#minor whumpee

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw for minor whump

Adoption Whump

Think a teenaged character in an orphanage or foster care. They’d always had a relatively good life; despite being orphaned their home was always filled with lots of other kids like them and they were happy. But, they’d heard horror stories of the horrible lives kids lived after adoption. Lives of abuse, of fear, of pain. They’d be put through endless torment, used, thrown around and beaten up, degraded simply because they were helpless, without a family, without a way to call for help. They shuddered at the thought, but surely, those stories were just that right? Stories. They were satisfied with their comfortable life, and if they ever got adopted, well, they were sure it couldn’t be that bad.

They were right on one front.

It wasn’t bad.

It was worse than they could have ever imagined.

The home seemed nice from the outside, a beautiful exterior, lush greenery, fountains sprawled over the grounds. Everything appeared to be perfect. To the average onlooker it would seem like a luxurious place for anyone to reside. It only made the reality of the situation ten times worse. Once inside, though still littered with decoration, the atmosphere was different. A threatening and frightening energy lingered in the air and the teen turned slowly toward their new owner. And that’s when it began.

The pain.

If asked, the teen couldn’t tell you what their daily life there was like. It was all jumbled together and fuzzy, their thoughts incoherent, clouded by suffering. There was only one thing that remained stable the whole time.

Hurt. Beatings. Pain. Anger. Hands. Kicks. Punches. Pain.

Each day was filled with impossible loads of tasks to accomplish.

Clean every inch of the house and do the laundry. Cook dinner and take care of my kids. Go out to buy groceries and entertain the guests. And I want this done before I get back.

They didn't talk to anyone except to be reprimanded for things out of their control. Every word said to them was meant to beat down, to crush. And when, not if, they didn't complete the overwhelming amount of work...well, they didn't like to talk about what happened then.

They went through life with eyes glazed over and a mind that constantly wished to be away, away from life, away from reality. The only thing they wanted was to leave.

Then, they were adopted by a rich person.

When they heard the news, they grew even more draw in and frighteningly quiet. Their old foster parent was overjoyed to get rid of them which only made them more fearful for what was to come, terrified of what their new parent owner would do to them.

They arrived at the new house and were in awe of how grand it was. Every crevice of the exterior was fully decorated to display their wealth. But, the only thing it could make the teen think of was how much worse they would be hurt here.

They heard footsteps approaching and immediately directed their head downward, trying to radiate submission and not wanting to anger their new owner.

The footsteps got closer and they hunched in further as their heart rate sped up, until finally two feet stopped in front of them. They held their breath for a moment, waiting for something to happen, a word, and order, a sigh, a kick or a slap even. A hand suddenly came into their view and they held back a flinch, but it just slowly rose until it gently met their cheek.

"Hi." A soft voice said.

Their heart jumped and they widened their eyes. That voice was smoother than anything they'd heard before.

"Can I see your face?"

The teen blinked dumbly for a moment, then registered they were being spoken to, not spoken at and had to hold back a jump at the unfamiliarity of the question. Why would they ask me-

"What's your name, love?"

The teen realized too late that they'd taken too long to respond, lost in their own worries and thoughts. They quivered slightly at the consequences of ignoring their owner and being reproached already, but..

'Love...'

"W-Whumpee..." The teen whispered quietly, lowering their eyes and wishing they could curl in on themself and become smaller. They couldn't ignore a direct question, but were terrified knowing talking was a sure way to get into trouble. But the hand that was still on their face wasn't letting them escape.

Against their expectations, they weren't scorned or spit at for saying their name. Instead they heard a light response.

"Hello, Whumpee," They could almost hear the smile (smile?) in the voice, "My name is Caretaker."

"Would you look at me, dear?"

Their breath caught and their eyes darted around as their brain hastened to find the right thing to say. They couldn't in good conscience look their owner in the eye but the certainly couldn't disobey an order. Amidst their wrestling, they must have absently nodded their head because, to their terror, the hand on their cheek started raising their face.

Their breathing picked up but there was nothing they could do except let it happen until they were finally face to face with the person who would control their fate for the foreseeable future. They expected to see a harsh, stony face to match their status, but instead were met with overwhelming calm, a warm aura, and a tender charm that made them want to melt. Caretaker oozed control and confidence, and the teen could tell they held a lot of power; they held themself high, were dressed in sophisticated clothing, and Whumpee had to crane their neck to meet their gaze. And yet, there was a soft feeling about them and their face was filled with kindness.

"Thank you." Caretaker smiled with squinty eyes that reminded them of the little kids at the orphan home.

The teen had never been more confused, afraid, and in the presence of such serenity all at once.

[dragyouthroughthewhump]

I had a whumpy dream last night and I just need to get it out. It's been in my brain all day and it's whumpy and sad and kinda cute and also sad, but I haven't wanted to know more about an oc in a long long time. I'll put it under a cut and cw because it was intense.

cw : child whumpees, implied minor whump, conditioned whumpee, nonhuman whumpees, whumpee recovery, comf, implied sh, dissociation

As all dreams are it was a little unclear but there were a few things I just Knew. Everyone was in a recovery place, not quite a foster home or orphanage, but definitely a building just for traumatized children in recovery. Everyone in different stages of recovery and different coping mechanisms.

Main oc that my pov followed was the newest one in there. Small, wore only a giant t-shirt that went down to the tops of their feet. They had a fluffy canine tail that had the end poking out of the bottom. They were greatly dissociated and confused about what was going on in the new environment.

They followed around another kid that was only part way into their recovery and had sh tendencies. Very bungo stray dogs feel to this one. Other children would regularly run over to give them hugs, encouragement, and praise to break the bad habits.

Main oc was very confused with it all and what their purpose there was. Maybe I will write the full scene out. But this is the synopsis I remember from my dream.

Long story short, they were very cute and sad and dissociated. I want to hold them close and teach them how to be a kid and play.

[whumpy-writings]

The Wagon

Reeve Masterlist // Of Vampires and Men Masterlist

This takes place right after Tribute

CW: Minor whumpee (OC is 16), slavery, vampires, restraints, stress position, implied future noncon

Reeve came to with a headache that pounded like a blacksmith against an anvil. He groaned. Where was he? He felt wooden boards under his cheek, a rumbling motion. . .

All at once it hit him. The wheat, the vampire torturing his father, Reeve trying to protect him. Reeve barely held back the sob that bubbled in his throat. He was in a wagon, being taken as a blood bag. He tried to sit up but immediately collapsed back to the floor. The world spun around him and he groaned.

"Looks like the blood bag is awake," someone called. Reeve's heart skipped a beat. He fought against the shackles tying his hands behind his back until warm blood oozed down his skin, but it was no use.

"Stop that," the sergeant snapped. "You're only hurting yourself." Reeve continued to struggle. The wagon rolled to a stop. The next thing Reeve knew, one of the sergeant's hands was fisted in his shirt, other other pulling his head back so he was forced to look the vampire in the eye.

"I said stop, blood bag. I expect to be obeyed." His face was stony and a spike of terror shot through Reeve. "Defiance won't help you now. The only thing that will help you is me. I know of several. . .establishments looking for humans of your age." He looked Reeve up and down in a way that made his skin crawl. "If you're good, I'll sell you to one of the nicer ones."

Reeve's breath hitched in his throat. He didn't understand what the sergeant was talking about, what those establishments were. But he did know that this man was dangerous and had no qualms about hurting humans.

"So sit there, don't pull at the restraints, and don't make a fuss. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Reeve choked out. The sergeant nodded.

"Excellent. We have one more village to stop at, then we'll make camp for the day."

The sergeant dropped Reeve back to the floor. The wagon resumed its journey through the night. Reeve blinked back tears as he stared up at the sky. It was cloudy tonight and so dark he could only make out the shapes of the vampires on horseback around the wagon. The vampires surrounding him. He needed to get out of here. But he didn't know how.

"There it is," a soldier said.

Reeve took a steadying breath before pushing himself to a sitting position. Despite himself, Reeve was curious. He had never been to a village outside of his own.

As the wagon rolled into the square, Reeve felt a pang of homesickness. It all looked so familiar. The houses were low to the ground with thatched roofs, a handful of torches casting a flickering glow on the scene. Just like home.

The sergeant dismounted and walked towards the sacks in the middle of the square. There were a couple dozen humans standing around and Reeve wanted nothing more than to run to them.

"Well, I see that you actually made your quota," the sergeant said. "I'm impressed."

Reeve was suddenly hit by the realization that this was his chance to escape. He wormed his way to the side of the wagon. The vampires were focused on the tribute, nobody was watching him. He couldn't easily climb down over the side with his hands tied behind his back, and he had to stay low so that the soldiers wouldn't see him. Reeve awkwardly swung a leg over the side, still in a crouch.

Well, here it goes. He flung the rest of his body out of the wagon. For just a moment, he hung in the air. Then the ground rushed up towards him and he landed with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs.

"What was that?"

Reeve's heart spiked even as he struggled to get his lungs to inflate. He couldn't run if he couldn't breathe. Painfully, he attempted to squirm his way away from the wagon and into the shadows of the buildings.

"Look what we have here," a voice said. Reeve squirmed faster. "The blood bag's trying to get away."

"Hey, don't stop him. I want to see how far he gets." Reeve threw his head over his shoulder to glare at the vampires who stood right behind him, leaning on their muskets.

"Fuck you," he spat.

The guards' jovial mood vanished.

"We'll have to punish you for that. That's no way to speak to you superiors."

The guard reached him in three steps and Reeve tried to roll out of the way. He was too slow though and the leech's boot stomped down on his back, pinning him in place.

"What should be the punishment? I would muzzle him but we don't have a good metal one with us," the guard whose boot was on Reeve's back said.

"We could tie him to the cart and drag him behind it," the other suggested.

"Tempting."

"But we don't want to risk messing up such a pretty boy when he'll nab a fortune at auction. Lets bind his ankles to his wrists. He won't be trying to escape like that."

Reeve cried as the vampire stretched his arms behind his back and tied them to his ankles. He could hardly move now, and there was no way he could escape. The vampires threw him back in the wagon, along with the tribute from the village. And then the wagon was moving again.

Reeve cried. It was over. He would never be free again.

After a while, the muscles of his back and legs and shoulders began to throb.

"Please sir," Reeve begged, as the wagon rumbled on, each jostle sending a stab of pain through him. "Please, I won't try to run away again. Please just untie me."

The vampires ignored him. Reeve spent the rest of the night in that position. Tears were dried on his cheeks, and he was cold and hungry and scared but the leeches didn't care. Finally, just as dawn was painting the sky a dusty pink, they stopped.

Reeve couldn't see the vampires, but he could hear them bustling around, presumably setting up camp. The wagon rocked as the sergeant got in.

"I heard you tried to escape," he said, crouched in front of Reeve. "A disobedient human needs to be punished."

Reeve whimpered a little at that. His muscles were screaming at him. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes sir," Reeve said. "Yes sir, I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." He hated giving in to this monster, but he couldn't stand the pain any longer. The sergeant reached out and Reeve flinched, but he only ran his hand through Reeve's hair. It reminded Reeve of the way he pet his dog back home. Bile rose in his throat.

"You're a very pretty boy," he said. "Be obedient and you'll have a good life." Reeve couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him at those words. Whatever the sergeant had planned for him, he was sure it wasn't good. The sergeant stared at him for a moment longer before he finally released Reeve's ankles from his wrists.

Reeve sobbed as blood flowed back into his hands. His arms were still bond behind his back, but the awful, awful tension in the shoulders and back and legs was lessening.

"Thank you sir," Reeve said. The sergeant picked him up and slung him over one shoulder. He propped Reeve up against a tree, and then took a coil of rope and tied him to it. The vampires got into their tents just as the sun peaked over the horizon, leaving Reeve tied up in the chilly morning air. Reeve halfheartedly pulled at the restraints before he fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

...

The vampires awoke at dusk. Reeve's neck ached from sleeping tied to the tree. He eyed the vampires as they packed up camp. They were dressed in green uniforms and moved with a precision he had never seen before. Within half an hour, their whole camp was packed up. Two vampires untied Reeve and tossed him into the wagon with the rest of the tribute. They didn't speak to him. Reeve's stomach ached, but he didn't dare ask for food.

"Come on men, it's only a couple hours to the fort," the sergeant said.

Reeve curled up on his side and buried his face against a sack of wheat. The earthy smell gave him a bit of comfort. It smelled like home. Reeve inhaled deeply, tears burning his eyes. He cried silently for what felt like hours.

Reeve didn't move when the cart rolled to a stop at the fort. He was past being angry, past being scared. Now he was just numb, exhaustion in his bones. There was no point in running or fighting. There was no point at all.

Tag list: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @itsleighlove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog @blushing-snail @melancholy-in-the-morning @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpsday @ceph-the-ghost-writer @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @quietly-by-myself @darlingwhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[fulcrumwrites]

I watched Peter Pan: Return to Neverland last night. As far as Disney sequels go, it was very good and so very whumpy:

Immediately, Jane is kidnapped and used as bait. Peter gets punched in the face by Jane and you got whatever drama Tinkerbell is going through. Captain Hook’s literally raving the entire film about capturing “the boy”. Like, dude—this is a Disney movie and that’s a child. Then there’s the “betrayal”, the Lost Boys are captured, and Peter is dragged out of the air by the ropes around his wrists (one of my favorite tropes). He’s manhandled into cuffs behind his back and Captain Hook does the chin tilt with his hook and plucks out one of his hairs, saying that was the one he wasn’t going to harm. The rest of him, however… Very clever, Captain. Ankles tied, he’s then dragged off into a boat. Peter’s chained to an anchor and strung up for the pirates’ amusement. They cut him down and he falls on his face with the anchor crushing him. Always the hero, he demands Hook release the Lost Boys, accepting his own fate. Yet there’s still a hint of defiance as he tries to avoid walking the plank, but is forced to the edge at sword-point. All the while, he thinks Tink is dead. Very good whump, Disney. You have my respect.

[gottawhump]

The Nameless Boy

115

CW/TW: minor whumpee, implied noncon of minor whumpee, Facility whump, pet whump, BBU/WRU. Also cursing/bad language.

The nameless boy shivers in the cold white room. When the door opens, he tries not to flinch.

“Good morning, Handler.” He doesn’t know if it’s morning or night. The bright white light never goes off. But he knows, now, what he’s supposed to say.

“Look at me, trainee.”

He lifts up his head, a dark curl falling over one eye. The man moves it aside. The nameless boy can’t stop his flinch at the touch, or his whimper, anticipating the punishing shock. Lean in, trainee, not away.

“Is this some kind of fucking joke?” The man grabs his arm, hard, and turns over his left wrist to see the barcode. “Fuck. How old are you, trainee?”

The nameless boy can’t always remember his number, but he knows the answer to this question. “I am of legal and consenting age.”

“Yeah, that’s the company line, but how old are you?”

“I-I-“ His mind is as blank as the white walls. “I don’t know.”

All Pets are of legal and consenting age, and you’re a Pet now, 115.

You signed up for this.

You want this.

You want this.

“Please,” the nameless boy whispers. He tries to blink away the the tears threatening to spill, and they catch on his lashes.

“Christ, you’re pretty. But you’re just a child.” The big handler moves away from him, his hands balling into angry fists. “Go lie down. Take a nap or something.”

Under the cold unrelenting light, a nameless boy drifts in and out of consciousness.

[bookshelf-full-of-bruises]

A Flame Extinguished

FebuWhump Day 1: Helpless

Robbie faces one of his greatest failures. Trigger Warnings for minor whump, up to and including death of said minor by burning at the stake. This one’s heavy, so proceed with caution

As flames spire towards the smoke stained heavens and screams pierce the air, Robert Gardner can only assume that he has finally found for himself that ashen plane which mortals call Hell. No matter how he struggles, a wall of arms holds him steady to watch his worst nightmares spring to life before his eyes. His own voice is drowned out in the cries for vengeance. For justice.

Atop a pyre, the young Paragon of Prophecy pleads for mercy from an unyielding mob as fire climbs its ladder of straw and wood. He is seventeen. Still just a boy, with baby fat softening his terrified features. Piercing blue eyes scan over so many angry faces, hoping to find his sister or mother amongst the scores.

Finding himself disappointed, Daniel turns that terror towards his mentor. He begs. He pleads for help from a man who is helpless to do anything but observe. He sobs and cries and screams as the bleeding sunset meets its end, and the shadows of night descend upon his execution.

In the end, Robbie find himself doing the very thing he was meant to do in the first place. He watches. He watches as the flames of hatred consume the child he had taken under his wing so many moons ago. As his failure comes to bear in such a brutal way that he finds himself choking on it, he still claws and strains against fate with every breath. Smoke and desolation cloud his lungs as screams climb higher, and the ashes begin to smell of flesh.

It is not until silence descends that he is released.

The very second he is able to, he is sprinting into the tower of flames, scorching his palms as he pulls the now motionless body from its boiling tomb. He drags the boy he had come to think of as his son from the ashes, and cradles him close. His tears clump the ashes of his ragged clothes, now reduced to dust.

“Cowards!” He screams, voice raw with pain and horror as he picks his head up to level the gathered people with a distraught glare. “He was but a boy! And all he did was to warn you!”

Just as before, his cries are met with the indifference of those too willfully ignorant to see the truth in anything other than that which resembles their own. Father Bailin, disdain written clearly across his face, steps forward to speak.

For a moment, beyond the roar of the fire still consuming the wood of the pire, there is utter silence.

“Leave this place, Robert. We know you cannot be killed. But let this be a warning to you. If you return, you will burn as well. And as with this,” his voice dips with contempt as he nods towards the burnt corpse of Daniel Caughlin, “sorcerous filth, we will not cut you down until you have stopped screaming.”

It takes everything in Robbie’s being not to rip the priest apart with his bare hands now that he is not being held back by half the village. But they both know he won’t. They both know he has something more important to do.

Without another word, he stands, cradling his boy close, and walks into the night. It is a long trek to the lake where the willow keeps watch, but he will make it. And as the morning sun rises over a freshly mounded grave, he will take a moment to look into her placid waters and wonder how to carry himself into tomorrow

[whumpwillow]

inhuman whumpee that was taken from its parents at a very young age & was never held by the humans that owned it. when it’s finally handed over to kinder handlers that hold it, it melts into their arms and refuses to let go/be put down

so this, right?

[whumpering-heights]

Werewolf story

A/N: I apologize for hopping from story to story, but this one has interested me. I have ideas planned for poor Paul here, so this might continue later. >:}

CWs: minor whumpee, (starts below read more) animal attack, gore/blood/injury, religion mention (historical setting), mention of eye injury, gunshot wound, he/it pronouns for transformed nonhuman whumper-ee.

-----------------------------------------------

With every minute, the dusk approached, and Paul grew wearier.

Even if he hadn’t meticulously kept track of the days, he could feel it in his bones: tonight was a full moon.

It would be fine, he was sure. He was deep in the forest, so he’d hunt a deer or one of the rabbits in the field. His monstrous form wouldn’t feel the need to run the risk of attacking cattle or, god forbid, a human.

Through the trees, the warm light of sunset pulled long, blue shadows over the ground. It would almost be beautiful, if it didn’t herald his transformation.

Paul sighed. At least the routine was familiar by now. He hid his pack under some bushes, marking the nearest tree using his small knife. Once, he’d misplaced and lost his gear for a whole week. Let’s hope his other self didn’t wander too far, this time.

He’d save undressing till the last minute, as the air was chilly. It seemed the weather got colder each year, and his bad leg ached from it. Some mornings, he’d wake to find frost in his beard, even though it was already April. Not a good time to be a vagrant, but well, what choice did he have.

He was about to sit down and eat some of his jerky to prepare for a long night, when his nose picked up the smell of something warm and alive. It smelled human.

“Uhm, excuse me?”

Paul spun around, blood turned to icy slurry in his veins. But sure enough, there it was, the worst possible thing to see so close to a full moon: a child. He was a slender boy, barely three handfuls, looking up at him with tear-tracked ruddy cheeks and watery brown eyes.

“Oh, God no...” Paul muttered in horror. He looked at the child with a concern that bordered on fury.

“What in all the seven hells are you doing in the woods at this hour, child!”

The boy backed away, his brows lowering to a petulant scowl.

“There’s no need to scold me, mister, my parents will do so plenty. I just wanted to ask if you knew the way out.”

The boy didn’t even recognize the danger it was in. He’d be lucky if he lived to get a scolding. Paul felt tears of fear spring to his eyes.

He was such easy prey, and there was no way he could get far enough before the wolf within Paul came out and tracked his scent.

He looked at the setting sun. So little time...!

“Christ on a stick, you stupid child,” he cursed.“You’ve got a weapon on you, at least?”

The boy shook his head, his face growing pale, and Paul unsheathed and tossed him his own blade. It landed in the leaves with a small thud. It was barely bigger than his hand, so at least the kid would be able to wield it.

Though the child was foolish, he seemed to understand the urgency of it all, and picked up the blade.

Paul grabbed his rope from his pack and tied it around a sturdy tree, then made a loop partway down the excess length.

“Listen to me very carefully, boy. Things are about to get... strange. Whatever you do, do not run! Back away slowly, and-and flap your arms about, try to scare it off.”

“Scare what off?” The boy’s voice raised in pitch, the crack of prepubescence not fully gone yet.

Paul closed his eyes and prayed to God, the Devil, the beast within, or whoever else would listen. Not a child. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt a child. When Paul spoke again, his voice trembled.

“I don't have time to explain. If scaring it off doesn’t work-” he pointed at the blade. “Aim for the eyes and gut. Understand?”

The boy had some bravery in him, since he gripped the knife tight. His eyes darted around, and he actually foolishly stepped closer to Paul.

“I don’t understand-”

Paul put the loop of rope around his neck, and used the last end of it to hurriedly tie his hands together, best he could. They were shaking. He pulled the knot tight with his teeth.

“I don’t have time!” he yelled through gritted teeth. “Just, repeat what I said: whatever you do, do not...?”

“Run?” the boy answered. At least he was listening.

“And if scaring it doesn’t work..?”

“E-eyes and gut, sir.”

“Attaboy.” Paul took a shaky breath. Before he had time to reassure the little boy or explain further, the sun dipped under the horizon.

As always, it started with his bones. There was an audible crack, followed by a pained grunt by Paul. The snap was followed by more, growing in speed as his transformation picked up the pace.

He always tried to keep his screams in, even more so now that there was a child present. Said child looked at him with the eyes of scared prey, gripping his tiny blade with both hands. He took a step back, and Paul glared at him with eyes that he was sure had turned yellow by now.

“N-nno running..” he warned, but it came out as a growl. His tongue felt unruly against his sharp teeth, and his jaw was beginning to expand into a muzzle.

Instead of heading his warning, the boy seemed to startle out of his shock, and turned on his heels.

Paul cursed, but before he could call after the boy, his affliction took hold. He howled, as everything shifted and grew and snapped into place. Before long, he didn’t even have the mind to worry or hope the ropes would hold. Paul was gone. The wolf was left.

It panted, as always when it awoke. The aftershocks of becoming were never pleasant. This particular awakening was even rougher than usual. There was a course rope around his neck, connecting to his front legs, and the tree behind him. It whined in confusion and annoyance.

His ears picked up a sound: something was running away from him. Prey! Juicy, warm prey, judging from the smell of it. Its muzzle watered, and he started to struggle in earnest.

His teeth made quick work of the restraints around his paws, and his sharp claws cut the rope tied to the tree. He shook off the shreds of fabric clinging to him, and sniffed for the scent.

There. He could even still see the prey, clumsily trying to outrun it. It wouldn’t.

Before long, he’d caught up with the frightened human. It didn’t even turn to face him, it just ran and cried. The wolf snapped, and closed its powerful jaws around the stubby, juicy leg. Warm, delicious blood flooded its maw, and the human fell with a cry. The wolf let go of the leg and stepped forward to finish the job, lowering its snout to the prey’s throat.

A bright pain scratched over his face, and he yelped. The prey had a small weapon, which it had swiped like a claw. It had nicked the tissue above its eye and the side of its snout. Luckily, it had missed the actual eye, but the blood made it half blind anyway. It trickled down to mix with the human blood on its maw.

Then, the wolf’s ears twitched: something was approaching. Something big. No, three of them. He’d have to stash his prize away.

He set his teeth back in the prey’s leg and tried to drag it off. The screaming this spurred in the child was nearly loud enough to drown out the gunshot.

The wolf howled in pain, as something shot through his front paw, spraying blood over his fur. Three screaming adult humans were running towards him, and he knew an encounter would hurt too much to risk. The creature might not get killed, but it still wouldn't be worth it.

Tail tucked down, the wolf ran as best he could with three legs. It was still faster than humans, but not by much. The one who’d hurt him stayed with the prey, while two others began their pursuit for him.

[whumpcereal]

whumptober, day fourteen: desperate measures | failed escape | "i'll be right behind you."

part of behavior modification (masterlist here). details jack's "escape" from bill chester, as discussed in this piece.

NOTE: If you read the series, you know that, when he was still a minor, Jack was abused by Bill Chester. I will not write that in detail, nor do I even want to think about getting graphic, but there are lots of implications and creepy vibes in this piece. Please tread carefully--and know that Jack gets himself out.

content warnings for: heavily implied csa, heavily implied noncon, references to noncon drugging, grooming behavior, knife violence, minor blood, suicidal ideation, creepy/intimate whumper, minor whumpee, references to bbu

past snippet, jack's fourteenth birthday

It’s his birthday. 

Jack’s used to it not being a big thing. Like, ever. He’s pretty sure he didn’t even really know when his birthday was until he was six or seven, and even then, it wasn’t because anyone did anything about it. Maybe his teacher would say something at school or, if he was really lucky, there might be, like, a card or a cupcake after supper. 

It’s different at Bill’s. 

Bill won’t be home until later–he’s been gone on business for a couple weeks–but still, Sally makes Jack unwrap a pile of gifts. 

“From both of us, sweetheart,” she says. Her smile is kind of weird. Tight, almost. 

There are a few packs of Pokémon cards, a pair of Nikes, a new hoodie, an iPod. It’s too much, and they both know it. 

Jack knows what the gifts are for. He didn’t when he first came. He’d never had much stuff, and he thought maybe Bill and Sally were making up for it. They didn't even wait for his birthday. He’d come home from school, and there’d be a new game or a basketball or a tee shirt. Jack felt so lucky. They were so nice. But he knows better now. There’s nothing nice about any of this.

“Thanks, Sally,” Jack says. He takes a sip of his milk and stares at the plate of half-eaten cake in front of him. He knows where this is going. He just liked it better when he thought Sally didn’t. 

“You’re very welcome, honey.” Sally’s face doesn’t move, just stays kind of stuck in her too-big, too-tight smile. “Fourteen, huh?” 

“Yeah.”

“I know Bill will want to wish you a happy birthday himself. When he gets home.” 

Jack’s toes curl against the dining room carpet. It’s nice—it still has its padding and gets cleaned regularly and everything. This is a nice place. The nicest place he’s ever lived, really. Better than he deserves. That’s what Bill says, when Jack is being “difficult.” 

I take such good care of you, sweet boy. It’s better than what a boy like you deserves. You should be grateful.

He is grateful, just not for—well, not for everything.

Sally clears her throat. “Did you finish your homework?”

Jack nods. He did not. He hasn’t done his homework in months. He can’t concentrate when he tries. And he’s so tired all the time. But it’s what the teachers expect of a kid like him, and Bill and Sally never check his grades. That’s not what he’s here for.

“That’s good,” Sally says, but she doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s particularly good at all. She doesn’t really look at Jack, she looks around him, staring into the space over his shoulder.

Jack wonders how much she knows. Because she knows something, even if she’s pretending she doesn’t. It probably wasn’t even worth it to threaten to tell her.

He’ll never tell anyone now. He can’t go back to that WRU place. He can’t be like the boy Bill showed him. It would be like this, but worse. 

That boy seemed to like it, what the handler guy was doing to him. Jack can’t imagine liking it. Even when it feels good, it doesn’t feel good. It’s just something he has to get through, and there have been plenty of those somethings in Jack’s fourteen years.

This is maybe the worst, though.

Jack picks at the cake, chipping it into pieces with his fork. He can’t eat anymore tonight. Not if Bill is coming home. 

“Are you full?” Sally asks.

He doesn’t look up. “Mmhmm. It was—it was really good, though. Thanks again.”

“Well, it’s your birthday,” Sally says softly. Like that’s supposed to mean anything.

“Yeah.” Jack’s voice wobbles, just a little, and he flinches when he feels Sally touch his hand.

He looks up, and her eyes are kind of shiny and strange.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed, then?” 

Please don’t make me do this! Jack wants to scream. Don’t let him do it. You’re supposed to keep me safe. Keep me safe. Please.

But he doesn’t scream. He just nods. 

“Yeah. I’ll just—“ he gestures at the mess on the table. It’ll buy him some time—the less time he spends in the dark waiting for Bill, the better. 

“That’s sweet, honey, thank you.”

Jack clears the table slowly. Sally stays in her chair, her pretty fingers clutching her glass of chardonnay. 

Jack wraps up his cake and puts it in the fridge, even though he knows he won’t want anymore after tonight. He rinses the plates and silverware. He dumps the rest of his milk down the drain; it isn’t sitting right. He fills the sink with warm, soapy water, so he can wash the cake stand and the knife. 

The knife. 

Jack looks over his shoulder, but Sally’s still staring out the patio slider.

He turns the knife over in his hands beneath the sudsy surface of the dishwater. This is crazy. He shouldn’t. He doesn’t even know where to—to aim. And what’s he going to do? Kill Sally after he’s done with Bill? He doesn’t want to—shit, he can’t kill anyone. 

But Bill is killing him, slowly but surely. Every time it happens, Jack feels like part of him is breaking off and disappearing forever. He doesn’t want to do it anymore. Pokémon cards and iPods aren’t going to make it any better. 

He softly palms the knife blade. But no, he can’t do that either. He doesn’t think he wants to die. He just doesn’t want to be here anymore. There are other places besides here, even if they don’t look as nice from the outside. It doesn’t matter what things look like from the outside. Jack knows that now.

He wraps the wet knife in a kitchen towel and stuffs it down the front of his jeans.

“Almost done, sweetheart?”

He jumps, even though there’s no reason to. Not yet. 

“Yeah.”

Sally’s behind him now. She’s taller than him, and Jack doesn’t like the way her fake nails press into his skin when she touches his shoulder; he can feel them through his tee-shirt. Like claws. 

She’s never hurt him, and he doesn’t know if Bill hurts her, but—

Shouldn’t she know better? Shouldn’t she help him?

“Here, honey,” she says. “I know there’s been a lot of excitement tonight, and we want you to be well-rested, so I thought—“

Her other hand passes a sleeping pill beneath Jack’s nose.

He’s taken them before. Well, both Bill and Sally have made him take them. It doesn’t really help. There’s no way to sleep through it, no way to really relax. It just makes him easier to control. It makes him seem calmer, too. Like he wants it. Which he doesn’t. But it doesn’t matter.

He pockets the pill. “Thanks. I’ll—after I brush my teeth?” He’ll flush it down the toilet when he gets upstairs.

Sally nods. “Take your things upstairs. Bill will be home soon.”

“Good night.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Yeah.”

He shuffles upstairs, conscious of the way the knife handle digs into his belly. He shoves it beneath his pillow when he gets to his room. But he can still feel it against his skin, even as he changes into his pajamas—blue button-down, because Bill likes to take his time.

He can still feel it when he bends over the bathroom sink, splashing his face with water. When he brushes his teeth. When he drops Sally’s stupid sleeping pill in the toilet.

He can’t do it. He can’t hurt anyone. Not even Bill. 

But why not? 

Jack looks at himself in the mirror. He’s fourteen today, and he looks it. He’s skinny, all angles and bones; there are a few zits on his cheeks; there’s no hair on his upper lip. He’s young, right? It’s weird that he feels so old. It isn’t fair.

He shouldn’t have to do this. He doesn’t want to. Maybe he won’t have to. If he can just—

He tucks himself into bed and stuffs his hand under the pillow, wrapping it around the knife. 

What if he does it? What if he drives the knife into Bill’s balls? What if he misses? What if Bill turns the knife on him? 

It occurs to Jack that every “what if” will get him out of this house. It will get him away from Bill.

He doesn’t know how long it is before he hears Bill’s steps in the hallway. His belly lights up with fear, like it always does. But tonight, there’s an extra edge. He feels like he might be sick.

The door handle clicks down, and Bill lets himself in.

“Happy birthday, sweet boy.”

It’s stupid, but Jack’s eyes fill with tears. It isn’t fair. It isn’t right that this is the only way he can be loved. He’s never done anything to anyone. Why can’t he have what everyone else does? 

Bill’s weight settles on the edge of the bed, and Jack’s grip curls tighter around the knife, even as his hands start to shake. 

Bill leans down and presses a kiss to Jack’s forehead. It would be nice if Jack didn’t know where it will lead, where it always leads. 

“Did you like your presents?”

Jack nods silently. 

“You’re a very lucky boy, aren’t you?”

Jack isn’t lucky. He doesn’t think he ever will be. He shifts his wrist beneath the pillow.

“You know, I still have something very special to give you. I’ve missed you these last few weeks.”

Jack can’t help the tear that slips from his eye. He didn’t miss Bill, and he won’t miss him, not ever, even if what comes next is hard. 

Bill leans down, his face just inches from Jack’s. His breath is cold and warm at once, and Jack can smell the scotch on it. Bill brushes Jack’s wet cheek with his fingertips.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, sweet boy. Daddy’s home, and he’s going to take good care of you.”

It’s a lie. No one’s ever taken good care of Jack. He has to take care of himself.

The knife is in motion before Jack even realizes it. 

“Jack–” 

Jack manages to slip his arm between their bodies, and he shoves the knife into the soft part of Bill’s belly as hard as he can. Bill howls. It’s not a super sharp knife, but still, Jack can’t immediately get it back out again. He’s crying now, but he can’t let the knife handle go; it feels like his fingers are locked around it.

He manages to pry it out, and Bill’s blood flows warm between them. He stares at Jack like he doesn’t understand what’s happened. 

“What the fuck?”

Bill sits up, pawing at the red stain on his stupid white dress shirt. He anchors his other hand on Jack’s knees, trapping him, and then looks back at Jack’s tear-smeared face. 

“What did you do, sweet boy?” 

Jack shakes his head, the knife shaking in his hand. This is isn’t–he thought–he doesn’t know what he thought would happen. He strikes out again, but Bill catches his wrist. 

“No!” Jack sobs. Bill squeezes Jack’s wrist until he can’t hold the knife anymore. It drops to Jack’s chest, bouncing like a prop. “No, please, I–” 

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that,” Bill snarls. 

Jack closes his eyes, the wet heat of the knife soaking through his pajama shirt. He knows what comes next. It’s never good when Bill’s angry. It’s never good at all, but–

“What’s going on in here? I heard screaming, and I–” 

Sally. It isn’t the first time she’s heard screaming; it’s only the first time it’s been Bill. 

“Bill? Oh my god, Bill. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Sally.” Bill stares down at Jack, his eyes cold. “Go back downstairs. I’ll deal with this.”

“You’re hurt!” 

“I’m fine,” Bill says again. He doesn’t take his eyes off Jack. 

Jack could grab for the knife. He could try again. But he doesn’t see the point. 

Sally is beside the bed then, pressing gently against Bill’s wound. He flinches, and finally, no one is looking at Jack. 

“We have to get you to a hospital. This is–oh, Bill. I can’t believe this.” 

“But if anybody finds out–”

“He attacked you!” Sally screeches. “There’s no reason anyone has to know anything else.” She whirls to face Jack, and she’s the one who grabs the knife. “I can’t believe you would do this. After everything we’ve done for you.” 

Bill grunts. “Sally, there’s no–” 

“No,” Sally snaps. She shoves the knife at Jack’s face, and he presses himself as hard as he can into the mattress. Somehow, he knows she won’t hurt him, but it’s not exactly comforting. “You’re done. You’re a conniving little brat, and I won’t have you in my house anymore.” 

Yeah, he’s a conniving little brat. He wanted this. He invited it on himself. Bill tells him those lies all the time. For a while, Jack thought he might believe them, but he knows now they aren’t true. He holds Sally’s gaze without blinking. 

“You’ll come with us to the hospital,” she says, “and then you are turning yourself into the police.” 

Jack lets his breath go. The police. It’s a kind of escape. It’s way better than WRU. 

Bill’s eyes widen. “The publicity–” 

But everyone in the room knows it isn’t the publicity he’s concerned about. For once, Bill Chester isn’t in control. 

Sally keeps the knife trained on Jack. Her hand is shaking too. “He won’t say a word. And even if he did, no one will believe him.” 

Bill nods, his face paling. “Right. You’re right.”

“I’ll get the car warmed up,” Sally says. She sets the knife on Jack’s nightstand, the blood smearing over Jack’s new Pokémon cards. She smooths her perfect hair and looks back at Jack with hard eyes. “Get dressed, but don’t bother taking anything else with you.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack whispers. 

“Bill. Downstairs, now.” 

“Yeah. I’ll be right behind you.” 

Bill stands, squeezing Jack’s thigh as he rises. It doesn’t frighten Jack, not anymore. He’s getting out, after all. 

Even if he’s locked up for years, he’ll never have to see Bill again.

...you guys know that's not true, right?

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy-s, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keep-beach-city-werid, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-panic, @whumpyblogthing, @sowhumpful, @considerablecolors, @ramadiiiisme

[tictac-murder-spaghetti]

So! Seems like Tumblr just... doesn't want me putting writing here so while I wait for my help ticket to go through I need to give you something! Have some vaguely whumpy Strychnine doodles from the anthro AU CWs: Anthro whump (if that's a thing?), lab whump, implied child abuse, implied minor whumpee, nothing is explicit but he IS a child in a lab with vivisection scars so... yeah

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw: minor whumpee, mentioned abuse, fear, slave whump

Whumpee was used to being sold, but it didn’t make the process any easier.

They kept their head down in the back of the car, their wild heartbeat contrasting the tight way they held themself. They thought about who their next owner would be. They wondered if they might be...kind. A wishful thought, they knew. They weren't foolish, they knew they would take anything; they didn’t have a choice. They just hoped….

They just hoped they wouldn’t be as bad as their last owner.

A shudder ran through them. Whumpee didn't...they didn't know if they could deal with someone like that again. If they did they might...might...-

Stop that, they thought with a frown, mentally slapping themself.

They didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the past. They had to focus on the now, focus all their attentions on making sure their new owner was satisfied with them. That meant looking appealing, pleasant, and not wholly petrified from the scars of their last owner.

So many scars.

They sighed and fought to quell their quivering. They just- they couldn't. They couldn't deal with another-

And then the car jerked to a stop.

Their heart jerked to a stop as well.

Get a hold of yourself, they seethed internally. They couldn't be trembling and whimpering over memories.

Even if those memories could become their reality again.

They plastered a smile on as the seller pulled them out of the car, roughly enough to be domineering but not enough to harm the merchandise. Not before the real buyers could anyway. It doesn't matter, they thought to themself.

This is who they were, this was their life, they thought as they walked to the door of the house. They were an object, an amenity. A thing to be sold and used as others pleased. They didn't get to decide what happened to them, and if someone wanted to hurt them and use them and shatter them until them-

Whumpee choked.

Until they were so terrified they cowered and begged and cried and they still would never stop?

They would take it. It was not their choice to make.

They realized their smile had dropped. They took a deep breath. They smiled. It was shakier then last time. It was best they were going to get.

They opened the door.

-

Inside was nice. It was a regular looking house. They never got any information about who they were going to beforehand, (obviously not, who would tell a thing like them anything of importance, they only deserved taunts and threats), so they had no idea what to expect. They didn't know how many people they would be serving, if it would be one person, a whole family.

Whumpee didn't need to know or be told. They would adapt to them or be made to adapt.

The only thing they knew was that they needed to keep smiling and looking pleasing, and that's what they did. They weren't new at this.

A man walked over to them. He didn't look especially high-class; he held himself loosely and his clothes looked vaguely old. His face seemed to be stuck in a permanent tired-bored look. He also didn't look especially interested in Whumpee.

That was very okay with them.

They knew never to get their hopes up, though. They dropped their head. No speaking unless spoken to.

"I expect," they heard his strangely laid-back voice from above them, "you to not ask questions and just do as you are told. Understand?"

"Y-Yes, Master," they answered.

"Good. I'm sure you have experience in this anyway. Now follow me."

"Yes, Master." They said briskly, immediately rising and hurrying to catch up with him as he started walking further into the house.

He showed them around the house, the rooms, the closets, all the places they would need to be for their chores. He got a little close sometimes and they cringed from fear of being hit, but it didn't seem like he noticed as he just continued on with the pseudo-tour.

He took them to the dining room where they saw a man (man? He kind of looked more like a boy) sitting at the table, distracted on his phone. He looked up when they arrived. It didn't matter his age, Whumpee thought, Another Master. they instinctively looked down.

"This is my younger cousin." Master said, "He's staying here for a week."

They tried for a smile, albeit a weak one, and bowed. "H-Hello, Master," They ground out.

The man boy master looked at them a little inquisitively, and they froze, frightened, but he just went back to his phone without saying a thing.

They held back a sigh as they moved on. That would not be welcome in front of their new Master.

Master took them to the back of the house and then down a few steps towards a door. He opened it and suddenly a gush a cold air rushed out.

"This is the basement." He said, walking in as Whumpee physically resisted shivering.

"It's where you will be staying." He pointed idly to a bell that seemed to connect outside the room. "Stay here unless we call for you with this bell or if it's time for you to clean or cook something." He looked them up and down, then left the room

"Y-Yes, Master." They rasped, quickly bowing. They stayed in that position, not looking up, until the door closed, and then sighed and sagged down to the floor.

Everything threatened to come out, then. Tears pricked their eyes and they began to tremble as they couldn't hold anything in anymore Memories of writhing on the floor in pain, starved and beaten, came to mind and they paled. They were just so, so scared. They couldn't stop thinking about pain and their past master and what would be done to them and what if they were just like him-

Whumpee grasped their arms, digging their fingernails into them until they were on the brink of bleeding. They took a deep breath. They were fine. It was fine. It was good to be scared. Slaves like them were meant to be scared, they were meant to live in fear. They should be afraid of their masters, of what they could do. It should make them that much more set on serving their masters and doing what they said. What they could not do was let it affect their work.

They were fine. And yet, they trembled.

They steeled themself, stood up, and started to muse as they walked, exploring the small room of the basement. There was no bed or blankets, so Whumpee chose a small corner of the room to be their sleeping area. One lamp barely illuminated the whole room. Despite the cold, hard floors with no rug, the forbidding metal walls that trapped in the cold and didn't allow for any warmth, and the constant sound of wind blowing, they weren't upset. They never expected good conditions, and honestly the place had been pretty good so far. They were surprised none of the masters had done anything to them yet. They'd only ever been with one other person like that before, and even he got violent when drinking.

B-But what if they don't actually want to hurt me and just need me to work?

They shook their head violently, trying to expel the thoughts from it. That's ridiculous, stop dreaming. Just act as you normally do and hope they aren't anything l-like t-the last g-guy.. They grimaced painfully, looking away.

They came to a small clothing closet and pulled on a outfit suitable for cleaning. Their legs were mostly barren, offering them no protection in the frigid room, and they shivered. They had just finished fixing themselves up when the bell rang. They jumped, startled, then composed themself and entered into their servant mode, blank-faced and controlled. They quickly exited the freezing basement and climbed up the steps, trying to simultaneously hurry to get their orders, yet not look rushed or frantic like a novice slave.

They'd done this before.

They could do this.

[pixelated-whump]

@ailesswhumptober Day Eighteen - Fever / Warm Soup

TWs: Minor Whumpee, although this isn't really that whumpy

Contents: Brief vomit mention at the end, other than that this is really soft, also Bacon is 11 but she isn't hurt at all

Characters are Bacon (They/She/He, Ref) and Orion (He/Him, Ref)

Also posted on Ao3!

Bacon grumbles as Orion tries to take her temperature, trying to bat the thermometer away. “Sit still,” He huffs, practically shoving it under her tongue.

Once the thermometer beeps, she sticks her tongue out at him. Orion ignores her. “Yep, it’s a fever.”

“Blegh. Maybe you’re lying to me.”

He rolls his eyes, showing her the temperature. It’s 101 degrees. Fahrenheit. She’s not boiling over here. She would probably be dead if that were the case. Orion puts the thermometer on her nightstand. “I’ll go make you soup, apparently that’s good when you’re sick.”

As he leaves, she calls after him. “Chicken noodle!”

“That’s the only soup we have,” He calls back, leaving the door cracked.

When Orion comes back, he sets the bowl down on her nightstand with a towel so she doesn’t burn herself. “Make sure to rest, kiddo,” He says, ruffling her hair. “And try not to vomit.”

[kim-poce]

Childhood time with Day!

Full House - Fake Memory

Tell me if the tags worked please.

Masterlist

CW: pet whump, minor whump, institutionalized slavery.

=-=

D-480 wondered things from time to time, he knew well not to question  anything, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering in silence. Even if in the all white world of the facility there are never many things to look at or think about he still had doubts.

What he wanted to know the most is what ‘fake memory’ means. He had seen pets being punished for ‘remembering false things’ often, he also had seen many pets trying to tell the trainers that they are not pets, that they are people, that they remember so, these pets are always taken away, they come back some time later without any fake memories left.

D-480 wouldn’t dare to question the trainers, but it’s odd that every different pet shares the same fake memory of being a human. Why is it always the same?

He looked down at his small hands, he is way younger than most pets in there, hence, he is more prone to fail than most of them, yet somehow he never had these ‘fake memories’.

Doesn’t matter how hard he tries, he can’t remember anything other than the white walls of the facility, the rules, the trainings, the punishments, the more he thinks about it the more he is sure the other pets are lying —as weird as it is that they all came up with the same lie—, because there is no way that the world they describe truly exist on the other side of these walls.

=-=

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-blog, @wolfeyedwitch, @octopus-reactivated, @sufferfictionalcharacters, @rat-father , @badluck990 , @onlybadendings , @inpainandsuffering , @mazeish , @neuro-whump , @freefallingup13 , @sideblogformindtrash , @extemporary-username , @jadeocean46910 , @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @neverthelass , @pumpkin-spice-whump , @whumpfessional , @sinning-shipping-trash , @batfacedliar-yetagain , @scp-1296 , @dont-touch-my-soup , @endlesscyclezz , @nicolepascaline , @rose-pinkie , @latenightcupsofcoffee , @dyingisbadforyourhealth, @theadorelocksly, @aswallowimprisoned , @bluewhumpcrew

[whumpfessional]

Voltober #1 & #2 - Oct 2

No editing, no proofreading, no prep. Let's go!

Starting off my attempt on @voltober this year with 1. Netted and 2. Sadistic Whumper. Makes sense to start with Circe and Balak.

I don't expect to write this much for all of them but it's nice to be off to a good start.

CW: slavery, minor whumpee, minor whumper, electrocution

“Run.”

The girl didn’t pause for a moment before sprinting away from the three Batarian youth, who crashed into each other, jostling for the metallic netting on the ground.

Master Ka’hairel and his friends had just graduated from their training program and the Master had presented Ka’hairel with his first submission net over a celebration dinner the previous evening. 

Standing invisible on the wall, the girl had sunk back into the memories of Ka’hairel’s older brothers, chasing her, netting her, shocking her. The slightly raised skin around her neck twitched as she stood rock still. 

Given their break from studies and new toy, it was no surprise when she trailed the trio onto a shuttle that touched down near their training center. 

The girl slid into the brush, landing on the outside of her thigh. The center had a wide variety of biomes to choose from to better train their conquering elite. She knew the game already, starting in the desert got boring fast for them. As had keeping lower settings on the net. 

Icarek explained that it was basic psychology; slaves were prone to laziness, so they needed incentive to not be lazy. The girl could have pointed out that running across sand dunes in bare feet could have been the reason for her slow pace but the thought didn’t occur to her to speak out. 

Remaining muscle spasms buckled her knees as she crept through the bush, trying to keep low and still. A twitch tossed her to the right, waxy green leaves rustled as she fell into the dirt. 

Birajuu. The girl shoved to her feet to try to run but the weighted net was already flying in her direction. 

Her head thumped the ground with bruising force as her limbs got tangled in the tight wiring. 

The air pushed out of her lungs and prevented her from preparing a breath. 

Burning, piercing pain tore through her body and her mouth tore open in a desperate attempt to scream, to gasp for air. Across every limb, over her face. 

Her muscles collapsed as the shock disappeared, face rolling into the dirt. Segar’s boots nudged her over, unhooking the net from underneath her. 

“How many points for that?” He yelled back, scooping the net up off the ground. A boot tip shoved into her, motivating the girl to find her limbs and lever herself off the ground. 

Light stabbed through her head as she trailed Segar back. 

Ka’hairal didn’t spare her a glance, grabbing the net back from Segar before resetting it. The girl was grateful for the moment that they spent arguing the rules of their game, pulling more air into her lungs. 

Hiding quietly wasn’t going to work again. Her brain was just coming back online before she caught Ka’hairal’s order. 

“Run” 

She aimed for the trees, waiting until she was out of sight before throwing herself up one. Callused feet helped her grip as she propelled upwards into the leaves. Carefully, the girl shifted higher in the branches, trying to rest her weight fully before transferring her step. 

The forest was quiet but the girl stood tense, waiting for any noise. Hearing some shifting from her left, she tried to move to the right side of the tree. Wrong move. The branch crashed under her weight and she let out a shriek as her legs dropped from under her. 

A bare second into dangling, the weight of the net crashed into her and sent her tumbling.

Air knocked from lungs. No breath to scream. Tears leaked from her eyes as the shock paralyzed her body and in turn the tears burned as the netting crossed over her face. 

It was over. Icarek won that one, digging a knee into her back intentionally as he unrecalled the netting. It was surprising to see her scraped palms, considering she didn’t feel the sensation. One leg fell out from under her on the way back but she dragged it behind her. 

Ka’hairal looked pissed. The girl understood. He hadn’t had a turn with his toy yet. 

It was a small enough arena that they would find her eventually if they stayed in place. She resolved to run this time. 

“Run.” Her master barked. She obeyed. 

Her breath rasped in her chest and she threw herself through brush and trees, fully aware of the trail she left behind. Her leg buckled but she was prepared, slamming herself into a trunk to keep upright and using it to propel herself in a different direction. 

Forest floor debris tore into her feet but she kept moving. Finding a wall in front of her, instinct took her left. 

Five steps into the new route, the increasingly familiar weight of the net slammed into her, 

No respite. Stabbing, stabbing pain pierced her core. Her eyes burned, her mouth was dry. 

Had it stopped? She shivered before rolling over to see Ka’hairal closing in. He yanked back the net and the girl clamped her mouth shut from crying out as the metal whipped across her skin. 

His face was still thunderous, though the glimmer at the back of his eye scared her even more. Terror gripped her stomach as tremblingly she pushed herself upwards. Unlike the others, he stood still, watching her with his upper eyebrows raised. 

Bad sign. 

Her master had the grace to wait until she had both of her feet under her. 

“Run.”

The girl flung herself into the brush. Her vision was blurred but hands in front of her, she scrambled away. One shuttered breath. Another. 

The net slammed her to the ground. 

Her mind splintered. It was too much. It lasted forever and for a second. 

A boot rammed into her side before she noticed the submission net was deactivated. She gulped for air, shaking on the ground. Ka’hairal stood above her and the boot caught her shoulder this time, rolling her onto her back. 

The girl panted. Her limbs wouldn’t listen. She struggled to roll herself over onto her side, pressing shaking limbs into the ground. 

“Run.”

The girl tried to turn to see Ka’hairal’s face, taking a moment to clock that he was in fact serious. 

Kra’tash. 

Like a varren, she dug her hands and feet into the dirt, hopelessly with no air to propel herself forward. 

The weight crashed down. Agony. Something beyond pain. Her skin burned. Acrid. 

There was a pause and she wheezed, twisting like a trapped animal. Her heart pounded in her ears and she feared it would burst.

“Run.”

No.

She was still in the net. She knew she had no change, but still she thrashed. It was clear what he wanted. 

A game he would win. 

Pain. Blinding pain. When it stopped, she could see his face as he bent down beside her. 

His smile had returned. 

Pain. 

He kept asking her to run. Her limbs jerked uncontrollably. 

“Run.”

The girl was sure she had drooled all over herself. 

“Run.”

Her eyes rolled back into her head. 

“Run.”

It was nice to hear him laugh. It was a harsh laugh. But it meant he wasn’t scowling. 

Somewhere the girl registered being lifted off the ground, her bruised face thumping against his back. Her leg kicked out in a spasm and he threw her off onto the ground instead. 

All pain was numb. She struggled for breath that wouldn’t come as she bumped along, dragged by her shirt’s collar. He laughed as her body caught on thorns, switching hands intentionally so she flopped through a mud puddle. 

Laughing wasn’t safe. But it was safer than his anger.

[whumpwillow]

"Villain" whumpee being captured by a rival team after they failed to steal something from them. The rival team quick realize that this villainous thief is just a scared kid

awwww

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Bonfire

i wrote some Kensington! Yayyy!!! its a chaos post that got stupid long. enjoy

CWs: minor whumpee, slave whump, noncon use of drugs and alcohol, underage drinking, recovering alcoholic, referenced abuse, beating, a reveal, Bad Choices by Ashley

Masterlist

-----------------------------------

Kensington sat criss-cross on the hardwood next to the sliding glass door, staring outside. It was getting warmer outside, almost summer again. Summer had always been his favorite season, despite usually having to work in the heat. He loved the flowers and full trees, the sprinklers watering the soft grass and bees buzzing around him. He loved how it smelled, and how it felt. People were more relaxed and kind.

Grayson had bought him at the tail end of last summer. Which meant that Kensington had lived with him for almost a full year. A year wasn’t really that long, when he thought about it. He’d lived through nearly eighteen of them. But in just one year, Grayson had single handedly ruined his life.

He was missing parts of himself he didn’t think he ever would. He couldn’t see properly. Couldn’t hear. He hurt constantly, was always scared and on edge. The only reprieve he’d gotten was when Grayson went on business trips, like he was right now. But it would end just tomorrow night, and Kensington was scared to death of having to face his master again.

At least he had Ashley. Beautiful, selfless, strong and gentle Ashley. Ever since she’d met him, she’d been nothing but kind. She picked him up when he fell, fed him when he was hungry and held him when he cried. She should be home from work any moment now, and Kensington found himself looking forward to that time every single day. He was definitely looking forward to it now, staring at what he wanted more than anything, but was forbidden from.

What did Grayson gain? What exactly was so exciting to him about tormenting and hurting a pathetic slave? Kensington couldn’t fight back if he wanted to, so what was the point? It had been almost a full year since he’d snuck out his window, and he could count the number of times he’d been out since then on one hand. Just because Grayson knew it hurt him.

Kensington felt his chest get hot with anger. It was new, this ball of rage he carried within himself, but he thought liked it. The only downside was that there was nothing he could do to get it out of his system, so he just kept it deep inside himself, feeding it and keeping it alive.

The only downside, besides having no outlet for his newfound anger, was that it always made him cry. Nothing was stupider than crying when you’re angry, and doing it only made him angrier.

Kensington brushed the tears away with his sleeve, standing and pulling the blinds, hiding the outside world he couldn’t be a part of.

He collapsed on the couch, arm over his eyes and took deep, calming breaths. He couldn’t spend the entire day crying and feeling stupid, it was his last day without Grayson for a while, and it would not be wasted. He took a few more minutes to get a hold of himself before making some pink lemonade (something he’d only started having since Ashley moved in) and putting on a TV show.

He heard her voice before he heard the key in the door. Kensington unconsciously sat up straighter, turning slightly to see the front door open before turning back like he didn’t care.

“No, I’d love to come, but you don’t get it,” Ashley was saying. She closed the door and went to drop her bag on the counter, shucking off her jacket. She waved at Kensington, who shyly waved back. “Daniella, please, I told you... It’s personal! I don’t have to --” she looked at the ceiling, annoyed. “Whatever. I’ll talk to you later… Yeah. Okay, I’ll let you know… Mm-hmm. Bye.” She put her phone face-down on the counter and groaned.

Kensington paused the show, screen frozen on a bloodied knife in the air, ready to come down again. “What’s wrong?”

Ashley rolled her eyes, filling up her water bottle. “Ugh. Some of my friends from before want me to come to a bonfire. And it’s not like I don’t want to go, I just don’t want to put myself in that environment, you know?”

He knew. Ashley had started being very open with him about her alcohol addiction, since no one else in her family cared to listen to her. He liked being trusted like that.

“But they really want me to go, since I’ve been ‘MIA’,” she punctuated the word with air-quotes, pausing to take a drink. “It’s the first bonfire of the season, too, so everyone’s like, psyched.” She collapsed on the couch next to Kensington, putting her feet on the coffee table. “I don’t know.”

“Sorry,” Kensington said, not sure what else he could say. He didn’t know anything about bonfires or addiction or friends. He was a shut-in essentially, with no experience in life and no advice to give. “I wish I could help.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I want to go, I just don’t trust myself to go alone. If I had someone who knew and could go with me…”

She trailed off and then looked to Kensington, eyes bright.

He furrowed his brows. “What?”

Ashley smiled. “You wanna come?”

Kensington laughed. “Yeah, right.” Ashley didn’t laugh. He felt his face drop. “Wait are you serious?”

She shrugged. “Why not? You can come and keep me sober, meet my friends, get out for once! And Gray’s gone until tomorrow. It’s perfect!”

Nerves bundled up in his chest and he squirmed in his seat. “I don’t know, Ashley…”

“Come on! It’ll be so much fun, Kensi! Don’t you wanna go out for once?”

Kensington sighed. “I’m not allowed to go in the backyard, much less leave the house and go -- where?”

“Lake Millercroft. Just fifteen miles outside of town.” Kensington opened his mouth, but Ashley spoke first. “Hear me out. When will you get to do this again? Grayson will never know. I won’t say anything. And who knows when he’ll let you out of the house. I mean, like you said, he doesn’t like you in the backyard! Don’t you miss it?”

He missed it more than anything. Almost more than the parts of him that were taken. Ashley couldn’t possibly understand how much he missed just existing in a space that wasn’t this stupid house.

And really… how would Grayson know? He didn’t associate with Ashley’s friends, Ashley wouldn’t say, and Kensington definitely wouldn’t say. There was no telling when he’d get another chance. If he’d ever get another chance.

So, tentatively, he nodded.

Ashley squealed, throwing her arms around him. “Oh yes! Thank you thank you Kensington!” She stood up, the hug going by so quickly Kensington could hardly enjoy it. “Oh, I’m gonna call Daniella back, she’ll be so excited! This will be so fun!”

Kensington listened to the conversation for just a few seconds before turning back to the TV and resuming his show. He tried to be just as excited as Ashley, but he couldn’t ignore the anxiety building in his stomach.

-----------------------------------

The light of the bonfire shone all the way at the end of the road, cars parked along it and up to the beach. Some red taillights illuminated the incoming darkness, other partiers arriving a little late like they did.

Ashley’s entire face was lit up, glowing red as she pulled to the side and turned off the car. “There’s more people than I thought, but that’s okay, right?”

Kensington felt his stomach flip. “I guess.” Several smaller fires dotted the shoreline, groups laughing with drinks in hand. But the big crowd was by the big bonfire, the headliner. 

There certainly were a lot of people there. Ashley made it sound like a small thing, just a few close friends. There were at least thirty people on the beach, with more cars pulling in behind them. He already felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Hey.” He looked back to Ashley. “It’ll be okay.”

Kensington swallowed. He met her eyes. He wanted to get lost in them. “What if…” he lowered his voice. “They’ll be able to tell.”

“Tell what?” she whispered back.

“Tell that… what I am. They’ll be able to tell.” He gestured to the barcode printed on the back of his left hand, and then to his missing finger, missing ear, heavy scars, and left over bruises. Even though he wasn’t wearing his collar like he was supposed to when he left the house… They’ll know. And there’s no telling how they’ll treat him because of it.

“I’ll look out for you.” She reached over the center console and took Kensington’s ruined hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. “We’ll look out for each other, yeah? I got your back, you got mine.”

He stared down at her hand, her perfect, smooth, manicured hand, holding his scarred and disfigured one. She could do this. She always did things like this. Kensington used to be able to do this. He used to be able to leave the house, to talk to whoever he wanted, to feel like he might be able to belong.

He wasn’t like that anymore.

But Ashley was so excited, and she needed him to keep her sober, to watch out for her. So, despite the anxiety and nerves taking over him, he nodded.

Ashley smiled at him, and they both stepped out of the car.

Kensington jammed his hands into his pockets, bracing himself against the breeze. It wasn’t cold yet, but it would be later in the night. Hopefully Ashley wouldn’t want to stay super long…

“Ash!”

A woman with long black hair and a crop top ran towards them, hugging Ashley so hard that Kensington thought she’d cut off her air.

“I’m so glad you made it, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Ashley pulled away, putting her hands on the woman’s shoulders. She had a belly-button piercing. “I know, it’s been too long! I’ve missed you so much.”

Kensington took his hands out of his pocket and fiddled with the sleeves of his flannel, pulling it down over his barcode. The woman noticed him and gave a little tilt of her head.

“Oh.” Ashley stepped away, putting a hand on Kensington’s shoulder. “Daniella, this is Kensington.”

Daniella narrowed her eyes. “Are you just bringing underage boys to parties now, Ash?”

Ashley rolled her eyes as Kensington’s face burned. He looked towards the fire instead, watching as the group around it grew.

“He’s my cousin, freak. Don’t be weird. This is Kensi. He’s visiting and Gray’s out of town so I figured why not?”

Kensington tried not to seem surprised as he looked back at Ashley. Cousin? Like… she’s claiming him as family? He felt his eyes widen before Daniella shrugged, accepting it.

“Whatever. Hey, Kensi, want a beer? Ash?”

“He’s underage, Dani. You literally just said that.” Daniella shrugged again, backing up toward a cooler half-buried in the sand and taking out two cans of beer. “So?”

“His parents would kill me if they knew I let him drink. And I’m driving so none for me either.”

“Alright.”

And that was it. Daniella and Ashley started the walk towards the bonfire, Kensington uncomfortably trailing behind them.

Ashley wanted Kensington there to keep her sober. She’d already done a fine job deflecting a drink that was handed to her. What else did he need to be there for? Kensington didn’t really know how it all worked, but wouldn’t she be good now?

He stood next to Ashley by the bonfire, shivering as another breeze went by.

Ashley quickly busied herself, screaming in excitement while seeing other friends, deflecting questions left and right about where she’d been and why she hadn’t been answering their calls and who was that teenager she brought with her?

Kensington just awkwardly smiled when he was referred to, keeping his sleeve down over his hand. His hair over his ear. His left side to the group.

How did he used to be comfortable with all this? How did he used to talk to people and feel safe in groups?

There were too many people surrounding him by the bonfire, too many eyes and whispers behind cupped hands. They knew. They all knew what he was and what had been done to him and he did not want to be there anymore. 

He wanted to go home and enjoy his last night without Grayson for a while. He wanted to watch TV and build LEGOS and enjoy himself without looking over his shoulder in fear the entire time. He wanted to be comfortable and safe for once in his life.

Suddenly the air was too thin. The bodies and the smoke and the smell of alcohol were choking him and he needed to breathe but he couldn’t. It was too full here, too suffocating. He looked for Ashley but it seemed like she had gotten swallowed by the crowd, and he didn’t want to bring attention to himself by calling out for her.

Kensington gently pushed his way through the crowd -- well over a hundred people -- and walked away as fast as he could without drawing suspicion.

It was much colder now, the breeze stronger, but it didn’t matter. He just needed a moment to himself, and for once he could actually step away -- outside -- to have it.

Alone, Kensington turned his back to the fire and stared out at the lake. He took a deep breath in and allowed himself to revel in the feeling of being outside again. The cool night air carrying the smell of the lake and the fire. The movement of the sand and rocks under his shoes. The gentle waves of the lake-water lapping at the shore in the wind. They were all things Kensington had missed, things he hadn’t seen in months or years. He knew he missed it, but he didn’t know how much until he was able to be there again.

Warm tears made their way down his face. Kensington closed his eyes, letting the wind dry them. The sounds of the party faded away, and he let himself bathe in this moment, a moment he would surely never get to feel again, for as long as possible.

A particularly loud shout snapped him out of it, blinking away the tears and turning towards the bonfire again. It seemed a group of girls had taken off their tops, showing off their bras to the entire party. Kensington found himself searching for Ashley in the group and shamefully turned his face back to the lake, wiping his tears. Ashley clearly didn’t want him thinking about her that way. He wouldn’t want anyone thinking about him that way either.

“Hey!”

A ring of men in their twenties at a smaller nearby fire called out. Kensington looked around himself, seeing no one, and looked back.

“Yeah you! Curly! Come here!”

He glanced at the bonfire crowd briefly, but didn’t see Ashley. And if she was one of the ones who took their tops off, then he wouldn’t see her. He wouldn’t betray her trust like that. He trudged through the sand to the campfire.

A man with tanned skin and a backwards cap greeted him. “Hey man. You come here with someone?”

Kensington nodded.

Another man spoke. “Someone brought their little brother? What are you, like thirteen?”

“Seventeen,” Kensington answered automatically.

The last man, a blonde in a hoodie with some word Kensington couldn’t read on it, spoke. “What’s your name?”

Kensington shoved his hands in his pockets. “Kensi.”

“That’s a girl’s name, bro,” the blonde said. “I’m Ethan. This is Mike and Teddy.” He pointed to the second, then first man. They each nodded as their names were said. “You want a beer?” Ethan reached down into a cooler before Kensington even answered.

“Oh, I’m -- I’m okay. I don’t really drink --” A cold can was thrust into his hand. Kensington swallowed. “I’m not allowed…”

“Oh come on, Kensi,” Teddy said, taking a drink. “Mommy’s not here tonight. Don’t be a pussy.”

“Yeah, man,” Mike contributed. “Let loose. Here.” He took the can from Kensington’s grasp and opened it. “Drink.”

He stared openly at the three men before him. They didn’t know he was a slave. They couldn’t have. They were just doing it because he was young and alone -- just because they could. And that scared Kensington more than he could process at that moment.

With a shaking hand, he drank.

“No, dude,” Ethan said. He tipped the can back towards Kensington’s lips. “Drink.”

Kensington choked and coughed on the bitter taste, but Ethan didn’t let go. His chest tightened, lungs burning as he downed nearly the entire can before he finally let go. Kensington keeled over, coughing and gasping for air. The men laughed.

“Never chugged a beer before?”

“Aww are you okay, baby?”

He straightened himself out, gulping in the cool night air. It wasn’t nearly as comforting as it had been a few minutes ago.

“You’ll live,” Teddy laughed, patting him on the back. “Here.” Another can was thrust into his hand.

Kensington felt tears prick his eyes, but he did his best to push them away. He did not want to know what they’d do if he cried. How many more times would they make him drink? He couldn’t even think about it before it was once again raised to his mouth and kept there, forcing him to once again drink the entire can. Kensington choked, spilling it over his shirt, and keeling over again, trying not to vomit. His stomach rolled dangerously.

“Here, I got something real good for ya.” Kensington looked up to see Mike pulling a plastic baggie from his pocket. He removed what looked like a crumpled cigarette from the bag, smirking at Kensington. “I’m assuming you’ve never had one of these?”

“What is it?” Kensington asked, wiping his mouth. He glanced back at the bonfire group, body tensing as he thought about running. Unfortunately the men must’ve thought the same thing, as Ethan and Teddy each put a heavy hand on his shoulders.

Where is Ashley?

“Don’t tell me you’ve never even seen a joint?” Teddy laughed.

Mike lit it up and took a drag, face relaxing. “Take a hit.”

Ashley please I want to go home. 

His head was already starting to buzz from the alcohol -- the first taste of it he’d ever had. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was being offered, but he had a pretty good idea and wanted none of it. Not if it would only make him feel worse. He hunched his shoulders, crossing his arms and looking away. “No.”

He could almost physically feel the mood around him change. They dropped the harmless facade almost immediately and leaned into the cruelty they were pathetically trying to mask.

The hands on his shoulders slid to his arms, and wrenched them behind him, leaving him bare and vulnerable for anything they wanted to do. His breath visibly hitched, panic sparking in his chest. He tried to pull his arms back, but they were much stronger than him. He was trapped.

Kensington prayed they wouldn’t see his barcode. These were people who couldn’t know he was a slave, no matter what. If they were willing to treat him like this if they thought he was free, who knew what they would do if they knew…

Teddy stepped forward, invading what little space Kensington had. “Take. A. Hit,” he ordered. The smell of the joint was already giving him a headache. “Now.”

With a quick glance around, trying desperately to catch the eye of someone -- anyone -- to help him and coming up with nothing, Kensington accepted his fate.

He immediately fell into a coughing fit, trying to wrench his head away. The feeling of smoke in his lungs was severely unwelcome and he needed it out. As soon as Teddy took it away and the tears in his vision cleared, Kensington felt the high coming on.

He needed to get away from them. Now. The feeling in his chest and his head were awful and made him feel like he needed to throw up or lay down. Or both. He didn’t know how far they were planning to take their fun, but he did not want to find out.

The joint was shoved in his face again. “Here, take another.”

Kensington shook his head. “Please… please let me go. I … I don’t like this…”

The men laughed.

“Aww you don’t like it?” Ethan asked.

“Guess we gotta let him go boys.”

“See ya have a good rest of your night!”

Teddy took a hit, exhaling slowly and letting his eyes slip closed. “Kensi. Kensi, Kensi,

Kensi.” He opened his eyes again, staring Kensington down. “You’re with us now, kid. Buckle up for the night, because you’re just not leaving.”

The backhand took him completely by surprise. His head whipped to the side, shoulders hunching. He would’ve fallen to the ground save for the men holding him up. 

“Pussy,” Teddy said. He punctuated it by spitting in Kensington’s face and laughing like an idiot.

The fear in Kensington’s chest grew.

And so did his anger.

These men thought they were the scariest thing that had happened to Kensington. They thought that they held all the power in the world, that he would go home and think about this night for years to come, terrified that he could come across them again. Every day in Kensington’s life was like this. Someone else always held his life in their hands, and they never once cared about it.

He’s not with them. He’s leaving.

Kensington geared back and rammed his shoulder into Ethan’s gut, making him lose his grip enough for Kensington to slip out. He spun around and tried to wrench his left arm away from Mike, slipping away just a little bit before Teddy hit him again. He hit the sand, one arm still wrenched away from his body. The pain broke through the worsening fog in his brain, and Kensington cried out.

“Shut up!” Teddy hissed, kicking him. Kensington’s chest flared in pain.

“No way,” Mike said, tightening his grip on Kensington’s arm.

His stomach dropped, rage completely disappearing, and fear replacing it all.

“This kid’s a slave.”

-----------------------------------

She said no. She said no. Ashley was reeling. She had been faced with the choice between taking a drink and rejecting it and she. Said. No.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure what she was thinking going to the party. She had no idea if she was strong enough to actually stand her ground when faced with alcohol. A large part of going was just to test herself, to see if she actually could do it. And she did. For the first time ever!

And now she had to leave. The pressure was still weighing on her, the need to drink was making her almost shake. No, she was shaking. She had to get out of there.

But first she had to find Kensington.

Where was he? He’d been right next to her the entire night, hadn’t he? Right up until she’d been offered the drink only a few minutes ago… Right?

Truthfully, she didn’t actually invite him to keep her sober. She just wanted to get him out of that house. Grayson was on some crazy power trip with that kid, and Ashley didn’t like it one bit. Kensington was so sweet and adorable and didn’t deserve a single thing her psycho brother did to him.

“Hey, Daniella.” Ashley tapped her friend on the shoulder. “You seen Kensington?” Daniella was wasted. She could barely focus her eyes on Ashley. Some guy was basically holding her up and Ashley judgmentally looked him up and down. He didn’t look totally sober either. “I seen what?”

“Kensi. My cousin, or step-brother or whatever. The kid I brought.”

“Yo, blonde? Curly?” the dude asked. His words were slurred.

Ashley narrowed her eyes. “Yes?”

“I saw him… near the parking lot.” He smiled creepily, giving Ashley a look she couldn’t really decipher.

Ashley glanced over to the parking lot, but didn’t see anyone that looked like Kensington. “Thanks,” she muttered. Before she left, she made deliberate eye contact with Daniella and made the hand sign they’ve had for years. Something that said Are you safe? Do you need help?

Daniella smiled and responded with another sign. I’m fine. I feel okay.

Still, Ashley asked another one of their friends to please keep an eye on her before she went on her search for Kensington by the parking lot.

The lot was deserted of people, save for a few couples getting busy in their cars. She looked at the edge of the woods that broke into the clearing used as a parking lot.

“Kensi?” she called quietly. “Kensington?”

Was he waiting for her by her car? She really hoped so. Where did she park?

Ashley shivered in her thin jacket, wrapping her arms around herself. “Kensi? Come on, let’s go home. Where are you?” Was he even wearing a jacket?

What the hell was she thinking bringing him there? The kid hadn’t been outside in months or something and the first place she brought him was some beach bonfire that got crashed by like two colleges? What was wrong with her? She swore that being sober made her stupider.

“Kensington?”

Where was her car?!

Oh her keys. She dug through her bag and pressed the key fob, looking for the lights. Her car wasn’t nearly as far as she thought it was, and she doubled back to it.

“Kensington? Are you here?” Beyond the sounds of the woods and the bonfire and one car that was getting particularly steamy, Ashley heard a small voice.

“Kensi?”

Next to the driver’s door of her car was a form nearly concealed in the darkness. Ashley exhaled in relief, running to him.

“Kensington you scared the ever loving-- … Kensington?”

Ashley fumbled for her phone, turning on the flashlight. She gasped in horror, falling to her knees beside him.

Kensington was bleeding. Blood ran down from his hairline, covering his face. He cradled his left arm protectively, shying away from Ashley and the light. He was crying, shoulders shaking as he tried to hide his face.

“Oh gosh, Kensington…” she reached out for him, but he flinched away, sobbing. Her heart broke. “It’s me, Kensi. It’s Ashley. I won’t hurt you.” She gently rested a hand on his shoulder. He flinched again, but glanced up at her with tear-filled eyes.

Ashley nearly lost her balance as Kensington flung himself at her, wrapping his arm around her while keeping the other one tightly to himself. He buried his face into her shoulder, sobbing.

She could feel her shirt soaking through and prayed it was with tears. She put her hand on Kensington’s back, rubbing circles.

“Okay. You’re okay. I’m so sorry, but I have you now. You’re okay now.”

“I want to go home, Ashley,” he mumbled into her shoulder. He stank of weed and booze, his words slurred. “Please take me home. I don’t like it here.”

Ashley nodded, guilt crashing over her in waves. She nodded, standing up slowly with Kensington’s weight on her shoulder. She was careful to be gentle with his apparently injured arm. His face rolled on her shoulder, blood shining in the firelight. She unlocked her car and set him in inside, apologizing when he winced in pain. His ribs must be hurt too.

The car ride home was silent. The natural high Ashley was riding by successfully leaving sober had ended as soon as she found Kensington. How could she let that happen? She’d promised to stay by him, and hadn’t even noticed when he’d disappeared. How long was he alone?

Kensington had his head rested on the window, occasional gasps of pain when the car jolted escaping him. Ashley tried to drive smoothly.

“I’m so sorry, Kensi,” Ashley forced out.

He didn’t answer, head turned against the window. Ashley hoped he fell asleep.

Then: “Why did you leave me alone? I only went to be with you, Ashley.”

Ashley’s heart broke all over again.

They pulled up to the house just before midnight. Kensington really was half asleep by the time they got there, eyes drooping and red.

“Come on, Kensi,” Ashley whispered, reaching over and unbuckling his seatbelt. He blinked at her blearily. “I got you.” She threw his good arm over her shoulder again, hoisting him up. He wasn’t very heavy.

Ashley somehow got her keys and unlocked the front door. Grayson’s dark condo seemed as welcoming as ever, hauling in a drunk and high teenager beside her. He was gonna have a wicked hangover tomorrow.

She half-dragged, half-carried him to his ‘room’, letting him down on the cot he called a bed.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered.

Ashley grabbed a glass of water, some ibuprofen, and an extra pillow from the couch before returning.

“Kensington?”

“Hmm?”

“Sit up for me? I have some water for you.” Ashley had to keep a hand behind his back as he drank ravenously. “Okay. Lay on your side okay?” She made a mental note to refill the water and maybe grab a trash can for him before she went to bed. She propped the pillow behind his back to help him stay on his side. There was no telling how he would respond to the drugs and alcohol. She wasn’t taking risks.

“You okay, Kensi?”

He blearily nodded, eyes slipping closed. Ashley pulled his blanket over him. Poor kid.

“I’m really, sorry,” she whispered, pushing back his hair.

“I don’t feel good.”

“I know.”

“I don’t like it here.” His voice broke and tears started falling down his face again, eyes opening and looking at Ashley with despair. “I don’t want Grayson to come home tomorrow.”

Ashley knelt beside him and took his hand. “I know. But you’re okay, Kensington. You’ll be okay.”

He shook his head. “Why do you always say that? You don’t know that. You don’t know what he does.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest, blood running cold. “What does he do?”

Kensington let go of her hand, curling it into a fist and hiding it under his pillow. “I lost my finger because of him,” he muttered.

Ashley’s face got hot.

“And my eye. And my ear. And some teeth. And he cuts me up and locks me away and I hate it.” He was almost shaking with rage. Ashley had never heard him talk like that -- she had no idea he could. Tears fell, hot and fast, as he ground his teeth with anger.

“Oh Kensi…”

“I hate him. I hate him so much. He made my life miserable and I hate my life now and I hate him.”

Ashley didn’t know what to say. Of course he hated her brother. He did all of those horrible things and Ashley didn’t even have any idea. She was living with some sort of sadistic maniac. Kensington was living with a sadistic maniac.

“Don’t tell him I hate him,” Kensington begged, eyes closed.

Ashley pushed his hair back again, pulling the blanket over his shoulder. She would take a look at it in the morning, along with his other cut on his forehead. She’d clean him up then, too. Maybe she should’ve done it tonight.

Either way, tonight she would just let him sleep.

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