#very brief vague reference to noncon touching

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Oh oki “fire and brimstone” for Jameson maybe?

CW: Some talk about fundamentalist Christianity from perspective of someone who left and had a bad exprience with it, memory loss, backstory hinting for Jameson, recovering whumpee, mentioned domestic and child abuse

“Every Sunday, rain or shine,” Jake is saying, the skillet in front of him sizzling so loudly with the frying crumbled-up sausage that he has to raise his voice to be heard. “All of us right there for Sunday School at 9, service at 10, on a good day we’d walk back out at noon to go eat.”

Jameson watches him, and thinks, I didn’t come down here to hear your fucking life story.

They’re the first two up, the sun rising in pinks and purples slowly giving way to blue. Jameson had stayed in bed for a while, watching the sky turn gray first, thinking of Allyn’s eyes. 

He’d padded down here to get something to eat, only to find Jake already in the kitchen, pulling out a cylinder of breakfast sausage wrapped in plastic, heating up a flat black cast-iron skillet. Jameson hadn’t asked, but Jake had said it was a gift from his mother.

Pretty sure you’re not allowed to move out where I come from without at least one. Jake’s voice is cheerful, sparking lemon bursts underlaid with something deeper, darker, that Jameson can’t name. Something smoother. 

He’s trying to be friends, Jameson thinks, and he doesn’t want to be friends, not with anyone, but... his mouth is watering at the scent of the sausage cooking and there are biscuits already in the oven, warm dough smell overlaying everything else. 

White Lily Flour, Jake said, patting the bag of it on the counter. I was raised right.

Jake’s lemon voice took on a hint of bitterness. Jameson wonders, sometimes, if he tastes changes in emotion, or if it’s just his brain malfunctioning, sparking off-key. He thinks he tastes the right things. Nobody’s ever asked him about it. He’s never told anyone. 

None of this - baking, cast-iron cooking, church - means a fucking thing to Jameson.

Except... it sort of does.

“Some days,” Jake says, pushing the sausage around with a wooden spoon, breaking up large clumps that are still pink in the center, “We didn’t get out until one. Just depended on what he was pissed off about that day. Then Monday my dad had men’s group, my mom had women’s group on Tuesdays, we had another service Wednesday night - short one, though. Then Youth Group on Fridays once I was old enough... I wasn’t in it for long, though. We left a few months after I was old enough to join.”

Jake stops, for a second, staring down at the sausage. He picks up a small measuring cup and shakes out some flour, stirring the sausage round as it picks it up. 

“Your family get sick of all that fucking sitting?” Jameson asks, just to fill the silence.

Jake swallows. “Nah. Just my mom and I. Got sick of all that fire and brimstone being aimed at us.”

Jameson’s eyebrows come together. Jake’s voice dips, caramelizes, the lemon is sticky-sweet and feels like fuzz sticking in his head. There’s something here he doesn’t get, and he definitely doesn’t give a fuck, only... 

He leans forward. “What’s that mean?”

Jake turns the heat down on the stove, and Jameson watches the gas flame flicker and become smaller. Then he pours milk in from a carton Jameson drank out of yesterday, not that he’s telling anyone, and watches as it heats.

The timer over the oven dings. Jake pulls on his oven mitt and pulls the tray of golden-brown biscuits out, setting them on a folded towel to cool on the counter while he finishes up the gravy. 

For a second, Jameson thinks Jake isn’t going to answer him.

“My Papa - dad’s dad - was head of the men’s group. He’d been a church deacon for decades, preacher’s right-hand man. Nana Stanton ran music, played the organ, organized the choir. My dad was everybody’s favorite son, you know? Preacher and his wife had six daughters. My dad was prob’ly supposed to marry one of them. He married Mom, instead. My mom and I... we caused trouble for him.”

This is weird, and yet Jameson can’t stop the sense that the hair on the back of his neck is standing up. Something is whispering to him, from deep in the recesses of his thoughts. He doesn’t care.

He has to know.

“Trouble how?”

Jake takes a breath, lets it out. Slow exhale. “My Dad’s a piece of shit, that’s all you need to know. Spent a whole fucking bunch of my childhood in the ER, for me or for Mom.”

Jameson feels himself rock forward, like a hand clapped him on the back too strongly, like the handler slapping the deep red welts just to listen to him moan, right on cue, in reply. 

Me, too. I did that, too.

No. False memories are a result of the Drip, of training. He knows that. He knows-

Wait, no, it wasn’t me. It was-

I had to-

Slid a piece of paper across the table with what she needed to escape, money for college and an apartment and a plane ticket as far away as she could get, happy birthday, you got this, never think about this bullshit family again, and the woman sitting at the desk had smiled and said, I think we can make this work for everyone involved, Mr.-

“... needed help,” Jake is saying, as he cooks down the gravy. It had boiled at some point, now he’s simmering, stirring as it thickens, adding salt and pepper. “But they told Mom she should strive to be fucking Godly. That it was better for her to fucking ‘stick it out’ because marriage is fucking sacred. Nobody told my dad not to be the goddamn devil to his wife and kid, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jameson whispers. Jake’s voice is dark now, the lemon is nearly buried by something thick and black with anger. It slides over Jameson’s mind, smooths out the thoughts he is trying desperately to hold onto.

Jake glances over at him. Whatever he reads in Jameson’s face, he sighs, softly. “Sorry, man. You didn’t ask about my bullshit. Sometimes it just... gets to me all over again. Usually whenever my dad manages to manipulate my grandparents or something into giving him my p.o. box address again.”

The headache arrives, swift and sudden, and Jameson closes his eyes against the flash of light, the thunderclap of pain that follows on its heels. 

Jake fixes him a plate of biscuits, gravy piled high, and it smells so so good and Jameson takes his first bite with the sense of a hard wooden bench biting into his spine and the pastor’s voice droning and she was holding his hand, the two of them, knowing this was the last time they’d be here, together.

She sat in church with the plane ticket he’d bought her in her pocket, hidden from them all. He’d held her hand with his heart in his throat, thinking about his brother.

Was it worth it?

What was it, anyway?

Jake sits down across from him, and Jameson looks up through the throb of pain to see those blue eyes focused on him, concerned. “You all right?”

He’s back to lemon, bright and tart, slightly browned from sugar and heat. Like a candied slice on a cake. But Jameson feels the steady rush of a river underneath, flowing under mountains, gradually wearing away the very earth that keeps them standing. 

“I’m fine,” Jameson says, and takes a bite.

What had he done, when he signed up for this?

Who had he done it for?

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump  @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @wildfaewhump

[kim-poce]

Alex and Neo 30 - No words

CW: nothing much, past trauma, and very brief and vague reference of past noncon.

Alex and Neo - Masterlist

Part 1 | Previous | Next

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It was too much for a single morning, too much for the few minutes Neo had been awake, first, he woke up in Master's arms, so close, so dangerous, so sudden, but somehow… safe. Master was still sleeping and Neo moved away with the risk of waking him up, but he needed to feel that he can stop the touches if he wants.

It was just after this that Neo saw her. Ma’am was looking, she was smiling, not in a mean way, rather soft this time, but somehow everything she does seem scary, Neo wasn’t sure what he needed to do, but Master woke up right after, so he decided to be quiet.

Master asked him if he wanted to talk to Ma’am Evie, Master asked what he wanted, he didn’t want to talk to her, not when her voice is always off or too believable, never in between, but she seemed calmer now, and she can’t hurt him, she said so, so Neo accepted.

Master walked away awkwardly, he stopped just after turning the hallway, and Neo could see in Ma’am Evie’s face that she knew this too, Neo knew what she was going to talk about, the same subject from the two days he spent on her: Master.

She only asked quick questions, she accepted Neo’s half-answers, she patted Neo’s head, she was good at it, Master is awkward at the best, Neo loves his pats anyway and he is getting better too.

Neo kept looking at the hallway, more than afraid he was worried, nothing could take last night’s images from his mind, or the painful knee sobs, at least Neo was glad that he judged Ma’am Evie intentions right, she only wanted to know about Master before leave, he doesn’t understand why they don’t talk to each other, or way she never approaches Master first, but he has a feeling this won’t be the last time he will have to do the talking instead.

Ma’am Evie took her hand off his hair when he was too uncomfortable, and she sent him away on the same way she did back then, but not to the other room, this time to Master, so he walked away, there was always something odd when walking away from her, but that didn’t seem important, so he ignored.

Master was relieved for a second, lost in the other, Neo decided it wasn’t his problem at first, but it was too alike from last night, and he was afraid Master would break again, so he interfered, Master came back to the present, his eyes were still shaken, but the morning had been too much for everyone, so, for now, it was okay.

The way to Master’s room was awkward, neither f them knew what to do, they just knew that they wanted to be next to each other.

Hugo was the one that served the food, he kept glancing at Neo, and Neo managed to give him a shy smile, he was grateful for the extra sweets and he wanted Hugo to know it, Hugo also gave off a smile, slightly sad, looking down to the spot Neo was kneeling.

Master looked down at him too, he didn’t ask Neo to sit up this time, but as soon as Hugo left the room Master got up and knelt on the floor, ignoring Neo’s widened eyes, he put the tray of food on the floor and looked at Neo.

“O-o-only only pets s-should- p-people don’t”, Neo said through his shaken breath, the words were coming out of his mouth, Ash’s voice was yelling, but the words didn’t feel right, they never did, “o-o-only pets.”

“You are not a pet, Neo”, Alex said with a firm voice, holding Neo’s hands, looking into his eyes, “You are a great person better than-”, I could ever be, “-everyone in this place, you don't deserve what they did to you.”

Neo looked down as always, Ash’s voice was saying Master is wrong, saying that he needs to know his place, but Master felt right, this was still too scary and too sudden, everything in this house is always too sudden. Neo stayed in silence, he didn’t agree, but he also didn’t disagree.

Neo did stop kneeling, sitting on the floor instead, Master did the same and everything felt so wrong, Master should be on the chair, Neo should- should be somewhere else, “Can I… hug you again?”, Master asked, not moving, only waiting, even when he can force it, when he was strong, he still asked.

Neo didn’t reply, but he got close, slowly, until his head was leaned on Master’s shoulder, they ate slowly, taking their time. Words didn’t matter, there was warmth, the were choices and safety. Master patted his head, not as softly as Ma'am Evie, but safer.

They didn't remember the next time a morning felt so peaceful.

=======

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-blog, @wolfeyedwitch, @octopus-reactivated, @whumpkinpie, @equinix, @stuck-in-this-mortal-form, @melancholy-in-the-morning, @neverthelass

[whumpqin]

Doing Better

Next chapter! This one got uh..... a little long, which is why it took a while to get up!! Hope yall enjoy haha

Elisha / Caleb tag: @faewhump @imagination1reality0 @galaxywhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @insanitywishes (If you want to be added, just message me!

CW: Pet whump, conditioning, brainwashing, references to past torture, creepy/intimate whumper, dubcon touching, blindfolded, bound, references to glass and knives, forced nudity (nonsexual), forced bathing, threats, vague(?) self-victim blaming, water torture / drowning, emetophobia warning, brief noncon kiss on the cheek, a lot happened here ok

Word count: 4,592

“Ugh, how gross you can get in a week I’ll never know,” came their chastising words, nose wrinkled in disgust as they took in the state of him.

Elisha curled in on himself in shame and tried not to think too much about it. Instead, he flicked his gaze over to Jeremiah, who was quietly setting down materials to clean the room. He could almost smell the bite of the cleaning products already, laced with overbearing, flowery scents.

When Aridai stepped closer to him, he tilted his head upwards to meet their gaze. He knew very well how this worked. They gave him a drug, let it settle in, and then he would wake up in a freshly clean basement with different trousers on and a fresh sense of denial about what had happened. Elisha parted his jaws instinctually, used to the habit of showing how ‘eager’ he was.

He knew that it’s what they liked him to do. He was too tired, he didn’t feel an inclination to do anything else.

Even his instincts were beginning to grow quiet nowadays.

They stared him down for a moment, taking in his obedient, kneeling pose and open mouth with too much joy for a normal person, before sliding their fingers underneath either side of his jaw. He leaned into the touch as if on cue, knowing very well what would happen if he did anything else. 

Don’t you dare pull away from me, Caleb.

“We’re going to do something a little different today, pet. I think you’re good enough that you don’t need any medicine, do you?” Elisha swallowed. Aridai continued to watch him carefully, warm brown eyes locked onto his face while they waited for an answer.

“If, um…” A quick glance to Jeremiah. Stop fucking stuttering. “If you think s-so, Master.”

That’s all it really was: a test. They didn’t actually want him to think about it, they wanted him to be a good boy and obey without question or hesitation. He could still feel the sting of that lesson sinking into his skin, and Elisha repressed a shudder.

“That’s right, my little diamond.” Their hands carded comfortably through his hair, and he hated how much he leaned into the gentle touch. “Leave the thinking to me and Jeremiah.”

I can still think for myself, even if you think I don’t, his mind hissed. Elisha was almost relieved to hear his instincts angrily muttering, and he was sure that they mistook his sigh for comfort.

“Such a good boy. Now, stay still for me.” Aridai picked up some strip of leather and measured it in front of his eyes; a blindfold. His eyes darted from it and then back up to them, pleading with just his furrowed eyebrows and frown. They chuckled lightly at his nervousness. “Don’t worry, you’ve been very good. But you’re not allowed to see upstairs freely until you prove yourself to the both of us. Tilt your head back up like it had been, Caleb.”

Prove himself? Is that what it took? He could be good for that.

Elisha listened, glancing between their face and the blindfold as it pressed against his eyes. They skirted around him, tying it tightly against the back of his head, a bit more than was comfortable. He breathed a forced huff through his nose at the pressure, and as Aridai pulled away he raised a hand to lightly paw at it so he could make it more bearable.

“Ah ah, hands down. Leave it alone.” As his hands folded into his lap, he let out a small whine. He hated to be blindfolded, just as much as he disliked being muzzled. Aridai, uncaring, took his hands and drew them gently behind his back, beginning to tie rope to his wrists.

He stayed still for Aridai as they finished tying his hands behind his back. Their hands continued to work quickly, unhooking the chain for the first time since he could remember and let it fall loosely to the ground, the metal making an awful noise that made him cringe. Something else was hooked onto his collar immediately after, some sort of fabric that rested against his skin.

A hand brushed away his greasy hair again.

“Alright Jer, I’m gonna take him upstairs to the bathroom. You have fun down here.” Their voice was light and airy, obviously joking.

“Not a fucking chance,” he responded dryly, making Aridai chuckle in response at the disgust in his voice. Elisha couldn’t tell whether he was joking in return or not.

“Oh well, I tried. Come on boy, up,” they commanded, tugging him forward by the new leash. He used his tail for balance as he stumbled up to his feet, blindly searching for Aridai without being able to reach for them. “There we go, good boy. Just follow my lead.”

He slid his feet across the ground carefully, trying to not bump into anything important. His foot hit wood, and he nearly tripped into the side of the stairsteps. Aridai began to lead him upwards, and he could hear the sound of the basement door being opened.

A shred of excitement stirred in Elisha’s chest, too difficult to properly be squashed so that they didn’t see it. His tail curled tightly, before waving back and forth against the floor, clambering up the steps readily that he met Aridai before they had even cleared the steps. He could hear their light snort and muttered comment of eager today, aren’t we, while relaxed hands grabbed at the base of the leash for more control.

His horns tapped the top of the ceiling, scraping against it until Aridai tugged him to the entrance. He could smell the fresh air, much better than what he had been sitting in for the longest of times. Elisha breathed in deep, in and out, relishing at being somewhere different.

If he could see, he might be able to figure a way to get out. Aridai and him were the only ones up here, so he might be able to overpower them and run away to find help. Not… that he could actually remember what the outside looked like, but there had to be something.

Elisha decided that he would have to wait for a chance later. There would be no point when he was blindfolded and tied.

Aridai tugged on the leash, catching him off guard enough to make him sway off balance. “Alright, come on. You’re getting your filth all over the floor.”

Embarrassment curled somewhere inside him as he followed, a blinded gaze trying to catch glimpses of light or color, still knowing that he wasn’t going to see anything. He could feel polished wooden flooring beneath his feet as he walked, and he waved his tail back and forth to feel walls on either side. Was this a hallway?

He heard a doorknob click, and the slight creak of the actual door opening. Aridai coaxed him inside, and he stepped down a small decline from wooden flooring to something else. When he had been allowed to wander a bit into the room, the door shut and locked behind him. He heard them heave a long suffering sigh.

“You’re going to be good,” they said, voice laced with a threat. “Or I’m going to fucking drown you. Understand?”

When he nodded, Elisha felt the tug of the leash. “Good. Lean down so I can check your blindfold.”

Sometimes he forgot how much taller he was than either of them. Aridai was just barely taller than his shoulders, and often had him kneel for convenience’s sake. He lowered his head in a slight bow, feeling hands touch the fabric across his eyes. Then suddenly he felt them tap his cheek.

Wordlessly he was led into another portion of the room, pressed up chest first against a wall. Hands grabbed onto his shoulders and flipped him around, beginning to tug at his trousers, and his legs tried to curl almost instinctively.

“Ah- um-” he stuttered, the discomfort going unnoticed as Aridai continued to pull away at his clothing.

Aridai hushed him and he snapped his mouth shut. Elisha remained still, feeling a deep blush fall over his face and ears at the feeling of being so exposed. This must have been that part that he didn’t remember, when they used to drug him. Now he dreaded seeing it firsthand. 

The trousers were pulled away quickly, and then Aridai left him alone. Elisha sank to the floor, finding it much more comfortable, and curled his legs as close to his chest as he could. There was nothing saying he couldn’t, so he remained in the corner of wherever he was for a bit longer.

Worse yet, he could hear Aridai moving around, but they didn’t speak to him. Didn’t bother to mutter threats or small praises to him. Had he done something wrong? Were they angry at him? Please, don’t let them be angry. Elisha let out a small whine, shifting in his bindings as he looked around blindly.

A pause, then a gentle scoff. “Oh, pet. Are you lonely? Just a moment longer and I’ll be over.”

He heard the sound of the water running, then Aridai’s footsteps drawing closer.

“Get up, Caleb,” they muttered, tapping him on the head. He scrambled to his feet quickly, not wanting to make them angry. “Good boy.”

Cool water was sprayed onto him, and Elisha gasped as his limbs locked up from the chill that ran down his spine. He very nearly doubled over, trying to get air as the cold seeped through his skin and into his bones. It was freezing, but Aridai simply continued to shift him here and there to wash him, warm hands curling over his arms or shoulders. He wasn’t sure if he should shy away or lean into the touch.

Fingers curled around his shoulder, digging nails in and making the decision for him. He stayed still, like a perfectly good statue, as they rinsed off the dirty film he seemed to accumulate on him from just existing in the basement, one of the only signs he was alive the gentle gasps he forced through his lungs. Elisha’s heart throbbed in his ears from the terror and cold, a painful thudding that mixed with the chill on his skin.

He whined as Aridai flipped him around and sprayed a fresh wave of cold on him. His back arched as a strangled gasp ripped from his parted jaws, pressing his horns into the side of the wall as he descended into panting. Elisha felt his tail curl tightly around his own ankle, threatening to cut off the blood flow.

They still weren’t talking to him, and it didn’t feel normal. Aridai always talked to him when they were together, and now that they weren’t it was just making him uncomfortable. Elisha couldn’t tell whether he preferred the silence or the humiliation of words, but he knew that they talked less when they were angry. And he dreaded when they were angry.

Aridai continued to wash him in silence.

When they relented for just a moment, he was shivering, teeth chattering together as water dripped from him at every opportunity. He wanted to ask if something was wrong, if he had been bad or good, but he couldn’t even speak.

Do not speak unless spoken to.

Elisha wanted to be good. So he stayed quiet.

Even as they took a cloth and rubbed roughly against his skin, dipping to more sensitive areas that made him gasp from the feeling, Aridai remained quiet. He couldn’t even try to read their expression, so he couldn’t tell if they were doing this on purpose. Maybe they were really, honestly angry with him. But he didn’t know what he had done in the first place. 

His excitement about being out of the basement was entirely forgotten, now. All that mattered was trying to be good without any specific instructions and hoping that he managed to please them. 

There was a small sigh, as delicate fingers unbuckled his collar from his neck and replaced the feeling with the same, rough cloth. Aridai drew him down, wrapping their fingers around his lower jaw.

When their gentle thumb rubbed across his cheek, Elisha instinctively leaned into the touch. He let out a small sigh, as the hand caressed his face. It was relieving and comforting, and he could feel himself relax despite the chill. 

“Caleb,” Aridai’s smooth, cold voice whispered, so close and sending a different but all too familiar shudder down his spine. “I’m going to take the blindfold off. Don’t move, and don’t open your eyes. Be a good boy for me, or I’m going to be really upset with you.”

He swallowed. The lack of emotion in their voice told him exactly what their kind of upset meant, even if he couldn’t see their eyes to prove it. Elisha nodded, praying that he had been doing things right this entire time.

He wanted to prove himself so that he could come up here and actually see. He wanted to prove that he could be good.

The leather slowly slipped up off of his face, and he forced his eyes to remain shut. Everything seemed so bright without the covering, so he was sure that he didn’t want to look and be blinded again anyway. The washcloth made its reappearance, rubbing against his eyes and face, leaving a film of soap in its wake. Elisha patiently waited as they finished soaping the rest of him up.

“Kneel for me.”

The command was obeyed immediately. He almost painfully dropped to his knees, grunting at the effort that it took to get down in the first place. Aridai’s fingers grabbed onto his hair, lathering more soap into it, even dipping their hands up to his horns and finding the dirt-filled grooves in them. It was hardly a gentle touch, but they at least weren’t hurting him.

Aridai continued to wash him, bringing the water back over to rinse him off. Elisha couldn’t deny the violent shiver that ran through his body as the water dribbled down his thin frame.

“Back up, pet.” Their words were quick and to the point. He was beginning to think this was on purpose, because he hadn’t done anything wrong.

But he scrambled back up to his feet anyway, desperate to keep his transgressions to a minimum.

On the way back up it occurs to him that he’s technically free right now, save for his hands. If Elisha could convince them to unbind him, he might have a chance at getting away.

No, no I have to be good to do that. Be good. Stay good. He knew that Aridai could see that he visibly swallowed. His head angled to where he’s sure their head is at, trying to stare without being able to use his eyes, to get some sort of interaction. Some sort of anything.

They finished washing him without another word.

Elisha felt defeated when the collar was placed back around his neck, leash still attached to it. Aridai led him out of wherever he was and left him standing in what felt like the middle of the room. He heard the sound of a metal creak and the sound of water running into a tub, and shifted uncomfortably at the sound.

“Come here, Caleb.” They hand glided across his torso, stopping him after just a few steps forward. “Kneel.”

Carefully he sunk to the floor, mindful of his knees and where he was. His tail swung out questionably, trying to feel out his surroundings to get a better idea of where he was at. Instead, he was completely transfixed on the fingers that wound themselves into the back of his hair, feeling Aridai’s breath on his shoulders 

“Now, don’t take this the wrong way, pet,” they whispered, voice low and twinged with something he inwardly knew wasn’t right. “You’ve been a good boy. But I just want to try this one thing first. I haven’t been able to do it in forever, you see, and I want to see how well you take it.”

He swallowed, then nodded.

With surprising force, they pushed him forward, shoving his face directly into water. It was freezing cold, causing him to immediately try to gasp from the shock and breathing in a horrifying amount of water. Elisha’s tail immediately began to thrash around in startled panic, hands splaying and struggling to get free to pull himself out of this.

They had lied to him. They said that they wouldn’t drown him unless he had been bad. Had he done something wrong? Elisha couldn’t recall, and that made everything so much worse. Was this his fault? Or were they doing this to have their sick fun?

Aridai pulled him up just as quickly as they had pushed his head in, and let go of him so he could collapse to the floor. He coughed and sputtered, retching up the contents of his stomach mixed with water. For once, Elisha was grateful that he hadn’t had anything to eat in a couple of days, instead just feeling the burn of bile as it dribbled from his lips.

When their hands touched him again, he flinched unconsciously. “No, no p-p-pl-plea-se…” he croaked, curling inward where he could and remaining still where Aridai’s hand lingered.

“Pet. Rule six, remember?” They drew him up from the ground and drug him back against the-the tub, it was a tub, and hung his face over the water so that his nose touched it. “Say it for me, and I might not dunk you into the water again for your punishment.”

“Seh-si-six. Do not sp-spe-sp, hnn, spe-speak, unless… unless s-s-sp-spo…” Elisha whimpered in frustration of his own stutter, tail lashing and hitting against Aridai’s leg.

“Ooh, got a bit of a temper there, do we?” A cold hand rested against his neck, gripping tightly as it prepared to push him in again. He jaws parted in a silent plea, not breaking the rules but still looking miserable. “We know what happens with pesky Cambion tempers, don’t we, little diamond? Go on, I know you remember this one.”

He remembered. He could still feel the glass slicing his knees as he was forced to kneel on them until he passed out.

“Th-they… they get, um, p-pu-p-pun-ished,” he gasped. The cold ache from the water was only making his stutter worse.

“Goood. And what do we do after we’ve been punished for breaking a rule?”

“I-I do be-better. Do better. Be g-good.” He swallowed at the painful tears that pricked the corners of his eyes. “I-I w-wa-w-wan-t to, to be go-g-good, Ma-Master, pl-p-please…”

“I know, pet. I saw how hard you tried. The silent thing was a fun game, wasn’t it?” Aridai laughed, and he couldn’t bring himself to force a smile. It wasn’t funny to him. 

He didn’t know it was supposed to be a game.

“Alright… two more times for speaking and your temper, and we’ll get you all warmed up and back in the basement in no time, Caleb.”

This time, thankfully, he had been prepared for it. He managed a deep gasp of breath before Aridai pushed his head under once more, and stopped himself before he gasped in shock at the cold.

But it wouldn’t be punishment unless he suffered. Elisha knew that they would keep him underwater until he began to lose his air, nearly fall unconscious, and do it once over to atone for his mistakes. He couldn’t deny the panic that rose in his chest, the instinctual struggle in Aridai’s grip as he tried to at least get a gasp of air he was ultimately denied.

When his movements began to slow, they pulled him back out of the water. He gasped for air, heaving coughs and spitting back up the water he had choked on.

Elisha never opened his eyes.

They didn’t wait for him to catch his breath, and instead thrust him back in readily. Elisha wasn’t going to wait this one out this time, and instead willingly parted his jaws, taking a desperate gulp of water that immediately choked him. He was too weak to struggle, and they brought him up a little more quickly because of it.

“There we are. Still with me, Caleb?” Aridai let go of him, and he collapsed to the floor, chest heaving all of the water in his lungs out. They clicked their tongue with a small coo, a show of fake sympathy. “Aw… poor thing. Are you ready to be good now?”

He whimpered on the ground, shaking from the fear and cold. “Ye-yes-yes, I-I am, Ma-Master. I’ll, I’ll be g-go-good.”

“There’s my good boy. Okay, back up to your feet. I need to dry this floor off or Jeremiah’s gonna be pissed at me the whole fucking day.” They hooked their fingers into his collar and helped hoist him up.

Elisha felt dizzy, still panting and trying to get air through the proper channels of his lungs.

Aridai swung a piece of fabric around him, drawing his head down so that they could dry off his head, his neck, and downwards. He stayed perfectly still for them, even as they abandoned the towel to pick up something else. Then as they tugged through his hair with a comb, pulling out all of the tangles, he only coughed through his nose.

He wanted to open up his eyes, now that there was no particular threat to them. Curiosity was beginning to get the best of him, nearly overriding his fear-learned sense of being good.

“Mmm,” he hummed, trying to get Aridai’s attention.

It made them laugh, so that was a plus. “Wh-what is it, pet?” Their fingers lifted his chin slightly. “What do you want?”

“Can I-I have the… the um, the bl-bli-bl, th-thing, over my-my eyes? I-I wa-want… to b-be good,” he muttered, stumbling through his words without much care beyond it taking too long to get to the point. Jeremiah wasn’t here, Elisha didn’t have to worry so much.

“Of course, Caleb. Just a moment.” Their hands left him, and for a brief, terrifying moment he felt hopelessly lost without them.

It was more terrifying that he felt so dependent on Aridai in the first place. God, they really were turning him into their little pet.

And that thought made it worse.

He let out another loose whine, head swinging around to look for them without being able to. A hand caught the side of his face and he leaned into it immediately.

“Aww, did you get nervous when you couldn’t see where I was? It’s alright Caleb, I’m right here,” they said, hands carding through his wet hair. Heat spread across his face. It wasn’t like he wanted this. He hated it, actually.

The leather slid over his eyes again, tying tightly in the back. Elisha felt both relief and discomfort at how relaxed it made him feel, willingly making himself helpless for the sake of trying to obey his captor.

He kept having to remind himself that these people kidnapped him nowadays. It was getting harder to do.

“Okay, now… we find you some clean clothes. Where did I put the fucking- ah! There it is.” They continued to mutter to themselves as they walked away somewhere else.

When Aridai came back, they tapped his right foot. “Lift.”

One by one, he picked up each of his feet so they could put underwear on, followed by what felt like shorts. Elisha felt the fresh wave of humiliation cross over his chest and flush his face as they got too close, and wove a belt around him.

“There we go. Alright boy, come on. Bathtime’s over.”

They tugged on the leash, and Elisha felt the familiar walk of sliding his feet across the floor to follow them back. Aridai stopped him with a hand to his chest, drifting away for just a moment to open the basement door. 

They guided him down, muttering when to step, where to lean down, and so on. He was almost thankful for the familiar stone at the bottom, immediately knowing where he was in the room without actually needing to see.

“I’m all done!” Aridai announced happily, earning a deep sigh in return.

“Took you long enough. He put up a fight?” There was an edge to his question, and it made Elisha draw closer to Aridai.

“No, he was a very good boy. Weren’t you, Caleb?” Aridai slid their hands over the base of the leash, pulling him down into that low bow so that they could ruffle his hair. He nodded quietly. “There were a couple hiccups. Why don’t you explain them, pet?”

Elisha’s breath hitched, just slightly enough for Aridai to chuckle softly. He was still so cold, there would be no way for him to not stutter through it.

“I, um… I s-sp-spoke, I sp-spoke wh-when I w-w-wasn’t sup-supposed to. And I got… got an-a-ang, hnn- mad. I-I got ma-mad. Tempers are, um… are pu-p-pun-punished.” He gritted his teeth at all of the blunders that he could hear. “S-s-sorry, Ma-Masters…” 

“...How the fuck did you make the stutter worse?” Jeremiah asked, drawing close. Elisha flinched away at his harsh tone, a faint whimper wheezing through his nose unconsciously. “What the hell did you do, drown him?”

“A bit. It was his punishment for breaking his rules. And for the record, I just used cold water to help calm that fiery blood of his, and it turns out that it made it so much worse,” they laughed. “Anyway, is everything good down here? Can I put the chain back on him?”

Jeremiah sighed. “The floor’s… still a little wet, but it’ll dry, I guess. What-”

“Good!” Aridai drug him forward, completely skipping over the other’s attempts to ask further questions, until Elisha’s back was nearly pressed up against the stone wall. They unhooked the leash, and locked him back up in the chains.

He felt fingers draw away his blindfold, gently untying the back and pulling it off. Elisha hesitated for a moment, before trying to peek his eyes open. They hadn’t told him not to, but even when he saw their face he shut them again in fear.

Aridai snorted. “Go ahead and open up your eyes, you’re just at home,” they said, drawing their hand over his face. Always touching him. “You were such a good boy today. Nearly perfect, but we can work with that. Keep this up and you might earn going upstairs for little walks now and then. How does that sound, little diamond?”

“U-um. G-g-good..? I-I l-like the, um, the-the s-sou-sound of th-that.”

He opened his eyes slowly to see them smiling at him, warm and triumphant. Aridai tilted his face to the side, planting a gentle kiss on the side of his cheek.

Elisha blushed in embarrassment.

“I should humiliate you more often, pet. You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.” They patted him lightly, then drew away entirely. “Keep this up. I like this Caleb, not the one from before.”

He nodded, eyes darting carefully away from them and to where the basement door would be. After a breath of fresh air like that, even with all of its bad parts, he would do just about anything to be able to feel it again.

Elisha still swallowed nervously. He knew that whatever the two had in store for him, it wasn’t going to be good.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Enough, For Now

CW: Sickfic, sick whumpee, feverish whumpee, shock collar, brief VERY vague emeto reference, child of whumpee POV, intimate/creepy whumper, noncon touching (nonsexual), noncon kiss (brief)

Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with their permission.

"Oh, honey."

The little girl watches around the doorframe as her mother lays a soft hand over her father’s forehead. Her mother’s hair is a waterfall of darkness, the air between the trees on a starless night in the woods behind the house. Her father's is more like tree bark in sunlight, when she doesn't need to worry about what might be hiding in the woods, when they are allowed outside and she can run her fingers over the roughened texture and smell the air. 

Sometimes, her father’s necklace - the thick black band he wears that her mother uses to hurt him - is changed so they can go into the woods. He carries her little brother, who is still a baby, and she walks alongside him proud to help carry things, and the three of them are alone with the whisper of the woods around them.

She saw a bluebird, once, singing. Her father had smiled, just a little, at the flutter of wings when she got too close and it took flight.

He’s not smiling now.

Her father lays on his side on the bathroom floor, his cheek pressed to the impeccably clean black-and-white tiles. His face is flushed and there’s a thin film of sweat sticking his shirt to the curves of his shoulders and stomach. It makes him shine under the gentle warm light even as he shivers, compulsively. When her mother’s hand touches his head, he tenses, just a little, but he still can’t stop shivering. "Miss S-Savvie-"

“Look at you.” Her mother’s voice is simpering-sweet, syrupy, like the maple syrup that her father pours on pancakes when they are alone in the mornings when her mother is out of the house. “Poor thing. I suppose this is because I took you to that party last week, isn’t it? You must have picked something up while we were there.”

The little girl remembers - a swirl of colorful dresses and jewelry, too many adults in too small a space. Everyone wanted to congratulate her mother on getting out of the house just a few months after Jamie was born. A person with a thin smile, who was impossibly elegant, had said her mother’s dress was lovely in a voice that didn’t seem like they meant it. Then they’d looked down at her, and something in their severity had softened.

They’d asked to take the little girl to play with their own child, who was in her bedroom because grown-up parties are pretty boring.

It had been fun, although she had been nervous to be away from her father so long, leaving him without her in the throngs of people and all the perfumes in the air. He’d been nervous, too, happy to sweep her into his arms at the end of the night and carry her to the car with her head on his shoulder, her mother’s hand at the small of his back.

Like a family.

Now, though, her father is sick, and her mother’s eyes are brilliant and sparkling as she presses two fingers into the space just underneath his ear, just behind his jaw. In a real family, the little girl thinks, maybe the mom doesn’t look happy to see the dad is too sick to move. He makes a sound almost like a whine, barely escaping, and the little girl swallows. Her own heart races to see how hard he works to open his eyes. 

“Swollen lymph nodes,” Her mother murmurs. “Jax, did you manage to get the flu from someone? Honestly, sweetie, the first time you’ve gone out with me in two months and you get sick immediately?”

He turns his head to look up at Savvie, and the little girl doesn’t understand it exactly, but she loves the profile of his face because it is her father’s profile, the line of his nose and neck. His hazel eyes are fogged-over and hazy as he moves, and he might nuzzle into her hand, or he might simply hold still and her mother’s hand was already there. 

Then he jerks away, just as quickly, and the little girl goes still and her heart stops with fear - he isn’t allowed to pull away, he isn’t allowed to not smile at her touch, he’ll be in so much trouble. Just as her mother’s eyes go wide their sparkle changes to sunlight off the darkest, deepest ice, Jax begins to cough.

The coughs wrack his body, and he barely covers his mouth. By the time it stops, the first hints of anger have fled her mother’s expression and it has softened again. She sighs and rubs at his back, in soothing soft circles. He drops his hands and turns back to her, a slight half-smile playing on his face, gone, back again.

Wavering, like he’s struggling to remember how to make it.

“‘M sorry, Miss… Miss Savvie,” He says, voice rasping and hoarse. “I-I’m not exactly sure… when I started to feel like this, but…”

Two days ago, the little girl knows. For two sleeps straight, her father’s body has been strange - too hot to the touch, and his hugs have been timid, as though he hurt too much inside to hug as fiercely as he usually did. 

She knows. And he knows.

They don’t tell her mother.

He’s been on the bathroom floor all night. The little girl had found him there when she woke up - not in the big bathroom, but this smaller one in the hall next to her room - and had run to get her mother in her grand bedroom. 

She never ever went in her mother’s room unless she was allowed to or asked, but she’d been so scared when he barely moved at her shaking his shoulder that she had forgotten the rule. He had laid there so pale and listless, collapsed on the cold floor. 

For once, Savvie had not been angry. Instead, she had followed the little girl and told her to wait outside. For a few moments, Savvie had held her hand the way her father usually did, and the little girl had felt… like this was her mother.

But then… then she’d seen Jax. As always, in the little girl's life, the second her mother saw her father, the girl herself was forgotten. Her hand was dropped and she was told to stay out. So the little girl is left on the outside looking in, fingers curled around the doorframe, watching them together.

Her mother's pale pink chemise has a white lace trim that lays across her bare thigh, and her rounded nails are a soft deep mauve as she sighs and moves to kneel, touching his face just at his cheekbone, brushing it with the backs of her knuckles. She smiles, sweet and soft and loving. "It's not your fault, Jax. My poor sweet husband."

Jax only looks up at her, his hazel eyes glimmering and barely focused. But he looks only at her. 

Even sick, he knows not to look away. 

"But... why did you come all the way out here, honey?" Both her hands are on him now, one cupping his face and the other slipping behind his head, to lift it gently off the floor. "Oh, you're so sweaty. Gross.” Savvie's nose wrinkles, a little, and the little girl wonders if her own nose looks like that.

She hopes not.

"Got… Got sick." Her father breathes and it sounds wrong, somehow, too much air or not enough. "Didn't w-want to wake you. You have… an interview today." He coughs again, and Savvie has to let go for him to roll onto his side again and get the awful sounds out. 

Savvie's smile widens. Her blue eyes shine so bright. "How thoughtful," She says, and runs her fingers through the damp strands of his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, again and again. It looks like petting an animal, not trying to be kind to a man. 

If he likes the touch or not, she can't tell. She thinks sometimes he hates every single one. 

“Thought I’d feel b-better afterward,” He says, rough-voiced, eyes closed tightly. “Don’t.”

"Oh, sweetie." Savvie smiles and leans down, presses a kiss to his hair. He holds perfectly still for it. He doesn't even breathe. "I don't deserve you," She whispers, just loud enough for the little girl to hear. "But I'll love you forever anyway. Forever, Jax.”

His eyes open again, turning to look over her face as she pulls away, as though he’s checking for something, searching there. Whatever he finds, he relaxes, just a little. "Love you too, Miss Savvie," He says, and the little girl hears that it is flat, compared to how sometimes he hugs the little girl and says nice things to her. "Need… I just need a minute."

“Of course, darling. We’ll move you downstairs once you think you can walk.” Savvie keeps her fingers moving through his hair, sweaty or not. 

His gaze shifts a little, and he sees the little girl for the first time. He tenses, eyes widening only slightly. "Is-..." He clears his throat. Both of them freeze at how close he comes to the nickname neither of them wants her to know. "Isabella? Why are you-"

"She woke me up," Savvie says, and slides to her knees, slipping her arms around him and carefully helping him to sit up. He leans heavily against her, so heavily Savvie nearly loses her balance, but she manages not to land in an undignified heap. “She saw you and came to get me. She knew you needed my help.”

The girl would have gone to anyone else, if there were anyone. But they’re here alone, and she isn’t allowed to touch the medicine. 

One day, when she’s big enough, she will get him medicine all by herself and she won’t tell her mom anything at all.

“Thank-... thank you, Isabella,” Her father says, in this new sick-voice he has, and when he looks at her, for just a second some of the haze in his eyes is clear. He’s looking at her. It’s only for a second, before he turns back to her mother, and the little girl stores up the way he looked right at her, to save for later times when she is alone. He turns back to Savvie and says, “And th-thank you for coming, Miss Savvie.”

“Of course, sweetie.” Savvie shifts, and the little girl watches as the two of them very slowly stand, Jax working to get his legs under him, standing finally in a way that seems tentative, ready to tip back over at the slightest nudge. His eyes close and his face greys, and the three of them are briefly silent, waiting it out, until the dizziness passes and his eyes open again. “You’re right, though. I do have that interview, and I can’t just be thinking about you, I need to plan… let’s get you downstairs for today. I’ll bring James down once you’re settled.”

There’s a pause, full of meaning and thought the girl doesn’t know how yet to read. “Can… can H-Hannah come to watch them with m-me, or Isaac’s steward, please?” He rarely speaks so many words all at once, unless they’re alone in the sunshine room, where he tells her all the stories about his own family, far far away across an ocean. 

Those are the secret stories, the ones that the little girl knows to never let her mother know she’d heard of. 

He’s not supposed to think about his other family anymore. Her mother says that she made that rule so he wouldn’t leave the little girl and her brother. He never wanted you, anyway. If I told him he could, he’d walk right out the door and leave us all heartbroken, Isabella. So we have to make sure he never thinks of them, so he can’t leave us.

The little girl is scared that her father might leave, if he could. That her mother’s words are true. But she loves the way he smiles when he tells his stories much, much more than she is scared - and he has promised her, over and over with his arms around her, that he would never leave her here alone.

Now, though, Savvie just rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Jax. How is my uncle’s household supposed to stay in order if you keep trying to steal away half his staff?” 

They’re near the door and the girl backs away quickly to stay out of their way, not quite ignored but not needed, either. She watches them move, her mother’s arm around her father’s waist to help him stay upright, and the way he moves so carefully, so slowly, beside her. 

The medicine is in the cabinet in the bathroom, but her mother doesn’t go back for it. Instead, she leads Jax away entirely, towards the grand curving staircase that moves down to the ground floor. The little girl watches, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before she realizes what’s happening.

An interview day. 

That means her father will spend the day in the basement where no one can hear him - that must be where her mother is taking him, to be hidden away. The little girl licks nervously at her lips, and then flies back into the bathroom. There isn’t anything she can stand on in here, but when she climbs up on the side of the bathtub, she can grab the sink and hold, arms shaking with effort as she pulls herself up. 

The cabinet opens for her easily, as she totters, barely balanced on the rounded, shining edge of the sink. Their voices are fading as they move downstairs, her mother’s voice mostly. 

Almost entirely.

The little girl finds what she’s looking for - the last time her father was sick, he was allowed a packet of these little discs that come inside a box. The girl can’t read, but she knows the sun and moon signs on the packages, one for day and one for night. She grabs the whole thing, and then looks down, ready to climb-

Oh.

Oh, it’s farther down than she thought.

Her heart shivers in fear - but sometimes you have to do scary things, her father says it all the time when he tells her he is proud of her after her mother locks her in the dark for time out. This is a scary thing, but-

She jumps.

She crashes hard into the tile floor and lets out a high-pitched cry of pain, rolling along the ground. A bright ache flashes in her knee and arm from how she landed, and she presses her lips together to silence any further sounds. They’re swallowed into whimpers that don’t make it further than the door.

Still, she hears her father call, “Isabella?” He’s worried, he heard her, and the little girl stands back up, clutching the box of medicine with white knuckles on her small hands. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay!” She calls back, voice shaky, but she tries to sound fine. It will be much worse for her if her mother thinks she wants attention she’s not supposed to have.

“See? She’s fine,” Savvie says, and their steps fade again. The little girl moves with a focus rarely seen in small children to her room, where she picks up a soft little-kid backpack that is pink and lacey. Her mother picked it. She hates it. In the backpack she stashes some crackers and juice, and on top she puts her favorite stuffed animal, and some crayons. Finally, she forces in a coloring book. Then she moves out into the hall.

Her brother isn’t awake yet, no sound from his room, so she moves like a ghost down the staircase, following her parents to the closet with the hidden door. The door is already open, the wooden steps leading down and down and down. It’s scary, to take each step with the single light leaving so many shadows around, shadows that could have monsters hiding in them.

But sometimes, you have to do scary things.

She sets her jaw and lets her chin jut out, raised a little, and makes her slow and careful way down into the chilly basement, where the secret house is. The little place that her father has to hide, when people who aren’t ‘the right people’ come over, so that the ‘wrong people’ won’t know he’s here.

Her mother is already laying her father down in the little bedroom at the back of the basement place. It's so dark it feels like nighttime in there. She can hear them speaking, but not their words, and she tries to be very good and sits very quietly on the couch, out in what looks like a tiny little living room with a television in it, to wait. 

"Thank you, Miss Savvie," She hears, low and rough. "I l-love you, Miss Savvie."

The little girl winces, gripping the little brightly colored cardboard box with sweaty fingers that start to dampen the ink. Love is a wrong word. It's a word of threats and anger, of making things better by being good.

Her mother's voice is low, and soft, heavy with something the little girl is too young to know. "I love you, too, sweetie. Feel better."

There's silence.

The seconds draw out, and every single one of them is awful. 

Then, her mother murmurs, "I suppose we should stop. I'd hate for me to get sick, too. I'll bring James down once he's up and it'll be just you and the kids. That'll be restful."

He hums, and the silence draws out again, and then she sweeps past the little girl and away without even looking at her. Up the steps, up and up, and the little girl knows they are locked up down here, like always. 

Once her mother is for real gone, the little girl moves, silent as any ghost, down the hall herself, leaving her backpack on the couch. In the bedroom her father lays on his side, coughing a little, mostly just shakes of his shoulders. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and coughs again. The room is all dark except for the light in the hallway that frames her when he catches the motion of her shadow and looks up.

He manages a slight, faint smile. "Izzy. Did you follow us?”

“Yes.” Izzy’s voice is soft and grave. “I didn’t want her to need to bring me and get mad.”

He closes his eyes, just for a second, and nods. “I get it. What've you got there?"

She moves up to the bed and shoves the box into one of his hands. The sweat from her hands has buckled the thin cardboard but the packages inside are still good. "Medicine for your sick."

He stares down at the box, blinking. "Alka-Seltzer Severe Flu," he reads, and then meets her eyes. Theirs nearly match - hazel brown for both. “Izzy, honey, you’re not allowed-” The next round of coughing hits and Izzy scrambles up onto the bed, pulling herself up and moving around behind him, rubbing at his back with her hand like he does when it’s her that’s sick. Her mother’s hands move in circles, like the snake’s eyes in The Jungle Book movie, but her father is a straight line down, lifts up, starts at her shoulder blades and down again.

Izzy presses her lips together in concentration and comforts him just the same way. She whispers, “It’s okay, Daddy, you can cough down here, it’s okay.”

There are tears running out of his eyes when he is finally able to stop, and he’s closed his hand so tightly on the box he crushed it in the middle. He jerks in a breath, then another, and gradually the tremors through his body fade. She keeps rubbing his back. “The-... sound. Was that… was that you getting the medicine?”

She licks at her lips, and whispers, “I’m sorry. You’re sick. I didn’t know what, um, what to do-”

“It’s okay. Hey, I’m not mad. I’m not. C’mere.” He rolls onto his back and holds one arm out in invitation, and she snuggles up to his side, skin burning hot through his clothes but still her father, through and through. “I’m not mad. You’re…” He coughs but this round is short and doesn’t seem to hurt him so much. “You’re a good kid, Iz. D’you know that? Not just a good kid, you’re a good fu-, uh… A good person, too.”

Izzy, who is told every day by her mother that she is not a good child, holds onto these soft loving words and buries them inside herself, a barrier against her mother’s sweet-voiced violence. 

“I’ve got you, Daddy,” She says, an unconscious echo of his reassurances to her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you, okay? You just lay down and do rest.”

He doesn’t answer. His chest moves, inhaling like he wants to speak, but then he only breathes out again and turns his head to kiss her over her curly brown hair.

In a minute, she’ll get up and get him a water cup, and watch with him as the little discs fizz and turn to nothing and make sure he drinks every single bit to feel better. Her mother will bring James down, and Izzy will be the best big sister and her father’s helper and keep Jamie quiet and happy while Jax sleeps, and feels bad for having to sleep, and then sleeps some more.

But for now, in the silence and chill of the little space in the basement where Savvie hides them when other people come who might take her father away from her, Izzy holds on to his shirt and his arm is tight around her shoulders.

If a tear soaks into her hair where his cheek rests on her scalp, she doesn’t notice.

All she knows is his heartbeat, against her ear, and the steady certainty of his love for her, and her love for him. In a house where they have nothing else, that’s enough.

For her, anyway.

For now.

 ---

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @wildfaewhump @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes @moose-teeth @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @vickytokio @eatyourdamnpears

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I know you’re taking a break Please take your break When you’re ready... Chris with feeling so out of it, they need constant attention

CW: Feverish/delirious whumpee, references to torture/sleep deprivation/malnutrition, isolation and loneliness, a VERY vague/brief reference to noncon touching

The flu ravages the Facility, closed-in with recirculated air and a captive population unable to escape. Mostly the boys who get sick - they pick up the virus from the handlers who bring it in, and then pass it to each other during their brief periods of interaction - are kept in their rooms, given some blankets and extra rations to help them stay hydrated and as warm as possible. 

An emergency run of medication to lessen the severity is authorized but 223499 is already in the clinic by then, curled up on his side in the first bed he’s slept in since he came here - not that he remembers there being a time with beds, exactly, he just knows there was one. He’s not sure how he knows. 

There’s a track, deep in his mind, that remembers, and it runs in circles and circles and circles where he can’t grasp it or redirect it back up without pain.

He doesn’t care. All he cares about is the gentle dip of the crackly hospital mattress under the rough pale blue sheet (not white, blue, it’s a color it’s a color). All he cares about is the way the pillow becomes flat as a pancake under his head but it’s still a pillow, it still exists. 

There’s a needle in his arm to give him something from a bag that hangs off a pole on wheels and he doesn’t mind that, either, they’re always giving him something in his food or drinks or by needles in his arms when he doesn’t forget fast enough

His brain isn’t the same as a lot of people’s brains, they say, talking around and over him with words he doesn’t understand. Phrases like neurological makeup and resistance to standard protocols float in the air around them when the ones in the white coats speak to his handler, but it doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

The only thing that matters is that there are colors, in this room - blue sheets, blue pillowcase, some charts on the wall and a white-board lined with blue trim. Things for him to look at. Colors and shapes for his mind to latch onto. 

And there’s a nurse who comes to see him, once every two hours, checking the bag on the pole or his blood pressure, talking to him gently, laying his hand on the trainee’s head. 

223499 melts under the attention, the most he’s been given that doesn’t hurt.

The nurse takes his lunch in the trainee’s room one day, watching a TV up in the corner that the boy’s mind is too addled to follow, but snatches of it pop in - laugh tracks, and a woman with long hair hugging a short man with dark hair and thick eyebrows. Their laughter. Their tears. It bounces off of 223499′s mind and disappears again, sinks down into the darkness with everything else.

He’s been so lonely here, but the nurse talks to him, and the trainee clings to it with his fingernails. He watches the nurse eat with wide eyes that struggle to focus on him, following the movement of his fork from the tupperware he brought from home to his mouth.

The boy hasn’t had solid food in weeks now. Not that stayed down, anyway. And the nurse’s food smells like salt and pepper and spice and flavor. 223499′s mouth waters but he doesn’t dare ask. 

He’s not really hungry, anyway.

His handler comes by twice per day. 223499 cringes away from Handler Petrus but doesn’t dare say a word. He closes his eyes at the hand in his hair, and the other hand that moves other places, and waits for the handler to leave.

When the handler is finally gone, the nurse comes back again, and only then does the trainee relax. Only then does he breathe.

He doesn’t ask the nurse to stay, or to talk to him, but it happens anyway, and the boy hopes he stays sick forever, if it means someone will be here and speak to him. 

If it means anyone who doesn’t hurt him, anyone at all, will stay.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

cafuné (portuguese, n.) - the act of tenderly running one’s fingers through someone’s hair- for Chris?

CW: Vague, brief reference to past noncon

“How’s that feel?” 

Chris closes his eyes, hums a little at the feel of fingers that trace through his fine, soft hair, down to the nape of his neck, briefly lift and then start at the top of his scalp again. Each slow trail sends shivers down his spine in ways that don’t overwhelm or settle like a weight, but instead spark, electric, right down to the tips of his own fingers.

Painted black, like theirs.

“Pretty... pretty good,” He says, sleep-slurred and soft-voiced. He’s been up all night studying for finals before he can go back to Jake’s house for a couple of weeks for Christmas break, and Laken’s going to stay with some friends out of town since they can’t go to their parents’ house. Somebody’s dad is rich and they’re going skiing at a resort.

Chris was invited, but he can’t go.

He can’t tell them that he can’t go because he’s been to that resort before. They’ve seen him, there, once before, when Sir rented the whole thing out, once, for he and his friend and his friend’s pet-

He shudders, all at once, a twist of something very much like guilt knotting in his stomach. Another boy like him, just like him, left behind. Still there, probably. Not everyone gets rescued. 

“I’ll miss you,” Laken says, low and soft. “Can I call you at night?”

Chris smiles, flash of teeth, but keeps his eyes closed and enjoys the gentle touch in his hair. “You, you, you-you-you better.”

This is the last night they’ll see each other for two weeks at least. He hadn’t realized until just now how much he’d gotten used to seeing them every single day, even if just for a few minutes between classes to grab a coffee or lunch. 

“I’ll send you photos of the resort.”

Chris’s smile falters. Laken will wonder, later, at the way it fades so fast.

“Don’t, don’t worry about it,” Chris says. Some of the pleasant shiver of their hands in his hair fades and the darker feelings twist him up again instead. “Just, just send me photos of, um... of-of of you.”

I already know what it looks like there.

I never want to see what it looks like again.