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[another-whump-sideblog]

Sapphire: Plea Deal

<prev | Sapphire Masterlist | A collab with @paingoes!

Tags: electricity torture, cattle prod, physical abuse, interrogation, captivity, living weapon, sadistic whumper, conditioned-but-defiant whumpee | Words: 3.5k

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The lattice across his back healed slowly over the following days. It ached still, but it was constant enough that it ended up fading into background noise. Delta tried not to move so much. Luckily, the chains made that easy.

Everyday, it was the same question. The same request. The same order. He refused them each time. The response came automatically; something ingrained so deeply into his brain that it worked without being summoned.

I belong to Empire. This won’t change. I can’t help you. I’m sorry.

He had to believe it wasn’t a choice — and believing it wasn’t a choice was something that came extremely natural to him.

Delta held out. Endurance too came naturally to him. Taking punishments he didn’t deserve, accepting a pain he could not escape, being told it was his fault for not complying — what was this, fucking kindergarten?

He was bored. Almost more than he was scared, more than he was hurt, he was bored. His wrists hadn’t been unchained for more than five minutes at a time for as long as he’d been here. Most of the time he just stared at the wall, slowly growing more irritated, but never building to anything. He’d never been one for outbursts. He never would be.

All he could do was wait.

Yoojin was restless that day. Itchy in his head—more than usual.

He’d tried again with Amira, pushing her to let him at the pretty blue thing she had chained up in that cell at the back of the ship. To his surprise and delight, she’d finally relented. Desperation had made her flexible.

“Guess she finally got tired of going easy on you,” Yoojin teased as the heavy door slid open. 

“That’s right!” Yoojin threw his hand up in dramatic, mock celebration. “Today’s the day!”

Yoojin approached Delta’s cell, swinging his nightstick through the air as he walked until it hit the bars with a loud clang. 

Delta barely suppressed a groan. He recognized the voice immediately, long before he came into view. That one had been by a few times by now, each visit about equally insufferable. He was a nuisance, one in a long series of nuisances. 

He still shuddered at the sight of the nightstick.

“Ohh I finally get to hit youu,” he sang, there was an almost giddy joy to it. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Had she really signed off on that?

Delta didn’t look Yoojin in the eyes, nor give any other indication that he’d even noticed him.

Yoojin frowned, sticking his lip out in a mocking pout. “You don’t even wanna say hi?”

He reached into his pocket. “Look, I even got the keeeeys,” he chided, jingling the keys like he was getting a dog’s attention. 

He sheathed his nightstick and tucked it into his belt, unlocking the cell and stepping inside. Immediately, the urge hit him. He didn’t even think before he swung his boot into Delta’s ribs. He couldn’t help it. It was too fucking easy. He was right there. There was absolutely nothing he could do. Maybe this would get Yoojin the nice polite greeting he felt he was owed.

Delta maintained the silence up until the point he was hit — and then a little while after that.

He keeled forward slightly from the pain. It drew a breath from him, but no cry. Again, he was used to taking it quietly. His hair fell into his face as he leaned forward, obscuring his vision. He was almost glad for it — in the moment, it worked like a veil.

Yoojin kicked him a few more times for good measure, just to work some energy out. He pressed Delta’s head firmly into the floor with his foot, fumbling with the keys a moment until he found the right one. 

He unlocked the chain that held Delta’s wristcuffs to the floor, but left the chain on the collar hanging free.

The motion absolutely jarred him. Delta winced as his head was practically fucking stomped on to force him to the floor again. He was getting used to it, unfortunately. Used to the fact that they did not trust him enough to be unrestrained for a single second, despite the fact he had shown them no resistance at all.

Yoojin gave the chain a hard yank, pulling Delta back up by the collar. 

“You can walk out or I can drag you out. Wanna guess which one I pick?”

He scrambled up to his feet. Yoojin was more likely to break his fucking neck than anything else — a definite violation of the rules, but Delta would be dead by the time anyone faced any consequences for it.

He didn’t like the chain. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with it. Paris had him wearing it before, and the Emperor before that. But it had never been such a threat the way it was now. Neither of them had actually pulled it. 

His legs were weak from disuse, and he stumbled slightly as he was led out from the cell.

Yoojin cracked a smile when Delta started moving. That got his attention. Yoojin was fine with that. If brutal violence was what it took, Amira had sent the best man for the job. 

Yoojin half led, half pulled Delta from the cell to the adjacent wall. Another bolt. Another chain. Higher this time. So Delta’s hands could go above him. Yoojin pushed him to face the wall. “I’m sure you know not to fucking try anything.”  There was a note of challenge in his voice. Go on, give me a reason to really fuck you up.

“Yes, sir,” he muttered into the wall, exasperated. It was more instinct than anything, no thought required. Yes, he knew not to fucking try anything. Maybe they were starting to understand him.

Yoojin unshackled one of Delta’s wrists. Without giving him a chance to do it himself, Yoojin yanked Delta's wrists up, locking them to the chain above his head. He spun Delta around again, gripping his shoulder and whirling him around like a ballerina. The chain on Delta’s collar clattered to the floor. It was fun to tug on, but it would only get in the way of what Yoojin was about to do next. 

Delta hated the feeling of Yoojin’s hands on him — anywhere by his hands, by his wrists. Anywhere at all, really. Delta was tired of him already. He held still as the chains were rearranged, as he was strung up again. 

Yoojin’s nightstick cracked loud off the walls when he swung it open. 

“Oh don’t worry, I don’t even care if you give me any answers. I’m just here to have fun.”

Delta flinched reflexively at having been turned to face him, even more at the sound of the nightstick. He’d been making a concentrated effort not to even look at Yoojin — and that effort went on uninterrupted. He tucked his chin in slightly, fixing his gaze somewhere on the floor.

Was it fear? He couldn’t place the feeling. Annoyance, primarily. Dread? Delta could sense what people wanted out of him, but he decided when to give it. Right now, watching him was like staring at a sheer rock face. There was nothing there.

Delta’s stoicness presented both an irritation and a challenge. That was fine, all the better. Yoojin looked forward to making him scream. With excitement, he reared his right arm back and swung the baton, just under Delta’s ribs, right in the soft tissue just below the bone. 

He came around for a backswing, hitting his ribs again on the other side. 

Delta squeaked. He could take a beating, he knew how to, but it only occurred to him then that the others had been showing restraint. He had never been hit this hard, nor this intentionally. Not while he was restrained. It was just…cruel. He couldn’t have done anything.

Yoojin pulled the nightstick back, before jamming the center point straight into Delta’s solar plexus. 

Delta let the pain radiate inside him for a second, all through his side and his ribs. The pressure against the wall only irritated the still-healing whip wounds across his back. It was a lot. It was a lot for him to process.

Several strikes in, Yoojin stepped back, panting slightly, thinking of what to do next. Smiling, Yoojin tapped the nightstick against the side of deltas left kneecap. 

“You know what she told me? Working order. That just means your mind, right? Rest of you seems fair game.”

Delta did look at him, then. The look was…cautious, though something short of fearful. More prying than anything else. He didn’t know whether to believe it. His real fear was that Yoojin would do it whether he was allowed to or not. 

For a split second, the gaze turned pleading.

Yoojin saw Delta’s expression and latched onto it immediately, like a shark’s jaws around already-bleeding prey. Yoojin tapped his knee again��a little firmer this time, letting Delta feel the weight of it. The collapsible rod wasn’t particularly large, but the black metal was dense and heavy. He let it ring against the bone of Delta’s kneecap, hitting nerves no doubt. It wasn’t hard yet. He just wanted Delta to feel it. 

“You want me to do it?” He snickered, ��You do, don’t you?” 

“…No, sir.”

It was humiliating, and his voice was quiet. He didn’t know what difference it even made, whether he begged or stayed quiet or cried or fought. He didn’t appreciate being teased — it felt like a violation of the codes which governed his life. But violation was another thing he had come to expect.

He didn’t move, for what it was worth. He felt the pressure on the nerve and held still for it. It felt like a meaningless act of defiance, some withholding of fear for no particular reason.

“That wasn’t very convincing,” Yoojin spat, and with no warning, he raised his arm and swung down, right for Delta’s knee. 

As it soared through the air, Yoojin aimed the stick slightly higher, just above the knee. Instead, it slammed into that layer of muscle and tendon that ran down the outside of Delta’s thigh. It wouldn’t break his kneecap, but it would be a really bad deadleg. 

“Fuck!” 

He sparked. A few small arcs of lightning, little lights danced on the surface of his skin. High voltage, reaching out to close the distance.

That one got him. For a few long moments, he could actually see stars. A kind of inky blackness seemed to beckon him. That bad. He was not proud of the sound that escaped him, the hiss that followed. He knew he would have collapsed if the chains had not been holding him upright. The pain right around the manacles as he struggled to support himself confirmed this thought. 

He whined softly. Not for the first time, he wondered who he was even enduring this for. For Empire? For Paris? Why was their only line of defense Delta’s own will — how was it fair to invest in that? The burden was on him, always. The unfairness of the whole situation, the unfairness of having ever been created, burned within him. A few more arcs of electricity escaped him. He was having a tantrum — the closest he ever got to it, anyway.

Yoojin's eyes shot wide—he had heard more than enough about that shockwave accident on that first week--could feel it all the way from the upmost starboard deck. But he hadn't seen it. He almost wanted to touch it but Yoojin was no stranger to the feeling of being shocked, and managed to curb the impulse. 

"That's pretty impressive lightning you got there. Bet it's even better with the collar off." He stepped towards him, yanking Delta's collar forward. "Should I?" he teased, all bluff. 

He took the chance to tilt Delta's chin up. He studied his face for a moment, then stepped back. 

"Maybe it's not as fancy as yours, but I've got some lightning of my own, you know," there was a glimmer in his eyes again, excitement burning in his shrunken pupils. 

Goddamn it. For a few seconds, he was too absorbed in his own frustration to even remember Yoojin’s presence. When it did return, it crystallized into hatred.

Delta was tempted to fall back, to argue. I didn’t do anything. But it was petulant, and more than that, it didn’t matter. Yoojin was just playing with him. It didn’t matter what he did or didn’t do. All he had to do was take it. The wave of frustration started to pass by, evaporating as he caught his breath. He was good at that.

Delta recognized the threat for what it was. He braced for it, which barely helped at all.

Yoojin raised the tip of the nightstick, not swinging it this time, just touching it to Delta's stomach. Trailing it up an inch or two, just to see what would happen. And then, he pressed the button, and there was a loud snapping, as fully-powered waves of electricity surged through the tip of the metal like a cattle prod and into Delta's bruised skin.

The pain crackled and burned. Another whimper escaped him, but it was quieter, less whiny.

“Sorry.”

Delta didn’t know what part of him said that, where the impulse came from. Just an automatic response to the pain? Goddamn, was that all he was? Just neurotic wiring, exploitable inputs? He would not last long here. It wasn’t fair to expect him to.

Yoojin's smile cracked wider when he heard that small apology. It was a tiny crack in his facade, but Yoojin would dig his fingers into it. He wanted to hear more.

"Yeah? You're sorry? I don't think I believe you yet. How about this, you tell me how sorry you are and I shock you three more times, or you can just, you know, do whatever, and you'll get 10 instead. Sound good? Yeah," he said, immediately agreeing with himself.  He pointed the tip of the stick right at the dip between Delta's collarbones. "So what's it gonna be, hm?"

Okay. He didn’t know what he’d apologized for in the first place, what he could possibly have to atone for now. He didn’t think he was sorry for the things Yoojin wanted him to be. The things he was actually sorry for were too raw and sensitive to ever risk bringing to the surface around any of them.

He went quiet, still. He understood the appearance of contrition, if nothing else.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice still low. He didn’t even need to think about it. Just another automatic response, when he wanted it to be. “I’m sorry, sir. Please. I’m sorry.”

Maddeningly nonspecific, in his opinion.

Delta's irritation was clear, but Yoojin supposed he was satisfied for now. Delta had done what he'd said. He'd get better begging out of him later. He did like the 'please' though. He hadn't expected that, not yet at least. 

 He hit the button but didn't hold it down this time, sending the electricity through the nightstick into Delta's collarbone with a loud pop.

Delta took it better this time. He cringed, slightly, but didn’t cry out or fidget. He felt like he shouldn’t now. This routine was more familiar — he appreciated having the structure back, even if he did not totally take Yoojin at his word. But he could pretend to. He could take punishment without complaining.

"Again."

The shock had knocked something over in his brain, though.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he repeated, sounding shockingly close to sincere. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know if Yoojin wanted him hysterical, broken record, scared. It was not his first instinct to do that — only on special occasions. But he’d asked to hear it again, he’d asked to hear how sorry he was. Repetition seemed the natural answer. Still, he was cautious about going too far, becoming annoying.

"Heyy, you're getting better at this," Yoojin chided, tapping the end of the stick down along Delta's torso, considering where to hit next. 

He slid it down Delta's hipbone until it tapped against the inside of his thigh. Yoojin's eyes narrowed, considering. There was the slightest nod of his head, as if settling something with himself. 

"Here should do it. And try and sound like you actually fucking mean it this time." He held the button down, letting several long, thrilling seconds pass by.

Delta did not take it nearly as well. All his thoughts were totally nullified by the current — and the second it ended, his own voice broke out into a half-sob, gasping to regain his breath. Not quite crying — that was still a lot to ask of him. But close. 

“-sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sir, please, I’m sorry-“ 

It was torrential then. Delta didn’t know if he sounded sincere, but he knew he sounded fucking miserable. It seemed totally pointless to solicit pity here, but he recognized later that it was exactly what he was doing. 

He was shaking, a few of his own arcs still chasing him even after the prod had pulled away. It was clear he could barely support himself against the wall.

Yoojin barely stifled a cackle, thrilled with himself. "Yeah, you sound better like that." He stepped back and swiped the baton through the air. It was a little celebratory dramatic flair—What, like he couldn't celebrate? 

He was a little annoyed with himself for letting Delta off so easily. Only 3. But Delta couldn't be faulted. He was doing as ordered. Better and better with every shock, actually. Yoojin vowed to make this one really count. The money shot. 

He smirked to himself. Pointing the end of the nightstick at Delta's hip, Yoojin let it rise to his ribs, pulling up the edge of the loose-fitting tunic Delta had been permitted to wear. 

"Better make this one your best or we start over."

With no time to process the threat, Yoojin hit the button. He held it down, smiling wider. It wasn't until Delta's own electricity came close to fringing his own hair that he finally pulled it back.

There was almost no time to recover, barely any chance to get his bearings before the baton was at his hip again. He had to resist the urge not to pout, not to complain about it because it wasn’t fair, he didn’t do anything, he was behaving-

The next wave hit him and he lost all semblance of thought.

“-sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry-“

Totally automatic, as soon as he can speak again, and he was glad that that was his reflex, rather than cursing, rather than screaming. The training was coming in handy, here. He barely had to work at all. 

He did, though. About as soon as he regained conscious thought, his speech was still continuous.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please.”

He wanted to cry. He was sure he would have, if he was anyone else. Everything hurt. This wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he repeated instead. “Please.”

​​Yoojin's heart soared. It was pure joy. The cracking in Delta's choked voice before all the apologies spilled out of him—like a cascading waterfall—Yoojin watched with a mixture of thrill and awe. 

"You actually did pretty good on that last one, cupcake. Fixed your attitude too. Big difference a little pain makes, yeah?" It was rhetorical. 

He wanted to do it again. But right now, he knew there was no use going back on his word, not if he wanted Delta to be inclined to play in the future. He slammed the point of the nightstick straight into the concrete at his feet, collapsing it with a loud clack.

"Guess I can ask you the million dollar question then," Yoojin leaned close, pulling Delta's head up by the hair until their noses nearly touched. 

Delta could tell he was nearing incoherence. Passing out would be a mercy, at this point, though he knew he’d probably dislocate his wrists in the process.

He winced when Yoojin touched his hair, even more when he got close. He was too fucking pliable, he hated how easily he could be maneuvered. But he held still, didn’t fight it.

"Your powers. You're going to let us use them. We're gonna take that collar off and point and you're gonna fucking blow them to pieces for us. Do you wanna agree now or do you want me to have to break a sweat?"

The question, again. He had to suppress the sigh. Amira hadn’t listened. Yoojin would listen even less. It didn’t matter how much he explained himself, what excuses he gave. They would only accept one answer.

For a second, he really did consider it.

“…I’m sorry,” Delta repeated. 

No.

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[another-whump-sideblog]

Jane's Pets Chapter 107: Warmth

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Kitty doesn't remember what they did. Heat presses down on them like a weight, making it hard to breathe. At least they're still sweating– that's a good sign, it means they aren't too dehydrated. Or maybe it's a bad sign, because if they were too dehydrated to sweat then Jane would have to let them out soon, or at least give them water.

They can't sleep. There are pins and needles under their skin. Why do they have a blanket? It's way too hot for that. Jane's mocking them. 

~~

You wake up early the next morning. You check the clock (you have a clock!) and find that it's 5 AM��� you've slept for 14 hours. You must've really needed that.

Puppy is sitting beside you in the bed, holding her teddy bear and staring forwards blankly.

"Did you get any sleep?" You keep your voice soft, in case Leo's asleep. You can't see them from your position in bed.

She blinks slowly as if struggling to process your question, then nods.

"Are you… feeling okay?"

She nods again, but doesn't look at you. That's… fine. She's probably fine. 

You give Puppy's hand a squeeze before rolling out of bed and stretching. Hey, you should start your little morning workout routine again! You probably won't be able to add the run back in just yet, but you can do some push ups and sit ups. 

You miss Diya.

You shake your head and check to see if Leo's awake. To your horror, you find that they're covered in sweat and tense all over, gripping their pillow tightly. All of your excitement towards the new day dissipates. 

"...Leo?" You hope they're asleep. If this is just a nightmare, they'll be able to calm down once they wake up. But if they're already awake and this miserable…

They groan in response.

"Can you hear me? Are you awake?"

They open their eyes a bit and squint at you. "Bunny?"

"...yeah. Yeah, I'm here. Can you tell me what's going on?"

They just groan again.

Puppy sets down her bear, gets out of bed, and kneels at Leo's side. After looking them over, she pulls them up by their shirt and starts leading them to the bathroom. You follow. Puppy knows what to do, things are going to be alright. It's okay if you're too stupid to figure out how to help, you've got Puppy.

She turns on the shower and starts undressing Leo, clearly making an effort to avoid touching them more than necessary. She checks the temperature of the water and, seeming satisfied, helps Leo into the shower

They gasp and lower themself to the ground on shaky legs, visibly relaxing.

"Do you think it's mostly that they're too hot?" You ask.

Puppy shrugs.

~~

Lukewarm water rains down on Kitty, cooling them down without leaving them shivering. They could sit under the water all day.

"Leo? Can you hear me?"

Bunny is talking to someone. In fact, Kitty is pretty sure Bunny is talking to them, but why is he calling them that?

That's right, Kitty asked him to call them Leo now that Jane's dead. And he asked them to call him…

"Austin. What's– what's happening?" She's supposed to be dead, why were they in the hot room?

"I'm not sure." Worry is clear in his tone. "When I woke up I found you looking really miserable, and you wouldn't answer me when I asked what's wrong. Puppy brought you in here to cool you down or something."

"Why aren't we at the hotel?"

"...we are. Where do you think we are?"

They're still at the hotel. There's no hot room at the hotel. "We've been here the whole time?"

"Unless you snuck out while I was asleep."

"I'm… I think I… had a flashback? You're sure we're in the hotel?"

"I'm sure." His voice is more steady. "We're in the hotel, in the bathroom, in our room. We've been here all night. No one's hurt any of us, we're safe." 

Bun– Austin wouldn't lie to them, and Austin wouldn't be mistaken about something like this. They really are safe. 

"No one's hurt any of us." They repeat to themself. "We're safe. We're safe. She's dead and we're safe."

"That's right." Austin soothes. "Is the water helping?"

"Uh… yeah, I think so. I think… I was probably all overheated and sweaty from withdrawal, and that reminded me too much of being in the hot room. I… what time is it?"

"Five AM. I slept for a solid 14 hours straight."

"What about you, Puppy? Did you get any sleep?" They have to adjust their position so that they can open their eyes without getting water in them.

Puppy nods.

Leo thinks back to before they thought they were in the hot room. "I had a hard time getting to sleep, even though I was really tired. I ended up working on my name a bit… that also might not have helped. Stressing myself out combined with the exhaustion and withdrawal must've been what triggered… that." Being able to put together a timeline of what happened and why calms them down further. It all makes sense. They weren't being punished, they just pushed themself too hard and had a flashback.

"That makes a lot of sense. How are you feeling now?"

"Ugh, I don't know. I think I'm doing better… What's next? We should have breakfast, and then me and you need to work on our names–"

"I… maybe you should just get some rest? You're still going through withdrawal, you don't need to add on the stress of remembering your name."

Leo scoffs. "None of us need the stress. We have to do it anyway, or we won't have IDs and we won't be able to get jobs or financial aid, which we need so that we don't run out of money so that we have food and shelter!" Heat rises within them as they get frustrated, but the water cools it off before they say something they regret. "...I'm okay. I can do it."

"I know you can, I just… I don't know. You're right. I'm sorry."

He's doing it again. They make themself take a deep breath before speaking. They have no right to be annoyed. Scolding him for being submissive will just make the problem worse, so maybe…

"Thank you for sharing your thoughts, though. I may disagree, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't have said anything. I want to have your input." To their relief, that came out exactly how they wanted it to. Either lessening the physical discomfort helped, or the withdrawal isn't as intense anymore. Maybe even both!

Austin seems surprised. "...thank you."

Leo feels a lot more like themself. They turn off the shower and start drying themself off. "Could one of you grab me some clothes?"

Puppy quickly leaves the bathroom and comes back with a short-sleeved shirt, shorts, and underwear.

"Ah… you're right. I should wear clothes that help me stay cooler. If we manage to go to the vital records office today, having visible scars might help when it comes to being believed about being abducted."

"You think people might not believe us?" Austin frowns.

"I think… having visible scars couldn't hurt, in that regard." Leo quickly gets dressed. "Alright, let's eat and get to work on our names."

Eating seems to go a bit smoother every time. Maybe in a few weeks Puppy won't need to eat as fast as possible and then be distracted in order to get through a meal. As for Leo and Austin, they should probably invest in some non-snack foods soon. They're running out of the food they took from Jane's pantry, and they'll also probably benefit from a more varied and nutritious diet. 

Austin shows Leo how he worked on remembering his name, and it's a lot easier than how Leo was trying to do it last night. Instead of trying to whisper the name to himself over and over, he reads the name and then closes his eyes and does relaxation exercises. Once reading the name doesn't make him nervous, he moves onto writing it, following the same procedure. Leo follows along. 

"Ugh… I remember now. Part of why it took me so long is that it would make my head start hurting. Hopefully it doesn't have that effect for you, so you'll be able to get your name back faster. I'm going to take a break, and… I think you should too."

Leo doesn't need a break, but they don't want Austin to feel weak for needing one, so they set their paper down. 

~~

Puppy does her best to tidy the hotel room while the other two work. She makes the bed and puts everyone's used clothes into a separate garbage bag that they can take to a laundromat later.

As one might expect for the cheapest hotel within a 50 mile radius, it doesn't seem to have been thoroughly cleaned… well, ever, but especially not recently. If she wasn't so afraid of talking, she'd go to the front desk and ask for cleaning supplies. Surely they have them, even if they don't use them, and she'd be doing them a favor to clean a room for free.

Master's dead. She doesn't care if Puppy does her chores. And her chores applied specifically to the house anyway, not just anywhere she happens to be. 

Even knowing that, she feels a need to do something. Normally, her default when she'd finished her chores and hadn't been given any other tasks was to stay awake, but she doesn't have to do that anymore. Probably. Maybe.

She finds herself staring into the bathroom mirror. It's surprising how quickly the pressure sores on her face and neck have healed. Maybe not completely healed, but enough that it feels like using bandages on them would be a waste. Bunny also seems to have stopped worrying about bandaging his hand.

She looks over the hotel room again and finds nothing else to do. She doesn't want to be a burden on Bunny and Kitty, but surely it'd be okay to daydream right now, right? She's sure that frantically looking for something to clean only worries them, so she'll be doing less harm if she just sits and daydreams.

But… if she hadn't been daydreaming this morning, she probably would've noticed the state Kitty was in. She could've helped them sooner if she hadn't been selfishly indulging like that. Her whole reason for living right now is to help Bunny and Kitty until they don't need her, so that she can die. She shouldn't be daydreaming at all. Her only focus should be helping.

There's nothing else to do to help right now, though. She needs to help them but she can't and she needs to obey Master but Bunny said they'd drag her to the hospital if she refuses to eat and she needs to stop making every meal and bedtime a whole ordeal that stresses everyone out but she can't and all she does is hurt people and Master is going to torture Bunny and Kitty to death in front of her to punish her for all this disobedience and the punishment can always be worse so she needs to stop disobeying to make sure she doesn't make things worse for them when Master kills them–

If she lets this train of thought continue, she'll make herself anxious enough to throw up again, and she doesn't want to worry the others. Master is dead. Master is dead. 

Master is alive, and she takes Puppy home and punishes her. Once she's been punished, she doesn't have to be so afraid, anticipating the inevitable. She can just focus on moving forward instead of all of the rules she's broken, because once the punishment is over, she has a clean slate.

Imagining how Master would punish her, Puppy's nausea starts to abate. Her heart rate slows enough that the pounding in her chest is imperceptible.

She's not allowed to hurt herself. Master would be very upset if Puppy damaged her property, but just imagining the punishment is enough. She knows she doesn't actually have a clean slate, but she still feels calmer. Her blood spills onto the concrete floor of the basement. Agony runs up and down her body, stealing her ability to think and feel anything but pain. And she feels better.

They would hate her if they knew she was doing this. Daydreaming about being tortured, missing Master. All she had to do was raise her right hand, and they would've come to her side and helped distract her for as long as she needed. They have so much warmth and love that they want to give her, and she's denying it, making things worse for everyone. They’ll be so much better off when she’s dead.

Warm blood soaks through her clothes. The sound of a whirring drill fills her ears. And she feels better.

~~

After a few rounds of working on your name, you have to call it quits for the day. You just can’t work on it for hours and hours the way Leo can.

You’re so fucking weak. Leo’s in pain too, they can just handle it better. 

Sharp pain behind your eyes stops you from fully spiralling. Ow ow ow ow– You cling to Puppy as if she can protect you from a headache. She rubs your temples, which doesn't really help but doesn't hurt either.

You're tired enough to take a nap, but your head hurts too bad. Even if it didn't, you already slept 14 hours. You don't want to spend the majority of the day asleep. You don't want to spend the majority of the day tired, either, but if you have to pick you'd rather be awake and tired.

There's not much else to do besides sleep, though. "We should've taken some of the card and board games from the house. Entertainment isn't as pressing of a need as food and clothing, but…" You're not sure how to finish the thought, so you let it hang. Leo and Puppy don't finish it either.

It's not like you can't handle boredom, you just… gah, you'll have to think this through when your brain isn't fried.

You try to focus on relaxing. You're in pain, but you don't have to anticipate any future torture anymore. You can finally relax, just like you told Leo yesterday.

But do you deserve to be relaxed? After what you did to Diya, Ray, and Barron?

Leo said it wasn't your fault, but… they don't actually think that. If they thought it was something out of your control, they wouldn't have tried to convince you to stay with Jane. It was something under your control. They wouldn't have died if you hadn't gone with them.

If you hadn't gone with them… you wouldn't have known how to do magic. You wouldn't have been able to kill Jane and free the three of you.

You traded their lives for yours. Was it worth it? 

You ruined their lives. Do you think their sacrifice was worth it?

You hold on tighter to Puppy. When Jane asked you that, you said no, but that was before you were free. Now, either answer seems cruel. Either Diya, Ray, and Barrons' lives are worth less than yours, or Puppy and Leo shouldn't be free.

You're just making your headache worse. You try to get out of your head and pay attention to what's around you. What are five things you can see?

Nope, that's not going to work. You can't use a coping skill they taught you to distract yourself from feeling guilty about killing them.

"Oh, shit!" Leo facepalms. "I'm an idiot. I'm a total idiot."

"What's wrong?"

"This name isn't the name on my ID. I never changed it, my legal name is still my deadname. God… we've been talking about IDs for days. It's been a really long time since I last went by that name, but how could I forget? I didn't even forget, I know it's not my legal name, I just wasn't thinking, I guess?? I even talked about getting in contact with my parents and I didn't think about it! I guess that might be why I was thinking we could go straight to the vital records office– because I can. But when you said we need to remember our names I agreed!"

You recognize the panic Leo's feeling. It's scary to miss something obvious and wonder how many other things you've missed, wonder if you can trust your own memory. Recognizing the feeling doesn't mean you know what to say, though. "It's okay, you realized eventually."

"God… I still want to eventually remember my name, of course, but… I can go to the vital records office right now. Should we go right now? Or do you want to wait?" They flip through the notebook and stop on the page with the address.

You really don't want to go, or do anything except wait for your headache to feel better. "Do you feel up to it, Puppy?"

Puppy nods.

You don't want to be the one holding the other two back. "...okay. Yeah, let's go. If you're feeling alright, Leo." They seem pretty freaked out about their mistake, but you think getting out of the hotel and taking a walk is more likely to help than hurt.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. We should eat first, though."

As always, it's a struggle for Puppy. You and Leo play games with her until she indicates she's ready to go. It's a lot quicker than normal, actually. You hope that's because she's less afraid and not because distracting her isn't working.

"Um… I guess I'll lead the way." Leo says when you're done.

The front desk doesn't have a map of the area, but Leo gets the clerk to look up the address on their computer and give directions based on that, which Leo writes down.

It's a long, long walk, and you have to ask lots of people for directions. Most people don't know where the vital records office is, but you get some luck asking about the street name.

It's hot. You didn't think the hotel had much air conditioning, but you can definitely notice the difference between being inside it and being outside. Walking so far doesn't help, either, and neither does your headache, which makes everything more difficult to handle. You're not just hot, but dizzy and nauseous and in pain, which is how you felt any time you were in the hot room for an extended period of time.

You have to remind yourself over and over again that you're not in the hot room. You can take a break in the shade if you want, you're outside, you're fine. Are you really copying Leo's flashback from this morning? What's wrong with you?

Leo seems to be okay. Wearing lighter clothes is probably helping. People stare at their scars, but they don't seem to mind. Why didn't you change into cooler clothes? You didn't change out of your clothes from yesterday at all. You're so gross.

You can't tell how Puppy's handling it, but she doesn't seem to be on the verge of collapse like you are.

"I… I need to take a break." You find a shady spot and sit down. You're so weak.

"Shit, yeah, of course." Leo and Puppy sit down next to you. "I guess… we didn't need to all come, huh? I'm the only one who remembers my name."

The idea of staying at the hotel wondering when Leo will come back sounds awful. "I like sticking together."

"I do too, it's just… it wasn't even a discussion. It was just assumed that if I was going, both of you would too."

"Sorry."

"What? Why are you apologizing?"

You shrug. You don't have the capability to really do any introspection right now.

Puppy squeezes your hand. 

After a minute of silence, Leo takes a deep breath and smiles warmly at you. "I'm glad you're both here, though. It would be harder without you. I just don't want you to feel pressured, is all."

A different kind of warmth blossoms in your chest. You're wanted here. Leo's never been the type to lie to appease you. Even if you're slowing them down and too stupid to be helpful, they want you to be with them.

You feel a bit bad that they felt the need to say it, though. They clearly don't like you apologizing, and now they feel like they have to comfort you when they're already struggling with withdrawal.

Still, you let the emotional warmth soothe you, and the warmth of the sun becomes more bearable.

"Thank you. We're almost there, right? I feel better. Let's go."

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list!

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole @whumplr-reader

[another-whump-sideblog]

Stand down

"No! No!"

Whumpee struggled with all their might, fighting against the two pairs of hands on their arms dragging them towards the van. They dug their heels in. Jerked their arms free. Flailed. Kicked. Braced their feet against the rear bumper and fiercely pushed back, almost laying flat in their soon to be captors arms. "No! I am not getting in that van!"

"Just get the fuck in!" And with a final shove, Whumpee lost balance and crashed hard against the cold metal interior.

Immediately they reared back up, teeth bared in snarl, legs ready to kick off and launch themself at the henchmen before they could slam the door shut or just fucking break right through with force.

But when they turned, they stopped dead in their tracks, frozen in place as if crouching in a starting position before a race. Their stomach sank when they saw who was keeping them in.

A single man stood in the door opening, blocking the exit, broad-shouldered, stance fierce and unyielding as Whumpee experienced many times before.

His hand curled around the edge of the door, as if bracing himself should Whumpee launch themself at him. But he smiled when Whumpee's legs gave out under them, a small scoff in his expression. As expected. The van tilted lightly as he stepped in.

"I'll keep 'em company," he rumbled.

"Alone?" One of the henchmen piped up behind him.

Whumper calmly spoke, his dark eyes on Whumpee. "They won't cause a ruckus," he said in full confidence, but his tone turned lethal when he spoke to them directly. "Will you?"

"...No," Whumpee whispered, all too aware of the consequences if they dared to raise a hand against him.

Those dark eyes flashed and a brow barely raised. Whumpee quickly corrected themself.

"No, sir."

-

Sir General Whump sir tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @treasureguardingdragon @morning-star-whump

[another-whump-sideblog]

In fairy culture its actually considered extremely rude to inject them with formaldehyde and pin them to a corkboard

[another-whump-sideblog]

Whumpee that shows a lot of discomfort and distress when alone with Caretaker. They cry out of nowhere and avoid any physical affection Caretaker tries to give. Caretaker, obviously, assumes they're doing something wrong, since Whumpee seems fine with everyone else. It takes a while for them to realize Whumpee always feels like crying and never wants physical affection. They just... don't trust anyone but Caretaker to accept them when they're 'inconvenient'

[another-whump-sideblog]

The Rare Bookseller Part 87: Alexander's Reason

Previous > Masterlist tw: mind control, hypnotic induction

October 1925

"Excuse me, are you Oliver Pines?"

Oliver looked up at the nurse, a middle-aged woman with a kind smile. He knew that he must be puffy-eyed from crying. Hopefully she would assume it was due to the pain. "Yes, that's me."

"I wanted to speak with you. Quietly, if you don't mind." There was no real privacy in the ward, but she sat on the edge of the bed close to Oliver's face. Her fingers reached down to turn his head gently, and brushed against the scars on his neck.

She knew.

Terror and guilt flooded him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize --"

"Shhh, keep your voice down. I'm not going to hurt you."

He thought he deserved it if she did, but did his best to quiet himself anyway, stifling his sobs like he was a boy again.

"You're one of theirs, aren't you? You belong to a vampire," she said in a hushed tone.

Oliver nodded.

"I thought so. I saw the puncture wounds noted in your file, and after what happened last night… did you hear?"

"I heard enough."

"Was that your master? The one who was in the hospital last night?"

"No, but… yes, in a way. He was here for me. It's my fault."

The nurse looked sympathetic. "I don't think anything those bastards did is your fault."

"How do you know about them? The vampires?"

"You're not the first patient we've seen with bite marks on the neck, and this isn't the first time those bastards have visited us, either. Not all the nurses believe, and the doctors won't listen to us, but I used to work the night shift. The night nurses know."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"I can call in the vampire hunters' guild. They'd probably be willing to station someone in the area tonight."

"No!" said Oliver, surprising the nurse. "The vampire hunters can't help."

"Sure they can. They're experts at --"

"No, they can't help me," Oliver insisted. "Not against this vampire. I was already with a hunter, and I think she might be -- gone. I don't think there's a hunter who can stand against him."

The nurse sucked in a breath. "You've gotten yourself in some real trouble, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry. If you gave me back to my master, I think --"

"We're not going to do that. You need care and rest. We're not just going to hand over one of our patients to a bloodsucker." She patted Oliver's shoulder. "I'll contact the guild and let them be the judge of whether or not they can handle it. With any luck, you'll be free, and there'll be one less monster in the world."

Oliver could tell he wasn't likely to dissuade her, but at the very least he could let the hunters know what they would be up against. "If you do talk to the guild, please tell them that it's the Maestro."

"The Maestro?"

"Yes, make sure you tell them that."

"All right. I will. You just focus on healing up, okay? Do you need any more medicine for the pain?"

"Yes, please," he said miserably. The medication would put him to sleep, and it would be better for him to sleep now than during the night, when he might need his wits about him. As the nurse left, he hoped that no hunter would be foolish enough to come, that they'd hear the Maestro's name and know to stay away. He didn't want another hunter dead or ensorcelled on his account.

He thought of Vivian. He wasn't sure if it was better if she were alive or dead. If the Maestro had found her, it might be more merciful if he decided a hunter was too much trouble to keep as a thrall.

Oliver, seemingly, would never be too much trouble.

---

Thanks mostly to some strong medication, Oliver spent the entire afternoon in and out of sleep that did not bring him rest, only truly waking to eat the bland meals he was given and answer a doctor's perfunctory questions. But as the sunlight through the windows turned golden and then red, his anxiety began to rise to a fever pitch.

He dearly hoped the Maestro would not visit him a second time. At some point, one of the nurses had picked up the rose from the floor and put it in a cup on his bedside table. Oliver didn't know how to explain how it was so hateful to him, so he was reminded of his terror every time he happened to glance to the right.

If any vampire were to come, he hoped it would be Alexander. He knew he should hate Alexander for putting him in this position, stalked by a sociopathic monster who thought nothing of casually killing an innocent woman. But another, treacherous part of him just wanted to go back. Back to a fogged and hazy mind, back to dulled pain and fear, back to a comfortable seat by the fire in the library where he could feel safe even though he wasn't. Despite having nothing to do for the past several days and nights but rest in bed, he was completely spent.

He thought of how gentle Alexander's voice and hands were as he lulled Oliver into a trance, how it felt for the vampire to wrap around him when it was time to sleep. If he were truly trapped, if he couldn't escape, at least he would have a warm and comfortable home to go back to. At least Alexander would treat him kindly. He was in need of a kind word and a gentle touch.

And then, there was the truth that ran just below the surface of his thoughts, the one that he'd been struggling with ever since Vivian had undone his enthrallment, the one that filled him with embarrassment.

Because the real truth, deep down in his heart, was that he had enjoyed being Alexander's thrall.

Of course he knew it was probably still the remnants of the spell at work. The effects of hypnosis that strong couldn't be easily undone. Knowing that his feelings may be artificial didn't stop them from consuming him, though.

Even back in the bookshop, one of his greatest joys was to help patrons with their requests, to feel useful. He had always loved being helpful. Alexander had made him feel like that all of the time, looking at Oliver as though he were something precious. He may have been treated like a plaything, but at least he'd been a wanted, cherished plaything. And most humiliating of all was how he'd been so quietly pleased when he was praised for being a good thrall, as if it were his life's calling, just like Lily had told him.

Oliver burned with shame to think of it. He'd insisted to Vivian that he wouldn't be one of those rescued thralls who went running back to the arms of a vampire, and even then he suspected he was lying to himself. Honestly, he'd looked forward to helping out Alexander a bit too much even when he was merely one of the bookshop's patrons, eager to assist a fellow book-lover. And now that he knew how lonely Alexander was, and how much he appreciated Oliver's company…

But no, he still couldn't trust Alexander, no matter how much he secretly wished he could. Alexander may not glory in torments the way his sire did, but he was still keeping Oliver a captive. And even though Alexander seemed to be a captive and victim of his sire, he had still enlisted his sire's help in finding Oliver. Otherwise, how else would the Maestro know to infect his mind with those specific nightmares at that specific time?

It seemed unlike him to willingly involve his sire in a situation that might see them both harshly punished. Perhaps there was an explanation, although Oliver doubted he'd get to hear it before he was ensnared once more. He hoped, at least, that Alexander wouldn't harm any hunters that might be near the library, and that he hadn't killed Vivian.

If only things could be different between them. If only he would listen to reason, and let Oliver keep his wits, and somehow free them both of the scourge of his sire. If only Oliver could simply enjoy the fond closeness and the vast library in peace, and perhaps see his bookshop again one day. If he could have those assurances, then he could be content to return to Alexander, regardless of how shameful a hunter like Vivian might find his condition.

The pain was beginning to return to his leg, the strong medication wearing off, when he first heard the strains of song. The sun had been fully down for half an hour, and Oliver's mounting dread gave way to a surprising relief as he heard the voice.

It was Alexander's song, of course, rich and enticing. He was being ensnared once more, but at least there might not be any more pain that night.

The melody grew in strength, and drowsiness stole over Oliver, his eyelids beginning to grow heavy and droop. He heard a symphony of yawns from around the ward as the other patients began to fall to the spell. Alexander was putting them all to sleep so that he could enter freely, no doubt, which would be a mercy to them -- a deep sleep free of pain. Oliver had no real desire to fight it, allowing his eyes to shut and his mind to drift off peacefully.

"You may slowly come awake, Oliver, but continue to feel no pain."

Oliver's eyes fluttered open. He was sitting partially upright, and Alexander was clutching him tightly, holding him as though he were a precious treasure to protect. The familiar scent of his soap surrounded Oliver as the vampire buried his face into Oliver's shoulder, which was growing damp with tears. And his injured leg felt as though it were far away, only connected to Oliver by the thinnest of strings, his focus sliding over it.

"I'm sorry," said Alexander, who sounded as though he were choking back a sob. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you and keep you safe. I was terribly worried about you."

He sounded so genuinely upset. Despite Emily's insistence that Alexander couldn't possibly care for him as more than a meal, Oliver couldn't bring himself to believe that. He sank fully into the comforting embrace, allowing himself to be absorbed into Alexander's arms.

Alexander pulled back slightly, and Oliver found himself looking into those deep eyes, like diving into an ocean. He was unable to look away, his memories of the mesmerism stirring in his heart, whispering to his mind that it would be so easy to lose himself in those eyes. It was only with herculean willpower that Oliver managed to blink and tear himself away.

"How is your injury?" Alexander asked.

"It's a severe knee fracture, the doctor said. They performed surgery on me when I first arrived." Oliver looked forlornly at his plaster-encrusted leg. "He said that I'll be in a wheelchair for a while, and might not ever walk without assistance again."

The fierce look in Alexander's eyes caught him off guard. "Then I'll have to take care of you in any way I can," he said. "I know that my manor isn't well equipped for it, but we'll make do. We can move your bedroom and bathroom to the first floor, rearrange the library so that you can navigate it more easily… I suppose I'll have to carry you up the stairs to my room when needed… and of course I'll have to arrange for a fine cane for you, for when you're well enough to stand. I'll get in touch with Edith, she'll know where to purchase wheelchairs and canes."

Oliver couldn't help but be relieved that the vampire was willing to try and care for him in this situation. Even though it wouldn't make sense for Alexander to abandon him, not after how much he'd paid and risked and how much he seemed to value his thrall, a small but significant part of Oliver had been quietly insisting that he was a burden now, not worth the trouble.

Alexander's gaze strayed toward the rose in the cup, and from the look on his face Oliver could tell that he instantly grasped the meeting. "My sire was here."

"He was," said Oliver tersely, suddenly reminded of the main reason he couldn't put his trust in Alexander. Somehow, Alexander's sire had learned where Oliver was.

"What did he do? Did he harm you?"

"He didn't harm me any worse than I had already been harmed," said Oliver. "Did you tell him where I was?"

Alexander groaned, and if the forlorn look on his face was an act, it was a very good one. "I wouldn't have told him anything if I had been given a choice. Surely you know that. He thinks that your capture makes me even more of an abject disappointment, and I'm sure he intends to punish me at his leisure. On top of that, I certainly didn't wish for him to torment you. Please believe that."

"Then how did he know?"

"The worst possible timing," said Alexander. "The night after you were captured, just as I had woken from the sleeping potion and was preparing to go out and find you, I had an unexpected and unwelcome visitor."

"Your sire."

"At the stroke of midnight, as always. He came to deliver an invitation, and he noticed right away that you weren't present."

"Couldn't you have told him I was asleep in my bedroom, or sick, or…"

"He can always tell when I'm lying," said Alexander miserably. "On top of that, he could tell you were missing by your smell, or lack thereof. He was furious, of course -- but for once, I feel like I deserve it, considering I failed to protect you. I know my words might not mean much, but I truly am sorry, and not just about that." Alexander gripped both of Oliver's hands earnestly. "I've failed in my duties towards you as your master, and I do intend to rectify that. I don't want us both to be trapped under my sire's thumb forever. I managed to apprehend the hunter --"

"Vivian!" said Oliver. "What have you done with her?"

"We haven't harmed her at all. She's with Lily now."

His heart sank, thinking of the strong, determined hunter, now helplessly under Lily's spell, perhaps even memory-wiped like Miriam. His mind traveled back to the time when Alexander had brought him to Lily's home, of the terrified man that Oliver had falsely reassured, how Lily thought nothing of dragging a man on a leash to be hypnotized. "I think she would consider becoming a thrall a fate worse than death. Isn't there any way you could let her go?"

"Lily will be very gentle with her. She seems quite well suited to being a thrall, despite how she might feel about it now," said Alexander easily, as though he weren't discussing condemning a woman to servitude. "And then, there's you." He touched Oliver's cheek, gazing into his eyes. "She lifted much of my spell on you, didn't she?"

There was no real point in denying it. "She did. She made me very keenly aware of my… situation. How I've effectively been captured and enslaved."

Alexander recoiled slightly at this, as though the thought had never occurred to him, and the look on his face almost made Oliver want to take back his words. "…Were you really so unhappy with me?" he said quietly.

Oliver looked away. "No. I wasn't unhappy."

He gripped Oliver's chin, drawing him in. "Then just let me --"

"Wait!" Oliver knew that any protest would be futile if Alexander desired to put him under again. As soon as he began to sing of obedience and loyalty, as soon as Oliver looked a little too long into those eyes, the struggle would be lost. But still, he had believed that Alexander could be reasoned with. He had to try. "Can't we talk about this first?"

"Oliver…" he said with a truly pathetic expression. "I know that this life isn't what you would have chosen, but…"

"You never gave me the chance to choose," he said. "You told me before, when you put me under your spell for the first time, that you wanted loyalty, and not obedience. But you never actually let me give you loyalty that wasn't coerced." Oliver wrung his hands in his blanket. "I know the position I'm in. I know that you have all the power over me, and that you could take my mind at any moment. I know that I have every reason to be angry with you… but I have nowhere to go, and no one to return to but you. And despite everything, the truth is that a part of me did miss you."

"You did?" said Alexander, latching onto that one statement as though it was the only part he cared about.

"What I'm trying to say is, I would go with you willingly. You don't need to ensorcel my mind. I won't try to escape -- as though I even could. You have my word." Olive was all too aware that he had no actual leverage, and that this was the only card he could play.

"You…" Alexander was clearly having trouble processing this. "You wish to stay and serve me without being enthralled?"

"I do," he said firmly. "I'm offering you my service of my own free will, or what remains of it."

"But why would you want that? You won't be happy," said Alexander.

"I think I could be happy in your manor, even without being ensorcelled into false bliss," said Oliver. "But I also think, perhaps, that keeping my mind at least somewhat intact is more important to me than being made happy. I suppose my mind is really all I have, now more than ever. I want to feel things. I want to have choices, even if I still choose to serve you. I want to think."

Alexander took a long time before responding. "I was much younger than you, when I was taken," he said finally. "I was still in my schooling, throwing all of my time and energy into music, which I loved more than anything. I had a family and friends. I had a future."

Oliver's breath stilled. He'd never considered that the vampire must have once been human. He was surprised that Alexander even remembered what it was like, so long ago.

"I hated my master -- who became my sire -- more than words can say. He stole me away from everything and everyone I loved. But unlike me, he rarely touched his thrall's minds."

"He didn't hypnotize you?"

"No. He conditioned me to obedience in much harsher ways. He did nothing to dull my mind of the pain and the grief. I spent years in misery, losing all hope, and then he killed me and made me into his kind, so that I could inflict the same suffering on others." Alexander's eyes were rimmed with tears when he looked back up at Oliver. "My master never showed me mercy. I want to give you mercy."

"Mercy?"

"I know it's selfish. I know I tore you out of the life you had. I know I'm keeping you a captive. But even still… even with everything I've done… I can't bear for you to hate me," he said. "That's one reason why I can't free your mind, Oliver. Because I don't want you to despise me the way I despise my sire, and the only way to do that is to bend your thoughts towards contentment. It's the best I can do for you."

Oliver leaned back in his hospital bed. "I don't hate you, Alexander."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I thought that I should, given what you've done to me, how you've put me in terrible danger. But I still don't." Oliver sighed. "At the end of the day, perhaps it's because I've been dreadfully lonely, too, with only books as my freedom. Maybe Lily was right all along, and I really am just well suited for serving a vampire. Maybe I just enjoyed having someone care for me, even if it was an illusion."

"It's not an illusion," said Alexander firmly. "I do care for you. You're the only thing that's brought me any real joy since Fitz left."

"I want to believe that, but it hurt me, when your sire was tormenting me and you did nothing in my defense. Even if there's nothing you could have done, I --"

Alexander was looking truly miserable now. "No, you're right. I know full well that I need to find a way to keep you out of his clutches, and not fail you the way I failed my dear Fitz." He sighed. "Because he is my sire, he can compel me to his wishes as easily as he can compel you. So any resistance I offer must be carefully considered, lest it bear no fruit but punishment."

"I understand," he said reluctantly.

"The last time I truly stood up to him -- he took Fitz, and he tortured us both. I don't want that to happen to you. That's why I must obey him until I have a solid plan. Rushing and failing would be a surefire way to expose you to immense harm." He stroked Oliver's cheek fondly. "And if I do fail, I want you to have the chance to escape."

Oliver nodded. As terrified as he was of the Maestro, Alexander was right that confronting him must be done carefully.

"You're an ideal thrall, Oliver," said Alexander, gently stroking the side of his face, and Oliver couldn't help but lean into the touch. "I had gone so long without a good thrall that it was taking all of my restraint to not capture and ensorcel any decent smelling person on the street, much less a prize like you."

"But you don't have to do that. You don't have to ensorcel me."

"I could never be around you and restrain myself. It was difficult enough when I visited your shop. Now, that I know the sort of thrall you are, it would be unbearable torture."

"You could still have my blood, if you needed," said Oliver desperately, not wanting to think about how enjoyable the feedings had seemed before Vivian pulled him back to his senses.

"Your blood is only a fraction of what makes you desirable." A predatory look was in his eye, and Oliver was pinned by his gaze. "It's the way your eyes fog over when you're falling under my spell, the way you sway in a daze, the smile on your face when you're deep in entranced sleep, how you call me 'sir.' I've only seen one other human fall to me so beautifully. That sensation, the power I can hold over you, how effortlessly you drop into docile bliss… that's worth an ocean of blood."

Oliver's mouth went dry. He had been right that Alexander truly did care about him -- but when he suggested Alexander could be reasoned with, he'd been wrong, so wrong. He wasn't merely interested in Oliver's blood or his companionship. He wanted Oliver's mind and soul under his sway, and the hunger on his face made it clear that no compromise would be possible.

"I don't want to be enthralled to the point where I lose my memory and my wits become dull and sluggish," Oliver protested. He at least had to try.

"I won't do that to you. I enjoy your wits."

"I also don't want you to compel me into obedience if we disagree, or drag you to Lily if my thoughts become inconvenient."

"I'm not doing this to harm you," said Alexander with a kind tone that contrasted with his argument. "It's what's best for you as a thrall. You won't suffer. I can give you anything you need. I can make you happy."

Oliver swallowed. "You try to compel me to happiness, even when we're both being stalked by a monster who delights in torture. I don't want to be happy. I want to have my wits about me."

"And I owe it to you, and to myself, and especially to my dear Fitz, to be rid of him once and for all," said Alexander. "Until then, I will continue to relieve your pain, and ease a bit of my own in the bargain." He directed Oliver to look into his eyes, those sharp blue eyes as deep as the ocean and as treacherous.

"Please, Alexander," said Oliver, barely managing to look away.

"Shhh. It's all right, Oliver. It will be all right. I'll help you forget your pain and your fear." And he took Oliver's face into his hands and sang, his deep and melancholy voice echoing across the hospital ward. It was a deeply soothing sound, full of relaxation and peace and the quiet calm of servitude, and despite his feeble effort at resistance, Oliver's mind was being lulled away effortlessly.

"Please…"

"Quiet now, Oliver. You have nothing to fear, nothing to struggle against, only sleep. Deep, sweet sleep, where you can be so quiet and listen."

He wanted so badly to rest in those eyes, to forget why he was fighting. Oliver was leaning forward, eyelids fluttering, sleepwalking back to his doom. It was all too familiar.

"You're an excellent thrall, so quiet and docile and perfect for me, just for me."

"…Thank you, sir."

"You can sleep, now, a sleep free of pain, and know that I will return each night to sing your pain away. I promise you that. I won't leave you alone and in pain in this dreadful place. But for now, I want you to return to me. Remember your enthrallment, your deep and docile obedience, and return to me, your master."

Oliver nodded, drifting away, his mind falling back into the depths so easily, so naturally, right back where he belonged, a book slotted into his proper place on the shelf.

Previous > Masterlist

This chapter took me SO LONG to write, with three rewrites along the way! It's an extra long one, so I hope you enjoy! I'm going to get back to answering asks as well... Next week (hopefully): Fitz and the Maestro are getting along very well.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

[another-whump-sideblog]

△ Fletcher, you know multiple unrelated people can have the same name, right? Kind of rude of you to not validate the way Tommy chooses to be seen and addressed just because you can't get over that one guy you knew ages ago with the same name.

-🕯

The last thing you hear before you succumb to your injuries is Fletcher grumbling, “He didn’t even choose to go by it.”

[another-whump-sideblog]

△ Buck how would you feel if Fletcher took you back? It would be so cute you’d be like a brother to Tommy and you could always be there for him

Buck grows pale, his voice quiet. “Don’t… don’t say that. I don’t - I try not to think about that. If I think about it, I won’t go back. And… then I’d be leaving Tommy alone. With them. So. I don’t want to think about it.”

[another-whump-sideblog]

🔼 Fletcher, can Tommy do anything that will make you kill him?

“Hm, probably only if he tried to kill me, and made like, a real, good attempt at it. Because even if he made a weak attempt I would probably just put him in his place. I think anything short of that I would just hurt him. Maybe hurt him really bad, depending on what he did, but… otherwise it’d have to be pretty extreme. Like, my hatred of you outweighs the benefits of keeping you around. Because, shit, at that point I could just keep him locked in the basement and just go down and torture him when I felt like it. So I think I would have to feel like I needed to kill him, which would only be if he was a threat. And to be honest, he’s not.”

[another-whump-sideblog]

△ Hi Buck!! If you had to be held captive forever by one of the residents of the Lodge (while you were there), who would you choose? Now, imagine the scenario... How long until they get bored with you and hurt you for fun?

“Um… I mean, Jesus…” Buck squirms uncomfortably. “Like, maybe O’Connor only because she didn’t… want to hurt me, so if there was no reason to… but also I - I don’t really want to… be around her. Um. I mean, Petrova’s dead, but obviously she’s the last person I would want. The guys were… no. Summers didn’t go out of her way to antagonize me but also she was so… cold. Like, if Fletcher told her to do something to me, for a lesson or for - for anything, she was just do it. She didn’t care. So, I don’t know if, um, she would hurt me out of boredom like the others would, but, uh, she kinda scares me still. So, I don’t know. O’Connor? I guess? That sounds crazy; she nearly killed me. O’Connor or Summers I guess. I don’t know.”

[another-whump-sideblog]

🔼 AU Fletcher: What do you really think of (new) Tommy?

“I like the guy, he can just be kind of clingy. He’s always trying to do stuff for me, which is great, don’t want to discourage that, but at the same time it’s like, I got it, you know? I’ll tell you when I want you to do something.

He’s eager to please, which is good, but he also kind of has no personality because of it. He just tries to be whatever you want. Obviously that was his role for years. I want him to regrow a personality a little bit, but I don’t want him to heal TOO much, ya know? Like, if he’s gonna be around all the time I want a dude I can hang with, but I still want him to do what I say and not give me shit about it. Hopefully that will kind of balance out in time. Because then - assuming I like his personality - he’d kind of be perfect. The dude is soooo good at getting hurt. Have you heard him whimper? Here, hold on a second…”

*Fletcher whistles*

[another-whump-sideblog]

Shattered - Decay 🦷🪥 [Drabble]

CW: vampire whumper, bloodbag whumpee, vampire persuasion/mind control, teeth brushing, captivity/kidnapped, catatonic/lifeless whumpee, restraints, mentions of blood, implied previous abuse, whumper forced to caretake (lemme know if I missed any!)

-

Vince catches a fleeting glimpse of the human's teeth. Yellowed, crooked, neglected - untouched by a toothbrush for god knows how long. Another sign of decay, in both body and mind. First, the slow erosion of a mind once sharp, now lost to the abyss. Next, his body followed suit - ribs jutting out, skin drawn thin and pale over bone. The measly human doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle or blink unless under Vince’s word.

In a twisted way, this is exactly what Vince wanted - no resistance, not a speck of defiance -  just the blind obedience of a mind stripped bare, and a body left with no choice but to follow his every will without thought or question. 

Vince snatches a clump-full of Declan’s greasy and matted hair in his fist, trying to yank the boy to his feet. The human makes no protest, but no attempt to stagger to his feet either. His lead-like body sits slumped on the floor, like the weight of simply existing is too much for him to bear.  It finally dawns on Vince - he’d have to command Declan. The feeble thing won’t budge unless given an order to. A far cry from the days when Declan would try to escape at every chance, fighting tooth and nail.

“Get up. On your feet,” Vince growls.

Declan’s body tenses, his body on the brink of collapse, yet still his limbs robotically move against his will. If there is any will left in him at all. There isn’t a flicker of fight, or a twinkle of life behind his eyes - only a vast emptiness. 

Vince’s words coil tighter around Declan’s fragile consciousness. Declan’s limbs jerk, his body rising with a terrible slowness that tests Vince’s saint-like patience. Declan’s legs buckle, muscles trembling with exertion, his feet dragging against stone as his body struggles to lift itself, trying eagerly to obey without understanding.

Vince’s fingers curl around the back of Declan’s neck with an iron-clad grip. He marches Declan forward, guiding him to the bathroom. Declan’s body stumbled and shuffled. His head hung loosely to one side, his gaze misty and distant, as though his mind had already melted away.

He feels more zombie than human. The boy is barely present, barely alive but not nearly dead. His steps are uncoordinated, dragging behind Vince like a limp puppet on strings.

Vince's pace never falters. He guides Declan, dragging him across the basement with a cruel calmness, his fingers steady on the boy’s neck. They reach the bathroom door, and Vince doesn’t slow his pace. He barges the door open with his shoulder, then roughly steers Declan inside.

He snatches the toothbrush from its resting place on the sink, the bristles bone-dry from lack of use. He squeezes out a generous portion of toothpaste, the minty scent filling the air and curling his tongue, and thrusts the toothbrush into Declan’s limp hand, folding his stiff fingers around the handle.

“Brush your teeth,” Vince orders.

Declan’s vacant eyes remain unfocused, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. His hand trembles slightly as he mechanically lifts the brush towards his mouth. But Declan doesn’t scrub - doesn’t clean, doesn't even try. He merely moves the brush back and forth along his front teeth with no sense of urgency or care.

Frustration coils tight in Vince’s chest.

 "Hand it over!" Vince’s voice cracks with irritation as he snatches the brush from Declan’s hand. "Insolent, impotent human!"

Vince forcefully shoves Declan down onto his knees, and the human offers no resistance as he folds to the floor.  He pulls a length of rope from his pockets before tying Declan’s hands behind his back, securing them tight until the rough fibres bite into already bruised flesh. 

The vampire’s mind spirals. He can’t fight the nagging doubt that this is all an act. What if Declan is playing him - crafting the perfect illusion of a broken and beaten blood bag that is well past its use-by date, ready to be put out to pasture? Is it all a clever façade, waiting and looking for the slightest crack in Vince’s defences, waiting for him to lower his guard and find his chance to strike?

Vince studies Declan, hunting for any hint of lurking strength behind that chilling and vacant stare, any twitch that might betray the illusion. But there is none. All he finds is defeat and desolation. No tricks. No games. He should feel a sense of triumph and victory…instead, he feels inconvenienced. The thrill of control and power, the satisfaction of breaking Declan down, is fleeing. Declan is no longer the challenge he once was. His complete surrender - his utter defeat - somehow leaves Vince feeling incensed. It’s all too easy now…

...and yet, it’s too much damn hard work. Why should he be burdened with a pitiful human incapable of taking care of itself? Why should he lower himself to the menial task of caring for his prey?

Vince pinches Declan’s cheeks, forcing his dried and cracked lips into an ‘O’ shape. Without mercy, he shoves the toothbrush into Declan’s mouth, the bristles scraping against sensitive gums. He scrubs with brutal force, scrubbing as though Declan’s teeth had offended him. Vince commands him to spit, the first splash of blood lands in the sink, crimson mingling with the frothy paste.

Declan gags, his eyes watering and a pitiful sound rising from his throat as Vince goes too deep into the back of his mouth, forcing the brush past the point of discomfort. When the ordeal is finally done, Vince wipes the toothpaste and spit dribbling from Declan’s lips and his chin, disgust written across his face. 

"Pathetic. Even the simplest things are beyond you now."

 It’s hard to believe that this is the same person who once dared to push back.  Once as sly and cunning as a fox. Now, Declan is nothing more than a limp, broken thing, incapable of even simple survival. Declan is a chore now.

Vince sighs. Perhaps, he’s being too harsh. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, human,” Vince mumbles, stroking Declan’s hair as if comforting him. Declan only stares dead ahead, at the sink basin before him. “You’ll get back to being useful again. But perhaps you need time. You need me.”

Vince's fingers brush through Declan’s hair one last time, a twisted smile creeping onto his lips as he watches the vacant expression, savouring the little control he holds over what’s left of him.

“Just don’t expect this to become a frequent thing,” Vince grumbles, waggling the toothbrush in front of Declan’s expressionless face. “I already do enough for you. I won’t be your saviour forever.”

With that, Vince throws the brush down into the sink and turns to walk away. Leaving Declan kneeling on the cold bathroom floor, still lost in the haze of his mind.

[another-whump-sideblog]

Tales of Arcadia - Rewards

CW: recapture, drugging, Shepard scamming tf out of his sheeple

Previous | [Masterlist] |

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The early morning sun hadn't even started to fully peek out behind the hills when the battered pick-up truck slowly came to a halt. Eight hours went by like a breeze and yet, Shepard felt his endless rush of energy bade farewell at last.

All the struggles for his boy had drained him.

Stepping out of the car, he inhaled the sweet fresh air - dew coated every fallen leaf crunching under his soles. The early birds were already out and bustling about on the meadow: morning yoga with Birdie had always been popular, especially with the backpackers staying for a week or two, who didn't need to be involved any other way.

Besides a quick glance from her direction, the group seemed untouched by his return. Perhaps it was better this way, he ought to keep his word after all. His Lukas never had to see these people again.

What a bummer. Free labor made everything so much easier.

A sigh escaping through his nostrils, Shepard carefully pulled the passenger side door open, inch by inch, to not rouse his oblivious co-driver. In the delicate rays of sunlight, Lukas looked so content: eyes closed shut, all the angry lines around them smoothed down as he leaned against the headrest.

Just like he used to be, as he should be.

At some point, Shepard had to admit to not be proud of the way he brought him here, but too great was the relief about his most valuable treasure being safe and sound in his arms.

Trying to stir him as little as possible now, Lukas was gently unbuckled and pulled out of his resting spot, limp and without a trace of spite. Only a few feet of grassland separated them from his designated abode.

Bold steps aiding his walk, Shepard crossed the distance past the office and straight into the barn at the edge of the pre-breakfast bustle. 

Behind hand-packaged ceramics and jars upon jars of pumpkin butter, the old RV stood unchanged - a relic from better times. Simpler times. When his boys only wanted to live in the world Shepard had so carefully picked out for them.

The years had left their marks nonetheless: amateurish sketches of Lukas' most beloved pocket monsters embellished the kitchen cabinets and every other corner they demanded, the upholstery of the dining corner looked outdated and dusty after an eternity of lying idle.

His bed at the end of the camper, though, the unlucky father had left untouched. 

"There we go." 

With a quiet grunt, Lukas was set down on the soft comfort of his mattress, only held upright by his dad, who had to kneel in front of the bed to get a better grip on him.

Luke's head weakly slumped downwards, and a huff escaped through parted lips. In the silence of his childhood bedroom, he started to move against the chemical weight pushing on his mind.

Shepard, on the other hand, had neither time nor ambitions to wake him already. Otherwise, their reunion wouldn't stay pleasant for long, and both of them knew it.

"I'm late-" Luke slurred, closed eyes fighting for a glimpse of the outside world.

Any struggle was noticed, not welcomed, and promptly shushed behind honey-sweet words.

"Late for what?"

"Lunch...shift." 

Getting the words out felt impossibly heavy, as if the air itself opposed his wishes.

"Is that so?" Shepard couldn't help but smile in surprise. His boy had found work out there...unbelievable. And from the sound of things, it was a team effort, maybe even in the service sector. Was it an executive position? Middle manager, maybe? 

"I can't wait to hear all about it," Shepard whispered, thumbing the sleep from the corner of his son's eyes, "but not today."

Always a steady hold on him, he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a thermos, nearly empty. The last swig consisted of little more than grainy sediment of the pills that had settled at the bottom. Not tasty, but, well, there was only so much Shepard could do to keep peace at home.

Lukas, on the other hand, pulled away when presented with the steel lid full of tea once again. 

"One more, come on," Shepard insisted, seeing no difference to getting one last piece of broccoli into him, "One more, and I'll leave you be."

He finally gave in, then, because deep down Lukas - or the child he used to be - knew that Dad only wanted what's best for him. Even if he couldn't understand it yet.

"'m...late," he tried again, tongue sluggish with chamomile and chalk.

"No, sprout," his father sighed, knowing full-well how much he hated this nickname, "You're exactly where you need to be."

There was no will to argue anymore, not about Atlanta or college, not even when his clothes - snatched from Avery's closet or grabbed for a dollar off the bargain table - were replaced by familiar pajamas. Merino wool, 100%, raw and untreated. The only fabric that didn't torture his skin every hour of the day, Shepard remembered accurately.

Planting a kiss on the top of his head, Lukas sank onto the lambskin covering the mattress, one arm placed gently over a pillow and tucked in to his chin. He had always been quite picky about his sleeping arrangements.

His hair, cut a bit more stylish than usual, smelled of cheap vodka and Pantene. Shepard cocked his head in confusion. Since when did he have a weakness for overpriced shampoo? Had his boy, for all that is good and holy, found a girlfriend? 

Two years and it felt like he didn't even recognize the boy he raised... so much lost time. So much to catch up to. The day had only begun, yet there was plenty left to do: bring the rusty engine back to life, pack supplies, purge any and all accounts. He would collect only the most important necessities for their journey. 

Despite the ticking clock, Shepard sat still beside his son just a few moments longer, head leaning against the bedframe.

In the subtle dark trapped behind the curtains, Claire too watched over them. Inside her portrait, painted brown by the grainy sepia of his old camera, she winked in eternal mischievousness. Shepard had taken it two days after she had revealed her secret: a pacifier hidden in his empanada. Back when their family had been complete, before-

He had lost himself in her eyes again.

"I got him," the abandoned father whispered into nothingness, "I got our boy back."

Shepard shut his eyes, and he felt the world came to a halt. Peace filled the room - only two hearts beating in rhythm. For a whole minute. 

As the door to the camper creaked open, all the privilege of his breather was lost. Short, quick steps entered their RV, followed by heavy ones, letting the flooring groan in exertion. Birdie and Otis, undoubtedly.

Oil, he had to oil up every hinge before departure. Another item on the agenda. There really was no rest for the wicked.

The two shadows stopped in the doorway: delighted wasn't exactly what they looked like in the semi-dark, not that Shepard expected much of the sort. The disbelief gracing Birdie's face, however, was even worse than expected.

"Can I help you?" Shepard drawled, still not exhausted enough to give up a pinch of sarcasm.

She just gasped, stumbling over her words like he just grew two heads: "Do you plan on explaining this or-"

"I bet he's happy to see you too. Wanna say hi?"

All this noise risked Lukas to stir awake again, so despite the fatigue plaguing his bones, Shepard tucked him in tighter before stepping out of the room. After a quick rustle, the curtain shut close.

"That's funny to you?" Birdie hissed, feet firm on the ground, "What were you thinking?" 

Mainly that Atlanta, one of the most dangerous cities he could've chosen, was supposed to raise his son. A horrid vision. 

"You both have a burning passion to get him under your wing again, I bet."

"Ain't gonna happen, not that one," Otis growled. If he would've had a place to spit down in listless objection, he'd already done so. Caught in the camper, all he could do was grind his teeth in anger; leaving his wife to deal with diplomacy.

"It will be impossible to integrate him in any way. Think about it: if he didn't want to stay back then, I doubt he'll do it now."

"Well, we are not planing to integrate. It's more about migrating. Far away, to be specific."

"You're leaving." The realization washed over Birdie in an icy surge, her otherwise so soft features tensed in defiance. Suddenly, having an unconciouss Lukas stuffed away in their barn felt like the smallest problem. "For good." 

A wordless smile and nothing else; Shepard had long made the decision for everyone present. Without blinking, he stepped past them and out of the vehicle, opening its hood to inspect the insides. The couple dutifully followed behind.

"We need you, where are we going to live?"

"What a bummer." The lone sovereign of the valley had neither the energy nor appetite to let this farce go on longer than necessary.  "Anyway, all this rattail of problems doesn't sound like it concerns me, now does it? Oh, don't give me that look, you'll find a fast solution. I mean, if only someone had a plot of land available for sale, now that would really-"

"Shepard!"

"B," he sighed, perfectly calm , "can I help you?"

Her huff echoed through the air, thick tension crackling between them like a thunderstorm.

"What do you want?" Birdie finally asked, matter-of-factly. Her act, too, had reached its use.

"Two hundred."

"Forget it," she scoffed, "that leaves us with what, ten grand?"

Finger on the grease-slicked spark plugs, Shepard simply clicked his tongue in amusement: "If I recall correctly, and I certainly do, any and every investment was done in my name. I don't have to give you a single penny, but... I wouldn't want to ruin the good mood."

"One-fifty." 

Her associate had rarely seen her seething. Curious. What else could he say to tickle some more out of her farm girl-attitude?

"This is not an offer, I will take my son and anything else what belongs with me."

"So the years of our contributions are worthless to you?" Birdie felt like talking to a sleazy insurance broker, not the man she built a legacy with over the past years. Seething didn't even begin to describe the hot sting of betrayal bubbling through her veins.

Perhaps she should have been more skeptical when it came to handling money, yet since the settlement was built on the principles of equality, exchange of property and community - at least that was what he had sold to her - this blind trust felt like her own misstep, not Shepard's.

An error made long ago.

"Hey, lighten up," the man Birdie never knew demanded in a fit of unmatched audacity, "That's why I wanted to let this end on a high note. Give you a nice loan to keep this project going, you guys are doing great."

"Then I want that on paper!"

"She wants to bring a notary into this...," he mumbled to himself while screwing the bolts on the engine tight, "What a hassle."

Ready to learn at last, she gave up changing his mind. If they didn't lose him to his son already, perhaps he was never a part of their community in the first place. It felt only right and fair to secure all her work put into their residents, otherwise nothing stopped this snake of a person from coming back for seconds. 

The Shepard Cohen she had met in the darkest hour and promised what her family were searching for; she let him go.

"It's a deal, then? You leave and we get everything?"

Everything. As if it was generosity that made Shepard leave five years of work behind. A stable income gone in the blink of an eye. Goodness, if he could strap five sheep and a perfectly tilled field onto the roof and drive off with it, he surely would, given the possibility.

It was all worth it, though, if it meant Lukas stayed by his side: "A quick exit is all I want, B, I'm glad we could negotiate that."

Tension slipped off the couple's shoulders. How horrible was the thought of having to leave their little picture-book life to get a job for them? Unbearable, Shepard realized.

"I could arrange a small farewell dinner tonight," Birdie spoke gently again, "so you can say goodbye to everyone."

"Better make it quick, we will be gone at noon."

Wasted diplomacy on every word, all common ground left scorched by him. 

"There's going to be havoc. You, leaving without any announcement, that's a proper disaster. What about the kids? What about Leigh?"

"Leigh," he snorted, eyebrows shooting up in surprise, "Well, good luck with her. And my priorities lie with my kids, first and foremost-"

"Both?" Otis' curious question only garnered him an irritated glare.

"We decided a little change of scenery would be for the best. You'll manage."  A pitiful slap on the shoulder was all Shepard had to give her. "I believe in you, you got the power and so on and so forth..."

If it weren't for Birdie's persistence and four double-espressos, the exhaustion gnawing on his eyelids would have surely won Shepard's body over by now. Still, besides the engine and snacks on the go, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was forgetting something...or someone. Ah, that's right.

A little time spent on bureaucracy could be beneficial for him, after all.

"Listen," Shepard hummed, a low tone on the lips to smooth out any residual tension, "I'll gladly do the paperwork, but in return, I need some accommodation from the two of you."

Otis quietly cursed to himself, running circles into the barn's floorboards. Whether the couple liked it or not, they were in no position to demand much of anything.

"And what exactly does this accommodation entail?" Birdie asked carefully.

With a bang, the hood slammed shut and once again the barn fell silent. Shepard let a hand run through the scruff of his beard, a pensive smile dancing on his lips. 

"A phone, and a favor."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whumpyourdamnpears, @whump-till-ya-jump, @kawaii-cakes

[another-whump-sideblog]

Tracy Gets a Call

TWs in tags

Masterlist

Tracy answers the phone on the first ring. It's Mark, which means it's about Alicia. "What's going on?"

"We can't find her. She came home from school a few hours ago, and we thought she was just hanging out in her room since then, but when we went to get her for dinner, she wasn't there. We searched the house, called for her, and called her phone, but we couldn't find her. I figured we should check with you before calling the police."

"There's no need for that. She likely never left your house. I'm coming over." She hangs up. "I have to go. Family emergency."

"What? Tracy, how many times–"

Tracy is gone before her manager finishes his sentence. It'll be faster to run to Mark and Dave's house than to get a cab or wait for a bus, so that's what she does.

She doesn't bother knocking when she gets there, just opens the door. "You really shouldn't just leave this unlocked." She pauses to catch her breath. "Do you have a crawlspace?"

"Why would she be in the crawlspace?"

Tracy rolls her eyes. "Just show me where you can enter it."

They show her to a trapdoor in the coat closet. She drops into it and crouches.

"Alicia? Hey, it's me. I won't let anyone hurt you. Can you come out?"

There's quiet for a moment, but then a rustling comes from her left. Alicia crawls over to Tracy. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry–"

"You haven't done anything wrong." She helps Alicia out of the crawlspace, then lifts herself out and guides Alicia out of the coat closet. "What happened?"

Alicia is covered in cobwebs and dust, holding a paper to her chest. She's clearly been crying. When she sees Dave and Mark, she hides behind Tracy. Tracy shoots them a glare.

"What did you do?" She snarls.

"Nothing!" Mark's tone makes Alicia flinch.

"Nothing… that we're aware of." Dave corrects.

Alicia stands on her tiptoes to whisper in Tracy's ear. "I– I got a B on a math assignment."

"And they hurt you??"

"No!" Alicia protests before Mark gets a chance. "They didn't do anything. I was just scared. Please stop yelling."

Tracy wraps a protective arm around her sister and tries to think through her next move. It's important that she can be friendly with Mark and Dave; she would never want Alicia to feel like she has to choose between her sister and her foster parents.

Tracy clears her throat. "I'm… sorry I jumped to conclusions." She's not, but when has that ever mattered? 

As for the actual problem… Tracy doesn't trust Mark and Dave, but she doesn't think they demand perfection the way their parents did, either. Their parents expected 100% on every assignment, if not more. Mark and Dave let Alicia drop classes that stress her out and encourage her not to spend more than an hour on homework per day. They won't punish Alicia over getting a B.

"You should go get showered and change. I'll take care of this." Tracy tells her. She wants to make sure they don't give her any shit about the grade.

"What? No!" Mark softens when Alicia recoils in fear. "We're not… we would never hurt you. I just want you to see that. I want you to confront what you're afraid of and see that it's fine so that you don't end up hiding in the crawlspace again the next time something scares you. Tracy can't solve all your problems for you."

Alicia trembles in Tracy's arms. Tracy scowls. He won't let Alicia leave, so they'll just have to get it over with. "She got a B on an assignment."

She scans their faces for any sign of anger, ready to tear into them at the slightest hint of disapproval, but they look… sad?

"Honey… we would never hurt you for any reason. And a B– a B is a good grade! We're proud of you." Mark steps closer, and Alicia doesn't shy away.

"...really?" Alicia sniffles.

"Of course!" Mark smiles warmly and Dave nods his agreement.

Alicia lights up in a way Tracy's never seen before. She tries to wipe some tears off her face, but stops when she remembers how dusty her hands are. Tracy wipes the tears for her. "You're really proud of me?"

Tracy's stomach twists. Why didn't she tell Alicia she's proud of her? Has she ever told Alicia that?

"We're so proud of you. If you're feeling better, why don't you go take a shower like Tracy suggested?"

Alicia nods. She gives Tracy a hug. "Love you."

"Love you too. Are you going to be okay? I can stay if you want."

"Wait…" Alicia looks over Tracy. "Did you leave work to come see me?"

Tracy's still wearing her work uniform. "Yeah, but–"

Alicia's breath hitches. "I'm sorry, I didn't– if I'd just been normal they wouldn't have had to– what if you get fired because of me??" 

"That's not going to happen. It's okay. I'll go back to work and smooth things over. Go get showered, okay?"

"Okay." She forces a smile, but it's clearly not as genuine as when Mark said he was proud of her. Tracy'll have to make sure to change out of her uniform before coming next time. "See you later."

Tracy does, in fact, get fired. Oh, well. She has no regrets.

Tag list: @whumpyourdamnpears @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @iamheretohurt @toyybox

[another-whump-sideblog]

△ Buck, if Fletcher ever gave you a genuine apology for everything they put you through, would you accept? Not forgive them necessarily, just acknowledge and accept the apology.

“Mmm…. no.

In order to believe them I’d have to see that they, like, never hurt Tommy again and they had changed as a person. After you hold someone against their will for months and beat the shit out of them and waterboard them and make them believe they’re about to die, ‘sorry’ doesn’t really cut it.”

[another-whump-sideblog]

△ Buck, if you could switch places with Tommy, knowing that Fletcher would treat you better comparatively, would you?

“Uh…. look, I don’t want Tommy to be trapped there. But…. I also don’t want to go back. It’s hard enough visiting. I know Fletcher is acting all hands-off with me now, but if I was back under their control… I don’t think it would last.”

[another-whump-sideblog]

🔼 Fletcher, have you ever considered getting therapy for your control issues? Would the only way you let yourself receive therapy be to kidnap a pet therapist to validate your feelings under threat of torture?

*hands balled into fists but smiling* "If I fixed whatever was wrong with me, I'd have to find a new career."