generic-whumperz

[generic-whumperz]

POV—your gang banger assassin BF just floored your abuser, but you had no idea he was the one behind it, and now you’re on the run and you get this random ass text.

Mini-Comfortember Day 8:

Prompt 8: Whenever, Wherever

Tag list: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[generic-whumperz]

Mini-Comfortember Day 7

Prompt 7: See You Soon

Who’s gonna need a bit of comfort after the backstory trilogy?

Where saying ‘see you soon’ is more than a goodbye, it is also a promise and a hope ❤️

Tagging: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[generic-whumperz]

Collared

The Professionals Masterlist - an In The Woods Somewhere x Professional//Victim crossover AU

Fletcher's home provides more freedom than Tommy is used to, but with new freedoms comes new temptations to disobey.

~

Tommy’s relationship with his collar changed from day to day now. He was overjoyed when Fletcher finally removed his old collar. The clink of the lock against metal haunted him, and sometimes he still swore he could hear it.

Fletcher replaced it with a new collar, a simple leather piece. They gave it to him in a white box, sat atop crinkly tissue paper. They pulled it out, showed it to Tommy, and then beckoned for him to take it.

“Do you lock this one in the front?” Tommy asked, staring at it in his hands.

“No lock.” 

Tommy should have felt happy. Instead, he just felt an uncomfortable drop in his stomach.

“You’re not locking it? At all?” Tommy asked, trying not to sound too petulant.

“No... But I think you’ll find it in your best interest to keep it on.” Fletcher's voice was cool, but Tommy heard the implied threat. 

He rubbed the leather between two fingers. It was very sturdy, but also soft.

“Put it on.”

Tommy looked up at Fletcher in surprise. Put it on himself? And unlocked? It felt very strange. A funny part of him felt that Fletcher was doing this all wrong. 

Fletcher folded their arms and waited.

“Are we going to have a problem here?”

Fletcher’s voice was calm and dangerous. Tommy swallowed uncomfortably. 

They want you to voluntarily submit to their control.

He already felt naked without his other collar. He slipped it around his neck and fastened it, a little clumsily. 

“Good choice,” Fletcher told him.

-

It wasn’t long before he needed to shower. He felt uncomfortable showering here, where he could not lock the door against the trainees staying at the lodge, but he needed to get clean. Tommy undressed and looked at himself in the mirror, inspecting some healing cuts and bruises he’d been marked with. He started the water before he realized he was wearing the leather collar now, and it probably was not waterproof like his last one. He sighed and stopped the water, redressing so he could venture out to find Fletcher. 

It took a few minutes, since the lodge was big, and Tommy did not dare call for them. He checked the usual places, but Fletcher was nowhere to be found. Tommy finally settled on asking the students mingling in the kitchen.

He stood by the counter nervously, fumbling with his hands. It was still embarrassing for him to interact with them, and he avoided it as much as possible. Fletcher had not explained anything to them, they just saw that Tommy did whatever Fletcher asked. Fletcher was not hesitant to punish him in front of them either, so they were well aware of their dynamic. Even if they hadn’t, he was bound by the bulky tracker around his ankle, and the collar around his throat. 

He’d tried to cover it with a bandana once. As soon as Fletcher saw it, they gave him a dangerous look. 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Tommy immediately backpedaled, pulling it off quickly and stuffing it in his pocket. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Fletcher said sternly, but Tommy caught the little smirk that graced their lips as they turned away. He did not try to cover it again. 

The students’ conversation paused for a moment as they looked to him. 

“Hello, um, has anyone seen where Fletcher is?” Tommy hated how his voice sounded so meek, but any normal social skills he’d had before were long gone. Both students looked to each other, each waiting to see if either spoke up. 

“No idea. Do you need to go outside? Maybe get taken for a walk?” Caldera spoke up, her voice filled with faux-sympathy. She wore a mean little grin. Tommy was less than enthused about living with a revolving group of sadists and apaths throughout the year. 

“I think I saw them headed to the basement a little while ago, you could check there,” Barlowe suggested helpfully. Tommy swallowed. He wasn’t allowed in the basement alone. He’d have to wait until Fletcher reemerged to get his collar removed. 

“Okay, thank you,” he murmured, and shuffled back to the bathroom to remove his change of clothes. He had hoped to get in before someone else used up all the hot water, but he might still get lucky, depending. 

He waited around for a while, settling in to watch some television with another trainee. It felt too bold to sit on the couch beside them, so he sat on the ground with his back against the couch. They were watching some show about fairytale characters in a live-action world, but he had a hard time keeping up with it. 

Finally Fletcher reappeared, and Tommy saw them passing through the nearby hallway. He hurried to catch up, scared to lose them again. 

“Fletcher, hey, um - “

Fletcher stepped into their room, but turned to look at Tommy as they started pulling various odds and ends from their pockets onto their bed. Tommy hovered by the door. 

“Is it okay if I take a shower?”

Fletcher rolled their eyes. 

“How many times do I have to tell you, you do not have to ask permission for this stuff, just do it.”

“No, yeah, I understand, I just wanted to see if you could remove my collar first?”

Fletcher sat on the edge of their bed.

“Get my boots off.”

Tommy obliged. It felt weird to be in Fletcher’s room, but he wasn’t about to argue. He kneeled to untie Fletcher’s boots, and loosened the laces so he could slide them off without pulling too hard. Once he was done, he tilted his head up to expose his neck. Fletcher shook their head.

“No, it’s not locked. I need you to make the right choices to take it off only when you have to, and I expect you to put it back on right away. Do you understand?”

Tommy tugged a few strands of his hair anxiously. “Yeah, I - if you’re sure, then yes, I’ll do that, I guess.” It felt like a trap, but he didn’t want to disagree. 

“Okay then. Go clean yourself up.” Fletcher pointed out the door, and out Tommy went.

Once he was back in the bathroom, he fidgeted with the collar. Caius had always been very clear that he wasn’t even supposed to touch it, much less remove it. If he didn’t, though, Fletcher would probably just lock it on again, right? Tommy sighed and fingered the strap to it, hesitantly undoing the buckle and taking it off. 

His neck was scarred from the barbed hooks that had secured his old one in place. He was grateful the new collar covered those marks, at least. He ran his fingers over the thick callus-like swells of scar tissue, trying to minimize them by pushing down on them with the pads of his fingers, but it never went anywhere. 

Showering without the collar felt foreign. He’d long gotten used to soaping his hands and pushing fingers up underneath the band, cleaning as best as he could around it. Now nothing was in the way, and he felt the trickle of water on his throat in a way that felt new and a bit ticklish. It was very relaxing. 

He shut off the water before he’d dawdled for too long, and drying himself with the towel felt foreign as well when he rubbed his neck. He redressed, toweling off his hair as well as he could, and was about to leave when he saw his collar lying on the counter still. 

He felt a bit naked without it, having been attached to his body for so long. A part of him wanted to eschew it, destroy it, a silent protest. 

You are being tested. Don’t fail - Fletcher is just hoping you will. 

He sighed and wrapped it around his neck, opened the buckle and adjusted the placement to fit snugly, but without discomfort. Caius had threatened to weld a collar onto him before, and Tommy didn’t need to be threatened by his new master as well. He still felt a familiar pang of shame sometimes when he saw it, but what could he do? Resisting would result in the same outcome, only worse. 

Caius was still right about that. 

Tommy buckled it in place, turning it to sit straight on his neck. He’d be better off considering any ideas of freedom from it as moot. Truly, he wasn’t even sure how he would feel if he didn’t have to wear it. He just knew he had to show Fletcher that he would cooperate - for better or for worse. 

~

It was an unseasonably warm day to be working outside. 

It was a wet heat, and working in it had Tommy dripping with sweat. He wiped his forehead for the millionth time and stretched his back out, achy from being hunched over the plants for so long. Fletcher was inside where it was cool, entrenched in a lesson. They would call Tommy if they needed him, but so far he’d been left to his chores. 

He tugged on his collar, trying to get a little air on his skin. It was too hot to be wearing leather, and his face was flushed and overheated. 

It suddenly occurred to him that he could take it off. Fletcher was inside, maybe a hundred feet away, and probably wouldn't notice if he removed his collar for a bit. Even if they did, he’d hear them coming and have a chance to reattach the collar. 

The idea tempted him. It would be so nice just to get a little break from it, and he could just throw it back on later, right? He started to feel for the buckle with his hands, circling the collar twice before he found it. 

He hesitated on it, fiddling with the metal along his thumb nervously. What if Fletcher did spot him? What if he forgot to put it back on? What if he dropped or lost his collar while he moved around the yard? So far, he’d shown Fletcher that he was willing - but Fletcher had kind of put it up to his discretion, right? 

Tommy started to pull at the strap and then hesitated. He sighed, and flicked it back into place. Who was he kidding? It couldn’t be worth the potential fallout if Fletcher didn’t approve. Would he be punished? Worse, would he be put back in his old collar?

He wiped the sweat from his brow and threw back half his water bottle before picking up his tools again. It wasn’t worth it. Once again, he would just have to endure.

~

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

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@thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging  @utopian819 @whumpinggoodtime @pretty-face-breaker @inpainandsuffering

[generic-whumperz]

EESU State Security interrogation tools: barbed wires.

Aside from keeping State Security areas safe and escape-proof, barbed wires can be used at interrogations in a variety of ways. A wire can induce pressure on the skin, causing immense pain and discomfort, and break it if scratched or pressed hard enough, thus increasing the likelihood of confession.

Common techniques include:

- Barbed wire restraint: used with or in place of regular restraints, it puts pressure on the skin to the point of tearing it, especially during movement. For better effect combine with physical contact or threats; put the detainee in a position where they are more likely to move or struggle.

- Barbed wire whip: use a whip with several parbed wire pieces on the end. The whip can be as well demonstrated as a threat if the detainee is found affected by it.

- Barbed wire bat: same as the above.

- A detainee can be forced to lay down on barbed wires then walked of stamped on. It is recommended to tie them down beforehand to avoid needless resistance.

- A wire can be heated or cooled for extra discomfort.

Barbed wire use is very likely to leave body marks, some of which can last even after the detention ends. Wires are thoroughly disinfected before use unless the possibility of infection is intentionally permitted (for non-predesignated class IV offenders only) yet the wounds can get infected afterwards.

Applied to class III-IV offenders.

Art tag: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump @whumpedydump @whumpthefifth @monarchthefirst @sunshiline-writes @project-xiii @3-2-whump @unforgivenn

[generic-whumperz]

OC Profile Art is Updated

If you remember a previous version of this, you are not going crazy, I just didn’t like it anymore and decided to make new artwork. Enjoy

Tag list: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[generic-whumperz]

Khaled not wanting to believe the other kids or Shazia turning on him, but the gears of deceit are finally turning and he’s just like—

Khaled’s Backstory, Part 3: Betrayal

<prev

Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for beta reading the third and final part of Khaled's backstory. This particular incident takes place a handful of months before the beginning of the Eternal Story

Breaking out the fun tags again!

TW/CW: kidnapping, noncon drugging (injection), forced to hurt another, reluctant whumper, minor whump, multiple whumpees, slave whump, captivity whump

His mother raised one skeptical eyebrow as she watched her eldest son burst out of the bedroom, rush into the bathroom, and emerge into the kitchen with high spirits. “Good morning, Khaled,” she greeted, tone laced with suspicion.

“Good morning, Ammi,” Khaled yawned back.

She passed him a plate of reheated khagina with roti and a glass of milk. “Early start today?” she asked. It was unusual for her eldest to rise any time before 11:00, and here he was, practically vibrating with energy at 10:00.

Khaled nodded as he stuffed his face full of food. What had once been a one-time favor was now the third photoshoot he’d be doing. Turns out, Shazia’s agent and photographer asked him to come back for another photoshoot after the first time. The photographer said he ‘liked the kid’s energy,’ and Shazia’s agent said ‘he has a face that could sell’ (whatever that meant). All he knew is that he got to wear new clothes and shoes and pose with a football in the middle of a grassy pitch while some middle-aged guy with a camera snapped pictures. So, he came back for another, and planned to go back for another this morning.

He caught the judgmental look in his mother’s eyes. “Ammi, it’s fine,” he reassured her through a mouthful of food. “Look at the pay, huh? I make in one morning what I make after a week of work!”

“The money’s not important, you know I don’t like it!” Ammi emphasized. Khaled ignored her as he threw back the glass of milk all in one gulp. “You know this is how children like you go missing!” she warned him.

“Yet I’m still here,” Khaled shrugged, setting down his plate and glass before going to the entrance to retrieve his key and his shoes. He turned back to say his goodbyes before he left. “See you tonight!”

“Be careful, beta!” She called out as he ran out the door.

-

Something was different today. No, not different, something was wrong. Shazia met him at the football pitch in the park all by herself, with swollen red eyes and a runny nose as if she’d been crying. She cast him a wobbly smile and waved to him as he approached. “Khaled!”

He ran closer to her to bridge the distance between them sooner. “Shazia, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He looked around, noticing that she was on her own, then back at her. “Where is your agent?”

“He’ll be here soon, it’s just-” she hiccupped on a suppressed sob. Khaled didn’t wait for permission as he gathered her in his arms and hugged her. He rubbed her back as she cried, whispering small reassurances like he would when he calmed his little sisters down from nightmares. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something behind her ear. It was a tattoo, kind of like a barcode.

A sharp, pricking pain jabbed him in the side of his neck, making him jolt in his friend’s arms. He lightly struggled, trying to pull away from her as she hugged him closer, whispering an “I’m sorry” into his ear. His confused thoughts started to muddle, then they cleared until there was nothing much in his head at all besides sensations. His limbs suddenly felt heavier. His struggles lessened and slowed down to a few involuntary twitches. His tongue felt thick and uncooperative within his mouth as he tried to ask what she had done to him and all that came out were a few stuttered noises. Everything was so heavy as he leaned into her with his whole weight. He felt tired, so tired, why was he so tired? It sounded like someone was yelling, but distantly and unintelligibly, as if he were under water. As Shazia brought a hand up to his head to encourage Khaled to lean onto her shoulder, her dupatta slipped, revealing two faint, prong-like scars on the side of her neck. Those strange scars were the last thing he saw before his eyelids shuttered closed. Tried as he might to stay awake for whatever came next, Khaled couldn’t help but give in to the blissful unconsciousness tugging him into the void.

-

He reawaked what seemed like hours later, though it was hard to tell in the dimly lit … Where am I?  Khaled thought, coming back into his body. He was laying on his side on a stiff cot. He blinked his eyes to adjust them to the darkness of the tiny unfamiliar room. There were bars where a door should’ve been, and four more kids dispersed throughout the small cell-like room. Panic surged within him, but the heaviness of slumber and whatever he’d been injected with weighed him down onto the cot. The realization that he could hardly move made his heart race even more, as he never felt so vulnerable before in his life. Distantly, he could hear whispers and crying all around him, though he could not pinpoint where it was coming from. The sounds only added to his panic. His head throbbed, and it felt as if the room was swaying. Why can’t I move? Where am I? What’s going on? Is Shazia okay? He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. Even thinking hurt too much. So, with nothing else to do, he opened his eyes again and observed his cellmates.

A girl sat slumped against the wall next to Khaled’s cot, curled over with her head between her knees, and a boy around his little brother’s age sat next to the bars of the cell door, listlessly staring out of it. Another boy and girl were huddled in the far corner of the cell, the girl crying softly into the boy’s shoulder and the boy trying not to cry for her sake. They were about the same age as Ayesha and Yusuf. “What’s going to happen to us?” she sobbed. The idea of his younger siblings ending up in a place like this made him feel sick. “Will our family ever know?” He willed himself to sit up on the makeshift bed, with nothing on his mind but to comfort these kids that reminded him of his siblings. “Will they ever find us?”

Khaled swayed off the bed and staggered toward them. His head swam with the aftereffects of the sedative. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on both of their shoulders. The girl sniffled as she tried to regain composure.

The boy answered for her. “She got you too, didn’t she?” he asked bitterly.

Khaled furrowed his brows. “Who?”

“Girl with the blue eyes? Great hair?” he clarified.

A magenta pink kurta flashed in Khaled’s mind. “Shazia?”

The girl next to him perked up at her name. “She told me her name was Layla.”

The other girl slumped against the wall looked up from her lap. “That’s what she told me, too.”

The other boy at the cell bars turned around to face them. “It doesn’t matter what false name she assumed! The point is, that girl tricked us!” he spat.

Khaled shook his head, despite the throbbing sensations that wracked in his skull from doing so. “What? No, that can’t be,” he denied. The dreary setting that he now found himself in contradicted him. “She’s a nice girl, this must be a mistake!” he defended, despite the fuzzy memories of her sticking him with something sharp.

A clanging noise sounded from somewhere to their right, followed a creaking sound of metal on metal. A sharp beam of light preceded a shadow stepping into their prison, revealing more prison-cell arrangements across from them within the strange room they inhabited. The light was extinguished once more as the metal door clanged shut. Stopping in front of their cell door was a familiar girl in pink, holding a lantern, looking grimly at her victims. Her dupatta was gone, revealing a series of disfiguring, prong-like scars around the circumference of her neck.

The other four cellmates merely glared at her. The boy who was sitting by the door quickly backed away. Khaled however abandoned any sense of pride he had to throw himself at the bars of the cell door. “Shazia! There you are, you’re safe!” he cried with relief. “Please, tell them it’s not true, tell them that it’s a mistake, that you’re not the reason we’re trapped down here!”

She lowered her blue eyes in guilt, her silence answering for her. In the faint glow of the lantern, her pink kurta appeared blood red.

Something in Khaled’s chest panged, as if he could feel his heart break in real time. “Shazia?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Her sad blue eyes glanced at all of them, then went back to Khaled. “I had no choice.” Khaled’s eyes flitted to her scars. “I never would’ve deceived you all if I could’ve avoided it.”

The girl who had curled up in the corner now stood up and raised her hand accusatorily. “Well, an apology isn’t going to free us, is it, bitch?!”

“Hey! None of that!” Khaled snapped.

Shazia visibly flinched at the words, but she held her ground. “I’m not even supposed to be here, but I came to apologize, and to warn you. You five, as well as the groups we picked up in Mumbai and Bangkok, are going to be sold. I don’t know where, I don’t know when. My masters don’t tell me these things. Just, when they come for you, do what you’re told and it’ll hurt less” she advised.

A series of questions erupted over the five captives, each question overlapping over the other.

“What do you mean ‘they’? Who are ‘they’?”

“Why did you trick us?”

“Are you coming back?”

“Why us? What’s so special about us?”

“What did they do to you?” Khaled asked.

Shazia did not respond. She turned her back on them and retreated towards the exit, taking the glowing lantern with her. The intense ray of light that came when she opened the door to leave was the last shred of light the captives would see for a long while as they were left in the darkness with their unanswered questions.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[generic-whumperz]

We Are TroubleD – "Come To and Find You"

Written as a part of @whumperofworlds' WoW's Birthday Whump Event!

Day 11 (my chosen prompts are bolded) - Used as bait / Held for ransom / "It's a trap!”

---

Event page | My event participation masterpost (coming soon) | “We Are TroubleD” Masterpost | First | Previous | Next

---

Content warnings: Alcohol mention, cloudiness and confusion, coming out of being drugged, crying, emotional distress, fear, implied future danger, helplessness, trouble moving, manhandling, memory gaps/loss, restraints (bound, gagged, and blindfolded), threats, struggling, swearing  

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

              This was one hell of a hangover.

              The bright morning sun was not going to be kind to Darius; that was why he didn't dare to open his eyes as he stirred awake. His head felt heavy, his thoughts distant and fuzzy. What the hell happened last night?

              He remembered going bar hopping with his friends to celebrate the end of finals. They had lifted a celebratory shot at their first stop and toasted to another crazy school year being over. Everyone slammed back their drinks and shuddered at the bite of the alcohol...

              … But that had been it for him. He only downed one shot the entire night, even though at that point, things were just getting started for the rest of the group. He had continued to literally drink in the festivities, but the rest of Darius’ orders had been mocktails. It was rare for him to consume actual alcohol in excess- he didn’t enjoy getting messed up and losing control of himself, even with a small buzz. Something like that was frightening, and he hated how it felt. Keeping his wits about him was just safer.

              Time blurred in his memory as his friends went from one bar to the next, trying to hit up all their favorite spots in one night. It was an ambitious goal, but he was enjoying himself and was high off the pleasure of just being around them, no liquid enhancement needed.

              … Why was it then that the night really became a blur?

              He had fun. He knew he did, but it was like something cut off in his mind and choked the rest of the night out. After a certain point he couldn’t remember any more excitement and energy. No more laughter and smiles. No more well wishes for the summer and plans for the next school year.

              … He actually couldn’t remember the rest of the night at all.

              What had happened?

              He was with his friends… he was coming home… he was…

              … he was…?

              Ugh, every part of his body felt off. His bones were fatigued and his movements sluggish. It was hard to lift his head… hard to feel his head. Hard to feel anything. God, one shot shoudn’t have hit him this hard. This wasn’t normal. Had one of his drinks been spiked? Was that why he felt so out of it now? That didn't make any sense… who would spike a mocktail? Was that even possible? He supposed it could be, but that’d be weird.

              … No, he was lucid when he came home last night. He remembered that, however vaguely. What happened then? Why couldn’t he recollect going to bed? Had he talked to Tristan when he—

              Tristan…

              Oh my God, Tristan!

              Fuck! Darius had a horrible nightmare about his roommate last night! A sense of dread pooled in his stomach just thinking about it, but he struggled to recall the specifics of the dream. All he knew was that it had been incredibly disturbing. His brows knit together in a deep frown as he strained to remember it, but his mind couldn’t seem to grasp onto it. The whole thing was hazy… tendrils of fog nipping at the edge of his consciousness enough for him to know the thought was there, but not allowing him to access what was held within.

              …

              Well, it was just a dream. It didn’t matter.

              It was time to face the day. He had things to do, after all. The apartment needed to be cleaned after the chaos of finals, especially since his parents would be coming to visit soon. Darius wanted to show them that he really did have his life together, and for once he was pretty satisfied with his final project piece. It would be nice to show it off. Anything to make them proud. 

              With a weary groan, he screwed up his face and attempted to sit up.

              …

              Why couldn’t he move?

              Wait, was he already sitting up? No way he would’ve chosen to sleep sitting upright. He would’ve gone to his room and crashed in his bed.

              He tried again.

              …

              Stuck.

              His eyes flew open, but the world remained dark.

              What the fuck?!

              “Hmmph?!” Shit, what?! Why couldn’t he speak?! Something was stuck over his lips, keeping them sealed shut. His tongue rutted against some sort of fabric forcing it down. What was in his mouth?!

              He jolted, trying to get himself up and out of bed… or the chair… the couch? Wherever he was. His body caught and was held in place like a locked seatbelt that was strapped too tightly. Maybe he was in someone’s car?

              His senses were returning slowly at first, but once panic began to set in, he quickly became more cognizant. He was in a weird position- his arms were pulled behind him, draped over something solid. What was on his wrists? He tugged, trying to wrench them apart, but they wouldn’t budge. A quick jostle of his legs proved that they were secured as well. Something snaked around his torso and held him in place.  

              Fuck, fuck, fuck!! He was bound, gagged, blindfolded, and seemingly duct taped to a chair. Adrenaline crashed through his veins, and he violently thrashed, fighting against his restraints like a trapped animal.

              What the fuck! What the fuck!! Was this a dream, too?! Who had done this to him?! Why?!

              “MMPH! HMMMMPH!” Darius screamed out for help, completely unaware of if he could even be heard. The sound echoed back at him like it was bouncing off stone. “HHMPH!”

              He brawled against his bonds until he tired himself out and needed to recover. Shaky breaths through his nose allowed him to take in some of the smell of the surrounding area. It was musty here. Was he in the basement of their apartment complex? That place had concrete walls, and it was filled with chain link storage lockers. It had always creeped him out, and literally gave him goosebumps from the chilly temperatures down there. He felt that same chill here, too. Like a dungeon…

              If he was in the basement then he prayed that it wouldn’t take weeks before someone discovered him. It’s not like it was a happening spot to gather in. He could wait it out… He’d just keep screaming for help and— … No, no! That could take too long! He had to get out now!

              “NNMMPH!!” He again threw himself against the tape in an attempt to break free, but it didn’t seem to do much. His chair scooted back with an angry screech at the motion and knocked into something hard, maybe a wall. Blindly Darius groped around, trying to get his bearings.

              He felt the back of his chair, then another solid and smooth surface... another piece of furniture perhaps? He slid his hand over whatever he could reach until it landed on something warm and fleshy, causing him to startle and recoil.

              What the fuck was that?!

              His heart was pounding. Whatever that was felt alive.

              It was just his imagination.

              It was just his imagination…

              Cautiously he reached out again, searching for the object. He brushed against one, two, three… a whole bundle of soft warm cylindrical shapes. It took him a second to psych himself up, but he finally worked up the courage to fully close his hand around whatever it was. With a sharp inhale, he realized.

              Fingers. Another person was behind him, seated back-to-back. 

              The touch caused the other person to stir, and Darius heard them groan groggily as they woke to find themselves in the same terrifying situation.

              “Mmm… … Hmph? … Hmph?! … HMMPH!”

              Darius’ heart skipped a beat.

              Hold on.

              … No.

              …

              Fuck, no.

              No.

              No, no, no…

              He recognized that voice.

              No, no, no!

              Tristan?!

              Behind him, the other person was beginning to fight, twisting and yanking against their own bonds. Darius heard their muffled voice breaking as they called out for help.

              “Mmph! Mmhmmph!!” Darius tried to comfort them, whoever they were, but they were so caught up in their panic that they didn’t seem to hear him. It couldn’t be his roommate. He was wrong. He had to be wrong.

              But that voice…

              … Tristan…

              He—

              He had…

              … The night before, Darius had come home.

              He came in through the front door.

              He put his keys on the table and saw…?

              With a wince, he fought with all his mental strength to recall the memory. Everything was still so foggy!

              Tristan…

              … Tristan…?

              …

              … Oh my God.

              Oh my God! He was tied to a chair!

              Tristan had been tied to a chair in the kitchen!

              … ?!

              No… No, that was the nightmare that Darius had finally remembered…

              … wasn’t it?

              The person behind him sniffled, then growled in frustration, taking a break to catch their breath.

              …

              It wasn’t a dream…

              Darius latched onto the person’s hand and shook it gently to communicate that he was there. Tristan or not, he needed them to know that they weren’t alone. The person yipped in alarm and tried to pull away, but once they realized that the grip was friendly, they eagerly returned the gesture.

              The unknown being’s frightened whimpering quieted a bit, but Darius could feel them trembling within his grasp. He grunted out something to further try to calm them, but he was completely unintelligible. His own heart was still pounding, terrified by what was going on.

              Maybe between the two of them they could come up with a way to escape. If Darius could get closer, he could unwind the tape around their wrists, and vice versa…

              Clomp, clomp, clomp…

              Footsteps. He heard the heavy footfalls of someone wearing boots approaching them. A potential rescuer?! What a lucky break! Darius wasted no time in trying to get their attention.

              “HMMMPH! HMMPH!!” Once again, he stamped and struggled, trying to make as much noise as possible so he could be heard. The other captive joined in the calamitous chorus and did the same. Together they would hopefully be impossible to miss.

              Clomp, clomp clomp…

              Closer… Closer!

              CLOMP... CLOMP…

              A hand harshly clamped over his gagged mouth, and a second grabbed a fistful of his hair. Darius shrieked in surprise as his head was violently wrenched backward.

              “Shut up, will you? That’s enough.” came a man’s voice. “Hush now, both’a you.”

              With a scared whimper, Darius attempted to jerk away, but the man had him in a painful vice grip.  

              “Enough! I said quiet down and shut up!” the man sharply tugged on Darius’ hair, causing him to cry out, but he followed the order and froze just to make it stop. In and out he panted, his breath noisy and frantic.

              This wasn’t the disposition of a kind rescuer.

              “Hmmmph!” Darius begged, though slightly mousier than before. Why was this guy being so aggressive?

              The man adjusted his grip, holding Darius securely and commandingly until he was content with the break in the noise. When Darius grew quiet, the man slipped his hand from the boy’s mouth but continued to hold him.

              “That’s more like it. Keep quiet and do as you’re told, then we won’t have any problems.”

              What was he talking about?

              “Well boys, now that you’re awake, I s’pose I should welcome you to my home. I hope you enjoy your stay, no matter how long or short it is.”

              Darius made a small noise in the back of his throat. Whose home?

              “Darius Astor…” the man mused, giving his scraggly black hair a tussle.

              The boy stiffened. How did he know his name? He took a few more shaky breaths, trying to figure out if he knew the guy, but he came up with nothing. He would’ve remembered the slight country drawl.

              “You’re about to make me some really great money, boy.”

              Darius gasped, and in response, the man chuckled and tauntingly forced his head to shake from side to side.

              “Your dad’s loaded, ain't he? Yer mom, too. I’m sure they’ll pay a pretty penny for the return’a their precious son.”

              Darius’ heart sank.

              No. There was no way this was happening. Had he really been kidnapped and held for ransom?! The very thought sent him reeling.

              His parents had always warned him that something like this could happen. After all, his father was the head of a well-respected university, and his mother was a successful businesswoman. Both were well-off, high-profile people, and unfortunately that meant that Darius was, too. He had a target on his back simply by being their son, regardless of how much he tried to keep to himself and stay out of the limelight.

              The world could be desperate and cruel, and all it took was someone with a bright idea and nothing to lose to get him tangled up in a potentially dangerous situation. Darius could be used as a bargaining chip. A way to the family’s wealth. An exploit.

              … But those fears and warnings had been drilled into his head when he was a child. Now that he was well into young adulthood and living away from his parents, he thought he was safe; well beyond the age of needing to be hypervigilant and wary of strangers.

              Apparently, he was wrong.

              The guy released him, shoving his head down roughly. Darius grunted involuntarily but was silent beyond that, his mind racing.

              Fuck. His heart pounded as it sank in. This was happening. This was real.

              God, okay… He needed to think. His parents had enrolled him in self-defense classes… when he was like, 8. That was so long ago. He couldn’t remember anything from them now, as if any of that would help him anyway when he was already tied up…

              Could he talk his way out of this? … Not with his mouth plastered over like it was now. He wiggled his jaw, contorting and twisting his face any way he could to try to loosen what he assumed was duct tape covering his lips. Annoyingly however, the man had been very thorough when he applied the gag, even taping under his chin so it would stay in place better. Darius snorted and writhed as the man stepped away.

               “Now you on the other hand…”

              The man was addressing the person behind Darius. The other captive squealed in alarm, and there was the sound of a small scuffle. Darius figured that they had just been grabbed like he was.

              The man tsked, and an air of disgust touched his tone. “What am I gonna do with you, little witness?”

              The person let out another small squeak of fear.

              “You just had to be home when I came for Moneybags, didn’t you?”

              Fuck! FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! It WAS Tristan!!

              “Tell me kid, are your parents well off, too? Or are you nothin’ but dead weight?”

              The other person—… Tristan… was blubbering quietly, trying to swallow his sobs to put on a brave front, but Darius could tell by the way the sound of his muffled “Mm mm…” traveled that Tristan was shaking his head.

              Their captor clicked his tongue.

              “Pity. Welp, I’ll see what they can pony up for you regardless, but if it ain’t worth my while, maybe we can find a better use for you.”

              Tristan sniffled loudly, and Darius’ heart shattered.

              What the fuck was he doing here?! It made sense for Darius to be kidnapped, but Tristan? Was it all simply because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Why couldn’t the man have just knocked him out and left him at the apartment? Tristan shouldn’t be here!

              Deep inside, Darius was panicking. Not for himself, but for his friend. What was the man planning to do if Tristan’s family couldn’t pay his way out?

              BOOM! Darius stomped his own boot against the floor in protest. He couldn’t make the noise too loudly due to his limited mobility, but it was enough to get their captor’s attention back on him. BOOM! BOOM!

              “HHRMMMPHH!” He violently threw himself against his restraints, crashing and making a huge fuss until the man came back over.

              “I told you to knock it off!”

              A hard slap across the face caused Darius to swear and curse behind his gag. The hit had momentarily stunned him, but it also had knocked off his blindfold. Once he had recovered, he squinted into the space to see where he was. The sudden flood of light hurt his eyes just as he feared it would.

              They indeed appeared to be in a basement. The room was decently sized, with a large concrete space before him that stretched out until it came to a wall. There were two doors along it that he could see, though both were closed.

              To his right was a large black photography backdrop that trailed down to the ground and spread out under the chairs. Were they on a photo set?

              He winced when he turned to his left, where the light was blindingly bright. It didn’t take long to realize why- studio lighting. Two softboxes pointed at them stood on either side of a long table, whose surface was cluttered with objects that were hard to make out in his current state. Darius couldn’t look at any of it for too long before shutting his eyes and having to flinch away.

              When he was finally able to look up again, the man was standing there, glaring down at him. Despite the nice lighting, Darius couldn’t see him very well; every time he blinked there were two huge phantom rectangles burned into his vision from the light boxes.       

              The man frowned at Darius’ pained and perplexed expression.

              “Mmph?” Darius tried weakly.

              Without warning the man reached forward and grabbed ahold of one of the corners of the gag.

              “You got somethin’ to say, then go on and get it out of your system, you brat.” in a swift motion he ripped the tape from Darius’ lips, causing the boy to howl in pain, especially when the whole thing didn’t come off in one go. Darius curled in on himself as much as he could while their captor peeled the rest off a little less forcefully, though it still hurt.

              The sopping wet rag in Darius’ mouth fell out rather unceremoniously and landed in a soggy lump in his lap. He coughed and sucked in gasping breaths between words.

              “Let— let us go you fucker.” Darius said.

              “Not without payment.”

              “Then— then call my family. Right now. Call them right now and they’ll pay for our safe return.”

              The man shook his head. “Y’just got here. It’s not time yet.”

              Darius looked incredulous.

              “What do you mean it’s not time yet? Don’t you want your stupid money?”   

              Their captor crossed his arms.

              “There’s a timeline for these things, kid. They haven’t even noticed yer gone yet. Neither’a you.”

              How long would it be before their families or friends figured out that they were missing? Even more scary- how long was this guy planning to keep them here? Why wait for things to play out a certain way?

              “Th-That doesn’t matter. If you give me the phone, then I can convince my parents. Just let me speak to them.”

              “Not happening. Not yet.”

              “Then when?!”

              The man rolled his eyes and looked irritated, as if he had given this explanation to someone (or multiple someones) before.

              “Well first someone figures out you’re missin’. A police report is filed. We wait around a bit while your steps are retraced. The cops look for clues -and trust me, they won’t find anything at your place- and your family starts to panic. That’s about the time I like to drop the first ransom video.”

              A chill ran up Darius’ spine. ‘The first ransom video’?!

              “We play cat and mouse a bit. They try to figure out who I am and how to get you back, and in the meantime, I have ‘em on the line and start to reel ‘em in. They progressively get more scared for your wellbeing, and I up my price until they finally give in to my demands.”

              Darius was quiet for a few seconds, scared to ask the next question.

              “Are— Are you going to hurt us?”

              A light chuckle escaped the man’s lips. “They always ask that…” he mused. He leaned in, casting a stern look on his prized captive as he set his hand on the back of Darius’ chair. The boy shrank back fearfully.

              “Not too badly. Not if you behave.” the man murmured.

              Darius dropped his head, not wanting to look at their captor any longer.

              “Leave Tristan out of this.” he said meekly.

              “What was that?” the man pushed himself away from the chair and started to walk off nonchalantly toward the table.

              “I said leave Tristan out of this. I’m the one you want. Let him go.”

              There was the sound of objects being shuffled around, but Darius couldn’t see what the man was messing with on the smooth surface.

              “And why would I do that?” he asked cooly. “So blondie could go squeal on me? Lead the cops right to me? Cute. He’ll be lucky if he’s still breathing by the end of this.”

              Those words caused Darius to shudder. He couldn’t help it. No. No. No. That wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t allow it.

              “Please.” Darius uttered. “Spare him. Just let him go. I’ll do anything you want.”

              RIIIIIIIP! Their captor turned, his expression dark and intimidating with how backlit he was. In his hands he held a roll of freshly pulled duct tape.

              “You don’t have a choice, kid. Now if yer done yappin’, I’ve got shit to do.” He didn’t wait for a response and closed the gap between them in merely a few strides.

              In a panic, Dairus squirmed and hid his face as much as he could, trying to tuck his chin into his shoulder to shield himself as their captor tussled with him.

              “No! Stop! Let us go!” It was clear that he was fighting a losing battle. He had to speak quickly. “Tris— it’s gonna be okay, I’ll get you out of h—MMPH!” the soggy wad of fabric was shoved back into his mouth. Darius attempted to push it out with his tongue, but a strip of silver duct tape was swiftly pressed over his lips and held it in place. Darius screamed in a fury, but it was muffled more and more as the man added layer after layer of the tape over his cheeks and chin.

              When he had finished, the man once again snatched Darius’ long black hair and forced him to look up at him. The boy glared back angrily.

              “Now, cooperate.” their captor growled. “Or this is gonna be a real bad time for the two’a you.”

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Thank you again to @risahraun for beta-reading! <3

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Tag list: @dutifullykrispyland, @fleur-a-whump, @gala1981, @generic-whumperz, @risahraun

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Tag list (continued) : @morning-star-whump, @defire

[generic-whumperz]

Khaled’s Backstory, Part 2: Growing Pains

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Happy Birthday Khaled! This is the part where your backstory starts to go downhill. Thank you @generic-whumperz and @whumped-by-glitter for beta reading this!

TW/CW: death of a family member, aftermath of death of a family member

Language Note: The Urdu words I used were learned through reading multiple language-learning blogs, culture blogs, Reddit, and of course, the ol' reliable Google Translate. If I misrepresented any of the expressions (which is extremely likely) please let me know as civilly as possible, because I'd rather know than not know.

Khaled stared at the freshly filled-in earth, his swollen red eyes blurring as he took in the finality of it. The mourners had finally started dissipating, leaving only Abdul Bakhsh’s widow and children at the grave. A large, heavyset man with glasses came up to him and his mother, expressing his condolences, and extending a surprising offer.

“Your father and I were good friends,” he began, addressing Khaled directly. “He would want his family provided for. So, whenever you can manage it, you’re more than welcome to work at my café, if you’d like.”

The teenager blinked up at him confusedly. “Me? W-Why?”

“You’re the next man in the family,” the friend explained, “you have three younger siblings to look after, and your mum can’t do it alone with only her meager salary.”

He was completely right. Almost instantly, Khaled could feel the weight of these newfound responsibilities settle on his shoulders.

“Muhammad, this is not a good time-” his mother began to intervene.

“Ammi, it’s okay,” he interrupted. Mum glanced at him hesitantly, but ultimately backed off. Khaled faced the man again, all serious as he said, “I’ll think about it, sir. Thank you for looking out for us.”

And that’s how he ended up here, now, wiping down tables with a wet dish rag. He had quit school after the academic year was up, going full time at Mr. Saeed’s café as soon as he could. He mostly washed dishes or cleaned up after customers, five days of the week from noon to ten in the evening. He didn’t make much money, but, after an entire year of buffing coffee stains out of linoleum countertops, he’d like to think this little job was helping his family in some way.

The bell above the shop dinged, and he waved to the new customers that entered. His old friends, Tariq, Imran, and Muhammad, waved back, all smiles as they jostled up to the counter and placed their orders. They took a seat at the table Khaled had finished cleaning up, asking about him and how his family was doing.

“They’re great, they’re fine,” he replied. “Yusuf and Ayesha are still in school, and they’re finally stepping up and helping me and Ammi with the twins!”

“That’s great!” Tariq exclaimed. “It’s about time they pitched in!”

“It can’t have been easy to parent your little sisters all the time,” Imran commented.

Khaled briefly recalled late nights of emotions running high, of careless words being thrown about, and of him having an emotional breakdown in front of his siblings. “I’m not Dad!” he screamed at them. “I’m sorry that I’m not doing things exactly like he used to do them, but nobody is more aware of the fact that I’m not him than me!” And while his emotional outburst earned him a serious talking-to from his mother, it seemed that Yusuf, Ayesha, and the twins were much more forgiving of his shortcomings after that.

“Never mind Khaled’s troubles, what about ours? What even is this shit?” Muhammad groaned as he stared at his calculus homework.

Khaled peeked over his shoulder and let out a shudder.

Imran caught his subtle reaction and smiled bitterly. “You’re lucky you dropped out when you did,” he said. “This coursework is so hard! I mean, just look at my literature homework!” He rifled through his bag before he pulled out a thin paperback book and a double-sided sheet of follow-up questions.

“How much of it do you have to read?”

“All of it.”

“All of it?!”

A moist towel whipped at Khaled’s head, bringing his attention to somewhere behind him as the towel smacked him with a wet thwack! Hamza, an older employee, glared at him from behind the service counter. “You want to socialize, do that on your break, Khaled!” he reminded him.

“Yes, sir!” Khaled replied, although it physically pained him to call the annoying nineteen-year-old ‘sir.’ He quickly made his excuses to his friends and left them to do their homework in peace.

A few more regulars walked in after his friends had left: the real estate agent who always ordered a double espresso, the lawyer who constantly smelled of tobacco smoke, the university students who also came to do their homework there. They even got a few first-time customers, locals and tourists alike. There was one girl who walked into their café near the end of the day, wearing a magenta pink kurta and blue jeans with sandals. A cream-colored dupatta was wrapped around her graceful neck. She ordered a latte and sat down in one of the booths by the window, scrolling through her phone as she waited. She was the most beautiful girl Khaled had ever seen. Long, glossy, dark brown hair cascaded in loose ringlets down her back, and, as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, he caught a glimpse of electrifying blue eyes underneath thick eyelashes. She looked up from her phone, and for a moment, blue eyes locked with brown. Khaled couldn’t help but feel a flush of heat spread over his face, despite standing directly beneath the ceiling fan. The girl waved a hand at him in greeting and smiled. She smiled at him. Khaled could hear his heart threatening to break out of his ribcage.

He received another wet towel slap to the head, and a reminder not to openly gape at the customers. He shook his head and blinked a few times to reorient himself, then collected the rest of the used mugs to take back to the kitchen.

He saw the girl around the café quite a few times after that. About a month later, he was lucky enough to take an order out to her, and then another, and then a few more. He became addicted to her smile, to her laugh, to her. The girl –Shazia–was enough for him to stay behind off-hours and learn how to use the milk foamer. Seeing her light up and hearing her beautiful laugh when she saw his happy face latte art was the best fifteenth birthday present he could’ve ever asked for.

A week after he presented his latte art, she had asked to talk to him during his break. So, there they sat, at her usual booth near the window, talking about anything and everything as she drank her falooda and he collected her empty glass when she was done. And one break’s worth of talking together quickly became a routine whenever Shazia came to visit.

“I don’t know, doesn’t it seem kind of odd that a grown woman is expressing interest in Khaled, of all people?” Hamza mused one night as the boys were going through closing tasks at the end of the night.

“‘Grown woman?’ She’s like, eighteen,” Khaled argued, leaning against his broom as he took a break from sweeping the floor. “That’s only three years older than me, and a year and a half younger than you.”

“Pay him no mind, Khaled,” Kamran, the other employee, smirked. He inverted chairs on top of freshly cleaned tables, clearing the way before Khaled could sweep the floor underneath. “He’s just jealous,” he taunted, earning a sour glare from the boy setting up the coffee machine for the next morning.

“I’m not jealous!” Hamza defended.

“Boys! Am I paying you to talk, or am I paying you to work?!” their employer snapped, coming back with an empty cash drawer after doing the final count for the day. All three employees offered their apologies and quickly got back to their given tasks. Mr. Saeed rolled his eyes. “Chalo, chalo, the sooner we wrap this up, the sooner all of us can go home!”

To Khaled’s surprise, Shazia was waiting outside the café as he stepped out after closing. He waved at her, smiling, yet confused. “What are you doing here? Not that I don’t mind seeing you,” he clarified, “but, it’s late, and you’re alone. Don’t you have family that will worry?”

“Khaled, it’s fine, I just wanted to see you after work, that’s all!” she explained.

She wanted to see me? Me? He couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. He looked back smugly at his older coworkers. Hamza glared back in poorly disguised envy, and Kamran threw him two thumbs up. “I –uh, sure! Yeah, okay,” he chuckled.

They walked from the café to a brightly lit storefront, where Shazia and Khaled briefly bickered over who was going to pay for the kulfis they selected. “But, I should pay, I’m a man!” he insisted.

“No, you’re fifteen.”

“Yeah, exactly! Wait-” Khaled paused, giving Shazia enough time to pay for their treats.

“I’ll be honest, Khaled,” Shazia began as they walked out of the store with kulfis in hand, “I waited for you tonight because I actually wanted to ask a favor of you.”

Khaled perked up, pausing mid-lick with his tongue millimeters from the icy treat before him. “Me?” He committed to the lick, then composed himself. “What do you mean?” he asked.

She threw her hair back over her shoulder, making micro adjustments to get it out of the way of her face. “You see, I’m a model, or at least I plan to be.”

“Makes sense, you’re definitely pretty enough to be a model.” Her laughter made Khaled blush red as he realized he had voiced that thought out loud.

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you!” She took a few licks of her kulfi before continuing. “So, I was going to do a photoshoot tomorrow with my photographer, my agent, and a friend of mine to round out my portfolio, but my friend just said he’d come down with a cold, and now he can’t make it tomorrow,” she explained.

“Oh, that’s awful, I’m sorry. Can you carry on without him, though?” Khaled asked.

Shazia shook her head and sighed. “We’re doing a sports-themed photoshoot, and it wouldn’t look right if it was just me kicking around the football. So…” she hesitated, before shyly asking, “...would you mind filling in for my friend tomorrow?”

Khaled’s brain bluescreened, taking a second to reboot as Shazia tried to further persuade him. “It would only take an hour or two at most, you would be paid for your time, and my photographer and agent will make sure it’s fun for both of us-”

Khaled’s lips widened in a smile. “I’ll do it!” he decided. She could’ve told him it would take five hours in the freezing rain and he’d still be down for spending more time with her. “Where, and what time?” he asked eagerly.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

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@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[generic-whumperz]

Khaled’s Backstory, Part 1: The Way Things Were

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This backstory begins approximately two years (maybe give or take a few months) before the Eternal story actually begins. Thanks goes out once again to my amazing beta readers @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz

TW/CW: none, I think, but please let me know if I missed any.

Language Note: The Urdu and Dari words I used were learned through reading multiple language-learning blogs, culture blogs, Reddit, and of course, the ol' reliable Google Translate. If I misrepresented any of the expressions (which is extremely likely) please let me know as civilly as possible, because I'd rather know than not know.

 “A 32% in Urdu, a 29% in Social Studies, and a 25% in English?” a muffled voice sounded through the thick apartment door. The latch to the door clicked open and the door knob turned as a pair of four-year-old identical twins rushed through the meager opening. A ten-year-old girl soon followed them into the apartment, with her twelve-year-old brother right behind as he kicked off his shoes at the entrance. Their eldest brother, the thirteen-year-old, was still detained by their disappointed parents.

“But, I passed Math, and Science, and Islamic Studies-” the boy defended.

“Barely!” his father snorted. “How did you fail Urdu, of all things? The language you speak every damn day?!”

“Ammi, come on,” he whined, trying to gain sympathy from his mother, “don’t you remember the part where Mr. Khan said I was ‘the friendliest, most outgoing boy in the class’?”

“School is not a social club, Khaled!” A crashing sound outside their living room redirected her attention. “Haye Allah, that cat is back,” she sighed then marched quickly to the door that led to their balcony. The stray that knocked over her plants merely blinked at her as Khaled’s mum gave it a scolding to match the intensity of the one he received on the way home.

That left the rest of the tongue-lashing to Khaled’s dad. “You are the eldest brother, beta; you’re supposed to be setting an example for your siblings! What kind of example are you setting for them if you struggle to pass your classes?”

“An example they can easily exceed?” The flat glare from underneath his father’s bushy eyebrows made Khaled backtrack from his wise remark. “But Abba,” he tried, “You never had to learn this stuff and you turned out alright, didn’t you? You got a job that provides-”

“I ‘turned out’ alright?” Abba interrupted, voice raising on the precipice of his signature lecture. “I got ‘turned out’ of my home and my country, along with the rest of my family, because the beghairat koskhol Russians razed our farm to the ground!”

Ammi poked her head back in from where she was sweeping up potting soil and ceramic shards. “Abdul! What did I tell you about swearing in front of the kids?!”

“Zainab, they don’t understand me, it’s fine!” Dad yelled back.

Yes, we do, Khaled thought. Most of what he knew of his father’s language was nearly entirely expletives. He listened through the rest of his father’s lecture before accepting his punishment with all the dignity a thirteen-year-old could summon. Grounded for two weeks, no football with his friends, only study and sleep? Harsh, but it could be worse, Khaled reasoned.

“Bhai! Bhai!” the twins squealed at him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked down to see his little sisters Besma and Zara tugging at his shirt. “Come play with us!”

“They want to play newscaster, and they insist on having an anchorman,” Ayesha said with a smile. She was the third sister, and the middle child of the family.

“Well, what about Yusuf?” Khaled asked, referring to his little brother and the second eldest child. “You heard Abba, I need to study!”

“I’m the weather man, obviously,” Yusuf announced.

“He can’t be the anchor man and the weather man!” Zara said.

“Come on, bhai,” Ayesha coaxed him, steering him towards the living room/impromptu play area. “Your grades aren’t going to get any worse if you miss one study night!”

“Well…fair enough,” Khaled laughed.

-

After dinner, Khaled hung around outside the apartment building, watching his dad fix up the old motorcycle and occasionally handing him the tools he’d need.

“I’m sorry about my grades, Abba,” he muttered.

“I know, beta.” His father reached out a hand behind him, holding a wrench out to Khaled. Khaled wordlessly took it and put it back with the other instruments in the tool kit.

“I’ll try harder, I promise,” he vowed.

“You do that.” Abba unfurled from his crouching position in front of the motorcycle and sighed, a contented little smile on his face as he wiped his brow. “Now, do you want to take this thing out for a test ride? Make sure I fixed it up properly?” he suggested.

Khaled raised a skeptical brow up at him. “But Abba, you and Ammi said I’m grounded, remember?”

“Yeah, but as the man of the house, I unground you, just for tonight, okay?” He swung his leg over the seat of the motorcycle and kicked up the kickstand. “Come on,” he said invitingly, patting the seat behind him.

Khaled beamed ear to ear as he climbed up onto the motorcycle and held onto his father’s waist. He buried his face in the man’s broad back and melted into the smell of sweat, motor oil, and cologne. The motorcycle started up, revving to life under Abba’s hands. He couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of him as they peeled out into the street.

They whizzed down the fluorescent city streets, glowing every color of the rainbow under the dark velvet of the moonless sky. Khaled waved to drivers and fellow motorcyclists as his dad weaved in and out and around and through them.

They eventually ended up at their usual destination for late-night father-son outings: at Port Grand, sitting on a bench looking out at the waters, each one with a skewered kebab in hand. The shadows of cranes loomed over the horizon, marking the dock yard where Khaled’s father worked during the day. But at night, the port –no, the world –was theirs.

“What if I can’t do it?” Khaled asked.

Abba had just polished off his kebab, and now had a mouthful of meat to chew. Khaled looked down at his own bare wooden skewer and began fidgeting with it. “I mean, what if I still fail next term?” he elaborated. “I am trying, really, but what comes easily to Tariq or Muhammad or Imran does not come easily to me. What if I end up failing no matter how hard I try? Then what’s the point?” he asked.

That monologue gave his dad enough time to chew and swallow his mouthful. He wiped the grease from his lips and his beard with the back of his hand, then collected Khaled’s empty stick from his hands. “Khaled, you can do so much more than you think you can,” he started. Sincere, deep, dark brown eyes met the boy’s own. “You are my son, and we Bakhsh men are tough, yeah? You can do it, and you will do it, because Bakhsh men always do it.”

The way he said it so confidently and certainly, like he believed in him, made Khaled want to believe in himself too. “Yeah,” he murmured, smiling warmly.

Abba mirrored the smile back as he rose from the bench. “Now, don’t tell Ammi we went out for these, or she’ll have my ass,” he said, waving the kebab sticks around before he threw them away.

Khaled giggled, but gave his dad the thumbs up. Their father-son time would stay between themselves, just like Abba’s father-son time with Yusuf last week, or his father-daughter time with Ayesha the week before. As they rode back home and returned to the apartment at far too late at night, Khaled never realized that this would be the last father-son time he’d have.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[generic-whumperz]

Fruit of the Wicked: Chapter 12

Content Warning: lady whump, male whumper/female whumpee, POC whump (whumpee is a Black woman), age gap whump (whumper is an older man), religious whump (Christianity), captivity whump

Thank you to Marz and Gen for beta reading this chapter

Word Count: 1190 Previous Next

Max was nearly finished with ringing out Mrs. Parson when the familiar ring of the bell hanging from the store’s entrance jingled, in walking a man wearing a red and white plaid button down and jeans. Max didn’t recognize him, which was rare for a town as small as theirs. The man joined the line behind Mrs. Parson, who was still rambling on to Max about her grandson failing to return her call, small wrinkled hands waving around, ignoring the already bagged items sitting on the counter in front of her. Max waited patiently, as he always did, nodded empathetically to her tale without truly listening to the nitty gritty details of just how inconsiderate her grandson must have been in order to keep missing her calls. He’d never verbalize to her on how he understood the grandson’s position, and that talking to her felt like the equivalent of watching paint dry. When she’d finally finished, she scooped up her plastic bag of items and walked out of the store without even acknowledging that she was leaving. Max sighed a sigh of relief as the man behind her rounded the counter.

“Hello,” the man said, smiling. 

Max smiled back, less than enthusiastic. He could already tell that the man who walked into the store would be a talker, too. He could deal with Mrs. Parson most days, as there was usually time to recuperate after her rants before another customer came to him with their own stories. One talker after another was a nightmare to deal with, though. He had already used up all of his active listening for the hour on Mrs. Parson, and he had no idea what kind of conversation he was in for with this new man. 

“Can I get a pack of Marlboros?” The man asked, shaking Max from his internal groaning. 

“Sure.” Max scribbled down the pack brand into his notebook he kept track of restocks in. “Do you have an I.D. for that?”

The man laughed. “Funny.” He was clearly old enough to legally buy a pack of cigarettes, but fished around in his pocket for his wallet anyways. At least he was in good spirits. Max couldn’t take another angry rant this early in the day. The man pulled out the wallet, then his I.D., and slapped it onto the store counter. Jason Rutter. Date of birth, November 1st, fifty-one years ago. Mississippi.

“Long way from Mississippi,” Max said as he inspected the I.D. He didn’t look at it long, there was no reason to suspect anything was off about it. The man was clearly as old as it said on the card.

“Yeah,” the man said, taking the card back as Max handed it to him. “I’m in town on business for the next couple days.”

“Yeah? What business?” Maybe Max shouldn’t have asked, but now he was curious. There was no business up in Pointersfield that required out-of-towners.

“I’m working on a building development. Near Dale’s? I was brought in to build the new motel.”

“Oh.” Odd. No one really came and stayed in Pointersfield unless they were visiting family. It wasn’t really the kind of town you came and stayed in for any amount of time. But similarly, Max could understand the need for a new motel. The one they had already in town was probably filled with asbestos. “Yeah, alright.”

The man wandered away from the counter as Max turned away from him to grab the pack of cigarettes, drawn to the cork-board on the wall by the door. He particularly focused on the printed out picture of the girl not quite smiling pinned to the front of it. 

“What’s this?” He asked, touching the bottom of the page.

Max turned around to see what he was looking at, cigarettes in hand. “Oh,” he said, placing the box down on the counter. “That’s Dani. She went missing a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh.” The man looked closer at the piece of paper with her picture on it, seemingly taking in the words. Missing: Dani Wallis. Age 23. Height, 5’5. Weight, approximately 140 pounds. Hair color, dark brown. Eyes, dark brown. Last seen June 24th. If you have any information, contact 540-333-4437. “What a shame, she seems like a nice girl.”

“Yeah.” Max stared at the poster, too, like he had on many afternoons before this one. He knew the poster well. He had made it, after all. “Yeah, she was.”

“Did you know her well?”

Max shifted from foot to foot behind the counter awkwardly. “We were friends.” And that’s all they were, really. Friends. 

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, son.” The man turned to give him a sympathetic look. 

Max felt his skin crawl. He didn’t need a stranger’s sympathy. He’d gotten enough of it from members of the town who had known about him and Dani. People who cared more about how he was holding up with her gone than her actually being gone. Max cleared his throat. “It is what it is,” he said, voice tight. 

“Must be hard, to lose a friend like that.”

“I haven’t lost anyone.” Max said, getting oddly defensive about it. He didn’t like the way this man was talking about Dani, like she was already six feet underground and not just missing. 

Just missing. If Max had still been in therapy, he knew his therapist would’ve called him out for that sentence. She wasn’t “just missing,” like she was on vacation or at the store. She was missing. Experiencing God knows what.

Potentially six feet under, like the man was suggesting.

Max tried shrugging it off, but the unease had already set in. 

The man smiled and put his hands in the air. “ I’m sorry, didn’t mean to press a nerve.” Reaching into his pockets, the man pulled out a wad of cash. “How much do I owe you?”

“Seven dollars.”

“Alright, then.” Handing over the cash, a strange look passed over the man’s face. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “I hope they find her,” the man said, his voice taking on the strange tone.

“Yeah, me too.” Max said, utterly done with this conversation. He could feel his heart begin to race, dollar bills shaking in his hands as he went to put them in the register. Bad. This was bad. He couldn’t have a panic attack while working, especially not in front of this out-of-towner. 

The man gave him another small smile and took the pack of cigarettes in hand. “Have a nice day,” he said as he began to walk away, towards the door, giving a wave. Max gave him a small smile back out of formality. As the man opened the door to leave, he looked one last time at the poster on the cork-board.

“You know, it’s a shame with cases like these,” the man said before letting the store door swing shut behind him. “They so often go unresolved.”

Max watched as the man made his way to the rusting red truck parked in the spot closest to the parking lot’s exit, head whirling with the man’s words.

Tag List: @flowersarefreetherapy, @generic-whumperz, @heartinthehospital, @deluxewhump, @another-whump-sideblog, @pigeonwhumps, @lektricwhump, @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees, @sowhumpshaped , @dietofwormsofficial, @starsick1979

[generic-whumperz]

YES ABDUL, STRANGLE HIM!

Below, me in the stands:

POV you are dead Whumper and suddenly Whumpee’s father comes to throttle you in the afterlife

(And before you ask, no, I have no idea why I drew Tom naked 🫠) (But Abdul’s wearing the clothes he died in, so perhaps Julio’s gang did more than I let on?)

[generic-whumperz]

Wooo thanks for the tag 🫶

I don’t have much posted yet (just a zillion WIPs currently), but I’ll be sharing some out of context future Vinny/ Vinny inspired quotes.

Keep in mind this dude is in his mid-40s, an unhinged substance abuser, a thug hit man with copious amounts of PTSD from being a war medic and surviving the apocalypse, and that he is a whumper. Vincent Warren Sullivan couldn’t give a fuck if he tried and he’s an asshole.

He’s the Crass Sullivan™️ for a reason, proceed with caution. No tags, but like, there probably should be. If your sensitive to dastardly behavior, avert your eyes.

Due to the nature of the diabolical quotes shown below, I will simply leave an open tag so I don’t have to @ anyone.

Suck my entire dick from the back, bitch. (Tagline)

Awe what’s the matter, kiddo? Suffering from a case of perceptile dysfunction? I got a pill that’ll perk ya right up! (Says this to The Aid when his abilities aren’t working right)

You reek like a fucken yeast infection. Looking at ya even makes me itch.

Get the fuck off my jock pally, unless you’re dying to be the next Rorschach test under my Italian loafers.

Keep those lips yappin’, and I’ll evict every one of those busted ass piano keys you call teeth till the Tooth Fairy starts charging you rent.

I’m fucking jonesin’ Papi, hit me with a double.

I’d say you’re full of shit, but even fucken fertilizer serves a purpose.

I’d split you open faster than a busted condom at a titty-bar trucker orgy on route 95.

You’ve got all the bite of a limp dick in a cold shower.

That dusty fart sonovabitch has all the charm of a backed-up septic tank. Smells like a load of crap too.

You’re not even worth the bullet it’d take to shut you up, so I’ll just drown you instead. I told you I’d get you soaking wet anywho.

Come on, Cowboy, the less left to chance the better. We ain’t gotta waste our time pissing on bushes and leaving our dicks to the wind. We’re men, not dogs. (Says this to Waylon)

Fuck me sideways, YES you NEED lube! Ya can’t keep tearing his candy ass up like that unless you want him permanently stuck in adult diapers! And do you got and idea of how hard it is to find Desitin in the fucken apocalypse? (Says this to Wyatt about The Aid)

Oh I have an idea, how about you gargle my balls?

Hungry? Here’s some crackers, feel free to help yourself to the cheese from under my nuts.

OC in 15

Thanks for the tag @bamber344

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

With that in mind, I think I’m gonna do Julio. Yeah, I like the guy, and he’s one of the characters that has the most dialogue/the most fun dialogue. Let’s see if we can get it to 15 🤔 And, like a crazy person, let's see if I can get the quotes in chronological order!

"It was supposed to be my mom, going to college and being the first one in our family to go, but then she had me, and, well –here I am..." -from What Kind of Leader Do You Want to Be, Part 1

"If anyone comes looking for (the kids he rescued), let them try to take them from us!" -from What Kind of Leader Do You Want to Be, Part 2

"Alright, he speaks!...You wanna go, pendejo, let’s go!" -from The Flicker of A Spark

"But you wandered into our territory, and you pissed off my cousin. You gotta answer to that, you know..." -from The Flicker of a Spark

"His name is Khaled, and no, I am not thinking about him, really!” -from Aftermath of a Flicker of a Spark

"(The hitman side hustle) is on a need to know basis, vato. Do you need to know?" -from A Regular Thing?

"Aaaand you’re dead. Great job." -from A Regular Thing?

"‘Nearly’ getting me is not getting me. ‘Nearly’ gets you dead!” -from A Regular Thing?

“Say it like you believe it, and maybe I’ll believe it too." -from Julio's Reverie

“Do you want to tell me what happened, or do you just want to cuddle for a bit?” -from Let Me See (Please)

"Hmm, bad choice, vato, Nobody holds a gun to my head!" -from Unlikely Partnership

"The real question is, what are you willing to do –no, what are you willing to give to see Khaled happy and free, as he should be?” -from Unlikely Partnership

“Where you going off to, man? You just got here!...Why don’t you step out of the vehicle and come on in here?” -from Wrong Turn

"See you in hell." -from Falling Like Snow

"I looked up to someone who later came to disappoint me, too...He didn’t get you out of your depression. You put in the work, you studied those long hours, you saw your future and you ran at it with everything you had to get it. You did all that, not him. He was just the spark, if you will, but the rest? That. Was. All. You.” -from Purpose Lost, Then Regained

And yep, that’s our Julio!

Tagging @generic-whumperz @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @melpomenelamusa @whumpsoda and whoever else wants a go!

[generic-whumperz]

Do you have a drabble for us today? 🥰🥰

Ohhhhh I suppose since you asked so nicely......

I have one for The Professionals crossover :)

Crybaby

Part ? of The Professionals - a crossover AU where Tommy is sold to Fletcher from In The Woods Somewhere (Link also has other parts of The Professionals, I need to update my list!

Fletcher muses about how to best handle their new ward's needs.

Content warnings tagged below.

~

Eleven more minutes, and the potatoes would be done. Everything else was finished, but left a whirlwind of dishes and messes in their wake. Admittedly, Fletcher might have tried harder to keep things tidy if they knew they would have to clean up after themselves. But, with most of the tedious jobs, that was what they had Tommy for. 

Fletcher tucked their thumb and forefinger into their mouth and gave an earsplitting whistle to summon Tommy, hoping for his sake that he wasn’t fucking around while Fletcher was preoccupied. 

They sat down at the table, only noticing their fatigue from standing for so long once they could rest. They pulled out their phone to mark down things they had noticed they were out of while they were cooking, making a rough grocery list for their next haul out. They were still deciding if they would let Tommy come along. Fletcher was not sure of the last time Tommy had been somewhere public like a grocery store, and there was a question of his stability to be brought back out. It wouldn’t do if he was going to be clutching Fletcher’s leg the whole time. On the other hand, it might be good exposure therapy for him, start to socialize him a little bit - just enough that he could act more normal around other people when Fletcher needed. Tommy would be useless if he cowered any time a trainee was in the room once the next semester started. 

They played absentmindedly with one of their pocket knives while they considered it, the list abandoned. There was a balance that would have to be taken into consideration - after all, they didn’t want Tommy to get too bold and risk an escape attempt. A healthy fear of the outside world helped keep Tommy devoted and in his place. 

Fletcher looked up to the timer. Four minutes left now, and no Tommy. 

A prickle of irritation prompted them to go find what dire straits could excuse Tommy’s failure to come when called. Lucky for Tommy, they only made it a few steps before he appeared, looking a bit harried.

“Sorry, I’m here. Is there something you need?”

“What were you doing?” Fletcher was not patient, and had little tolerance for Tommy dragging his feet.

At the coldness in Fletcher’s voice, Tommy paled a little, swallowing hard. 

“I was working on the laundry, I was just trying to finish up - something and - it took longer. Than I expected. I’m sorry. I can - what would you like me to do?” Tommy was clearly struggling. Fletcher had gotten the impression that his last owners had been pretty strict, and if Tommy ever was any good at lying, he certainly couldn’t pull it off now. 

“So you thought it would be appropriate to keep me waiting?” Fletcher tapped the table impatiently. 

“Well, n-no, I’m sorry, Fletcher, I didn’t - I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” His voice was thick, like he was already on the verge of bursting into tears. 

Seeing Tommy’s face, Fletcher started to put it together. Once they really looked at him, his eyes were red and puffy, his nose pink. He sniffled.

He’d been crying. That was probably why he had been late, trying to staunch it before he had to face Fletcher again. Fletcher sighed. 

“Are you hurt?”

Tommy shook his head. 

“Why were you crying?”

Tommy didn’t look terribly surprised that Fletcher had picked up on it, but still looked dismayed.

“I’m sorry, I still got most of the laundry folded. Um, if you could show me where you keep the linens again though, I can’t remember where you showed me. I’ll write it down though, this time.”

Fletcher gave him a sterner look. “Answer my question. Why were you crying?”

Tommy rubbed his arm anxiously and looked down. “I just, uh…sometimes it all  just gets to me,” he mumbled. 

Fletcher knew Buck had struggled similarly, and Buck had been captive for a lot less time than Tommy had. He’d had more time to get used to it, but you can’t live laugh love your way out of a life sentence as someone’s bitch. Fletcher cleared their throat, feeling a little awkward. 

“Well…do you want to talk about it?”

The timer on the oven beeped, and Tommy practically lunged for it before Fletcher could move. 

“Are these done? Is there anything I need to check?” He turned off the alarm but left the oven on, struggling to get the oven mitts on. 

“...No, they’re done, you can turn it off.”

Tommy obeyed, shuffling some empty pans on the stove to make room for the tray of potatoes before removing them with an excess of care. Fletcher joined him, waving him off with one hand so they could give them a quick stir. Tommy started to pick up the kitchen instead, stacking dirty dishes by the sink. It gave them both an excuse not to make eye contact. 

Fletcher was not going to give Tommy his freedom. Tommy seemed to have accepted this for the most part, albeit reluctantly, but the grief of a loss like that couldn’t just be overcome and done with. Some days would be harder than others, and Fletcher begrudgingly admitted to themselves that Tommy had been very amicable and eager to please for the most part. They couldn’t truly be mad at him for struggling sometimes - they were not Caius.

“Try me. I can’t guarantee anything, and obviously some things just aren’t going to change, but…maybe there are some things I can do to help.”

They glanced over to where Tommy had started dishes, and he wore a very troubled look. It was not an easy task to be given - bad attitudes and complaints were not tolerated, and navigating his pain without offense would be an exercise in self control. 

“Um… okay… can I think about it for a minute?” 

Fletcher nodded their approval and made themselves a plate. They were trying a new system of only letting Tommy eat his major meals after they did, which didn’t seem too unreasonable considering he was still allowed to eat in between. 

They saw Tommy looking longingly at their plate out of the corner of his eye, and his stomach growled. He knew better than to protest and focused back on his dishes. Fletcher had suspected that he was not eating enough during the day, and he still asked before he took anything. Fletcher had told him multiple times he did not have to ask, but he still seemed to struggle with it. 

Tommy cleared his throat self-consciously. 

“Um… so… when I was with - before, when I was with a client… well, afterwards I was usually in pretty bad shape. But I’d get a few days, sometimes weeks off, just to heal. And it was kind of nice. And I don’t - I’m much better here, and I appreciate that a lot.”

Fletcher hummed in acknowledgment. 

“But… here, you know, I’m not exactly unionized.” He cracked a nervous smile at Fletcher, who raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t get weekends. Or any days off, ever. Maybe if I could earn a day off once in a while…I don’t know…” he trailed off, too afraid of offending Fletcher to push any further.

Fletcher considered it in silence while they ate. Tommy finished loading the dishwasher and started working on the pans.

“I suppose I could consider more breaks for you, and a day off once in a while.” 

Tommy’s shoulders dropped in relief, having climbed to his ears with tension while Fletcher had considered his request.

“I know that having things to look forward to is important. And some rewards, for good behavior. So…I’m going to give you an allowance.”

Tommy dropped the pot he had been filling, and it clattered noisily into the sink. He spun around, splattered with water.

“Really?!” He nearly squealed with excitement.

“Watch what you’re doing, you need to take care of my things.”

“Sorry, Fletcher.”

Tommy set about washing the pot again more carefully.

Fletcher chewed for a moment. There was a funny energy that Tommy gave off when he was happy. The Lodge could feel hollow sometimes, but having Tommy around felt like he took up half the place. 

“Five bucks a week. If you’re good. And I have to approve anything you want to buy with it first, obviously. But you can save up for some new headphones or something.”

Tommy beamed, turning to Fletcher again, who held up one finger.

“If you annoy me about it even once, I’m serious, it’s gone. Understood?” Tommy nodded urgently, his smile still wide. It looked foreign on his face, constantly pinched in worry, and it made his scar curl a little by his mouth.

“Thank you, Fletcher!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Fletcher grumbled, managing to resist his contagious grin until he turned back around to finish the dishes.

“Once you’ve cleaned the kitchen, you can have dinner. When everything is put away, I suppose you can take the rest of the evening off.”

Tommy hummed happily, beaming even as he scrubbed at a stubborn stain. 

Fletcher smiled in spite of themselves, popping their last bite into their mouth. They couldn’t always eat first, sometimes they would want to eat with their boy. Trying to figure everything out could be frustrating at times. Fletcher reminded themself - just enjoy the ride.

xxx

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging  @utopian819 @whumpinggoodtime @pretty-face-breaker

[generic-whumperz]

Chapter 2 Part 5: Laid Bare (NSFW Version)

⚠️CW: Institutionalized Slavery, Non-con Sex, Non-Con Nudity, Bullying, Torture, Sensory Deprivation, Public Humiliation, Objectification, non-con drugging (poisons). If I missed anything, Please let me know.

Welcome to my extended edition. This is my first test run of this, so feedback is appreciated. The storyline will be the exact same as my main account. The only difference is that there will be sex scenes occasionally. some chapters, like this one, will feature non-con (red labeled like above), others later into my story will have consensual romantic encounters (which will have a green NSFW label).

Masterlist

⏮️ Previous

Next 🔜

A pair of rough hands grabbed The Mutt. Electricity coursed unnecessarily through it, paralyzing it, a pointless show of power as it offered no resistance. It never offered resistance. From a young age it was trained to allow its body to be manipulated with no resistance.

The cold seeped further into its body as the meager clothes it wore were torn off. There were a few small gasps from the newer slaves who had yet to see its body riddled in scars. It could smell the newest girl, the one that couldn’t wield a whip, get upset. It gave a low warning growl, sensing she wanted to say something or do something. The growl was far too low for the Valten to hear, the rest of the slaves could hear the warning. Interfering would go badly for her. There was only so much Balor could do to Zan or it without consequence, many of the rest of the slaves did not enjoy such built-in protection though.

The cold pushed further into its core as its arms were wrenched from its sides and pulled taught. A position that left it completely exposed, unable to hide. It shivered slightly as the same process was repeated on its ankles, his legs being pulled apart. A deep breath, and then other, The Mongrel slowly sank into itself. ‘Just a tool, just a tool, just a tool.’ It repeated the mantra over and over again in its head.

Balor soon reappeared, and The Mutt’s heart dropped to its stomach then jumped back up to its throat when it saw what was in his hands, a small yet distinct vial. Divinity’s Downfall…..

Balor held up the vial to the group, “This is why my father spends so much time with this thing. Its not special or important, just a poison drinker…. A poison drinker and a monster!” He turned to The Mutt this time, “I order you to tell them. Tell us all exactly why my mother left 12 years ago. Tell them the truth sworn on the Goddess of Sin and Purity.”

“I swear on the Goddess, Kozula,” it whispered, barely audible. The Mongrel winced at the memory, causing it to hesitate slightly, the bands started to tingle and turn red. It gulped air and began to speak, the warm purple light the bands then started producing offered no comfort this time.

“I-it was given Divinity’s Downfall for the first time that evening. Master didn’t chain it like he does now.” A tear slipped down its cheek as it took a ragged breath. “No one knew that the poison would cause such powerful hallucinations. It stripped and ran off when the toxin took hold……” it trailed off.

“Then what did you do?” Balor demanded sharply.

“It was confused!” it admitted, starting to cry, only to be cut off with a backhand.

“Knock off your damn crying, continue,” Balor snapped.

The Mutt did its best to collect itself, putting its mask of void back on. ‘Just a tool, not a person, not a dog, just an object.’

It swallowed and continued. “It saw what it thought was a monster and attacked it. Then the monster turned into a flower so it watered it….. Only it wasn’t water, it found out later…. This beast clawed itself open and bled all over Lady Claudia. Its blood is toxic, and she got so sick she nearly died.”

The slave hung its head in shame. That evening had cost it everything. Its personhood, its friendship with Balor, even its sleeping mat and blanket. That warm summer evening was the day the world turned cold.

Balor turned to the group, now all were standing deathly quiet. “Now I’ll show you all what this piece of shit does under this poison, and I’m sure you all have your own grievances with it too.” He turned back to The Dog, “You haven’t had your lunch dose poison today, so I’ll give you a little extra.”

‘Not how that works,’ It thought but refrained from saying that. Maybe if it was lucky, Balor would accidentally overdose The Mutt and it could be rid of this cold lonely life. It obediently opened its mouth, catching 1,2, 3 drops of undiluted poison. Normally it only got 2 and it was mixed with food.

The bitterness made him choke and gag. It was unused to drinking it straight but managed to keep it down. Dread coiled around in its insides, roughly 30 minutes… Just 30 minutes perhaps sooner with 3 drops on an empty stomach, before the effects hit.

Before it had time to ruminate on it too much, a sharp prick to its chest jolted it to the here and now, as the world blackened. It took inventory of its senses, could still hear and smell and feel, it seemed like this pin only deprived it of sight. The pantheon above, it hated those pins.

A crack sounded, making it jolt in its restraints, moments before the searing, stinging pain registered across its back. It could feel wetness drip down its back. The closest smell to it was Balor, so it assumed it must be him administering the beating. It bit back a pained noise as best it could as the next crack registered a trail across its chest, startling it again. The smells didn’t change, it didn’t hear anyone walking from around it. Two whips?

Smells started to swirl and it could no longer tell where anybody was. Another crack sounded, fire melted through its body, as if the whip reached through it to hit its chest and back simultaneously. Sounds began undulating, quieting and getting louder again, like a heartbeat…. Like….like the air itself was alive. The black its eyes could see shifted to red. Pantheon, he was sure he was swallowed by some ancient creature. The burning came again followed by wetness. Digestive juices were burning him, he realized.

Fear gripped him for a moment but then he let it go. At least it was warm. Then he realized something…

“Tools can’t be digested, you picked bad food to eat,” The Dog spoke out loud.

He heard a rumble and the earth shook, as if the beast was laughing. He fell to his knees, but hadn’t he been chained? Then he realized the monster must have broke the chain.

A distorted growling came from the direction that must have been the beasts head, “--free to do as you like--,” the words cut off again until he heard one more word, “-Morning.”

That didn’t make any sense, what could he do? The stomach acid was now up to his knees, and continued to drip on him. It hurt, it hurt so much. This wouldn’t be over until morning? He wanted to sob.

He felt clawing at him and looked down at himself through the darkness of the beast’s stomach. Jumped seeing dark silhouettes of what appeared to be goblins or maybe the monster’s offspring grabbing at him. He could only smell the bile of the stomach around him. His ability to sense movements of other creatures was going crazy, there must have been a dozen of them in here.

He let out a scream of terror that promptly brought more pain and rumbling and shaking.

‘Why? Why couldn’t the beast have just killed me?’ The Mongrel thought. He struggled to get up but finding his legs wouldn’t work. Then a realization hit, maybe he was dead… maybe this terror is his punishment from Soluka, the god of death. He deserved it after all.

He fell forward to his hands from the rumbling.  An intense tearing pain, ripping him in half, started as one of the creatures mounted him. The creature wanted to dominate over him. It was trying to claim a superiority that The Mutt didn’t possess. It wasn’t better than anything or anyone. It, tool, dirt, trash dog, the words echoed in his head, tormenting him and grinding him down.

Another creature came to stand in front of his face, shoving something fleshy down his throat. He gagged and choked but found himself stuck when he tried to pull away. Terror pulsed through him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move.

His body was getting pinched and squeezed and clawed. Without his permission, for the first time in a long time he began to tremble. He felt one of the creature’s groan and release into him. Bile rose and threatened to spill as the other did the same into his mouth.

It might have been minutes or years when fresh pain and humiliation stopped washing upon him, The Dog had no way of telling. Eventually though, it did stop, slowly becoming replaced with a pounding headache. His mind was gradually becoming clearer. He collapsed, exhausted.

He didn’t even have the energy to react when he felt a rough set grab him again. He heard chains clink as he was unbound. The Mutt then felt himself being moved. To where- he didn’t really know or care.

He was dropped with a thud on hard dirt. He heard the clink of chain again before footsteps of the person walked off. He curled into himself. He quietly wished he had just one person who cared.

‘so cold,’ that was his last thought before exhaustion won out.

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As always, a special shout out to my beta readers @generic-whumperz and @3-2-whump. Fingers crossed, I'm so nervous!

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Chapter 2 Part 5: Laid Bare

⚠️CW: Institutionalized Slavery, Bullying, Torture, Sensory Deprivation, Public Humiliation, Objectification, non-con drugging (poisons). If I missed anything, you know the drill.

This marks the end of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 will be quite a tone shift. thank you as always to my lovely beta readers, @generic-whumperz and @3-2-whump.

This Section does have an extended addition over on my NSFW blog, if that style whump is your jam, if not, this is the "safe" version.

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A pair of rough hands grabbed The Mutt. Electricity coursed unnecessarily through it, paralyzing it, a pointless show of power as it offered no resistance. It never offered resistance. From a young age it was trained to allow its body to be manipulated with no resistance.

The cold seeped further into its body as the meager clothes it wore were torn off. There were a few small gasps from the newer slaves who had yet to see its body riddled in scars. It could smell the newest girl, the one that couldn’t wield a whip, get upset. It gave a low warning growl, sensing she wanted to say something or do something. The growl was far too low for the Valten to hear, the rest of the slaves could hear the warning. Interfering would go badly for her. There was only so much Balor could do to Zan or it without consequence, many of the rest of the slaves did not enjoy such built-in protection though.

The cold pushed further into its core as its arms were wrenched from its sides and pulled taught. A position that left it completely exposed, unable to hide. It shivered slightly as the same process was repeated on its ankles, his legs being pulled apart. A deep breath, and then other, The Mongrel slowly sank into itself. ‘Just a tool, just a tool, just a tool.’ It repeated the mantra over and over again in its head.

Balor soon reappeared, and The Mutt’s heart dropped to its stomach then jumped back up to its throat when it saw what was in his hands, a small yet distinct vial. Divinity’s Downfall…..

Balor held up the vial to the group, “This is why my father spends so much time with this thing. Its not special or important, just a poison drinker…. A poison drinker and a monster!” He turned to The Mutt this time, “I order you to tell them. Tell us all exactly why my mother left 12 years ago. Tell them the truth sworn on the Goddess of Sin and Purity.”

“I swear on the Goddess, Kozula,” it whispered, barely audible. The Mongrel winced at the memory, causing it to hesitate slightly, the bands started to tingle and turn red. It gulped air and began to speak, the warm purple light the bands then started producing offered no comfort this time.

“I-it was given Divinity’s Downfall for the first time that evening. Master didn’t chain it like he does now.” A tear slipped down its cheek as it took a ragged breath. “No one knew that the poison would cause such powerful hallucinations. It stripped and ran off when the toxin took hold……” it trailed off.

“Then what did you do?” Balor demanded sharply.

“It was confused!” it admitted, starting to cry, only to be cut off with a backhand.

“Knock off your damn crying, continue,” Balor snapped.

The Mutt did its best to collect itself, putting its mask of void back on. ‘Just a tool, not a person, not a dog, just an object.’

It swallowed and continued. “It saw what it thought was a monster and attacked it. Then the monster turned into a flower so it watered it….. Only it wasn’t water, it found out later…. This beast clawed itself open and bled all over Lady Claudia. Its blood is toxic, and she got so sick she nearly died.”

The slave hung its head in shame. That evening had cost it everything. Its personhood, its friendship with Balor, even its sleeping mat and blanket. That warm summer evening was the day the world turned cold.

Balor turned to the group, now all were standing deathly quiet. “Now I’ll show you all what this piece of shit does under this poison, and I’m sure you all have your own grievances with it too.” He turned back to The Dog, “You haven’t had your lunch dose poison today, so I’ll give you a little extra.”

‘Not how that works,’ It thought but refrained from saying that. Maybe if it was lucky, Balor would accidentally overdose The Mutt and it could be rid of this cold lonely life. It obediently opened its mouth, catching 1,2, 3 drops of undiluted poison. Normally it only got 2 and it was mixed with food.

The bitterness made him choke and gag. It was unused to drinking it straight but managed to keep it down. Dread coiled around in its insides, roughly 30 minutes… Just 30 minutes perhaps sooner with 3 drops on an empty stomach, before the effects hit.

Before it had time to ruminate on it too much, a sharp prick to its chest jolted it to the here and now, as the world blackened. It took inventory of its senses, could still hear and smell and feel, it seemed like this pin only deprived it of sight. The pantheon above, it hated those pins.

A crack sounded, making it jolt in its restraints, moments before the searing, stinging pain registered across its back. It could feel wetness drip down its back. The closest smell to it was Balor, so it assumed it must be him administering the beating. It bit back a pained noise as best it could as the next crack registered a trail across its chest, startling it again. The smells didn’t change, it didn’t hear anyone walking from around it. Two whips?

Smells started to swirl and it could no longer tell where anybody was. Another crack sounded, fire melted through its body, as if the whip reached through it to hit its chest and back simultaneously. Sounds began undulating, quieting and getting louder again, like a heartbeat…. Like….like the air itself was alive. The black its eyes could see shifted to red. Pantheon, he was sure he was swallowed by some ancient creature. The burning came again followed by wetness. Digestive juices were burning him, he realized.

Fear gripped him for a moment but then he let it go. At least it was warm. Then he realized something…

“Tools can’t be digested, you picked bad food to eat,” The Dog spoke out loud.

He heard a rumble and the earth shook, as if the beast was laughing. He fell to his knees, but hadn’t he been chained? Then he realized the monster must have broke the chain.

A distorted growling came from the direction that must have been the beasts head, “--free to do as you like--,” the words cut off again until he heard one more word, “-Morning.”

That didn’t make any sense, what could he do? The stomach acid was now up to his knees, and continued to drip on him. It hurt, it hurt so much. This wouldn’t be over until morning? He wanted to sob.

---

It might have been minutes or years when fresh pain and humiliation stopped washing upon him, The Dog had no way of telling. Eventually though, it did stop, slowly becoming replaced with a pounding headache. His mind was gradually becoming clearer. He collapsed, exhausted.

He didn’t even have the energy to react when he felt a rough set grab him again. He heard chains clink as he was unbound. The Mutt then felt himself being moved. To where- he didn’t really know or care.

He was dropped with a thud on hard dirt. He heard the clink of chain again before footsteps of the person walked off. He curled into himself. He quietly wished he had just one person who cared.

‘so cold,’ that was his last thought before exhaustion won out.

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Mini-Comfortember Day 6

Prompt 6: Baby It’s Cold Outside

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A continuation of yesterday's comfortember prompt. Told from the other side of the glass.

TW/CW: captivity whump, slave whump, minor whump (but only because Khaled is sixteen, nothing bad happens to him), carewhumper, conditioning (briefly mentioned)

There’s nothing quite like the quiet calm of the season’s first snowfall. The snowflakes drifting daintily to the frozen ground were accompanied by the roar of the penthouse’s furnace, the ambient music on Thomas’ Bluetooth speakers, and the incessant banging on the sliding door to the rooftop balcony.

Thomas tore his eyes away from the emails he was replying to on his tablet. He looked up at the teenager outside desperately begging to be let in. No less than half an hour ago, the sixteen-year-old stood enraptured by window, saying he’d only ever seen snow on TV before, and then wondering aloud if it felt as soft as it looked. And Thomas, like the gracious master he was, decided to unlock the boy’s ankle cuffs and let him out in his first snow for a bit. It seemed the ungrateful little bastard was already sick of it, as he banged on the door with his reddening hands and shivered in his hoodie and sweatpants.

“Master, please! Let me in, I’m cold!” Khaled’s voice was muffled by the thick glass, which was steadily fogging up with every word.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s what happens when you go out in only a hoodie, sweatpants, and sneakers!” he yelled back. He conveniently ignored the fact that the hoodie and sweatpants were the warmest clothes the boy even had, and he didn’t buy him any boots. “Come on, just weather it out for ten more minutes?” he offered, already turning back to his emails.

“You said that fifteen minutes ago!” Khaled protested. He jammed a finger into the glass door. “I can see the clock on the stove from here!”

Damn, that kid has good eyesight! Thomas took one more look at his emails and groaned, switching off the tablet and rising reluctantly from the warm spot he made on the couch. “Alright, alright, alright already! I’m coming!” he called. He flicked the switch and slid the door open, letting in a frigid gust of air and the fastest teenager he’d ever seen, as Khaled ducked hastily into the warmth.

“F-f-f-f-fuck snow… ‘s too c-cold…” Khaled murmured as he struggled to take off his sodden shoes.

Thomas closed the door and knelt next to Khaled to help him take his shoes off. “You’re soaked through, boy, and freezing, too!” he commented. His warm, broad hands brushed against Khaled’s smaller, colder ones. As he straightened back up from where he knelt, Khaled’s wide brown eyes followed him, with melted snowflakes in his lashes glittering like gems in the living room lights. His face glowed red from the cold, and he clenched his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering. Even if Thomas didn’t go out in the cold himself, looking at his pathetic boy was almost enough to make him shiver.

“Would you like something to warm you up?” he asked.

Khaled nodded immediately. Thomas placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him towards the couch. “Snuggle up with the electric blanket next to the couch –remember, next to the couch,” he emphasized. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

He clapped the boy on the shoulder and made his way towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge, then the cupboards above and to the right of the stove, then the drawers below the island countertop, and before long, he was heating a saucepan of milk and decanting powdered hot chocolate mix into two mugs. Once the milk came to a simmer, the man took it off the heat, poured and mixed it carefully with the powder in the mugs, and topped each mug of dark, steamy liquid with mini-marshmallows.

Thomas came back to the living room, mugs of hot chocolate in each hand, and smiled affectionately at the pile of blankets curled at the foot of the couch. Next to the couch, just like he’d said. “Good boy,” he praised.

There was hardly anything of Khaled’s peeking out from underneath that blanket cocoon; the only way he knew the boy was under there, besides the vaguely human shape, were the pair of sock-clad feet poking out near the bottom. “I’m gonna pass you something hot, alright? Be careful.” He extended the mug towards the blanket nest, and a lighthearted feeling fluttered in his chest when a hand darted out to grab it and slowly absorb it back in. “I’m sitting back down.” He carefully treaded around Khaled until he could settle back into his previous spot on the couch. Outside, the snow still silently fell. Thomas took a sip out of his hot chocolate, then picked up his tablet again, balancing it on one knee as he opened the email app again.

A warm, fabric-swaddled weight pressed itself against his shins. “Thank you, Master,” Khaled said from beneath the blankets.

He chuckled. “You’re welcome, Khaled.”

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[generic-whumperz]

Mini-Comfortember Day 5

Prompt 5: It’s Oh So Quiet (Alt. 2)

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Set during Khaled's first winter with Thomas. Since this is happening within the time of his captivity, the usual TW/CWs do apply. But I promise nothing bad actually happens to him in this drabble! There's just like background stuff going on, but that's it.

TW/CW: captivity whump, slave whump, minor whump (but only because he's sixteen this winter)

Khaled stepped outside the sliding door and onto the rooftop balcony, gasping in awe as his eyes widened in wonder at the falling snow. He treaded carefully. Even if having his ankles bound for three weeks didn’t make him overly mindful of how far he stepped, he could feel icy crystals of compact snow forming underneath his sneakers. He looked up, then all around, and saw nothing but white snow.

It’s so quiet, Khaled realized, quieter than the city has ever been since I came here. Fat fluffy snowflakes fell all around him, covering the rooftop and the rest of the city in a crystalline blanket of beauty. He reached out to touch a snowflake, and startled as it melted on his fingertip. He reached out for another one, then another, until his stretched his hands far above his head and waved them about, but every single snowflake melted on contact. He smiled broadly and laughed softly, not daring to disturb the winter’s silence with anything louder. His joyful laughs came out in soft plumes like smoke, disappearing as quickly as they came in the cold winter air. He crouched down to gently touch the accumulating snow cover on the ground. It was as soft as it looked, he realized, and it was cold, too. He recoiled his hand instantly, tucking it back into his hoodie pocket as he straightened up to a standing position. A frigid wind blew just then, slicing through his meager hoodie and sweatpants to remind the boy that it was winter, and of course, it was cold. Khaled shivered, then turned back around. He had seen his first snowfall, he had touched snow for the first time, he had confirmed it really was as beautiful and white as it was on TV, but now he would be satisfied with watching his first snowfall from the other side of the sliding glass door.

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