#the whumpers soiree

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Attitude

The Whumper's Soiree - @the-whumpers-soiree - Continuation from Anticipation

-

“I swear to God, man. I will end you. I’ll fucking kill you, you’ll wish—“

A quick swipe from the cane across his chest made Whumpee cry out, cutting off his murderous ranting.

All that raw anger still spilled from the man – vocally and physically – and in those moments, his focus wavered, too blinded by his rage to see the blows coming, even with Whumper right in front of him. And he did like to tease him by circling around him.

But underneath it all, when he was quiet and steaming, Whumper could see that what he was looking for: that fear. He saw it in the man’s eyes as he kept looking at the cane, trying to anticipate Whumper’s moves and when he would strike next. Saw those eyes squeeze shut, saw his body brace itself and flinch away from him in those split seconds as he raised the cane.

The man was on full alert. Though it should be easier for him to predict what was next, because the source of pain came from his own attitude. Cause and effect. But he didn’t reel it in.

Yet.

Whumper loomed over him, cane in one hand, the cattle prod in the other. With all the vitriol Whumpee was spewing, he had to alternate between his tools very fast.

He had a simple system: Cane for backtalk, aggression, cursing, the whole nine yards the guy had to offer. But the prod was for lies.

Let’s see which of these tools he could cast aside first. Or, well, let’s see if the guy would actually realise what the consequences for his actions were.

He circled behind the kneeling and now trembling figure, dual-wielding his weapons so Whumpee couldn’t see what was coming.

But really… if the guy was smart, he should by now. It wasn’t that hard to make the connection.

The endless array of ‘fuckfuckfuckfuck’s had already left quite a number of red lines over the man’s body, some visible and peeking out from under the collar of his white dress shirt. Though most of the lines were hidden across his back. And by now he couldn’t even get a full sentence of lies out before the prod either warped it into screams or fully took his voice.

Technically, all this talk of murder could be considered lies… because Whumper would make sure he could never act on them. But, well, he had to draw a line somewhere. And Whumpee would probably make true on his threats were it not for those handcuffs.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen anyone break free of handcuffs. Unless you’re as strong as you think you are, you’re not getting out of this.”

Whumpee’s lips twitched in a snarl and he was about to open his mouth, but when Whumper casually flicked the cane upwards a little in warning, he just grit his teeth and clammed up.

“See, you’re learning already,” Whumper said, almost in praise. Damn, if this wasn’t his favourite part. That first little crack.

“Fuck you man, I am not—“ but the shudder of the next shock went through his entire body and his voice. Yes, you are, the prod corrected. “This is... this is nothing—Aahh!!” Another shock. He shook it off with a growl. “I can take it.” Another prod.

Whumper hummed at that. “I am not too convinced of that, really.” He walked back in front of Whumpee again, knelt in front of the slumped over and panting man. When he didn’t look up, too focused on getting his breath back and biting back the pain, he tilted his chin up with the end of the cane.

“If all this is too much for you… I could trade you…” Whumper paused with a grin, “and let you get away with a beating instead. Would you rather have that? It will be easier. It can be over in a matter of minutes. If I’m feeling nice I’ll even make sure you’ll wake up in your own bed. Or a hospital bed, depending how you’ll fare.”

He noticed the clear hesitation. Because who knew how long he was going to have to take this. The man’s jaw set in anger, but he didn’t outright spew his answer. He wasn’t about to admit that he’d rather get a taste of his own medicine, admit that this was worse. And that he was breaking. Already.

“No?” Whumper smiled, his finger on the button of his prod. This could count as a lie. But who was he to deny the guy a further lesson.

Even though Whumpee was desperately holding on to his broken pride, at some point the cracks would tear it further, and he himself would crush it completely in that tight grip, pressing it against his chest, cradling it in protection, until the pieces would slip out from under his arms and shatter to the ground.

And sure enough, the pressing silence – and Whumper’s smug smile probably – led him further down a beautiful path of self-destruction.

“Try what you want, you can’t break me,” he said, voice hard but shaking.

Whumper clicked his tongue. He trailed the prod over Whumpee’s collarbones, but didn’t activate it. Instead, he pulled away and stood straight.

“Yes… such stubbornness is hard to break,” he conceded. “But I think I have something that could help with that. And it may even help you out.” He pulled something from his bag, hid it behind his back and walked behind Whumpee, who tensed up again all ready for the next round of unknown pain and he twisted his neck to see.

“No need to strain your neck, here...” A hand slid over his throat, making Whumpee tilt his chin up in surprise, opening up access to his vulnerable throat.

Something slipped over and pressed against his windpipe, then tightened and pulled against his skin.

As Whumpee realized what was happening, or thought was happening, he bucked up, shooting up on his knees in a panic. His handcuffs rattled and pressed against his back in his fruitless attempts to bring his hands up to his throat and claw at the strap that took his air.

But Whumper merely tightened the collar with a sharp yank until he heard a cut off gasp and the guy went rigid, hands falling back down. He held the leather straining against the clasp with one hand, skin trapped painfully between metal and leather, and he pressed a knee against Whumpee’s back, but gently placed his other hand over his shoulder and guided him back down.

He eased up, letting the man get in a full gulp of air, but then fastened the clasp snugly around his neck. Just a notch too tight, making sure Whumpee would barely get enough air. The bare minimum. Making him work for it, and Whumpee took in a shuddering, wheezing gasp through his mouth.

Whumper fondly ran his finger over the cool clasp, pressing it into his neck before he stood and walked back in front of his captive where he knelt down.

The man’s face was all red, he was still panting – shallow quick puffs that would only make things worse – and while the fear in his eyes still shone bright the anger had fallen away. Now replaced with a confused shock. Poor guy must’ve been sure he was about to get choked to death.

Whumper smiled. A brush of death did wonders for attitude.

He brought up a teasing hand over Whumpee’s cheek, brushed a thumb over his skin in false comfort before he cupped his face and demanded attention back to him.

“There. With this, you’ll think twice about wasting any precious air on lies. Plus, it will help you come to terms with who is in charge here.”

He brushed his finger over the little metal loop that settled neatly in-between the man’s collarbones. God, as if he was made for this. It was a perfect fit. He trailed his fingers off, teasing over the clavicle, right – dipping under his shirt – and left, slightly entranced by the perfection of it all, before he settled on the metal again. He pressed it against the skin so Whumpee could feel the cold touch and he swore he felt a shudder.

“And if not…” he looped a finger into the ring and pulled him forward, hard. “It will give me other ways to bring you to heel.”

-

Tag list: @dutifullykrispyland @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @soopytime @down-in-the-whumps @sparrowsage @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpawink @painsandconfusion

[oddsconvert]

Sleeping Beauty

@the-whumpers-soiree (I LOVE this prompt so much, I had to write something! 🥺)

CW: Noncon drugging, Noncon touch, Whumper becomes Whumpee, Whumper taking Whumper, Mistaken Identity, Kidnapping, Alcohol Consumption, Creepy/Intimate whumper.

-

“I bet all the good ones have been nabbed…”, Whumper grumbled to themself, swerving in and out of the sea of cackling party-goers, a faux smile flashing at other hunters trying their luck this evening, before swigging on their glass of champagne. Peeping over the tip of their glass at the helpless little things dotted around the room, so naive and utterly vulnerable. Waving their blue glow stick shackles about, unaware the little fishies were reeling in the sharks.

So much choice…spoilt for choice, in fact.

The atmosphere was electric; the penthouse floor buzzed from the bass of the music, though not too loud to drown out the mumbling chitter-chatter from the guests. Roars of laughter erupting and drinks flowing. It was growing increasingly difficult to scour and pick out a singular target, with the hustle and bustle of the gathering - crowds swarming around prey whilst peacefully fighting to claim them for their own.

Whumper knew they should have arrived earlier; to get first pick of the bunch, dragging their new toy out whilst the night was still young, and prying eyes were few. Now it appeared the clock was ticking impossibly fast, stealing away the precious opportunity. Idly watching from afar as guests, paired blue and red vanished around corners, or striding hand in hand towards the exit…jealousy scaling over Whumper. 

But that’s when they noticed them. Peaking Whumper’s interest, out on the balcony all alone in the chilling evening breeze, basking in the moonlight. Glaring off into the distance in awe at the city night, off towards the skyline, eyes dazzled by the twinkling lights littered on towering skyscrapers. Their hair bouncing along with the ferocious wind whilst their small hands nervously twisted and fumbled with the glow stick clasped around their wrist.

A blue glow stick. Bingo.

Whumpee is oblivious to the balcony door whooshing open, does not hear it slamming shut. Cautious footsteps trek behind them, drawing in closer by the second. Whumper softly trails their finger down the spine of Whumpee’s back, tracing the crook and not missing the sweet shudder that ripples down their skin from the unexpected touch. Spooked, a gasp forces its way from Whumpee’s parted lips, spinning on the spot to meet the stranger with wide, perplexed eyes. 

This was the one. So sensitive, so fearful… so adorable. The concern lingering in their eyes igniting a warmth in Whumper’s stomach. Though Whumper offers a trusting, soft smile to counteract the worry. They can pluck all those delightful trembles from Whumpee all they want later but for now, they have to play the trust card.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” Whumper chimed, settling beside them and leaning against the glass railing. Whumpee’s inquisitive eyes did not deviate from Whumper for a moment, deep in thought and examining them.

“It… It is. It’s gorgeous.” Good, they had dropped their guard. Returning to their infatuated gawking at the cityscape. But Whumper resumed their infatuated gawking at them. Such a small, frail thing. Imagining them on their knees, begging for mercy with that small, timid voice… shaking at Whumper’s feet. It would be simply beautiful.

“What brings you here tonight?” Whumper inquired with a low hum, furrowing their brows. Whumpee shuffled awkwardly on their feet, alternating their balance.

“Was supposed to be a step out of my comfort zone, I guess”, they shrugged solemnly, “friends are lacking nowadays, I thought this would be a good chance to build some bridges-”

“What, out here alone on the balcony?” Whumper interjected with a teasing, light-hearted scoff.

“I … I got nervous. Came out here to collect myself and build up some courage”, they whispered, a hint of shame to their voice - timidly scratching skin on their wrist red-raw with nerves. Every word leaving Whumpee’s lips was music to Whumper’s ears. A nervous, shy wreck? No friends? Oh those one’s are so much fun, they just crumble immediately from the slightest threat. Truly riveting to watch the fear immediately overwhelm and cloud their every sense, no need for weeks of breaking them down. 

“Why don’t I go get us some more drinks? Get some liquid courage in you?” Whumper offered, the sinister intentions lurking underneath.

“Oh, I really couldn’t accept-” Whumpee blushed.

“Nonsense. I’d be happy to.” Whumper waved their hand dismissing the rejection, scuttling off before they could listen to more protests and making their way inside to the bar. Clicking their fingers to grab the bar-tenders attention, swooping over immediately ready to serve them.

“Can I get a neat whiskey and a ugh…” Whumper’s voice trailed off, eyes darting around to check no-one was in close proximity and leaning in close to the bartender’s ear “A sleeping beauty, please?”. The bartender winked back at them, understanding the secret menu order and rushing to make them. A giddy excitement washed over Whumper as they watched the pill being dropped into Whumpee’s glass, bubbles fizzing before dissolving into the liquid. They couldn’t snatch the glasses away quick enough, tumbling thank you’s to the staff before speeding back out to the balcony, outstretching the drink for Whumpee to take. 

***

“So… how are you feeling?”, Whumper quizzed, waiting impatiently for the inevitable crumble of Whumpee’s body, slipping into unconsciousness. They’d kept them talking and occupied for long enough now, the night’s end creeping up on them, they couldn’t wait much longer.

Whumpee slurps obnoxiously on their drink, swirling their straw around the glass.``Pretty good…”, they beamed, sighing contently before putting their drink down, “the question is, how are YOU feeling? Surely it’s got to have kicked in by now?”. Whumper’s face dropped, suddenly becoming aware of the light dizziness spinning in their head, a numb weightlessness growing in their muscles. Horrified realization striking them when they spot the chalky remnants floating in the bottom of their own glass.

That bastard had swapped the drinks.

An animalistic growl of fury roars from Whumper’s throat, swinging their fist through the air towards Whumpee’s face but they don’t even have to swerve or dodge the blow. Whumper’s floppy, noodle-like arm misses entirely, their body hurtling past them and crashing limp towards the ground in a boneless heap. A heartbeat thudding in their throat, panicked breaths heaving from their chest - they’d find a way to make Whumpee pay for this. 

“How fucking stupid do you think I am?!” Whumpee scoffed, offended. Starting to pace around the balcony, “I’ve been here for hours on end! Seeing people dragged out of here in all sorts of states!”. 

“I’ve seen people held at knife point! Dragged out unconscious by people saying they ‘got too drunk’... didn’t take long for me to clock that they all had these on!” Whumpee bellowed, rattling their wrist in Whumper’s eyesight before snapping the blue glow stick off with a crack. 

“I tried to leave … t-they wouldn’t let me!” Whumpee’s voice breaks, a strangled sob echoing out. “Not until the party was over, they said! So I came out here to hide…hide from all you sick fucks and ride it out until they let me go!”. Whumpee snatches the red glow stick from Whumper’s wrist, replacing it with their own blue one. Whumper only snarls, weakly trying to pull their arm away and avoid the doomed wristband but their limbs won’t respond. 

“This is my ticket out of here”, Whumpee explains, eyes flashing between their glow stick and the exit door, now able to pass by unchallenged and escape this wretched place. “Good luck… I hope whoever finds you is kinder than whatever sick shit you had planned for me”. And with that, Whumpee carelessly strides over Whumper’s perfectly still body and hurriedly leaves them vulnerable and paralysed on the ground. Fed to the wolves.

What feels like hours pass in their immobilized state, feeling sorry for themselves that they’d managed to be tricked. Whumper shivers from being exposed to the biting frost, willing their body to just work. To do something! They needed to get out of here before-

“Aw, you precious thing… you’re in quite a state, aren’t you?” Whumper’s ears prick up as the stranger coos, breaking the silence and circling around the barely conscious figure, bending to their knees to get a good look. Whumper’s hazy eyes beams up at the man silently begging them to leave them alone, their lips viciously trembling trying to form the words. A rough hand slithers under Whumper’s chin, lifting it to no resistance so they can stare into their eyes, and running their thumb softly along their jawline. Anger and fear blend together, trying to shakily lift their arm and show their red band, but instantly whimpering and recoiling when their foggy mind reminds them Whumpee had stolen it. Wondering hands caress any exposed skin they can find, the nape of their neck, the flushed cheeks, quivering hands. Whumper felt disgusted by every corrupting touch… this wasn’t right, this can’t be happening. They’re not one of them.

“Let’s get you home, huh?”, the stranger hushed, carding their hand through Whumper’s hair as they flinched away, slamming their eyes shut and inhaling harshly through their nostrils. 

“Nnnn!” Whumper moans out with terror, rolling around weightlessly, trying to get their body to crawl away but a chunky boot stamps onto their spine and pushes them into harshly into the ground with a whine of pain.

“Tskk tskk. Don’t be so ungrateful, sweetheart…”, the man spat, lifting Whumper onto their feet and throwing their arm around the stranger’s shoulder. To passersby it looked like they were merely helping a drunk friend home. Whumper mumbled and moaned in the grip as they sluggishly limped towards the exit. Their feet uselessly shuffled beneath them, only held up by their captor's grip. Sympathetic eyes set on the sight of Whumper, stumbling across the floor and leaning hopelessly against the stranger.

“They just had too much to drink, don’t worry - they’re safe with me…”

Whumper’s eyes blurred with hot tears that spilled down their cheeks, before the blurriness skewing their vision morphed to a darkness edging in their vision. Plunged into an involuntary, troubled slumber and carried out of the soiree. The last thing they heard before sleep stole them away:

“My sleeping beauty…”

[whump3000]

Red

~a short drabble for @the-whumpers-soiree~

Whumpee sat in the corner of the penthouse party, knees up to their chin, hands over their ears, tears in their eyes.

It was stupid really. They shouldn’t have come to this party. Shouldn’t have donned their stupid glowing blue wrist band.

No matter where they went, no matter what they did, they always ended up like this. Alone and overwhelmed. It was crushing. The rush of colors, the beat of music, the echo of voices.

They felt like they were slowly dying as the world spun out of control around them.

“Breathe.”

It was a voice. Whumpee was sure they’d imagined it, and yet as they sat their and shuddered, they felt the unmistakable prescense of someone kneeling beside them.

“Breathe.”

Whumpee took a deep shuddering breath.

Breathe.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

“You’re doing good.”

The person touched Whumpee’s arm gently. Whumpee looked down at their wristband. It was red.

Red. Red was a good color, they told themselves. It was the color of raspberries and roses and rhubarb. It was the color that leaves turned in the autumn, and it was the color the sun burned as it set. It was a warm color. A familiar color. Perhaps this person was just as the sun in the sky, warm, nurturing, and safe. They were someone nice. Someone safe. Someone to take them in and make them feel like they belonged in this strange and blueish place.

The person squeezed Whumpee’s wrist gently.

“I’ll take care of you, okay?” The stranger breathed.

“Okay.” The word tumbled out of Whumpee’s mouth without much thought. They just wanted a friend. Someone to be here with them. Even if they were a bit too close, and they were holding their hand just a bit too tight.

Wait a minute…

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Wh-where are we going?”

“Home.”

“Home?”

“I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” The stranger twisted their hand in their hair. “Now come with me, my new pet. We don’t want you causing a scene now, so we?”

Whumpee shook their head, as Whumper slowly guided them across the dance floor, their red wristband burning a path through the sea of blue.

Red. It was the color of radishes, poppies, jam. But as the stranger squeezed them harder, digging their nails into Whumpee’s flesh, Whumpee felt their stomach twist. They couldn’t help but remember that red was also the color of freshly fallen blood.

[whump-blog]

-The Whumpers' Soirée-

“A failure can also be a success”

This is a @the-whumpers-soiree 's event in which Whumper is invited to a party to capture a Whumpee. At the entrance of the party by default everyone is given a blue glowstick to wear as a bracelet, the Whumpers instead wear a red one. (This makes it easier to identify potential targets) >:)

Thanks for the invitation @worldofwhumpcraft, I know it took me months, but here it is!

CW: box boy universe, fear of death, drugging, beating, power abuse, whumper turned caretaker, scared whumpee, slavery, pet whump? (more like a servant in this scenario) 

============

Whumper arrived at the party with high expectations. A red bracelet on his wrist and a basement ready to welcome his future victim at home.

The party atmosphere was what anyone would expect, those slaves, the box boys were serving drinks, music was playing in the background and the dim lighting created an ideal environment for them, the predators, to prey on their targets.

The blue bracelets that pointed to all those people who ignored the real purpose of the party, danced, drank and chatted, ignoring the danger that glowed red all around them.

But even with this promising scenario, none of the guests with blue bracelets had succeeded in captivating Whumper, and the few that had caught his attention were quickly taken by others with the same purpose as him.

He could not leave empty-handed, he would be everyone's joke. But in the end, with his "skills?" he would manage to catch someone, Whumper knew that well, but the fact that he had failed so far was making him anxious. A few beads of sweat appeared on his face, and Whumper decided he needed a moment to calm down.

————

As he closed the door to the toilets, the sound of music and the deafening voices were locked outside, relegated to a distant murmur.

Looking around, he noticed that the place was empty, and only then let the mask of confidence drop and exhaled deeply. The ice water on his face helped him relax, but even so, when he looked in the mirror, he saw himself with a dishevelled and worried expression. A far cry from the image of security that he intended to project to his victims as much as to his peers. Regaining his composure, he combed his hair back, adjusted the bun on his suit and straightened his jacket, making sure he looked impeccable. Once satisfied with his reflection, Whumper took a deep breath of the soapy, disinfectant-scented air and prepared to go hunting once more.

With a confident smile on his face and a steady hand, he reached for the doorknob; when out of nowhere a sound he had not heard before (busy with himself) made him stop in his tracks and listen carefully.

Then he heard it once more, it was a sob, almost imperceptible, but there it was. Perhaps one of the guests trying to sneak away, perhaps, his perfect opportunity.

And just as he had been ready to leave, he turned and retraced his steps, pushing open the door of each cubicle and peering inside, curious about what he might find.

Whoever was hiding there was also aware of his presence because the moment his footsteps returned the anguished sounds faded away. And that only made him more excited.

Whumper couldn't contain his satisfaction as he kicked in the last door and found the most beauti-

That was not what he was expecting. Huddled between the toilet and the wall was one of the waiters, a box boy.

"What the fuck?" he asked, astonished.

The waiter's terrified expression immediately changed to a more hopeful one as he saw the red bracelet on his wrist (not the reaction Whumper expected) and stood up on shaky legs.

"Sir," Whumpee paused, unsure how to continue, "you have to help me-"

"Whatever it is, I don't know you, and it's not my problem," Whumper said nonchalantly as he turned to leave; when a desperate hand stopped him, pulling at the sleeve of his jacket.

"What do you think you're doing? You better let go now, or you're going to be in big trouble. I know you're not stupid enough not to realize that you're disrespecting a person." Whumper had a stern look on his face and his voice sounded annoyed.

The box boy didn't dare interrupt him, but didn't let him go either.

Before he could shout angrily, the man blurted out "They're going to kill me" Whumper looked him in the eye and noticed the tears reappearing in the pet's determined gaze "please..." he begged.

Those words caught Whumper out of guard, perhaps the manner in which he said them, perhaps the shock of the statement, but without being able to help it the question escaped his lips, "What?"

"I heard them, after the party, they plan to use me. They want... they want... they made a bet, how many blows before I stop breathing." The atmosphere became heavy and after a few seconds the slave without being able to contain himself continued talking; now to himself "I shouldn't, I'm misbehaving, but I can't, I don't want to die..."

"Who are "them"?" questioned Whumper, but the box boy, lost in thought, didn't seem to hear "Hey" Whumper shook him by the shoulders. The man looked at him, lost. 

"Who are “them”?" repeated Whumper impatiently.

"My master... and his friends."

"Your master? Why would he want to kill you?" Whumper reproached incredulously, "that would just be a waste of money."

"It's a bet sir, if my master wins the loser must replace me with a new box boy. And... he always wins."

Whumper's mouth dropped open in thought for an answer. "I don't know, I don't want to get in trouble."

"Don't treat me like a fool sir. I know, I know the meaning of the bracelets, I know the purpose of this party! I serve here," the desperation became more palpable with every word. 

"Well yes... but still... it's a crime what you ask of me... you already belong to someone."

"Sir, please" the pitch of the box boy's voice was getting higher and higher, and the tears were becoming more audible in his voice, "you were going to take someone anyway... Take me instead... I am good... And I am already trained, I will do anything you ask me to do".

"Hah, you don't look as good to me as you claim to be," Whumper said with a funny look that pointed to where the man's hands were still clinging to his suit.

Quickly taking his hands off him, the box boy pleaded "I am, I swear, I can be anything you want, anyone you want, just take me with you, I am desperate, and my actions are unjustified, but you can teach me! You can punish me and I can be a loyal-" a sob cut him off, but didn't stop Whumpee, "I just don't want to die like this, ple-"

Whumper covered the slave's mouth with his hand, and in the renewed silence there was the sound of new footsteps inside the bathroom and then the distinctive sound of the water in one of the sinks being turned on. 

"Fine" Whumper whispered in an authoritative tone. "You're coming with me, but first we need a way to get you out of here, and I think I have the perfect plan."

Pushing the cubicle door a little, through the crack Whumper and Whumpee managed to see one of the guests washing his hands, and in one of those hands a blue bracelet. And their ticket out of that place.

A few minutes later, there was an unconscious party guest on the bathroom floor -not what Whumper had planned when he decided to attend the party- and a shiny blue bracelet on Whumpee's wrist.

"And now for the finishing touch," exclaimed Whumper "drink this!"

"What is this sir?" asked the former waiter, taking the vial of clear liquid in his hands.  

"You're supposed to follow orders, not ask questions," Whumper scolded with a serious expression.

Before he had finished speaking, Whumpee had drunk the liquid.

No matter what, being at Whumper's mercy was better than what awaited him if he stayed. "Yes sir" a few tears of fear glistened in his eyes.

"You're all right," Whumper reassured him, feeling guilty for taking advantage of the poor man's fear.

"It's just going to make you sleep, I was planning to put it in some fool's drink” -Whumper caught Whumpee in his arms when his legs failed him because of the drug- “when you wake up you're going to be home..." 

Whumper left the party with a proud smile and a man with a blue bracelet leaning against his shoulder. As he explained -with a knowing wink- to the guard at the door of the place, he was carrying a "drunk friend". Nobody asked questions and nobody noticed that a box boy was missing, at least not for several hours after Whumper was miles away from the place.

And as Whumper had promised, Whumpee awoke to a soft bed under him and a warm room.

Apparently things had not gone according to Whumper's plan, the basement that awaited a victim had become a guest room and his lonely house had become a home.

The end.

============

Taglist: @octopus-reactivated who was a great motivation for me to finish writing this piece and post it.

[just-horrible-things]

Felt inspired today by @the-whumpers-soiree so here's a brief little thing.

Red Bracelet Please

“I’ll have a red bracelet, please.” It’s as easy as that. The doorman reaches under the counter and hands me one with a smile. And I’m one of them.

I mingle briefly, complimenting outfits without really looking at them, then make my way to the bar. Blue bracelets are everywhere, smiling, dancing, treating this like a normal party. They don’t know the risk they’re taking, how close they are to losing everything.

I can’t stop looking at their faces.

It’s like one of those videos that circulate sometimes, where an unsuspecting beachgoer handles a cute little octopus, cooing over the beauty of the bright blue rings. You know you shouldn’t click, but the morbid fascination is real.

I’d watch snuff, I think. I wouldn’t go looking for it and I certainly wouldn’t get off to it. But if someone sent it to me… I couldn’t resist. I’d need to know what it’s like, to watch someone die. Does it look the same as in the movies? Can you really tell if it’s real or fake?

A red bracelet pauses next to me to put his empty glass on the bar. We make accidental eye contact. He smiles and tips his head.

I’m in the shark tank, but I’m one of the sharks.

I’ve never felt so powerful, so hidden, so free. They don’t know I’m not one of them.

Watching the red bracelets circulate through the room, I wonder how many of them tell themselves they’re not like the others. They’re totally different.

A blue bracelet sits at the bar next to me. “How come you got a red one?” she asks. She’s smiling. She wouldn’t be smiling if she knew. “It means I’m a VIP,” I answer. Not exactly a lie, not exactly the truth. “Very fancy,” the blue bracelet purrs. “What are you drinking?”

I flirt, although she doesn’t have my full attention. I ought to find someone to take home, I think. It will raise fewer suspicions if I leave with a blue bracelet in tow. Maybe this one, maybe another.

There’s that power rush again, deciding who to save from the sharks. 

[wolfeyedwitch]

Color Coordination

Finally writing a bit for @the-whumpers-soiree! This is (another) AU of With Bloody Outstretched Hands, my hero/villain whump series. Here we have Bailey (villain moniker Poppet), the protege of one of the most notorious supervillains in the country, walking into the party with no knowledge of what's going on inside.

---

Bailey shifted from foot to foot as the attendant read their invitation for what must have been the fifth time.

“Is there a problem?” they asked, trying to channel Slipknot’s tone of calm authority. 

“No, no Mx!” he hurriedly replied. “Your invitation is all in order, I’m just… ah…”

Bailey raised an eyebrow as he trailed off. 

He flinched at their movement. “Apologies, Mx. I merely need to contact my supervisor and make sure everything is in order.”

Bailey frowned at that. Hadn’t he just said their invitation was in order?

“Not with you, Mx, but on our end!” he hastily added. 

“Very well,” Bailey said, still doing their best to channel their mentor’s attitude.

He gave them a nod, then stepped into an alcove far enough away that Bailey couldn’t hear the conversation. 

Bailey tamped down their apprehension at this hold-up. It was fine. Everything was going to be fine! Slipknot wouldn’t have sent them anywhere they didn’t think Bailey could handle. And anyway, it wasn’t like this was somewhere dangerous! It was a party!

Bailey held back a wince at the thought of some of the other “parties” they’d attended. This wasn’t like that. It wouldn’t be! It wasn’t a villains-only party like the ones Slipknot hosted, and they weren’t the evening’s entertainment. 

They fiddled nervously with their necklace. Like the rest of their outfit, Slipknot had chosen it specifically for the evening. It was a diamond pendant, a rare pink diamond in fact. It had been the single most expensive item that Bailey had stolen in the heist that led to Icarus’s… 

No. They weren’t going to think about that, not tonight. What mattered was that it was a sign of their mentor’s approval, a lavish gift for a prized protege. Slipknot had insisted Bailey wear it to every social event since the necklace had been made, to “show everyone how well you’ve done, Poppet!”

A woman in a finely tailored pantsuit joined the attendant in the alcove. A moment later, both of them stepped out to speak to Bailey. 

“I apologize for the delay, Mx,” the woman said smoothly. “We merely needed to make sure we had the proper… accommodations for you.”

That was strange, but Bailey didn’t question it. They were more than ready to get past the entrance and into the party itself by now.

“Here is your wristband,” the woman continued. “It acts as your guest pass and identification, so be sure not to lose it!” She said the last with a practiced laugh.

Bailey smiled back politely as they held out their wrist for the woman to attach the glowing red wristband.

“There you are,” said the man. “Matches your beautiful necklace, Mx…?”

“Call me Poppy.”

---

For another disastrous party Bailey went to, click here.

You can read the incident Bailey refers to with Icarus and the diamonds here.

---

Bonus:

Behind the scenes:

Henchman: Boss? I, uh... I think there's a situation here that you need to see.

Boss: what do you want, I'm in here trying to keep a pack of sadists happy and their victims-to-be unaware!!!

Henchman: yeah, but, uh... there's someone here at the entrance who didn't request a red wristband, but I'm almost certain they should be given one. And I want someone to take down with me if I get in trouble for this.

Boss: *gets to front desk* who could POSSI...bly…. oh. Oh. Ooooooh.

Henchman: So it isn't just me? That is Poppet? I'm not seeing things?

The necklace was how they were recognized. And silly Slipknot, forgetting to tell their protege about the wristband rule!

---

Taglist:

gets to front desk who could POSSIBly…. oh. Oh. Ooooooh.

HP: So it isn't just me? That is Poppet? I'm not seeing things?

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff, @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway, @whumpcreations, @wicked-whump @heart4brains, @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps

[honeybunny-og]

A New Friend - The Whumper's Soiree

I finally finished! yay! Thank you to @worldofwhumpcraft for inviting me to @the-whumpers-soiree, and of course thank you to @painsandconfusion for hosting/creating this wonderful event!

CW: pet names, multiple whumpers, whumper couple, manipulative whumper, flirtatious whumper, talkative whumper, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, alcohol consumption, non-con touching and kissing (non-explicit), drugging, corrupted whumpee, suggestive themes (non-explicit)

“Two reds, please,” Arthur said, the hand placed on Beau’s shoulder squeezing tighter. 

Beau looked around the dimly lit penthouse bar, a soft and sultry jazz song playing in the background, as Arthur affixed the red bracelets to both of their wrists.

Beau looked back at Arthur, their eyes meeting for a moment before Arthur leaned over, his hot breath on Beau’s ear, raising goosebumps over their neck and back. 

“Don’t look at me, Beau, look for the blues,” he murmured. 

“Anyone I want?”

“Anyone you want.”

 Arthur squeezed Beau’s shoulder once more before releasing and taking a step back, slinking into the shadows. 

Beau’s eyes darted across the room. There were so many people mingling about, their faces strange and obscured by the mood lighting. Eyes glinted mischievously in the low light as figures with glowing blue wrists passed by. 

There at the bar, haloed by sunset orange lights, Beau saw the one they needed to have. They didn’t bother to glance around and find Arthur, they knew they were being watched very carefully.

Beau sat themselves down next to their new find. “What are you drinking?”

The young man looked up at them, his nervousness obvious in the way he swallowed before replying, “Gin and tonic.”

Beau motioned for two more from the bartender. “These parties can be pretty dry without proper libations,” they sighed. “You know, a good social lubricant is always appreciated.”

Beau could see the red spreading across his face and neck even with the orange lights tinting his skin. Perfect, Beau thought. 

“I’m Beau,” they said, taking a slow sip of their drink before extending a hand.

“I’m Dylan,” he replied, taking Beau’s hand in his own.

Beau’s hold lingered on Dylan’s hand, a light touch brushing his wrist and the blue bracelet encircling it. 

“Does the red bracelet mean you’ve been to this kind of party before or something?” Dylan asked, his own eyes lingering on Beau’s wrist. 

Beau smiled at Dylan, “Yeah, something like that.”

“I’ve never been to a party quite like this before,” Dylan said. “I’ve only been in this city for a few weeks and I don’t know anyone here, so it’s nice to be able to meet some new people.”

Beau pouted, their hand still casually stroking Dylan’s. “Aw, poor thing! I hope you haven’t been too lonely up until now. Life’s no fun without good company,” they expressed with a wink.

Dylan let out a flustered giggle, about to lean in and say more when a hand grasped Beau’s shoulder.

Knowing immediately who it was, Beau tilted their head toward the hand, nuzzling into it with their cheek. 

“Arthur, I was wondering where you’d wandered off to,” they teased, knowing full well what game the two were playing. “Dylan, this is Arthur; I’m his better half and all that.” 

“Oh! Um, hi, nice to meet you, Arthur,” Dylan stammered, throwing out a gawky wave. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Arthur smirked and blatantly eyed Dylan up and down, taking note of his fidgeting fingers and reddened complexion. 

“So, what were you too giggling about?” he asked, an arm draping over Beau’s shoulders. 

“Oh, this and that,” Beau replied with a wave of their hand. “More importantly, Beau’s new in town, and he’s quite cute, so I think I’ve found a new friend.”

Dylan, eyebrows raised, exchanged glances with Beau and Arthur before stifling a laugh with a cough. 

Arthur leaned into Beau and nipped at their ear. “Careful now, I think you might scare him off,” Arthur teased, just loud enough for Dylan to hear.

“Hush, you; I’m only kidding,” Beau replied, swiftly sliding out from under Arthur’s frame and off the bar stool. They grasped Dylan’s hand in their own and pulled him to his feet. 

“Excuse us, sir, but my new friend and I have to go powder our noses,” Beau stated with a very pointed look at Dylan. 

Before Dylan could get a word in edgewise, Beau was guiding them across the busy lounge, weaving through the mingling masses of red and blue bracelets, and into the restroom. 

The restroom was deserted, the bright lights a jarring departure from the glamorous party they’d just stepped out of. 

Dylan could feel Beau’s gaze reflecting off the large mirror and onto him as they stood side by side at the sinks. He took a deep breath. 

Then, hands were on Dylan, pulling at his shirt collar, quickly followed by lips crashing into his. Beau was frantic yet indulgent; their grip was tense and wanton as they kissed deeply, evidently savoring the new experience. 

Dylan felt Beau tangle a hand into his hair. It was when a hand dropped and groped at his hip that he returned to himself, remembering that Beau’s partner was waiting at the bar. 

Dylan broke away, pushing against Beau’s shoulders, glancing from their wide, excited eyes to the restroom door behind them. 

“I’m not—I didn’t think you wanted to—” he stammered. 

Beau backed him against the wall, pressing their bodies together, crowding his body and thoughts. 

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be so shy,” Beau crooned, hands continuing their exploration of Dylan’s body. 

Dylan furrowed his brow and shoved at Beau again. “Seriously, Beau, stop it,” he seethed, trying to swat their hands away.

Beau sneered as they both struggled to gain control over the other. 

“Calm down,” they pleaded. “It’s much easier this way. Don’t worry your pretty little head, okay? Master and I will be so good to you.” 

“What?” Dylan hissed, mind sent reeling like he’d been punched in the gut. 

Then, he felt a pinch in his neck as a rush of warm static flooded through his veins. Suddenly, everything felt slow and unbearably hot.

“Wha’ did you--” Dylan slurred, acutely aware of his diminishing strength and autonomy. 

Beau smiled, peppering delicate kisses over Dylan’s face before pulling back, eyes dancing over him. They were an artist appraising their masterpiece.

The world was starting to blur and distort; Dylan was quickly sinking into darkness, watching the world melt away. The bathroom door swung open over Beau’s shoulder and Arthur stepped in, looming in the background. 

“Haven’t I done so well, sir?”

“Yes, of course you have, dear,” Arthur smirks, wrapping their arms around Beau’s waist from behind. 

“See, Dylan, our master can be very kind. So, don’t be scared or anything. I was just like you when Master found me, but Master made my life so much better by making me submit. And now, Master’s going to teach me how to be just like him. Trust me, after the pain there comes so much… pleasure.”

Thank you so much for reading! I might have to continue this story more cause, let me tell you, I have some... ideas... also i might have to write some drabbles set at this party bc this prompt is literally so good

[whumblr]

Anticipation

The Whumpers’ Soirée - @the-whumpers-soiree - Continuation from Among friends

-

With a little help from the doorman, Whumper managed to carry his new prize off to his car and he fondly looked at the man sprawled over the backseat. But while he was sleeping peacefully now, he knew there was going to be hell as soon as the guy would wake up.

“Don’t suppose you got any handcuffs?” he muttered to the doorman, more lost in his own thoughts than actually expecting an answer.

But the doorman held up a finger, gesturing for him to wait, and disappeared inside. When he returned, he flipped the man over to lie onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back.

Whumper quietly watched him work, somewhat impressed. This event really did come with all perks available. He would have to thank them, maybe send a donation, and was already looking forward to the next event.

“I hope I didn’t ruin any plans you had for your own evening?” He winked to the doorman and gave him a handsome tip.

“Oh, no, sir,” the doorman replied with a laugh. “Not everyone here wants to take their new friends home. We provide soundproof rooms for the night, with all kinds of items available.” He nodded to the handcuffs.

Whumper beamed. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

-

He casually let the man slide from his shoulder, letting gravity take over as he dropped him without a care onto the cold concrete floor of his basement.

It forced a soft grunt from the man and he stirred lightly. Good. That meant he wouldn’t have to wait long. He pulled up a chair, twirled it backwards and rested his arms over the back, keeping his captive in full view as he slowly woke up.

He watched as the man – Whumpee – glanced around, confused, getting to terms with his dark and bleak surroundings, with his circumstances when he meant to sit up but realized his hands were held back with cold metal.

His eyes narrowed as he noticed Whumper, silently watching him with a soft smirk on his face, and his body bristled with anger.

“You,” he snarled, pulling more forcefully at the cuffs. “What the hell is this?! What did you—!“

“You're the spoils of the hunt.” Whumper merely shrugged.

“I am not—“

“That blue bracelet marks you as prey,” Whumper simply cut over him and nodded at the glowstick rattling against the cuffs.

“You put it on me!”

Whumper’s face lit up with a malicious grin. He stood and slowly walked towards Whumpee, who now scooted back a little. “Because I recognised you for what you are,” he almost whispered.

By mistake, though, but what a mistake this was. He liked the fiery ones. Taking them down a notch. Was there a better challenge than taking down a predator? And this guy had just that mix of vulnerability and fire; walking around as if he was king of the rock, his red bracelet probably giving him more confidence and courage than he really had, which showed in his hesitance at the party. Like a predator used to hunt in a pack, now forced to go alone. And without his red marker, he was outed. He was nothing more than prey. Prey that now, slowly but surely, came to terms with the situation he found himself in; drawing back, tensing up, the fear so adamantly held back by the fury in his eyes.

“Come on,” Whumper drawled. “How did you even get that red bracelet, hm? It’s for VIPs only, didn't you know?” he taunted, knowing very well no whumpee could’ve ever have gotten their hands on one.

“I am a VIP! I was invited as a VIP!”

“Oh, my bad then.” Whumper’s grin couldn't get any wider.

He watched on in silent amusement as Whumpee struggled by himself, teeth grit and eyes still furious on him, to get a shoulder under him and push himself up. His fists clenched behind his back and with a bit of wiggling and some unflattering poses and grunts, he managed to get himself to sit on his knees.

“Look at you,” Whumper purred. “Look how you’re already getting on your knees for me without any prompting. VIP,” he scoffed, emphasising each letter distinctly and in disdain.

Whumpee bared his teeth but otherwise didn’t rise to the taunt and sat back on his heels.

“Tell me, then,” Whumper continued and he slowly paced back and forth in front of his captive, looking down on him. “What were you looking for at the party.”

But Whumpee turned his head and pointedly looked away.

“Relax, I’m not police,” Whumper said. “Just a fellow… hobbyist. You can tell me.”

And after a beat, the man relented and looked up. “I was just looking for someone to beat the shit out of.” Whumpee’s tone was one of defeat, almost like a scolded child. But something dangerous still lurked in his voice, probably hoping that his answer might scare his captor, and his eyes, fixed on Whumper’s, betrayed his intentions. Were he ever to get out of those handcuffs.

Whumper however shook his head at that and sighed. “That's...” he clicked his tongue and circled behind Whumpee. “That’s not... you were at that event just to find someone to beat up?”

“I guess you will do,” Whumpee continued almost in a growl.

But Whumper was not impressed, although secretly glad that he handcuffed the guy. He was sure he could wrestle him into submission, but fighting was such a hassle. While offering false hope was a nice thing, yanking that little bit of control back from those cuffed hands, in some cases he wanted to keep hold of all strings.

“You could’ve just plucked a random guy off the street.”

“So could you.”

“I’m looking for a little more… substance, if you know what I mean.” Probably not, given the simplistic nature of the man’s venture. “And not just everyone will do.”

“What is it you do, then?” Whumpee asked in his aggressive tone and as soon as the words left his mouth he realised what he asked and instantly regretted it.

Whumper allowed himself a soft smile. “I don’t mind showing you. I think by now, you can kinda get the picture.” He reached inside his pocket for his switchblade. And, as he expected, he saw the man’s shoulders tense, flinch ever so lightly as the click of the blade pierced the silence he left. “This is all about anticipation. Building up fear. Breaking down limits.”

Breaking pride. He stepped in front of Whumpee again, caressed the man’s cheek with the cold blade as he passed him and once again he flinched away from him. “It’s not about getting high on power for a minute as you beat someone into the ground. It’s all about the long run. Where you break more than just bones.”

He knelt down on one knee in front of his captive, teased the blade over his collarbone, and continued in a soft whisper:

“This. This is about control.”

He half expected the man to lunge forward to catch him off balance– hence him not crouching down – but he seemed to be frozen in place. His mask of anger slowly melting away.

“Tell your captive what you expect from them. Or better yet, teach them what to expect.”

“Which is?”

“Your undivided attention. Look, if I were to just strike you—“ and he suddenly lashed out with a brutal backhand. The sound echoed off the walls, almost drowning out the man’s grunt as the force of the blow sent him to the ground.

He snarled and spit, sputtered some blood from his lips, grunts of pain turning to growls of rage again.

“See, I’ve lost your attention and all it does is make you angry. You don't want angry. I don’t want angry. I want fear.” He grasped a handful of hair and pulled him up. “Fear makes people attentive, alert, ready for what's next.”

“Well, tough luck. All I got for you is anger.”

Whumper hummed at that and pulled the man closer. "And lies, apparently." He could clearly see the fear in those wide eyes, noticed how the man’s breath hitched as he inched closer, how he pulled at his grip to gain a more safe distance.

“Do you know what happens the next time you lie?” He almost purred, knife now sliding over the bloodied lips.

“I don’t care. Beat me, carve me up with that knife of yours, see if I care.”

“You should. You should care. And believe me...” he trailed off, walking back to his chair and rummaged about in the duffel bag he had dragged down with his favourite tools. His fingers slid over the whip but he left it alone, not wanting to break his prey so badly from the start. He wanted to draw this out a little. Not just to make a point. To have some more fun. Slowly building up so that when the man did break, it would be glorious. Instead, he pulled out a cattle prod and a cane.

“You will care.”

-

Continued here

Tagging: @dutifullykrispyland @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @soopytime @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpawink @painsandconfusion

[the-whumpers-soiree]

Whumpers' Soirée Masterlist

A list of links to all the submissions to this event. I hope everyone had fun!!

The Party - by @painsandconfusion

Michael - by @shameless-dumbass

The Hunt | Lucky Mistake - by @writing-prompts-user

Grace | Zi - by @whumpshaped

Three Days Masterlist - by @quietly-by-myself and @darkthingshappen

RSVP | Outfit | Alec Part 1 | Alec Part 2 - by @suspicious-whumping-egg

RSVP - by @wormwriting

Among Friends | Anticipation | Attitude - by @whumblr

Sleeping Beauty - by @oddsconvert

Fleeting Clarity - by @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

Jamie/Leo AU - by @peachy-panic and @hold-him-down

A Night to Remember - by @maracujatangerine

RSVP - by @i-can-even-burn-salad

Salvation by @scribeoffwhump

A New Friend - by @honeybunny-og

Xerxes - by @secretwhumplair

Red - by @whump3000

Lysandros - by @noob-whump-writer

Bunny Rabbit by @whereallthewhumpgoes

Ronald - by @rizzamacka-whump

Felix - by @mothmxwhump

Levi - by @robins-whump

The Road To Hell | Part 2 - by @whumpcereal and @darkthingshappen

Buyer's Cards - by @garottesandgardens

The Price of Admission - by @jasonsilverafterdark

Grayson - by @abirbable

Black Blue, and Red - by @worldofwhumpcraft

Never Truly Free - by @sparrowsage

A Goodnight Cocktail - by @susiequaz12 and @darkthingshappen

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

Alec: Whumper's Soiree

My piece for the @the-whumpers-soiree event! TW for noncon drugging and mild suggestive themes involving masochism.

Here's Alec's outfit, for anyone curious!

Alec wandered the party awkwardly, fiddling with the blue glow stick around his wrist and gazing at the lavish attire of the other guests. It was a bad idea to come without Dorian, he realized. He was awkward and tense and trembling for fucks’ sake. 

He needed a drink. 

He strode towards the bar, his ankles already twinging uncomfortably from each step in the red platformed, heeled boots he’d chosen to wear. He knew he shouldn’t have chosen those shoes when his leg already throbbed more furiously than on most days, but they were the only shoes he had that matched his outfit. 

Still, he leaned on his cane a bit more than usual. He hoped it’d fit in with the stately look of the party— maybe people would assume it was nothing but a prop— yet he still felt stares burning into him as he limped across the room. 

The bar was already spread with an array of drinks for the taking, which was a relief because Alec felt he’d implode if forced to draw a decision from thin air at the moment. He grabbed a glass of translucent red liquid garnished with a spiral of lemon peel, taking a tentative sip. The drink had the sharp burn of vodka, and flavors of pomegranate and citrus to take from the bitterness. 

He threw back a shot of something deep blue, shuddering slightly and poorly stifling a cough. 

“You alright?” The stranger behind him asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Alec flinched hard at the touch, the glass slipping from his fingers and clattering back onto the bar. 

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, whirling around to look at who’d addressed him. They wore a shiny sapphire blazer over a dress of the same color, and a red glow stick was looped around their wrist. 

“It’s a nice party, hm?” they replied. “Just wanted to make sure nothing’s wrong. Can I show you something real quick?” 

Dorian would tell me to go, Alec told himself. They seemed nice enough, and there were plenty of people around— it wasn’t as if anything bad would happen with so many witnesses. He needed to stop being such a coward and just…

“Sure,” he relented. Sure? What kind of fucking idiot—

“I mean, that’d be great,” he tried again, his head beginning to spin pleasantly. “It’s been a bit awkward since I don’t know anyone else here, I don’t like going out alone anyway… it’s been a while. I’ve been, uh…” Kidnapped, tortured, locked in some freak’s basement— “I’ve been working from home for a while and don’t even remember how to socialize, so sorry about that.” 

The stranger just took his hand and led him away from the bar, across the large space, and into a smaller, tucked-away room. Their fingers were like ice against his skin. “I figure you want to be somewhere more quiet, then? So what’s your name, darling?” 

He faltered, freezing in place for a moment as his heart began to pound. His vision swam from a sudden rush of terror— that, or it was the alcohol kicking in. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh, do you not like pet names?” they asked, running a finger over one of Alec’s rings. “Sorry, it’s become a habit of mine to use them platonically. I meant nothing by it.” 

He shrugged, tugging his hand away and making his way to an armchair in the corner of the room. He sighed softly in relief when he could finally take his weight off his bad leg, sinking back into the cushions. “Don’t worry about it, I just— uh, bad memories. I’m Alec.” He stuck out his hand awkwardly. 

They shook his hand without missing a beat. “I’m Vei,” they replied. “You look gorgeous, where’d you get that shirt?” 

Alec shrugged. “It’s from…. an ex, actually,” he said, twisting one of his rings nervously. There were too many questions, and he hated the way the stranger scrutinized him, as if every movement was being measured. “I’m uh, gonna get another drink…” 

He stumbled up from his chair, beginning to limp towards the doorway. Yet before he even took a second step, Vei kicked out and swept his cane from the ground, and he fell forward as his leg buckled with the sudden agony of bearing his full weight. They caught him by his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his neck to force him upright. He thrashed against their grip, crying out pitifully as he threw out desperate blows, hoping one of them would hit his attacker. 

“Hey now, Alec, be good for me,” Vei murmured, reaching into their pocket to tug out a syringe already full of liquid. “I wouldn’t want to have to use this.”

He stilled, his eyes widening as his heart began to pound. “Nhh— no— please—“ he choked out, forcing himself still despite his every instinct screaming at him to fight back. “I’ll— I’ll be good.” He’d be dragged off to some fresh hell soon enough, he could at least keep a scrap of dignity about him. 

“You’re either smart, then, or used to this?” Vei smirked, loosening their hold around his throat. After all, he wouldn’t be as fun while unconscious. “Well, in any case, it’d be a pity to let this go to waste.” They snapped the safety on the syringe and stabbed deep into Alec’s neck, pushing the plunger in one quick motion. 

Alec bit back a whimper, barely able to keep himself from shoving Vei off of him while he was still able. The drug had been delivered, he was too late anyway. He’d been doomed the moment he stepped into the room with them. He felt his hold on his body weaken, his limbs grew heavier and heavier with every passing second, and he fell limp into Vei’s grip. 

“Aww, you’re adorable, all sweet and pathetic like this,” they praised, hefting him into a bridal hold and plucking his cane from the ground. “Whoever—“ they paused, lifting Alec’s left hand to examine the scars running across the back of it. They ran a finger over the brand marks, tracing the letters carefully. 

“Raina must have been very lucky to get a hold on someone like you.” 

They strode from the room and across the large hall of guests— notably emptier than before— and carried him through another doorway. 

Nononono not again please someone care for once please— He begged wordlessly. 

He glimpsed a guard nodding at Vei as the two of them passed. They know about it. Alec realized. They know and they don’t fucking care. And somehow that was worse than no one noticing at all. 

Vei continued their maze-like path until they came to a room that they unlocked with a keycard. 

“No one should bother us here,” they said nonchalantly as they set Alec’s limp form on the couch. He noticed a warm glow near the wall and squinted, trying to make out what it was through his doubling, swimming vision. A fireplace, he realized. And something was sticking out of it 

His captor smirked. “I don’t want you to forget me just ‘cause we only have a short while together,” they said condescendingly, approaching Alec where he lay. They tugged at the tie on his shirt until it slipped open, then pulled the blouse over his head. He flinched at the touch, twitching as he attempted to recoil from them. 

“So many scars,” they observed. “Someone’s been bad… no wonder you were abandoned.” 

“She didn’ abandon me… I shot her,” Alec muttered, the words rolling heavily from his mouth. “Killed another of ‘em… don’ know about her, but he’s super fucking dead… an’ I‘m more than happy to carry on the trend with you…” 

Vei shook their head and simply put a hand over Alec’s mouth. “You’re cuter when you’re quiet,” they said distastefully. They turned to rummage through a drawer, plucking an object out and turning back towards Alec. “Open up,” they ordered. 

His eyes widened when he saw the ball gag in their hands, yet he didn’t have the energy to fight what he knew was a losing battle. He cracked his mouth open tentatively, and Vei seized the moment to shove the ball between his teeth, buckling it tight behind his head as he choked from the pressure. 

“Much better,” they remarked. “Now, will you hold still for me, or do I need to help you?” 

Alec gestured at the gag, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Maybe ask me before you gag me, genius. 

“Aww, I guess I just have to decide for you. I won’t make it hard, I’ll help you out, pretty boy,” Vei cooed. They scooted a wooden chair close to the couch, then heaved Alec off the couch and onto the chair, twisting his arms behind his back and then looking in the same drawer for something to restrain him. 

Moments later, his wrists were bound tightly with zip ties and secured to the back of the chair, then Vei knelt to restrain his ankles to the chair legs.

“Where do you want the brand? Shoulder? Chest? Back? Maybe I could do your other hand, so it’ll be even. If I did your face, I doubt your other owner would forgive me, but it’d be so fun…”

They plucked the branding iron from the fire, its tip flat and red-hot, and used a finger to trace the left area of his upper chest— barely below his clavicle. It would be a nice spot— only hidden under carefully chosen garments, guaranteed to remind him of them every day, but not overtly conspicuous. Not enough that his other captor would likely seek Vei out. He’d probably been sent to the party as a punishment, anyway, and they were more than happy to help with that. 

They held the brand over his skin for a split second, and Alec whimpered at the already-painful heat radiating into his chest. Desperate, fearful tears burned at the corners of his eyes, and he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch.

The agony that split through his chest was all-consuming. He screamed around the gag, his stomach lurching, and his tears began to fall. He sobbed between the pained cries that escaped his lips, thrashing weakly against the restraints. 

“Please—“ he tried to beg. The word came out as nothing but a strangled groan. 

Vei smirked, pressing the brand deeper into his skin. The mark it left needed to be perfect, and they didn’t want to have to repeat the process in another spot. 

Alec’s screams grew sharper and more desperate as the pain intensified, white-hot and searing. When Vei plucked the iron off his chest and set it aside, he dissolved into sobs once more, gasping for breath around the gag. 

“Good boy,” they said condescendingly, carding a hand through his hair and leaning down to peer at the brand, fresh and red and glistening with blood. “Just one more thing, then I’ll let someone else have a turn.” 

Vei pulled a butterfly knife from their pocket and flipped it open, twirling it through their fingers before pressing the tip to Alec’s sternum. “Hmm… where to begin?” they mused. 

They carved a shallow line down his torso, bright and sharp and wonderful. Alec shivered, but this time in pleasure. It was a nice kind of pain, and it distracted from the throbbing in his legs and the searing ache of the brand. It was familiar. 

The next cut was deeper, trailing a neat line of blood down his bicep, and he barely choked back a moan. The fear, the drugs, the burning— the bite of the knife was a balm to it all. Vei mirrored the cut on his other side, making the cut with a practiced efficiency, and he didn’t bother holding back a little gasp of pleasure. It sounded the same as one of fear, after all. 

The tip of the blade was held to the hollow of his throat, and Alec squeezed his eyes shut. Yet they only ghosted the knife over his neck, his chest, his shoulders, letting the blade painlessly brush his skin ever-so-often so he wouldn’t forget the power his captor held. The blade slipped, sudden pain bloomed over his shoulder as the point parted skin effortlessly. 

“Nnh—” Alec moaned around the gag, leaning ever-so-slightly into the blade. The prick wasn’t enough, the tiny cuts weren’t enough, he needed to escape. He needed the fear and helplessness drowned out, forgotten in the midst of the knife and the pain and the delight he gleaned from it all. 

Vei pulled the knife away. “Dirty little slut,” they scoffed, setting the blade aside. “Let’s see if you enjoy this quite as much.” 

They plucked an electric baton from the pile of weapons beside them, turning it on with the flick of a switch, and Alec’s eyes widened. His captor raised it without hesitation, grinning at the sight of their victim’s fear.  And when Alec’s body seized with the searing shock of the baton, his scream was one of agony.

[quietly-by-myself]

Three Days: Chapter One

This is a collab with @darkthingshappen as a joint entry for @the-whumpers-soiree. It features Faolan from my Mercury and Time series (link here) and Tay's original whumper, Finlay.

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

That being said, it's about 36k words total, so we're starting a tag list.

Content for Chapter 1: PTSD, kidnapping, noncon drugging, alcohol, intimate whumper

It took all of two minutes after receiving his blue glow bracelet for Faolan to find his way to the bathroom.

He looked himself in the mirror again, wondering if he'd overdressed or under-dressed or just dressed wrong. Shit. What have I gotten myself into?

Atticus had warned him not to go. He'd said that the invitation looked too fishy. He'd reminded Faolan of the exact thing that was happening then.

Faolan admittedly hated crowds. Ever since learning that his testimony against General William had been broadcasted to the world, Faolan hated showing his face in public. It wasn't exactly that anyone was impolite enough to ask, but he shrank into himself every time because someone might ask. Someone might know.

Hoping that nobody would walk into the bathroom, Faolan allowed himself a few deep breaths. Everything's going to be okay. I just need to get out there. I need to meet people. Anyway, this whole gig was free. It's such a nice party.

The bustling of the city was overwhelming compared to Atticus' cabin in Maine. It was painfully obvious as he walked out of the bathroom that he wasn't a city boy.

Is it weird for an artist to be from the country?

His hometown wasn't exactly rich. When he thought of those insecurities, he reminded himself of Dolly Parton. Though they were from different countries, different backgrounds entirely, it gave him some semblance of strength when he interacted with the upper crust of society that was everywhere in Maine and all the other places Atticus brought him.

He approached the bar quietly, hoping to strike up a conversation some other way besides... well, the obvious. Maybe someone would talk to him first.

What are half these drinks made out of?

Another poor boy thing - he never understood the point of making such small, fancy-looking finger foods. When Faolan saw them, he could only think about the amount of waste that went into it. People from different, richer countries didn't understand what it was to watch four people fight over a few potatoes.

In fact, the bloodlust in the room was palpable. Faolan chalked it up to his PTSD as he looked to order a drink made up from brandy. At least he knew what brandy was.

He looked to the person next to him - another person with a blue wristband. "So, uh, what did you come here for? I thought it might be some sort of art thing, but I can't seem to figure it out now."

The person didn't really answer. Faolan knew he could look intimidating. After all, he'd been a soldier at some point in his tortured life. He let off a certain feel now. He had spirit. He had happiness. He had people he cared for. He also looked as strong as he knew he was.

Eventually, the person moved away without much of another word.

Faolan's drink arrived rather quickly. His alcohol tolerance was much higher than most people his size, so the first didn't touch him.

Might as well try the fancy food, too.

As he drank and ate quietly, alone, he thought of his home back in Maine. What he wouldn't give to have his canvas there to paint the scene. It was so different from what he got to paint back home.

*!*!*!*!*

Finlay smiled as he spotted his prey, his target.  He came; he actually accepted the invitation and showed up.  This night was suddenly perfect.  

He thought briefly about the first time he’d seen the quiet artist.  He’d been hovering behind Atticus Dufort.  They were probably a thing.  Atticus was too upstanding to admit to anything in public, but the way the boy stayed close to him.  Atticus obviously had some claim over him.  Or did.  He wouldn’t after tonight.  

He excused himself from the conversation he’d been in,  picked up his drink, and moved to the bar.  

“Come here often?” he asked his target, smiling at the younger man’s blue armband.  

Faolan laughed a little nervously.  “Uh…no.  Never.  You?”  

“They throw this party once a year, so yeah.  I’ve come the past few years.”

Faolan shifted a bit in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before?  Oh, but I forget myself.  I’m being rude.  My name is Finlay.  Finlay Iver.  I run a non-profit out of New York.  It’s how I got this swanky invitation.  What’s your name?”

Faolan, with his light but almost unidentifiable accent, crafted his polite response.  “Faolan Dufort.”  He perked up a little when he heard about New York.  “Oh, New York was nice when I went with my friend.  Beautiful city; plenty of places to paint.  I’m an artist from Maine. Very different from home.”

“An artist.  I knew you must be talented.  You should come visit me in New York sometime.  I could show some stuff most tourists never get to see.”  Finlay winked boldly at the young man.  “I think I know where I saw you.  You said your last name was Dufort?  Are you with Atticus Dufort?  Did I see you at one of those government shindigs last month?”

Something in Faolan froze at the question as he shifted a little. “I would enjoy that. New York has some of the best museums I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh for sure.  The Met is amazing… MOMA… Have you been to The Cloisters?” Finlay sipped his drink, hoping to encourage Faolan to drink his as well.  

His body showed the unspoken sigh as he continued the conversation, dodging the topic he really didn’t want to press on. “I was never a ceramicist.” He took a sip of his brandy-drink. “I’m a painter myself. I prefer to browse the ancient paintings and tapestries myself. The Egyptians and Greeks were exceptionally talented painters.”

“For sure.  And art that managed to last… thousands of years and we can still enjoy it.  Do you have anything you hope will last that long?”

“No, I don’t think so.” The answer came to him almost immediately. “Who knows what dramas of our world would even be worth remembering a thousand years from now? Will humans even be around then? Aren’t we all meant to die in a thousand years anyway?” He waved his hand up in the air a bit.

“Well, let’s drink to that, then?  To the present.”  Finlay raised his glass, inclining it toward Faolan.  He waited for the young man to drink more of his cocktail.  

“To the present then.” He toasted Finlay and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.

“I’d really love to see your work sometime.  If it was enough to impress Atticus, it must be amazing.”  Finlay smiled.  Now all he needed to do was wait.  

“I met Atticus long before then.” Faolan frowned a little to himself at the memory. “He’s military. You probably know that. I was one of the people in a rescue at some point. After he was discharged, he helped me get back on my feet. Art is a recent venture.”

Uh huh.  Back on your feet and in his bed no doubt, Finlay thought.  “A rescue.  Please tell me you don’t think of yourself as a lost puppy?”

“Oh, definitely not.” Faolan looked repulsed at the idea. “I’m not from a kind country. To be here is a privilege, but I’m here of my own strength.”

Faolan began to feel a little woozy. He didn’t exactly expect the alcohol to hit so strongly. He thought his alcohol tolerance was much higher than that. As he found himself falling asleep, things started to make sense. He fell asleep before he could even cry for help.

Finlay smirked as Faolan slumped over.  His own strength indeed.  He caught the glass in Faolan’s hand before it could fall to the floor.  He pulled out his phone.  

“Send the car around.  We’re coming down,” he informed his chauffeur.  “And make sure you use that private back entrance they told us about.”

Finlay set his drink to the side and scooped up Faolan.  He pulled his arm over his shoulder so that he could drag-carry him to the back elevator.  There was a guard there.  Finlay showed him his red bracelet and then Faolan’s blue one.  The guard smiled approvingly.

“Hope you enjoyed your hunting, sir.”

“Very much.  Highlight of my year.”

“Enjoy your choice, sir.  Until next year.”  He held the elevator door open for Finlay as he dragged Faolan into the elevator.  

From there, it was only a short distance down the back hallway and then out to his waiting Sedan.  Faolan fit snuggly next to him, perfect.  

“To the jet, please.  Our business here is done.”

[robins-whump]

Go and read the pinned post @the-whumpers-soiree for context!

No warnings apply (yet <3)

Autumn cold bit at his cheeks, frozen hands tucked under his armpits. Levi shifted on his feet, waiting in the alley just beyond the reach of thumping music and flashing lights. The heaving roar of the club strained from behind the door, and between him and hot, pumping bodies was an immovable bouncer.

Ugh, the line was barely ten people. It shouldn’t be taking this long.

It had seemed pretty exclusive, from what Jason had told him. To be fair, Jason wasn’t exactly a reliable source of information. Just gave him the address and a guarantee he’d be let in. For Levi, who had just spent some of the best years of his life hiding from a literal plague…

Well, he didn’t need much convincing.

But finally at the front of the line, Levi flashed an ID at the bouncer, hands shaking from cold and adrenaline. His ID said twenty-two and he could totally pass for it – when he wasn’t wearing a sheer top and eyeliner.

The bouncer barely glanced at his ID before handing it back.

“Wrist.”

Levi held out a wrist, cool olive skin glowing green against the neon welcome sign above the door.

The bouncer snapped on a glowing blue wristband from a large box. Behind it, a much emptier basket held red wristbands.

Levi inspected the new accessory. “What’s this for?”

The bouncer gave him a bored stare. All Levi could see reflected in the man’s dark shades was his own gelled-back hair and bright, feverish eyes.

The invite said sober entry only. Just looking at the girls who went in front of him he could see that was a fucking lie.

“Just club policy.”

He went to push past the bouncer – it really was fucking cold – but an iron grip on his wrist stopped him.

“I’ll also need your phone.”

“Uhh,” Levi tried to stall. “Like, really?”

“Really,” the bouncer said flatly.

“What if I need to call someone?” Which, you know, could be better done over text.

“Then come back outside and get it.”

He leaned in with a flirtatious grin. “Why all the secrecy? Is this the kind of club where you don’t want pictures?”

A flash of white teeth hid the undercurrent of tension straining his voice. Jason told him this place was a bit weird. Levi was thinking more twinks in collars kind of weird, not taking-your-phone-until-you-leave kind of weird.

He much preferred the former.

The security guard’s expression didn’t change. “Something like that.” he agreed.

Levi flashed another smile. “Well, alrighty then. He fished his phone out of his back pocket and reluctantly handed it over. He was not gonna let weird club rules ruin his night.

The bouncer slipped the phone into one of his many pockets.

“Right this way.”

Finally, finally, the door opened, and the heat, the light, the thumping bass all washed over him. The bouncer nudged him forward, and when he looked back a moment later, the door was closed behind him.

Levi found himself pushed into a writhing crowd, a sea of limbs and half-naked sweating bodies. Glowing blue wristbands bobbed with the music, but there were a fair few red wristbands too. Some, in among the crowd, others, standing back, watching.

He let himself be pulled further in. he danced with a girl, with a boy, kissed them both and slunk away before either could try to give him their number. Danced with a third, until they were pulled away by someone in a red wristband, giddy and winking back at him like he was missing the joke.

He lost time to the thump thump of the beat, swaying until he was stumbling out of the mosh and leaning against a sticky bar.

Levi rested his elbows on the counter to catch his breath, a bead of sweat dripping down his nose. He grabbed a glass of water from the stack while the bartender was busy with someone else.

The water was barely cool but still soothing. As he sipped, he made eye contact with a guy across the bar. A few years older than him. Business shirt rolled to his elbows, five-o’clock shadow more of a one-am shadow. Glowing red wristband on his left wrist. Levi might have thought he’d come straight from work if his trousers weren’t too tight to be considered work-appropriate.

Still, the stubble traced a sharp jawline, and the man’s warm, dark eyes were locked with his.

Levi pushed off the counter as the guy came around. His eyes slid up and down, from too-nice work shoes on the tacky floor to his chest, top couple buttons popped open. He wouldn’t mind unpopping a few more.

He moves closer to the guy, who’s got one arm propped up on the counter and the other in his pocket. Comfortable.

“This doesn’t seem like your kinda scene,” he shouts over the music still blaring.

The guy smiled, like it was some private joke. “What makes you think that? Maybe this is exactly my kind of scene.”

Levi laughed. “I think I could be convinced.”

The guy grins back, and again they lock eyes. “Let me buy you a drink.”

It’s not a question and Levi doesn’t take it as such. “I’ll have whatever’s strongest.”

Five minutes and half a drink later, Levi’s giggling. He toys with the man’s red bracelet and holds the man’s hand in both of his own.

“How come you get a red one?” he pouts.

The guy laughs, a little mocking. He cups Levi’s jaw with one broad hand, and wow, the world was looking a little hazy. The flashing colours must be getting to him.

“Don’t you like yours? It suits you.”

“Thanks.” He leans into the other guy until their lips are inches apart. “I still like yours better.”

Warmth creeps up his neck, and it must be the guy’s smile that does it because alcohol doesn’t work that fast.

He’s pulled even closer, the hand with the red wristband settled around his waist.

“I can show you what it’s for, if you like.

A voice in his ear, hot and murmuring.

Levi nods, soft and eager.

“You can’t tell anyone. House secret.”

“Of course,” Levi breathes, entirely too sincere. He pictures VIP rooms hosting the real party, with more free drinks and red wristbands he knows he wants to snag next time he’s here.

So the man leads him away from the pulsing music, and Levi follows, swaying on bambi legs that shouldn’t be buckling after just one drink.

[scribeoffwhump]

Salvation

(Hi, hi. I saw the invitation for @the-whumpers-soiree and wrote original fiction for the first time in 15 years because the prompt was so good. Welcome to my new side-blog for whumpy original stories I guess.)

Only warning is that this is f/f so implied female whump.

She feels the stares at the clatter of her heels against the floor of the penthouse. Perhaps the weight of the gazes is for the cane she’s tapping to find her way. Perhaps it’s the four-inch heels causing her to tower over most people, starting at 6 feet tall. Perhaps it’s the way she’s left the first two buttons of her crisp, white shirt undone. 

Ve pushes her glasses up and shrugs out of her trench coat. She holds it out until someone takes it. 

“Mine should be red,” she purrs at the nervous young thing manning the desk. The pet’s hand trembles but she feels the bracelets change. There’s a difference in texture- a pleasing addition from their hosts. The red is weighted, heavy, and about an inch thick. 

The blue bracelets are lighter, slimmer, and smoother. “Thank you.” 

The attendant murmurs a shy “you’re welcome.” 

The tremble in her voice is lovely, but Ve prefers someone with a bit more spunk. And the attendants are off-limits.

For now.  The rules for these events tend to be flexible. 

“Did you need further assistance, ma’am?” 

 Ve steps closer and traces fingers along smooth skin. The girl flinches. 

“I think I’ll manage,” Ve says stepping away. It’s a bit early to test the limits of their hosts’ hospitality and the girl isn’t quite what she’s looking for. 

The party is just beginning. Ve makes out several distinct voices on her way to the bar. A couple that must be wearing blue bracelets from their nervous whispers. A man that is clearly seducing prey. A man speaking loudly into a cell phone based on the tinny responses. 

“Ve! Darling.”

She lifts her face to smile at the welcoming voice. 

“Bernard. I believe our hosts were to provide certain accommodations.” 

He wraps her in a light hug and kisses each cheek. She folds her cane and loops it on her belt. 

“Of course, of course! I volunteered my own little Drew to help you. Do keep him out of trouble, will you?” 

He presses a warm piece of leather into her right hand. 

“You’re a peach,” she answers, reaching down to feel the boy’s face. Smooth skin, the symmetry she’s used to Bernard liking in his boys, wide eyes, plush lips, short, rough hair. 

She traces his neck and shoulders and splays a hand along his abdomen. Taut. 

“A pleasing specimen, if not my usual type. You’ll be good for me, won’t you boy?” 

“Yes ma’am.” He breathes the words as she pats his head. 

“Excellent. I’d like to mingle. Be a dear and fetch me a drink. I’ll take a whiskey, neat.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

How she loves the sound of that. It will be even sweeter when she finds her own new acquisition. 

-

Gabby tries to relax her shoulders. The party is just starting and she has the best shot of getting as many out as possible if she spaces it out. 

“Need a red bracelet,” she grunts as the desk attendant. A girl just a few years younger than her with wide terrified eyes.  

“Of course.” The girl reaches under the desk, keeping her eyes trained on Gabby. 

Good. The people asking for red bracelets are the kind she shouldn’t trust and she knows it. 

Gabby grunts thanks. She keeps her leather jacket on over her tight black mini-dress and shuffles into the main party area. She spots her first target in the corner. A young girl wearing a purple sundress, twisting a blue bracelet around her right wrist. 

A statuesque woman with short blonde hair and a glowing red bracelet towers over the girl. Gabby hates herself for the heat in her belly at the way her tailored suit clings to every curve. 

Gabby is pretty sure she’s too late until the woman takes her hand away from where it had been resting on the girl’s cheek and gestures to a shirtless young man whose muscles ripple as he walks towards her and hands her a red, leather leash. 

She turns away from the girl and heads towards the bar steady and confident in her four-inch heels. 

Fuck, Gabby. You’re here to help other poor saps not get yourself caught up in another toxic relationship. 

She smiles and waves at purple sundress. The girl’s face lights up as she waves back. Gabby takes a breath and walks toward her. 

It shouldn’t take much to convince her to leave and then Gabby can slide back in. She may only get two or three out this way, but it’s better than none.

-

Ve traces the outside of her glass enjoying the feel of the condensation against her fingertips. 

“I believe another is interested in your girl, ma’am.”  

“Hmmm. That wilting butterfly was a bit naive for my tastes. It’s early, Drew. There will be plenty of pleasing little things to go around.” 

-

Gabby winks at the desk attendant when she returns an hour or so after escorting purple sundress home. The girl had seemed disappointed when she didn’t stay and hadn’t seemed to understand or appreciate the warning about events like these. 

Gabby slides a 20$ bill to the attendant and places a finger to her lips. The girl stares at it and shrugs, but she slides the bill into her pocket. 

The party is in full swing now, little clusters of people mingle  around the room. More than a few people have broken off to find dark corners. Someone is pressed against the window by a large man stroking his hair and whispering into their ear. 

The blond woman from early is chatting with another girl. This one is gazing at her like a love sick puppy. The taller woman is stroking her wrist, fingers pausing at the blue bracelet. 

“Hey, long time no see,” Gabby intervenes. Her heart thrums at the risk, at the way the woman turns towards her with a frown. Dark glasses obscure her eyes. 

The girl looks up at Gabby, dazed, a little irritated maybe. She’s wearing black dress with red polka-dots and matching red heels. Her brown hair is done up in a pony-tail tied with a red ribbon. 

“To whom do we the owe the pleasure?” the blond asks with a slight smirk. Her voice deep with the slightest accent that Gabby doesn’t place immediately. 

“I’m not sure,” polka-dots says. 

“Don’t you remember? Gabby, from work. You just started, right?” 

Polka-dots looks startled but nods slowly. It’s not hard when you know what kind of people were invited to wear the blue bracelets. 

“Don’t worry, there’s so many of us! Who’s your new friend?” 

The woman smirks. “I’m called Ve. Tell me is Gabby short for something?” 

“Is Ve?” 

The woman’s deep chuckle is bad news. The woman is bad news. But Gabby takes her outstretched hand and Ve runs fingers along her bracelet. “It’s considered impolite at best to interrupt someone else’s acquisition.” 

Gabby snatches her hand back. “Politeness is overrated.” 

Polka-dots stares at them, lips parted. 

Gabby wraps an arm around her shoulder and presses lips to her cheek. The girl tenses. 

“Trust me,” she whispers into her ear. “You want to leave with me.” 

Ve makes a gesture with her hand and the half-naked boy on the leash makes an appearance. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again, Gabby.” 

Gabby doesn’t understand the slight twist on Ve’s lips until she pulls the white cane from her belt. 

-

Ve smiles as she makes her way back to the bar. “I believe, Drew, I have found my target.” 

“They’re both leaving ma’am.” 

“They are. But that little spitfire, Gabby, she’ll be back.” 

“Was ma’am aware of Gabby’s red bracelet?” 

“Distinctly.”