#social whump

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

whump prompt 148

Whumpee escapes, to find that they were never missed.

[whatgoeswhumpinthenight]

Whump Prompt #166

Whumper cannot abduct Whumpee due to how social they are so Whumper decides to do little things that Whumpee cannot prove, when Whumpee snaps at Whumper, Whumpee then realize that they are being socially ostracized for seeming vindictive and is so very alone.

[newbornwhumperfly]

What's the most afraid Jorah has ever been?

fucking hell, i love how juicy this query is, @much-ado-about-whumping 😈👀 (you know what you're doing...)

~

You know, there isn’t much that frightens Jorah? Other than foreigners, anyway. He’s too Well-Settled for that. But that time in high-school when his parents were getting divorced? He was in a social environment that was quite suburbanite, Respectable Fiscal Conservatives (but in a somewhat racially diverse and superficially socially liberal neighborhood), fancy barbecue’s, all that jazz. And he was suddenly terrified about the idea of standing out amongst his peers. Above all things, Jorah was struck with fear by the concept of…mutability. The notion that things could be one way (Nice and Normal and Stable) and suddenly…not the same. He didn’t see his parents’ divorce coming at all and the instability of the suddenness - as well as being in social circles where divorce was…uncommon and certainly not a public affair - made him lean hard into conformity. Joined several sports clubs, rode the line between teacher’s pet and cool kid, basically it had always been important to be a popular kid to him but now he wanted to be just Normal and Popular enough to blend in while still having social power. So, yeah, that’s the real answer.

If asked this question by a friend or peer as an adult, Jorah would smile ruefully and tell them it was that time as a freshman when he thought he’d fucked his knee up during a football game, turned out to be a false alarm, all was well. It wasn’t the truth but who needs to know that?

~

thank you for giving me a real meaty idea to chew on, friend 😍

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1322

Anon asked:

Do you have any whump ideas for a fairy?

It depends on what kind of fairy your character is/the general lore, but I have a few ideas:

They could be small and kept in a cage/jar with air holes. They could be a prized possession to collectors who trade them. Maybe some like to shake/shock/poke things into the cages.

Their wings are often trophy pieces for hunters. Maybe they don’t die when their wings are cut off, but it throws them off balance/makes them sick/weakens them. Maybe they can grow back, but only under certain circumstances. So if a collector knows this, they could leave the ‘stem’ of the wings so they can re-grow, and farm the wings for money.

^ if this happens to your character, maybe each wings have finger-print like properties, and when wings start to show up on the markets with specific markings, the caretakers are horrified.

Magic exhaustion could be pretty common for fairies.

I have an idea for an illness called ‘Wing Rot’ where fairies can get fungal infections of the wings causing them to, well, rot.

They could be drained of their powers by a curse/rune/magical pendant/shackles.

Maybe they have to fly away from danger but get shot out of the sky - bonus points if they’re carrying someone.

[siren-of-agony]

Immortal whumper that let's immortal whumpee run away every now and again.

They both know, sooner or later, they'll be found again.

[echo-goes-mmm]

So we all the love the whumpee-thinks-caretaker-is-their-new-master trope but what if it's true

Caretaker who did buy whumpee, and who does wholeheartedly believes and acts like whumpee belongs to them

But damn it they take great care of their possessions. After all, cats and dogs get spoiled with treats and comfy beds and vet visits when they're sick and cuddles and a form of love

Why should a slave be any different? Especially because caretaker bought whumpee for companionship

Plus whumpee can tidy up, cook for themselves, hold a conversation, and even play games like cards or board games, and can go everywhere caretaker can

That's infinitely better than a cat or dog.

It's just such a shame their old owner was so terrible. Whumpee is so timid now, and nearly skin and bone. But that's nothing a good owner can't fix, right? The poor thing needs some proper structure and attention that's all. It's a good thing whumpee is human. It would be a lot harder to rehabilitate a rescue who can't comprehend speech.

And whumpee doesn't want to leave. Fetching files from a desk and playing checkers and occasionally cleaning the kitchen while master chatters about work is far better than being locked in a cold basement and getting beaten every day

Their new master doesn't lay a hand on them, their version of punishment is no music while doing chores, or no dessert

After all, you wouldn't hit your dog. Caretaker's new pet deserves at least that

[socialc1imb]

Because I think it’ll be fun and motivating for me, here are the things I want to draw next

Silly shitpost for Jash’s cover of You Sound Like Louis Burdett

JASH PIRATE COMIC.

Cowboys redraw

Forgotten Fourth, next comic

Yearly self portrait (based around either Liquid Smooth by Mitski or a Riproducer song)

Light Animatic :agonies:

StaaS Animation :AGONIES:

[befuddled-calico-whump]

random over-the-top whump idea

pool of sharks :D

he so would

[whump-in-the-closet]

cw stitches, injury mention

We really need more of Whumpee having to stitch or bandage their own wounds, only to have Caretaker accidentally walk in

A Caretaker who stares in shock and then looks away. They don’t ask any questions as they fix the bandages that were so badly done.

A Caretaker who rolls their eyes and uses sarcasm to hide their concern. “God, Whumpee, did no one teach you basic first aid?” and then fixes the bandages

A Caretaker who muffles a curse before gently telling Whumpee that it’s okay to ask for help. Whumpee saying, “I might need a little help”

Alternately, a Whumpee who snaps at Caretaker and tells them they have it under control. “Leave me alone!” Caretaker leaves Whumpee cursing as they yank at their bandages.

[killacharacterbingo]

Karma's a Bitch

The idiom "Karma's a bitch" is of unknown origin. Karma is a concept originating from Dharmic religions that deals with cause and consequence. In simplified terms, it postulates that a person's actions and intent influence their future. Cause and consequence. It's often referred to as the principle of karma. Good actions and intent create a brighter future (good karma), whereas bad actions and intent bring about a worse future (bad karma).

A bitch has several meanings. For the purposes of this prompt we'll focus on two. It could be an informal way to refer to a female dog. As slang, it can also reference something unpleasant (for example, humidity in summer) and not necessarily a person.

Karma's a bitch is most often used regarding how an individual's actions will come back and bite them (negative actions or intent garnering negative consequences). Rarely it can be used in a more positive light. Dogs are notoriously loyal creatures. If one helps a dog, it's likely the dog will take a shine to them. As such, if someone does good deeds, their consequences will be positive as well.

The phrase gained notoriety for becoming a lip-sync trend in 2018. People participating would lip-sync to a voice clip of the character Veronica from the show Riverdale saying "Karma's a bitch" preceding a slideshow of pictures demonstrating some sort of physical transformation or "glow-up" accompanied by the song Gucci-Gucci by artist Kreayshawn.

This prompt deals with consequences. Good or bad, they lead, or are at least intrisically related to, a death. The principle of karma is inescapable for the characters of stories written with this prompt; with characters' past actions forging their demise. Or alternatively, something can go horrifically wrong during a lip-sync social media trend. Maybe even as a consequence of some past dastardly action.

[pxppet]

"Tell me, and do be honest. For what purpose did you steal me?" Elliot points the fingers of his touching hands at the scientist like a stereotypical Sherlock, a contemplative grin on his face.

They look up from the papers they had been shredding across the room, turning in their rolling chair to face the ALTR. "I told you, and while I don't mind telling you again, I wish it'd sink in: I saved you from that awful place. You lived a long, dreadful life and- and you're only 19, yet. It's not- I needed to-" They sigh, massaging their temple to knot out the stress.

Elliot picks at the sleeves of his sweater, distant. His entire right hand is bandaged in gauze from an 'incident' during his transport. But Elliot is used to incidents, particularly ones where he is the culprit. "Where did the clothes you dress me in come from," he tests, immediately getting his answer as the scientist stiffens and turns their chair away slightly, half going back to destroying documents, half considering if Elliot even needs verbal confirmation.

"From the store, Elliot. Remember the store, the big store I went into and you had to hide in the car?"

"Store," Elliot tries out the word on his tongue, giving a hum of approval. "So, doctor, was it a spouse or a chil-"

The scientist slaps their own leg in shock and turns around to look at him with eyes that shut him up immediately. When they see him shrink under the blankets with his wide, orange eyes, they immediately untense and correct themselves. "Im sorry, it's okay. It's- it's not polite to ask certain questions. I know the testers don't... hold back on you ALTRs, but out here, people don't ask such personal things."

"Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that impacted you significantly," Elliot mumbles under a breath, almost too faint to be heard. The colour is gone from his face, and he suddenly lies back down, quieted by being startled.

The scientist licks their lips, brow creasing with pity. "I have supplies for burritos tonight. It's something you've never tried before. It has meat. You'll like it." They turn back around and gnaw at their lip with guilt as they resume their tasks of covering up Elliot's vanishing.

"Doctor," he calls softly over the whirring of the shredder. "Thank you for letting me wear your child's sweater." He yawns, seemingly exhausted into frail sleep yet again. "I think it is the only clothing I've ever enjoyed. I will get no blood on it."

The blunt confession is the first outright thanks they've received so far, and their hands clench shakily around the papers. They blink away tears. What do you even respond to that with? What could possibly addendum such a genuine thanks?

They turn back to face him, mouth already forming words, but when they see him, he has gone back to sleep. They sigh. They will shred papers. Then they will make burritos. Then they will care for this strange and wild little ALTR as much as they can. No matter what.

[whumpshaped]

whumpee who's super uncomfortable going outside. a trip to the store is pure hell. everyone's looking at them. or are they imagining it? their clothes are making too much noise. their shoes are squeaking. the keys to their flat are jingling inside their pocket. can people tell this is the first time they've been outside in weeks? everyone's staring. they know whumpee hasn't showered in days. or weeks? they don't even know. but others know. the cashier is eyeing them up and down. their hands are shaking too much. they drop the change. someone yells at them to hurry the fuck up. they cry on the way home.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

A shapeshifter being who kills Whumper in order to take their place in the world.

Maybe they had mistaken Whumper for a Caretaker, maybe they’re literally just so bad at mimicking Whumper they come across as a Caretaker instead, maybe they genuinely don’t want to hurt Whumpee, but the point still stands �� they are probably the worst doppelgänger attempt of Whumper anyone has ever seen

There are so many times their cover is almost blown, yet Whumpee never fully calls them out. They don’t trust them, they still fear their new motive, they sometimes question the change in behavior compared to the brutality before, yet they never push. Whumpee is too scared to push. They’re not sure how to use that hesitation to their advantage yet, but it’s good to know no matter how out of character they act, Whumpee will never ask for clarification

And perhaps there’s one time when Whumpee does see the true form of the shapeshifter, or at least a slip in their disguise. If they hadn’t figured by now this wasn’t really Whumper, there was no mistaking that the person awkwardly caring for them was not even human.

And you know what? Whumpee isn’t going to say a goddamn thing

[whumpacabra]

Day 19: “Please don’t.”

Scar reveal, knife wound [minor], minor wound treatment, alcohol use, blood, implied past violence, bar fight mention

[Directly follows Barfight]

Drifting down from the adrenaline high, brushing off the praise and thanks of the other bar patrons…it was nostalgic. Warm. Familiar.

(He had done this before, during the Before.)

“I think you got us free drinks for the rest of the night East.” Tierney laughed, hand clapping East’s back. Alister smiled at him, gratitude in his eyes.

“Next time save some ass kicking for the rest of us, eh?“

East rolled his eyes, feeling Tierney’s hand slide away from his back.

“Next time I’m sure there’ll be more than one prick so you’ll have your pick - ”

“East you’re bleeding.” Tierney’s whisper was urgent, even if the smear of blood on his palm was relatively unconcerning. East knew the fucker’s knife had cut his jacket, he hadn’t felt it break the skin.

“I didn’t notice - probably just a scratch.”

“We should clean it up though.” Alister had him fixed with a concerned expression. “I don’t think Nate will take kindly to knowing we got into a bar fight. Best to hide the evidence best we can.”

“I’m fine, really - ” There was no arguing with both housemates. East swallowed back the rest of his drink and sighed. “Fine. It probably doesn’t even need stitches.”

The three made their way to the bar restroom, rowdy patrons slapping East’s arm and shouting thanks and congratulations to him as he passed. The repeated, unexpected, unwanted contact was making him sick. Safe behind the closed bathroom door, the reality of what he had agreed to sunk in. He glanced at his reflection in the dirty mirror, skin pale and clammy. East turned suddenly and grabbed Tierney and Alister by the shoulder.

“Don’t ask. Please don’t.” He hoped his reaching out, his purposeful eye contact drove home how serious he was. He hadn’t thought about his back - what was there - for months now.

And here he was letting another man’s hands touch his bared scars and bloodied skin.

(Jackson would be proud.)

(Smith would be jealous.)

Tierney stared up at him with wide shining eyes, glancing to Alister who nodded grimly, brow furrowed in cautious concern.

“We won’t say a word. And we’ll be quick - I know you don’t like touch.”

“Unless you’re knocking another guy’s lights out.” Tierney muttered with a weak chuckle, but East let a smile soften his own face to show that he appreciated the joke. He took a deep breath, removing his hands from their shoulders and nodded to Tierney.

“Get me some vodka. Let’s get this over with.” He turned back to the mirror, shrugging off his jacket - the rip in the back was almost invisible, and any blood blended too well with the dark material to see. He slowly unbuttoned his undershirt, hands growing shaky.

(He took comfort in the fact that the blood on his knuckles wasn’t his own.)

East glanced up at the mirror, the scars on his chest so small and faded with age he could hardly outline the patch of skin that had been replaced. He looked to Alister’s face, eyes gentle and encouraging. Safe.

He took a slow inhale as he pulled his shirt back off his shoulders, and exhaled as he shirked the sleeves from his arms. He grimaced down at the pale green plaid patterned shirt - blood stained a palm sized blotch just below the back of the collar. East didn’t look up to see Alister’s reaction. He didn’t need to.

His hearing caught the stutter of breath, the almost imperceptible shift in breathing before someone spoke. And Tierney’s pattering footsteps, before the door opened and closed.

“I got the - ” He cut himself off, swallowing his words. East took another measured breath, running the tap and holding his bloodstained shirt under the cold water.

“Could use that drink, Tierney.” He managed to mutter, listening to the footsteps approach and seeing the shimmering shot glass out of the corner of his eye.

“You good?”

“Yes. Hurry up.“ He didn’t mean to snap, to take the shot glass from Tierney so violently and swig it back to feel the liquor burn down his throat. A half decent distraction from the hands touching his back.

“It’s not too deep - you, you’re right it probably won’t need stitches.” Tierney was making a point of not looking at East’s back while Alister worked, practically jittering with nervous energy. Alister hummed to confirm Tierney’s observation.

“Just gonna clean it up and get a bandage over it. Don’t want Nate worrying where this blood came from.”

East focused on the gradually fading bloodstain on the shirt in his hands, red washed pink by the icy water. He would have to volunteer for wash duty this weekend - the last thing he needed was getting in trouble with Nate for getting into a bar fight, even if he didn’t start it. He turned off the tap, wringing blood tinged water from his shirt and straightening up as Alister finished.

(The fingers weren’t poking, weren’t prodding - so much like the featherlight touch of Jackson ghosting over those jagged letters when they bled fresh and raw.)

“All set?” He asked, rolling his shoulders to feel the itchy plastic and adhesive of a fresh bandage just below his neck.

“Yup. You really gonna wear a wet shirt for the walk home?”

East struggled back into his button down, the damp fabric fighting him. He responded to Tierney’s question with a shrug and a nod.

“It’s pissing down anyway out there. We’ll all be soaked to the bone before we get home.”

[Before Session #15]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

[echo-goes-mmm]

Silas and Wren #9

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: none

Note: Felix (Silas’s brother) uses they/them pronouns and masculine family terms

The doorbell rang, and Wren’s blood ran cold. Master was out, and he hadn’t been told what to do when someone came to call.

There was very little time to decide, so he summoned up all his courage and opened the door. Two people were on the step, a man and a woman.

‘Master is out, but I can pass on a message for you’, is what he would have said, but the man at the door pulled him into a hug. 

“Thank you for protecting my brother,” said the man, stepping away. 

“Uh-”

“May we come in?”

“Um-” 

“Great, thank you.” They pushed past him, and Wren awkwardly shut the door behind them. 

As they put their coats in the hall closet, Wren had the opportunity to actually look at them. The person who hugged him must be Felix, and the lady their fiancée (wife?).

Felix did actually look like a younger version of their dad, and it was eerie how similar they were. The woman was blonde and pretty. She had a diamond ring that must be incredibly expensive.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do. Master was gone, and had been for hours. Maybe he’d come back soon, but Wren wasn’t even a house slave. He had no hosting experience.

“Could- could I get you some tea, or- um-” he wrung his hands as they turned to look at him. Heat rose to his face; vampires didn’t drink tea. 

“How about you show us to the sitting room?” said the woman, gently.

“Right- sorry.” He led them in, trying his best to seem put together despite the fluttering anxiety in his chest. 

“You know,” said Felix with a little laugh as they sat on the couch, “I’ve never actually been to my brother’s house. It’s quite nice. Where is he, by the way?”

“He’s uh, out running errands.” Wren wasn’t sure if he was also supposed to sit down or not.

“Oh.” It was Felix’s turn to be embarrassed, and Wren could see the charming family resemblance. They made the same face as Silas when he was awkward.

“Darling, you didn’t ask ahead?” The lady shook her head. Sheepishly, Felix rubbed the back of their neck.

The lady turned to him and offered a smile. “I’m sorry my silly fiancé forgot to warn you, and I’m very sorry we haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Elisa, and of course this is Felix.”

“I’m called Wren, but um, I guess you knew?” Wren sat down in Master’s armchair, curling into it. He tucked his branded hand under his leg. Maybe they wouldn’t notice, or at least hadn’t yet.

“Ehh, not really,” said Felix, “I knew you were living with Silas, and I know you made my father very angry, but he neglected to mention your name.”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t care much about the details of most people. He didn’t bother to learn my name for the first three months I was courting Felix.” Elisa placed her hand on Felix’s. Wren tried not to feel jealous that they had the luxury of being in love and he didn’t.

“How did you meet?” he asked, as politely as possible. People did small talk, right? 

“Oh, well,” Felix glanced at Elisa, and it was probably the wrong question to distract himself from his own longing. “I was at a housewarming party for a business acquaintance, and Elisa was wearing this eye-catching gorgeous dress-”

“Oh stop it, you,” blushed Elisa, smacking their shoulder while smiling.

“-and it was love at first sight. I thoroughly seduced her that night.”

Elisa leaned in, a mischievous glint in her golden eyes, “They spilled a glass of wine on me,” she whispered conspiratorially. “And could barely stutter out an apology. My mother was quite offended on my behalf. It was adorable.”

“Don’t tell him that bit,” protested Felix, “Let me have my fairytale.”

Wren felt himself smile a bit, despite the sick pool of envy in his stomach. He couldn’t help but be happy for them.

“How did you and Silas meet?” asked Elisa, and Wren tried not to panic at the question. 

“Oh… um…”

“It’s alright,” reassured Felix, “I am a bit curious about how my brother managed to meet a partner- especially a human- but you don’t have to say.”

“Thank you,” he said, immediately feeling guilty. He was lying to Silas’s beloved brother, and sooner or later it would come out. But the lure of pretending- he couldn’t pass it up.

“How’s he doing? We… haven’t spoken in a while.”

“He’s fine. A little shaken after his father visited, but he’s mostly okay. He worries, though.” 

Felix nodded. “That sounds like him, alright. Father is an intense man. I’m fairly certain he’s to blame for my brother’s nervousness.”

“He was adamant we didn’t invite Silas,” added Elisa. “We didn’t want to make a fuss, but it is unfortunate.”

“But tell us about you,” smiled Felix. “I’d like to know about my future brother-in-law, instead of lamenting my subpar family. Do you have any siblings?”

“Not that I know of. I, uh, don’t really know my dad,” he said truthfully. “I’m an only child as far as I know.”

“Oh… my condolences. I couldn’t imagine. I have three siblings, all older than me,” said Elisa. “It must be lonely. How’s your mom?”

“We don’t really talk. She worked all the time, and I left home pretty young,” lied Wren. It was true up to a point, but he was really talking out of his ass.

Silas was going to be furious. And his hand was falling asleep.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Have you two been together long?”

“A few months. A little fast, I know, but he’s so sweet and we just sort of happened.” Wren desperately tried to get back on familiar territory. Talking about Silas was easy.

“We can hardly judge,” waved off Felix. “Elisa and I have only been together two years and look at us! Married in a scant few days.” 

“Silas has gone nearly crazy with deciding on a wedding gift. He even asked my opinion on vampiric wines, as if I knew anything about that,” he joked.

Felix snorted. “Typical. He gets caught up in his head sometimes.”

“I’ve noticed,” he grinned. “He sent you a letter, by the way. I’m not sure what all he said, but he was, well, nervous.”

“I haven’t gotten it yet, but I’m sure I can guess. Aside from the wedding fiasco, is he… happy?”

“I think so. Or at least, happier than when we first met.” 

“Thank you,” said Felix, genuine and sincere. Guilt swirled in his gut. “Really, thank you. It was tough for him when Father tossed him out.”

“I-”

The front door opened and closed. Felix and their fiancée turned toward the doorway.

“Wren?” called out Silas, wandering into the room, “I need your opinion on-” Master froze at the scene. He dropped the package he was carrying.

“Felix?”

Felix stood up from the couch and wrapped their arms around Silas. Silas melted into their embrace. 

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he sniffed. He stepped away, wiping his eyes.

“I know, it's my fault. Sorry about that.”

“No, no it’s fine.” Silas glanced at Wren. He looked away, and Silas furrowed his brow.

“Silas, this is my fiancée, Elisa.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” said Elisa, standing to shake Silas’s hand. “Felix has told me lots of stories.”

“Oh, um, all good things, I hope?” Elisa smiled at him.

“Of course.”

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you about the wedding,” said Felix. “It happened rather quickly, and Father, well. You know how he is.”

“Right,” muttered Silas, leaning over to pick up the package he dropped. He set it on the table beside Wren.

“To be fair,” pointed out Felix, and oh no- “you didn’t tell me about your beau either.”

“Beau?”

“You know,” winked Felix, “Partner, lover, whatever you want to call him. I never thought you’d meet such a lovely man. No offense.”

“None taken, but what the hell are you talking about?”

Wren sank further into the chair. Felix turned to him, confused, and Silas followed their gaze. Even Elisa was looking at him.

“Wren,” said Silas, and he couldn’t read his tone, “what did you say to them?”

He bit his lip, trying to keep from bursting into tears. There was no way Silas would love him after this.

“I- I just-” best to get it over with- “I just wanted to pretend for a little while.”

“I’m a little lost here,” said Elisa. “Pretend what?”

“I think I’ve made a critical error of assumption,” said Felix. “And my brother is actually single.”

Wren nodded, and he pulled out his hand, showing off his damn mark. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Felix’s eyes went wide, and they turned on Silas, snarling. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“You own a person!”

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not a person,” he offered, but they didn’t seem to hear him.

“Well maybe I was just tired of being alone! Sorry you can’t understand that with your perfect life!” hissed Silas.

“Oh that’s a laugh! You think I want to be the golden child? It’s fucking exhausting! You can do whatever you want now! And I have to put up with Father’s orders all the time!”

“You can just say no! It’s easy! No! See?”

They were a scant foot away from each other, shouting and hissing, like two cats with hackles raised.

Elisa grabbed his hand. “Let’s leave them to it,” she whispered. Wren followed her out into the main hall.

“How about you show me the rest of the house?”

“Oh, uh, sure, ma’am.”

“Just Elisa will do.”

“Right, sorry.” They wandered around the house. It wasn’t much of a tour; he was too tense from the distant argument.

“They’ll get over it,” she assured him after a moment. “Felix loves their brother.”

“I’m not worried about that. I lied to you two, and made him look bad. He’ll be angry with me.”

Elisa paused, looking at one of the paintings. She traced the golden frame with a slender finger. “Does he mistreat you?”

“There’s not really a way to mistreat a slave. By definition. We’re meant to accept anything.”

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Wren stared up at the painting. It was one of his favorites.

“He hasn’t hit me, or anything like that.”

She turned to him. “You think he will?”

“No,” he said immediately. Silas wouldn’t. But there were a variety of ways to punish slaves. It didn’t have to involve a fist.

They moved from the library to the wing where he lived. 

“Tell me, what do you do for Silas?” she asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Not much,” he admitted, grabbing some orange juice from the fridge. “I just keep him company really.”

“Sexually?”

“I was sold to him for that, but he’s not interested. We just talk. Play board games and cards.” He poured a glass of juice and put the jug back. “He’s been teaching me to read.”

“Oh?”

___________________

“You of all people should know it’s not that simple!”

“Then why do you think it’s easy for me? I lost everything when Father threw me out! No one wanted to talk to me, not even my own brother!”

“I-” Felix deflated. “I’m sorry. I should have gone with you.”

“I never wanted that. I just don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me,” he said, quiet. It still ached, like a bruise on his heart.

Felix sat on the couch. “I don’t have a good explanation. Guilt, I guess? I’m just sorry, Silas.” He looked down at his hands.

Silas sat down next to him. “I forgive you. As long as I’m still your brother, right?”

“Of course. But Silas, why did you buy a slave? It’s not like you.”

Silas looked up at the ceiling. “It’s just like I said before. I really needed someone in my corner. Don’t laugh.” he nudged Felix.

“I wasn’t laughing! I might not… really get it, but if it makes you happy then that’s fine with me. Just as long as you aren’t too mean to him.”

“I would never!”

Felix snorted. “I know, I’m messing with you.”

Elisa and Wren walked into the room, and Silas immediately noticed that there was something wrong with him. Wren was lingering half a step behind Elisa, eyes trained on the floor. 

Elisa kissed Felix on the top of their head. They tilted their head to the side, a smile gracing their face.

Silas caught Wren looking, something strange in his expression before he turned back to the floor. 

They exchanged goodbyes and I-love-yous and well wishes. 

“Hey,” he called to Wren, low and calm. “Come here.”

Wren miserably made his way over. He did not sit down, instead opting to linger with his head hanging low. Silas took his hand in his own. 

“What happened? Did Elisa say something?”

“No, Master,” he whispered. “She was nice.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Wren sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “I lied to your brother, and I’m so so sorry.” Wren looked up at him, and he looked terrified.

“I’m not mad.”

“Y- you’re not?”

“No.” Silas stroked his thumb over the back of Wren’s hand. “You just didn’t want to be judged. I get that.”

Wren looked away.

“Really. I’m not upset.”

“Okay.” Wren wiped his tears. “Can I go? Please?”

“Yeah, uh, sure.” Silas felt wrong footed, like he just messed up somehow. “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

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[kimkhimhant]

bad aftg reviews are funny bc why are you reading books that are basically advertised as whump and then getting mad about the content being heavy whump