#briars7

[katriniac]

Post 3 characters from the Ikemen Series you'd marry immediately if they asked.

Tag someone whose answers you're dying to see! 😁

(Saw this circulating on IG and FB, but not Tumblr yet, so here we are)

Tagging @rosyangel95 @bestbryn @lyds323 @briars7 @the12thnightproject @scummy-writes

[maracujatangerine]

87. Asking Cory

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

There was something going on. Coriander could feel it. Miss Lydia was talking with other people about the pet. She tried to be discreet, but Cory had noticed the way she suddenly cut off her conversation with Carla when the pet entered the break room at the bookshop, and the worried looks they both gave it. The phone conversations with Indira when she closed her office door. The evaluating way she looked at the pet when she thought Coriander didn’t notice.

Masters had the right to keep secrets. But Cory wished she would just talk to the pet instead.

It couldn’t ask, though. That would reveal that it had been trying to spy into her private business.

It wasn’t until a few days later, when the pale golden light of an early winter morning streamed in through the kitchen windows, that Miss Lydia finally sat down on the floor next to the pet.

The sunlight brought out the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, and picked out highlights in her hair. There was a worried wrinkle between her eyebrows. A sign for the pet to steel itself for whatever was coming.

“Cory, there is something I would like to ask you about.”

The pet nodded. “Y-yes, Miss Lydia.”

“I have been talking with Indira…” She hesitated. “We’ve been discussing your injured shoulder. We’ve been thinking that you have had enough to deal with up until now, but…” She looked up at him with a little smile. “… since you are doing so much better now, it might be time to see if there’s anything we can do.”

Lydia pulled her hand through her hair. “Indira says that you’ll need an x-ray. It’s important to know exactly what we’re dealing with before you can get any treatment.” She sighed. “You know that it usually means going to the WRU…” She held up her hand. “… but I am not willing to take the risk of having them mistreat you. Instead, Indira has found a colleague at the hospital that has promised to help us sneak you in.”

Lydia searched Cory’s face, her own expression serious. “I know that you don’t… feel that good about hospitals. You know that this is not risk-free. If they catch us, I might be forced to let WRU treat you.” She paused. “Since your shoulder is still bothering you, I think it is worth taking the risk. However, it is your choice. What do you think?”

The pet had begun to slowly, unconsciously shake his head. His breathing came faster, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Then, with a deep breath, he forced himself to stillness.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he straightened up. Then, he looked up to meet Lydia’s eyes.

“Miss Lydia, T-this pet is willing to try.”

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[secretwhumplair]

Solstice, p.1

1,494 words | No Warrior (sequel to Solstice, p.0)

Content | Idk what to put. Dealing with past trauma, perceived betrayal?

Notes | Well that went well! Until it didn't.

Excited to get back to this story and give it its long-awaited finish! We're not there yet. But I am full of optimism.

Taglist | @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​​ @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​ @whump-me-all-night-long​​​​ @whumpadump1939​​ @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight​​

@whumpzone​​ @angel-stars @kixngiggles​ @whumpsy-daisies​​ @briars7

@yet-another-heathen​​ @rosesareviolentlyread @cupcakes-and-pain @hollowtreesinhollowwoods​​​​ @much-ado-about-whumping​​

@nine-tailed-whump​​ @whump-em​​​ @itsleighlove​​ @newbornwhumperfly​​​ @tears-and-lilies

@deluxewhump @whump-cravings @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning @neverthelass

@whumpsday @silent-orchid-lady

Runar felt bad for not offering Yves the option to stay at home with him. But it was the solstice festival, and—no matter how callous and selfish it felt in the moment—he couldn’t put every part of his life on hold for him.

It was, therefore, doubly relieving that Yves seemed to be okay. He kept close to Runar’s side as they made their way to the hilltop where wood had been stacked up twice as tall as Runar was, the yet unlit pile silhouetted against the dusky sky, but that might have been due to how narrow the paths through the snow were—more had fallen just this morning.

It was about time for winter to begin its slow retreat, and Yves seemed to welcome it as much as anyone. There was a shadow of a smile on his face, even.

Runar was irrationally proud of how brave he was being. »I’ll go say hi to my family, and then we can check out the food, yes?«

Yves nodded timidly. They hadn’t had lunch yet; after all, the potluck feast would begin as soon as the bonfire was lit once dark had fallen, which would be soon, and last as long as anyone could still eat. Runar had offered Yves to snack with him, of course, knowing how starved he had been when he first found him, and not wanting to stir up dark memories. But Yves, after hearing his explanation, had declined, had wanted to wait for the feast with him. That, too, Runar was proud of for him.

They trudged their way up the hill, and Runar could feel his mood rise along with their path.

It was going to be good.

* The stars were coming out, and Yves felt nervous to the bone.

Nervous enough to trail closely after Runar, no matter how pathetic it felt, no matter how much it stirred the bitter, helpless anger seething inside him all the time now. It ebbed and flowed—his sword practice, as silly as it was, seemed to help, but then there were moments like this, when his anxiety peaked for no real reason and there was nothing he could do, and it felt so deeply unfair. He wasn’t even properly scared—he knew nothing bad would happen to him, and somehow that made it worse. If his nerves could at least save themselves for actual threats—they should have enough experience with them to know the difference.

Still, Runar’s company comforted him, and the joy he and his family shared rubbed off. When Ingunn smiled at him, he found it easy to smile back.

»Yves! Glad you came too, it’s a big day!«

»Yes… I’m glad too.« And it was true. The air was filled with cheer and excited chattering, even among the cloudy wisps spewed forth by every breath. Soon, the warmth would come—first from the fire, and then, eventually, from the sun.

It was an important event.

Watching the crowd made him feel better as they gathered around long tables set up around the fire, some already taking their seats, but most standing and occupied in various tasks, or simply commenting on the stake and the food the tables were laden with, even as families were still carrying up more filled pots and plates.

No one would go hungry tonight, that much was certain.

Even actually spotting Brandr, who stood with two other warriors near the stake and seemed to be engrossed in discussing the quality of the wood or some such thing by the way he gestured aggressively at one log or another, couldn’t fully dispel the warmth of the occasion.

If Brandr confronted him again, this time, Yves would stand his ground. Or so he told himself, even as his heart beat faster at the thought.

He balled a gloved hand. No, he would. He wouldn’t let anyone take this from him, not when Runar’s family was so welcoming. They wanted him to enjoy the night, and he did too.

Dusk crept by slowly, the rising darkness dispelled only by their cheerful voices, but they became quieter and quieter, until darkness and silence were complete.

That was when the eldest lit a torch, its brightness momentarily burning in Yves’ eyes. Everyone watched, rapt, as she approached the wood and with one decisive strike pushed the torch into it.

The center, carefully constructed from dried leaves and twigs, caught fire at once, and cheers erupted from the crowd. Runar joined in, and Yves, too, though his voice was still drowned out.

The flames licked at the larger wood pieces, climbing up and up, until the bonfire reached high into the night sky. The light and the warmth lifted Yves’ heart. Maybe it was all going to be alright. Maybe the darkest days were truly gone now.

Once the cheering was done, the feasting began. After that, it wasn’t long before musicians picked up their instruments, and many voices joined in songs that must be long familiar to the community. Even Yves had heard some of them before by now, though his voice stayed quieter than the rest. Soon people were dancing, and Runar, after checking in with Yves once more, like he always did, like he never abandoned him without notice, jumped into it too.

Yves was undecided, and even that seemed big. He hadn’t danced in—a long time. It seemed fun. He didn’t know the local dances yet, though, and in truth, he felt a little out of place. So he simply sat and watched.

After a while, Signy fell into the now vacated stool opposite Yves, laughing, one of her spouses on each arm. Her wife let go of her and chattered something about getting some of the fish that was being roasted over the other side of the bonfire before she disappeared. Signy noticed Yves sitting opposite her, and gave him a wide grin. Her face was heated, not just from dancing, but her demeanour was, if anything, more jolly than usual. »Yves! How’re you holding up? Having a good time?«

Yves nodded, smiling without effort. He was having a good time. He was having something close to fun, just like he had wanted. He was still a little nervous, yes, but the all-around cheer of the event was rubbing off on him, and he wasn’t feeling unsafe.

»That’s good! That’s good.« Signy’s grin turned into a warmer, deeper smile for a moment, then she focused on her husband again, so intensely Yves looked away, heat creeping into his own face.

Signy’s wife returned to release him from the awkwardness of the moment—or make it worse, who knew—carrying a plate of freshly grilled fish, which she sat down before Signy, in the middle of the three of them.

»Thanks, s͏w̧e҉e͟t̸ḩe̵àr̀t͢« Signy said and kissed her wife’s mouth. When, turning back to the table, she noticed Yves staring at her, she just gave an enthusiastic little wave with her knife before she tucked into the fish.

Yves, though, sat frozen with realization, unable to avert his eyes from her and her—her wife. Her lover.

Her sweetheart.

Each breath caught in his throat. Was that how Runar saw him—what he expected of him?

Since when had he been calling Yves that? He couldn’t be sure, not with the way his mind raced, but it seemed to him it had been since ever. Since the very start?

Was that the reason he had rescued Yves?

Had all his kindness been a ploy to get Yves to-? The thought was terrifying. But why bother? He could easily overpower Yves.

What did he really want? And why hadn’t he been honest about it?

Yves’ head was reeling, and he dug his nails into the stool he was sitting on, desperate to find a grasp on reality.

»Yves?« Runar.

Yves couldn’t answer, or even look at him. He just stared down at the plate in front of him, trying to figure out what this was, even what feeling it was that was rushing through his heart, fear with flashes of fury.

»Are you okay?«

»No.« The word plopped out of his mouth before he could stop himself, and a spike of panic shot through him. He pushed himself up forcefully, still without looking at Runar. »I’m. Going home.«

»Yves… ?« But Runar didn’t move to stop him, and a word was not enough to, not anymore. There was a bitter triumph in it.

As he walked off into the night, he could hear Runar ask Signy and her companions what had happened, heard Signy’s full-mouthed, »No idea.«

It angered him more. How could they be so oblivious?

It was unfair—how would they know?—but everything was unfair, anyway; why should it only be unfair to him? The darkness swallowed him, the light of the bonfire only faint reflections on the snow as he escaped.

Home, he had said, and he almost regretted it.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Riot Kings, page 138

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@appy-polly-loggies , @shydragonrider , @professional-idiocy , @burtlederp , @unicornscotty, @whumpwillow , @transjenderdeanjail , @bliss7575-blog , @grizzlie70 , @whatwhumpcomments , @madrono-but-i-am-not-a-fruit , @whumpzone ,. @maracujatangerine , @whump-em , @crystalquartzwhump , @outofangband @onlywhump , @badluck990 , @kixngiggles , @whumpacabra , @whumpy-catfish , @throwawaywhumper , @dont-touch-my-soup , @uvanuva , @kiichu , @dreamsofwhump , @valiantphantomturtle , @voidviewer-blog , @whumpsday , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @poorlittlekittycat , @finaldreams1106 , @slimesheep , @redwhump , @apokolyps , @wolfeyedwitch , @emmanemanem, @briars7 , @stuffmyfriendssay , @stuck-in-this-mortal-form , @whumpedydump , @fleur-alise , @basica11ywhumped , @hold-back-on-the-comfort , @withdrawingramen , @daddy-cowgirl-boots @sodacreampuff , @shywhumpauthor , @caughtinthera1n , @distinctlywhumpthing , @randomlifeunit ,

[blackrosesandwhump]

Treasure Planet AU, Part 5

Part 4

June of Doom 2024 Day 20: “I can handle it.” | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect

CW: captivity, panic attack, inhuman whumpers, talk of killing him

Your skin and blood. Harvesting. The Hunter’s words echoed in Jim’s head, over and over, tormenting him. The Hunters wanted to kill him. Just like the first alien said.

Panic rose in the boy’s chest, tingling in his arms and legs. If only he hadn’t gotten separated from the first alien. If only he hadn’t slipped and fallen. If only his mask hadn’t been destroyed. If only—if only—

He started to hyperventilate. Fresh pain shot through his lungs as the liquid entered them fast and hard.

I have to get away—have to escape—I don’t want to—I don’t want to die here—

He shut his mouth tight and held his breath, clenching his fists in their restraints. The pain subsided, and gradually, so did his panic. His heart churned in his ears, its rhythm slowing just a little. Enough for the lump of fear in his throat to retreat back to his stomach. Seconds passed. He let his breath out in a burst of bubbles, then inhaled. Still uncomfortable, but not as bad as the first time.

Dang it, I’m a space pirate! I’m not afraid! I can handle it—

“Human is afraid,” observed the Hunter’s voice in his ear.

Jim started, his chains swooshing through the liquid.

Okay, yes, I am, he thought, inwardly still squirming at the idea that the Hunters could read his mind. I don’t want to die.

“And you do not want us to kill you.” Again, that apologetic tone. This Hunter seemed just a little friendlier than the other one. The one that didn’t want to wait to harvest him.

Of course I don’t! I don’t even understand why—

“Our princess is sick,” the Hunter interrupted aloud. “She needs the skin and blood of a human to live. And you, young human, are strong and healthy. We need you to save her.”

As the Hunter’s explanation sank in, Jim grew still, floating motionless in his tank. They need me to save her. I could save a princess’s life. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought, in itself. Heroes were always saving princesses in the stories his mother used to read to him.

But to save her, he would have to die.

His mind racing, Jim stared at the empty tanks lining the opposite wall. There must have been others, other humans that the Hunters had captured and tried to harvest. Other humans that had died here.

The thought made him feel sick. He swallowed hard.

Maybe, just maybe—the idea felt like a monstrous kind of hope—there was a way the Hunters could harvest him and not kill him. Just maybe. And of course he would never tell his mother. If he ever got home.

And then everything changed. Before he could think his idea toward the Hunter on the other side of the glass, a commotion erupted into the chamber. The other Hunter, surrounded by several similar aliens, all wearing the same armor and weapons. Fear rose in Jim’s throat again, fresh and terrible. He could sense it even in the tank: something was wrong.

“The princess!” growled the Hunter, charging forward. “She is dying!”

The one who’d been conversing with Jim stepped abruptly in front of the tank. The boy couldn’t see its face now, but its tone sounded grim and resigned. “Not yet. He cannot survive outside—”

The other Hunter drew its weapon, a wicked-looking, otherworldly short sword. As the alien brandished it, Jim saw its blade was discolored with dark stains.

“Now. The princess will die. We harvest the boy now, before it is too late.”

Without a word, without a glance at Jim, its comrade stepped aside, exposing the tank. The other Hunter rushed forward.

Terror. Jim had never felt such terror before in his life.

@forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @painful-pooch @kawhump

@briars7 @theelvishcowgirl

[the12thnightproject]

Survey Results!

Main banner for A Mitsunari Night's Dream:

Special "Gacha" (Mitsunari POV) Chapter Banner (there will be five of these):

Sneak peek below the cut line:

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

Diversion: The act of drawing the attention and forces of an enemy from the point of the principal operation; an attack, alarm, or feint that directs attention elsewhere. Two: a change made in a prescribed route for operational or tactical reasons. A diversion order will not constitute a change of destination. Three: a rerouting of cargo or passengers to a new point or destination or on a different mode of transportation prior to arrival at ultimate destination.

Personal comments: I have the worrisome notion that there is something important I have forgotten. Also, it seems I have misplaced my cat. Am more concerned about the latter, as if it is the former, someone will inevitably remind me.

-----

If I were writing up a society puff piece for a newspaper about my “engagement” party, I would likely write that the food, prepared by Date Masamune, was excellent. The article would note that the entertainment, in the form of Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide’s bickering was… a choice. The bride-to-be wore a pale lavender kimono embroidered with sakura blossoms, with matching sakura blossoms pinned to her hair. And the groom-to-be was… a no show.

I’d been left at the altar by my fake fiancé.

While Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide went out in search of him, Masamune stayed behind to encourage me to eat my feelings. “Here, what do you think of this?” He poked a chopstick full of steamed eel toward my mouth.

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

First chapter, April 11

Confirming the tag list:

@lorei-writes @katriniac @bestbryn @briars7 @lyds323

(If anyone else wants added, let me know).

[ikeromantic]

The Old Switcheroo, pt 2

Arthur and MC (Haruko) are cursed and end up in each other's bodies. Part 2 of 3. Approx words. 3400. Yes, it is long - I had too much fun with the concept. TW for sexual harassment, gender dysphoric descriptions. Tagging @tele86 and @briars7 @greinny123 requested

The Old Switcheroo Part 1

Haruko was not having a good time. The stack of crumpled paper in the wastebin grew while her remaining confidence dwindled. It turned out that writing was a bit like work. All she’d accomplished was polishing off a small pile of fudge and two cups of coffee. The blank page in the typewriter still mocked her. 

“You coming or am I on my own today?” 

Theo’s voice startled her out of her funk. Haruko jumped off Arthur’s stool and nearly fell. Damn long legs, she thought. Easy to trip over. 

Theo chuckled. “On edge?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I was just . . . writing something scary.” Arthur’s voice sounded less certain than usual, but Theo didn’t seem to notice the change. 

“Should I leave you to it then?”

Haruko cleared her throat. “Nah. I’m tapped out for today. Let’s go.” She grabbed Arthur’s coat and scarf and followed Theo out. It was only when the carriage door shut that she realized she had no idea what Arthur and Theo talked about on these little outings. Women? Art? Politics?

“You missed a good breakfast this morning. Sebas outdid himself on those pancakes. Even Napoleon had seconds.” Theo grinned. “Hondje was a little off though. Kept calling everyone ‘old chap’ and ‘luv’. I think you’re teaching her bad habits.”

“Uh, no he’s - I mean, I’m not! She’s probably just having a bit of fun with you.”

“Maybe.” Theo allowed. “She looked tired though. And clumsier than normal.”

“I am not - she is not clumsy.” Haruko tried not to be too indignant. Would Arthur be? She wasn’t sure. He did like to tease her, but always kindly. 

Theo chuckled. “Defending your little bird? Well, you’re right. Hondje is usually more careful. I expect you’re to blame.” His blue eyes were inquisitive and challenging, as if he expected some sort of specific answer out of Arthur.

Haruko thought for a moment on what she would expect Arthur to say and then forced a laugh. “Uh, I might have kept the skirt up too late with my, um, with my . . .” Her face heated as she tried to find a way to finish that sentence. One she could convince herself to say aloud.

“You look sick. Are you sure you want to go out?”

“I’m fine. Just . . . tired. From the. You know.” Arthur’s hands flailed in the air as Haruko tried to make a gesture that implied something sexual.

“Right.” Theo raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, I’m meeting some artists at the tavern. There’s one I think you’ll want to meet. If you aren’t too tired.”

Haruko’s heart froze for a moment. Was Theo trying to hook her man up with other ladies? Is this what they did when they went out alone? A flash of anger boiled away her embarrassment. “I’m never too tired,” she replied, baring her teeth in a smile.

The tavern was bustling as usual, and the two of them had to elbow their way through a crowd. Haruko was surprised how easy it was to get through in Arthur’s body. He was so strong, and when he gave people a hard look, they moved! As herself, she just had to squeeze past or ask nicely and hope they were polite. 

“Why are you smiling,” Theo asked as they took their usual seats at the bar. 

“Hm? No reason. Excited to meet your artist friend, I guess.”

The Dutchman shook his head. “You are one weird klootzak sometimes.” He signaled the bartended for drinks. “They aren’t here yet, but it looks like your fanclub is.”

“My . . . fanclub?” Haruko followed Theo’s gaze, landing at a large round table. Women sat around it. Working girls, to be more specific. Dressed in faded finery, last year’s fashion with tattered edges, smiles painted on their faces and false laughter on their lips. 

That Arthur would cheat on her with these girls . . . paying . . . what did they have that she lacked? Was it just that they knew all of the - the bedroom stuff? 

The ladies noticed her looking and one got up and sauntered over. She had an amazing figure. Statuesque, with large breasts and round hips, and very long legs. She walked like a dancer. 

Haruko waited to see if she would feel the same stirring and hunger she’d felt in Arthur’s body that morning but . . . there was nothing. Not even a hint. Not even when the woman leaned forward to kiss her cheeks in greeting. 

“Arthur! You scabby dog! I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Off your leash again?”

“My . . . leash?”

She laughed. “The one your lady keeps you on.” The woman rolled her eyes. “Don’t play coy. You use it as an excuse every time you scoot out on us.”

“Right. Ah. My leash.” She felt her anger bubble up again. 

The woman shrugged. “I won’t tease. She sounds like a nice enough girl and she puts up with you for free.” She leaned against the bar and picked up Arthur’s whiskey, downing it in one swallow before he had a chance to drink it. 

Haruko tried to smile flirtatiously like Arthur would. “So, are we going to . . . do what we normally do? Me and you? Luv?” 

“What we usually do? Oh Arthur, you are so funny sometimes.” She patted his cheek. “I just wanted to come over and say thanks again for the walk home the other night. Me and the girls really appreciated it. I can’t think what might have happened if you weren’t there.”

“Oh? So I went home with all of you?” Haruko’s brows rose. 

She laughed again. “You do gallant deeds so often you can’t keep them straight? Well, if you don’t remember, I don’t need to be grateful, right?” She poked his chest lightly.

Haruko coughed. “I was a little . . . drunk?”

“Well, you were that. But you walked just fine. And whatever you said to those two brutes beforehand, they haven’t bothered us since. So even if you don’t remember, it’s appreciated.”

The woman gave Haruko what looked like a genuine smile. “I wish there were more gents like you. If ever your lady friend tires of you, I hope you remember the girls and I will be happy to let you cash in all your favors at once. You’ve racked up quite a few and you’ve yet to let us repay you in any way.”

“I haven’t?” Haruko blinked in surprise. She’d imagined Arthur would take whatever was on offer. And these ladies had clearly offered. 

She grinned. “Now you’re having me on. Of course not. You even turned down Serafine, and she’s my prettiest girl. You really don’t remember that?” Her eyes narrowed.

Theo rescued Haruko from the exchange. “Arthur’s not feeling himself tonight, Genevieve. He had a real long, tiring day. Writing.”

The woman’s brows rose. “Oh! Well, I suppose writers are allowed a bit of eccentricity. Anywho, we’ll talk later. I must see to my girls.” She blew them a kiss and walked away.

“What is wrong with you?” Theo grabbed Arthur’s shoulder and forced him to meet his gaze.

“N-nothing?”

Theo didn’t blink or shift or let Arthur’s shoulder loose.

Haruko took a deep breath. “Le Comte said we shouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Since when do you listen to him? You never had a problem breaking his rules.” 

“It’s . . . this is different. You have to trust me.” It was funny, saying those words with Arthur’s mouth, when she had such a hard time trusting him too.

Theo scowled. “Fine. I trust you. But you’d better have an explanation for me later.” He let go. “And don’t embarrass me in front of my clients.”

Harujo nodded. She wasn’t sure what she should or shouldn’t do, but she would try her best. Being Arthur at a tavern was harder than she’d expected. 

The Dutchman’s guests arrived soon after, a jostling and noisy bunch of men. She felt a certain relief that none of them were women. Theo wasn’t such a bastard after all. A mean tease, but not a bastard. 

A round of loud, enthusiastic greetings between Theo and the newly arrived group took up several minutes. Haruko downed a bit of liquid courage as she watched them exchange kisses and back-slapping, joking insults and genuine sentiment. Then she was pulled into the mix. Subjected to the same, with Theo introducing her as ‘the smart-ass writer’. She did her best to flash them Arthur’s winning smile and friendly greeting. 

The last one in the group was another Dutchman by the name of Willem. His grip was firm and his smile was almost maniacal as he said, “So you’re the guy that beat Theo at chess. It’s about time I got to meet you. That kloothommel has been trouncing me at every game since we were kids!” 

“Oh! Yes. I uh - I love chess! I love beating Theo at it.” Haruko tried to think of what Arthur might say, and then added, ‘old chap’ even though Willem was not old.

Willem laughed. “Glad someone’s there to show him his place. I don’t suppose you’d teach me your technique?” 

“A - a master never reveals their secrets.” Haruko barely knew how to play chess. There was no way she was giving tips to this guy. She’d need at least another glass or two of whiskey to try that. Maybe more. It didn’t seem to hit Arthur the way it hit her when she drank.

“Ah, come on! At least let us watch you play him! Maybe I can pick something up.” Willem looked to the others. “Don’t you want to see a game between these two?”

Theo frowned. “What are you on about? We didn’t come out here to play chess.”

Haruko nodded, but her agreement was lost in the enthusiasm of the other artists.

“I’d like to see it,” one said. “Yeah, it’d be fun to bet on,” said another.

The barkeep pulled out an old, well-used chessboard to several cheers. 

“Oh. I really - I don’t think - that is -” Haruko started to panic as several other tavern guests came to watch, including the evening ladies. This was not good. She absolutely could not do this. 

Theo, on the other hand, had a vicious smile. He knew something was different with his friend and he was very much looking forward to trouncing him at chess on an off day. With an audience. 

Haruko took a breath. There had to be a way out of this. Maybe she could pass out? Start a fight? Guys did that, right? Or just run . . . she glanced toward the door. “Er? What about . . .” She paused, an idea blossoming in her panic-saturated brain. “Why watch me play him all by myself when we could take him on together?”

“What?” Willem blinked at her.

“I mean, why don’t we play as teams. Team Theo versus Team Arthur. We can collaborate on our - our moves.” Haruko tried to plead with her eyes. She had no idea what Arthur’s face looked like making that expression, but if it was the one he made at her when he wanted another nip of fudge or just a few more minutes in bed, then it had to work.

Several of the gathered audience members didn’t wait for an official agreement. They started calling out their sides, grouping behind Theo or Arthur. Willem grinned. “Guess I’m Team Arthur tonight.” He slung a friendly arm across Arthur’s shoulders. “Let’s make Theo cry.”

***

Arthur felt like every part of him was tired. He barely had a moment to himself, running from task to task, always with Sebas on his tail. His feet were sore, his back hurt, his hands were dry and chapped. After a day of doing Haruko’s work, he was beginning to think she really was magic. How did she do all of this and keep smiling?!

His final task of the day was to run into town and pick up their groceries. He had a list, written in Sebastian’s tight, neat script, access to the carriage, and the money to cover the expense. Easy enough. And a bit of a break from Sebas. He rubbed his forehead in memory of the day’s many thumps.

The carriage let him off at the corner of the market street. There were some gentleman waiting for a hansome cab, wearing proper hats and fine vests. Arthur gave them a nod as he hopped off the carriage stair.

One of the men gave a low whistle and waggled his brows. The other laughed, and said loudly, “Why lady, what a lovely bounce to your chest! I hope you take every stair just like that!”

Arthur grimaced. “Keep your eyes to yourself, scrub!” 

The man took a step forward. “What did you call me, hussy?”

Arthur balled up his fist only to remember how small and delicate it was. Rather than reply, he snorted and began to walk away. But the now-angry-man followed. 

“Apologize to me you little chit. How dare you speak to me like that, when I tendered you a compliment.” 

An unfamiliar fear took root in Arthur’s gut. One born of the realization he was fragile - Haruko was fragile. He’d never been afraid to walk alone, to speak his mind, to answer insult to insult. But as Haruko, everything had a different feel. A danger to it that he had not expected.

“I’m going to make you sorry.” The man shouted after him.

“Let her go Freddy! You’re scaring the daylights out of her,” the whistling friend intervened. “Let’s just get our cab and go.”

The angry man frowned. “Fine,” he muttered, and shouted at Haruko’s retreating back once more. “Don’t forget the lesson, slattern.” They walked off, already laughing as if nothing had happened.

When Arthur was well away from them, he leaned back against the building, breathing hard. “I am never letting Haruko out on her own again,” he said quietly. Once he had himself back under control, he made his way into the market.

Catcalls followed his trek from one shop to another as he picked up meat and cheese, pasta and vegetables. He didn’t respond to them. Not again. 

The last shop on his list was a little bakery. He went in, his head down, his heart heavy. Why had Haruko never told him it was like this for her? He knew men liked to call out - he’d even been guilty of such a time or two. Never again though. Not after feeling what it was like to be on the receiving end.

The smell of warm, fresh bread soothed his jangled nerves. He looked up to see a young man smiling brightly at him. 

“Haru! I was hoping you’d stop in today!” 

“Oh?” Arthur’s malaise at the treatment of women faded in the face of his curiosity. Who was this gent who knew his lady by a nickname. “Were you looking forward to seeing me?”

“I was.” His smile widened. “I experimented with my creme recipe. I want you to try it out. If you hadn’t come, I would have to eat the batch myself! Or worse . . . admit it to Monsier Park!”

Park was the owner of the bakery, Arthur reasoned. The shop was called Park’s Pain. “I see. Well then, let’s have it, luv.”

The boy blushed brightly, his scattering of freckles standing out. “Love? Wh-why would say that, Haru? Just call me Jack, ok?”

It was quite clear to Arthur that this shopkeep had a little crush on his Haruko. But he bet she didn’t realize. It would be cute, except that she was his girl. A little spike of wicked jealousy speared his gut. “Sure thing, Jack. So. Where is this new invention?”

Jack led Arthur to the back of the shop. It smelled of spices and yeast and butter. There was a small table with a little ashtray. Two rickety chairs were propped against it. Arthur sat down in one.

The baker brought out little chocolate rolls. The creme inside them was a little green, rather than the usual white or buttery off-white. Jack set them down on the table with a flourish and then sat in the other chair.

Arthur picked up one of the rolls and sniffed it. He wanted to make some witty insulting comment, but the thing honestly smelled delicious. He took a tentative bite and was surprised by the minty spiciness of the creme. “What - what is in this, old chap?”

Jack laughed. “I can tell by you face that you like it. That's good. I packed you a little box of them to take home.” He picked up one of the ones on the plate and popped it into his own mouth, chewing slowly. After he swallowed, he answered. “I put some ground mint and a touch of coriander into the creme. I don’t like the color but the taste is a perfect match to the rich cocoa, don’t you think?”

“It is.” Arthur sighed. He hated it. It was too good.  

“Here, let me get you some coffee to wash it down.” Jack stood up.

“I could use a smoke too, if you don’t mind.” 

“You smoke, Haru?” Jack’s brows rose. 

Arthur gave a wicked grin. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought, hm?” 

Jack scratched his chin. I guess not. I don’t mind though.” He fished out a hand-rolled cigarette and handed her a match, then went to pour the coffee.

Arthur lit the cig and stuck it between his lips for a drag. He didn’t smoke all the time, but after the tension of his market walk, this one was well-earned. Except . . . when he took a mouthful of smoke, he began to cough and choke. His throat burned and his eyes watered. 

“Ah, Haru? You ok?” Jack set down the coffee.

“Y-yeah,” Arthur squeaked. “Not my usual brand.” He tried to laugh and coughed some more. 

Jack grinned. “Sure. Anyway, I added cream and sugar to your coffee but let me know if you want it more sweet.”

Cream. And sugar. In his beloved black coffee. Travesty! Arthur gazed into it’s milky depths and then drank it down anyway. He needed to soothe his burning throat. 

While Arthur sipped the abomination of sweetened coffee, Jack rattled on about his day. The weird customers he had, his boss, and so on. Arthur didn’t say much, which seemed to surprise the baker. 

“You sure are quiet today. Something up? Did your boyfriend cheat on you again?” Jack leaned forward, keen on the answer.

“I never - I mean, he doesn’t do that! He would never cheat on me!” Arthur was aghast. Did she really think that?

Jack shrugged. “Well you said last week that he didn’t come home until sun-up. And I can’t imagine what else a man would be up to when he stays out all night.” He reached across to pat her hand. “I’m here, if you need to talk, you know?”

Arthur jerked Haruko’s hand back. “She - that is I - don’t need to talk to you about our relationship! Arthur would never cheat on me. I trust him.”

“I know you do. I just - I worry about you. You should be happy. With a guy that treasures you enough to come home on time and shower you with love.” Jack smiled. “And maybe some tasty baked treats.”

Arthur wanted to snap back, but Jack’s words hit a nerve. Haruko did deserve a man that came home to her instead of making her worry. One that showed her how much he adored her. “You aren’t wrong, old chap. You aren’t wrong.” He stood up. “I need to get back.”

Jack sighed. “Alright. Let me pack up your order and the creme rolls I made you.” 

The whole ride back to the mansion, Arthur lost himself in thought. He never considered there might be someone else vying for Haruko’s affection so sincerely. Nor had he known what it was like to be a girl alone. He felt like he’d got so much wrong. And he wasn’t sure where to go right with it. All he knew was that he loved Haruko more than anything and he had to let that love guide him.

Next: The Sweet Ending

[a-crumb-of-whump]

The Pet Shelter #3

[Part one] [Part two]

Content: Pet whump, electrocution, dehumanisation, whumper-turned-whumpee, multiple whumpers, collars, choking, suffocation.

Whumper couldn’t have been more shy as the worker they’d been with for the past few hours led them into the break room.

“Look! I taught it a new trick,” the worker holding onto his leash grinned. She was so proud, and the last thing Whumper wanted to do was embarrass her. So they kept still and watched uncomfortably as every worker in the break room turned to look at them. “We’ve been practicing all day. Are you ready, pet?”

After some hesitation, Whumper used the only form of communication they knew was okay to use and barked, earning laughs from the entire room. They still couldn’t seem to believe that one of their pets barked willingly. From what Whumper could tell, it was very uncommon.

Then their eyes trailed off to the small taser in the worker’s front pocket – the one she had her hand on, waiting for the moment to use it if Whumper happened to make a wrong move. Just looking at it was enough to irritate the spots that had been tased before, but as much as they may have wanted to, they didn’t dare move away from it. That was bound to make things worse. Instead, they looked up at their companion for the day and waited like the stupidly obedient thing they were until finally, they heard the command.

“Play dead!”

It was like a reflex at this point. The second they heard it, Whumper thew themself onto their side and sucked in a deep breath; preparing to hold it until they were given permission to sit up again. Just like every time they’d done the act that day, it didn’t take long for the aching in their lungs to return. They listened out for the sound of the worker telling them they’d done a good job, or for the other workers to praise them for their efforts, but it never came. Soon, they began to grow desperate, but when they peeked an eye open to look at what was going on, they were met with an icy stare that immediately told them to shut it again.

The moment they were forced to release the breath of air they were holding, they heard a chorus of taunting laughter from the humans surrounding them. Teary eyes glanced over at their human, watching as they angrily reached for their taser, and they whined; weak limbs trying to push themself backwards as much as possible.

They cried as soon as they felt someone stepping on the leash attached to their collar; the pressure immediately yanking their neck firm to the ground.

“I guess we still have some work to do, huh? Mutt.”

They knew it was no use. Instead of trying, they simply hunkered down into themself to avoid giving them access to the vulnerable parts of their body and braced themself for the first of many shocks.

They thought of all their victims as it happened. One by one, images of everyone they'd abused became prominant in their mind's eye; only causing more tears. They were so sorry. Oh, what they'd give to take it all back. Every kick, every shock, every dehumanising name they'd ever used - they'd take it all back in a heartbeat, if they could.

But they couldn't.

-

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[distinctlywhumpthing]

How old is Leo, and how old does Leo think Aiden is? - whumpinthepot

Previous ask about Aiden's age — Masterlist

CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language. Whump of a minor mentioned.

Leo took a steadying breath. “Delia?”

“Yeah?” She didn’t even look up from suturing, so focused she’d thankfully missed the half-dozen times he’d opened his mouth and closed again, not quite ready to pull this thread.

“I—uh…”

That did it. Her hands stopped moving and she glanced up, eyes tracing his face. 

“Actually, maybe I don’t even want to know…”

“Leo, out with it.”

“Look, it’s just—Please, tell me he’s older than he looks.” He resisted the urge to glance at Aiden, convinced he’d find those dark eyes watching him, maybe even looking betrayed by this line of questioning. 

Delia did look because of course Aiden was still peacefully sedated. A state that was necessary but felt like another break of Aiden’s trust. “Well, he’s not exactly our peer…”

“Fuck, Deels. He looks about half my age though, not a day over sixteen. Tell me I’m wrong?”  

Delia sighed. “I trust you didn’t get far asking yourself?” 

He shook his head. 

“They’re trained not to answer truthfully, even if they enter the system at a legal age. So, even if he wanted to tell you…”

His stomach felt heavy. 

“Look, if we get an MRI later, we can make a fairly educated guess. Short of that, we can see what molars he has but that’s only reliable if he hasn’t had orthodontic work to remove any, and still has a margin for error of a couple of years if they came in early or late…”

Leo kneaded his brow with his fingertips. 

“What will it mean to know how old he is? Would it change anything?”

He sighed, dragging his hand down his face. The events of the day and night were really starting to hit him. “I don’t know…I guess I had hoped he wasn’t subjected to all of…that when he was so young. He just looks so young, Delia, like he never got a chance at anything.” 

“Would it be any less sad if he was your age or mine? If they had waited until he was eighteen like they’re supposed to? Because in that case, chances are he was in for a decade at least.” 

He swallowed. “See? Now this is why I thought maybe I was better off not knowing. It’s lose-lose either way.”

“That’s the System, Leo.” She picked up her instruments and resumed mending what could be fixed while Leo let himself be swallowed by thoughts of the damage he couldn’t even begin to touch.

— Masterlist —

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7  @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch@skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings @peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump @aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @the-magpiesystem @pigeonwhumps

[scummy-writes]

@briars7 thank you,,,, thats very sweet of you to say 😭

I did play TOT for a hot moment! Marius ended up being my fave, so my friend who still plays will send me new cards he's in, hehe.

If I get back into it, maybe it will be something I would consider! It would likely just be smut or fluff though...

[maracujatangerine]

83. On the phone 6

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

”I’ve managed to arrange it. It wasn’t easy, but I have finally found a friend who is willing to help us.”

“Really? Oh my god, Indira, you are amazing!”

“I aim to please.” Lydia could hear the smile in the doctor’s voice. “But we will have to be careful. Have you talked with him about it yet?”

“Not yet, I didn’t want to worry him, or give him any false hopes.”

“You are worried about how he will react.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I am.” Lydia admitted. “But he deserves the chance. I will ask him soon.”

”That’s good. This has been going on for far too long.”

“I know.” Lydia sighed. “But WRU seemed to be the only option, and I would never put Coriander through that.”

“Agreed.” Indira paused, listening to some indistinct loudspeaker announcement in the background. “I got to go. Keep me posted.”

“I will. Thank you again. You are the best!”

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards-blog @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[secretwhumplair]

Solstice, p.2

1,351 words | No Warrior (sequel to Solstice, p.1)

Content | Mention of past noncon, aftermath of trauma

Notes | Runar and Yves have a talk.

Not sure whether this isn't moving a liiittle too quick but I leave it for now.

Taglist | @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​​ @whump-me-all-night-long​​​​ @whumpadump1939​​ @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@whumpzone​​ @angel-stars @kixngiggles​ @whumpsy-daisies​​ @briars7

@yet-another-heathen​​ @rosesareviolentlyread @cupcakes-and-pain @hollowtreesinhollowwoods​​​​ @much-ado-about-whumping

@nine-tailed-whump​​ @whump-em​​​ @itsleighlove @newbornwhumperfly @tears-and-lilies

@deluxewhump @whump-cravings @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning @neverthelass

@whumpsday @silent-orchid-lady @everynameistakencarrots

Yves didn’t bother lighting a fire when he arrived at the healer’s hut. He crawled into bed to curl up and try to calm his racing thoughts.

When he heard steps outside, he briefly remembered why he had been worried about staying here alone during the festival, but he was too upset to even be frightened. Let Brandr come if that’s what he wanted. Turned out he was right to be jealous.

But the man who quietly opened the door and asked, »Yves?« into the dark was Runar. Of course.

Yves didn’t reply.

»Yves, sweetheart, will you talk to me?« Yves heard him crouch down at the hearth, and moments later, firelight flooded through the cabin.

He sat up. Yes, he wanted to talk. He wanted answers. »Why do you call me that?«

»What? Sweetheart?« Runar got up, turned around and smiled at him, smiled at him. But when he saw Yves’ face, the smile dropped. »I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.«

»I didn’t know what it meant.« The words bubbled from his lips, carried up from the seething fury. He couldn’t stop himself. »Do you want me?«

Runar’s face went through several shades of concern. He opened his mouth once, then closed it again, before he choked out, »I-«

»Is that. Is that what you saved me for?« Tears pushed at Yves’ eyes, and he didn’t manage to swallow them down.

»It’s not—no, Yves, it’s not like that. It’s never been like that.« Runar moved to sit beside him, leaving a careful space between them. »I called you sweetheart because you’re dear to me, that’s all.« He didn’t look at Yves, and Yves knew there was a lie somewhere.

»It was,« Runar finally continued, quieter. »It wasn’t—I didn’t save you for—for some kind of selfish purpose. But…«

But. There it was. The whole truth.

Runar still didn’t look at him. »It changed.« He took a deep breath. »I’ve fallen in love with you.«

»… what?«

»I’ve fallen in love with you.« Runar’s face looked so gentle when he finally looked down on him.

Yet Yves only felt a storm inside him. In love. This was just like You’ve got the heart for being a warrior all over again—except worse.

»Don’t mock me!«

He didn’t know what to do. He rolled over, curling in on himself tightly like he hadn’t in weeks and weeks.

* Runar barely slept.

He couldn’t stop himself from staring at Yves’ little, curled-up form on the other side of the bed as the fire burned down and darkness engulfed them. Tonight should have been a celebration, a new beginning—how did it go this wrong?

Why did Yves have to be like this about a normal fucking endearment?

And why didn’t he, Runar, lie and say there was nothing else, even now? It was crystal clear Yves wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t sure which between the two of them he was more upset with.

When a few hours had passed with nothing more than a few uneasy naps, he got back up, restoked the fireplace, and went to prepare breakfast. It must be close to their usual time. He had expected to stay up longer, to celebrate and be merry until late into the night, and sleep in today.

But it wasn’t to be.

When he started working in the kitchen, Yves appeared by his side; apparently he hadn’t been sleeping either. They avoided each other’s eyes as they prepared the meal, like they had done a thousand times.

It hadn’t been so tense and quiet in weeks. Probably months.

Runar felt an urge to apologize. But what for? He had had no way of knowing using such a sweet little word made Yves uncomfortable, and he had already offered to stop the moment he learned about it. And Yves—he didn’t want to call it an overreaction, not when Yves was struggling with the aftermath of everything he had been through… but yet, apologizing didn’t seem so simple.

Yves surprised him by breaking the silence first.

»I’m sorry I’ve been so harsh, earlier.« He still didn’t look at Runar; but Runar felt a pinch of relief that Yves agreed he had been, somewhat, in the wrong. He had been patient with Yves’ outbursts, of course he had been, but he had no interest in becoming his punching bag.

Maybe he should have been a little more concerned about whether it came from fear or some other twisted feeling, or from genuine remorse, but Yves had been doing well.

But then, more quietly, Yves added, »You can have me. If you want.«

»What?« Runar actually recoiled. »No, it’s—not like that. I don’t want—I’ll never want it like this, do you understand?« Yves’ words from the night before struck him again. Don’t mock me. Not for a moment had he even entertained the notion Runar’s love might be genuine. He thought this was about sex, and though it angered Runar, he had to face the fact that it must frighten Yves much more.

He looked Yves firmly in the eye. He already had told the truth when he should have lied, the least he could do was make himself clear. »I would lie if I said I do not want you, but you feeling comfortable and safe is a thousand times more important. I would never want you to—to just lie down and, and take it. I know you can…« His mind went back to the way Yves had looked at him the night he ran away, when he had been vulnerable and bare and it became more obvious than ever his captors’ cruelty had known no bounds. He cleared his throat. »But you don’t ever have to. I wouldn’t want you to, ever.«

Yves watched him impassively as he gave his little speech, then he turned away without speaking, leaning on the table and looking down on his hands. Runar couldn’t even read his face. It wasn’t the naked fear he had seen there so often; Yves was grappling with something, and Runar could only wait for the result.

Finally, he said, »Why did you say that, then? I know you’re not in love with me.«

»How do you figure that?!« Runar’s anger was overridden by an ache he couldn’t quite pinpoint. For the man before him, yes, who simply could not believe himself to be the object of such affection. But also for himself, more than a little.

Yves was still looking down, his voice filled with the bitterness that had become such a constant companion. »I’m just a tiny, weak, worthless stranger.«

»Yves, no.« The ache in Runar’s chest was enough to make his heart bleed. Was that really how Yves saw himself? How he thought Runar saw him? After all this time? »You’re not a stranger anymore, you have become one of us, because you chose so. And you’re not weak—you’re one of the strongest people I know, how could you have survived everything you have if you weren’t? I saw you pull yourself through, over and over. It’s not fair you had to be so strong, but you are. And Yves, they lied to you.«

Yves hadn’t moved from the spot, but his body was turning towards him. Tears had begun to fall, again. Runar resisted the urge to pull him into his arms, not now, but he couldn’t seem to help drifting closer.

»You’re not worthless. You’re incredibly precious.«

Finally, Yves wrapped his arms around him, and Runar returned the hug with a rush of physical relief as if he’d been holding his breath. Yves trembled, just a little.

»You are tiny,« Runar conceded, quietly, and his heart leapt when the words drew a wet chuckle from the man in his arms, still tinged with bitterness, but perhaps more out of habit than anything.

He hadn’t allowed himself to dream, and he didn’t now. But maybe they could find some sort of comfort in one another. He swallowed down tears of his own, and held Yves for as long as he would allow him.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Riot Kings, page 137

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[maracujatangerine]

77. Safety

CW: institutionalised slavery, dehumanisation, box boy universe, pet whump

White planes sped up on the tarmac outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, faster and faster until they rose up into the cerulean sky.

Brutus ignored them. If one of the pilots would lose control his Master might die, but that was a threat that was beyond his control. Focus on the threat that you can affect.

Instead, he let his dark eyes sweep over the crowd inside the airport. Walking half a step behind his Master’s left shoulder, Brutus saw passers-by swerve to avoid crossing their path, idle glances snagging on his collar in curiosity or apprehension.

This was normal, the way that young, bespectacled father pulled his small daughter aside, the way the two elderly ladies in hijabs took a few steps back, the wave of attention rippling through the crowd as they passed. This was, in a way, what his Master had paid the WRU for.

What Brutus was looking for was something out of the ordinary, someone moving with unexpected purpose, someone running or throwing or standing still in just the wrong way. The state of hypervigilance felt almost like meditation, a singular focus that absorbed all thought.

This time, it was not needed. No threat appeared. After an uneventful taxi ride through bustling streets they arrived at a double suite on the fifteenth floor. After taking a quick shower, the pet’s Master told the guard dog to stay.

“I won’t be needing you tonight.” Wayland Jones said, as he walked out the door.

Brutus did his exercise routine, sit-ups and push-ups and stretches. He also had a shower, in the second, smaller bathroom.

With his still damp hair curling around his face, Brutus sat down at the ebony desk and disassembled and cleaned his handgun with smooth, well-practiced precision.

A guard dog should be like a gun, his handler’s voice echoed in his mind, collected, calm, unmoving as long as the safety is on, but capable of tremendous violence if your owner releases the catch.

Reassembling the weapon, Brutus laid it to the side. He did feel twinges of concern at his Master being out and about alone, but Wayland Jones had ordered him to stay. Master knows best. Brutus tried to reassure himself.

The guard dog straightened out the room and drank some water in the bathroom to make his rumbling stomach quiet down. Then, finally, he turned off the lights and sat down in front of the large windows.

The night in the foreign city was filled with neon coloured signs for shops, restaurants and nightclubs. Dark shapes of trees swayed in the breeze. Windows in the buildings around left binary messages of alternating warm yellow or deep dark rectangles. Cars, motorbikes and buses crawled back and forth with their red and white lamps painting streaks of light.

Work was over. There was nothing more to be done. Brutus sat in the quiet, cool and dark hotel room and enjoyed the view.

*

This post is a part of the 2023 BBU Community Days organised by @bbu-on-the-side. This is my entry for day 13: Safety.

*

Tag List Part 1: @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-em @whumpzone @wh-wh-whu @neuro-whump @carnagecardinal @cowboy-anon @whump-me-all-night-long @redwingedwhump @myst-in-the-mirror @haro-whumps @eatyourdamnpears @bloodsweatandpotato @pinkraindropsfell @whumptywhumpdump @theydy-cringeworthy @whump-in-progress @whumpsy-daisy @nicolepascaline @whumpcreations @briars7 @shiningstarofwinter @whumppsychology @alex-ember @miss-kitty-whumptastic @whumpy-writings @in-patient-princess @youtube-fandoms-bands @goblinchildindabog @mazeish @distinctlywhumpthing @inpainandsuffering @canniboylism @icannotweave @incoherent-introspection @kim-poce @broken-typewriter @the-monarch-whumperfly @whumpers-inc @grizzlie70 @lil-whumper @writingbackwards @sunflower1000 @wingedwhump @thecitythatdoesntsleep @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @onlybadendings @rabass @wolfeyedwitch @melancholy-in-the-morning

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Riot Kings, page 139

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wanna know how Wes got these scars?

Tag List:

@appy-polly-loggies , @shydragonrider , @professional-idiocy , @burtlederp , @unicornscotty, @whumpwillow @transjenderdeanjail @bliss7575-blog @grizzlie70 @whatwhumpcomments @madrono-but-i-am-not-a-fruit @whumpzone @maracujatangerine @whump-em @crystalquartzwhump @outofangband @onlywhump @badluck990 @kixngiggles @whumpacabra @whumpy-catfish @throwawaywhumper @dont-touch-my-soup @uvanuva @kiichu @dreamsofwhump @valiantphantomturtle , @voidviewer-blog @whumpsday @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @poorlittlekittycat @finaldreams1106 @slimesheep , @redwhump @apokolyps @wolfeyedwitch @emmanemanem @briars7 @stuffmyfriendssay @stuck-in-this-mortal-form @whumpedydump @fleur-alise @basica11ywhumped @hold-back-on-the-comfort @withdrawingramen @daddy-cowgirl-boots @sodacreampuff @shywhumpauthor @caughtinthera1n @distinctlywhumpthing @randomlifeunit @demondamage @dontworrycomics @andithewhumper @endtagz

[blackrosesandwhump]

Treasure Planet AU, Part 4

Part 3

Whumpuary No. 12: "You're awake"

CW: false drowning, captivity, inhuman whumpers

Jim’s consciousness returned slowly, and with it, a horrific sensation, one that felt like…drowning.

His eyes snapped open underwater. He was drowning. He opened his mouth to scream for help, and bubbles of air floated to the surface just a few inches above his head. If he could only reach it…but something was pulling him down. A pair of manacles around his ankles. He was trapped in some kind of tank, imprisoned underwater, just below the surface. So close…and yet so far. He clamped his mouth tight, forcing himself not to breathe, thrashing desperately to wrench himself free.

“You are awake.”

The voice sounded right inside his ear. Someone was watching him drown. He screamed, and the last of his air expelled itself from his lungs in a flurry of bubbles.

“Breathe, young human. You are not dying.”

Breathe? But how? He was about to lose consciousness.

If I’m going to die anyway, I might as well try.

He let the water enter his lungs.

The sensation was horrific. For a moment, Jim thought it was over.

But then, somehow, he was still conscious, still alive. And the burning pain in his head and lungs was…disappearing.

“You see? Not dying. We want to keep you alive.”

Shock and adrenaline surged through his body.

They want to keep me alive. But why?

He looked down at himself. Naked, except for his underwear. At least the water was kind of warm. The scene outside his tank was a little blurry, but he could see enough. A large chamber, the same color as the endless tunnels (from what he’d been able to see of them), lit with glowing orbs full of some swirling substance. Other tanks just like his lined one end; they looked empty. And two figures stood motionless in front of him, watching.

The Hunters. They had to be. Not just because of the well-used weapons fastened at their sides and their sinister armor, but also because of the unmistakable hungry look in their colorless eyes.

Jim started to speak, but all that came out was a sound like “Ubbllubummlug.”

“We cannot free you, young human,” the taller Hunter said, its tone almost apologetic. “We need you. And yes, we can read your thoughts,” it added, as Jim let out a stream of confused bubbles.

Need me…why would they need me? And why did they have to imprison me in a tank of all places?

“You are not yet strong enough to survive outside the life liquid,” the alien said, busy with a pair of tubes connected to the side of the tank. “But soon.”

“We cannot wait long,” the other Hunter interrupted. “The princess is—”

“He is not yet strong enough! He would not survive!”

Jim tensed, his mind racing. The water suddenly felt cold, the manacles securing him to the bottom suddenly tight.

Survive? Survive what? What are they talking about?

The alien Hunter drew close, so close Jim could see it grotesque, inhuman face clearly through the wall of the tank. It seemed to sigh before answering.

“We require your skin and blood, young human. But you are not yet ready for harvesting.”

@forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whumping-to-conclusions @whumping-out-of-time @painful-pooch @kawhump @briars7 @theelvishcowgirl @whumpuary