#burtlederp answers

[comfy-whumpee]

Every Time

One of the @amonthofwhump Whumpmas prompts hit me just right.

TW: murder, intimate whump, drugging mention, referenced emotional abuse and child neglect.

Savvie, Izzy and Jamie are characters from @ashintheairlikesnow and written collaboratively!

@bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @burtlederp, @rosesareviolentlyread, @eatyourdamnpears

-

Jax wakes up without moving. Moving isn’t safe. He takes his first conscious breath of the day without even opening his eyes. Where is she? What’s the last thing he remembers from last night? What was the last thing he ate and drank? Can he feel any pain?

Savvie is lying next to him, half-draped over him as usual. Her hair is what woke him up, tickling the underside of his chin, with threatening strands around his mouth. He’s dreamt of choking to death on her hair, more than once. He doesn’t need blankets when she does this.

He twists his head, then waits. She doesn’t stir. Her breathing remains steady. He opens his eyes.

There’s light behind the heavy curtains, but only enough to suggest the sun is up. It’s not daytime yet. She won’t want to be woken up, and if he tries, she’ll grumble and roll over.

That makes it the perfect time. He reaches out for the edge of the mattress, fingers curling around it, and uses the leverage to slide himself sideways on the bed without sitting up. Gently, he slips free of her weight. One of her hands flexes, reaching for him, and she lets out a tiny groan, which stops him dead.

“I’ve got it,” he murmurs to her.

Half-asleep, she doesn’t wonder what it is that he’s supposedly got. It could be anything. But he’s taking care of it, so she doesn’t have to move, or care, or wake up and ask why he’s leaving her. He knows she usually doesn’t even remember these moments in the morning. When he draws the covers back over her, she smiles and sighs, eyes still closed.

He tiptoes over the plush carpet and out the door. He exhales his first full breath. Free for an hour or two, except for the cameras and the locks. And the collar, but that’s only a problem if she wakes up annoyed that he’s not there.

Feet angled along the edge of the floorboards, he pads his way down to the other end of the hall, where the kids’ rooms are secluded far enough that they won’t disturb their mother, but close enough that they can rouse their father, if they need him. He listens at Izzy’s door before knocking softly, knuckles barely brushing the painted wood underneath her Isabella sign.

There’s no answer, so he moves on to Jamie’s room. He doesn’t need to knock for Jamie, but he does anyway, another soft rapped pattern. He is not surprised when he hears a whispered voice inside, and moments later, the door opens to show his daughter.

“Hi, daddy,” she whispers.

She knows it’s him before she sees him, of course. That’s why he knocks, no matter what room she’s in. She doesn’t deserve the stress of being startled, even if it’s a happy surprise. He smiles at her anyway, and she carefully checks up the hall for Savvie’s bedroom door. Seeing it shut, her eyes light up, unguarded this early in the morning. The monster still sleeps in its cave.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, stepping into the room. He looks for Jamie as his first instinct. He knows where Izzy is, closing the door quietly behind him, so he needs to account for his other top priority.

Jamie is half-sitting on an array of pillows, clearly arranged to help him stay mostly upright. One of his books is at his feet, and his pudgy fingers touch its open cardboard pages, exploring the textures of the creatures on the page. He does this with an obvious expression of total wonder. It’s one of Jax’s favourite things about raising this little boy: the world is endlessly fascinating to him.

Izzy knows the truth about the world, but still, she likes the occasional story. He scoops her into a quick hug. “You woke up early again?”

She gets put to bed so damn early it’s no surprise. Savvie wants mommy and daddy time, which is code for the shit Izzy absolutely does not get to see or hear about ever at all. Of course, mommy and daddy time cannot have their actual children present. Jax hasn’t yet pointed out the irony.

Izzy is already going back to Jamie, who has noticed Jax’s presence and is trying to drag himself off the bed. Jax isn’t sure why Savvie put a bed in here, next to the crib, but he’s glad she did. Even if he usually falls asleep in the armchair instead, Jamie in his arms.

Jax joins her, helping Jamie onto his lap, where he desperately wants to be. He lifts his baby boy up to his chest, so Jamie can throw his little arms around his daddy’s neck. Izzy tucks into his side.

“We was reading a story,” Izzy explains. “Jamie wanted to feel.”

Jax picks up the book, but Jamie isn’t about to let go for a minute. “A story for Jamie, huh? How about you go get one for yourself? I think he’s going to want to cuddle for a bit, no story.”

Izzy looks at her brother and nods. She gets down without another word, and a brief instinct clutches Jax, urging him to reach for her and make sure she doesn’t leave. He doesn’t let it show. She’ll be right back.

He watches, lips brushing Jamie’s hair, as she opens the door as little as possible and slips out. He has the sudden realisation that she learned it from him. The less you open the door, the less it creaks. He can’t hear her footsteps down the hall, or the door of her own bedroom open and close.

She’s back within moments, book in her hands. Jamie’s breathing has slowed, hot pools against his collarbone, and Jax tucks his arms back down where he can clutch shirt and not collar. He pats the space next to him, and Izzy comes back to his side.

If he shrinks the world just to this space on the bed, and makes everything else disappear, there’s a chance he could be at home. It would have to be Izzy’s bed, though. And he wouldn’t buy her a duvet cover like this. She’d want a unicorn or something. But if he ignores that too, just focuses on his two kids and the books on his lap, that’s enough.

He reads quietly, stopping here and there to point out the illustrations, or see if Izzy can work out the big letter at the start of each page. Jamie sleeps, stirs, gets his bottle, sleeps again. Izzy sits completely still, but pays perfect attention, giggling at the jokes he dredges out of his brain for her. If this morning could last forever, with Savvie always asleep, he could probably make a life out of it.

Stupid wish. She makes herself known before they’ve even finished the damn book, her door opening with a loud click and her footsteps thudding down the hall. “Jax?” she calls, even though she knows damn fucking well where he’ll be.

Izzy is already reaching out to take Jamie from him. He feels that tug again. The fear of leaving them both.

He screws it up in his stomach and lets Izzy take her brother. Her arms are safer than his right now. He kisses her on the forehead as his goodbye.

“Jax?” She demands his presence. He crosses the room in three steps and slides out of the door, closing it behind him promptly before she can look inside and remember her children exist, and can therefore be hurt.

“Morning, Miss Savvie.” He breathes out a smile. “I didn’t think you’d be awake so early.”

She gives him a pouty look, but her eyes are smarter than the rest of her face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He takes another easy breath and course-corrects. “Well, it’s more like I’m disappointed. I was hoping to bring you breakfast in bed.”

He listens for Izzy and Jamie, behind him in the bedroom, behind the door he’s guarding. He can’t hear them. Jamie must not have woken at being passed off. Jax’s arms ache for the warm, soft weight in them.

Savvie smiles like she doesn’t quite believe him, but she chooses to. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Let’s go out for breakfast instead. I don’t want anything we have in the cupboards.”

It’s a punishment for going to see them, instead of staying with her. He’ll find a moment later, when it’s less obvious, to mention that Jamie was starting to cry. He’ll give her the excuse and mollify her, but he can’t do it now. She’ll deny it’s a punishment - how could it be? Isn’t it a treat? - and possibly notice the manipulation. He doesn’t want her to notice that he lies.

Even though she demands that he does, to her face, several times a day.

“That sounds great. How soon can Hannah be here?”

The assumption tries to place her under obligation, but she breezes past it. “Oh, they’ll be fine for a couple of hours, won’t they? Isabella knows how to take care of her brother. Come on, we need to pick your outfit.”

She loops her arm around his, and he doesn’t resist as she effortlessly drags him away.

He doesn’t see his kids for the rest of the day.

-

Jax wakes up without moving. Moving isn’t safe. He breathes in slowly, slow enough that if she’s already awake, he’ll still sound like he’s asleep. He listens for her. She’s draped over his chest, arm around him, hair carpeting him from shoulder to chin. Strands tickle at his throat.

She’s asleep. He can feel her chest rising and falling. He opens his eyes.

Early morning again, that’s good. No, actually… He probably shouldn’t get up again today. She’ll hold it against him if she notices a pattern. He stays where he is, at least for a few seconds. Then he just has to get her hair out of his face. He strokes it instead of shoving it, though, and she breathes out deeply as he does, comforted.

He swallows painfully, thinking of Izzy with that same hair. Fuck it. He has to see them, whether Monster Mommy likes it or not. He reaches for the edge of the bed, grabs it, and pulls himself free. He imagines her making a sucker-popping noise as he comes loose, like an octopus.

He gets his feet to the floor, and then he’s running free, long tiptoed steps out of the door and down the hall. He knocks at Izzy’s door, gets no answer, knocks at Jamie’s.

The first blink of deja vu happens when she opens it. Something about the sound. Something about the exact arrangement of her oversized curls. He looks past her, and there’s Jamie–

“Hi, daddy,” she whispers.

–propped up on a throne of pillows, with the same book in his lap, his fingers touching the sheep’s wool.

No, Jax tells himself. Jamie likes the same book for days.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says. He steps into the room, and the relief is the same, to be out of the hall, out of sight of the door that could open at any time.

Jamie looks up, and this time, Jax sees his face drop into an expression of total shock before he starts crawling determinedly for the edge of the bed. Izzy hurries to stop him, and he lets out a short grunt of annoyance as she scoops him back onto the pillows. Jax sits down, and of course, his lap is colonised by the little terror Izzy cannot restrain.

“Been reading?” he asks. He can’t bring himself to say, again? Maybe he dreamt yesterday. Maybe it’s just a scene he’s seen before. This morning routine of his is hardly new.

“Mhmm,” Izzy confirms, picking up Jamie’s book and offering it to him without success. Jamie is gripping Jax’s shirt, trying to pull himself up, his little feet digging into Jax’s legs.

“You really like this one, huh, Jamie?” It’s the closest he dares to admitting his suspicion. Then he thinks of a better way. “But it looks like he’s only interested in cuddling right now. How about you go get a book for yourself, kiddo?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Down she gets. Off she tiptoes. Slips out of the door and disappears.

Jax puts his hands around Jamie’s waist to help him stand properly. “Now then, you. What’s going on?”

Jamie stares back at him with befuddled brown eyes. Jax picks him up and hugs him close.

Izzy comes back in, and Jax smiles at her without needing to try. When he sees the book in her hands, he doesn’t flinch. The butterfly on the cover. The same one.

He pats the space next to him. At least he knows how to do this. She snuggles up and they read. He tries out the same jokes, the same letters for her to identify, and is rewarded with the same little giggles, the same tentative answers, and inevitably…

He hears the click of the door like a gunshot. He sets Jamie into Izzy’s ready arms.

She calls, “Jax?”

He’s already at the door. It hurts. He gets himself out of the room just as she’s calling his name again, and he meets her in front of Izzy’s door. “Morning, Miss Savvie.”

If this is the same as yesterday…

“I didn’t think you’d be awake so early.”

The pout. The calculating stare. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He takes a breath. Switches the script. “Well, the weather looks rubbish today. I thought you’d sleep in.”

“Oh, is it? I didn’t notice.” She tilts her head at him, her smile sparkling. “Rubbish, is it?”

He twists out a smile at her pantomime accent. He plays the game. “Aye, Miss Savvie.”

She laughs, looping her arm through his, turning to go back down the hall. “You’re so funny, Jax. Come on, let’s get breakfast. I want to try out that cafe–”

“We’re going out?”

“Yes,” she shakes his arm slightly, “and don’t interrupt, it’s rude.”

Fuck, fuck. “Do you want me to call for Hannah?”

“Don’t be silly. They’ll be fine for a couple of hours, won’t they?”

But it wasn’t. It won’t be. It was breakfast, coffee and pastries at the cafe, then the boutique next door, then a whole fucking shopping spree, lunch at a restaurant so fancy he thought he’d be asked to serve tables, then over to Isaac’s for dinner, and only then would she tell him to send someone to check on the kids, and she wouldn’t let Jax see them for the rest of the fucking day until he persuaded her to let him at least tuck them in so they’d sleep properly and not disturb their fucking mommy and daddy time.

The helpless lump in his throat gets swallowed down, where it burns and burns. “A couple of hours, yeah. I guess so.”

“You worry too much. Isabella’s old enough to take care of her brother.”

Maybe if he’s good enough at breakfast, she’ll give up on her revenge. He takes another breath.

“You’re right. Let’s go uh, pick my outfit?”

She giggles delightedly. She drags him away.

-

Jax wakes up without moving. He opens his eyes. Savvie’s arm presses down on his chest, her hair nearly in his mouth, and her breathing deep and slow.

He closes his eyes again. He’s sick of this dream. He’s sick of this everything.

He wakes up to her fingers tracing his eye socket. He blinks awake, flinching from the nail that’s right in front of his eyeball. She’s probably just being affectionate, he realises a second later, but a second is too long.

“Oh,” he says quickly. “Oh, Miss Savvie.” He breathes sharply, too fast. “I was having a bad dream, thank you for waking m-me.”

Her head tips to the side. She pretends she isn’t doing it to shake out her hair. She thinks it makes her look good. “Of course, sweetie,” she purrs. “You were frowning in your sleep. I just had to smooth away those wrinkles.”

He gives her a soft, dreamy smile. “You knew.”

It’s bullshit. She likes it when he’s scared, she wouldn’t wake him. But she just smiles more widely back. “Of course,” she repeats. She snuggles down, and he puts his arms around her how he’s meant to. “You must be stressed.”

For once, she’s not fucking wrong. Then again, that’s pretty much always true. “Yeah, a little.”

“Hmm.” She sits up, gasping as if she’s just had an idea. “Ooh, I know! Let’s go out today. We can get away from everything for a bit, have some time together, just us.”

His heart cracks. She’s not just talking about breakfast. Even though he didn’t get up, even though he’s right here where she wants him, and he’s being perfect, she still wants to take him away from the kids.

“That sounds lovely, Miss Savvie,” he says, each word tasting like chalk. The word lovely never used to be in his goddamn vocabulary. “You were telling me about that new cafe…”

She looks taken aback for a moment, and then she beams. “Oh, honey, you do know me so well. Let’s do it.”

He straightens, looking to the wardrobe. “Should I wear the new jumper, the cashmere one?”

It’s what he’s been wearing the last two days. But it seems, because he’s suggested it, it goes off the table. “Mm, not yet. Wait…”

As he watches, she gets that scheming look in her eyet.

“Yes, wear that. With the ivory slacks. You’ll look smart.”

Smart enough for dinner at her uncle’s, he guesses. She’s already got the whole day mapped out before she’s said a word to him. He’ll be sitting opposite Brayden getting his toes stamped on by the end of the day.

It’s pointless, but he asks. “Will you send someone to be with the kids, when they wake up?”

“Oh, they’ll be fine. Isabella’s old enough to take care of her brother.”

“If we’re going out for the day, though, Miss Savvie… We can’t risk a hospital trip.”

She sighs. “See, look how stressed you are! Maybe we should go away for longer.”

He hates her. God, he wants to smack her stupid smile off. “Maybe. We can see how I feel after today?”

“Mm.” She stretches. She casts a look his way, under her eyelashes. “Alright. If you’re still grumpy tomorrow.”

He has a feeling it won’t fucking matter, either way.

-

Jax wakes up without moving.

He sits up, gently placing her arm down by his side. He takes the pillow out from underneath his shoulder. He shifts a knee over her.

Doesn’t fucking matter either way, does it?

He puts the pillow over her face.

He’s going to have a nice, peaceful day with his kids.

-

He’s lost count.

“Can you go get a book for yourself, kiddo? I’m going to take Jamie down and make Mommy breakfast, and then I’ll be right back.”

She slips down off the bed. He holds Jamie close, and swallows the same old fear. She’ll come back. He knows that, now. She’ll come back with the butterfly book, and they’ll read it together. She’ll laugh when he points out the cross eyes on the little girl in that one picture. She’ll get O and D mixed up when he asks her to tell him which letter is on page six. Jamie will cling to his shirt.

They’ll have a nice morning together, if he can keep Savvie placated.

It’s the same as yesterday, as every day, as his whole fucking life before and after this…whatever this is.

Purgatory, probably.

-

They sit on either side of the little round table in the window of her new favourite cafe, sharing two pastries. He managed to get the coffee plain and black this time around, but he still imagines he can taste the fucking gingerbread syrup from every other cup he’s had.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asks. It’s blunter than usual. She must be upset he’s not making this the romantic getaway of her dreams.

His hand curls around the mug. It’s so hard to keep looking forwards, when it’s the same as looking backwards.

She sets her hand down on the table, demanding he put his into hers. “Sweetie?”

The mug burns his skin. He imagines throwing it in her face. But no, it’s too early in the day. She’d have time to make the kids hurt. He’ll wait.

“We should go on a trip,” he tells her. “Just us two. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea!” She is instantly distracted. Too delighted to even be suspicious. “Where should we go? No, I know where…”

Later, he tells his aching hand. Closer to midnight. When nothing fucking matters.

-

He puts a finger over his lips. Izzy stares, wide-eyed, but nods slowly. She trusts him. No matter what. He kisses her forehead, and scoops Jamie out of his pillow kingdom.

They tiptoe downstairs, her little feet placed in his footsteps. He makes her a full English breakfast. By the time he sets the plate in front of her, he can hear Savvie’s footsteps down the hall.

He puts Jamie in his chair. He’ll have to cut up the hash browns and fried eggs for him afterwards.

The coffee cup is waiting on the side. He takes it upstairs. She’s calling.

He kisses her on the mouth before he hands her the drink. He watches her as she coos over his generosity. He watches her drop the mug after her first mouthful. Then she drops, too.

He’s done this too many times to care, anymore. He can keep the kids busy enough they won’t notice. He drags her back into the bedroom and shuts the door. He goes back downstairs to his children.

“Mommy’s not very well today,” he tells Izzy. He sits down next to Jamie to feed him quarters of button mushrooms. “She’s going to stay in bed all day. So we can do anything you want today.”

“Do we have to be very quiet?” she asks.

“Not at all. Mommy took some medication that makes her sleepy. We don’t need to worry.”

The light comes into her eyes. He’s never going to see a fucking sunrise again, but he can make do like this. “Okay, Daddy.”

Jamie bites down on his finger, and he laughs, until he cries.

It could be any day. It will be every day. He’ll never see Hannah again, not even if he lets Savvie drag him to the fucking Marcoset family dinner - which he does, sometimes, just for the variety, and to remember what Stewart looks like. He’ll never see his dad again, his mum or his sisters, and any of his friends. He’ll never go home and buy Izzy the unicorn duvet cover she deserves.

He’ll read every book in the house to them. He’ll watch every show on TV. He’ll teach Izzy the difference between O and D every single day. He’ll fry the eggs, grate the potatoes, chop the tomatoes, and put bleach in Savvie’s coffee, covered up by enough syrup to make her swallow it.

Every time. Parents would kill for this, he thinks. To spend every day with their kids, and never have to watch them grow up. Never having to watch them leave.

-

He figures out the passcode to her phone eventually. They’re sitting at the café at the table in the window, Izzy’s feet pressed gently against his legs just to feel him there on the other side of the table. She sips very carefully at her hot chocolate while Jamie gnaws on a flapjack, and Jax stares at his own face on the home screen of her newly opened phone.

He dials without thinking about it. Then he dials again, remembering the international code.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad.”

Izzy’s eyes go wide. She freezes in place, and he regrets his impulsivity. He tries to smile reassuringly at her.

“Jax?” his dad whispers. “Where are you?”

He probably should have planned this better. But he’ll get a do-over tomorrow. “I’m good, Dad. Uh, yeah, I’m out. I’m safe, I’m at this shelter. Cops are working on getting me home.” He pauses. What else would his dad want to hear? “And I’m not f… messed up, like before. I’m okay.”

“You’re coming home?”

“Yeah.” He reaches for Izzy’s hand, gently loosening it from the cup. “And, listen, Dad… I’ve got kids. Don’t – don’t ask the question you’re thinking. I’ve got a little girl called Izzy and a baby boy called Jamie, and they’re perfect. I’m happy, right now, alright? And I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

His throat nearly closes. Alfie will never get to meet them at this rate. But they can’t exactly get across the fucking ocean in a single day.

“Two kids,” Alfie repeats, stunned. “Your own kids?”

“Yeah. Gallagher kids. You know all about beans on toast, don’t you, kiddo?” He smiles at her. She’s starting to relax, slowly, at realising her mother isn’t going to appear and rain hell on them all for Jax daring to speak to his old family. “They’re mine and they��re coming with me wherever I go.”

“Well, of course…” Alfie’s voice is starting to ease from shock to wonder. “I, I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me how mam’s doing. And Georgia and Poppy and the kids, and Casey, and everything.”

Jamie drops oats down his front, and Jax puts the phone down on speaker on the table so he can clear them up. He doesn’t let go of Izzy’s hand as Alfie starts to talk.

-

Jax wakes up already rolling out of bed. He feels like he can handle the pillow today. Sometimes, seeing her thrash for her life is too much, but recently it’s started to feel routine. She’s long since been dead, to him. This is just catching her up with reality.

He knows where the remote is. He knows how to disable the collar. He’s forgotten what the days were like when they were different, but this one, he knows perfectly.

The kids are awake. He gets them dressed, kissing each of them as he helps with buttons and babygros. He takes the car keys. He throws all the food he fancies into a bag and entrusts it to Izzy. They’re going for a picnic. Yes, Mommy said it was okay.

Maybe he’ll make it to the coast, this time.

Maybe he’ll take another stab at getting to Hannah.

Maybe he’ll just go to the field with the wildflowers. They both loved that one.

Or maybe he’ll think of something new.

[albino-whumpee]

Fallen Bridges part 2

Goodness, its finally all getting together. lmao. Hope you enjoy!

CW//Pet whump, slavery, human trafficking, muzzles, shock collars, kidnapping, recapture, betrayal, shovels and death imaginary. Getting kinda dark at the end. Angst, hurt comfort and conditioning. 

Taglist:

If you wish to be taken out or added, please send me a message. 

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker @wingedwhump @unicornscotty @melancholy-in-the-morning

The road to Robert´s house was often without traffic. A big house by the woods with nobody around. A young Rupert Glass had chosen that house in specific because he couldn´t stand busy traffic or stupid neighbors. When he found it on sale, he didn´t even have to ask his wife, as the only thing she said was: 

“I will put roses on the entrance”. 

Those same roses were now withering, Sann noticed. 

The pet had heard the story from Rupert himself once, and when he was there and allowed to, Sann helped Rupert take care of the flowers. 

“C´mon Sann,” Robert said pulling him inside the house. 

The boy offered no resistance. Once Robert´s hand rested on his neck and his tongue sizzled in his ear, his body had simply given up on fighting. Like a switch, one simple touch, one simple order from that man, and he would be on his knees in that dirty basement again. 

A mean burn exploded inside his chest, but he had become an expert in suffocating any flare of defiance. 

With this man, nothing was off the table. 

As he handcuffed him to an anchor on the floor, Sann kept his head down. Something his owner had always liked when he brought him there to punish him, but then, he grabbed his chin and lifted it. 

They stared at each other for a moment. 

Sann looked back in misery while Robert studied his face in silence. 

Robert noticed the tiny changes that had naturally happened when he wasn’t forced to fulfill a dead man’s shoes. At that moment, Robert saw him as Sann, and not that terrible copy of his husband. 

Sann, that murderer´s whore lover. 

Suddenly, he thumbed his cheek with a strange look in his eyes. The pet knew when he was demented, in a frenzy to turn him to a pulp, but even then, his body showed signs. He would have done something else when he flinched away.

“Welcome back” The man grabbed his chin between his thumb and his middle finger, munching up his lips in a bruising hold. “Don’t worry, Sann. You won’t be alone for long”

Sann´s heart stopped. 

What? 

Sann tried lifting his hands on instinct, but the handcuffs would only allow him to rattle the chain a little. 

Kidnapping him was one thing, he had even expected it at some point, but the timing was off. There was also no time to ask about what happened. Wait, could it be it was related in some way to why Albus had run away? But then...Sann´s mental gears turned at full speed, concentrating that he almost missed his owner going away. 

Impulsively, he tried to lift himself, try to beg for answers, before the man threw a cutting glare at him. 

“...what a few months do to you, seriously” He snorted, before pointing at the floor with his finger “Stay. Don´t make me restrain you for real” At the threat, Sann sat back down. When he kept glaring at him, he bowed his head. Then, he grinned. “Good boy” 

A few months away had changed him, indeed. And that´s why he lifted his eyes, trying to ask with just one look why take him back now when he could´ve done it before? when it didn´t hurt.

Somehow, the man stopped climbing the stairs. Turning around to look at him from the corner of his eye. 

Right there in the quiet of the abandoned house, Robert told him something.

“I do this for you too, you know?” he said, before walking outside.

As much as he wished to stay and give his former pet a proper welcome-back party, his favored guest had yet to arrive.

On his way to the car he was pleasantly surprised with the news the 3rd den for runaway and lost pets inside the PCS training facility had the pet numbered 778900 under their jurisdiction, now waiting for the owner, Mister Robert Glass to further instruct them on how to proceed.

Robert took the folder resting on the passenger seat before pulling his phone on his ear. 

“Rob?” he heard Claude say from the other side of the line. 

“Do you want to make him pay for what he did?”

—

When the recovery team found him, they saw a 5 feet, weak pet. They never expected to find themselves thrown on the ground or have the goddamn bastard move like a snake and choke them. 

They had a team of four and all of them sported bruises and scratches from the tiny pet being escorted inside the den. 

“Down” the guard ordered him pushing him to his knees while another worked the chains and locks. The den had long chains hanging from one wall to the other, hooks every few steps to chain the pets. The chains were so close to the ground they could only sit or kneel. It was designed in such a way, a pet that tugged on the chains would injure the others, thus, any insubordination would be quickly fixed by their peers.

 Albus looked around the room and was surprised by how crowded the place was. All of them, including himself, were muzzled and handcuffed. Their shock collars turned on, waiting for the light to turn red the moment they tried anything. 

“Now,” the man started, reaching for a machine in his belt and fishing the boy´s left hand, uncovering his wrist to find the code bar. Knowing he would be scanned, Albus jerked back. The man wasn´t phased and simply passed his leg over his arms and pulled him. Forcing Albus to either bury his face against his butt or let him work.

He clenched his teeth against the bit before going limp. The man hummed, pleased. 

“There you go, done,” he said, reading the information that appeared on the screen. “Albus, huh? Let´s call your owner and see if he wants you back, hm?”

Ah, if he had noticed them earlier, he could´ve gotten away. Maybe get to those safehouses Sasha mentioned. Maybe he should´ve waited for Sann, maybe he could´ve...

He was taken out of his thoughts when the guard smacked his head on his way out, laughing at him when Albus tried to kick his shin and got zapped in return.

Still feeling the tingly feeling in his throat, Albus tried to relax, to stop his shaking, and focus on what he could do once they took him back. 

What would he even say? They had made it clear they would punish him. It was only natural. Sarahi was a merciful owner, but this crime was beyond it. Maybe, they would choose to return him to PCS, and then he would be refurbished again. But would they even attempt to resell him? He had been so cheap, he was sure the losses would be greater if he was refurbished and trained again. 

If those rumors about the contract having an expiration date were true...then if being refurbished wasn´t an option anymore...

He shook the thoughts away. 

But if he went back to them, he was sure he would have to face Robert at some point. He had traced Sann´s scars with his fingers, he remembered well when he came on “playdates” covered in horrible wounds. 

That man was bad news and he had more than enough reasons to take revenge on him. He would do the same if their places were switched. 

Tears slipped down the muzzle. 

What a pitiful thing. Crying like that when he deserved punishment. But...But even if he didn´t remember what happened, he was sure he had never wanted to hurt anyone. 

But he had. And he hurt people that had become so, so important to him. 

He couldn´t hold his tears back any longer and began crying in silence. 

It was unexpected to feel something bump against his back. When he turned, he found another pet leaning against him, his hands were restrained as well, so he couldn´t do much but slightly rub his cheek against his back. 

He noticed then most of the others were in pairs or groups, leaning against each other, rubbing their shoulders or their cheeks, or even attempting to try and pat another pet´s legs. All of them were there waiting for their owner´s verdict on what to do with them now that they had shown they couldn´t be trusted to not run away. 

The other boy stayed there, leaning on his shoulder before Albus rested his head on his. The boy´s warm presence was enough to slow down Albus´ mind which had jumped into survival mode. 

Enough to notice the mistake in what the den´s watcher had said when scanning him. Albus frowned.

Him? 

Claude, maybe? No, he wasn´t on his papers besides as an emergency contact. His real and only owner was Sarahi. So why..? No, there was no way he had figured out his plan without his letter, right? He still hadn´t received the news! Or...Or maybe... 

For a few minutes, Albus hoped the person who came for him was one freckled guy. He tried to drown his hopes, but thinking maybe he could be saved from a painful future was a beautiful feeling. So, as the den began to empty, and even when the boy that had leaned on him was taken away by what he supposed was his owner, sneaking a wave at him as he was pulled away, the hope for salvation didn´t extinguish entirely. 

Not until he saw a familiar face on the other side of the glass. 

“Hey, mophead!” Albus' stomach churned at hearing that awful nickname again. He looked up, annoyed before his blood froze. “Your owner is here. Lucky you, he still wants you back”

Albus shot a glare at the den´s guard coming his way, the man on the other side of the glass smiling wide at him. 

No fucking way.

In a panic, Albus jerked, paddling away from the man taking off the chains to his handcuffs. A shock quickly froze all his limbs, but even when he was lifted by his armpits, Albus planted his feet and jerked back.

That man wasn´t his owner!

“Stop it!” the guard yelled at him, delivering yet another, longer, shock through his collar that made him howl. However, when the man tugged on his arm to force him to walk, Albus put his hands together and used the momentum to punch him straight in the head. 

The man´s scream alerted the other guards, who burst into the den looking for the pet who had run to the far corner. 

“You little-!” one of the recovery team guys said, trying to grab him. Effortlessly, Albus avoided him, “Grab him!” 

Albus was quick. Like a snake, he slid through openings when they jumped at him. But when he thought he had avoided all of them, he was violently pushed against the wall. The pressure on his trachea was so strong, he couldn´t even scream. 

“I´m truly sorry for the problems my pet has caused you,” Robert told the watchers as he pushed Albus´ face against the wall. “I will be sure to discipline him thoroughly once we get back home” 

Albus whimpered behind the muzzle when the man pulled him to walk, grabbing him tight by the neck. When the pet immediately tried to dig his heels into the ground, the man dug his fingers into his throat. 

“Ack!” Albus cried. 

“Let´s go, Albie. You are not running away from your punishment,” the man said dragging him to the reception. When the pet jerked back, a shock made his world turn white. 

It was just one moment, but it was enough for Robert to drag him out. Once they reached the front desk, Robert slacked his grip making the boy collapse on his knees still trembling from the aftershock. 

“I will only need you to fill these papers and you will be free to take him, sir,” the lady at the other side of the table told him handing him a few blue papers. The man gave her a smile and a short thanks. 

On the floor, Albus watched in horror. How did they not know their mistake? This man wasn´t his owner! This man shouldn´t even be mentioned in his papers! 

"That´s yours?” one bruised guy approached Robert. The terrified pet shook his head when the man smiled. “You should keep it muzzled and collared”

“I will. I´m very sorry for the trouble” 

“We were told he was quite tame, so it was a surprise to see him move like that” the man eyed the pet being held by his collar by Robert. He weakly squeezed his arm, but Robert held his smile as if it was nothing. “You seem able to handle him. Care to tell me how he escaped? Is just for paperwork” 

Robert stared at the man for a second before telling him he had tried escaping as a punishment. 

Albus froze on his knees for a moment. That was not entirely false...but even then! He kept trying to get free from the man´s grasp.

The man hummed, scratching his chin before shooting a glare at the lady behind the table. “You know? When we received the alert, it was a woman who talked with us. Was it your wife that called us?” 

Albus' dizzy head cleared up for a second at the man´s words. 

He knew something was wrong! It was Sarahi who call them! Sarahi was his owner! He had to tell them.

“Oh no, she is--” 

With great effort, Albus launched himself up to grab the pen in Robert´s other hand. Even when the man tried choking him again, his hand rushed to write on the floor. 

“Knock it off!” Robert yelled, tugging on his collar so hard he had to twist on himself. However, the damage was done. 

“He´s not my owner”?” the recovery team member read out, shocked to see a pet being able to write, but drowining the amusement to lock eyes with the girl on the desk. Albus felt Robert ease his grip on him and used that chance to scurry away to the recovery guy´s feet. Out of reflex, the guy grabbed him by the collar.  But even then, Albus felt victorious as he watched the lady whisper something on the radio and Robert stared at the guard in complete silence. 

“As I said over the phone with miss Lauren, my pet has yet to get used to his new home. He is refurbished. You know how refurbished pets always have trouble adapting” Robert exhaled loudly. The man looked unconvinced, but Robert didn´t push. Not until a security guard arrived. “I understand your mistrust. It´s not occasional some guy comes here to steal someone else´s pet, isn´t it? But this boy is mine. If you don´t believe me, why don´t you scan his wrist?”

Albus snorted, utterly amused that he thought that would work. 

The guard reached towards his reader and didn´t expect Albus to extend his wrist so readily. 

As the guard worked the scanner, Albus stared at Robert with a mocking grin hidden by the muzzle.

The reader´s alarm went off, and Albus craned his neck to read, knowing he would find Sarahi´s name and address. But no matter how much he squinted, the blurry words didn´t make any familiar names. Instead...

“778900 aka. “Albus”. Owned by: Robert Glass” the man read out loud. 

Huh?

The pet snatched the machine off the guard´s hands before he could even react. Seeing with his own two eyes that man´s name appeared on the screen. Even though the address was the same, even if his photo was correct...why?

An electrifying pain shot through his whole body. 

“Gimme that,” the guard snatched back the reader and showed it to the woman as Albus panted on the floor.

“If this isn´t enough, would this help?” Robert smiled easily. Then, slowly, he took out a folder from the inside of his coat. “Here is his contract, the receipt, the shipping date, the details of his training -- both of them. I had no need of a romantic for the work I wanted him for. Oh, that reminds me, his work permit,” the man smiled as he took the documents one by one. 

By then, Albus was already kneeling before them, stretching his neck to catch even a glimpse of those documents. He had seen them all before, a long time ago, so he should be able to tell if they were his papers, but he couldn´t see them if the guy kept tugging on his collar. But, there just was no way. They had to be fake!

As the woman looked over them, Robert tilted his head, holding his chin with one hand, “Hm, I feel like I´m missing something...”

“His pet I.D.” A man said from behind Albus, freezing all the blood on his body.

Slowly, Albus turned to find the mountain of a man towering over him with severe eyes looking down at him.

“Oh right, thank you, Claude” Robert said taking the card and showing it to the woman and the guards. “The woman who called is his wife. We were enjoying a great night when Albie did a little fuck up and chose to run for it. Isn´t that right, Claude?”

“...Yeah” 

Albus began to shake as Claude pulled him up by his arm and kept a firm grip on him. Albus' heart began to pound.

“The names match” The woman announced, making Albus snap at her. He shook his head slowly. How? Even his card? But...But how? He looked at Claude again, but the man´s eyes were nailed on Robert.  

“Do you need anything else or can I take my pet home to continue where we left off?” 

Albus shook his head vigorously as the guard and the woman exchanged looks. But his heart dropped when the guard put away the reader and knocked his head so the other man went away.

“Apologies, sir. As you said, it´s not unusual some opportunist wanders in trying to get a quick buck from the pets. I heard he was one hard catch, so please, be sure to keep an eye on him. Escapists tend to relapse” he told him, giving him back the folder. Robert laughed lightly. 

“No worries officer, I´ll make sure he learns his lesson very, very soon” 

Albus watched as he signed all the paperwork, mind blank until the corners of his mouth began to taste like iron with how hard he was clenching his teeth around the bit. 

Noticing something else was rolling down his eyes, he rushed to wipe them off as Robert finished the paperwork and signaled Claude to bring him over. The man wasn´t gentle when he pulled him out the door holding his head down as they walked their way to Robert´s car.

“In you go,” Robert said opening the trunk and shoving Albus inside despite the boy´s thrashing. But Claude´s size and force were enough to throw someone half his size inside a car´s trunk. 

“AGH!” The boy cried as his back crashed against something hard and metallic, knocking the air out of his lungs. He tried to climb out when Claude grabbed his legs and handcuffed his ankles together. 

“Stop moving” Claude growled and when the boy tried to climb out, the man grabbed his shirt and shoved him back inside hard enough to make the car shake. “STOP” Albus trembled violently, but didn´t try to climb out again. 

The trunk was shut closed on his nose and Albus could hear the engine start and the car starts moving. 

He desperately tried to even his breathing, go still and clear his mind already wondering what exactly was gonna happen to him. 

Were they gonna kill him? What kind of punishment could “correct” this? Robert was set on finding it, that was for sure. All the punishments Sann had the trust to tell him about, all the others he had to figure out himself, and the ones he was sure Robert was depraved enough to try, rushed through the pet´s head at a shocking speed. 

Terrified of his brutal imagination, the boy grabbed his head between his hands.

Why did it have to go this way?

His heart was pounding so hard, he feared he might die of a heart attack before he could be punished. It was so hard to breathe and there was something below him poking him, so in a sudden outburst of rage, he tugged on the blanket to see the offending object.

Well, seeing wasn´t one of his strenghts, and the trunk was illuminated by one tiny red light, but Albus didn´t need his eyes to trace his fingers around the metal end of the tool. The shape of it was so easily recognizable when he connected the shape of the handle with the one in the other end.

His mind froze for a second when he identified the shovel. 

His body tensed, as he allowed himself to shriek inside his head.

Where did dead pets end up? 

He had sometimes wondered about that in the cold floors of the facility. Maybe some people would cremate them. Maybe others would use their own land as grave. He had never felt the need to ask himself that question while living with his mistress. But he didn´t belong to her anymore, did he?

A second later, fearing he would actually vomit, the pet curled further into himself, covering his mouth with his hand as he sobbed.

[tendertenebrosity]

Part 11 of the Hostage series, princes and pirates and imprisonment, oh my.

 Masterpost is here.  Tagging: @redwingedwhump, @whump-cravings, @burtlederp, @quirkykayleetam, @annablogsposts, @redstainedsocks

“I don’t understand,” Jak said. “Don’t you want to go home?”

His face was creased in bafflement, his hands dangling off his knees as he sat in the chair.

Rill awkwardly smoothed a hand over the sheet beside him on the bed, futilely seeking order in the creases and folds of fabric. “It… isn’t that simple,” he said.

“Why not?”

“It… it just isn’t,” Rill said. He sat back, leaning against the wall, and covered his face with his hands for a moment. “Your uncle sent you in here to question me about it, didn’t he,” he said, mildly accusing.

“Oh, sure,” Jak agreed readily. “But that isn’t really why I’m asking.”

“I just don’t want to be ransomed.”

“Do you think your folks can’t afford it?” Jak dismissed that with a wave of a hand. “If so, talk to Tallow, it can be a token amount. More to save face than anything. Tallow would always rather get something than nothing.”

“It’s… it’s not that…”

Rill sighed heavily. He took his hands away from his face, but still did his utmost to avoid Jak’s eyes - Jak, who was now sitting across the room from him, worried and earnest and apparently content to sit there looking at Rill for as long as it took to get an answer out of him.

Guilt plucked uneasily at his nerves. Back when they were imprisoned together, Rill hadn’t really intended to lie to Jak. It had just been… easier not to broach the subject. And what had it mattered, anyway, when they were both likely to die soon?

But then they hadn’t died, and it had moved from being just an omission of irrelevant information to a lie. And that lie was keeping him safe, he couldn’t abandon it no matter how bad it felt to be lying to Jak, who had saved his life for no reason and didn’t seem to expect anything at all in return.

Jak was a friend to Rill the Nobody. Would he still be a friend to the Prince Consort?

Well, Rill didn’t really intend to find out. No matter how long Jak sat there, frowning with the force of his concern.

“It’s not an amount of money that’s the problem,” Rill said, trying to skirt the issue, talk about it without talking about it. “It’s more that… I don’t want to be more of a burden than I already have been. It’s just… better that I stay away.”

“What? Stay away?” Jak shook his head. “And leave them wondering where you are, whether you’re dead? How is that better for them? You just want to disappear out of their lives? That’s fucked up.”

“I’m not disappearing,” Rill said. “They knew where I was. They will assume the Empire killed me.”

Could they be partially right? he wondered. Could the Prince Consort be dead and just plain Rill crawl away from the shell? The prospect wasn’t... terrible.

“And that’s awful!” Jak protested. “When you could go home safe and be happy - ”

“I don’t think I do want to go home!” Rill burst out. “Jak, they left me there!” He could not stay sitting any more. He pushed up off the bed and lurched upright, turning his back to Jak. There was no room in here to pace, not with the both of them in here. He settled for clenching and loosening his fists as he spoke to the closed door, his voice uneven. “Look, I’m not saying they made a bad choice or the wrong choice, but they left me there to rot. Did Tallow tell you that? The Empire asked for more than I was worth, so they left me in the Empire’s hands knowing full well what was happening to me.”

Rill heard Jak shift behind him, but he didn’t want to turn around and see his face. Rill was breathing a little harder, his throat burning. His eyes, too, which wasn’t usual.

“How am I supposed to - how can I - ” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Jak, how are you supposed to go back home after that? They’re not going to understand. I don’t blame them. But I just…”

He trailed away. The sound of his breathing filled up the room for a few seconds.

“Well, you probably should,” Jak announced.

Rill turned, startled. “What?”

“Blame them! Gods, man!” Jak slapped a hand down on his thigh. “What do you mean, you don’t think they made a bad choice? If they could have saved you they should have! That’s family!”

Rill managed a smile, through his prickling eyes and the lump in his throat.

“Jak…”

“More than you were worth! Calling yourself a burden! Bah!” Jak leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands in a ‘what gives’ sort of gesture. “Rill, who talks to you like this? Getting you back safe from the Empire should have been worth any cost!”

“In, uh… the idea is right,” Rill said, unable to find the words in Castar for what he meant. “The idea, the theory, sure, a life is worth anything. But that’s not how it works in the real world.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jak folded his arms and looked mulish.

“Well, what about lots of lives?” Rill asked. “You’d trade lots of people for one person?”

Jak shook his head. “Not trade lives. Risk lives, maybe, it’s different.”

Rill sank back down to sit on the edge of his bed. “It isn’t, really,” he said. “I can be… er, what’s the word in Castar for ‘objective’? No?”

Jak shrugged, nonplussed.

“I can look at the big picture.” Rill coughed into his arm, wincing at the pain. “One life isn’t worth many. It was the right choice.” Why did I bring this up, he wondered. Why get all choked up about Tali leaving me, and then explain in great detail why she was right? Why does this hurt so much? I don’t know what’s going on in my own head, how can I expect anybody else to?

“Look, I don’t see how this changes things,” Jak said after a moment. “OK, sure, you think they were right not to save you. You are wrong, but whatever. Why does that mean you can’t go home now? Uncle’s not going to ask to trade you for a dozen people.”

“No,” Rill agreed. “I suppose not.”

“So tell him who you are and go home!”

Rill bit his lip. He looked down at his hands, which were starting to heal up from all of the bruises and cuts he’d gained during his time in the army camp. He ran a thumb idly over a healing scab.

“Jak… what if they say no,” he whispered. “What if they still say no? They might not even entertain a negotiation.”

Rill was not sure he could take that.

“Do you really think that’ll happen?” Jak said, hushed and frowning.

Rill shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said, I’m not… even before I was stupid enough to get myself captured, I wasn’t exactly the most useful to have around.”

He picked at the roughness on his skin, pulled it back to bleeding and watched the bead of bright red well up on his knuckle. Little merchant clerk, not good enough for the Queen’s hand. What use are you? A captain in uniform, very close by the Queen’s side. “Truthfully… they’ve probably replaced me already. It’d probably mess up a lot of people’s plans if I went back.”

After all, Rill being gone would solve a lot of political problems. Couldn’t be a lightning rod for political discontent if he died tragically, could he? And the new nobility would have no cause to complain. And Tali could finally get the kind of husband she’d always wanted.

“Who cares?” Jak demanded. “If I were you, I would take joy in messing those people’s plans up. They shouldn’t count you out so easily.” He leaned forward, making the chair creak under his weight, and pointed forcefully at Rill. “The more I hear out of you, Rill, the more I think maybe fuck your family. They’re not worth the name. You have to go back to make them eat their words! Be great and make them all regret valuing you so little.”

Rill rocked back, startled. The smile he found on his face tugged unexpectedly at a scab on his lip. “That’s what you’d do?”

“Absolutely,” Jak said firmly.

“Well, I’m not you, Jak,” Rill said. Which was unfortunate - if Rill had been more like Jak, the court would probably have liked him more from the start anyway. “I don’t think that would work for me. But thank you.”

Jak subsided, looking a little deflated. “You’re still not going to tell us, huh?”

“No,” Rill said. “I’m not.”

“If we asked and they did say no, Rill, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” Jak said. “I don’t really think Tallow would go through with killing you. He already likes you more than most Mainlanders.”

“I don’t think that’s true…” Except insofar as you all seem to hate us as default…

“We would figure out… something,” Jak continued. “Some other way to get the money, maybe, or some way you can work and still stay here. The ships pick up a crew member from one of the safe ports, sometimes - not often, but it happens, Skyle told me about it.”

Rill smiled sadly. Or, Tallow will contact the Empire and let them know he has a bigger prize than he thought. I highly doubt I’m going to be welcome as crew on a pirate ship, as funny as Tali and the council would probably find that.

“No,” he said aloud. “I’m sorry, Jak, but I’ve made up my mind. I’m not being ransomed. I’m not going home.”

And whatever happens will just have to happen.

[susiequaz12]

Flufftober 15- Accident’s Don’t Just Happen Accidentally

Masterlist. Pairing: Ali and Justin. This is a snippet from them back in highschool, before they started dating. 

-

“No, that’s what I’m saying! He’ll eat his words when he sees what’s coming this weekend-”

Justin threw his hands in the air as he spoke- only to see gasps and laughs from his friends across the cafeteria as he collided with someone. 

He stumbled over his feet, falling backwards to the ground as that someone cried out. There was the clattering of a tray- the splattering of food. 

He landed on the linoleum to hear a burst of laughter from the table he had just left, and a mixed emotion of cries from everyone else in the lunch room. 

“Watch where you’re going next time-” the someone said. 

Justin shook the hair from his eyes to see that someone was a girl- one of the ones in his English Lit class- they’d done a couple of assignments together- Ali. She pulled her loose hair out of her face, shaking off her hands as pudding and spilled milk soaked into her sweater. 

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry-” He stated- beginning to get up to move to help her. 

She ignored him as he reached for the fallen tray and silverware. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the spoon and she pulled it back like he was on fire. 

“I can do it-” she stated. Pulling the items he’d collected away from him. 

“Let me help- I’m sorry-” 

“I got it!” she cried, pulling the lunch tray away. She clattered the silverware back onto it, and then moved to scoop up the fallen pieces of food. 

“You’re covered in pudding- I can pick it up-” 

“Yeah and who’s fault is that?” She snapped. 

Justin looked up at her- almost shocked to hear such an angry tone to her voice- but it was well deserved. Their eyes met and she ducked her head back to the floor. 

“Yeah- I’m sorry. I should’ve looked where I was going. Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you lunch.” 

“No thank you. I don’t want your money.” She snapped, pulling herself up to her knees and brushing herself off.

He rose as well, moving to kneel in front of her where she was holding the tray. 

“No I’ll- I’ll take you out to lunch. Wherever you want to go. I’m really sorry-” 

“Wherever? I-” her words trailed off as he brushed a sort of clean napkin across her nose- and then froze as she glanced up to meet his eyes. 

“-you had some pudding-” 

She quickly got to her feet, trying not to slip in the spilled pudding as she stood. Ali started marching off- moving across the cafeteria when he took a couple of steps to follow her. 

“Wait- what’s my answer!” He called out. “Can I make it up to you?” 

She huffed a sigh as she stormed off. 

“Fine!”

Justin watched as she threw her tray in the dirty bin- no doubt storming off to the closest bathroom to clean herself up. 

Did he have a date? 

-

@imagination1reality0, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @thehopelessopus, @burtlederp, @whump-me-all-night-long @laves-here​ @yesthisiswhump @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @brutal-nemesis​ @lunaabsentee​ @morning-star-whump​ @beatenbruisedandbloody @flufftober

[burtlederp]

@redwingedwhump asked Hanguche some questions!

[burtlederp-incorporated]

I want you to know that you are That Friend where if you post a video with no context, I'm clicking because I know that shit will be hilarious

Legitimately this might be the highest honor I've ever received

[haro-whumps]

HAPPY BIRFDAY

THANK

[whumpster-dumpster]

Hey! I'm giving a character some severe hyperthermia. Could you give me some tips on how to write it to keep it accurate? Symptoms, after-effects, best treatments? Thanks so much!

I got the symptoms right here: [x]

Severe hypothermia requires hospitalization. Some treatments they’ll get there:

Blood rewarming. Blood may be drawn, warmed and recirculated in the body. A common method of warming blood is the use of a hemodialysis machine, which is normally used to filter blood in people with poor kidney function. Heart bypass machines also may need to be used.

Warm intravenous fluids. A warmed intravenous solution of salt water may be put into a vein to help warm the blood.

Airway rewarming. The use of humidified oxygen administered with a mask or nasal tube can warm the airways and help raise the temperature of the body.

Irrigation. A warm saltwater solution may be used to warm certain areas of the body, such as the area around the lungs (pleura) or the abdominal cavity (peritoneal cavity). The warm liquid is introduced into the affected area with catheters.

Severe hypothermia can result in organ damage and permanent medical issues but if the patient didn’t have a respiratory or cardiac arrest, there’s a good chance for complete recovery without long-term effects.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ash can I maybe have some soft vampire chris, or soft early chris? Pleeease? :3 -theo-

Not sure if this counts as soft, @boxboysandotherwhump, but...

CW: Vampire whumpee turned caretaker, blood drinking, bad guy death, caretaker turned whumpee,

The duct tape across his mouth feels like a fucking insult more than a gag, and Jake glares at the asshole pressing it in over his lips. The guy meets his gaze with a cockeyed grin.

"Oh, don't look so put out, you're the one who had to come downstairs and interrupt us. Just stay right there, still and quiet, and we'll be in and out before you know it, bud."

He gets a pat on the head, and Jake jerks away from it, his mouth trying to curse without being able to open. The tape pulls painfully and he holds back his wince.

He kicks out, but the guy dodges it easily. His hands are taped behind his back, wrapped again and again with the damn duct tape until it feels like they're cutting off his fucking circulation.

He'd come downstairs for a glass of water, that was all. Just a drink to help himself get ready for bed after finishing up an essay at 1:30 in the morning, and he'd found out people had broken in only when he more or less walked in on them taking the TV right out the front door.

A gun to his back had gotten him on the couch, and now he felt a little bit like the whole roasting chickens you buy at the store all tied up with twine.

"In and out," A second guy agrees, taking Jake's game consoles from the entertainment center right in front of him. "No need to be all fussy about it, man. Not like you aren't insured, right?"

"Cutie like you shouldn't worry about anything." The first guy ruffles his hair.

Jake kicks out again, and this time it lands.

He feels the pain of kicking with bare feet and doesn't care, what matters is the expression of almost comical surprise on the robber's face as he connects with his knee and sends the guy crashing to the ground.

"God damn it!" The guy rubs at his knees, glaring up at Jake before he pushes himself up, pulling the gun out of the back of his pants where he'd kept, swinging his arm to hit Jake across the face with the butt of the pistol.

The pain cracks bright and white in his mind, behind his eyes, and he groans, muffled by the tape.

"Have some fucking manners!" The man snaps, and hits him again, the other side of his face. Pain, again. Stronger than the ache in his cheekbone, though, is Jake's anger.

How dare these assholes? How dare they? Nat is just trying to help people, and here they're walking around robbing her, and she's a better person than she should be, than anyone should be, and how. fucking. dare. they?

He kicks again, connects but the guy stays up this time. He just starts hitting Jake, over and over, with the butt of the pistol.

Again and again.

On the final blow across his forehead, something feels like it snaps, and Jake's thoughts scatter apart, replaced by a dizzy sickness as the world spins crazily. He slumps to the side, dropping onto the soft couch cushion. He's bleeding from his head, now, he thinks.

Head wounds always bleed so fucking much.

At least he can tell the ER doctors the truth about how he got this one.

There's a soft hissing sound that starts up, and Jake can't place it. He blinks once, twice, but he's having trouble focusing. He has a moment of wild incomprehensible worry about if the kettle is about to whistle, if the water is boiling for tea. The two men, though, glance to the side, towards the entryway to the house, where the stairs are, in confusion.

The house is dark. It's 2 in the morning by now, and everything is mostly silent in the world, just the soft buzz of the streetlights by the sidewalk, the occasional rumble of a passing car, and... a strange, nearby hissing.

"What the fuck? Do these idiots have a cat?" Guy 1 grabs a flashlight hanging off some kind of weirdass toolbelt he wears and shines it towards the stairs.

There's a sudden scuffle near the stairs, and the hissing ramps up in volume, becomes a wild, shrieking, inhuman scream.

Jake can't see that far, but he dimly hears Guy 2 exclaim, "Jesus Christ, what is that?!"

"Oh, my God!"

Movement.

The scream seems to echo, to hang in the air, the sound of an animal who feels only fury.

The flashlight drops, shining pointlessly into the corner of the living room, on nothing at all.

Jake stares into the darkness, struggling to see, as one of the men, the one who pistol-whipped him, falls backwards as if pushed, knocked onto his back onto the floor, and... something lands on top of him.

It occurs to Jake that it's Chris just as the little vampire drops his head to the man's neck and then quickly tears to the side, slitting his throat as easily as Jake might cut through butter with a warm knife.

There's a spray of blood, and Jake flinches as some of it lands on his own face, on the couch, spreads across the floor.

Chris raises his head, his eyes reflecting in the dim light, glowing like a cat's with pupils slit with focus, his bloodied mouth open in a snarl.

His fangs seem longer than they were last night.

The man beneath him struggles, weakly, already dying. It takes moments before he goes still.

Chris raises his eyes, and the soft hissing starts up again as he turns to see the other man just as he moves to run.

Jake watches the guy make it to the door before Chris lands on his back, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him back inside, slamming the door. He jerks the man's head back, forcing his spine to arch, baring his neck for the fangs that bury there.

The man stumbles backwards with Chris hanging off his back. He makes it one step, two steps, three, and then drops onto his ass on the floor, clawing at Chris, at his hair, his face his shoulders.

His mouth is open in a scream, but the sound seems so far away, like it can't fight the volume of Chris's shrieking battle-cry from before, the wild call of a hunt.

The vampire locks on, and as the venom takes hold the man's fight suddenly ceases. He slumps, seated on the ground, chin dropping to his chest.

For a second, the only sound is the sickening liquid noise of Chris swallowing, again and again. Then he purrs, the rumble loud enough to echo through the room as he drinks, soft satisfied little hums making their way out of his throat. His hands knead of the man's shoulders where he holds him, like a cat kneading its paws into a blanket. It lasts a few seconds. Less than a minute.

It feels like forever.

When he finishes, he pulls away, stands up, and lets the man's body drop onto its back on the ground, the slack, wide-eyed expression lit by the beam of the flashlight still lying on the floor.

Chris turns to look at Jake, and his mouth and his shirt are drenched in blood. It's everywhere, and he looks every inch the monster vampires are said to be. Bloodthirsty and thoughtless, except that he doesn't look like he's still hungry or hunting.

He looks worried, and a little bit scared.

And so, so very young.

So... human.

"Jake?" His voice is slightly thick, and Jake tries not to think about why it sounds that way. "Are, are, are you okay?"

Now how in Christ's name does he answer that question?

He just shakes his head - pauses - and then nods.

It takes a couple of minutes for Chris to get a washcloth, wetting down the edges of the tape, pulling it free of Jake's mouth and then wetting again, bit by bit. It hurts less than it would otherwise. All Jake can smell is blood, and he gags, but at least he doesn't throw up. He's got that going for him, right?

His head throbs, until Chris leans over and licks the wound torn open across his forehead. The wet cool tongue is slightly rough, and Jake shudders in disgust and then...

Then, the pain in his head is simply gone.

"Wh-what-"

"Ssshhhh," Chris says, softly, pressing at his cheek, watching him wince. "I, I, I can't heal the, um, the, the bruises. Those are underneath. Does-... does, does anything, is anywhere else hurt?"

Jake blinks, and slowly shakes his head. "Chris, have you-... have you killed people before?"

Chris meets his eyes, and gives a very small smile.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before, um. Before... you."

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[whumblr]

Creative mind

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

“Don’t you ever get tired or this?” Jay sighed as Zayne unpocketed his knife. “Because I do.”

“Not really? But if you have a better idea, I’m all ears,” Zayne almost purred. “I can take anything in here to cause you anguish. I like to try new things.”

“Anything in here?” Jay scoffed, glancing around his living room.

“Sure. Tell you what. Find something here and I’ll spare you of the knife.” He removed his hand and patted his pocket.

“What, and get beaten with my speakers instead?”

“Free strike, I’ll leave you in peace.”

Jay looked around, trying to look at his things and bits with the eye of a practiced sadist. Didn’t work. “I don’t—“

“See, I’ve already got my eye on quite some things. Your kitchen, for instance, is a wonderful source of inspiration.”

Jay followed his gaze, but besides the knife rack – which was totally and absolutely out of the question for him to pick – he didn’t see what Zayne was getting at. He looked back, brows furrowed.

“A bottle of salt, for instance,” Zayne answered the wordless question. “Chili peppers or hot sauce, as I’m sure you’ve got some in your fridge. The sink even, the entire content of your cutlery drawer if you want to be that obvious.” He turned and gestured to the living room. “Smother you with that pillow, lash out with those cables, and that vase? Just begging to be cracked over your head.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” Jay said, getting a little squeamish. “I’d rather you didn’t get creative.”

Zayne slid his hand in his pocket and pressed his closed knife into the fabric. “Same old. Works for me.”

-

Tag list: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @hurtmebeautifully @rougenoirofthepurpleterror @snuffhimout @susiequaz12 @mnmlover2002 @undertheburrow @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpinggoodtime @starnight-whump @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @im-just-here-for-the-whump @restrainthenmaime @freefallingup13  @whatwasmyprevioususername @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @firewheeesky @redstainedsocks @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpawink

[comfy-whumpee]

Echoes

Whumptober Day 10 - "You said you'd never leave me." CN: referenced domestic violence, minor whump.

Jax taglist: @bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @burtlederp, @rosesareviolentlyread, @eatyourdamnpears

Savvie, Izzy and Jamie belong to @ashintheairlikesnow.

-

She says, “You said you’d never leave me.”

She is staring at him from across the metal table. The inmate jumpsuit is a good look on her, he can’t deny, and he likes seeing her hands cuffed to the table too, unable to grab or touch him anywhere at all. Her nails are short and round and unpainted, which he has never seen before.

She says, “You’re mine, Jax.” She has tied her hair back from her face and it makes her look more her age. He looks older than her, has for years, because of how they have lived. But now, she looks as haggard as he feels, without the makeup he is used to seeing on her.

He doesn’t have an answer for her demand. He remembers promising many times that he wouldn’t leave her. He’d never betray her. He couldn’t. That always satisfied her well enough.

Of course, the moment he could, that all became moot. But he’d said all the right promises without worrying about that. Looking to the future was never his strong suit, anyway.

“I thought you loved us,” Savvie continues. She doesn’t need him to reply. “I thought you cared about us, as a family, Jax. But you just wanted to hurt us.”

Jax thinks about her nearly dropping Jamie when he spit up on her shirt. He thinks about Izzy coming into the kitchen white as a sheet from one of her ‘talks’. He thinks about how sound carries in her old house, and how both kids have heard his screams.

“My poor babies.” Savvie is a one-woman show of grief. Her eyes glitter with crystalline tears, but they don't leave him, watching for his reaction. “You can’t take them from me. They’re mine, Jax. I’ll fight for them. I just need to see them again, to make sure they understand what’s happening, to make sure they know why you decided to break up our family.”

“You did that, Savvie,” he interjects. “You did that every time you took me away from them.”

“You never wanted them,” she replies dismissively, trying and failing to gesture with a rattle of chain. “You just wanted to lecture me about them. It’s thanks to me they even exist.”

That is all true. But none of it matters. It stopped mattering as soon as there became real children involved. He couldn’t just abandon a baby to her.

“You’ve ruined our family,” she adds. She’s been refuelled by his words. He needs to stay quiet. “It will never, ever be the same, after what you’ve done. I hope you’re happy, Jax. I’ll never be happy again.”

His mouth is already open to speak, to retort, when she adds the rest. But it only becomes more true. “Here’s hoping.”

-

“Daddy,” she sniffles, arms tight around his waist. Her face is pressed into his stomach and he strokes her hair gently. “I’m sorry, daddy,” she hiccups. “Please d-don’t go without me an’ Jamie, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you two,” he promises. He gently loosens her arms, but keeps hold of her hands as he drops stiffly to one knee. He meets her wide, tear-filled eyes. “Hey. I said I’d never leave you two, didn’t I?”

She stares at him, full of fear. He should have seen it coming, of course. He can’t talk about a holiday without reminding her of Savvie’s version of a weekend getaway: kids abandoned with zero warning, sudden trips to the airport while they were still asleep, Jax dragged along on half-baked promises that Isaac would send someone.

“I want to go on holiday with you both,” he promises her. Her little hands are gripping his back, her fingers soft and warm against his callouses. “That’s what holidays are like now. I will never run away on holiday without you, especially not if you are sleeping.”

“Never ever?” she asks, her gaze so afraid and so desperately trusting.

The weight of his words feels so heavy, knowing she will hold onto them tightly, repeating them over and over to herself. How to pick words that will comfort her through all their uses?

He starts with the fundamentals. “Family is me, you and Jamie.” No Mommy. No Savvie. Not even grandpa makes the cut, at the end of the day. With this established, he adds, “Family holiday has to be me, you and Jamie too.”

She leans forwards, asking for a hug in that careful way she has with touch. Touch with him, anyway. She isn’t this cautious with the others.

He hugs her close. “Never, ever,” he repeats. Sometimes he likes to imagine how long he could go without un-hugging his baby girl. He could sleep with her in his arms again. He can eat with her on his lap. Walk the dogs with her in his arms. He could keep hold of her forever.

Of course, it’s just an instinct. He lets her go. “And,” he adds, to lift her spirits, “you get a say in where we go on holiday, now. We choose together.”

She doesn’t care as long as she’s with him, he knows. It’s the same for him. But maybe, with some time, he can get her excited for the holiday, and give her back some of the joy she never had.

Here’s hoping.

[albino-whumpee]

Wired Shut

Fixing the bad arc to be even worse because I forgot to mention things about his torture methods. Hope you like this!

Taglist: Ask to be added or taken off it!

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @twistedcaretaker @wingedwhump @unicornscotty @melancholy-in-the-morning

CW// dubcon body modification, slavery, pet whump, mentions of past torture, sadistic whumper, dislocation, dehumanization, conditioning, forced mutism, broken whumpee, hallucinations, mental torture games, shackled, suicidal ideation, captivity, teeth whump ptsd, sound torture, trauma response to darkness  Ask to tag!

He shouldn’t have said a thing. He was supposed to stay quiet while his Master played with him, but after a while the pain was too big to bear. The pet had thought it would be okay to use the extra minutes his Master had given him for staying quiet for two weeks straight, to beg him to stop.

His Master was very kind. He let him choose what would break next. What bone he would dislocate and put back in place sometime later. Like he had done before, when his hands were wrapped in bandages but his blood still dripped down the wall. 

Slowly, the pet began to wonder when that would happen when his master got bored of him. 

He knew the answer, but the fear about the method made no words come up during the long, silent moments when his master wasn't doing anything to him. As time went on, slowly, like a broken pipe filling a glass, drips of memories of another time came back to him. 

The glass, however, was too broken to hold them long enough to fill it back. Every night spent inside the darkness of a box cracking it just a little more. Until the pet cried no more as the fists blew on him. No emotions on his face until his master took him back to the box. 

The mere sight of it was enough to make the pet claw at his master. In the beginning, no matter how painful the shocks were, he would speak. He would beg and cry to escape being in the box even one more minute. But his pleas fell on deaf ears every time, shut out of his master´s mind as the box was sealed and locked with no knowing of when it would open again. 

Inside the darkness, his nails wore the wood away, until the wood was smooth and stained with dried blood. 

Once he was finally outside, he would become more obedient, more silent. Slowly, to avoid the inevitable terror of the box, his mind slipped away. Only waking back up once he was out and his fingers red and sticky. 

It was not something the pet could control, but was enormously grateful it happened. However, his master quickly took notice of his taciturn look, the way he swayed and his eyes lost their shine as he pushed him inside the box. So when he was slipping into that blissful haze, suddenly, the screech of music too loud to take in blasted from every direction in the dark box. It was impossible to muffle, and oh he tried. 

Once the music was put off and his ears rang too loud to hear his master's orders, he hoped his master would get bored of him soon. Hopefully, it would take his master´s sadness with him.

Beautiful red patterns had already faded into the skin. Healing into white, voluminous scars all over his body. Despite having thought it pretty once, when a sense of shameful pride invaded him when his master told him he had made them, once the memories of the table came back, he couldn´t help but scratch a bit rougher when it itched. His master joked often about covering what little patches of skin were left untouched with more of his designs, but the pet wasn´t sure he would be able to even if he wanted to when his hands still hurt below the bandages long after being hung from the wall.

One day, his master gave him a choice when commanded to sit on the sofa, something he did as his stomach twisted inside him. 

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. 

Your place is on the ground. 

But it was his master's orders…but his master often ordered him things that went against his rules. If he disobeyed, he would get punished…but then again, even when he obeyed, he would get punished anyway.

Resigned, the pet sat on the edge of the sofa.

The person taking out their tools next to it greeted it like a normal human. Despite the pet´s confusion, he graciously slipped to his knees. Exactly how his Master had taught it to greet. Bent on the ground and not allowed to move until someone touched his head.

The woman looked conflicted as she put a delicate hand on its head. Kindly lifting his face with the tips of her fingers before she grabbed the arm that didn’t ache and pulled him back up on the sofa.

“Mouth or arm?” Its Master repeated his question, annoyed. His master had gotten mad about something lately, but his memory didn't need to be perfect to know it was the pet´s fault. 

Every beating, his master would make sure he knew he deserved it because of what he did, after all. 

The names he would recite when he retold his sins, injecting another shot of blazing, white hot pain as the memories rushed back to his head, incomplete and fractured in a way he couldn't tie everything together to make sense or put a face on them. From the names he remembered, he knew there was one that ignited anger and grief just as much as guilt and longing. 

Everything that happened to him was his fault. As well as what happened to those people and his master. He had no right to blame, so he took it all, quietly.

It was his fault.

Talking wasn't allowed, so he felt proud when he pointed his mouth. Maybe it would prove to his master he would be quiet. That it could be good.

So when his Master smiled and the woman dragged out a long sigh, he was pulled down into the seat and ordered to relax. Doing as ordered finally came with a reward. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry, darling. You’re doing well. Stay like that” the kind woman whispered as she worked. Not giving him more pain than necessary.

When she put the glue over his teeth, when he felt it harden and then a metal structure was gently put between them and his lips. When it couldn’t hold its lips open wide enough and a silicone object was shoved inside its mouth to prevent that, he scrunched his eyes as the wires were tightened around his, tying its jaw locked. Preventing him indefinitely from opening his mouth to do stupid things a pet shouldn’t do. Like talking or begging.

When the woman was done she gave him something. Discreetly, away from its Master’s eyes. His eyes had never made the world very clear, but a different kind of fog covered his sight when he saw it said” numbing cream” on the package. Careful to not let it be found out, he bent down on the floor again as goodbye while his Master showed her the way outside.

The pet quietly sat on the stairs now, dragging his aching legs closer to his chest. He hoped his Master would take a while. Guilt being lower than the relief of being alone for a second.

So when that guy, the freckled guy with a nice smile, came to talk with him, he moved his hands as much as the pain allowed.

He didn’t know how his master didn’t seem to know he lived with them if he always stood close. Sometimes even comforted him when the pain was too much at night in his crate.

“What happened to your mouth?” The man signed. His throat was covered with a muted green scarf.

“Fixed it” the albino signed back showing his teeth with the metal structure. Hands shaking slightly with the strain “so I won’t be a nuisance to Master anymore” it said.

“And how are you gonna eat?” The man signed with a frown on his face. Always so worried about him…he liked him. He was always very nice and he seemed to know him before he belonged to his Master. He wondered since when… How had they met?

“It will be fine. Master won’t let me starve…for too long” he smiled pulling a hand to his mouth and soothing it with his fingertips at a sudden bolt of pain “She was nice enough to give me this” he showed the cream and rubbed it over his gums. “It won’t hurt in a bit,” he said, putting it away. Hiding it on his shorts waistband.

The freckled man stared at the hall in front of them. Reflecting something before he said “He's making time. All of it hurts just enough, and stops right before the worst… you know it don’t you?” He kept his hands above his knobby knees. At least he could somehow walk now. The freckled man put a hand over his head and softly passed his fingers through his hair “Stay alive ok? You can´t die here” he said, before lifting himself up and kissing his forehead “I will come back for you” he signed before disappearing after turning a corner, opposite from where his Master popped out from.

His Master called him to his side and in a second, he was down on his knees before him and looking up. A rough hand passed over his lips before a thumb shoved his lips open. A fond smile appeared at the flash of metal on his mouth. 

“You won’t need this anymore then” he said as he gently passed his hands to his neck to unbuckle the shock collar. With a swift pull, his master put it in his pocket as he ordered him to follow him back to the basement. He fastened the shackle on his ankle and stroked his cheek tenderly, before leaving.

It was freeing.

It had been the right choice.

Or so it seemed before the man took the small lamp that had been the barrier preventing him from screaming in panic as the dark engulfed him in the cold basement.

He could scream all he wanted now, but there were heavier shackles than the tiny metal wires on his mouth preventing him from doing so. 

Jerking his jaw and shaking violently, he crawled to the far back of the crate and curled into himself. Wrapping his arms around the mucky pillow, helplessly begging his Master to please bring back the light before he saw the freckled man with a dim light on his hands.

He put it down right before the crate and with awfully worried eyes, he pulled himself inside the crate. The pitiful pet flinched when he got too close, but when the freckled man stayed right there, sitting with knees so close to his chest because of the small space, the pet shyly scooted closer. Feeling its heart pounder on its ears and its face wet with tears when the freckled man passed an arm around it and pulled the blanket over its shoulders, letting him bury his face on his shoulder. Thumbs doing little circles over its transparent clothes. Allowing his heart to still, ease, as he put the light on his hands.

A dream so sweet, his mind refused to believe in reality he was only crying against the cold wall of his crate, holding the pillow like his life depended on it, clenching the ripped blanket around his shoudlers for safety, nobody could see it in such darkness.

[tendertenebrosity]

Back to Rill’s POV. Starting to need a masterpost...

 Prev: Part 1, part 2 Part 3, part 4

Tagging: @redwingedwhump, @whump-cravings, @burtlederp, @quirkykayleetam, @annablogsposts.

"Definitely not Imperial," Rill said. He let his head loll back against the wall, probed a swollen cut on the inside of his cheek morbidly with his tongue. Talking was making it worse. "Not anymore. The country, my country is called Saverain."

His fellow prisoner looked somewhat unconvinced. He was sitting in the centre of the cell facing Rill’s side, but he still managed to fill it. A rounded, golden-brown statue of a man -  not just tall, but broad, with a muscled chest and shoulders and a rounded belly, and a thatch of blond hair and beard. If the cell was cramped for Rill, it was doubtful that Jak could even stretch out enough to sleep.

"Never heard of it," he said.

Rill shook his head. "You are... getting back at me," he said, knowing that he was using the wrong idioms, that his grammar was broken. "For calling your home the Pirate Isles."

Jak chuckled. "At least you mainland folk talk of the Isles, friend, even if you use the wrong name. You say you're from a country that didn't exist ten years ago."

They had been working on Rill's Castar, off and on, for a few days now. Rill rarely had the energy to talk for longer than twenty minutes or so at once, and Jak didn't seem to begrudge him that. Seemed to understand when all Rill had in him was to curl up in the corner and hurt.

Jak was so amiable, in fact, that Rill struggled to picture him offering violence to anybody unprovoked, although he had quite cheerfully admitted yesterday that he was imprisoned for piracy.

"It existed, it just wasn't independent," Rill said. "Until the... My point - my point is, I'm not an Imperial citizen any more."

Jak shrugged. He flicked something, some bug or tiny vermin, off his muscled blond forearm. "Good enough for me. Explains why you're here, huh?"

Rill hunched his shoulders, crossed his arms over his knees, and didn't answer.

This conversation - exchanging names and origins, piecing together a language he hadn't heard in years and had never really learned properly, making things that were almost jokes - felt like trying to paper over a gaping hole. A gaping wound. Anything to occupy himself with that wasn't the sickening, hideous knowledge of what the future held.

"Your place must be a real thorn in their side, 'cause they sure hate you." Jak was still talking, across the wooden slats and a thousand miles away. "What'd you do to earn you all of... that?"  

A thorn. All of their ambitions, the world they'd seen, all of the tears and blood. Nothing but a thorn, an irritant, apparently. Rill knew it had been worth it. It had been. It still was.

Jak was looking at him, crooking his neck slightly to be able to see through one of the gaps. Rill shook his head, the way he did when Jak used an unfamiliar word or spoke too fast for him to understand. "Uh.... no, um, sorry. Don't know."

He let his head sink down onto his arms.

The officer on the ship - oh, God, the officer, Rill still felt that wave of shame to think of him, of what Rill had admitted the first time they'd spoken - had told Rill the last time they spoke that Rill looked 'better'. More 'lucid'. Swinging the pendulum back towards pity, away from spite.

Rill had at least been lucid enough to keep his mouth shut this time and say nothing; which was probably what had lost him the clothes. Still, however, pathetically easy to read.

Jak sighed. "You should eat that."

Rill raised his head enough to look at the ration that had been slid in to him this morning. Hard bread. Even if it hadn't been physically painful to eat...

"Why bother," he mumbled.

"Well, we're not hanged til we're hanged," Jak said, almost philosphically. "Are you sure we're going to the capital?"

"That's what they said," Rill mumbled, for at least the third time. Jak seemed dubious, for reasons he'd tried to explain, but Rill's Castar tended to fail him once Jak got to talking about ships or the ocean.

"That is weeks away, and we are still alive," he said firmly. "Got to keep your strength up."

Rill took a deep breath, let it out shakily. He examined briefly the thought of explaining to this inexplicably upbeat, inexplicably kind foreigner, in his butchered terrible Castar, the concept that if he was physically weak when he got to the capital he might not last so long under torture, which would be a miserable blessing.

He sat up, inched painfully away from the shared cell wall. "I'm tired," he said instead. "Sorry. No more talking for today."

Rill lowered himself down, to lay on the shoulder that hurt the least, and closed his eyes. He breathed slowly in the fetid dark, the wooden deck seeming to rise up to press against his cheek rhythmically, and tried not to let the waters of panic close over the top of his head. It is worth it. Saverain is still worth it. I'll never see it again, and most of it never even liked me particularly much; but it is and was and always will be worth it. 

Rill didn’t quite notice when he’d slipped into a miserable, queasily rocking sleep. But he must have, because he woke up to find the cells even darker than usual, and Jak hissing urgently at him.

Rill made some blurred, indistinguishable noise, rolled painfully onto his back.

Jak was a towering figure, standing silhouetted against the light coming down the stairs from above, hair limned in murky gold.

“Rill,” he said, eyes shining in the dark. “Get up! Something is happening.”

[whimperwoods]

Arms of the Enemy - D&D whump - 16b

This is part 16b! It could be 17, but I want the whole wound cleaning thing to be kind of of a piece.

There is now a masterpost, which can be found here.

Castor is a warlock, in service to the Great Old One and the Dark Emperor, in that order. Ed is a fighter, a knight and battle master in the service of the True King of Lumenea. They have always been enemies. Away from it all, they might be able to become something else. Maybe even friends.

(This time: Ed blushes. Castor makes a choice.)

tw: aftermath of torture, tw: mind reading, tw: captivity, tw: forced to entertain captor, tw: wound cleaning, tw: medical, tw: burns, tw: he doesn’t want his butt touched, in particular, but that’s where some of the injuries are that need tending, but it’s not sexy, but it still probably needs a warning?, tw: bone setting

taglist: @redwingedwhump, @fanastywhump, @insanitywishes @bluebadgerwhump,@burtlederp, @newandfiguringitout, @kawhump , @extrabitterbrain, @kixngiggles​

***************

It hadn’t been particularly embarrassing before, lying on his stomach like this, but as gentle as Castor’s hands were on his ass, Ed still hated the sensation of being touched somewhere so private and, even more, the knowledge that the water woman was watching, staring, giggling periodically.

He knew more of the welts across his buttocks and thighs were closed than the ones across his back, but it didn’t mean much when Castor made full contact with one of the open cuts and he had to stifle another noise of pain.

“I know,” Castor murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I’ve almost got all the straw out of the wounds, though. That’ll be the worst part for a while.”

“It’s an interesting problem,” the woman said, her voice still sounding vaguely satisfied. “Doesn’t happen when you live in the water.”

Ed’s blush darkened, the burning intensifying across his face, his ears, and his neck, all the way to the tops of his shoulders. It almost itched, and he wanted to hide his whole head at once, just tuck the damp blanket he was lying on all the way around himself and hide.

Castor was right about the straw - once the open cuts were free of dirt and detritus, the gentle motion of the damp cloth across his posterior got at least a little less agonizing, if not less embarrassing.

By the time Castor was helping him into a pair of clean smallclothes they’d found in with the wizard’s old belongings, it was enough of a relief to have his more sensitive parts shielded that he almost managed not to think about the fact that he was wearing second hand underthings.

Castor seemed to notice, his eyes lingering a little too long on his flushed face before he helped him back down again. Every time he thought he couldn’t blush harder, his skin seemed to find a way, getting ever hotter and itchier.

Castor pulled him into a hug and he went willingly, burying his face in Castor’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look either of them in the eye. He took the moment to breathe, to calm himself.

“You ready to keep going?” The advantage to talking aloud was that he could feel the vibrations of Castor’s voice humming against his burning cheek, and he wanted to say no, wanted to ask to stay there, to ask Castor to just keep talking to him, but that would just drag out the whole thing, just keep him under the strange woman’s eyes for longer.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “Sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but Castor accepted it with a soft little hum and the woman giggled again, keeping the hot, itching blush in Ed’s cheeks that he didn’t seem to be able to ease.

*****

There was a gulf in the pit of Castor’s stomach as he helped Ed back to the ground and started working on his left leg. Somewhere inside, he knew himself to be a coward. Ed’s right knee was as swollen today as it had been yesterday, his ankle was still broken, his foot still a grotesque mass of broken-bone swelling and bloody nail beds, and Castor didn’t know how to face those things, didn’t know how to fix them, and was chicken enough to start with the other leg, with cuts and burns he knew what to do with.

Their captor was clearly growing bored, an entirely separate problem he didn’t have any good answer for, either. She was moving around a lot more, restless, and he couldn’t help worrying that in her restlessness she’d find the amulet hidden in the healer’s kit or rush them back to the underground lake before they were finished or poke at Ed’s wounds again.

The cuts, welts, and bruises along the backs of Ed’s thigh weren’t good, but they weren’t as bad as the burns marring his better foot and running up his calf.

As soon as the soap touched Ed’s burns, he tensed again, the effort of staying quiet raising a thin layer of sweat across his brow, even as he failed to hold back soft grunts of pain in spite of the effort.

That, at least, might be fixable. Sort of.

<<I hate to say this,>> he began, tentatively, <<But I think she’s getting bored. You might need to make a little more noise.>>

Another grunt escaped Ed. <<So you want for me to - agh - scream for her? No more sweetness?>>

He sounded tired, and Castor couldn’t get his head around the comment. Was Ed tired of sweetness? Was he not? Was he just - tired? That was probably fair, all things considered, but it was hard to know if the exhaustion was the main thing, or if it was covering up the old irritation from before.

<<I don’t mean to be dramatic about it, or make extra noise. I just mean don’t work so hard keeping quiet. Let her - fuck, Ed, I don’t know. I just don’t like how restless she is.>>

He didn’t get an answer right away, but then he washed across one of the burns again, and Ed let out a yelp, the tension in his stomach relaxing as he stopped fighting quite so hard for silence. Castor felt his own muscles relaxing with him, even as a wave of guilt washed over him.

The yelps seemed to get the woman’s attention again, and she leaned into Castor’s back again, pressing against the bruises and reminding him with a twinge that they were there, but at least that meant she wasn’t focused on anything else, like the hidden amulet.

<<Thank you,>> he told Ed, <<And I’m sorry.>>

*****

Letting go of himself, letting out the little yelps and shouts his body wanted to make as Castor cleaned his wounds, felt strange, but as it went on, Ed adjusted, relaxed further, sagged into the ground and let the soft, now mostly dry blanket cushion him.

There was still something about it that kept the heat stoked in his cheeks, that ached through the base of his throat, and he found that he could only stand it if he kept his eyes locked on Castor’s face or the too-blue sky above them, away from the woman’s intently focused eyes.

Then Castor switched to his other leg, and any thought of silence, of embarrassment, of anything left him.

Castor pressed fingers against his swollen knee, touching it directly instead of trying to avoid it, and Ed cried out before he could stop himself, his back arching against the pain.

“No, hold still!” Castor half-shouted. “I need to know how bad it is.”

Ed wanted to answer, wanted to tell him off, to tell him how bad it was, but all that made it out of his throat was another full-bodied shout, one that left him breathless and gasping.

“Castor don’t-” he panted, “Don’t, please, I can’t-”

“Your, umm. Your kneecap is definitely in pieces.”

“Please, Castor-”

Ed made it up to his elbows, looking up at the warlock and meeting his eyes, more noticably blue than usual with the skin around them going faintly pale.

“I know,” Castor said, still blanching, “But if I can’t push the pieces closer together and bind them that way, it’ll never heal at all.”

“You can’t, Castor, I-”

“I have to.”

Castor’s hands were resting lightly around his leg, below the knee, and Ed could feel a faint trembling in them.

The woman’s grin was all teeth, her face no longer doing a particularly good impression of a human. “Oh dear. That is a problem, isn’t it?”

Castor broke eye contact with Ed, and even before the warlock spoke, Ed found his body reacting, letting out a soft, despairing moan.

“I’m going to need an extra set of hands, ma’am.”

<<Don’t let her touch me. Please Castor, don’t let her touch me.>>

<<I can’t fix your ankle. I already know that. But this one - this one I might be able to help. I can’t just - Ed I have to.>>

<<You don’t.>>

<<I do.>>

Ed cried softly, his eyes locked back into Castor’s again, but he could see the resolve building in Castor’s eyes, could see any hope of keeping the woman’s hands off of him fading, and this time he looked away first, closing his eyes and twisting his face away.

“Do it,” he said softly, not even sure, anymore, whether agreeing was a deal with the devil or, if it was, who was the devil.

The woman’s hands were not gentle, her fingers following behind Castor’s, pressing the two halves of his bone back together, her sharp nails digging into his flesh where it hurt the most. He screamed, his back arching again as his voice cracked, shooting impossibly high.

“I know,” Castor said, moving fast now, “I know. I’m moving as fast as I can.”

What Castor built both was and wasn’t a splint, strange and complicated and holding his kneecap in place from multiple angles, and when he pulled the bandages tight enough to dig into the swollen area around the joint, Ed screamed again, his voice trailing away to nothing and leaving a lingering hoarseness behind.

It was a relief when the woman’s hands let go, when the bandages were the only thing holding his knee too tight, but it still hurt, oh gods it still hurt, and he could feel his pulse thrumming through the knee, pounding harder at the base of his throat than it had before.

When Castor pressed gently against his ankle to find the fractures, the world went black.

*****

It was a relief to feel Ed drop into unconsciousness under his hands, because his ankle - gods, Castor didn’t know how to make heads or tails of his ankle.

“Do you need me to hold that in place, too?” The water woman’s voice was sweet and sickening, making his stomach crawl.

“No,” he said, his voice coming out unexpectedly hollow, “There’s no point. I can’t fix this one. I’m not even sure I fixed the other one, but with this one -” he sighed. “Just - I’m gonna bandage up his toes, but then I-”

Her pale green eyes were unreadable. He sighed, bowing his head just slightly as he knelt beside Ed, and looking down at her bare, half-webbed feet instead. “Please let me stay up here with him until he comes to again, ma’am. I - I don’t want him to wake up in the dark.”

Her sharp-nailed hand ran suddenly through his hair and he barely held back a flinch. “Hmm, sweet indeed. Yes, my friends will like that story, I think. Are you going to hold him? Cuddle up again? I hear humans like kissing. Or are you only kittens, after all?”

A blush colored Castor’s cheeks, and he knew two things all at once. One was that he’d never manage to carry Ed away from here, amulet or no amulet. Not with the woman still so - whatever it was that she was. The other was that there were only two ways to handle this, and he knew which one he could accept. He could either hurt Ed more, or he could give something of himself up choosing tenderness instead. He could hide away, keep himself hidden and let her be interested in Ed, or-

He blushed more deeply. “I want to wash his hair, ma’am. I - I always thought that felt good, having my hair washed, and I -” he bit his lip, blushing more deeply as he looked back up at her. If he was going to take the attention, he needed to take it fully. “It’s my fault, ma’am. I could have stopped this. Some of this. Maybe. And I didn’t. I knew, and I -”

The best lies were ones you couldn’t be sure were lies at all. The words came out as a hoarse whisper, his throat thickening up. “I didn’t stop this, and now I owe him,” he said, “Please, let me pay him back. He - he deserves something kind. He’s been through so much.”

Her head cocked to the side, and he knew it had worked.

“You can wash mine until he wakes up, then,” she said. “It does sound interesting.”

[burtlederp]

What is the worst thing a teacher has told you?

I was just thinking about this today! I'm absolutely positive I heard worse from one of my teachers in middle school, but looking back i realized that my highschool history teacher, who by all other accounts I loved, tried to teach us that a) the civil war wasn't about slavery and b) the emancipation proclomation was a useless, pointless document that was essentially only a publicity stunt. Racism is real and taught in our schools, a fact I find terribly disturbing!

(also in middle school, I misread my math class' hw page and thought I had a project due the next morning that I hadn't started. I stayed up fucking late, panicking, especially because I legitimately did not how to do ANYTHING in it, god bless my brother and dad, not realizing it wasn't for my grade, it was for the next grade up. Cut to me the next day, coming into class, exhausted, but proud that I got it done on time, to find out I didn't have to do it at all! And my fucking shithead of a math teacher, despite me doing everything correctly in a project that had material we HADN'T YET COVERED IN CLASS..........did not give me extra credit or even fucking care. Fuck that guy, I hope he's doing well, but I also hope I get to meet him again one day in this life to tell him he helped make my life a living fucking hell during middle school.)

Thanks for the ask!!! :D

[burtlederp-incorporated]

hello friend are you interesting in some... heterophobism

I'm not sure how to respond to this message! God I hope my nightmares of being canceled online do not come true!