-shocked, didn’t even feel like crying, much less freaking out. His lack of reaction made August tilt his head to the side with an inquisitive frown. “Do you understand, Leo?”

“Yeah,” he choked out, “yeah, I understand. Seven…Seventy-two hours. I got it.”

With a nod and a wave of his handgun, August turned on his heel and left the room, left the mess he’d made for Leo to clean up once again. Somehow, though, Leo could tell that whatever he was planning for Elias was going to be a lot messier than this, and he hoped that Tyson was smart enough to start running again.